Omashu was a fast city. Wait, sorry, New Ozai was a fast city. It was like everyone picked up the speed of the trade chutes that crisscrossed the streets. That was a bad thing for him, from now till midnight he wouldn't find much business
He sat cross-legged on his tarp, tsungi horn lying beside him, in the calmer streets of the city.
Back maybe a decade ago, when he was nothing but a fool with a ponytail, he would never have imagined himself stooping to the level of a common beggar. He'd never have imagined himself as a leader against the Fire Nation or an ally of the Avatar, either.
"But that is the way of destiny," he remembers uncle saying, "You will never know where it will take you."
He snorted at the memory. Well, it was a good thing destiny had foretold him to master the tsungi horn when he was younger, because right now it was the only thing between him and outright stealing to survive.
He brought the brim of his hat a little lower and hoped no one would question it. The horn's eerie melody pierced the air. It wasn't loud, but it filled his ears.
Truth be told, he liked these nights. They reminded him of his mother, who had been the one to start his abrupt music career. She'd asked and he hated disappointing her. They reminded him of long nights under the stars, when they'd been bringing freedom across the Earth Kingdom.
They'd laughed at him when they learned he could play, good-naturedly of course, just because they'd never have thought him patient enough to learn. Days later, he found a polished horn atop his bag and a number of guilty faces nudging him to play something. And he did, that night and every night after it.
"To scare off the animals," they'd said, but they all knew it was just for the comfort. They could forget about the war and sleep easy.
He wasn't using the same horn right now. No, that one was with the Firelord.
These nights reminded him of the times he'd work late at the restaurant and play a tune for the sweethearts that took for a midnight stroll. Shen and his wife would drag themselves outside and steal the first dance.
A copper is thrown his way. He tips his hat and changes the song. He chooses a happier one, played at weddings in the Southern Water Tribe, actually. He'd heard the Water Tribe siblings hum it occasionally and played it for them one night.
"We've never actually seen a wedding," they'd said, "But they taught us the songs so we could carry on the tradition." The two had looked at each other. They knew how crucial their knowledge of tradition had become if they ever hoped to rebuild their home.
By the end of the song, he has another copper and one spectator. He hears someone shout at him to go get a real job. It's a slow start, but he had expected as much. The next song he'd learned for his mother and the memory of her arms around him always brought out a smile. His one spectator loses interest and leaves nothing in his place.
He changes tack in hopes of making enough for a warm meal. It's an Earth Kingdom tune that the soldiers would belt out on the march. He'd played it one night as well and Toph had said she didn't like it.
"It's a marching song, Sparky. You're not meant to tone it down like that." Either way, she seemed to like it and so did the people tonight.
He looks up at the sky and thinks of the times he'd stare up at that same moon, nights on a lonely cruiser at sea and in nameless villages. He'd stare at it from a sleeping bag, huddled near the fire on nights with pride at his chest, a title to his name and allies all around. And of course, nights on a little third-story apartment balcony, sipping tea and watching the street lanterns being lit.
He looks back down and sees that profit was still scant, but he had prepared to go cold. At least there was enough to feed the ostrich-horse. He gathers the tarp, hears the light clink of the coins at the bottom of his bag, and stands. He walks with an aura of royalty which no one could pin to the common beggar.
Omashu was once the heart of a rebellion. That was something a city would never forget, no matter how many banners they flew or soldiers they stationed. No matter what name it held, Omashu was his.
At least, that had been his hope when he'd decided to travel here. There had to be someone, something that had made it through, some sign that this rebellion was still alive. And he finds it, not in what he can see but what he cannot.
The guards are much too scare, and the few he does see are lax and wear their uniform without pride or power. He can't find the red and black emblem of the Fire Nation except in the most public places. There are no angry protesters in front of the governor's house, and he comes to learn that there are no bodyguards on his balcony either.
The man takes in a shrill breath of air when he comes face to face with the blue masked vigilante hanging leisurely from his balcony railing.
"Evening governor." He says as he swings his legs onto the veranda, calmly making his way behind the spellbound man.
"You… the Blue Spirit." Zuko keeps one hand on the door. "You – you freed the Avatar."
"No need to fear. I just need some information." This wasn't what he needed. The man was too scared. Was it the mask? The voice? Or had he mistaken which side he was on; did the man simply see him as an enemy?
"What do you need?" Compliant, but still frozen.
"How you answer this question will determine that." Too threatening, but it was too late to take the words back. It came with the mask, the silence of the night and a crafty tongue.
"Whose side are you on?"
A bead of sweat marks its path on the official's forehead. "Not the Fire Nation's."
He gives a little sigh and the man jumps a little. It's not the answer he wanted, but for right now though?
"That's good enough for me."
Governor Shino is a quiet, crafty man who has come to enjoy the values of his citizens and disfavor the powers above him. He knows nothing of a rebellion, has no desire to intervene in world politics and bends the numbers he sends to the capital only for his own convenience. He is not someone he wishes as an ally, but needs, nonetheless.
He needs a pipeline to the world he had detached from. He is not the most effective, nor the most trustworthy, but Governor Shino is enough.
There is no word of an insurgency but there are disruptions of trade in the Si Wong desert. He scans through pages of war prisoners and public executions, his hands tremble because he knows these names, but hers is nowhere to be seen.
He goes to Gaoling because that is the one place he knows the earthbender would go, the first place she would liberate and the one place she would have any reason to visit.
At least, that had been his hope when he'd decided to travel here.
And he waits, until the day she rises from the tunnelways they had mapped on the years of the Pole march.
She's taller and her presence is less haughty than what he remembers of the girl who found herself at home amongst the ranks of burly men, who kicked her feet up on meeting tables, and who had been detested when she had been given the job of holding fort in the Earth Kingdom. She would have rather bust Fire Nation heads with them.
"So… is Gaoling ours, too? Or are you just visiting?" He's not surprised when he finds himself encased in a coat of stone. He is surprised by the silence of it. The earthbender he knew would never have given one thought on learning the art of stealth, but he figures that it was a skill that had become necessary.
She shuffles her feet in the dirt a bit more but doesn't turn to face him.
"That you, Sparky?" A stray thought dashes across his mind, saying that maybe this wasn't who he thinks it is, because the Toph he knew would never speak in a voice so vulnerable. Almost fearful.
"Yeah. It's me."
She turns a 180 and so does her timbre. She stares at nothing, yet her eyes pierce and he's sure she can feel his heart rate spike. This was no foolhardy soldier in it for the rush of battle; this was a weathered commander whose every move was for a battered cause.
"Back from the dead are we?" She says it as cold and detached as an old officer ringing off a list of casualties. "You know, when I first heard that there was a psycho is a blue mask running around up here, I didn't pin it on. I thought it was just some fool trying to be a hero by riding on your coattails."
The stone tightens enough to restrict his breathing. If she so wished, she could easily crush his ribs and be on her merry way. What a way to die.
"I told myself it wasn't you. I respected you. I told myself it wasn't you because the Zuko I knew wouldn't have left us for dead unless he was under the dirt as well."
"I wasn't who I thought I was," a gasp for air, "I guess I tricked you, too."
From the exasperated laugh she gives him, that's not a good enough answer.
"Why'd you leave us?"
"I think the better question would be why did I come back? I still haven't found an answer for that one."
Toph shakes her head. "You disappear for three years and all you come back with is a stupid sense of humor. This isn't a joke. We could've won this war by now if you had just gotten your self-righteous ass off the ground and said, 'Hey, I'm alive'."
"It wouldn't have worked."
"It wouldn't have worked? That's your defense for not even trying?"
"It wouldn't have worked. It wasn't my place, I knew the day I started fighting that it wasn't my place! I kept fighting because of the anger, I don't know why I kept going, but I knew from the start it wasn't my destiny."
"Destiny! You're not going to admit you're a coward, or even blame it on real reasons, but you're blaming it on destiny. How pathetic are you."
The stone vise around him drops like snow on a spring rooftop.
"You're not worth my time."
Sinking on his knees, precious air filling his chest, Zuko almost shouts for her to just go, that he never needed her anyway. That's what he would have said, not half a year ago, but he bites his tongue.
"Toph, you can still win this. The Avatar, he needs a teacher."
"And what makes you so sure this time will work out any different than last time?"
"It will, it's his destiny."
"I didn't think there was anyone more desperate than I was at this point. You proved me wrong. Destiny has no place in this war."
"It'll work. When the armies go north, Toph, the ghost town. We'll be at the ghost town."
She turns heel and the earth opens before her like the maw of a demon and he knows once she drops into that abyss that he's lost her, lost the army that walks behind her, and lost any chance of ever finishing this godforsaken battle.
He scrambles to her side like the desperate man he is and grabs hold of her crudely steel-clad arm. "He needs a teacher. When the armies come, go to the ghost town."
She turns to him and stares for an incalculable eternity. She looks almost sad.
"You are not my general. I don't take orders from you anymore."
She gently loosens her arm and enters the crevasse, which shudders closed leaving him with nothing to affirm that the meeting had taken place at all.
And for the rest of the night, he plays an old marching song that a friend had never liked and wishes it could always be so simple.
.
.
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AN: It is stated in an Avatar Extra somewhere that Zuko is gifted in the tsungi horn. So that wasn't me just randomly wanting to see Zuko busking on the streets for no reason. OK, maybe a little. A couple of people took up my call of needing a writing buddy, thanks to Tragic Songbird of Eddis for picking up a lot of little mistakes on my stories. Special tip of the hat to WriterGirl7673 who proofread this chapter, very quickly and very late at night if I have my timezones correct. I was much more confident of this chapter thanks to all the help.
So, this chapter. A little look at the past and setting the ground for the future. Next, I'll likely turn the mic back to the North Pole. I sincerely hope I can get it done for next week, but if I don't do not fear. I now have people who will make sure I don't fall into a months long hiatus.