I feel I managed to get Iroh down well when he appeared. Still getting a grasp on Mai, though.

A note on time: While terms like minute, hour, and second are still used, the Fire Nation is still a very solar nation. While all cultures have terms for Sunrise, Sunset, and Noon, they also use Waxes and Wanes to mention specific hours of the day even in the absense of clocks. I realized in order for this conceit of mine to make sense (along with the 'not having eternal night in winter at the North Pole' thing), the world of Avatar needed to have a very small axial tilt. There is very little difference in seasons in the world, except that which would be caused by the small difference in the distance the planet revolves around the sun. Oh, and the sun? It's not just a mass of incandescent gas; it is also a spirit, called Agni.

They called it 'good news'. Mai didn't agree, but they didn't care what she thought. Good news. Months of preparation, thousands of soldiers massing for months, and King Bumi opens up the doors before the first meaningful fireball is thrown. That was Mai's last real hope. Since her father was just an administrator, he was never in any danger; as long as the siege went on, there was no reason for the family to go anywhere. And Omashu, according to every bit of history she could scrounge up – which was extensive, considering the city was as old as earthbending itself – it should have been able to last out a siege of at least a year until the cabbages ran out and the people started starving. A year in familiar, comfortable opulence. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently it was, because the siege of three hundred days didn't last three hundred seconds. Some days, it seemed like the universe itself was out to make Mai miserable. Not that she needed much help. She looked around her room once again. So much remained on the walls, draping from the ceiling, tucked neatly into corners. She couldn't take it all with her, and even if she could, it wouldn't matter, because she wouldn't be home.

"Don't stand around there moping," her father said as he passed the doors. He looked exhausted, but considering the harrowing experience of trying to manage a household being shut down with a wife inconveniently going into labour, it was no surprise he was depleted. She just gave him a glance, but he was already clear of receiving it. Ever since Tahm Xin arrived, she had been utterly forgotten. Business as usual.

She didn't blame Tahm-Tahm. He didn't know what he was doing. Agni's blood, he didn't even know how to roll over. She was a little surprised that she wasn't more resentful, but then again, this was her brother. Mother had been trying for so long to give Mai a sibling, and perhaps quietly give the family a more suitable heir. Well, now she had it, and she was exulting with joy. It got on Mai's nerves.

"Come on, Mai. We don't have all day," Fu Yin said as he passed the doorway again.

"Really? Like Omashu would just dissolve into sand if you arrive there an hour too late?" Mai asked sarcastically. Father leaned into the room.

"Mai, I know how much apprehension you feel about this," apprehension didn't come close, "but this is the opportunity I've been waiting for – that we've been waiting for! A successful term of office overseeing and administering the first major city captured in the Earth Kingdom could place me as a permanent fixture in the court of the Fire Lord."

"And why would that be such a great thing? You know how he treats anybody whom he finds the slightest fault with," Mai said, her tone flat and empty. She felt a little empty bringing it up, too. Father got a stubborn look on his face.

"Look here, Mai. I understand you're bitter about the Prince's banishment, but his political gaffe almost destroyed my career."

"Oh, is that what I am to you?" Mai asked, her tone suddenly acidic. She'd often been told that she lacked the passion or rage to train to become a Firebender, but this instant, she could have set the house on fire with her eyes. "Am I just some political token? Some convenient bit of treasure that you'll just throw at the highest lord you can find and see if somebody will stoop down and pluck me up?"

"Mai, don't be so dramatic."

"Why not? I think if I'm going to be dramatic, it ought to be now!"

"Mai!" Fu Yin shouted. Mai recoiled a little, seeing that unlikely expression of anger on his face. "We have duty to our nation. Duty is in our blood! Our duty elevated us from the commoners with General Ataou during the time of Yangchen, when the Fire Nation was the world's favorite charity case, the world's greatest joke. Our duty held our family together and made what was the worst place in the world into the greatest civilization that this Earth has ever seen. And now, our duty sends us to Omashu. I will not have some short-sighted girl destroy the great legacy of this house, this family, and this bloodline with her petty rebellions. We are going to Omashu, and you are coming with us. Is that clear?"

Mai hung her head. She'd voiced her feelings, her desires, and once again, she was cut down. Just like always. She didn't matter. "Yes, Father," she said, so quietly. Fu Yin stared at her for a long moment, before taking a purifying breath, and taking a step backward, out of her room. He still had an uncharacteristically angry look on his face.

"Good. Now finish packing. We leave when Agni reaches quarter-waning," and with that, he left, leaving her alone in her dark room. It was red, like all rooms in this palace, but she'd specifically picked hers out several years ago. It was subdued, darker, less garish and eye-aching than the shade found in other places, like the Fire Palace. She liked it. But now, she was going to have to get used to brown, or whatever color that coward Bumi used to decorate. She sat down on her comfortably padded sofa, and dropped her head into her hands. She felt a particular emptiness inside her. She was alone. Exiled.

Briefly, her thoughts turned to Zuko. Ever the golden Phoenix prince, always kind, always considerate. Always there when she needed to rant to somebody about her parents, about her position, about her Agni-damned 'duty'. But then he was banished. Then Ty Lee, that often-times annoying little monkey of a girl, abandoned her family and joined the circus, of all unbelievable things. Then Azula began to turn inward, spending so much time in the Fire Palace, that Mai wasn't entirely sure she hadn't just died, and nobody felt like admitting it. And she was alone. The last of that unlikely motley of friends; two minor nobles, the prince and the princess.

She briefly considered crying, but it seemed like a dreadful waste of energy and water. Instead, almost mechanically, she put the last of the things she felt like bothering to take with her into a case, and then walked out of the room which had been her own, to a place where she didn't belong. Garish red, almost daring somebody to doubt their conviction to Fire, assaulted her. She could just go outside, wait in the palanquin for the rest of the family. But she had a thought. She turned and went up the stairs, past the storage room and onto the balcony on the roof. One last time, she stared up at Agni from its chosen homeland. She felt the heat as it was intended to be felt. She heard a squawk next to her. Annoying her out of her brief foray into nostalgia, she turned to the coop. A flight of hawks, known for more piercing cries, milled about. It would not have been they.

Throwing decorum to the wind, she reached purposefully but indelicately into the cage. She pushed past feathers and occasional fur – most likely a hawk's uneaten dinner, to which she scowled every time she passed over it – and finally closed her hand on something out of place. When she did, she felt a jabbing pain in her finger. Something was biting her. She didn't cry out in pain; that would be common. Instead, she bore with it and extracted the interloper. It was a silver pigeon-rat. She frowned at it, not quite understanding. She briefly looked at her hand. It hadn't been cut, but the nail had been smashed. No doubt it would go black with blood, soon. She'd have to do something about that.

Then she remembered. It struck her like lightning; Ty Lee gave her a present when she left, but Mai had never gotten around to opening it. She'd said that it was important, if she ever wanted to keep in touch. Mai had other problems, and it had passed to her servants. This must have been what Ty Lee had left her, something she had just never gotten around to noticing for more than three years. Ty Lee had left a part of herself, in her usual, ridiculous fashion, for Mai. If Mai were any other woman, she would have been touched. Mai, though, recognized that she didn't have much time.

Mai ignored the pain in her hand and rushed back to her father's study, the closest room with a full writing set. Knowing she didn't have time for proper etiquette and calligraphic procedure, she hastily flattened the paper and began to scribe in hasty, almost unforgivably sloppy symbols.

"Ty Lee, wherever you have gone, the day is grim. We are all exiles. Azula, vanished into cloister. You, departed with scandal. And now I, duty-bound to the lesser lands," Mai paused, tapping the brush on her fingers as she often did. She felt a flash of pain when she unconsciously did it on the wounded digit, and rubbed it. She glanced at her hand. Ink had covered several of her fingernails. Hmm. An interesting look. She glanced down at the paper. It was incomplete, and she knew it. She didn't know what to put. So she opted for simple, honest. Common. "I feel very alone, right now."

"Where could that girl have gotten to?" Father asked, as he rummaged through the house. Mai, her haste only evident in the speed of her movements, which were usually extremely fast to begin with, hastened the not-even-dry paper into the carrier, and shooed the bird out the window. With any luck, it would find Ty Lee. With Mai's luck, it would probably be eaten by a real hawk. Father came into the room just as Mai rose from her knees. "Why... what are you doing, Mai?"

Mai's expression was flat, her bright grey eyes deadened, and her tone, dreary. "Saying goodbye," she answered. She quietly moved passed him, and toward the stairs. "I'm ready to go."

Zhao was not amused. General Iroh: once Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and Dragon of the West; now, he was an aggravating old man. Iroh's broad, bearded face betrayed no emotion as he calmly, almost casually supped of tea. Zhao could have left others to watch Iroh, but the Dragon of the West was a reputation that bore one to be cautious. So a courteous invitation for tea and conversation seemed the best path. The old fool had agreed to it, after all.

"I must say," Iroh finally broke his silence. "I have had better tea."

"You and your damned tea," Zhao muttered. "I have had just about enough of this!"

"You ought to learn to prolong your temper. Rash action could be the end of you," Iroh said cryptically. Zhao went from not amused to outright angry. This was Fire Nation land, reached across Fire Nation water. The boy-prince had the audacity to violate his father, the Fire Lord's, order of banishment, and more annoying, thought a simple trick of smoke would throw Zhao off the trail. While he knew the moment he docked with the ship that the fallen prince would not be aboard, there were formalities to observe. Protocol to follow. A knocking came at the door.

"What is it?"

"We've searched the ship, sir," an Imperial firebender said quickly. "There is no trace of Prince Zuko aboard."

"Just Zuko. He is no longer prince of an anthill, let alone the Fire Nation. What of his effects?"

"Still aboard, sir."

"Dismissed," Zhao turned to Iroh, closing the door. "The boy is gone, but all of his effects remain aboard. How would you try to account for this, old man?"
"My nephew decided that he would seek impoverished enlightenment in meditation at the Northern Air Temple," Iroh said. Zhao scowled.

"Do not lie to me, old man."

"Why would I lie? Prince Zuko..."

"He is not a prince!" Zhao interrupted.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh stressed this time, "decided to better himself spiritually, rather than take part in a fool's errand. Bringing the Avatar to my brother will not restore his honor, and he is beginning to realize that."

"Yes, and if I believe that, then I am an airbender," Zhao snarked.

"Oh, I thought they had all died out. It's a pleasure to meet you," Iroh said. Sometimes Zhao didn't know whether the old man was being glib, or if he really was that stupid. Better to assume glib.

"The boy was here. He thought he could escape in the smoke, but you are going to tell us where he is, am I clear?"

"On who's authority, Captain Zhao?" Iroh asked. "I am a General, mind you."

"You're no General, Iroh. You are nothing. But right now, that is the best you can manage. Up until now, you were a traveling companion for the boy. You were on an over-long and unnecessary vacation. But if you choose to assist the idiot boy in his treason, then you will be throwing your lot in with him. You will be a criminal, and you will share the boy's fate."

"You would tell my brother that I came into Fire Nation waters, on the ship which I requested he give me, without anything but your suspicions about Prince Zuko, and you expect that Ozai will brand me a traitor and an outcast?" Iroh let out a belly laugh. "Oh, I didn't suspect you would have such a sense of humor!"

"You can't hide Zuko from me, not in my land."

"This is not your land, Captain Zhao," Iroh said.

"It is as much mine as it is yours, old man," Zhao said, his jaw tightening into an angry rictus. "While your ancestors were ruling from on high in the Fire Palace, mine were fighting to ensure its greatness. When Sozin ordered the extermination of the Air Nomads, my grandparents were there. In the Western Air Temple, when the Comet had just barely arrived. They did their duty to their nation. On the fourth and final day of the Comet, they were moved to the Southern Air Temple, and broke their spirits and destroyed their nation."

"But you met resistance, didn't you?" Iroh asked, pouring a new cup of tea.

"The other airbenders died like koala-sheep. Begging for us not to kill them, but never raising a hand to defend themselves."

Iroh sighed. "They were not begging for their lives, Captain Zhao, they were begging for your souls."

"Don't quibble semantics with me, old man," Zhao snapped. "One of them resisted. One. An ancient monk, alone and weeping. When the Imperial firebenders approached, he lashed out, a storm of rage which slay two dozen, before his many wounds brought him to death. My grandmother survived that carnage, my grandfather did not. Do not claim I know nothing of sacrificing for my country."
Iroh scoffed, tugging on his grey beard. "You suffered once, two generations ago, and call yourself a child of martyrs. Captain Zhao, I descend from those who were born to a nation stillborn. No leadership. No resources, the only arable land on risky, volcanic soil, which allowed no crop the Earth Kingdoms or Water Tribes could offer."

"Don't quote history to me, Iroh," Zhao said. "We developed as we did because we had to. There were no other options. It was advance, or die. We chose to advance. And now, our advancement makes us the greatest nation in the world."

"The greatest navy on the waves, or the greatest military machines on land, or even, were such a thing possible, the greatest fleet in the heavens; these would not make the Fire Nation great. It is folly to think so."

Zhao turned red with rage. But he held it in, just this once. He forced a calm expression onto his face. "What you're saying, Iroh, is dangerously close to treason in itself."

"The only treason is this tea. Bah! I would pour this into an ocean if I didn't think it would poison the fish," Iroh made a petulant face and set the tea aside. "I will not help you find my nephew. His path, he should walk alone, today. I was not much older than him when I left the Palace. And look what it got me!"

"Fat, old, alone, and stupid," Zhao answered. The old man put on a hurt expression. Zhao growled, turning away from the fallen general, the once Dragon of the West. He cast along his mind, trying to find something that made sense. Iroh was supposed to be an honorable, honest man. But he was obstinate and difficult to the point of insanity. Zhao swept his arm out in an arc, smashing the tea-kettle off the table and shattering it against the wall. Zhao slammed his fists down on the table, and the drawer popped open a bit.

"You should control your temper, Zhao. You'll live longer," Iroh said. But Zhao wasn't paying attention. He opened the drawer, and set the scrolls out on the table. The notion suddenly came into focus. It became an idea. The idea percolated, and he scanned, fingertip running along lines of characters, until it blossomed into a certainty. Yes. This Avatar was the reincarnation of Roku, once Great Citizen of the Fire Nation. While Zhao didn't bother messing about with the spirit realm, he did understand certain truths about it; namely, Zhao knew that the solstices were when the spirit and physical realms supposedly intersected. And the Avatar was without guidance from anybody alive. Which meant, he would have to derive guidance from one dead.

"Roku's Temple," Zhao said.

"What have you got there?" Iroh asked, trying to peek over Zhao's shoulder.

"Guard, remove this person from my ship," Zhao shouted. Iroh had proven to be useless. He could have come up with this plan all on his own. Come to think of it, Zhao had come up with the plan all on his own. And nobody could say otherwise.

"No, seriously, I'm very interested," Iroh kept trying to see.

"Something I picked up in a library a few years ago. You are no longer welcome on my ship, old man. Leave."

"Very well, I know not to overstay my welcome," Iroh said, just as the doors opened and Imperial firebenders entered the room. As calm and regal as the Fire Lord striding to his throne, the man who once could have been Fire Lord departed, guided but untouched by the soldiers who once would have died for him. It was for the best that Iroh abdicated, that Ozai had taken the throne. Had that old man remained, the Fire Nation would have crumbled at what was currently its strongest. Iroh was weak. He didn't deserve to rule. Only the strong, like Ozai, like Zhao, deserved to be masters of the world. And when Zhao handed Ozai the Avatar, he would become stronger still. Zhao the Avatar Hunter. Zhao the Invincible.