So here's the thing. I've been having a really hard time lately; just got told I'm clinically depressed. I dont want sympathy, that's just stupid, but I'm telling you all this because it means I wont have much energy when it comes to writing. So oneshots and drabbles and maybe a chapter on certain things here and there, but dont expect much. Sorry.

Title: Silent Arrows
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Summary:

He hated his people. He was an archer, true. He fought for a better world; one without the fire nation. Little did his friends know, his vendetta ran deeper than they thought.

He hated his people. He hated them.

He hated them with every ounce of hate he could muster in his body. He was disgusted with himself for being related to them, for once training to become the kind of person who slaughtered his friend's family.

It was lucky (he would find) that he couldn't firebend- no, that was his brother. Haughty and arrogant they were both intended to be raised, but when his parents realized he wouldn't be a firebender, he was looked down upon, and no longer given the same treatment. He sat at the end of their wooden table, watching as his parents fawned over his younger brother.

They talked to his brother; asked him what he had done that day, how he was feeling, or if he had any plans for the upcoming weekend. If he tried to speak up, they (only barely politely) told him not to interrupt. Soon he began to speak less and less, casting down his eyes and speaking only when spoken too.

On his tenth birthday, his parents gave him his first set of arrows. On his eleventh birthday they were replaced with nicer ones, and so on until his fifteenth. He began to practice with them, and as time will do, he started to get good.

He found he was better from long distance and traveled as far as the cliffs of the capital or the fields. No one noticed when he slipped out; he was so quiet already the house was the same with or without him. The men at the marketplace grew accustomed to him passing their shops and waved at him.

"Hey boy," They called, "where ya going?"

And he'd pause, because he was polite, and gesture towards either the cliffs or fields. A small smile sometimes followed. "Why?" They'd ask, laughing. They knew the answer, but they'd ask just the same. He knew not everyone in his nation was bad; a fair portion of them just believed what they were taught. These people- these simply merchants, they cared not for the war.

They didn't worry if they would win or not, they didn't care if the Avatar was killed; all they cared about was the crop season and if they would make enough to put food on the table. And he liked them for that.

"You goin' out to practice with them here arrows?" And he would, and that would be it. He'd continue walking, maybe purchase lunch for the day, and pass their stalls again an hour before sunset.

On the day of his fifteenth birthday there had been no gifts. His little brother had turned thirteen the month before, and so was eligible for the army. When he came home that evening, expecting a new set of arrows, he was surprised to find a feast going on. A feast, for him? His parents had never shown this much respect for him before; maybe now they were beginning to notice they had more than one son?

No, he would soon discover. The feast was not for him. His brother had been given his first set of armor today and fired his first flame at a captured earth kingdom soldier. That was the way they dealt with their captives; lined them up in front of new recruits and had them practice their aim.

They were supposed to fire at the arms, but often (sometimes purposely? He wondered) they missed. Those who lived through combat practice were either sent through the line again or shipped to some barge in the middle of the ocean.

He snapped. He yelled more, he cried more, and he threw more things than he ever had in his life. He tore through his middle-class home, destroying every piece of furniture in his path.

His parents cried out to him, his name rusty on their lips, begging for him to stop. His brother had, in his pathetic arrogance, had taken stance and fired a useless shot. Horrible attempt after horrible attempt, he quickly grew tired of his brother's bending. He reached behind him and pulled out three arrows.

The years of practice were impossible to miss. Taking a grand total of five seconds, each arrow was aimed and fired. His brother found himself pinned to the wall, unable to move. Their parents were in awe. Their (thought) useless elder son, who couldn't bend, had just taken down his brother and destroyed their home. Their younger son, who could bend, was stuck to a wall by only three arrows.

Heavy breaths escaped his lips and he stood still for a long while. His parents held each other, watching with wide eyes. After ten minutes, his brother had realized he wouldn't be able to pull the arrows out himself and joined his parents in staring.

He closed his eyes, and pulled the straw hat that rested around his neck up, making his eyes look dark. Suddenly, he looked different. He didn't look like a Fire Nation boy who might've been training to be a Yu Yan archer. He looked like an Earth Kingdom young man who had led a troubled life. His mother gasped.

"May you all burn in the hell you've created," He said. His voice was hoarse from lack of use, but the message got through. And with nothing more than the arrows on his back, he left.

Hopefully you've picked up who this is about. Sorry if it got hard to understand, me never saying his name.

I'll give you a hint: It's not Zuko and it starts with an L and ends in a ongshot.

Yeah. It said that fire nation burned down his village or whatever, but I'm assuming he lied. What's he gonna say to Jet, "Hey I'm Fire Nation, I know how much you love us, but I don't like my people and I'm a sort of refugee. We can still be friends though, right?"