Title: The Art Of Deception
Author: Lala-Ness (vivian)
Genre: Drama + Romance
Summary: Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.
Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.
Chapter One
The Blue Spirit Revealed
His life started out with complications.
Even before he was born, tension flowed through the atmosphere within the Fire Nation. War had broken out - long before his parents even knew each other. Not that it mattered much. His mother came from a wealthy and established family. She was expected to make a good marriage - a proper marriage. She'd been raised and educated with that in mind. It was practically the rule of thumb in her family.
His father had more ambition than security, but had earned a reputation as an up-and-comer. He was dynamic and charismatic. When the boy's mother fell in love with him, her family wasn't overjoyed, but they didn't object. Marriage to her gave his father exactly what he wanted - family name, family backing, a well-bred wide who could entertain properly and give him an heir. He hadn't loved her. The marriage was a business decision.
The boy's father had a certain amount of affection towards her. But he wasn't able, he'd never been able, to give too much of himself. His business with the army took him away from home quite a bit. He was obsessed with making a fortune, making a name for himself - a permanent name - with personal and professional success. When the boy had been born, he gave his wife an emerald necklace as a reward for producing a son.
His mother adored her husband, was almost fanatic about it. As a child, the son had a nurse, a nanny, and a bodyguard. She was terrified of what her husband might do if anything happened to the boy. It wasn't so much that she worried about him as a son, but as his son. His symbol. In fact, she'd told her son that herself, when he was five, maybe six years old. She told him that and a great deal more once her feelings for him had changed. The boy rarely saw either of them when he was growing up.
She was so determined to be the perfect society wide, and he was always shipping off somewhere or another for battle. His idea of being a father consisted of periodic checks on his son's progress in school, lectures on responsibility and family honor. The trouble was, he had no honor himself. There were other women. His mother knew and ignored it. He'd told the boy once that there was nothing serious in those relationships. A man away from home so often required certain comforts.
His mother's feelings for his father were dead by the time he'd turned sixteen, and they were living like three polite strangers in the same house. He couldn't leave. He had no where to go. His grandmother was dead by that time. She might have understood. He couldn't be sure now. His grandfather considered the marriage a success. His mother certainly never complained, and his father had lived up to his potential. His grandfather would have been horrified if the boy had arrived on his doorstep saying he couldn't live in the same house with his parents.
He'd told his parents how they made him feel - once. They were simply appalled with him for his lack of gratitude. And his lack of...graciousness in bringing up the subject. He'd learned not to beat his head against a wall that isn't going to move and find other ways. Study, personal ambitions. He shifted priorities.
At age twenty he'd joined the Fire Nation army to aid in the war. By then, his parents were long gone. He never saw them again. From a soldier, he became captain. From captain, he promoted to Commander. And from commander, he ranked up to Admiral. He was fifty-six now, and he'd earned a name for himself all these years. He was successful - one of the top in the army. Since he'd ranked from Captain, the Fire Lord had been keeping tabs on him. He'd become Ozai's personal favorite among the other generals. And so he was given the task of capturing the Avatar.
Even now, complications surrounded him. Even now, his father's shadow lingered over his - however thin it might be. He'd become arrogant, independent, and cocky. Much of it he'd inherited from his father. As a child, he'd learned not to depend on others for what he wanted - like his mother had been. He was much stronger, much smarter, than anyone in his family ever was. In all cases he'd overcome during his time before Admiral, it consisted of missions. Missions he'd chose not to fail at. Failure had never been an option for him. It wasn't then, and it certainly wasn't now.
Zhao listened intently as pitiful soldiers stood before him, mumbling a string of explanations and reasons. Excuses were what they really were, he thought. Frivolous, trivial, petty excuses. Zhao cleared his throat - a sign that whatever plot they'd schemed to condone their inadvertent actions would only worsen their predicament; and their punishment.
One guard collapsed to his knees and held his palms together, face up, in a gesture that looked as though he were praying. For mercy, Zhao suspected, a smile twitching upon his lips. These fools knew his power. Not only did they know, but they feared - a reaction he'd come to enjoy from others ranking below his status.
"You lost track of them," he began, folding his arms across his chest, his face held high. "Were my instructions unclear? Which part of 'don't let the Avatar escape' didn't you understand?" Excuses, he thought again as he listened to the apologetic explanation. Incompetence. It was really, very irritating.
"I believe I told you 'by any means'. Do you need a definition of that phrase?" He interrupted them mid-sentence, silencing them with the rising tone of his voice. When they didn't answer, he continued. "No? Well, then, I suggest you find them - both of them - and quickly, or I'll be forced to think you're not half as clever as a pathetic twelve-year-old boy."
His dismissed them with the swift undulation of his hand. Without even a backwards glance, the soldiers scurried away. Zhao sneered when he heard one of them shudder. Fear of him was satisfying. Fear meant timidity - cowardicy. It assured him that he had full frontal control of his army. It meant no one dared to test his limitations - no one except the royal courthouse and the Fire Lord himself. That was fine. That was the way of things. Not that Ozai had much to test. Zhao had been nothing but loyal to his nation and his lord.
To calm himself he swiveled to gaze out at his view of the Fire Nation. He enjoyed being able to watch the noise and bustle of this small, but crowded city, while being removed from it as well. He enjoyed more knowing he walk down the market streets, wander into any of the tony shops and have whatever his whim dictated - and be recognized, admired, envied, as he did so.
Composed once again, he allowed himself to think back. There was something about that "blue spirit" that was outlandishly familiar. It's masked face wasn't one of the things he suspected as familiar. Neither was it's choice of weaponry. The one obvious fact of the matter was that whoever's face was under that distorted mask, was a citizen of the Fire Nation.
No one primitive to either the Earth Kingdom or to one of the Water Tribes could possibly move with such ferocity and aggressiveness. The Blue Spirit may have used weapons, but it still was able to swiftly and easily evade attacks. Not only that, but the anonymous fighter destroyed it's opponents instead of simply injuring them. It was exceedingly evident that anyone - bender or not - that attacked with direct viciousness belonged to the Fire Nation.
And yet despite the masked fighter's incredible ability to fight, it still lacked the skill to block the arrow that assaulted it. Zhao had seen with his own eyes the collision, and he'd watched the Blue Spirit collapse to the ground. It's insufficient ability to block a single arrow meant that the Blue Spirit was no master - but an amateur in the least.
But where did this lead him? Zhao wondered. The Blue Spirit still managed to escape, with the Avatar in tow. He was at a loss. Clenching his fists tightly, he descended the many stairs that led to the outside of the prison camp. He'd given his troops direct orders to scout the area for remains - a strand of hair, a shred of clothing, something that could help uncover the mystery of the Blue Spirit.
Zhao mounted the oversized rhino with a fluid grace and economy of movement, then followed the rocky path that led back to the imperial city.
It wasn't until mid-afternoon when Zhao received any prominent news of the Blue Spirit. The soldier approached the Admiral, bowing timidly, before he rose to his maximum height and handed Zhao the mask. He snatched it away, causing the soldier to jolt in surprise. Zhao dismissed him to study the mask personally. In his frame of mind, if you wanted something done, you did it yourself. Zhao's eyes narrowed.
The mask itself consisted of only two, dull colors: a dark shade of blue and a pale-colored white. He ran the tips of his fingers across it's surface - wood. Polished wood. Whoever created the mask was clearly unskilled in the art of crafting. The Blue Spirit mask looked like a distorted version of some kind of Oni - a demon often heard of in Fire Nation mythology. Their physical manifestation looked much like that of an ogre, With fangs on both sides of it's mouth, and horns like a bull, with red, blue or black skin.
As the myth went, if it were to be suddenly disembodied, it reconnects and heals instantly. How ironic, Zhao mused, that it seemed that way with the Blue Spirit. It wasn't disembodied, but attacked with a bow and arrow. Once minute you'd see the Spirit sprawled upon the ground, and the next it's gone - as if it were able to heal and vanish into thin air. Zhao ran another finger over it's fangs before turning the mask over.
His eyes widened for a moment. Inside the mask, at the bottom right corner were carved initials. P.Z. Zhao nearly grinned with satisfaction. He was this much closer to finding out who the Blue Spirit was. But as quickly as the curve of lips came, they vanished. His eyes narrowed evenly, and he knew. P.Z. was no mystical spirit who was able to heal himself. P.Z. was in fact the one person he should've suspected from the beginning - the one anonymous fighter was in fact the banished prince of the Fire Nation.
He growled. The hand that held the mask insanely burst into flames, igniting the mask. The flames reflected the anger and the hatred in Zhao's eyes.
Prince Zuko.