I wonder how many of you poor souls are sticking it out at this stage. If you'd given up, I don't blame you, honestly.
In my defence, I rewrote a lot of this, several times. I probably had about 18000 words of raw text all up, between all the chopping and changing. I'm trying my best to not make this something I cobble together in the first draft and slap up as soon as it's done.
Probably comes off as that though. Oh well. Disclaimer, etc.
"How's it going in there, Lee?"
Zuko looked up from the compartmented tray at the sound of his boss's voice, blinking as he was shaken out of his torpor.
"Almost done." Xi Quan sidled up to his new apprentice, looking over his shoulder at the half-formed block of tiles.
"Very good... They all look to be the right way around. Centred nicely. Not lopsided. Excellent, Lee. You've caught on very fast."
"Thank you, sir." Zuko murmured. Xi Quan straightened up, turning away.
"Good. Now, can I leave you alone for a short time? I ordered four reams of paper from Tin Yang and it was supposed to be here two days ago. I'll have to go and pester him. His factory is a short walk, I won't be very long. Just tidy up around the press if I'm not back when you've finished."
"That's fine." Zuko nodded. Xi Quan whistled to himself as he left the dimly-lit back room, closing the door behind him, leaving Zuko alone in the half-light. The teenager sighed as he lifted his head, looking around at the tall drawers housing thousands upon thousands of tiles in five carefully regulated sizes.
Zuko didn't think, even just a week ago, that he would be apprenticed to a master printer, resigning himself to eeking out a modest existence in the doomed city. But it was a sense of restlessness, and a desperate need to find some kind of purpose to fill the days that were otherwise absorbed in a tumultuous and excruciating self-examination, consistently ending with a resounding assurance of his own failure and shortcomings. Zuko was driven to work by both a desire to prove to himself that he could be good at something, and a more practical realisation that he had to provide some kind of contribution to the struggling family that had fed him, and found a place in their overcrowded apartment to rest his head. He purged his trunk of personal possessions, which Meng admitted to loading up and pilfering from his former home in the Upper Ring. The temptation of the empty apartment filled with expensive treasures was too much for the young man who had never known of luxury, although he took far more than Zuko had need for, who spread the furnishings around the household. The row of spices and tea leaves in their glass jars now rested on Shan's spice rack in her modest kitchen. He also gifted her the cutlery and tea set, and gave the books to Jin's father, who was surprisingly literate, and the games to Jin's young brothers. His finest set of robes he gave to Meng, which Jin cleverly lengthened. When he heard the girl murmur whilst sewing that he would probably try and visit his old flame, an Upper Ring girl, Zuko also gave him the tiny bejewelled bird as a possible present. He gave the other clothes to Jiro and kept the plainest robe for himself. The blankets and cushions were spread over Jin's bed, and she was more than happy to receive Iroh's old robes, on which she slowly worked, with the help of her mother, to turn into short summer dresses for herself. He gave away everything, except the plainest of the clothes, his own box of worthless trinkets with the concealed secret, and of course, the picture of his dead cousin.
But what good were silver spoons and gold-rimmed plates without food to eat them with? He wasn't going to depend on the struggling family more than he needed to, and his own promise to keep the lemur fed spurred his decision to find paid work. Minsheng offered to ask around the small handful of members he knew, but Zuko declined. He wasn't going to get any more handouts. He finally saw the sign in the window of the printing press after several long days of searching. Zuko wasn't stupid – it wasn't manual labour, and he would be hard pressed to find something that wasn't cleaning up after someone else. Xi Quan tested him, asking Zuko to read aloud from several sheets of paper that ranged from newspaper articles to long-worded and complicated government reports. Astounded at Zuko's level of literacy, the ageing man who no longer had the eyesight to rifle through the hundreds of drawers containing thousands upon thousands of characters stamped on metal tiles hired the boy on the spot. Zuko himself wasn't interested in what he was printing. The concept, however,interested him and he closely watched his new boss ink the carefully organized row of tiles and feed the paper through the machine. Printed books were not often found in his fathers' palace, the royal family preferring meticulously illuminated manuscripts that took thousands of hours to produce. They were one of a kind. Zuko wasn't interested in the beautiful as much as he was the practical – and the large, iron machine cranked by Xi Quan's hand, churning out hundreds of pages of text per hour, now that was interesting.
Zuko looked from the handwritten sheet, annotated heavily with notes on formatting, centring, and lettering size. It was a short one-page flyer that was going to be given out at a business dinner for a very famous lawyer in the Middle Ring in a weeks' time. Zuko wondered idly if the dinner would even go ahead – what if the city had been invaded by then? It had been a week already, and nothing had happened. No Fire Nation soldiers, no tanks or airships, and not even an announcement. But the whisperings were slowly crowing in volume as the news of Azula's successful coup filtered through the city, and everyone had noticed the disappearance of the Dai Li, who had abandoned their nighttime patrols and stopped arresting the citizens. Not everything was going quite as it had before, and the citizens of Ba Sing Se, despite their anxiety, openly embraced this new form of freedom, to the point of recklessness. New pubs sprung up, remaining open until the dawn. Nearly every night for the past week, Jin had persuaded Zuko to 'come out' with her friends, to a pub, a play, a late-night party at someone's house. He drank most nights, as everybody else in the group did, talking and laughing, making friends, and feeling relaxed and happy for hours. He woke up in the morning with a sore head and a bone-dry mouth, but as Jin said, it was an 'occupational hazard' (as though binge-drinking was some sort of compulsory obligation) and after a cup of what she called her special hangover brew, Zuko felt right as rain and more than ready for work. Refugees began to openly talk about their former homes and news of the War was discussed on the street. Jiro had already started up a political dissidence group, where a number of him and other young idealists met in full light and talked about the new possible forms of government. Zuko had gone along, and although he inwardly rejected most of the ideas debated by the other young men and women, he found a number of ideas – such as tax rate that adjusted for wealth, and a senate filled with elected officials and a leader chosen by the people - downright intriguing. They kept him up at night, and he fuzzily turned them over and over in his mind, debating within himself the possibility of all these radical ideas suggested by the uneducated but enthusiastic young men and women. Surely, they had been thought of before. They sounded new, but they took little effort to come up with. Someone must have tried to implement them before. Of course, you had to have the right leader to implement those sorts of laws. Did his father really care about making people less impoverished? Probably not.
"Right sort of leader." Zuko murmured aloud to himself in the otherwise silent room. What was the right sort of leader? Someone who kept their citizens under control? Someone who tried to further the wealth and power of their state? Someone who listened when people had ideas and tried their best to keep everyone as happy and comfortable as possible? Zuko had learned very quickly that it was impossible to completely have it all. Something had to give. For a long time, in both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom, the wellbeing of the people, had suffered in the name of power and control – and in Zuko's eyes, this was a mistake.
Just then, the lamp flickered and died.
Zuko swore in the dark, setting the heavy frame against the open draw. It had been sputtering for a while – he had been too distracted to replenish the oil. Zuko flattened his hand to bring forth a small flame whilst he refilled the lamp, and turned in the direction of the supply cabinet.
Except there was no fire.
Zuko frowned, and tried again. Nothing. Just a thin plume of smoke that he could faintly smell. He tried with his left hand. No fire.
What is going on? Maybe he wasn't concentrating. Zuko closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, counting to ten, before trying again. Nothing was coming out. How is this happening? Panic began to swell in his throat. Zuko blundered in the dark, fumbling for a candle and the spark rocks. He heard the crash of a tray of tiles being knocked to the ground, and the shuffling of an upset stack of papers. Finally, his hand closed over a stick of wax, and the two small rocks. Zuko wedged the candle between his hip and the edge of the wooden table, lighting the wick with shaking hands. He found the candlestick in the shadows, and when the candle was righted, he rubbed his hands together, trying to calm himself. It was useless to try when he was upset. Zuko closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly. Eventually, he opened his eyes, to see the flame waxing and waning with his own breath. Zuko cradled his hands around the flame, coaxing the fire to grow. It swelled at his compulsion, and when he drew his hands away, Zuko was able to hold a tiny flame in his palm. Carefully, Zuko compelled it to grow. It did. He clenched his hands into fists, the fire dying. Keeping himself calm, Zuko tried to summon fire again. Nothing but a tiny wisp of grey smoke again. Zuko kicked the leg of the table.
"The fuck is going on!" He crouched on the ground, head in his hands. This can't be happening. Losing his bending... It was an impossible nightmare. It's not possible it can't be this has never happened before to anyone before why is this happening to me it can't-
Zuko must have blacked out. It seemed to him no time had passed, but when he finally snapped out of his torpor, Xi Quan was shaking his shoulder, shouting something in his ear.
"Lee! Lee can you hear me? Lee?" Zuko's head snapped up with a gasp. "Lee, what's wrong."
"Nothing." Zuko was breathless. "I-I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Xi Quan helped Zuko to stand, leading him to a chair. "I found you passed out on the floor! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Zuko repeated as he sat down in his chair. "I-I'll be all right." He pressed a hand to his forehead. He still couldn't believe it. I can't be losing my bending. It was an intolerable thought.
"Drink this." A cup of cold water was pressed into his hands. Zuko took a few meagre sips obediently. He felt physically sick. "I'm going to send a messenger-boy to get someone to come pick you up."
"I'm fine." Zuko tried to sound firm, but he sounded very weak. "I don't need anyone to-"
"You need to go and lie down." Xi Quan withdrew a little, his hand on Zuko's shoulder. He looked the boy in the eye. "I'm not letting you walk home alone."
"Please, I'll be all right." Zuko begged. "If my girlfriend hears about this, she'll go crazy."
"And quite rightly." Xi Quan pressed his hand against Zuko's forehead. "You're very hot. You must be coming down with something."
"I'm fine." Zuko didn't know how many times he could repeat himself. He sagged a little in relief, however. If his skin was hot, his core body temperature was still well above that of a non-bender. He still had his heat. Just not the fire... "Please Xi Quan. I just need to sit down for a little bit, and I'll get right back to work."
"Oh, no." The elderly man shook his head. "You're not touching another tile today. I'm going to get a messenger-boy. Stay here." Xi Quan walked through to the front room, and on to the outside street. Zuko rested his head in his shaking hands, overcome with the overwhelming urge to break down in sobs. What did I do to deserve this? It wasn't an overreaction in Zuko's eyes – to him, his bending was everything. It wasn't just a preferred method of fighting. His own identity was so tightly knit with his bending abilities. His own escalation in skill was a testament to his own emotional maturity over the past few months. The strength of his own fire was an indication of his royal blood – the Royal family was said to be descended from Agni himself – what kind of son of Agni couldn't control fire? Without his firebending, he was nothing.
"Lee? Where does your girlfriend live again? You live with her and her family, don't you?"
"No!" Zuko's head snapped up. "I-I mean..." He licked his lips. "I do, but... Can I get someone else to come and get me?" He couldn't face Jin like this. He was too proud to see her sympathetic eyes and her comforting embrace. He needed to speak to his Uncle. And if not him, then the closest link he had left. "She'll get all fussy and to be honest I just want to be treated normally."
"As long as it's someone who can keep an eye on you."
"Thanks." Zuko rubbed at his eyes. "Um, Minsheng, the owner of the Dancing Monkey over on the south-east."
"I've had a drink there once or twice." Xi Quan nodded and stepped out into the front room. Zuko could hear him talking to the messenger-boy for a few moments, before returning to the back room. "Is he a relation?"
"He's a friend of my Uncles." Zuko said quietly. "He's helped me out before and ever since my Uncle... Um, left, he's been keeping an eye on me."
"That's fine then." Xi Quan noticed his apprentice's stall in his speech, but didn't press further. He bent down and picked up the scattered tray of tiles, his failing eyes squinting in the dim light. He'd lit the lamp, but it didn't help to distinguish between the letters, or even tell if he'd swept them all off the floor. "You'll have to resort these tiles tomorrow Lee, I don't have a hope anymore."
"Of course." Zuko nodded weakly, his hands twisting and turning in his lap. His mind was still very far away. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise." Xi Quan waved his hand. "I'm just glad you didn't knock the candle over. Imagine, you could have been burned alive, with all this paper around."
"Y-Yes." Maybe he could have. There was a lump in Zuko's throat. He felt as hopeless and vulnerable as a child. "Are you sure you can complete everything today?"
"The flyers aren't due to be out until tomorrow afternoon anyway, so that doesn't matter. We'll have to rush in the morning, though. Do you think you'll be all right for tomorrow?"
"I'll be fine." Zuko said quickly. "I'm feeling better already. Really."
"Take the day, rest, and come in a little earlier than normal." Xi Quan bent down to pick up the stack of papers. Really, he was a very kindly boss – he'd been badly mistreated during his own apprenticeship, and vowed instead to nurture his apprentice, and encourage a fascination for the industry and make him feel appreciated through good treatment, rather than insults and beatings. Unfortunately, in the past twenty years of running the press as a Master, finding the 'perfect' apprentice, who had a full education (nothing less was possible when it came to laying the type) but also the subservience and willingness to do the 'grunt' work for low wages, as it was with any apprenticeship, had been a long and arduous struggle. And with his eyesight beginning to fail, Xi Quan grew even more nervous about the future of his business and his own job security. This young, bright boy with flawless literacy and a genuine interest in printing seemed to be a gift sent by the Spirits. Word had already gotten around about Xi Quan's new apprentice, and the man had already caught an underling of one of his rivals trying to coax him to 'take a tour' of his press. Lee was without a doubt the future of his business, and he wasn't going to lose him to stress, illness, or the poaching of another rival. If it meant giving him an afternoon off, even when he insisted he was fine, so be it. Besides – Lee was obviously sick. His face was the colour of paper, he couldn't stop his lower lip from trembling, and there were deep shadows under his eyes.
"I can do that." Zuko nodded. "I don't want to leave you in the lurch."
"I'm sure I can manage an afternoon after going without an apprentice for a month." Not that it was fun – Orders had piled up to the extent that he begrudgingly had to cancel most of them, or redirect them to his rivals. "I want you to go rest and get better." Xi Quan stood up, and took the candle with him to closely examine the type Zuko had half-completed. "The rest of this is in the larger sizing. I'll try laying it myself." The bell in the front of the store tinkled. "Well, that was quick." He left the door ajar as he walked into the front room. Zuko took the cup of water from the table and took a long gulp. His mouth was very dry.
"Is he all right?"
"Yes, fine. I think he had some sort of turn, or he's coming down with something. He's not flushed, but he's got a bad fever." Zuko leaned back and closed his eyes as Minsheng walked into the back room.
"Lee, what happened?" Zuko opened his eyes slowly, hands still in his lap.
"Nothing." He replied weakly, pulling himself out of the chair. "I'll be fine, I just didn't want Jin to fuss." There was a deep frown on Minsheng's face as he analysed the boy. He certainly looked ill.
"Well... Come with me and I'll sit you by the fire and get some food into you." Minsheng directed Zuko out of the room with his arm around his shoulders, confused. Why would he ask for him and not his girlfriend?
"Get some rest." Xi Quan advised as they entered the front room. It was much lighter, and Zuko had to squint against the light. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lee."
"You will." Zuko promised as he was led into the bright sunshine. As soon as they were into a quiet by-street, Minsheng stopped, holding Zuko in place with a hand on his shoulder.
"What's going on?" He demanded quietly, the frown still etched on his face. "Why did you ask for me?"
"I..." Zuko passed a hand over his eyes, drawing in a breath. "I didn't know who else to turn to. I need you to get me some kind of communication with my Uncle, I-"
"Oh, spirits, not this again." The man sighed. "Listen, I can't just let you wander in there, and there's no way of smuggling a letter in or out. Turns out the Dai Li are guarding him, we can't do anything."
"You have to!" Zuko pulled away angrily. "I have to talk to him, now. You don't understand what's happening to me!"
"It's not possible, you just have to accept-"
"I've lost my bending!" Zuko shouted over the elder man, hands trembling. Minsheng froze, the anger on his face sinking to confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"I can't make fire anymore." He started pacing back and forth in front of Minsheng. "I-I can control it, I can make it bigger and hold it in my hands, but I can't create it." He stopped. "Something's gone wrong. I've never heard of this happening to anyone before. I need to talk to Uncle, he's the only one in the city with any knowledge of firebending. He's the only one who can figure out what's wrong with me."
"I see." Minsheng had a finger against his chin, staring at the ground in thought. "That is strange." Despite his mild disposition, he was genuinely concerned. "I'm not sure if he's the only help you can get."
"Why?" Zuko's head snapped up. "Do you know another bender in the city?"
"What? No, goodness no. Who would be so foolish, amongst the Dai L..." He faltered, realising his faux pas. "At any rate, it's not a person, but it's the best you'll get here. I know you're upset, but trying to visit your uncle at this stage, or even smuggle in a letter, will seal your own fate." Minsheng turned, and began to walk in the other direction, leaving Zuko frozen for a moment.
"So... He never got my letter?" His shoulders slumped. Minsheng looked over his shoulder, giving a tiny smile.
"I'm so sorry, Lee. We tried. But it goes without saying, there's no Dai Li on our side, and Azula isn't letting anyone else near him for security reasons."
"He thinks I betrayed him." Zuko closed his eyes. "That I'm working with her."
"One thing at a time." Zuko felt the other man tug at his sleeve. "I'll get something to him for you, somehow. It might even be easier in the Fire Nation. The White Lotus extends her arms throughout the world. I just have to hand it on to someone who will hand it on to someone else, and it might make it to him. We can do no more for you." He led Zuko back into the busy street. "Now. There's something I would like you to take a look at."
"What is it?" Zuko demanded, weaving through the busy crowd. Minsheng wasn't looking back as he marched through the street.
"History."
"Breathe in."
Azula obeyed the instruction, and forced down the pain in her ribs, keeping her eyes closed. The lantern on the table swelled and shrivelled with her breath. The hand pressed against her side was a little colder than her skin, leaving goosebumps. She continued the long, slow breathing until the hand at her side pulled away.
"All right. Can you stand up, and raise your arms?"
Azula opened her eyes, and nodded wordlessly. She slid down from the bench and stood with her feel shoulder-width apart. This man was said to be the best doctor in the entire Earth Kingdom, the Earth King's own personal physician. She wasn't going to trust anyone but the best with her own health. The doctor pressed his hands against both sides, mumbling under his breath.
"I need you to take some clothing off; I can't feel the ribs underneath the fabric." Azula nodded in assent, untying the sash and unclasping her tunic, which she draped over the bench. He ran his fingers along her side. "Hm, are you wearing anything beneath your undershirt...?"
"Of course." Azula lifted the shirt over her head, standing in her underwear and silk trousers. She could see her side in the mirror, mottled black and purple. The doctor blinked and adjusted his spectacles carefully.
"That's some nasty bruising. What did you say happened again?"
"I didn't." Azula's teeth were gritted.
"It looks like a very heavy, blunt instrument. Was it earth bending?"
"Yes." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. He gave a low whistle.
"It was a very good shot, it must have hu-"
"Are you finished?" Azula snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. "I only asked for a simple examination."
"Deepest apologies, Princess." He bowed deeply and returned to examining her side. "Can you raise your arms and breathe again for me?"
"Yes." Azula stretched her arms heavenward, breathing deeply. Damn, it hurt. It was some time before the doctor stepped away, frowning.
"They're definitely broken." He announced, adjusting his spectacles again. "Two of them are broken completely through the bone. These ones here." He touched the blackest skin, lightly. "The two above and below are probably cracked in a similar area. You took a very bad knock, Princess Azula. How much pain are you in?"
"It's bearable." She said shortly. "How long before it's healed?"
"You should be in bed right now." He took of his glasses and dapped at his watery eyes with a handkerchief. "Even a slight jolt or knock could send one of the bones into your lungs." Azula's fists instinctively clenched. "I can't bind them up, because you will still have to breathe. I don't know if there's much I can do. You need to be-"
"How long." She repeated slowly and evenly. He was trying her patience.
"Several months." The doctor gabbled quickly, backing away from the Princess. "Until the Autumn, at the very lea-"
"I don't have several months." She turned, so the doctor couldn't see her face. "Leave."
"P-Princess Azula, you need to re-"
"Leave!" He didn't need telling twice. She heard the middle-aged man shuffling rapidly, and the opening and shutting of the door. With a long sigh, Azula sank into the edge of the bench, head in her hands.
This was the worst thing that could happen. Months? She couldn't be out of action until the Autumn! She couldn't miss the Comet! It was her true opportunity to showcase the extent of her power, to crush her enemies once and for all, while her father looked on in pride. She would get a second opinion. The doddering old fool had no idea what he was talking about. She would get a proper, Fire Nation physician to look at her properly, put some kind of cast or splint on them so it would heal rapidly.
In her heart, Azula knew it was a delusion. The black skin on her side, the incredible pain whenever she breathed deeply, they told the story plainly. She had been hurt, badly. How could she rule Ba Sing Se in this state? Worse, how could she track down and eliminate the Avatar's allies? She wasn't going to sink as low as to hire someone else to do her dirty work.
She wasn't that desperate yet.
"Azula?" Her head snapped up at the sound of the timid voice on the other side of the door. Ty Lee. "Azula, can I come in? I have a letter from the Fire Lord."
"Come in." She replied distractedly, fumbling for her undershirt. She struggled to put it on before Ty Lee entered the room, but the younger girl saw the black and purple along Azula's ribs, looking even worse against her ivory skin. Ty Lee swallowed, but pretended she had seen nothing.
"This just came in." Azula stood up and accepted the scroll, tied in a black ribbon.
"Thank you." Azula broke the seal and let the ribbon drift to the floor. She read the letter quickly, biting her lip. She skipped through the hyperbolic pleasantries, but read with relish his praise of her success, a smile twitching on her lips. Halfway through, Azula finally reached the point of the letter.
After much deliberation, I have decided that Ba Sing Se should remain as intact as possible. The extensive industrialisation of this city has a potential to bring vast prosperity to our great nation. In order to utilise the human and material wealth of the city most efficiently, I have ordered General Mung to assume the role of Governor over Ba Sing Se. His impressive success in the construction and development of the Jang Hui smelting factory has proven that he would be an excellent overseer for the management of Ba Sing Se, and I believe he would thrive under such an opportunity. He will be flown in on my personal airship, and should arrive within a week of this letter. I trust that you will be very accommodating to him. I am told that armed and naval forces will arrive very shortly to secure the cit. You should position some of your Dai Li agents on the outer wall to greet them. They will have more specific information regarding the last phase of the capture of Ba Sing Se. Once General Mung has assumed his role, you are to return with that Earth Kingdom rebel Jet and the disgraced ex-General Iroh. I cannot stress enough how imperative it is that your uncle remain in our custody. When you have returned home, we shall discuss the issue of your traitorous brother further.
The rest of the letter was uninteresting. Azula read it carelessly, and rolled up the scroll with her eyes on the ground. In part, she was relieved. Her father had bought her story, believing the Avatar to be dead. He had smothered her with praise, and was entrusting the next phase of the invasion to her. As far as he knew, nothing was amiss.
"Interesting." Azula clenched the letter in her fist, watching as it burst into blue flames. Ty Lee started, staring wide-eyed at the burning scroll.
"What's going to happen?" She breathed, watching Azula pull on her tunic. "Are we staying here?"
"For now." Azula wound the green sash about her waist, mind ticking over. General Mung. She didn't know much about the man – he wasn't one of her fathers' best and brightest. Rather, he had been relegated to a small town on the outskirts of the country. Why had he chosen him? He must have done something quite spectacular at the Jang Hui factory, to be given such an opportunity.
Azula straightened, her side twinging in pain. This was a bigger trouble for her. How am I going to get anything done with this? How could she fight, when a soft knock could kill her? Was it a suicide mission, to try track down, and defeat, her brother and the Avatars allies?
It didn't matter, really. Azula would rather die than be humiliated and banished by her father.
"Well Jin, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Afternoon, Aunty Liang." Jin followed the woman into the store, which sold a range of luxury fabrics in the front, whilst in the back several women were employed as seamstresses, and embroiderers. The sunny afternoon illuminated the shop front, the silks gleaming in the light. "I'm altering some silk, and Ma and I don't know what to do with an embroidered pattern that will get pulled in."
"Ah." Liang gestured Jin to the counter. "I see, let me have a look at it." Jin nodded as she took the folded green silk from her basket. "The fabric is lovely, where did you get it?"
"Well, it was a robe of Lee's Uncles. Did Ma tell you about Lee?"
"Yes, I had tea with her last week, she said he's a lovely boy. Good for you, Jin."
"Thanks." Her cheeks coloured lightly. "Anyway, he's... Not in Ba Sing Se anymore, and he left this behind. Lee gave it to me to alter. The height is about the same, but the width definitely isn't. I'm not sure what to do with the embroidered bits here." She pointed them out.
"Oh, I see what you mean." Liang ran her fingers along the fabric. "How long are you making it? Is it for summer?"
"I was thinking mid-calf." Jin explained. "I'd like it to be a little shorter, but I like the band across the bottom, and it would spoil the fabric to have it cut."
"It should look lovely at the length it is." Liang held it up a little. "Now look Jin, this embroidery work is phenomenal. I certainly can't make the like, and I wouldn't be comfortable altering it."
"Oh," Jin's shoulders slumped. "It's just that I won't be able to afford an Upper Ring seamstress..."
"No no, I understand." She paused, deep in thought. "Tell you what, do you remember Ta Min? She worked here for a while but left after the birth of her first child." Jin was looking a little confused. "She was a very quiet woman, with very black hair, bone-white skin. And her eyes, I swear they're yellow." Jin's face was still blank at the physical description. "She did most of the finicky work, left a few years ago to have her baby."
"I think I remember..." Jin said slowly. "She had a little girl, didn't she?"
"And a boy, a year or so ago. Anyway, I sometimes send some difficult work her way. She'll still charge of course, but it won't be a quarter of what it would be in the Upper Ring, and she might even do it in exchange for food or babysitting."
"That would be great." Jin beamed. "And she won't mind?"
"I'm sure she won't." Liang wrote the address down on a scrap of paper. "I think she misses the work. I'd take her back if I could, but she can't commit to full-time work again until her babes have grown."
"Thanks so much, Aunty Liang." She folded the silken robe and placed it inside her basket. "Guess I'll see you at the picnic if I don't beforehand."
"Enjoy your afternoon, Jin." The woman smiled as Jin entered the street. Jin stared at the scrap of paper as she wandered down the wide lane. Jin tried to remember Ta Min, but all she could remember was a quiet dark-haired figure, bent over her needlework in the corner of the work-room.
Keeping quiet in the corner was probably a good thing, Jin mused as she wandered down the street. Better than sticking out, being a target. She looked down at the scrap of paper. Not too far from her house. She could even stop for a quick bite to eat at home before going.
Wait. Jin pulled up short in the street.
Yellow eyes?
"Excuse me Mr. Lin, sir?"
"Huh?" Hwan jerked awake from his doze, adjusting his spectacles. His secretary smiled a little, despite herself. "Chi, what is it?"
"One of your students is here with his father, to discuss something about a bad grade." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling a little.
"Ugh." He sighed, shuffling a stack of papers. "The spoiled little brat must think Daddy can bribe me into passing him. Send him in." She nodded and walked out. The Professor of Early Fire Nation History assumed a look of mild indifference on his face as the door was opened, an expression which rapidly changed when he realised who it was that had just entered his room.
"Minsheng!" He stood up, walking around the desk. "Haven't seen you in years! What bring you here?"
"I need your access to some documents." Zuko watched them shake hands. Of course. The White Lotus focused on the sharing of knowledge – obviously, university academics would be amongst them. "Most importantly, the old foreign scrolls. Does the university still hold them?"
"Of course." Hwan nodded. "They're snipping at my heels, but as long as I focus my research on before the War, I'm not breaking any laws. But why would you want them? You won't be able to decipher them. Even I - Oh!" He blinked, finally realising that Minsheng had brought a guest with him. "Who is this?"
"This... Is Prince Zuko." The teenager turned towards the older man, eyes wide in alarm. "It's okay Zuko, he's a friend. If anyone will know how to help you, this will be him." He lightly touched his shoulder, coaxing the teen to shake hands.
"It's an honour." Hwan said simply as he gripped Zuko's hand, shaking it briefly. He had so many questions. For years, all he had wanted was just five minutes with even just an army officer or maybe a nobleman, to discuss his research. This was an opportunity beyond his wildest dreams – finally, someone to confirm his highly controversial findings on the Fire Nation before the reign of Sozin, which he didn't dare to publish. His mind was whirling. "What is it you need? Anything, I'll do my best to help."
"Zuko is having bending troubles." Minsheng announced, eyeing the tall shelves of books. "Do you have, or know about, anything on firebending? Old instructions, or techniques?"
"Wait... Let me check." Hwan pulled from the shelf a very thick book, setting it down on his desk with a loud thud. "This is a catalogue of every Fire Nation manuscript held in the library." He explained, running his finger along a page in the front. "Naturally, our collection hasn't been updated in a hundred years, but some of the material is much older. Let me see..." His tongue was between his teeth. "There is something." He flicked through the heavy pages. "Yes, it's being held in the library. It's a instructional scroll for novice firebenders and covers all the basics." Zuko perked up. "Oh. Oh. Oh. No, no matter." He shook his head. "It's written in the extinct language of the Fire Sages." Hwan explained. "Unless you can speak that, it will be useless."
"I only know the High Language." Zuko sighed. "Dammit. Is there anything else that might be any help?" But Hwan was looking at him in perplexed surprise. "What?"
"What's the High Language?" He fumbled for a pen and paper to take notes. "I haven't come across it."
"It's an ancient tongue spoken only by male blood members of the Royal Family. Well, not spoken. It's only ever written down. It's said to be the language of the dragons, but that's all propaganda. The only surviving people to know it are me, my father, and my Uncle." Hwan was frowning.
"Does it look like this?" He pulled another book down from the shelf, opening it at random and handing it to Zuko.
"A... A bit." Zuko held the page a bit closer to his eyes, as though it would help him better decipher the complicated characters. "I don't know this word though... and it's strange. The characters aren't exactly the same. The phrasing is different and the sentences aren't ordered right. I think I understand it though."
"Fascinating." Hwan muttered. "Absolutely fascinating." Zuko looked up from the book. "That, Prince Zuko, is the language of the Fire Sages. Your High Language is simply a modern form of it... Of course, it must have been adapted after the first Fire Lord st-"
"It's not modern." Zuko closed the book, getting annoyed. "Look, what does this have to do with me and my bending?"
"Simple." Hwan brightened. "I can't read that scroll. But with luck, you can." He took the book from Zuko's hands and returned it to the shelf thoughtfully. It was interesting. Zuko obviously had no idea about his own ancestry. The embellished history that was little more than propaganda was taken much, much more seriously in the Fire Nation than Hwan realised. Perhaps he and his little cluster of academics were only people who knew the truth about the troubled nation. "Come with me. Minsheng, do you mind if we go alone?"
"No, go ahead." Minsheng took a seat in the comfortable chair before the desk. "Take your time." He was glad to take some time out for personal reflection, maybe leaf through a book. The stress of managing the White Lotus and housing the deposed Earth King was starting to take his toll on him. "I'll be in here."
"Excellent." Hwan opened the door, motioning for Zuko to follow him. "Now, Zuko – wait. Do you have a false name for the public eye?"
"Lee."
"All right, Lee then. Do you mind if I ask, because I'm quite unaware, what exactly is the current source of firebending?"
"Current?" Zuko blinked as they walked down the hallway. "I don't know if it used to be anything, but I was always taught that it was hatred and rage." He paused. Is that why I'm having trouble? Hwan looked sideways to the teen, troubled. No wonder firebenders were so aggressive and heartless. Did every firebender draw from the same inner source? Hwan opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better, keeping it closed. Better he found out for himself.
Conversation was sparse. Hwan struck up an attempt at dialogue several times, but Zuko was distracted, and vague. Clearly, he had more things on his mind. Anyway, the matters the professor really wanted to discuss – the politics, the history, and the impact of the War – could only be mentioned behind closed doors. Rules in the city may have recently relaxed somewhat, but Hwan wasn't going to let his guard down. The awkward silence between the pair was only broken when they had entered through a back door in an underground floor, unlocked by a slender brass key carried by Hwan.
"Wear these gloves." The man pulled two pairs of clean cotton gloves out of a drawer, handing one to Zuko. "The dirt and oil in human skin can damage the paper."
"All right." Zuko watched Hwan walk around the room, lighting the lamps before pulling on the gloves, an odd sense of jealously rising within him. "So where is this scroll then?"
"Let me double check." The walls were at least seven feet high, lined completely with shelves for books and cubicles for scrolls. There must have been at several thousand manuscripts in the room. "Take a seat." Zuko complied, sitting down at the long, well-lit table in the center of the room. Hwan took out a book, a replica of the catalogue in his own office, and searched the pages.
"Where did Ba Sing Se get all of these scrolls?" Zuko arched his neck to look at them. Despite his own worries, he was intrigued.
"Until the War, the four nations were very open with knowledge and information." Hwan explained. "There are rooms like this for the Water Tribe and Air Nomads, although they are less furnished."
"So the Air Nomads live on, sort of."
"In their texts, yes." Hwan stood up, walking across the room as he searched for the cubicle. "Their history and culture is not lost, although their people sadly are. There are quite a few scholars on the Air Nomads in the university, analysing their culture, philosophy, literature, technology, and the like. Here we are." He extracted the scroll carefully. "I'll roll it out for you. Please, try not to touch it if you can. It's rather old."
"How old?" Zuko leaned back a little as Hwan carefully set it down on the table. He watched the man unroll it slowly, weighing down the ends with little brass paperweights.
"About three hundred years." Hwan stood back, casting his eye over the scroll. It was mainly text, but there were a few diagrams, showing various bending forms, and positions for meditation. "Can I get you anything? A pen and paper? If you want something to eat or drink, you'll have to go into another room."
"I'll be fine, thank you." Zuko murmured. Hwan nodded and took a book off the shelf, one he had already read cover to cover, but he sat down with it anyway. There was a copy in his office, but it couldn't beat the tactile sensation of the old, heavy parchment in his hand, and the thick musty smell that was a drug to the professor.
Zuko propped his head on his hands, elbows on the table, and read. His lips moved silently as he struggled to form coherent sentences in his mind. It was slow going. The syntax was awkward, the spelling not what he was accustomed to, and there were some words that he had to guess from context. It was a little like reading something of another dialect, and it was hard. He recalled the many unpleasant afternoons spent with his father throughout his childhood, who thought that the best way for his son to learn the High Language was to beat it into him. No wonder he wasn't any good. If it wasn't for the lessons from his Uncle over the past few years, he wouldn't have any chance of understanding it.
It was astonishing. Zuko almost refused to believe what it was he was reading. The scroll claimed that firebending was a blessing of a select few, chosen by Agni who breathed his own life upon a chosen soul at the moment of conception. Those who were chosen were bound to Agni, the sun, and their fire came from the life-breath within them. The fire was a culmination of one's inner heat, an internal sun. It was life, and energy.
It made sense. Even though it seemed utterly ridiculous, a fantasy story for children, it made sense within Zuko's mind. If a firebender wasn't tied to the sun, then why would a solar eclipse nullify their power? His own bending was always stronger in the daytime, and he'd heard reports of benders who had actually died from staying out of sunlight for very long periods of time. He had seen first-hand how waterbenders were tied to the moon, why not firebenders to the sun?
After its doctrinal explanation, the scroll went on to describe the rudimentary beginnings of firebending, starting with a long period of unclothed meditation in full sunlight, to recognise the heat and energy of Agni, which must be repeated several times, and then moving on to basic breathing exercises which were somewhat familiar to Zuko, although one must 'always be mindful of Agni' as the scroll advised.
Zuko was so engrossed in what he was reading, that it took a rather severe shaking on his shoulder to snap him out of his absorption. Zuko gasped and blinked, staring up at Hwan.
"We have to go." Hwan sounded regretful. He took the scroll – carefully – and began to roll it up. Zuko watched as he replaced the ancient manuscript in the special cubicle, keeping his eyes fixed on the enamelled roller. "I'll try and get you some more time." Try? Zuko's eyes widened. No. He couldn't just have him try, he needed to read the scroll. More than read, he needed to have it. Zuko wasn't going to regain his bending by trying to catch a few minutes with it once or twice a week.
"Did you hear that?" Hwan froze as he stepped away from the shelf. Zuko shook his head. "I think someone is down here. Don't move." Hwan pulled off the cotton gloves, and slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Zuko could hear him talking with a masculine voice in a muffle undertone.
He only had a few moments. Zuko wasn't even thinking as he yanked the scroll out of the cubicle, tearing the parchment from the heavy rollers. His hands shook as he haphazardly folded the paper into a lump, thrusting it inside his clothing. The pulse in his his ears thudded so loud, Zuko wasn't sure if Hwan was even talking anymore. He replaced the rollers, taking his seat just as Hwan pushed open the door. His cotton gloves were damp with sweat. That was so close.
"Professer Pang was getting something out from the room next door." Hwan said quietly. "Had to tell me all about it, I thought he would never leave... We'll have to be very, very quiet."
"All right." Zuko pulled off the gloves, the parchment crinkling under his clothes as he stood up. He couldn't believe what he was taking. By all rights, it was a national treasure, a unique piece of history that was all but exterminated in his own country.
Exactly. Zuko tried to console himself. My own country. This is my history, my bending, not the Earth Kingdoms. For Agni's sake, I'm the only one who can understand the damn language! He was trying to tell himself that it was okay to damage a precious, ancient manuscript for his own benefit.
It wasn't working very well.
It seemed like the right address.
Jin knocked on the door three times, and stood back, swinging the basket idly from one hand. She heard a few footsteps, before the door was pulled open, revealing a tall black-haired woman with baby resting against her hip.
"Hello?" She smiled, tilting her head to one side. Jin was frozen. "Can I help you?"
"Afternoon, Ta Min." Jin finally found her voice, feeling clumsy in her shock. A pair of fiery yellow eyes, the exact colour and shape of Zuko's, were staring at her in confusion. "I'm Liang's niece, Jin. I'm needing some embroidery work done and she told me to come to you for help." A few freckles were dusted across the womans' nose, but otherwise, her skin was flawlessly porcelain. Jin had only ever met two people so shockingly pale – Zuko and Azula. It has to be her. She looks just like them! Even her nose... Zuko got his nose from her. Even her jawline and facial shape echoed his. Maybe everyone from the Fire Nation looks like that... Jin tried very hard not to jump to conclusions, but who else could this woman be?
"Oh!" She opened the door. "Come in." Jin followed silently. "Sorry, it's a little messy." The door was closed behind Jin, swamping the narrow hallway in darkness. "Come into the sitting room, it has the best light." Jin was led into a sunny, cheery room with a young girl scribbling on a piece of paper on a green rug. "Suyin, this is Jin. Say hello."
"Hello." The girl turned her head to quietly regard Jin with wide, impassive eyes. They were the colour of amber. Suyin had to be about three years old. Was she some sort of bender?
"Hi." Jin smiled. She was about to say more, but the little girl turned back to her scribbled drawing.
"Don't worry about her." Jin watch the woman set the infant in her arms down on the floor at her feet, taking a seat at the long couch. "She's a very quiet little girl. Now, show me this embroidery."
"Of course." Jin sat beside her, taking the silk from her basket. She tried tensing her hands, to mask the trembling, but it failed. She hoped it went unnoticed. "See, it's very detailed and I don't want to mutilate it."
"No, it's very pretty." The silk was held up to the light. "Luckily, I have some fine thread in this colour. So, you want to take it in, and keep the embroidery matching up?"
"Yes. I tried to see if it would line up, because it's a pattern, but it won't happen, and I'm not quite what sure what to do."
"The pattern is complicated, but repetitive. I can fix it easily, but... Hm, You haven't marked it out. If I go get some pins, can you put it on for me so we can see where it will sit?" Her tone had an easy matter-of-factness to it. She didn't seem as quiet and meek-minded as Jin expected the wife of a Fire Lord to be.
"Sure." Jin watched the woman leave, letting out a long breath. She sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at Suyin scribbling away on the little piece of paper. Could these two children really be Zuko's siblings? Having the same skin and eye colour didn't mean anything, certainly not enough to go running to Zuko about it.
Oh spirits, I can't tell him. Not until she was sure – she couldn't get his hopes up like that, it would be cruel. He'd really only spoken of her after he'd been drinking, and even then it was loose titbits of information that didn't tell Jin much. But it was painfully obvious that without any information about her, completely unaware if she was even alive, Zuko suffered.
But what if it is her? Jin picked up the silken robe, twisting it between her fingers. He'd be so happy. He might actually be at peace with himself. He really could settle down and make a life here.
You selfish bitch. Jin pressed her lips together, casting her eyes to the ceiling. Zuko's more important than this stupid run-down town. Someone has to save the world, and we're running out of heroes. He can't stay here. She was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he might leave. Yes, he said he would take her, but it was hardly a promise. What if he just left, in the middle of the night? What if he abandoned her? It was a fear that grew on her, gnawed uncomfortably at her insides. Jin was somewhat proud of cool detachment in almost all of her previous relationships, but over the past few weeks, Jin had become closer to Zuko than she ever had been with a boy. Even though their relationship still lacked physical intimacy, the connection between them ran deeper than anything Jin had ever experienced. Zuko had his flaws, of course – she wasn't deluded – but no one was perfect, and although his depression and angsting grated on her, she did her best to offer simple comfort. That's what it was, really. Simple. Nothing between them was complicated anymore. They didn't keep secrets Right?
Jin stood up, pulling off her outer robe and throwing it on the couch. I have to find out somehow if this woman really is his mother. Of course she did. She wasn't going to let this lie.
"I thought I might find you in here."
Sokka looked up as Toph closed the door behind her, walking around the large bed and leaning against the desk. Sokka was poring over a map, with a pencil between his teeth, a piece of paper at his side, with a long list of names and numbers on the side. "Trying to get some quiet?"
"Something like that." Sokka removed the pencil from his teeth, and rested his forehead against his palm. "I'm trying to do some figures, and work out how we can carry out the invasion."
"How's it going?" Toph asked, drumming her fingers against the tabletop.
"Without the Earth Kingdom's armies, we're at a bad disadvantage." Sokka admitted, leaning back and staring at the map. "Our best option would be some sort of late-night sneak attack, but of course, that's impossible with the eclipse, it has to be in the afternoon. If the weapons I planned come through, then we could have a technological advantage over them. We have to concentrate on securing the main route from the coast to the palace." Sokka traced the line, forgetting that Toph wasn't able to see what he was gesturing at. "If Aang can fly ahead and find Fire Lord Ozai, and take him out, and we manage to secure the palace when the eclipse happens, it's possible. There's a lot of what ifs, though."
"The biggest being Aang." Toph said quietly. Sokka nodded slowly. "Considering how bad he was hit, he's doing well."
"We only have one week left." Sokka threw down the pencil, shaking his head. "My father won't think he's well enough. They'll all want to go home."
"It's not your father making the decision." Toph said carefully. "It's Katara. She knows his health better than any of us. If you think that maybe Aang could be good enough to fight at the time of the eclipse, you could ask Katara to... exaggerate his health, if you get me."
"You mean ask her to lie." Sokka said bluntly. Toph shrugged. "Have you talked to her about this at all?"
"She didn't seem to go for it." Toph stepped away, beginning to pace the room. "This was a week ago, maybe she's changed her mind, but she didn't seem thrilled."
"I wonder why." Sokka looked down at his plans. It all hung on so much.There were a million things that could go wrong, that could get them killed or imprisoned... They were risking a lot, for this one slim chance, and no one was more aware of it than Sokka. For him, it was a strikingly personal affirmation of his own success – or failure. This was his plan, it would work, or it wouldn't, and it all came down to his own skill as a commander and tactician. Everyone, including his father, had effectively placed their fate in his sixteen-year-old hands, and as each day passed, he grew more uncomfortably aware of the burden that had fallen on him. It was all right when it was just the four of them, when he only had his own conscience to answer to. No one else judged him for his failings. He was just Sokka. But this was different.
But if he wanted to be a warrior and a leader, he had to get used to it. If he wanted to one day be in a position where he was respected, admired, and looked up to, Sokka had to learn how to deal with responsibility and leadership, not at his own choice, but when it was demanded of him. He heaved a long sigh, and looked around at the tiny room, a cabin hidden within the bowels of the ship. He'd put the desk in it the day after the vessel was taken, and called it his study, spending every waking moment fretting over the maps, drawing up possible plans, testing possible theories with models, trying to come up with something that could work as a viable battle plan and not rely on a plethora of lucky coincidences and hopeful encounters.
He didn't feel old enough for this. Sokka grew very close, on more than one occasion, to completely giving up. Three days ago, his father walked in to find him in tears, asking him to take over because he was too young, too stupid to be trusted with something this important. It took a long time for the battle-hardened chief to convince his son that he was the perfect person to negotiate an attack that rested on skill and cunning, rather than numbers and brute force. Sokka still didn't feel entirely confident, and was still hoping for some kind of miracle, an epiphany in bed, a revelation that would suddenly come to him and show the perfect strategy. But it never came. Instead, Sokka resigned himself to scratching up more numbers on his piece of paper, pushing around paper models and tracing faint lines on the map.
"Maybe you should take a break." Toph suggested gently, resting a hand on Sokka's shoulder.
"Huh?" He jumped at the contact. "No, I'm fine. I just need some silence so I can concentrate."
"Okay, I get it, I'll go." Hurt, Toph turned away, padding across the room. "But Sokka," She paused in the doorway. "Don't overwork yourself, 'kay?"
"I won't." Sokka rubbed at his stinging eyes, picking up the pencil as Toph closed the door. She leaned against the door for a long time, one palm pressed against the metal.
If only there was something she could do to help.
Jin was organizing her bedside drawer when Zuko entered the tiny sloping bedroom.
It was something she did every month or so, usually when she had a free afternoon with no chores, no friends to visit, no siblings to watch, and her mind was a whirl of confusion. It was relaxing, to upend the battered drawer out on her bed, and watch the junk tumble onto the blanket. She would pick up everything, and sort into small piles, sometimes based on size, sometimes on colour, sometimes age. Today, Jin was co-ordinating her pathetic little possessions on how she came by them. She had a pile of things she'd bought with her own money, another for gifts from family and friends, and one of love-tokens.
The love-token pile was the largest.
There were two rings, one set with jade, another plain brass, a porcelain painted bird, a silken handkerchief, a long green hair ribbon she never wore, three cheap bracelets, a satchel that once smelled of jasmine, but lost its' scent months ago, a bone hairpin, a tiny carved box that held a miniscule gemstone, too small even for a ring, and a handful of love-letters.
They weren't new. The little love-tokens had all been given to her the year before, some even the year before that. It had been a long time since anyone had deemed Jin worthwhile of any sort of romantic gesture. Except of course, the gold necklace Zuko had given her. The one that bitch stole. Jin sighed as she unfolded one of the letters. It was a poem – and not an original one. Some derivative haiku about how lovely her hair and eyes were. Yet when she received it, Jin thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had written. In her dimly-lit room, she sighed. How silly of her.
Surrounded by the love-tokens, Jin felt undeniably old. As though her best days were behind her, her beauty had already faded and already she wasn't worth even a bone ring or a pain hair ribbon. She let the letter fall to the bed, a hand over her eyes as she leaned forward. How could she feel like this? She was only sixteen.
"Are you okay?" Jin started at the voice in her doorway, lifting her head to see Zuko crossing the tiny room, pushing everything aside so he could sit next to her on the meagre bed.
"Hi Zuko." Jin blinked rapidly, hoping it would clear her vision. "I'm fine, just... Looking at all these presents I've been given over the years." She gestured to the pile of love-tokens. "All from boys claiming to be in love with me.."
"All of them?" Zuko asked incredulously, as Jin rested her head on his shoulder. She nodded vacantly.
"All of them. Fifteen all up, from twelve different boys. Sixteen, if you include the necklace you gave me." She found his hand and squeezed it. "I stopped getting presents a little while ago, when they realised they didn't need to buy things to get me... Well." Jin buried her face in Zuko's shoulder. "I shouldn't have tried organizing my things this way. I didn't realise how many there were, until it was all put together like that." She groped blindly, found the stack of tokens, and brushed it all away, so it was just a jumbled mess across her bed, with no cohesion or pattern. This wasn't what she was supposed to think about. She found a woman she was almost entirely sure was Zuko's mother, and she had to figure out a way to get them together without revealing anything beforehand. She couldn't be seen moping about, with the remains of her love-life spread out before her. Why did he have to see all of this? He already thinks I'm a slut, this is going to make it seem even worse...
Zuko didn't know what to say. He looked at all the love-tokens strewn about the bed. Twelve previous claims to Jin. He wondered how far they had all gotten with her, how much of her mind, soul, body, she had allowed them.
He couldn't think about it. Zuko kept his mind closed to the idea, bile rising in his stomach. He couldn't comprehend the thought of someone else laying even a hand on Jin, let alone crossing through territories he didn't dare to approach. There was a competitive jealousy between him, a stubborn will to at least attempt to believe that he had a solitary claim on her. With his free arm, Zuko pulled the broken necklace from his pocket, setting it down on the blanket amongst the fifteen other tokens of affection. The gold gleamed in the small shaft of fading sunlight, looking very bright amongst the full bone and brass and wood. It was without a doubt the nicest thing amongst the worn collection, the only thing made of precious metal, constructed with the finest craftsmanship and skill.
Zuko didn't understand the jealousy rising within him, nor did he like it. It wasn't a paranoid fear that Jin would betray him, and run off with someone else – he knew she still had her loyalty, and would never leave him. It was more a sickening thought, that no matter how he touched her, what he said, someone had been there before. He knew Jin was experienced, and he was slowly beginning to come to terms with that. Seeing them spread out before him, like a tally, a visible reminder, it made him feel sick. A childhood of conventional stories of his own ancestors, with moralistic, high-brow poetry preaching the virtues of women and the perfect wife, had aligned his perception of beauty with overblown images of purity, chastity, and honour, and Zuko struggled to reconcile this ideal with Jin and her numerous past lovers. Zuko hated himself for this prejudice – he loved her, and in his eyes she was beauty and perfection, he didn't want anyone else. He couldn't see himself opening up entirely, exposing his soul, to another human in the same way. Zuko didn't know how to deal with himself, and he knew that he was hurting Jin with his inability to subconsciously look beyond the idealised image of beauty and perfection that had beleaguered his childhood.
"Anyway. We got invited to a party tonight, if you want to go." Jin haphazardly flung handfuls of brass, metal, and bone into the drawer. Jin didn't see the gold necklace, and Zuko winced as it was carelessly cast aside. "Sounds like fun." She pulled away, not wanting any more of his fake comfort intermingled with an odd disgust. She turned to him, forcing a smile. Zuko nodded half-heartedly. "Cool." So, how was your day? Anything interesting at work happen?" She attempted some simple conversation, trying to fight back the rock settling in her stomach. Zuko shuffled uncomfortably on the bed, the paper crinkling against his chest, barely discernable.
"No." He kept his voice as light as he could. He wasn't sure why he was lying to her. Shame, mostly. He didn't want to admit his failure to her, didn't want to see her sympathetic eyes and soft words that everything would be okay. If he could, he'd try and regain everything without her knowing.
"Not really."
It's really another one of those 'not much happening' chapters, really. I'm sorry if you feel short-changed, I know that was a lot of talking. And even if I do say the next chapter will make up for it, you probably won't believe me. That being said, if you enjoyed it, review! And if you didn't, review anyway and tell me what you didn't like and I'll try and keep in mind for next time.