AN: this is part two of the Dragon Song series. Part one - The Masked Dragon has been posted separately.

Summary: The one where Zuko is introduced to the theatre group- but his identity's secrecy doesn't go down as well as he seems to think it did.(Series summary: AU- Canon until just after the final battle. For the sake of his own safety, Fire Lord Zuko secretly ends up in a theatre troupe's production, acting alongside the girl who witnessed one of his most dishonourable moments. Literal drama, identity porn and shenanigans ensue.)


The moment Zuko had looked in through the doorway of the theatre building, he'd been consumed by the conviction that something was going to go very magnificently wrong.

Not that anyone was going to listen to him about it.

Anyone being Sokka.

"I still have time to get out of this…" he heard himself beseech his unfeeling, sorry excuse of a friend as the full impact of what they were about to do hit him like an ice-cold deluge of doom.

For its blatant disregard of his character and image alone, Zuko would dearly have loved to have sat back and watched Sokka's evil scheme fall to pieces- except for the pesky little detail where his own life kind of depended on it. But right now, as he stared inside at what laid in wait for him with muted horror, he was seriously considering an uncertain death a reasonable alternative.

He barely heard Sokka's, "Zuko, what's the worst that can happen" monologue that he'd heard at least five times too many in the last twenty four hours, thank you very much. Because there, lounging about upon the stage and the steps surrounding it in various states of relaxation, was what must have been the entire cast and crew of Mr Hui's Theatre Group.

For a small theatre company, they sure had an illegally vast membership.

The worst part, however, was that they weren't even doing anything; all of them chatting, some stretching and warming up, and a few goofing around with their masks in little groups… all of them seeming to just be waiting.

Zuko had a funny (horrible, awful, very bad) feeling that he knew what for.

"You just going to stand here all night, or what?" a loud voice drawled obnoxiously, making Sokka and he both jump.

Zuko spun around in the narrow doorway and took in the scowling figure behind him. In the dim light from the building, he vaguely recognized one of the better actors he'd auditioned with the previous evening.

The guy seemed to recognize him in turn- or rather, the mask he was wearing.

His scowl deepened. "Oh, it's you."

Zuko bristled at the tone. What was that supposed to mean?

But before he could come up with an appropriate answer- not that he knew where to start, what with Sokka telling him that he had to be nice, and get on with these people if he wanted the next month to be even remotely pleasant- the guy scoffed.

With a roll of his eyes, he pushed past Zuko, muttering, "Show-off."

Zuko remained frozen in place for two thunderous seconds. Then he unplastered himself from the building wall he'd been shoved into, marched three steps past the doorway and into the shadows where Sokka had camouflaged himself, and stabbed a finger in his chest.

"Ow," Sokka hissed, looking aggrieved. "Don't take it out on me! I'm only here because you asked me to come."

"Yeah. To see what a terrible idea this is for yourself. They already hate me."

"Oh, come on. That guy was probably just…" he floundered for a word, "hungry. Makes people crabby. I know I'm starving."

"...We had dinner. Half an hour ago."

"Inconsequential!"

Zuko threw up his hands and whirled around to face the emptying street, staring unseeing at the indigo sky above the soon-to-be-sleeping houses.

"How am I even going to last the month?" he asked quietly.

Sokka brushed the imprints of Zuko's outburst off his dark tunic and stepped forward to stand beside him.

"That's why it's called making friends, Fieriness. They don't just sprout up spontaneously."

"Yeah, well," Zuko glanced sideways at his friend's silhouette, "I suck at it, in case you've forgotten."

"Nope," Sokka said wistfully, patting Zuko's shoulder lightly. "Couldn't have even if I'd tried… You were most definitely the worst peace-maker we'd ever seen."

Zuko shot him a withering glare- one that went quite unappreciated beneath his mask. "We're not here to discuss that."

"You brought it up-"

"Sokka."

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his palms in placation. "Just - filling up the silence."

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. Or he tried to. The mask got in the way. He compensated by letting out a long breath through his mouth.

"He's got a point though," Sokka said slowly after a few more seconds of Zuko furiously staring into the distance. "Are you? Going to stay here all night?"

And with that, he deflated.

Sokka had to get back soon, if they wanted this to work, to take his place in the Fire Lord's chambers. Zuko'd hated that part. Still did. But when Sokka had pointed out that the most the assassins would do to him once they realised they had the wrong person would be infinitely better than what they would do to Zuko if they got their hands on him instead, he'd failed to come up with an equally convincing argument. His strategist smugly satisfied by that, they'd then proceeded to go over the various angles of the plan well into the night, until even Zuko had been quietly impressed with it. Its sheer ludicrosity was what made it ingenious. That was Sokka's trademark. So this last minute cold-feet caused by social anxiety of all things was utterly unfair on Zuko's part, he realised with resignation.

Mostly, it discredited the vast amount of trust he'd placed in his friend.

"Not a word to anyone else I know," he said finally, turning around to face the building again. "That's the deal. Don't. Go back on it."

"My lips are sealed," Sokka said- earnestly enough, but the lips in question seemed to be fighting a smile instead.

Zuko pointedly shoved him in the arm, and it broke through.

He sucked in a deep breath to squash down the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. If he waited another second, he knew he'd just find other ways to delay the inevitable.

Knowing he was going to regret it even as he did, he muttered, "See you on the other side," and stepped into the light-filled building, leaving his friend chuckling behind him in the shadows.

○ • • ○

It was about a hundred times worse than he'd imagined.

He was late, no thanks to his stupid second thoughts. So as apparent punishment, every eye in the room seemed to focus on him as soon as he got close enough to the stage to be noticed.

And then, to make it even worse, which he hadn't even thought was possible-

"There you are," the horrifically loud voice of Mr Hui boomed out over the heads of his goggling thespians.

If Zuko had been an earthbender, he'd have just willed the earth to swallow him up then and there.

(But he was a firebender. Which was utterly useless in situation like this. Unless he pulled off the whole disappear-behind-a-cloud-of-smoke routine the circus folk were so fond of…)

He spared two very important seconds to pray fervently that Sokka had already left; his own memories of his never-ending list of humiliations were torturous enough by themselves, without additional sources eagerly reminding him of them every chance they got.

"Come on up," Mr Hui called again, curling his fingers twice a little impatiently.

Breathe.

It was all Zuko could do to not trip as he complied, until he was on a level with everyone else.

Until their eyes were all fixed on the front of the stage, where their manager stood with an increasingly mortified Fire Lord in disguise.

"Everyone, meet our new Dragon Emperor for this season."

He clasped Zuko's shoulder and swivelled around to face the crowd gathered behind him. Zuko was half-thankful and half-resentful for his hand; it was the only thing keeping him from bolting away- because facing-down assassins was a thousand times simpler than this.

He watched the gathering of men and women as they muttered indistinctly amongst themselves, looking him up and down appraisingly… as though he were a particularly miserable antique at a rich old lady's auction. A few seemed politely curious but a predictably large proportion, mostly on the left side, seemed utterly unimpressed.

Zuko went back to sweating beneath his mask.

"Those of you who saw him yesterday would, like me, have no doubts at all about his suitability for the part," Mr Hui went on, oblivious. "In fact, he was the only one who went above and beyond what I had in mind for this year's production."

(Something Zuko was quite busy regretting at the moment-)

"Do we actually get to see who it is?" someone at the back asked dryly.

Titters swept through the group.

A woman he vaguely recognized from the day before asked, "Yeah, what's with the mask?"

Zuko's stomach churned.

Mr Hui turned to him and raised an eyebrow expectantly…

Fuck- what-!

He wanted Zuko to explain himself?!

This was very quickly turning into one of the worst moments of his life.

"Er," he began hoarsely. The silence was deafening. He cleared his throat twice to make his voice deeper. "I… uh, have to- I mean, I'd like- I need to keep my mask on."

Ugh. Eloquent as usual, Fire Lord Zuko.

Several eyebrows rose, and a round of scoffs sounded from the left corner.

"Permanently?" a wiry man in the middle inquired with disbelief.

"...Um. Pretty much. Yeah."

"You've got to be kidding…"

Only then did Mr Hui obligingly decide to take pity on his floundering lead. The gentleman.

"He and I have come to an agreement. He needs to keep his mask on for the duration of his time with us, on and off stage, for reasons he does not wish to disclose. I strongly suggest that none of you question his choice for the sake of the company, and that we all try to work around it. One thing's for certain: I'm not going to lose this opportunity to reclaim my honour just because some of you couldn't deal with one man's secrecy. Am I clear?"

There were murmurs of assent that Zuko only heard as he eyed his shoes.

"Excellent! You lot," Mr Hui barked to the mutinous group on the left. "So you couldn't get the role you wanted. Tough luck. But I called you back because there are plenty more roles that we need you to fill this time around. I hope you'll indulge me; otherwise, you're welcome to leave. Just know that Love Amongst the Dragons will be a very different play once I'm done with it this season. Don't regret your choice."

As the group's attention shifted from him to the manager, Zuko allowed himself to use the mask to his advantage and observe the faces of the crowd in peace. A movement on the left caught his eyes as Mr Hui finished speaking. The guy Zuko had bumped into outside had turned his head away and was brushing his hair back with his hand, using it to hide a sneer. He wasn't alone, either; similar sentiments were echoed on a lot of other faces. But Mr Hui had turned away from them by then, so Zuko was the only person who caught the wave of dissent.

And then, before he knew it, they were all dispersing to follow the manager's echoing instructions: for the speaking roles to read out the script in their new roles and the silent roles to begin choreographing their scenes. Suddenly Zuko found himself included in the group of people expected to follow these instructions. And for a moment, in which spots of the stage were being claimed and battered scrolls were being passed around, he breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. The first part, the worst part, was over. They might not all be okay with his secrecy but none of them had openly fought it.

He allowed himself to welcome the tentative swell of anticipation, and walked up to the circle of actors preparing to read the script. They regarded him lazily for a while- long enough for his cheeks to burn- until the older woman with two plaits who'd whispered to him the day before raised an eyebrow and patted the floor next to her.

He ducked his head, and melted down into the spot she'd indicated, slightly guilty at how following orders felt so much easier than giving them. Spirits knew he was still getting used to feeling like the Fire Lord in official settings; here, could he really be blamed if he found it easier to let go of his status entirely?

"Thank you," he said belatedly, knowing she couldn't see his gratitude.

He looked around at the rest of their little circle. Everyone was observing the exchange with interest; thankfully, none of the more hostile faces were amongst them. Save for one. A sallow, dark-haired young man, whose face was completely unreadable as he regarded Zuko in turn.

The woman shrugged good-naturedly.

"Call me Nyn," she said with a conspiratorial smile, and promptly handed him a script of his own.

And before Zuko could start squirming under all their attention all over again, she shook out her own bundle of scrolls and began to read out the characters in the opening scene, seeming to forget about him entirely.

He blinked. And quickly glanced down and began to scan the only-too-familiar lines for his own ones with an odd feeling in his chest.

Mr Hui had been the first, but why did he get the feeling that everyone could see not only through his mask but right through him too?


Life had a sort of persistent tendency to burn down around Song when she least expected it to. Repeatedly... But every time it had, she'd forged through and come out the other side surprisingly intact, though in no way whole.

She'd taken it when her first home had been destroyed by the Fire Nation. She'd taken it when her father had succumbed to his injuries. She'd taken the harassment that had come with their refugee status ever since, the humiliation, the too-slow healing of her burns, with her mother's grief a physical weight on her shoulders throughout.

She'd also taken it when she'd been fatefully wrong about people who should have cared but simply hadn't.

That time had been the hardest instance of them all; the cruellest irony. Just when everything had been beginning to look up…

If only they'd known, what one ostrich-horse would cost…

Joining the theatre company had saved her in some way. After everything, after all that mess, her mother would have wanted her to be happy. She knew that much. And though Song wasn't quite there yet, at least she knew she was out here. Trying.


It took Zuko three rehearsals to notice the face from his past. The ugliest corners of his past, to be more precise. And in the end, the degree of distraction that that particular observation caused was what made him careless that night.

Distraction and carelessness. Recipes for disaster on their own; together, a guarantee for it. But he knew he didn't have the right to blame anyone but himself for either.


AN: Reviews give me life like you wouldn't believe! I'd always love to hear from you, makes me write and update a lot faster :D there'll be two more chapters to this story, I hope to post the third by next week at least. thanks for reading

-Sam

xxx