23. Serenity
Zuko wasn't a fool—or, he didn't think he was, which wasn't exactly reassuring if he thought about it.
He knew that his father preferred his sister, but everyone knew that, so much that his father could brush him off in the meetings (if he was invited) or ignore him while he was talking to him in public. Zuko pretended not to. He carried himself in the proper, princely way and acted as if he could hold the world in the palm of his hand and crush it in a fist if he wanted to. It hurt less. He didn't know if this was making his situation more obvious, but he couldn't bear to disappear in the shadows forever like Uncle Iroh, to be forgotten and disgraced and never rise.
Ever since the Agni Kai, his father had made his dugust for his son known in subtle ways, even if he got to keep the crown. More tutors streamed into the palace, and Zuko, while listening carefully, learned that they were teaching the Princess more royal ettiquette, tea-hosting for important nobles, advanced budgeting, public speaking, and a host of other things that were not at all offered to him. Azula was in all of the meetings and delighted in witholding information and pretending to be surprised: "Oh? You didn't know about the financial crisis in Fire Fountain City?" and other such questions like that to make him look stupid during the meager meetings he was allowed to attend. He was left, after his lessons and Firebending practice, to his own devices, the message clear: We don't need you around.
Zuko hated feeling powerless, alone, lost, and half-baked. He missed his mother. There was Iroh, but he was giving Zuko strange little slip-ins while talking that involved "fate isn't set by man" or "your destiny is in your hands." Something felt wrong about these; they implied the same thing that got half of his face burned off.
During his free time, he would explore the Fire Nation. Just small things, like buying a meat dumpling or looking briefly at puppet shows. He had a hood over his face, so no one would see his scar, but he didn't have proper civilian clothes. Even covered up, he was stared at—he looked like a shady nobleman, and a rich one at that.
He was never truly free, until he found an old mask.
It was blue and white and dusty, and he wasn't sure from where it came from. A Fire Festival? A masquerade? Was it a present?
His mother's room was shut off and not cared for at all. The air was always musty (until Zuko opened the window as wide as he dared), every single thing was fine gray, and in general, it was dark as pitch. He wondered why his father didn't destroy all of her things altogether. He wasn't disillusioned—his parents did not have a happy marriage, and they had given up on the rule of "not arguing in front of the children" when Zuko was seven. His father never talked about his wife after that day, and the second time he asked, he was given such a disgusted look that he slunk off, making muttered apologies. Strangely, the palace was void of rumors, when you could sneeze one minute, and after ten minutes, someone would ask you if you had a chill from the dreadful outdoors or from the disgusting Admiral Guo, who had sneezed into Lady Dai's hair two weeks before. If people knew about his mother, they weren't saying a word, but once he heard someone (he had forgotten who) mutter it had to relate to Fire Lord Azulon's death.
It was buried in a drawer, along with other papers—certificates, princess paperwork, and paintings Zuko had made as a child. Nothing was written onto the back as a message or a token, and it appeared well-cared for (even though it was dusty). The paint wasn't chipped, the wood wasn't scratched, even the straps that tied the mask to one's face were strong.
Zuko had taken it from her room, carefully hiding it under his robe, and stole away.
He felt he was indeed free, leaping onto roofs and running through the night, the wind caressing his hair and the mask hiding his face.
It was something he was good at. Lu Ten had given him a fun crash course before he'd left for Ba Sing Se, and he even said so. He could remember Lu Ten laughing as Zuko scaled a tree and hopped It didn't seem that Zuko had lost his talent, despite all of those years. No one glanced up or looked. There were no reports of a mysterious figure running around Caldera City and beyond (if he dared and retired early).
Even though he had to skirt the ready nightly patrol or occasionally check his mask's straps, he felt wonderful.
Then he was sent to this school, far away, almost clear to the Earth Kingdom. It was near the sea, which would have been pretty, except it rained too often for his taste and cold winds blew around with a freezing blast that chilled him to his bones. The sky was gray, the most of the clouds covered the sun, and he was always freezing.
Lieutenant Jee was under his command, and Zuko had checked: Fire Lord Ozai had not assigned him. In fact, the Fire Lord had only arranged for a royal escort to the school, then they would leave him, like a shiny trinket shoved into a dinky shop's back shelf—the beauty wearing off and becoming unused and unsought. He didn't know why the man volunteered. He had pursued his record: he was expelled from Admiral Zhao's control for "inappropriate conduct," a vague statement that could mean a lot of things. He didn't want any criminals watching him, and certainly none who were associated with that hog-monkey Zhao. He knew for a fact that Zhao constantly "talked" about him to the other nobles and was cocky enough to taunt him in public.
He knew this was a punishment, an excuse. The school wasn't having much of a success, and the Prince arriving to observe the problems and solve them made a nice story. There was a secret rebellion, childish things like graffiti and petty theft. None were caught, which was insulting and embarrassing to the authorities who ran it. All they could tell them was that the resistance had benders and dark clothing and masks.
But he thought about it. A resistance. He liked a challenge, something to keep his mind busy. Perhaps the Avatar himself was leading!
He laughed softly to himself as he rode on his Komodo Rhino for his grand entrance. From Sozin to his sister (briefly), no one could find him! He was probably dead, killed, gone. Perhaps he was a Waterbender or an Earthbender, now, reincarnated. That seemed plausible enough. How could the Air Nomads survive Sozin's great assault? The Air Nomad's army was pathetic; he'd read about them. No way could a single Airbender be alive.
KATARA, #799: New name is Niu. Registered Nonbender. Age: fourteen. Notes: extremely rebellious, brash, passionate. Cares a lot for her brother, #800.
Zuko slammed the foldier shut. It didn't much else, except for perhaps some paintings of her face and a few pieces of paperwork about her health, strength, intelligence, potential. The Prince put it back in the drawer and locked it with the set of keys Headmaster Zhao had (reluctantly) given him.
He knew quite about her already. The girl was in his grasp, running with a chain around her ankle, always aware of it yanking back towards him. She was the second-in-command of that resistance movement, the leader being her brother. She was a Waterbender, trained enough to create a large wave and freeze water, but her control was something to be desired. She was a lovely girl, bright-blue eyes and soft, caramel skin—her hair was always struggling to be free of her bands, and her eyes pierced him, cold and sharp as one of her ice daggers. She could look at him and make him feel small, but he always was in control. She was truly in his hands, her fate depended on pleasing him. The contradiction made him shudder with something he couldn't quite place.
Zuko truly felt powerful. She could always be summoned; his title was still honored here. She was always at his beck and call.
He had an excuse. He always did. He could toss in a few honeyed words about "education," and those teachers would be writhing with pure delight. They were already complimenting him on reducing her fiery attitude. Zuko wanted to laugh in their faces. Reduced? Perhaps, outwordly, but she would always burst out to save someone. The little peasant could get killed by doing that.
As he watched her slice open a metal-lock on a door during one of the raids, he thought for a split second. Absolute defiance against the Fire Nation? Unafraid and bold and in the name of justice? Powerful bender? Check, check, check.
Could the girl be the Avatar?
She would be an old lady if she was the Avatar from the Water Tribe.
Perhaps she's another bender, and water is her preferred choice. It's happened before.
She's so talented; she must be a prodigy, perhaps an Avatar thing?
Such audacity...
He smirked. He loves this fire, this dance, the challenge. He has infiltrated the secret Resistance; he has gained her trust; and he has her trembling in her boots.
She makes him angry. She's still unyielding. She is confident of her abilities to dodge the authorities. She taunts Prince Zuko during the resistance meetings and makes everyone roar and toast to her. She's turned Jee into a bumbling, soft fool who is willing to do anything for her.
He halts his thoughts. What nonsense. The girl is uneducated and uncouth, but she won't go that far. And Jee, a Fire Nation-raised citizen, knows better. He is about ten years younger than Iroh. Such nonsense. How stupid.
She's sitting in front of him, staring at him and all the items in his room. Zuko doubts she's seen such finery in her chilled wasteland. He lays down his new rule and sits back to watch her stew, taunting her all the while, feeling a hot pleasure washing over him, a cold shard in his heart telling im it's wrong...
Katara is a beautiful girl. He knows there's something wicked about it: he's sixteen and she's fourteen; he's a Fire Prince and she's a captive Waterbender; and he shouldn't hide behind excuses of following her.
Thoughts pop into his head. She's caring, she's kind, she's brave, she's perfect for—
The beast thunders over these and takes advantage. They're alone in his office, no one can disturb them, Jee is taking a walk, and he's the stalwart prince of this school.
Her skin is softer than silk, her hair is wild, her eyes are equal parts submissive and equal parts temerity. His hands freely trace her—she's exactly like the sea, calm on some days but thoroughly untamed. How delicious would it be, to have her, right now, to conquer the second eader of the resistance and Avatar.
She does not agree; there's a burst of pain on his finger, and it's bleeding.
Something rumbles, and a moment seems to skip to when his hand is stinging and her cheek is bright red. It's as if he has blacked out and has awoken, as if he was hijacked.
Mom and Father were arguing. She was saying something, something he couldn't hear, but was steadily raising her voice and pushing him away with two arms. And he hit her, hard, across the face, and he hears something crack, even from around his hiding place around the dark corner. She doesn't beg, she doesn't cry, she doesn't whimper—she simply stares at him with something akin to recognition and reigned anger.
Katara mimics the scene perfectly, as if she could see inside his head. He reaches out, to comfort her—then pulls back at the ridiculous suggestion. He would hurt her, again, and she...he was...Zuko then strokes his chin carefully and pictures a portrait of his father, very bright and fierce and...monstrous. So tall, so god-like, in his portrait...as if he could do anything and get away with it...and he could...and Zuko was...
He lets her walk out with a shudder. Two weeks. Then he would be rid of her for good.
I don't know how exactly Zuko becomes the Blue Spirit. In "Zuko's Story," a man named Hong Shen gives Zuko the mask and the broadswords after a bit of complicated story about robbery and in which Zuko becomes a bit disillusioned by the Fire Nation/Fire Lord. The said book was Movie!Canon, so...(shrugs) I'm not quite sure how much of Mike and Bryan's ideas they took for it.
And no, Katara IS NOT the Avatar here. This is purely Zuko's speculation.