To his advisors and the Fire Sages, Zuko is certain that his trip to the Earth Kingdom must seem a frivolous vacation, an abandonment of his duty as Fire Lord during a particularly wrought time. In some ways it is – he has taken Mai, his mother, Ikem, and Kiyi with him – and for all intents and purposes they are treating the excursion like a family holiday. Ikem and Ursa are particularly interested in exploring the arts and theatre districts of Ba Sing Se, and though Mai is less impressed, Zuko can see from the corner of his eye that she is enjoying his half-sister's awestruck reaction at all they encounter.
She was surprisingly popular with the young girl, and Zuko only wished they had been able to bring Mai's own brother along. Tom-Tom had been left bedridden with his mother, struck down by a seasonal illness. Hardly life-threatening, but very phlegmy.
Anything his family wants to do, Zuko encourages. He has his own tasks in mind during their visit, of course, but he enjoys being able to provide this escape. It is so like his own childhood trips to Ember Island – and yet lacking so much emotional heaviness – that he hopes Kiyi at least will look back on these moments with joy and appreciation.
In much the same way, he views the visit as an apology of sorts to Ursa. Dragged from her home and essentially imprisoned in Caldera, only to be banished and forced to live in hiding – Zuko is almost ashamed of how much of the world he has seen and come to know while his mother has spent most of her life in only one of two places. Trips such as this are his offering to her, his literal giving of the world.
He even attempted to grow closer with Ikem by inviting the man out to an Earth Rumble match during a stopover in Gaoling, just the two of them. He realized once they had both taken their seats that it was a foolishly shallow estimation of what men do with one another – he can't even bring himself to imagine doing this with his own father, it is so absurd – but by the end of the round Ikem was completely invested, standing and shouting and at one point even heckling a referee. It was a great evening, highly entertaining, though hardly intimate. Perhaps that is enough. He and his mother's husband share a tremendous amount of respect for each other, but he is not looking for a stepfather, nor has Ikem ever tried to treat Zuko as though he were his son.
Each stop they make along the way to Ba Sing Se is marked by a visit with a magistrate or governor, where Zuko largely listens in silence, hearing the concerns of the Earth Kingdom people with respect to his father's past infractions and continued existence. Sometimes Mai stayed with him, an unlikely but welcome mediator when topics such as her father's New Ozai Society were broached. The more he hears, the more Zuko finds himself relieved, thankful even, that he spent several years in banishment, ignorant of the former Fire Lord's war council decisions.
Villages razed to the ground. Non-combatant civilians injured in the act of surrender. Family members still missing, even this many years later. Livestock pointlessly slaughtered. Yellow-eyed children born to teenage girls and women whose husbands had been serving on the front. The stories are endless in their variations, though all the same in the end – the Fire Nation army came and did terrible things, all of it sanctioned by Ozai, presumably.
As Zuko climbs the familiar steps to the Jasmine Dragon Tea Shop, he works over the latest batch of concerns that have been brought before him. He knows now, from experience, that it is unlikely every single act of violence and terror committed by Fire Nation soldiers is something his father would have known about, or even have directed. There are simply too many men and women for one man to keep track of – hence the division of the army and navy into its generals and admirals. Not to mention the existence of several special task forces, few of whom seemed interested in burdening themselves with usual military reporting protocol. After all, Colonel Mongke's Rough Rhinos were little better than mercenaries even before they defected.
It's not that Zuko imagines his father would have stopped or been distressed by any of the atrocities committed by the military, but it feels wrong somehow to not acknowledge that the man could only have been directly responsible for so much. There are many others down the chain of command who are guilty of much greater complicity. Besides which, Ozai only held the throne for five years. They were intense and damaging years, yes, but Zuko has begun to notice that some of the complaints being leveled against his father are erroneous – they ought to be attributed to Azulon.
His conviction about keeping Ozai alive has not weakened, if anything, he has begun to feel protective of his father in a way that surprises him. Part of it is the simple injustice of the whole situation, but there is something else. The more that he hears, the less patience he sees. In the Earth Kingdom at least, discontent at Ozai's imprisonment has grown, and even though many see his every breath as a betrayal of justice, there are some who have begun to do more than sign petitions. Rallies are being held. Threats have been made, and though Zuko doubts they are serious, he has begun to wonder.
"Nephew!"
Iroh's booming salutation broke the young Fire Lord from his contemplation, the burly man's warm embrace a welcome distraction.
"And sister!" his uncle beamed over his shoulder at Ursa, who laughed. Kiyi peaked around from behind Ikem and Mai, her face brightening in recognition.
"Please, come inside," Iroh ushered them all into the teashop, and Zuko felt some of the tension easing from his shoulders as the aromatic steam rose to greet his nostrils. It had been a long day.
They sat, Iroh bustling about to serve tea before settling himself. Kiyi sipped delightedly on his uncle's strange concoction of milky tea and tapioca pearls, the only person Zuko can think of who actually likes it, while he nursed a mug of steaming jasmine. Ikem took an appreciative slurp of matcha, his mother cradling her cup of chamomile, and Mai unsurprisingly opted for the strongest blend of all, a sencha mixed with something that tasted bitterly metallic, not unlike the explosive powder the Fire Nation used to make bombs. A moment of contented quiet, and then Zuko is lost in the pleasant lull of conversation with his family.
Iroh rises momentarily to retrieve food, setting tray after tray before them. Steamed buns, bowls of rice, small finger cakes, smoked meats, vegetables in a savory sauce. As he begins to eat, Zuko's mind returns to the issue at hand, chewing on his thoughts even as his mouth moves in the same motions of mastication.
Letters have begun to arrive from the Water Tribe – both North and South – less zealous than some from the Earth Kingdom, but no less justified in their demands. For the nearly successful genocide against the waterbenders of the South, they are asking for the right to try Ozai in their own courts and pass their own judgment. He tried to imagine what a fatal sentence would look like out on the ice. Did the waterbenders drown their guilty? Strip them and leave them to freeze overnight?
"Well, nephew," Iroh's voice coaxed him yet again out of his thoughts, "I know you're not just here for my tea. What troubles you that you would come all this way?"
Zuko nodded his head, knowing he had been found out. Iroh always knows.
"I promised you peace and retirement, which I intend to honour, but I need advice and thought it more fair that I come to you rather than ask you to return to the capital."
Iroh gestured for him to continue. Zuko hated having to discuss such things in front of his mother, but it had to be done.
"Suki has told me that my father's detractors may not be as far away as the Earth Kingdom or the Water Tribes – in fact, she believes there may be a great number of Fire Nation citizens who are unhappy with Aang's decision to let him live. She overheard some discussions at the prison." The young Fire Lord appraises the flash of concern in his uncle's eye and is quick to continue, "The guards have since been reassigned, don't worry. But it may be a temporary solution, especially since there are also those who still want to see him returned to power."
The New Ozai Society may have been dispersed and its head imprisoned, but Zuko knew better than to believe that his father's supporters were completely gone. He counted himself lucky that Zhao hadn't been seen since his defeat at the North, for he strongly suspected the admiral would be right at the forefront of deposing him.
Zuko swallowed a great gulp of tea, and Iroh nodded his head.
"Mm. Ozai is nothing if not a contentious figure."
"The people of the Fire Nation are struggling with all the change in the last five years. We've gone from being a conquering force to a defeated nation attempting reconciliation. I'm trying to instill systems of education and re-education to help everyone understand the truth of our history and our actions during the Hundred Year War, but it is hard for many of them, especially after years and years of lies. Attempts at scaling back our offensive forces are seen as a threat to the livelihood of soldiers in the army and navy, and many are defecting. Peace is not seen as profitable."
In truth, this has been the hardest part of claiming the throne. Even when he had confronted his father about the amazing lie of the Fire Nation's imperialist spread of glory, he had underestimated how many of his own people had accepted it for truth. And it was an uncomfortable unveiling – it involved shame and disgrace and a reckoning that the prouder citizens of the Fire Nation were almost guaranteed to not accept. They had simply seen themselves as too powerful – had actually been so – and now that they were being led away from war and conquest, now that their very cultural drives had shifted, it was far easier to believe their leadership had weakened and the old ways were better.
And many, even in the colonies, had seen his father as the physical manifestation of that superiority. With his height, his powerful bending, Agni even just with the wall of muscle that was his chest, Ozai had more than looked the picture of indomitable strength and virility, politically and otherwise.
Zuko considered the small cake that has made its way into his fingers, dropping it back onto his plate with a frown. Perhaps he ought to start waking up early and doing a few extra katas…
"And what wisdom do you think I can offer, Zuko?" Iroh asked, stroking his beard, "Many of these issues are ultimately linked to the Avatar's judgement. Would it not be better to invite him to the Fire Nation so that he may explain his reasoning to the people?"
Zuko could feel the eyes of not only his uncle, but his mother and his girlfriend. Mai had a practiced look of indifference on her face, but there was something he was unused to seeing in Ursa's expression. It was barely there, but it looked like disappointment. He shook his head, returning only Iroh's gaze.
"No," he said firmly, "Aang is many things, but he is not the Fire Lord. These are my people, and my problems to solve. Besides, it is not the Avatar's decision that is being questioned, but my support of it. I can't ask him to intercede in all of my affairs."
Iroh tilted his head in acknowledgment, inwardly proud at his nephew's growth as a leader. Even a few years ago, Zuko would have struggled to trust his own judgment in this.
"What I need, Uncle, is your knowledge of the world. If detractors can infiltrate Capital City Prison, so can supporters. I think we'll need to move my father until some of this unrest settles, but I can't send him to a prison elsewhere, where the same problems might arise. I need somewhere no one will think of to look for him."
At this, Ursa put the bowl of rice she had been eating from down with a clang.
"You're releasing him?" Her voice was strained, not stricken with terror as it might once have been, but nonetheless troubled. Beside her, Ikem brought his hand across her back, the ends of his mustache bristling.
"What if he manages to seek out your sister?"
Iroh made a rumbling noise in his throat, hand once again stroking his beard.
"Do not worry, sister. In all the time that she has been free, Azula has not once tried to see her father. I suspect she has grown to see his defeat as a sign of weakness and has deemed him unworthy of her attentions."
"And I'm not releasing him into the wild like a bird," Zuko added hurriedly, hoping to ease his mother's distress, "I was hoping that Uncle may have contacts in the White Lotus who might help keep him under surveillance – "
"The White Lotus?" Iroh repeated skeptically, "no, Zuko, we are too old for that. And in truth, many of them may be tempted by the chance of airing their personal grievances against the former Fire Lord. But I might know someone who can help…" He trailed off, brow furrowed.
"Who?" The young Fire Lord's voice was earnest. "It would need to be someone who hates Ozai enough to not want him back on the throne, but who doesn't hate him enough to want to kill him. That's not a lot of people."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Iroh's mouth, and something glinted in the amber of his eyes, not quite mischief, not quite threat. Even dressed in the humble green of the Earth Kingdom, he looked more like the Dragon of the West than he had in years.
"A soldier," he said, letting his hand drop from his beard to rest, palm down, on the table. "A captain now, actually. She was under my command during the siege of this great city, and she is the only person who could rival you, dear nephew, when it comes to honour."
Zuko stiffened slightly, but accepted the comment for what it is.
"Besides," Iroh continued, "she has already survived one encounter with my brother."
Ursa pinched her brow at this. "What do you mean?"
"I sent her with word of my decision to leave the army following our defeat. Of course, at the time, I assumed she would be speaking with Fire Lord Azulon, and not Ozai. Though he may have been happy with me out of the way, I doubt it was news he responded well to, let alone the messenger who delivered it."
"I think I remember that," Zuko interjected, hesitantly. He'd been young and tired and still desperately mourning the loss of his mother when it happened. "It was shortly after father's coronation, maybe a few weeks? A woman came to the palace late at night, covered in dirt and insisting that she speak to the Fire Lord. The servants were in an uproar that she wouldn't wait until morning. They made her take a bath before they'd let her anywhere near father."
Iroh laughed. "Yes, that sounds like Ta Ming." Catching Ursa's bewildered look, he added, "Oh! She's normally quite clean."
Zuko's mother let out a serious breath through her nose, unaccustomed to speaking so frankly on this particular topic. Beneath the table, her hands were cool.
"Whatever her grooming habits are like, I want you both to consider something." Her yellow eyes were piercing as they drilled into her son and former brother-in-law. "On the outside, it sounds very much as though you are condemning this poor woman to grow old with Ozai as a sort of guardian-jailor to him. His fate doesn't concern me much anymore – I've said everything I'm ever going to say to that man – but do you really think she deserves spending the next couple years with him as her only companion?"
Ursa's voice found an unexpectedly hard edge.
"Zuko, my son. Can you honestly tell me you don't see how that might go wrong?"
The young Fire Lord opened his mouth to speak, then closed his teeth together, bowing his head. He reminded himself that his father had no bending, that he was half the threat that he used to be. If Iroh trusted this Ta Ming woman, then that should be more than sufficient. But his mother's words carried great weight, especially now that he knew what her own experience had been.
It was Mai, ultimately, who reiterated that the arrangement was not meant to be permanent. Only a few years.
Ursa picked up her rice bowl, staring down at the many grains sticking to the side.
"It's always longer with him, somehow."
For Ozai, time had lost all meaning.
It had been, he thought, roughly a month since his son's last visit and that first strange encounter with the new guard, a man he now understood was called Kyeong. Since then, his system of marking the passage of time had been completely disrupted – the sun continued to rise and trace a pattern against his cage bars, yes, but nothing else had been permitted to continue in predictable tedium.
Kyeong and his fellows had kept him from sleeping for the past several days. He was exhausted, furious beyond comprehension, but hitting a point of weak delirium. They did it intermittently at first, allowing him small bursts of rest before throwing buckets of water onto him, or repeatedly hammering a helmet against his cell door. Now though, as soon as his eyelids so much as drooped, one of them would holler loudly right in his ear.
He rubbed aggressively at his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against the sockets hard enough to see flashes of colour against the dim backdrop of his eyelids.
Of course, sleep wasn't the only thing they had been trying to deprive him of. Shortly after Kyeong's first visit, he had surrendered his old uniform only to find that there was no replacement forthcoming. Nakedness was not the same source of shame in the Fire Nation as it might have been elsewhere, certainly not for a man as proud of his body as Ozai, but the cold nights had brought their own indignity. He'd been forced to draw his knees up to his chest like a child, rubbing his arms to stimulate warmth. His muscles actually ached from the constant shivering, and that only kept him further from sleep.
Ozai could feel the inexorable fall of his chin, his eyes rolling back, just for a moment –
"Come on, loser lord!" A young man barked in his face, "Keep it together!"
Grudgingly, he opened his eyes. The noise no longer caused him to startle, but the insult nonetheless sent a burning coil through his gut.
He was tired, and he was hungry.
After his first refusal to eat, meals began arriving irregularly. Then – when they did arrive at all – the food appeared in a state of great deterioration. He had been so hungry at the end of the first week of missing or outright spoiled food that he had swallowed half a breadroll crawling with maggots before noticing.
Retching had been painful. His stomach had nothing but acid to bring up.
It had been that day he realized that the physician wouldn't be coming to check up on him.
About every other day the guards would bring one meagre tin of water for him. His kidneys ached, and pissing had become an unpleasant ordeal. Agni, even standing up to do it was becoming a problem, his head swam with dizziness each time he staggered upright, clinging to the bars of his cage for support like a man twice his age.
Not worst of all, though perhaps most humiliating, they had stopped allowing him to bathe. A layer of grime covered his skin, mixing with the blood of his cracked knuckles and splintered fingernails. His hair, once a source of vanity, was repugnant. The greasy, matted black locks hung unkempt about his face, and his scalp prickled unpleasantly with the movement of vermin.
Dimly, Ozai knew that they were torturing him. That they would probably kill him in the process, starved and exhausted as he was. He wondered if Zuko knew, if the boy might not only be aware but turning a blind eye to it. The thought of his own son allowing this disturbed him in a way he had not possible - Zuko's tender heart was an assurance, something that could be counted on and manipulated. Without it, he became unpredictable, and Ozai was woefully unprepared to reckon with a son as capable of cruelty as himself.
The guard in his cell kicked at the cage, a burst of flame shooting from the curled tip of his boot. The flame narrowly missed Ozai's own exposed toes, and he could feel himself flinch away, scrabbling against the stones to rest back defensively on his heels. Unwell as he is, his own display of timidity disgusts him.
Three more guards entered, Kyeong among them. The man grinned obnoxiously, his helmet slung casually beneath his arm. He jutted his chin and one of his companions eased the cell door closed with creak.
"Hey, Phoenix King, let's have a speech!"
One of the other guards let out a horrid whooping and squawking, an awful parody of bird noise. Ozai blinked, desperately willing his head to stay upright on his shoulders, anchoring himself in consciousness by envisioning his hand halfway down the guard's throat, ripping his tongue out at the root.
They were all young men, older than Zuko by a number of years, but still very much his junior. All of them men who had likely served in the war, or had at least received some training in the domestic forces. Men who might have lost loved ones to Ozai's own campaigns against the Northern Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom, or who had been forced to the colonies. Men who had reasons to be angry, and not enough years yet to have exhausted their wrath.
Unable to hold the vision of a red spray erupting from the squawking guard's throat, Ozai felt himself pitch forward. He caught himself by bracing one hand against his knee, and tried to clear his vision. Once, even without firebending, facing off against four such men would have been nothing more than a simple training exercise. He would have destroyed them.
The thought burned pleasantly, rekindled a sense of pride that had been progressively wrenched from him, but the tactical part of his brain knew this was an entirely different situation. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay focused on Kyeong, the leader of this little gang. He was jangling the ring of keys on his belt.
"What do you think, Yueh?" he asked the barrel-chested man beside him, "Time to let him out for exercise?"
Ozai's fingers twitched, a phantom pain that has not lessened since his encounter with the Avatar. He could feel the spark of lighting, knew the fire was still within him and simply needed to be drawn out, but the permanent blockage of his chi refused to allow it. And oh, how desperately he wanted his bending back in this moment.
Yueh, the largest of the four, let out a deep guffaw, urging his smaller companion onward. Kyeong sneered and waggled the correct key dramatically at Ozai before inserting it into the cage door, the tumblers of the lock falling into place with a chilling clink.
The fallen Phoenix King hunched his shoulders, tensing.
With an equally flamboyant sweep of his arm, Kyeong wrenched the cage door open, metal hinges squealing in protest.
"What's the matter, Phoenix King?" the noisy guard from earlier snarled, "Little birds like you should be happy to have an open cage. Aren't you going to say thank you?"
He pumped his fists in two quick motions, and Ozai had to leap to his feet to avoid being burnt. The bright flash of fire left a glaring afterburn on his vision, and he realized with dismay that even his hearing seemed disjointed. The voices of the guards were blending together.
"Get him, Kyeong!"
"Make him wish the Avatar had killed him!"
"That he'd never been born!"
"Sing, little bird!"
Kyeong reached for him through the open door of the case, and like a fool Ozai took the bait. He lunged, hoping to throw the younger man off-balance, maybe catch him by the throat, and sealed his fate with that one move. Weakened as he was, his lunge had been little more than a tottering step forward, the sudden movement sending a rush of blood to his head, and all Kyeong had to do was take a step back and let Ozai fall onto his face.
The younger man grabbed a fistful of Ozai's hair, dragging him out of the cage. Laughter erupted, and then one of the other guards kicked him in the side, hard. Stubbornly, Ozai clenched his teeth, refused to satisfy them by making any noise. But he couldn't help the aggravated howl that escaped when Kyeong hauled him up, hard.
"What's the matter, Ozai," the young man brought his face uncomfortably close. Disrespectfully close. "Can't take the heat?"
That was when Ozai finally registered the acrid smell of smoke, and the hot sensation at his spine. One of the other guards had made fists of fire, and was pushing his burning hands ever closer to Ozai's bare skin. The pain of it was searing, and in a panic he struggled, twisting and thrashing even as Kyeong yanked his hair harder.
Yueh punched him, and as his knuckles made contact, Ozai felt as much as heard the crack of his cheekbone. Another hit, a smaller fist, and his nose flooded with blood.
He caught the next punch before it landed – on instinct as much as anything else, he was hardly lucid – but was only able to weakly shove off his attacker. From behind him, Ozai could feel a wave of heat approach, and then suddenly all he could do was howl with pain. The firebending guard had struck him with an arc of flame, a molten line burning itself from shoulder blade to hip. Kyeong released his grip, shaking his hand as though he too had been scalded. With nothing left to keep him upright, Ozai crumpled.
"Is that it?" The firebending guard's voice was disappointed, "I thought he was supposed to be some kind of legend. I've known whores who can take a better beating, and like it."
Kyeong nudged the fallen man with his boot, and Ozai trembled, curling in on himself. Exhaustion warred with his fury, but his body was its own battlefield.
"Naw," Kyeong smirked, "we're not finished just yet. Lhao, why don't you get the surprise?" The other guard saluted, mockingly, and then disappeared from the cell into the hallway.
A moment of calm washed over the cell, nothing but the sound of Ozai's labored breathing to disturb it. Then the cell door creaked open, and Lhao returned with a bucket swinging from one hand. Yueh gripped both of Ozai's shoulders and lifted him onto his knees, almost gently. Kyeong leaned in again, patting the other man's cheeks as though to wake him up. Sluggish blood stained the lower half of Ozai's face, small red droplets dripping from the frayed end of his beard.
He spat at Kyeong, more blood than spittle, but the young man was so close it was impossible to miss.
"What are you waiting for, you miserable welp?" Ozai roared, drawing on a rage he hadn't been able to feel since Ursa turned her back on him, refusing him the control that had defined their marriage. "Kill me and get it over with!"
He was too weak, his mind and body ravaged by lack of food and sleep. There'd be no getting out of this, but still, he refused to cow to them.
Kyeong wiped the spit and blood from his face, holding Ozai's gaze fast with his own. Then, lasciviously, he licked the other man's saliva from the back of his hand. One of the last remaining threads holding Ozai together snapped, and he thrashed within Yueh's meaty grip, hurling an incoherent stream of curses and oaths at the young men.
The guards just laughed, and, taking advantage of Ozai's open mouth, dumped the contents of the bucket onto his head. It was shit of some kind, he realized too late, the rancid smell of it pummeling up through the blood in his nose. In his hair, on his skin, dangerously close to entering his mouth, burning his eyes. He shook with rage and disgust, still struggling.
Lhao grabbed his wrists and brought them behind his back, the movement splitting the fresh burns and forcing Ozai to choke back another pathetic noise of pain. A pair of manacles clicked tight against his skin, and Yueh let him sink down to his knees. They were merely dark shapes now, menacing shadows he couldn't get into focus. Ozai realized it wasn't just the shit smeared across his face that was obscuring his vision – one of his eyes was swelling shut.
"Oh, don't worry, my lord," Kyeong smirked coolly, "we'll help get that filth off your face."
There was a rustle of fabric, and Ozai blinked his one good eye furiously to clear it, so he could see what was happening. His pulse hammered in his ears, the adrenaline of the attack and his all-pervasive tiredness brought together in an ugly cocktail of desperate wakefulness without clarity. Perhaps his heart would simply give out on him and that would be the end of it.
Four slivers of colour appeared where before there had only been the muddled dark of uniform. Ozai tried to scramble backwards, sick understanding breaking through the fog of his mind, but with his arms bound behind him he was too off-balance. His leg weakened beneath him, and he fell hard onto his haunches, trapped. Kyeong practically hooted with laughter as the first stream of piss caught the dethroned Fire Lord square on the jaw.
The guards' urine was hot and stinging as it showered against his face. It welled in his ears, splashed against his lips, trailed down his chest and dampened the exposed flesh of his thighs. He turned his face furiously, spluttering, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to escape, but the four guards formed a tight semicircle around him. He wanted to gag, could almost taste the bile at the back of his throat, but whether from the smell or the humiliation, he no longer knew.
After what seemed an impossibly long time, it stopped. Behind his back, Ozai's fists clenched so tightly he cut into the skin of his palm. A part of him that no longer seemed connected with his body was horrified to realize that the dryness of his mouth had been made worse by the sound of their pissing. It had actually made him thirsty.
Distrustful of the quiet, Ozai dared to open his one eye, the piss dripping from his hair and face stinging him.
"Tsk tsk," Kyeong clucked his tongue exaggeratedly, his hand still casually curled around the shaft of his penis. "What a mess you are, Ozai. Hard to believe my sister used to touch herself to the thought of you."
The other men sniggered. Ozai barely registered the comment, his focus largely taken up by what Kyeong was doing with his hand. The young guard sighed. "Still, that royal mouth remains quite handsome."
There was something feral in his tone, and Ozai raised his gaze to Kyeong's just as mortified understanding dawned on him. The young man took a step forward, now almost fully erect from his own stroking, and gripped his prisoner's jaw roughly, forcing Ozai's mouth open.
"Now tell me," he crooned, voice velvety in its self-assurance, "isn't it the duty of the Fire Lord to serve his citizens?"
Ozai was choking, Kyeong's firm grip and his bloodied nose making it hard to breathe. He tried to shake his head, to get away from the other man, but where was he supposed to go? His stomach felt like a nest of two-headed rat vipers, his blood had gone cold even as his own heartbeat thundered. So this was it. This was how the Phoenix King would meet his ignominious end – not at the hands of a child-Avatar in battle, but beaten and raped in a prison cell.
Kyeong had just jutted his hips forward when a distinctly unfamiliar and feminine voice broke through the roar of his own pulse.
"What in Agni's name are you doing?"