….

Counselor Zhao walked importantly down the Fire Palace corridor toward the Fire Lord's throne room. He relished the way that all those he passed on his way stopped and bowed their heads to him in reverence. As they should, Zhao agreed with himself haughtily. He has done well in his career and aspirations: his prestige unmatched by any outside the Fire Lord's family alone.

A smile pushed smugly onto his face as he considers the fortuitous events leading up to his political ascent. Some might call it simple good luck the way he'd managed to take all the credit for capturing the Avatar and bringing him into Fire Nation custody. But Zhao knows better. He was clever. And shrewd enough to know right when and how to act when Opportunity presented herself.

It wasn't his fault that that wretched, banished prince couldn't keep his mouth shut. He made it simply too easy.

Prince Zuko had made a nuisance of himself within Zhao's southern water patrols before, and Zhao simply had no patience for the child. It wasn't his fault that the Prince had announced so loudly that he had captured the Avatar, demanding to be let through then Commander Zhao's blockade.

The spoiled Prince wouldn't keep his mouth shut, yelling ceaselessly about how they had found the Avatar in a glowing iceberg, and that now he could go home, regain his honor and his place at his Father's side.

Zhao swaggered a little more proudly as he walked, congratulating himself on taking that place for him.

Admittedly, at first Zhao had not believed the brat. But he had been wise enough not to let idle claims go unexamined. Zhao had been acting within his duty to require Zuko to verify his assertions.

Zhao will never forget the greedy thrill that filled him in the first moment he laid eyes on the Avatar: a little bald monk with wide, welcoming eyes beneath the telltale blue arrow of his extinct people. He'd been playing a game with Zuko's disgraced Uncle. Clearly General Iroh must had convinced the boy that they were simply taking him for a ride or some other such nonsense – Prince Zuko would never have been so subtle or clever.

It hadn't been all that difficult to lure them onto his ship under the guise of tea and a military escort. He'd insisted on bringing them onto his superior ship for a triumphant return to Caldera City! The Prince had marched into Zhao's trap with eager arrogance. It all was too easy really.

All it had taken after that was a little drugged tea for the General, then with one simple order from Zhao the unsuspecting monk was taken below deck and locked in a holding cell. "Where is Uncle Iroh?" he'd asked innocently on his way down the stairs. Cute. The old man had the boy calling him 'Uncle.'

Moments later a few succinct, flaming shots from his catapults sank Zuko's puny ship – after all it simply would not do for any of the Prince's crew to survive, spreading rumors with their heretical lips.

And what had Zhao done with the tantruming prince and his unconscious failure of an uncle? Eternal dishonor in exile had felt well worth the effort of setting them afloat on that dilapidated lifeboat!

As Zhao strode forward he chuckled to himself at the memory of them drifting away at sea while he took The Prize back to Caldera City himself.

Frankly the most difficult part had been dealing with the Avatar's bloody bison. The flying beast had nearly destroyed Zhao's deck when the Avatar had been taken below. Thank the spirits the creature rightfully feared fire as the soldiers were finally able to send it fleeing, fur coat seared and smoking.

But the real trouble had not occurred until they reached Caldera City Bay. Everything had been going perfectly - Zhao inhaled deeply, reliving the glory of the moment - but just as the Avatar was being led onto the dock, that cursed flying beast returned, bellowing for his master. Zhao had motioned to his Captain and the man yelled an order to his men to kill it. A harpoon was aimed skyward towards the beast.

And that's when it happened.

The Avatar had cried out in dismay, and before anyone knew what was happening, the boys eyes and tattoos had taken on an unearthly glow. With deceiving ease, the child blew back the soldiers who held him, throwing them into the bay before rising into the air in a hurricane of swirling power.

In the ensuing maelstrom, the Avatar destroyed the entire dock, all the boats in the bay, as well as over a quarter of the merchant's sector of the lower city. The damage was catastrophic.

The narrow slip by which Zhao himself had survived the Avatar's display of power is something Zhao does not like to dwell on. In fact he pointedly refused to contemplate how fragile his mortality had been at that moment. Ironically, Zhao could attribute his survival to his proximity to the Avatar. From his place directly beneath the flying, raging boy, the wind had sent him viciously into the ground on the beach, which had been suffocating and painful in its own right, but at least it did not fling his body into open ocean or heave it into crumbling buildings as had been the fate of most of the others.

Zhao knows he blacked out at some point, because he simply cannot recall how the chaos stopped. But when he came to, the boy was on the ground, the waves from the bay knocking him to the sand as he struggled to his hands and knees.

Even amidst the destruction, and the pain in his own body, Zhao was always one to keep his eye on the prize. So he struggled his way over to the Avatar, intending to contain him as best he could.

But Zhao will never forget his surprise at what happened when he reached the boy. The Avatar looked up from the sand at the destruction he'd caused—boats half-sunk in the bay, buildings as far as they could see in ruins, unmoving bodies strewn like so much chaff in the wind—his wide grey eyes reflecting the devastation. When Zhao reached out a hand to grab the Avatar's arm, the boy had turned those telling eyes on him—eyes wracked and harrowed like the world around them—and then buried his face in Zhao's chest.

Even now, Zhao can still feel the twist of surprise in his gut he'd felt when the boy had not tried to escape, but instead had turned into Zhao's body, hiding his face from the wreckage he'd caused. Zhao had put an arm around the Avatar (to procure the boy, of course), and had been surprised again when the Avatar had then wrapped his small tattooed arms around the big soldier while he sobbed. (Zhao rarely takes time to recognize the glint of genuine care that flickers within himself for Aang, but he knows that this moment had been the genesis.)

Zhao had carried the boy (who had conveniently passed out not long after gripping onto Zhao for support) past the wreckage where he was met by fresh reinforcements sent from the Fire Lord (the troupes assuming the city was under siege). Zhao had informed the troupes what had happened and demanded an immediate audience at the Palace. He also gave them an incidental, but crucial, order to capture, not kill, the Avatar's flying beast (who had been blown out to sea in the Avatar's whirlwind, but surely would come back.)

But he kept the Avatar himself in his arms. Even in his weakened state, Zhao would not let go of him – there was no way he would allow for anyone else to usurp his glory for capturing the Avatar.

The Avatar spent upwards of three months locked away in prison following Zhao's triumphal delivering of him to the Firelord. It was at this point that Firelord Ozai decided to reevaluate the destruction the boy had caused to his city.

Firelord Ozai had mused that perhaps it was a pity to let such incredible power waste away in prison untapped. While imprisoned, the boy would always want to escape, there might even be rebel attempts to free the Avatar. But, Ozai had reasoned, the boy was still young. Perhaps he could be influenced yet. By all indications the Avatar had not even been aware there was a war.

"After all, the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." Ozai had said. "And I intend to rule every last scrap of this world."

Ozai was a cunning man, aware of the advantages of holding one's friends close and one's enemies even closer. So it was that after some initial trials (for safety measures of course), Aang was brought right into the Firelord's own palace, and in unofficial terms, adopted into the royal family.

Amid the ensuing jostling of power pieces, Zhao had selflessly volunteered to mentor the boy, to be his adviser and liaison. His history with the Avatar had proven useful, since for some unaccountable reason, the boy seemed to trust him. (At the very least, he didn't questions his lies.)

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Zhao now stopped in front of the large curtain leading to the Burning Throne. For the first time in his walk, he faltered for just a moment, taking undue time to straiten his cape and square his broad shoulders.

Counselor Zhao was pleased with his successes, fortified in his position just below the royal tier of Fire Nation nobility. He had the Fire Lord's ear and control over the Fire Nation's greatest Weapon.

However, he was still aware that his influence was unfailingly tied to the Avatar, even now. Zhao's hand on the grown boy's cradle was his only real grasp on power. It was most definitely in Zhao's own best interest for Aang to be useful to the Firelord.

Zhao turned his neck, stretching away some of the stress that had settled there in his musings. Then he purposefully entered the Firelord's war chamber.

The Firelord sat imposingly on his throne surrounded by flames. Zhao dropped into a kowtow in respect.

"Zhao," the Firelord spoke. Zhao couldn't help feeling irritation at how the Firelord omitted his title. The Firelord being one of the only people in the Fire Nation who could dare to do so. "What is the report on the Avatar's progress?"

Zhao rose from his kowtow, but remained on his knees as he addressed Ozai. "After some delay - due to the difficulty of procuring a suitable Waterbending Master, the Avatar has now resumed his waterbending instruction, my Lord."

The Firelord made no comment, thus Zhao continued, "The Avatar continues to train daily in Earth and Fire as well, although he has long since achieved mastery in these elements."

Shadow shrouded the Firelord's face as he sat silently on his throne, making it difficult for Zhao to read his reaction. He knew full well what the Firelord wanted to hear, and as of yet, Zhao had still been unable to report success in that particular endeavor, so he spoke on, highlighting successes in an effort to cover the deficiency. "His tutors work with him daily, and there has been no breach in the censored protocols of his education. His loyalty to the Fire Nation, to you, remains secure. His tutors say that—"

The Firelord finally spoke, cutting him off. "But what of his 'Avatar State'? What progress has he made towards unlocking this power?"

Zhao shifted minutely on his knees. He knew this question had been coming. "The High Sages have continued to look into the matter. They indicate that mastery of the Avatar State is a highly spiritual endeavor" (Ozai snorted impatiently). "The sages inform me it will take extensive spiritual training. And that it will only come after mastery of the other four elements, Sire."

Ozai remained quiet, but the disapproval in his energy was unmistakable. The Avatar was very powerful already, and Zhao knew that Ozai delighted in it. But Zhao also knew that the awesome power of the Avatar State was what Ozai craved most of all. Ever since witnessing the destruction caused to his own city by Aang when he was just a boy, Ozai had been pushing to find ways to harness that power.

Early on they had experimented in trying to access the Avatar State, with varying degrees of success. But each experiment was not without… consequences—to the boy, and to those around him. Ultimately it had been concluded that if they didn't want their Bomb to explode in their own faces, mastery seemed to be the only reliable way to utilize the Avatar's full power.

Ozai's darkened face looked down on him harshly. "Here you are again, Zhao, with little more to report than you have for the last seven years."

Zhao balked, "But my Lord, the Avatar has progressed at an incredible rate! Mastery of the elements usually takes decades… I assure you, Avatar Aang has learned at an incredibly accelerated rate. Unbelievable speed! No Avatar in recorded history has mastered all four elements in so short a time."

"But Aang has yet to master them all. Only a fool boasts the number of dragons in his nest before they hatch, Zhao."

Even in the presence of the Firelord, Zhao could not ignore the annoyance he felt at Ozai's unreasonable expectations. Over the years Zhao had reaped the rewards of Ozai's approval at each of Aang's successes; the Firelord's pleasure undeniable at each advancement of his surrogate son's innate power and prodigious skill.

And Zhao had been rewarded accordingly.

However, of late, the Firelord seemed to be unusually impatient; his expectations unachievable.

"The Avatar grows more powerful every day, my Lord. I have him working from sun up to sun down. If it weren't for the difficulty we encountered in procuring a suitable waterbending master for him, I'm sure he would have already achieved mastery in all four—"

"Excuses, Zhao. The boy is…" Zhao detected a smile in Ozai's voice, "talented. It is true. But I have need of him. Now. Perhaps I ought to find someone else who can… motivate, the kind of results I need?"

Zhao flinched. "No, Firelord. I am sure that won't be necessary. No one (outside your honored self, my Liege), holds the Avatar's trust as I do, Sire. And now that we finally have another Waterbending Master available to us, I assure you the Avatar's mastery of his last element will be expedited. And mastery of the Avatar State will surely follow not far behind. I promise he will master waterbending before the end of this season." Zhao cringed, mentally berating himself; giving hard deadlines was a sure way to get himself into trouble.

Ozai sat for a long moment in silence, letting Zhao squirm in his new promise, before he replied with cold finality.

"See that you do."

….

Aang stretched his aching arms across his chest as he waited in the training arena. The sun was getting low, and his stomach rumbled for the dinner that had to be delayed to make time for this extra practice. This was his third waterbending practice today.

Aang acknowledged ruefully that this much time spent on waterbending would surely throw a bit of wrench in his efforts to slow down how quickly he mastered his last element.

But Counselor Zhao had been relentless the past few days; insisting that Aang continue to practice even after his regularly scheduled classes were long since over. Aang wasn't sure what had prompted Counselor Zhao's latest frenzy, but Aang always seemed to be on the receiving end of his mentor's anxiety. Counselor Zhao had even been waking Aang extra early for longer meditation sessions with the Fire Sages. It was torture! Aang knew how to meditate; he had known how to meditate for as long as he could remember. But meditating wasn't something Aang liked to do anymore—too many painful things he didn't want to focus on came into the forefront when he meditated. So he no longer practiced it. And he found it was way harder (and way more boring!) to pretend to meditate, than to do the actual thing. An extra hour with the Sages every morning was agony!

Aang groaned to himself as he let his arms swing back by his sides, bouncing on his toes to stay warm while he waited for Master Katara to join him.

Master Katara. Aang could feel a dopy smile come to his face at the thought of her. At least there was one good thing about all this extra time spent waterbending. Aang was not the least bit sad to be forced to see more of his new waterbending instructor.

Just then he heard the solid doors to the arena creak heavily open, and Master Katara walked through them, her head held high as usual. Aang's stomach did a little flip. Monkeyfeathers was she beautiful! Aang tried hard not to stare, but he couldn't help the way his insides went camelephant-strut inside every time he saw her.

Aang smiled at her as she approached. "So good to see you again today, Sifu Katara!" Aang said brightly. But he felt his smile falter, as her icy eyes seemed to freeze harder.

Master Katara had only been here a week, and frankly Aang felt it difficult to get much of a read on her. Her interactions with him were always on task and to the point, cold even. Colder even than Master Pakku had been. At least Pakku had been generous with his distain and criticisms. Katara simply refused to engage with him at all beyond the mechanics of his teaching.

"I hope you're still warm," she said crisply. "We're skipping the warm-up katas and moving right on to the phase changes we worked on this morning. I hope you had time this afternoon on your own to practice the techniques. Now take your place."

Aang took his place, and for the next hour he did as his Sifu asked, taxing his aching muscles, and ignoring his hunger and fatigue in an effort to stay focused.

After an hour of barking at him to focus, Master Katara finally called it a day. The sun had long since dropped below the horizon line, leaving a quickly darkening sky speckled with the first of the night's glimmering stars.

As Master Katara turned to leave the way she had come, Aang trotted up next to her. "Wait, Sifu Katara!" she turned towards him raising a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I, um, well I was just wondering if you'd, you know, eaten yet? Because I haven't. Maybe we could, you know, eat dinner together?"

Katara stopped walking and looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Aang glanced down briefly at the tattoos on his hands to make sure he hadn't started glowing or something. "You want to what?" she asked incredulously.

Aang rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. "To, you know, eat dinner with you… If you haven't eaten already?"

Katara cocked her head at him a like she couldn't believe what he was saying before replying evenly. "I've eaten already."

"Oh. Right." Aang sighed, trying to push down his disappointment at not being able to forge any kind of connection with Katara.

Maybe it's for the better, he wondered. Maybe this was just a crush like the one he'd had on Ty Lee when he was younger: older girl, super pretty, made his heart beat around in his chest like a trapped flying lemur-bat. Aang had nursed that crush for years before Ty Lee had shown him any real reciprocating interest. And weirdly enough, when she finally had, that's when Aang had lost interest in her. Turns out he liked crushing on Ty Lee from afar a lot more than he had liked making out with her behind Azula's back. (Well the making out was admittedly lots of fun, but after a while something about it just felt hollow.) He supposed that pining had been more exciting than trying to make something meaningful with someone who seemed afraid to have any opinions of her own. He still valued Ty Lee as a friend, but his flames for her had long since abated.

Maybe his crush on Sifu Katara would be the same: something that would dwindle as he got to know her. Aang didn't know, but he itched to find a way to get to know her better, to find out if this attraction he had to her was as significant as it felt. Behind her cold exterior, Aang sensed there was something deeply passionate about Katara; like the hardness was just a façade. What lay behind the mask, Aang didn't know. But he wished he did.

Katara turned to leave again when Aang reached out touching her arm to stop her. She shifted away from his hand but looked up at him with a small sigh. "Is there something else, Avatar Aang?"

"I just, I understand that you are far from home, and this place can feel… foreign at first… but I hope you can see me as a friend." Aang felt his insides hollow in remembrance. "Someone who probably knows how you're feeling."

Aang caught some falter in her expression, raised eyebrows, a flash of confusion? Compassion? Surprise, perhaps?

But the look quickly disappeared into a carefully controlled blank. "You know how I feel?" Katara huffed one derisive laugh. "I sincerely doubt that. But thank you for your concern, Avatar Aang."

"You can just call me Aang."

Aang didn't know why he'd said that; he knew that the Firelord would disapprove. Firelord Ozai was always admonishing Aang to maintain his title, and to always wear his power in his demeanor. Aang tried to be what was expected of him. But even though he had gotten very good at "wearing the role", Aang knew that he was not those things inside.

He also knew that the true Aang would always be a disappointment to the Firelord. And disappointing the Firelord was dangerous.

Aang brought his attention back to his waterbending sifu, a look of momentary uncertainty on her face. "Um… thank you. But…" she squared her shoulders and said a bit more resolutely. "That should be all for tonight, Avatar." Then she turned and walked out of the arena.

Aang wilted, letting his head sag on his neck. Great. Now she'd dropped the 'Aang' altogether.

Aang tried not to dwell on the pit of isolation he felt widen in his chest.

…