Disclaimer: (to the tune of I Feel Pretty)I own nothing, plain old nothing, Nothing and Nada and ZIIIIILLLLCCHHHH!

II

"He didn't mean to be rude," Iroh hastily explained. "He's had a rough day-"

"I can see that," the Spirit observed. It vanished again, reappearing at Zuko's side. But it was no longer the child- now it was a grown woman, this one with dark skin and vivid red hair. It lifted it's hand to his face, allowing its fingers to hover above his numerous cuts and bruises. "These are impressive marks. And most of them-" the dark, ominous fingers trailed over the burn scar on his cheek- "Carved by human hands. Interesting..." Zuko resisted the urge to cringe away. He knew little about Spirits, outside of his uncle's stories. But he didn't like what little he remembered of these tales: that they were powerful and foul tempered.

"Who are you?" he asked steadily, trying to remove the uncomfortable attention from his wounds. The Spirit smiled and vanished again, reappearing in front of him. Now it appeared to be a warrior, every inch of his skin emblazoned with bold black and red markings. Zuko tensed every muscle, determined not to let his alarm show.

"I am Mischief," it said. "I am Chaos. I am Discord. I am Turmoil. I am Pandemonium." The Spirit once more resumed a smaller, female form. "And I seem to be in your debt, dear."

"What?" was the only word that could escape Zuko's throat. The Spirit grimaced.

"For centuries untold I have been stuck in this stupid cave," it said, circling him impatiently, all the while stretching out its limbs and rolling its neck. Zuko turned to keep a constant eye on the Spirit; he didn't want such a creature at his back, no matter what it said. "Many a mortal has come and gone...and yet you alone have released me. And for that, I am greatly indebted to you."

As it spoke, an idea formed within Zuko's mind. "What exactly does that include?" he asked cautiously. The Spirit smirked.

"You want a way off this rock?" it said.

"Yes," he said quickly, glancing at his uncle. "Both of us do." Not quite what he had in mind, but mobility was essential for the rest of his plans. But first he wanted to make sure that Iroh too would be free of the cursed island. The Spirit nodded nonchalantly.

"Then follow me, dear," it said, stepping into the tunnel that Zuko and Iroh had come from. As the tunnel narrowed, the Spirit changed again, now assuming the form of another nimble child. Zuko and Iroh followed with more difficulty, often sliding on the mud and loose gravel.

"Hurry, dear," it called, already out of sight.

"Slow down," Zuko shouted after it, regaining his balance for the fifth time, but his words echoed emptily back at him.

"You're almost there," the Spirit assured him, either not hearing his request or ignoring it entirely. "When you get outside, you need to get on quickly."

"Get on wha-"

"Sunlight! Yes! Finally- it's been too long...ah, glorious sunlight! You have no idea how long it's been since I've seen the sun! It's incredible!" Its voice grew faint and muffled, and a moment later a soft light leaked into the tunnel, casting murky shadows on the walls. Cautiously Zuko and Iroh picked their way through the last stretch, finally emerging into a blast of chilly wind and blinding sunlight. Zuko bristled, but not unpleasantly- the Spirit was right: it felt good to feel natural light on his face after long hours underground. He looked up, trying to shield his eyes from the bold glare, his mouth open to address the Spirit.

But the Spirit was nowhere to be seen. A dragon stood before him now, as proud and noble as though it had stepped from a legend, its mighty head turned to him expectantly.

Zuko stood frozen. Never in his life had he seen a real dragon. Never had he even heard of them, except in myths and ancient stories. Yet here it stood, alive and huge and crimson and beautiful and incredibly, wonderfully real-

"Is that you, Spirit?" Iroh asked, climbing to his feet. The dragon nodded regally. Zuko felt a confusing mixture of awe and disappointment. Of course the Spirit was the dragon. It had already demonstrated that it was a shapeshifter. And a powerful one, if this transformation meant anything. And yet...somehow, he couldn't get past the idea that such a magnificent creature was fake, just a temporary solution to a minor problem. Wordlessly, he climbed on the Spirit-dragon's ridged back, just as it had instructed him to do. From behind it's leathery wings, he could see the rest of the island- it was little more than an outcropping of rock, barely two hundred paces across, barren of everything except moss and stone and sand. Whoever- or whatever- had chained the Spirit had clearly not wanted it to be found, and it had chosen well.

And with an icy dread, he couldn't help but wonder: why?

Iroh mounted the Spirit behind him, and in a dizzying rush of cold wind and wings, they were in the air. The Spirit-dragon twisted, roaring triumphantly- the sound was so loud that Zuko felt his bones shake beneath his skin- and in a few powerful wing beats, the island disappeared beneath them, swallowed b the halcyon world of sea and clouds.

That evening, Zuko carefully studied the Spirit as it stretched out on the sandy shores of a beach, performing some unknown ritual. With almost every movement it changed appearances, some of them human, some animal, some female, some male. The constant transformations had unnerved him at first, but he was slowly becoming used to the bizarre nature of the creature.

"Spirit," he said quietly. It glanced over its shoulder- his shoulder, her fealized, gazing at him with his own eyes, set in his face. He felt a cold prickle climb along his neck- he had looked into mirrors before, but nothing compared to this.

"Tsune," it said with his voice, before changing shape again, this time to an Earth Nation woman.

"What?" he asked, his voice betraying no sign of his discomfort.

"If you need to call me something, then call me Tsune."

"All right," he said, nodding absently.

"What did you want, dear?"

"You said you owed me," he said, his voice quiet, though commanding. The Spirit smiled maliciously.

"I take it you've got something in mind?" it asked, its voice still his. Zuko pushed his discomfort aside.

"The Avatar," he said. "I want you to bring him to me. Tsune's now golden eyes glittered- the unsuppressed excitement strangely twisting his face.

"The Avatar? Sounds like a challenge!" The fierce grin that had been spreading across its face faded, replaced by sober pensiveness. "Too bad I can't do it."

"But you said-"

"I would love to do it, dear, believe me," it assured him. As discreetly as possible, Zuko swallowed, as though to make sure those words were not coming from his own throat. "But there is one minor problem: I have no power over the Avatar. Quite the opposite, really. And fighting him...it would accomplish nothing."

The Spirit waved one hand carelessly, brushing off the task as unimportant. Zuko turned away and exhaled angrily, allowing a few flames to curl through his frustrated breath.

"Then I'm back where I started," he growled at nobody.

"Don't be so sure, dear," Tsune said, draping mischievously over his shoulder. "Just because I can't fight him for you doesn't mean I can't help you." The Banished Prince froze.

"Go on," he said, ignoring the uncomfortable proximity. The Spirit flashed a predator's grin.

"The Avatar is in the world of the Mortals," it said. "And all who dwell here have a mortal flaw. I can find the Avatar's weakness, and bring it to you. And once you have that, the Avatar is yours."

"Yes," Zuko said immediately, shrugging it off his shoulder. "Right now-"

"Not yet," the Spirit chided. "Have patience, dear."

"I've been patient-"

"And can stand to wait a little longer. You are in no condition to fight, dear. And the past few...who knows how long...have been unkind to me- I will need rest before I can begin on such a hunt." Zuko opened his mouth to argue. "Don't fret, dear. Just give me some time, and I will find the Avatar for you. I promise." Cracking its neck a few times, it returned to its spastic transformations as though the two of them had never spoken. Zuko wasn't sure which he found more disturbing: these rapid, random changes, or the eerie living mirror of himself.

"Spi...Tsune..." the word was strange on his tongue. He considered asking it any of a thousand questions, but his uncle's warnings were still on his mind: Show the Spirit all respect-they are powerful, and must not be trifled with. "What are you doing?" The Spirit glanced questioningly at him, shifting forms again. Zuko's muscles tensed once more- Spirit or mortal, seeing somebody change so entirely and so quickly was little short of creepy. Its expression changed with its face, now acquiring the wizened, enlightened expression of some old man. He watched the colors and features ripple across its skin like light on water. It was at once entrancing and grotesque.

"You mean this?" it asked, shifting its appearance again.

"Yes."

"Why wouldn't I? I've been locked in that one form for millennia-"

"You said it was centuries," the young man accused. The Spirit shrugged, undaunted.

"Might have been," it admitted. "It's difficult to tell when you're underground. No sun, you see. No light at all. Anyway, dear-"

"Don't call me that." Zuko hated being treated like a child by anyone, immortal or not. He had worked too hard, too long, seen too much to ever return to such a pitiful state. The Spirit's newly altered eyebrows raised innocently.

"Why not, dear?" No emphasis was placed on the offending word, but somehow, the message was clear: I will call you whatever I want. Zuko looked away, hoping to keep his quickly rising temper in check.

"Never mind," he growled.

Soldiers swarmed the village, all of them clad in crimson and black.

"Hm. They changed their uniforms," Tsune observed airily, stepping onto the road, appearing little different from the ordinary townspeople, not far away. "Are you coming?" it asked, turning to Iroh and Zuko.

"This isn't necessary," Zuko said idly.

"Of course it is," Tsune insisted. "You're wearing rags." It was true enough- the clothes that Zuko and Iroh wore had been all but destroyed since they had left the North Pole- weathered away by sea brine and mud and sand and countless other nameless things.

"But I'm not suicidal," he said stubbornly. Zuko was gazing at a sheet of parchment fastened to the signpost. It showed an illustration of his face, and beside it, Iroh's. The Spirit looked unenlightened. "They're looking for us," he explained. Tsune shrugged.

"You need clothes," it pointed out again, nodding at the tattered shreds of fabric. "Or you'll freeze, or whatever you humans do when you're overexposed. And you need to eat," it added. Iroh's eyes flickered, but the moment's indecision was quickly replaced by steely resolve.

"We'll find another place to eat," he argued. "But we can't stay here." Tsune rolled its eyes.

"If you're so afraid of getting caught," it said with a sigh, "Then you should consider hiding."

"It doesn't matter if you can hide like an animal," Zuko growled. Tsune shook its head with another sigh and reached forward, putting one hand on his scarred cheek. The Exiled Prince jerked back as though he had been burned. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, disquieted by the sudden touch. The Spirit grinned.

"Not like animals," it said. "Try hiding like people."

"What are you talking about?" Zuko demanded, but his voice was drowned out by another- this one lower than his own, completely unfamiliar. He spun on his heel, his hnds raised, prepared for battle, but the owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen. From the corner of his eye he saw Tsune approach his uncle, touching the old man's face as it had touched Zuko. The air around Iroh flickered for a moment, and then his face changed. It was sudden and abrupt, just as when Tsune transformed- now he seemed far younger, darker, completely alien. Zuko defied the urge to cry out, but clearly his expression said what he would not. The Spirit chuckled wryly.

"Don't fret, dear," it said. "It's just an illusion- nothing to worry about." A wave of its hand caused Iroh's face to return to his body before once again being replaced by the stranger. "You know, you've got a disguise of your own."

Instinctively Zuko's hand brushed his face. The shape of his jaw was different, unfamiliar- the same was true of his nose, his cheek- he felt his face pale.

Beneath his fingertips was smooth, flawless skin: unruined, unscarred, the stigma of his dishonor was gone at last! For a moment his heart raced. Is it over? Am I done? My honor, my home, my father- are they back? Oh please, dear Agnii-

No, he stopped himself, forcing grim reality to drown that rush of joy. It's not. It's nothing but an illusion. A disguise. Even in his mind, the word was bitter and cold. He removed his hand from the borrowed face, the false features set into a frown. And that voice, too. That was me. The Spirit's changed my voice, too. The realization came without wonder. Tsune shot him a smug glance, clearly unaware of his renewed gloom.

"Shall we go, then?" it asked. Iroh hesitated, then nodded, walking after the Spirit. Without argument, Zuko followed.

The march to the village was veined with paranoia. Niether Zuko noer Iroh were ready to forget the last attempt on Zuko's life. And despite Tsune's illusions, being in plain sight of so many people who wanted the Exiled Prince dead was unnerving. The Spirit, disguised as a charming looking young woman, wasted no time in finding a few soldiers to escort them to the local tailor. Much to its companion's discomfort. Batted eyes and a coy smile earned them a few coins as well.

"So...what happened to you?" the tailor asked, studying the threadbare clothes. Zuko and Iroh exchanged glances.

"We...ah..." the old man started.

"We were attacked by bandits," Tsune said, adding a tragic note to its voice. "I managed to escape before they robbed us, but my brothers were not so lucky. They're still rather traumatized," it simpered.

Zuko twitched. No idiot would fall for that! He thought angrily.

"You poor dear!" the tailor cried. "That's horrible. Here- sit down, and my wife will bring you some tea- you look like you need it."

"They'll need new clothes," Tsune reminded him with a sniffle.

"Of course! Don't worry about it. I'll give them to you half price. These bandits..."

"Thank you, sir," the Spirit said. "You really are too kind..."

"Not at all, sweetheart," he said gently. "One moment. Let me get my supplies..." A second later he was out of the room. Zuko glared at the Spirit.

"You are disgusting," he said. The woman's face flashed him a grin.

"I know," it purred.

"Do you get some kind of sick joy out of making us miserable?"

"Not just you, dear," it assured him. "I'm Chaos, remember? But it is fun to watch you squirm."

"You fiendish little-"

"Shh!" Iroh quieted him just as the tailor's wife walked in, carrying a tray of teacups.