Zhao was not happy. People tended to die when Zhao was not happy. He stormed across his cabin and back, a slow fire burning through the gauntlets on his hands. It was one thing to be defeated. It was another to be humiliated in such a complete and total fashion. He walked over to the table, running his fingers along the map. The map smoked a bit when he did. There could be only one destination for the Avatar, now. He knew it with his soul. But there were other problems.

"– and the military ramifications of this technology can not be understated," Qin said, positively beside himself with glee, to the point where he was completely oblivious to the fact that Zhao was ignoring him. "If we can reverse engineer the advancements that the Machinist and that brilliant Tribesman built into the design, we could improve upon it. Not just for reconnaissance, but for..."

"Yes, I'm well aware of your pet projects. How's that drill coming along?" Zhao asked. Qin blanched a bit. "I thought as much. You spread yourself thin, and you don't ever really achieve anything. Not like me. I have one focus, one goal, and I will not fail in achieving it."

"I haven't seen that so far," Qin said, smugly.

"I have always been following the Avatar on his terms. Now, I will be following him on mine. The White Dragon fleet is mustered off the coast of Hui Lo, and they will advance on the north on my order."

"Only Ozai could give such an order," Qin pointed out.

"Fire Lord Ozai," Zhao pointedly corrected. "And he has vested me with a unique privilege; he has named me Grand Admiral of the North Armadas. I command everything from Chameleon Bay to the North Pole. Everything worth mentioning, anyway. So, you can go and play with your little toys: I have an invasion to plan."

In truth, his invasion was already planned out. He just didn't feel like talking any longer with a bureaucrat who considered himself Zhao's equal. Zhao had no equal. He would show the world that. Never mind that he had been goaded into destroying a good amount of his own machinery by the Avatar, who did not so much as attempt a single strike. Never mind that he had the Avatar firmly in his grasp at Red Peak Fortress, only to be stolen away by that Blue Spirit. No, those were temporary setbacks. Bumps in his path to greatness, something which would add flavor to the retelling when it was over. Or to be erased entirely, if he felt like it.

But there was a problem. Zuko. He thought back to that encounter, on their ship. They had, of course, categorically denied that they had any knowledge of, or involvement in, the actions of the Blue Spirit, but Zhao saw those weapons. The Twin Dao were a weapon not utilized by many. And while the claim was made that they were not actually weapons, Zhao could feel the lie of it under his fingertips. He had considered sending a missive to Ozai, informing the Fire Lord of the boy's treason... but that would take too long. Zhao was not a patient man. Not really.

A metallic clank sounded. A pause. Another clank. Steady as footsteps, the approached. There was a rapping of metal against metal at Zhao's door. Not even waiting for Zhao to answer, the outsider pushed the door inward with a metal hand. Its fingers were curved down, like it was trying to cup a cylinder, and it was solid metal right to his elbow. A useless prosthetic. His leg was much more useful. Metal like his arm, this one had shock absorbers, had pivots and bearings. A false limb, but one with utility. He ducked through the threshold, and rose to his full height, his shaved crown definitely rubbing on the ceiling.

"You are the agent I sent for?"

The bald man nodded once. He was an impressive figure; his beard, complete and not in Fire Nation style but quite short, didn't actually attach to anything. It ended above his ears with a bald head. He stared at Zhao.

"And you are willing to undertake this task?"

The agent nodded once. The most disconcerting thing about the agent was the tattoo in the center of his forehead. It stared out like a third, burning eye. Whispers told that it was his focus for his unique form of firebending, and that learning that form was what cost him his arm and leg. Little cost, because he was still enormous, still mobile, and still deadly.

"And you understand that there can be no screw ups? There are no second chances. If you fail in this, the blame can fall on you alone, as I will accept no responsibility. Is that clear?"

The agent stared at Zhao for a very long time, then gave what would have been a casual shrug of the shoulder, were he not burning with such intensity in his eyes. There was a reason this man demanded such a high price for his abilities; he was not one who accepted failure lightly. He turned toward the door, then paused. Waiting.

"You want to know who your target is?" he just stared at Zhao. "The Exiled Prince, Zuko. He is a traitor, and a threat to this nation," the agent just cracked his remaining knuckles against a steel hand. "And you will be paid your usual amount. But..."

The agent stopped and turned to Zhao completely again. Even without saying a word, Zhao knew that he was in a particularly impatient mood. Zhao could appreciate. "This is a job which requires subtlety. While your usual methods are extremely effective, I need something which gives me a measure of plausible deniability. It will be 'a terrible tragedy' which befell our nation's once proud prince in foreign lands, inexplicable, and unpredictable. Can you do this?"

The agent took in, then released, a long, almost angry breath. Then, after another awkward silence, he nodded, once. Zhao smirked, and reached into his lock box to produce a small bag of Gold Disks. The coins were not large, but they represented the combined earning potential of an entire village for a decade. He tossed it to the agent. It bounced off his wide chest, and landed on the floor in front of him. He looked down at it, and then back up to Zhao. "That is your payment. Up front, as you always stipulate."

The agent let out a low, deep grunt, then stooped down and picked up the bag. It vanished into his tunic. Zhao rose his voice one more time as he was preparing to duck back out of the threshold. "One more thing. I have said that time is of the essence. This needs to be done quickly and quietly, or at least, quickly. Alright?" The agent looked at him with those same, entirely-too-intense eyes, but now, they were entirely-too-intense disinterest. The agent stared at Zhao for a long moment, then vanished out of the room. The metal clank marked his exit from he corridor, and eventually, from the ship itself.

Things were coming along quite nicely. A smirk found its way onto Zhao's face as he ran his fingers along the map of the world. It rested first on Sozin City, political capitol of the Fire Nation. Soon, of the world, do doubt. It moved north, along the horn of the East Continent, past the Hui Jungles, to the colony at Hui Lo. The mightiest fleet in the world, waiting for him. Across the seas which, despite its very element fighting them, the Fire had mastered. To the north pole. To the Water Tribe.

He reached over and locked his door, before opening up a secret compartment under his file drawer. He pulled the smaller of the two scrolls out of it, and opened it. The Great Library of Wan Shi Tong had been quite illuminating about a great many subjects. The mad old spirit tried to make sure more information came in than was taken out, but Zhao managed to upset that balance. The Avatar claimed to have a way with the spirits, but only Zhao could use them as he saw fit. He opened that sacred, impossible scroll again. Push and pull, Tui and La. Paired spirits. Paired forms. Paired, vulnerable, fleshy forms.

The Avatar was now low on his priorities. If he could capture the Avatar... again... it would be a tiny boon compared to the accolades he would acquire by bringing down the only organized opposition that remained to the Fire Nation's control of the seas. Zhao, the conqueror. But there were still things which troubled him.

"The men are restless," he said to himself. "They are not up to an assault of this magnitude; they'll need something to strengthen their backbones. They need a figurehead, an icon," suddenly, the smirk had reestablished itself on his face, and would not be chased away again. "Somebody like the Dragon of the West," he turned and spoke into the horn which stood next to the door. "Set a course for Hichiman Island. Full speed. We have a rendezvous to make with the Dark Prince."

"Winter, spring / summer and fall. Winter, spring / summer and fall. Four seasons / four loves. Four seasons / four loves," Iroh sang. The island was quiet; despite being a protectorate of the Fire Nation, they were not the same bustling, always-busy folk which the nation spawned. This was another culture, cousins at best to the Fire Nation, and a refreshing one for the old general. Jee quietly strummed on his pipa, accompanying Iroh. He'd tried to get Dong to play the tsungi horn, but Dong couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. So the minimal song would be the best they could have.

"Water, earth / fire and air. Four elements / one world," he continued. He had invited Zuko, but the young prince sat near the door to the bunks. He was in one of his moods, again. The men, though, welcomed the levity. Yuan and Jia were dancing together to the song. Good for them. Although, it was good that Zuko wasn't paying attention, and better, that he'd never been very keen on Fire Nation etiquette; their dance was one popular in Ba Singh Se. Some would consider that a cultural betrayal. Iroh was just glad that his crew had some morale left. Footfalls caught his attention over the banging of rivets into the deck plates. Calamity seemed to follow this poor little ship. Iroh wondered if the universe had decided to make its name an ironic joke. Jee played a sour note, and Iroh turned to the ramp. The skull helmets of Imperial firebenders appeared above the rail and they moved onto the ship like they owned it. Which they didn't. It was Iroh's ship. He stopped singing, and gave them a sour look.

"Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to interrupt a party, Zhao?" he asked, quietly. Zhao emerged from the center of his 'honor guard', and faced Iroh with a smirk. Iroh didn't like it when Zhao smirked; it usually meant that somebody was about to get hurt.

"My mother told me what I needed to know," Zhao said. "That power is important. That we do what we must to gain it, and to maintain it," Zhao's smirk turned to a malevolent smile. Iroh didn't like this. Zhao was usually quite easy to bait, and gave away much when he lost his temper. This time, though, he obviously had things in his favor, or at least, he thought he did. "We should speak in private."

"These men are off duty. You can speak in front of them," Iroh said gently. "Unless this is a matter of Fire Nation military policy, they should be allowed to continue their fun."

Zhao's smirk didn't alter one whit. "You're right. They can hear this. It concerns them directly, after all."

Iroh didn't like the way this was settling. He turned to Zuko and shouted to him. "Zuko! I need you."

"For the last time, I'm not playing the tsungi horn!" Zuko shouted back. Then, he looked up from his bleak and saw Zhao. His eyes widened.

"You should pay better attention, Prince Zuko," Iroh said. He beckoned the youth over. Zuko didn't look too pleased. The dichotomy of the two men, Zuko and Zhao, was staggering. Triumphant against defeated. Enraged versus melancholy. Exultant against dour. Corrupted against pure. "What do you want, Captain Zhao?"

Zhao's smile began to bare teeth, and not happily. "Arch-Admiral Zhao," he said. "I'm taking your men."

"WHAT?" Zuko roared.

"Your little rag-tag of miscreants and misfits has been conscripted by the Fire Nation to aid an expedition to the North Pole. Iroh, you are requested to join me," Zhao said. Zuko seethed, his earlier melancholy burned away in fury. Such a change was a worrying one.

"I cannot leave my nephew alone and stranded on this island," Iroh said firmly.

"Oh, did I say request?" Zhao chuckled. "Consider it a demand."

Zuko's eyes widened. "You can't do that! You have no authority!"

"Your father gave me the authority, boy," Zhao said. Iroh saw the pattern forming. He didn't like it. "Fire Lord Ozai recommended in the strongest possible terms that his brother, the Dragon of the West, involve himself in the invasion of the Northern Water Tribe. I believe the missive included the words 'or else'."

"Then why are you taking the crew?" Zuko demanded.

"Every experienced hand will be vital in the coming invasion. We are going to be fighting hundreds of waterbenders. These people have suffered at the hands of their ilk; I don't doubt that they're more than willing to have a bit of revenge."

Iroh doubted it. These men had been rescued, every one. While each was skilled in their respective task and role, Iroh had spent the last ten years collecting them. Ever since he began to understand the meaning of the cost that shaman had asked of him. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he did some good, then he could perhaps balance what bad he had done in his life. A notion occurred to him. "Even the cook?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Zhao smirked at Iroh. "Especially the cook."

Iroh moaned at his misfortune. Zuko stepped forward. "You can't do this," he said.

"I already have, boy."

"Don't call me 'boy'," Zuko growled. "I am Crown Prince Zuko, heir of the Fire Nation."

Zhao burst out laughing at that. Zuko took a step back out of alarm. The laughing face of Zhao was so incongruous that it seemed some demon or spirit had momentarily taken over Zhao's body, making it work against its nature. Or else, this was of Zhao's nature, but it had been twisted into something wholly unnatural.

"Oh, you didn't hear, did you?" Zhao asked. "How could you have? You're living on the fringes of society. Boy, you are not 'Zuko, crown prince and heir to the Fire Nation'. You are the Dark Prince, heir to nothing. You, are nothing. Azula was declared Crown Princess several weeks ago," Zhao's grin grew wide and wrathful. "Even if you could go home, you would never... EVER... be Fire Lord."

Zuko rushed at Zhao with a guttural roar, but Iroh interposed himself between them. "No, Zuko! Please!"

"You're lying!" Zuko shouted.

"Why would I lie? I already have everything I need," Zhao said, his voice calm, but his eyes vicious and cruel. "Iroh. Please, join me on my ship."

"You can't take us," Jee said, moving his pipa to his back. "Most of these men aren't even soldiers."

"You're right. That's why I said 'conscripted', firebender," Zhao said. "And don't think I forgot about you. You're quite right about yourself. I can't conscript you. You've been dishonorably discharged. We can't trust you in a life-or-death situation. Guards, put him in irons."

"Zhao, wait!" Iroh implored, forestalling the bedlam. "Please, it is late. Let me consider things."

"You're right. I am a reasonable man," hardly. "I will have your answer at sunrise tomorrow. Iroh, I am looking forward to working with you."

Zhao turned and walked away, and the firebender guards went with him. When he reached the head of the ramp, he turned, and shot a smirk at Zuko. "I'm sorry you can't be there when I capture the Avatar, but I can't have you getting in the way, again."

Zuko shifted in Iroh's hands, trying to throw himself at the Admiral, but Iroh managed to hold him in place. "Please, Prince Zuko. There will be another day!"

"When?" Zuko asked, his voice laced with a murderous rage. "How? Am I supposed to man this ship alone?"

"Prince Zuko, you have to trust me on this. Please."

Zuko stopped pushing toward the retreating Zhao, and turned toward the water. He stared at the water for a long moment, then turned and bent a blast of fire which incinerated the drums and sent the crew fleeing out of the way. He then turned his rage to the solid wall of the helm. Punches flew, each one landing in the steel, powered by powerful firebending, until the metal grew red and weak. His final kick put a sizable dent in the bulkhead, and Zuko fell to a seat with his back to the rail, his fingers digging into his scalp.

Iroh moved closer, trying to offer some comfort to his nephew. "Prince Zuko..."

"I'm not a prince," Zuko said, his voice quavering a bit. Iroh could see tear trails where they had reached, before the heat boiled them away. "I'm nobody."

"You are not nobody, nephew. You will regain your honor. Trust in that."

"Just leave me alone," Zuko said quietly. Iroh sighed quietly.

"Then I will leave you to your meditation," he said. "And your solitude. Whatever makes you happy."

Jee looked furtively between the prince – and he was still a prince, damn Zhao's traitorous eyes – and the retired and debatably disgraced general. "General Iroh, what are we going to do?"

"Do what Zhao says," Iroh said quietly. "If you ever want to see the Fire Nation again."

"But, what about us? I will not be a prisoner again," Jee said. Iroh leaned toward the disgraced firebender, and pitched his tone low.

"Run," he said. "Vanish into the Earth Kingdoms or the unaligned lands. And do it tonight. I am sorry, but this is the only freedom that I can give you, now."

Jee stared hard at Iroh, but then, quite unexpectedly, he leaned low, giving the Burning Rock, the traditional Hui salute. "It has been a great honor, Dragon of the West."

Iroh smiled, then bend himself, returning the Burning Rock to Wei. "It has been mine. Live well."

"I fear none of us will. What will you do about Zuko? Do you think he's going to pursue the Avatar alone?"

"I said I would come up with something. As long as I draw breath, I will not abandon Prince Zuko," Wei's brows drew down. "He is still prince. He will be Fire Lord. I know it in my soul."

"Then... I guess I can only say I hope we meet in gentler days."

"If we live long enough to see them," Iroh said. And he watched as Jee went into the bowels of the ship to take the last remaining skiff. Below the decks, the rhythmic banging of the workers with their tools trying to patch up this ship one more time continued. He'd might as well call them off. He sighed, feeling a growl of hunger. Tomorrow. Their day was almost done, anyway. Without another word, but a sinking feeling in his chest, he walked down the ramp. He knew in his heart he would never sail the seas on that ship again.

I have a feeling we'll be seeing Jee again some time in the future.