My excuse this time?
Final hand-in for thesis. Which is DONE meaning I don't have ANY uni until MARCH.
And that's if I even decide to go back. Feels good.
I made this nice and long for y'all, too. Plus, my live-in boyfriend is leaving in two days for Germany for TWO FREAKING WEEKS which is a lifetime in my book. However, I WILL be able to write basically all the time. No more pesky relationship stuff getting in the way (I kid really. Love that man to bits).
Point is, you'll see more soon. Like, in a week soon. I'm so excited.
"Well, it's not broken."
Renshu's shoulders sagged in relief at the man's words, leaning heavily against the low wooden examiner's table. Lee's eyes closed, head sinking down in a long sigh.
"Nasty bruising and swelling, and it'll hurt like nothing else for a week or so, mark my words." Yisheng pushed past his brother-in-law, opening a drawer in his tall apothecary cabinet. "You had a nasty knock, Lee. You're lucky." He pulled out jars, tossing herbs together in a mortar, barely looking down at his hands. "I've been up all night dealing with some nasty cases. Awful business. Seen women and children too, with burns and broken limbs. Disgusting." Renshu's arms were crossed, not looking at the doctor, but at the boy who sat shirtless on the edge of the table, staring down at his knees. The black and purple bruising spread across his shoulder and collarbone like an ink stain, looking angry and painful. Yisheng looked back over at Lee. "How did you say you got this again?"
"I didn't." His words were stiff and hollow. He couldn't look at anyone. He felt almost drunk. He still heard the sound of the screaming in his ears, still smelled the smoke. Even as the night faded and gave way to dawn, as the city slowly woke, stumbling over the remains of the last night, he couldn't shake the sounds and smells and sights that plugged his senses.
"He was in the riot." Renshu's voice was slow and even. He kept his eye on the quivering teen, tapping his finger slowly against his folded arm, tongue between his teeth. He hadn't taken his eyes off him, not since that awful outburst, that utterance, that 'we'.
"Spirits." Yisheng sighed. He feared as much. He approached Lee, slapping the pungent cream on the bruised skin in handfuls. His nose wrinkled at the odour. "Smells bad, I know, but it'll do wonders for the swelling and colour. Keep putting this on for a few days and it'll help things along." Lee nodded wordlessly. The doctor turned back to his work space, re-corking jars and bottles.
"Did a woman come in last night?" Lee's voice made both men pause. Yisheng's hands fell still, and he turned, staring at the bruised teen. "With a baby?"
"I had lots of women come in." Yisheng wiped his hands on a smelly rag. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Ying." Her name suddenly came to him, after a few muddled seconds. "Her name was Ying. The baby was called Hope."
"Hhm." Yisheng cast his eyes up to the low ceiling. "Y-Yees. Ying. Young thing, tiny as a bird. Nasty blow on the stomach." Lee nodded.
"Did she make it?"
"She's fine." Yisheng re-opened drawers, replacing his jars and bottles. "Wrapped her up and sent her on her way. I've told her to come back in a few days to check on the healing. Did you know her?"
"Sort of." Lee reached for his clothes, pulling them on slowly, wincing in pain as he tried to lift it over his head. Renshu helped him thread the injured arm through the sleeve, still not saying a word. Yisheng watched, waiting for him to say something else, but Lee had fallen silent. He arched his neck back, letting Renshu fasten the buttons on his shirt. He approached his brother-in-law awkwardly, feeling for the coin purse in his pocket.
"Right Yisheng, how much do I owe y-"
"Put that away." The man held up his hand, waving the coin purse away. "Don't mention it. You both stay safe now."
"We will." He touched Lee on the elbow, coaxing him to rise to his feet. He obeyed wordlessly, eyes still downcast. When were they going to stop screaming. "Take care." He closed his mind to the pleasantries. He didn't have the strength to talk to anybody. It was a struggle for Renshu to convince the boy to stand up and leave the house. He seemed locked within himself, refusing to respond to anybody. Even Jin couldn't break through the shell. She left for work in tears, confused and overwhelmed. He was broken off, distant from her. She grabbed his shoulders and tearfully screamed in his face, but he couldn't raise his eyes. He couldn't say anything to her. He was afraid to talk, terrified that if he opened his mouth, something would betray him.
"I don't know about you Lee," The voice was so low and deliberate, so close to his ear, it broke him out of his funk. "But I could sure use a drink right about now."
"A-All right." He winced at his creaky, disused voice, walking behind the man, falling silent. Renshu stepped into the mid-morning light, inhaling deeply. The street was oddly quiet. People stood in tight rings and clusters, looking over their shoulders with wide eyes. There were no children. There were no hawkers or musicians, no animals, nothing that usually had the wide street in a busy roar. They were introspective and cautious.
Renshu planned to go to one of his favourite tea haunts, just a few blocks down the street from his brother-in-law's house. But he found himself walking past the sign, his feet carried on, and it took some moments for him to realise it. Perhaps that was a good thing. He didn't really want to drink tea, and he assumed Lee didn't want to either.
The boy didn't speak as he sat down in the dim little room. There was little he could say. Renshu set the drink down before him, a tiny cup of nasty, black stuff. Man's drink. He wrinkled his nose, sniffing tentatively, before tilting his head back, draining it in a single gulp. Renshu raised an eyebrow. His daughter had clearly been teaching Lee how to drink.
"I know it's been a long night." His voice came out of nowhere, it seemed. He wasn't aware of the words, until they had been spoken. Renshu blinked, surprised. "I know you're tired." He continued, leaning back the chair. The pub was busier than normal. Even though it was the morning, people congregated, swapping stories and gossip, trying to make sense of what had happened. Survivors whispered their stories to rings of hushed listeners. Renshu realised that this was as good a place as any to talk to him. At least in this room, there wouldn't be any confrontation. Not in front of witnesses. He took a deep breath, clutching his cup, staring down into the black pit.
"I don't want to talk about it." Lee slowly raised his eyes to meet him. "Please." Renshu opened his mouth to speak, pausing, wondering how he could bring it up.
"Did Jin ever tell you about what I used to do, before I was married?" He took a tiny sip of his drink. The dark head before him should silently. "Well," Renshu set down the cup. "I was in the Dai Li." Lee made a noise of shock, low in his throat. His eyes widened. "Never fully initiated," he added quickly. "I broke before that happened. A lot of things happened, all at once, and I decided that things were better on the other side. Not a lot of people know, but it's hardly a secret. My father was notorious in his time, it's not hard to make the connection. It's why the children use their mother's family name. I'm surprised Jin hasn't told you yet. Did she tell you about her?"
"You mean her bending?" His mind was racing, struggling to process the ramifications of what this meant. He didn't realise the man was building up to anything.
"It's becoming very rare in Ba Sing Se, to bend. Class segregation isn't helping. Those that can bend either run away to join the army or are headhunted by the Dai Li." Figuratively or literally? Lee opened his mouth to ask, but Renshu continued speaking. "Having three children in one family is a miracle. Or a curse, depending who you ask." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I asked them keep quiet but these things leak out. It's obvious when you look at Meng. His eyes are far too green." Renshu's heart started to thud in his chest, as he took a deep breath as he raised his gaze. The boy was still looking at him. It was something he'd noticed right away. Renshu assumed he was some sort of half-caste. He turned his mind away from the possibility, unable to fault the boy who had saved his sons' life. "People forget to look, sometimes. But it's painfully obvious. Eye colour always gives it away." Lee's eyes dropped like a stone. Oh Agni, No. His hands disappeared, under the table. He was trembling. "Look at me." His voice was very, very low. "Lee, look at me." He slowly looked up, from the tabletop to Renshu's face, his jade-green stare, fixated on him. There was no way he could ever hide his golden eyes. "You spoke of the soldiers that burned down the house and suppressed the riot. You said 'we'. Do you remember this?" He shook his head. "You identify with them. If not now, you did recently. Didn't you?"
"I-I..." Renshu watched Lee carefully, analysing him for any moment, any sign of panic. The floor was made of stone, he wasn't worried about protection. He was more worried that Lee would do something to expose himself. "It's not-"
"Were you in the army?" The boy was motionless, looking sick. "Lee, you have to tell me. Tell me now, or..." He leaned back, shrugged his shoulders with a little sigh. "There's the door. If you can't tell me the truth, walk. I won't tell anybody. You can leave a free man. But you cannot ever come near my family again. Not Meng, not Jin. No one. I will not share my home with a liar Lee. I don't tolerate secrets."
"No..." He shook his head. "I can't... you don't understand, it's not that simple-"
"It's very simple, Lee." Renshu leaned in, palms spread out on the table. "You can either tell me the truth, or you can leave." He watched the dark-haired boy carefully. He was deathly white, his trembling hands over his mouth. He closed his eyes, shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.
"I can't." Lee pushed back his chair. Renshu stilled, eyes widening. "I can't do it." He repeated as he rose to his feet. His voice was shaking. "I can't." He pushed the chair back in with a short gasp. "I can't." Lee's voice broke, and without another word, he turned away from the man, head down, a thick curtain of black hair hiding his face.
"Lee, no." Renshu sprung up, seizing his wrist before he could take another step. Lee stood transfixed, staring at him, mouth open. "Don't... don't go anywhere." His chest had tightened as Lee stood up, preparing to leave. He realised in an instant that his ultimatum was nothing more than a hollow threat. He didn't want Lee to leave. Not for a moment. "Look, sit down." He pushed him back into the chair, gently, touching his good shoulder. Lee wouldn't look at him. "What are afraid of?" He didn't sit down himself. Instead, he crouched in front of the chair so they were eye-level, their faces very close. "That I'll hate you? That I'll tell?"
"Everything." His eyes were still downcast. Renshu's grip slackened, and he withdrew his hand slowly. "You'll never want to see me again if you knew."
"Give me some credit Lee." He settled back a little on his heels. "I know what it's like to be born into a lie, to break away from it." Lee remained silent. "What if I made a promise? I won't turn you over to anybody. I won't kick you out. Nothing will change."
"You will." He whispered. "Of course things will change. They couldn't ever be the same."
"Lee, I've always known there was something different about you." Renshu tried to appeal to reason. "I'm not an idiot. I know what people from the Fire Nation look like. But, I didn't say anything because I knew you were a good person. I understood that a man's past is his own. I respect that, deeply. That wasn't what changed things. You put my daughter in danger. More than once. The moment you did that, it became my business. I want to know what it is that makes you feel so strongly about these people. You owe me that Lee, for what you've done to Jin. And in turn, I owe you my word that nobody else will know." Lee slowly raised his eyes. "And you have that. You don't have to tell me everything, Lee. Just where you come from, who you really are. A name. Something."
"A name?" Their eyes had met. "You want a name?" Renshu nodded. "What about my father's name?"
"A-All right." He faltered. "But I don't know many people in the Fire Nation-"
"You'll know him." Lee tried to stop the awful rushing in his ears. Why was this so hard? It was premeditated. He hadn't ever actively revealed himself to somebody like this. Not since... And that had gone terribly. That was why he'd sworn to keep it a secret, since. But Jin had broken all of his inward promises. Why did he still cling to them? He felt numb. There was nothing left, that could save him. He held his breath, taking the final plunge.
"It's Ozai."
It was a relief when dawn broke for Mai.
Finally, she could rise out of her bed without arousing suspicion. She wandered about on deck in a dream, eyes half-opened, replaying the scene of last night, over and over again in her mind. She wondered what it must have looked like. All she had to remind her was darkness. Mai still couldn't believe that it happened. She never did anything like that, not ever. She'd never even thought about any other boy – except him – before, and in the space of one night, she had kissed him, a rebel and a peasant. Not just kissing. Much, much more. Mai's face flushed a deep read at the thought. She never imagined anything like that would happen to her. She wasn't one for violent passion. But she didn't feel regret. Shock, yes. Shame or humiliation, no. Never. Mai would do it again, all over again, if she could. Nobody can tell me what to do. She paused in her walk, leaning against the railing, hands trailing over the side as she remembered standing beside him last night. How strange. She had fallen for a shadow.
Have I really fallen? Mai bowed her head, examining herself. She had promised, had sworn, to keep her head. To make sure her emotions didn't get in the way. But she couldn't deny how she felt. He made her feel sick. Like fireworks had been set off, in her stomach, her head. Why? Was his adoration? The fact that for the first time, in her life, somebody had looked at her with simple, blind affection? Had tried to kiss her? Touched her face and looked her in the eye? Why was it falling? Mai didn't feel like she had fallen. She felt high. She could reach up and touch the clouds. Nothing could touch her soul – except him.
"You're up early." Mai was brought back down to earth with an awful crash. She closed her eyes, trying to block the screeching from her ears, as she righted herself, fixed an expression of bored indifference on her face as she turned to look at the girl beside her.
"Good morning Azula." She tried her best to keep her face completely unreadable. It was so easy. She was an expert at it. "I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Thought I would catch the dawn."
"It's so pretty." She said the word with an ugly sneer on her lips, flinging the words away from her, letting them drop into the sea. She sounded derisive and insulting. Mai looked out over the water. It was a fantastic shade of orange, The sky was on fire, the flames stretching out across the water. Mai leaned against the railing, looking out over the gentle waves.
"I hate the colour orange." She announced, feeling the cold air brush the back of her neck. She shivered. "I'm glad we don't use it."
"The Nomads wore orange, that's why we don't touch it." Azula muttered. "Orange and yellow. So strange. You would expect they would wear grey."
"Maybe they wanted to be seen in the sky." Mai murmured, raising her gaze out of the water, above the sun. Although it would be useless in this sunrise. Azula let out a chuckle, a single, short syllable through her nose, turning away from the ocean, leaning her back against the railing.
"How's the boy? What's his name? The rebel." Mai froze at the words, throat closing. "Get anything out of him?"
"No." It was a miracle she kept her voice steady. Mai swallowed, shaking her head. "No, sorry. No confession... I think it's real. I don't think he remembers doing it."
"Ugh, I figured as much." Azula made a sound of annoyance in her throat. "I spoke to one of the Dai Li, he was on their radar. Somebody at some point had gotten into his head. Mind control, they're very good at it. That was how they kept the city so quiet."
"You didn't tell me?" Mai's voice rose a little, far too high, she was sure Azula had caught it. Azula raised an eyebrow at her outburst. "You should have told me." Mai was indignant.
"I wanted to be sure first, if you knew, then it would be a waste of time. You would put it down to amnesia without trying." Azula arched her neck in a sigh. "He's going to be a mess at the execution. Crying and saying he didn't do it. I can see it now." She spoke without any sort of pity for Jet. She sounded annoyed. She wasn't concerned with the human life. She was disappointed that the show was going to be ruined. Something burned in Mai's stomach, white-hot, against Azula. How can you say that about him? "At least you tried. Don't waste any more time on him." The white-hot began to turn sick.
"Got it." She couldn't hide it. The final syllable in her voice broke. Azula's head whipped around, quick as a snake, looking very carefully at her. "Sorry, something in my throat." She assumed a cool, indifferent look on her face. "What? You think I care about some dirty peasant?" It was easier, once she began talking. She hoped Azula didn't see her hands. "Besides." She shrugged. "I... Yeah."
"You still like him, don't you?" Azula's lips spread in a slow smile. "My brother. You like him." Mai kept her gaze down. "You saw her, didn't you?"
"Of course I did." Mai gritted her teeth. "That..."
"Call her what you like, I don't care. Forget about him. Both of them. There won't be any shortage of boys at home. You'll be a hero Mai. They'll be falling over themselves to kiss your feet." Azula stood up straight, taking a step away from Mai, beginning to walk away, slowly, not bothering with a greeting. No doubt she would see Mai soon. Still looking up at the sky, Mai's eyes narrowed as a small black speck appeared in the sky. She blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light. She watched it slowly, brow creasing in a frown, as she realised it was a bird. Mai hadn't seen a bird for days.
"I think we have a message." She spoke softly in her frown. Azula stopped in her walk, and turned slowly back to the water. It wasn't until the bird was close enough for the pair to see the scarlet ribbon trailing through the air, that she snapped up, straight. He ran back to Mai, her hands clenched on the railing, knuckles white.
"Father." She breathed, teeth gritted. "What does he want?" Azula spoke to herself, rather than Mai, who gave no response. They both watched the bird circle, looping gracefully through the air as it slowed, coming to rest on the balcony between them. Azula took the letter carefully, her hands plainly trembling.
"What does it say?" Mai breathed as she watched Azula unfurl the letter. The sun shone through the paper, the letters clear and black through the page, inversed. Mai read them herself. It was only two short sentences.
Things are not as they seem. You must return home at once.
Azula read and re-read the letter, slowly shaking her head. The paper shook in the dawn light. Horror rose in her throat. What has happened? Something was wrong. Azula was paranoid, and rightly so. She knew he wouldn't write to her, this close, unless something was horribly, terribly wrong. It just left one question. Was it something I did?
"Azula-"
"I have to go." She clenched the letter in her fist, the paper crumpling loudly. "Feed the bird and give it to the captain for me. I have... I have to go." She turned away from Mai, abruptly. "If you see Ty Lee, tell her to come see me. Please."
"I'll go wake her up in a moment." Mai promised softly, unsure if Azula had heard her. She was already walking away, the letter still crinkled and damaged in her hand. She was going off to have some sort of breakdown. Ty Lee whispered to her about how Azula sometimes had panic attacks, where she sat down and couldn't stop gasping for air. She never wanted anybody else. Not even Mai. Just Ty Lee. It wasn't an issue of trust. It was of face. No doubt Ty Lee had accidentally walked in on her having some sort of turn, had wormed her way into the most private insecurities of Azula, and refused to leave.
At once. Why was the underscored? Mai looked over at the bird, offering her wrist. The hawk climbed onto her arms with a soft squawk, looking exhausted. She stroked his copper feathers gently, wincing as his fingers curled into her limb. She wore leather around her wrists, with twelve darts in each, she slept in them, but one of his talons stretched beyond the hidden cuff, digging into her skin, drawing blood. But she bore it silently, crossing the deck, absentmindedly stroking the bird with her free hand. She was reminded, somehow, of Jet. No, she wasn't reminded. He'd never left her mind. Mai could feel the warmth of the bird in the cold morning air. They were so close, only a few days away. It was over. She didn't have an excuse to see him, anymore. The thought left her heart sinking. There was no way she could see him, without being exposed. Without bringing everything, her honour and integrity and loyalty, into question. Without being called a traitor, and locked up, useless to anybody.
Just a few days. And then he would be taken away, tossed into a dungeon, for some days, or weeks, or months, before they dragged him out into the light, and ended his life publicly. Horribly. No swift execution for the rebels. She'd seen with her own eyes what the Fire Nation did with Earth Kingdom criminals. Her father never had the stomach to authorise it himself, but she had seen in one of the colony towns two years ago. They tied the rebel to a wooden pole, doused him in kerosene, smeared his clothes with tar. Her mother had found her, pulled her away before the fires were lit, but Mai could hear the screaming. The streets were full of it.
They'll do it to him. Her stomach cramped painfully at the thought. Mai thought she was going to be sick, pitching forward, the bird screeching as he was knocked off balance, tightening his talons on her skin. She'd ignored reality, refused to believe it. She thought there was something that could absolve him. But nothing had changed, she had nothing. Nothing that could save his life. Now they were so close, the letter urging them home faster, the fear doubled, tripled, in her chest. They're going to burn an innocent boy. She sank onto her knees, fighting back the urge to scream aloud. Perhaps she could do something, give him a lethal dose of poison, some sort of drug that would leave him numb for the execution. No. That's not enough. She couldn't let anything happen to him. Mai rose to her feet slowly, resolve rolling over her in a long, slow wave. There was something she could do. She couldn't let Jet die for something he had no idea he'd done.
I'm not going to let him suffer.
"There you are. Where's Lee? Honey, you look like you've seen a ghost, what's wrong? Can I fix you something to drink? Sit down, right there, I'll get a glass. That's it, just give me a moment, I know it's under here somewhere, I have to hide it from Jin and the boys. Here we go. How much? I'll just fill it up. Here we go. Renshu, darling, say something. Please."
She sat in front of him, with the cup filled with drink held out before her. He took it silently, staring down into it. This stuff was colourless, and cloudy. There was a speck in the drink, floating in lazy circles. He watched it drift. Renshu still hadn't said a word.
"Renshu?" She touched him in the shoulder, jerking him out of his torpor. He started, looking up at her. "Darling, what's wrong?" He downed the cup in one go, grimacing, shaking his head. He pushed her aside as he stood up, clumping heavily to the crude wooden table where Shan had left the open bottle. "... Renshu?"
"Lee's fine." He finally spoke, pouring himself another half-glass. "Nothing broken. Yisheng said it will be fine in a week." Renshu corked the bottle, returning to his seat. He still felt numb. He couldn't believe it, that the quiet, soft-spoken boy Jin brought home was the Firelord's son.
"Where is he now?" Shan sat down in her own chair, leaning forward, features tugged downwards, questioning. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He sighed heavily, hand clenched around the cup. "Just a nasty shock. Lee went off to speak to some friends of his uncle's." A knot tightened in Renshu's stomach, as another ugly reminder flashed in his head. The uncle who nearly conquered this city. "He'll be back for dinner. Where are the kids?"
"The little ones are in the backyard. Meng's gone out to meet friends and the other two are at work. Renshu, tell me what's wrong. I don't like this. You look awful." He looked up from the drink to her, her contorted, worried face, greying hair falling into her eyes. He downed what was left of his drink. Hang all of his promises.
"I had an interesting conversation with Lee." He groaned, leaning back to place the empty cup on the mantle. "We got to talking about his parents."
"Oh?" Shan leaned forward, almost hanging out of her chair. Renshu stretched out, taking her hand. "What is it?"
"Don't tell the boys." Renshu spoke quietly. "Jin knows of course, but the rest don't. I promised I wouldn't tell a soul but I can't keep this quiet. Not to you."
"Renshu, you're scaring me. Tell me." Her eyes were open very wide, staring at him, fixated.
"He's not from here. Not from Ba Sing Se, not from the Earth Kingdom. Not from here at all." His grip tightened. "He's from the Fire Nation."
"What?" Her voice was crippled with genuine shock. She had no idea. "Y-You mean the colonies, he's from one of the colony towns. Well, that's all right, I mean, they've been there for a hundred years, they were bound to mix sometime-"
"No Shan." Renshu shook his head heavily. "Not the colonies. The actual Fire Nation. He's not half-blooded. He's pure as pure can get." She withdrew her hand and turned away.
"She said I would never let him near us if she knew." She breathed, shaking her head. "I didn't think she was serious. Oh Jin you fool." Her head sank into her hands. "Oh no. Is he... I mean... can he..."
"Bend? Oh yes." Renshu looked over at his wife. "He's... Shan you're not going to like this." He took in a long breath. She looked back over to him, mouth trembling. "He's the Firelord's son. The Prince."
"What?" She stood up directly, towering over him. "You cannot mean that-"
"I do." Renshu gave a little shrug, not sure of what to say. "He's the heir to the throne, the child of the man who intends to rid the world of us." It sounded so sick, so sick and twisted to hear it.
"What is he doing here?" Shan's voice rose, almost to a screech. "What do we have? Was he planted? Oh Renshu, what does he want with us?"
"Nothing. Nothing like that." He elaborated, shaking his head. "I couldn't ask him, but I got in touch with a friend." Renshu didn't mention that it was his nephew. Like any member of the Dai Li, Gaolin had learned of the reason why Prince Zuko had been found alone in the city. Azula was very clear to emphasize his identity as a traitor to them. "He's been kicked out of his own country."
"Why?" Spirits, when would she calm down? Renshu didn't put on a display like this. He swallowed his shock quietly. "Did he do something?"
"A number of things." Finally, he stood up, taking his wife's hand. "He was banished when he was thirteen. It's... How he got that... scar." Renshu wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, tense and stiff as a board. "He's a traitor of the Fire Nation, they would kill him if they went back."
"Oh, that poor boy." She finally spoke after a minute of deep, reflective silence, where she clung to her husband, leaned into him as she tried to make sense of the storm in her head. Trust Shan to find pity for him. "That poor, poor boy. Oh, goodness. He was just a child." She was shaking her head. "I thought he was in some sort of accident."
"From what I hear, it was very deliberate." Renshu sounded grim. "Honey, I promised not to tell anybody. That nothing would change, if he told the truth. He was terrified we would send him away."
"I can see why." She looked very troubled. No doubt she was reconciling his blood and past in her mind. "The poor thing..."
"Don't fuss over him." He crossed the room, leaning out the open window, looking over into the street. "I mean it. Leave him be. He's not a bird with a broken wing. He'll be fine."
"You took this all rather well." She murmured gently. "You aren't afraid?"
"Not for us." He sighed heavily. "For Jin, maybe. He promised he would never, ever do anything to hurt her, and I believe his intentions. But look at last night. He dragged her into an awful situation."
"I very much doubt he dragged her. She would refuse to stand aside and watch people get hurt Renshu, it's who she is." She gave a tiny smile. "She's like you were."
"All the same," He looked down at the crawling mass of people, still so quiet. "If he's going to try and be a hero, she's not getting involved." He rested his elbows on the windowsill, sighing. "What does he see in her?"
"Are you serious?" She stood beside him, staring out. "He loves her."
"I know he does." Renshu kept his voice low. "I asked him what would happen to her, we won the War. If his father was dead and he was allowed to return to the Fire Nation, if they asked him to claim his birthright. I know it's a slim chance, he knows too, but I wanted his honesty."
"Really?" She turned to him. "Did he say anything?" He looked over at his beautiful, ageing wife, feeling as though his heart might break at the sight of her. He overturned his life for her. For Love. And he would never ever ever change a thing, not for one single moment. It was why he believed Zuko's words. Because twenty years ago, he felt, he did, the exact same thing. Anything was possible.
"He did." Renshu found her hand, taking it in his own, raising it to his lips. "He said he would marry her."
If there was one thing Iroh could never get used to, it was the smell.
The darkness wasn't so bad. He could make his own fire anyway, so the cell never went pitch-black, not if he didn't want it to. He didn't mind the hunger or thirst. They were old friends of his, Iroh could stand that. He didn't mind the cold. He wasn't cold. He just had to work harder to keep himself warm. He wasn't worried about sleeping on a thin mattress that a slave would turn their nose up at. The chains weren't too tight or uncomfortable.
But the smell. It was damp, heavy, warm and stale. He gagged at it. He tried breathing through his mouth, but he could taste it, and that was worse. He tried to hold a rag over his nose, but the stench pervaded it. There was nothing he could do about it. That was what kept him on edge. If it wasn't for the smell, he would be able to close his eyes, meditate, imagine himself somewhere new. But every time he tried, as soon as he breathed in, the horrible smell met his nostrils, and the illusion was broken. There was nothing he could do.
He pretended that it didn't get to him. He was stronger than this. This was no real measure of suffering. Surely, Azula could throw something heavier at him, if she really wanted to torment him. Iroh was a tough old man, she must have known that. So he purposefully kept a calm, peaceful demeanour. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to him.
It was easier if he didn't have to think about anything. The problem was, he had nothing else to do but think. He tried not to think about Zuko, but the harder he tried, the more his face flashed before Iroh's eyes. He wondered where his nephew was. Iroh knew about his sudden change of heart, the palace was full of it. He was happy for him. Finally, after three years of mentoring and teaching, wondering if anything he said ever sunk in to him, Zuko had realised his own destiny. He understood his potential as a challenger to his father, rather than some sort of heir. He had taken the first, the biggest step, to reclaiming his own fate. He wondered if Jin was with him. Such a nice girl, so worldly and at the same time, completely naive. She would either go the entire distance, or she would crumble very quickly. Iroh could only hope it would be the former, purely for Zuko's sake.
The door creaked.
Iroh's eyes snapped open at the sound, leaning forward. It wasn't time for any sort of food, it was far too early, surely. Perhaps he had lost count of the hours. He spread his palm, lighting a fire in the gloom as the door swung open, a heavy black cloak stepping into his tiny cell. He couldn't see who it was. They kept their face in shadows.
"Who's there?" He challenged. They weren't holding any food. He caught sight of a thin arm, very white, tugging at the hood of the cloak. "Who is it?" It wasn't one of the Dai Li. Whoever it was, they were far too small for that. And it wasn't one of the Fire Nation soldiers either.
"I need your help." It was a woman. Not a woman, a girl. Iroh's forehead wrinkled deeply in a frown at the low voice. She took one very small step towards him, hovering tentatively near the doorway.
"Help with what?" Iroh kept his voice at a whisper. "Who are you?" He wracked his brains, trying to think. One of those girls. The two that Azula kept around her. One ran away to the circus a year ago, he remembered. The other, she was very, very quiet. He couldn't remember ever hearing either of them speak.
"Somebody who needs help." The flame swelled in his hand, but she kept her face down, pulling the hood even further over her head. "Help to escape."
"Show your face." Iroh challenged, rolling forward, onto the balls of his feet, as though he could strike out. "I need to know who you are." Was it some sort of test or trick? That seemed ridiculous. Azula already knew where he stood.
"Fine." The girl crouched down before him, lifting back the hood. It was the quiet one. Iroh swallowed, forehead creasing in a frown as he struggled to think why she was doing this. It didn't make sense to him. Why would one of Azula's most loyal supporters be asking him for help to escape? "I don't have much time, my distraction won't last long. There's another prisoner on board, a boy, he's going to be killed in the Fire Nation." Her voice caught. "He's a rebel." Iroh winced, understanding why she was shaking. Not a clean execution, then. "He's not innocent, but he doesn't deserve this. I know there must be a way to free him. You're a smart man, you've gotten yourself out of bad situations. I don't know how to do this. You can go too. The both of you." Her face was pinched and tired.
"When would you do it?" Iroh spoke very slowly, the frown deepening.
"Tonight. As soon as possible. The coast is only a few days away, the sooner it's done, the better chance you have of escaping."
"You?" His eyes slowly narrowed. "You don't mean 'we'?"
"I-I can't." Mai shook her head, lips pursed. "I'm not a traitor, I'm not. I just can't leave him to die."
"You became a traitor, the moment you began plotting against Azula." Iroh's voice sounded very hard. "You are suggesting an escape with no witnesses. Do you understand how hard that is? On a ship with constant patrols, hundreds of soldiers, in the middle of the ocean, you expect to be able to slip away in the night?"
"There has to be some way." Mai begged. "Can't you think of something, one way it could work? I've only ever heard you spoken of in respect and awe, even now. You're a genius."
"That's a stretch." He muttered the words darkly, to himself. "There are two things you must consider. Not only must you execute the escape without being caught, you have to ensure that there is no way of being followed. Do you think a lifeboat could outrun a ship like this?"
"So I would have to sabotage it." Mai whispered. "I can do that, I'm sure. It can't be too hard. What else?"
"You can't just sabotage the ship and leave it. They will repair it and come after you – us." He corrected himself. "You must make sure it's unfixable." Mai nodded silently. "That means incapacitating either the engineers, or making sure the engine is completely beyond repair. Both will be difficult to pull off unnoticed." He paused for a moment, in thought. "The most practical choice would be the engineers, but the taking of half a dozen lives to spare two..." He left the rest of the sentence to hang in the air between them. "They're not soldiers. They're not expected to fight and die."
"I don't have long." Mai lowered her voice. "Knock out the engine, I got it. I know how to subdue your guards without being caught. What else there? Is there anything?"
"Not that I can think of." Iroh shook his head slowly, disbelieving.
"Good." She stood up, drawing back. "I'll get you out first. Keep your ears open tonight. I'll try to be here as soon as the watch changes." She melted into the shadows. Far off, he could hear knocking and fumbling. "I have to go." Iroh straightened more, opening his mouth to question her, but the door scraped open, and she slipped out, a black shadow in the gloom, without any other words. He sank down, leaning against the wall with a long, heavy sigh. Why was he so reluctant? Why did he try to push her away when she offered a hand to him? He had nothing to lose from this. There was nothing more they could do to him. They already had him, he couldn't do anything in here. It was a heavy, lethargic feeling. He felt old, older than he ever had before.
Maybe it was her faith, in him, that made him sceptical of her.
Zuko knew something was wrong the moment he stepped through the gates. The last time he approached the University, there was a hubbub of activity, clusters of students, people marching about, the occasional vendor selling something. But now, it was restrained and muted. The vendors were gone, those who dared to walk about outside hurried past, keeping their eyes down, refusing to speak. There were no soldiers outside, but Zuko had a cold, nagging suspicion that somewhere, inside, they were combing through the university. This could be dangerous for them.
Fire Nation History would be the first thing to arouse suspicion. Zuko swallowed heavily, retracing his steps across the paved courtyard and into one of the long, low buildings. He sucked in the cool air, hands gripped into fists, hidden in his sleeves. He wasn't wearing that awful green uniform, he looked different to the rest. It was fine in the Lower Ring, where the colour and smells and sounds masked Zuko, but up here, where everybody dressed and talked and looked the same, he had a real possibility of being caught out.
He got lost once, unable to remember which identical hallway he was supposed to turn in to, but eventually, Zuko stood outside a heavy closed door, the name 'Hwan Lin' on a little brass plaque. He knocked on the door, drawing back and waiting as he repeated the little speech in his head. He couldn't quite remember everything he was going to say, it was all little snatches. That he still couldn't bend. He needed help. There had to be something else he could read. Maybe he had heard of something, in the last week.
Nothing. Zuko frowned and knocked on the door again. It wasn't a day people typically took off work, there seemed no reason for Hwan not to be here. He waited some moments before trying the door. The knob turned easily under his hand, with a clunk. It was broken. Zuko's throat tightened as he let the door swing open.
It had been ransacked.
Zuko stepped carefully into the room, trying not to tread on any loose papers flapping against the floorboards. The beautiful desk had been pushed over and drawers upended, the chair was in splinters, books had been torn down and rifled through, pages torn out. Zuko bit down hard on his lip as he looked around the little office, horror rising in his chest.
No.
He left the door open, tearing down the hallway as fast as he could. If they'd done that to an office, what would they have done to the library?
Zuko only met a handful of people as he ran. All of them turned back, staring at him in confusion. He was drawing uncomfortable attention. As he entered the library, the smell of smoke, something he intuitively smelled from a distance, hit him hard in the face. He stopped short in his walk, noticing the eyes on him, weighing him up and realising that he wasn't supposed to be there. He took a step into the high-ceilinged hall, thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a librarian approaching him. He took off briskly, making his way down the stairs where the archival records were kept.
"Excuse me!" He ignored the voice behind him, keeping his head down. "Excuse me, you can't just go in there!" Zuko pushed through the door, breath hitched in his throat. The smell of smoke, of charred paper, pervaded his senses. The door to the archival room had been torn down. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, stepping into the dim little room.
It had been completely ruined. Everything had been systematically taken out and burned. Charred scraps of paper clung to soot-stained rollers, scattered on the floor. He was entirely unsurprised that they had done this. It fitted their actions entirely. But Zuko was still filled with indignant outrage. This was history. It should have been beyond any political motives. Who am I kidding. That's what motivates them most of all. With his feet, Zuko kicked aside the rollers, looking for any scrap of paper that remained identifiable. There was nothing.
"I told you, you can't come in here." The librarian's voice was like acid. "Please leave."
"When did this happen?" Zuko breathed, staring out into the room. He heard uncomfortable shuffling behind him.
"Two days ago. Now if you please."
"I'm going." Zuko turned away from the room, walking past the young librarian with his head down. His heart sank into his stomach. They had destroyed everything. Why? He plodded up the stairs, shaking his head. What did they have to gain from this?
Zuko's eyes snapped open, nerve-endings on fire as realisation hit him like an electric shock.
What are they trying to hide?
Something was wrong.
Jet realised as soon as he awoke. He had finally drifted asleep before dawn, leaving the small lamp burning as he always did. He woke hours later with an aching stomach, the pitiful flame sputtering in its glass prison. Jet clung to the lamp as he watched it die, holding his breath at the exact moment the light died, plunging the room into darkness. It hadn't gone out before. Mian was always there in time to replenish the light. He lay on his thin mattress with his eyes closed, but he could still feel the blackness pressing down on his eyelids. He couldn't escape it. So he sat huddled against the wall with his head in his hands, whispering to himself. He had come so close to losing himself completely, with those first hours of complete darkness and silence, without knowing his own name. The fragile sanity he had slowly built up teetered dangerously, threatening to come crashing down.
He gasped as the door latch clicked. He jumped to his feet, heart racing as he approached the door with a wide smile. Tears of relief pushed at his eyes. But the euphoric joy died as suddenly as a lit match thrown into water as the hard face of a stranger stared down at him. It was a man, aged about forty, with dead, lifeless jade-green eyes. Jet's throat closed, as he instinctively backed away from the man.
"Where's Mian?" He breathed. The man, a Dai Li agent, ignored him. He pushed Jet backwards, onto the bed. A small wooden bowl was thrust into his shaking hands. "What have you done with her?"
"Eat." It was a short, sharp syllable. Jet looked down at the plain rice, and up at the man. A minute ago, Jet was ravenous. But now he felt sick and hollow. He shook his head, setting the rice down on the floor. He couldn't speak. "Fine." The man seized Jet's wrist with a glove of stone, reaching into his pocket. Jet struggled and cried out, realising what was happening, but the Dai Li agent easily withstood the weak blows as he fixed Jet's hands to the iron bars of his bed.
"No!" Jet screamed weakly at the retreating form, the chains rattling horribly. "You can't do this!" The man bent down to take the untouched rice, but made no indication that he heard the prisoner. "You don't understand – Please-" The door slammed shut. Horror rose in Jet's throat, bursting out of him in ragged sobs, as he was submerged once more in darkness.
He couldn't do this again.
Zuko heard the screaming before anything else. The air rang with it, a heaving, shouting turmoil. But this wasn't like the riot. This was different. The voices weret a low roar, they were high and frightened.
He kept the small piece of paper, bearing the address of Hwan, crumpled in a tight fist. He'd slipped through into the Upper Ring through a known hole in the wall, yet to be fixed. Knowing he would be spotted immediately with his dull, plain clothes in the sea of opulence, Zuko kept to the smallest streets he could find. But it was only a few moments before he realised that something was terribly, terribly wrong, and he turned into the main street, plunging straight into the heart of the confusion.
There were hundreds of them. Zuko watched the soldiers break down a door, bursting inside a very nice townhouse. No doubt it was by now empty. People pushed past him, looking dazed and shellshocked. They stumbled, clinging to babies, beautifully-carved chests, armloads of books, whatever precious belongings that could be snatched. Nobody had time to pack. They were literally thrown out of their homes, onto the street, and then made to move along. Zuko's heart hammered in his throat as he looked down at the paper in his hand, jaw clenched.
What if they had already emptied it?
He turned rapidly on his heel, bursting down the street. He pushed past people, knocked them down, stumbled on a dropped book and almost fell. While the Lower Ring as violent and angry, this crowd had a heavy, dull sense of fear. He could sense exhaustion and failure, an unwillingness to fight. They released their hold on their homes without complaint. Zuko could imagine what the soldiers would have done to those that dared to stand up to them. There was nothing they could do. None of them could put up decent defence. They were officials and politicians. Noblemen, not fighters.
Zuko turned into the street where Hwan lived, gasping for air. He lingered behind a stone wall, peering cautiously before daring to take a step. As he feared, the few homes in the street had guards outside every door, with several mulling about in the street, picking up trinkets which had been dropped. One dragged a lifeless man by the legs, leaving a red stain smeared across the cobblestones. He crouched down behind the wall, arching his neck to the sky in thought. He couldn't turn around and leave. If there was anything left that could help him, in was in that house. If he didn't go now it would be lost forever.
But how do I get there? He looked back around the wall. It was far too risky to attempt going through the front, without leaving a dense trail of bodies in his wake. He had to go along the back, through the immaculately manicured gardens, and hope there was a back door or window still unlocked. At least he was wearing green. Zuko lifted himself over the wall carefully, and into a garden lined with heavy shrubs. He crouched down, twigs sticking into his back, as he scoped out a hidden path along the garden. The walls themselves weren't high, certainly not enough for him to walk tall. So he had to run doubled over, resting forward on his hands when he was about to lose his balance. His heart hammered in his throat as he made his way along the gardens. Zuko was used to working in the shadows, in the dead of night. Being exposed like this, under the sun, was strange and frightening. He felt as open and insignificant as a fire-ant. There was very little to mask and protect him. He relied on eyes being turned away from him, rather than hiding.
Five houses down, he crouched behind a low bush, gazing at the back of the Hwan's home. The door was closed, but the windows on the top floor hung open. They weren't expecting this. This wasn't an escape. The inhabitants had been forced out, whether it was this afternoon or two days ago. Zuko straightened up, examining the facade of the house. The back garden, at least, was isolated. All he had to do was keep quiet as he slipped in and out, and nobody would be the wiser.
There was a trellis up the back of the house, entwined with pink flowers. Zuko began to scale the wooden structure carefully, wincing as the fragile wood creaked under his hands. It was a Jasmine vine. Zuko tried to breathe through his mouth, but the smell enveloped him, the tiny blossoms inches from his nose. He had to pause on the trellis for a moment, leaning his forehead against the latticed wood, breathing deeply, before he was able to continue. Why did he still feel like this? There were several feet between the trellis and the nearest open window, and Zuko had to jump across, catching the ledge by his fingers. Light as a cat, he landed on the polished floor boards, waiting for any indication of sound. He heard soft murmuring, the far-off sound of banter from the front door, but the house was otherwise silent. It had a heaviness about it. It felt very alone. Zuko was in some sort of bedroom. He traced his fingers along the dresser, staring idly down at the perfume and jewellery, wondering how much it would sell for in the Lower Ring. His fingers itched to reach out and take something, just one ring, but he turned away, slipping through the half-open door and into the dark hallway.
If there was anything here, it would have to be in the study. He cracked open every door, peering through cautiously, until he found a cosy little room filled with books. Zuko pushed through, standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his sleeves, staring at the hundreds and hundreds of books that covered one of the walls. This was a lifetime of private collecting. Zuko carefully cracked the curtains, shedding light on the worn spines, squinting to read the lettering. He took two books that looked promising, but the rest seemed hopeless. It wasn't exactly what he was hoping for. Surely, there must be something on firebending. It was a cornerstone of the Fire Nation culture, any library on history ought to have dozens of books on it. Zuko crouched to read the lowest shelf, but eventually leaned against the desk, shaking his head. He curled his fingers underneath the overhanging rim of wood, trying to think of anything else that could help him.
His fingers grasped something metal.
Zuko straightened up, mouth falling open as he stared at the key in his hand. He crouched, running his fingers along the underside of the desk. A tiny alcove had been hollowed out, the key slipped inside. It was brilliant. Anyone looking for a secret hiding space would turn the drawers upside down and rifle through the books. Who would think of that? Zuko's eyes ran around the room. Something was hidden in here. If not here, then somewhere in the house. Something that no one else was supposed to find.
Zuko looked down at the small brass key, his frown deepening.
Something worth hiding.
You can do this.
Mai stared at her reflection, studying the face that looked back at her. It wasn't her usual look of indifference – She looked scared.
This will be easy. She looked down at the tiny glass bottle in her hand. She didn't have to worry about masking herself when it came to this. It didn't matter if they saw her face. They wouldn't be on the ship for long.
She wished there was some other way. But Mai had visited the engine room, slipping in unseen. There was nothing she could do that would sabotage it beyond repair. Throwing something into the mechanism would be fixed within a day. The only hope she had letting the two males escape was incapacitating the crew of engineers that kept the ship running smoothly. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck in an involuntary shiver.
You won't be killing them. Mai slipped the bottle inside her dress. She couldn't justify the deaths of eight men in order to save the lives of two. She couldn't allow herself to be associated with death. She hated murder. It was callous and desperate.
An hour. That was all she had. An hour to coax the engineers into having a drink on the deck. To knock them out and put their bodies in the lifeboat. To get General Iroh and Jet out of their prison cells and overboard. All without being seen by the guard. Mai knew their paths, she had watched them on a handful of sleepless nights. In her mind, she had a route that wove through the ship, blind to the eyes of the guard at the precise moments. If everything went to plan, they would disappear in the black night, vanishing over the waves forever. And she would slip into her room, a ghost, a spider-fly watching unnoticed from the corner of the ceiling, never to be suspected.
She drew the black hood over her head, concealing her face. This wasn't Mai. Not the Mai anybody knew. Not Azula or Ty Lee. Not her parents. Not even Jet. Especially Jet. Perhaps only Zuko would expect this of her. Would approve of it. She put his face out of her mind, shaking her head. She would be lying to herself, if she refused to believe that at least part of this, was for him. Mai didn't need Iroh as much as she said. Most of the plan was her idea. She rescued Iroh for Zuko.
And Jet?
Her stomach went soft. She ran her fingers along her sides, feeling for her familiar knives and darts, making sure everything was in place before she stepped out of her haven of blamelessness.
Jet was for her.
I want to try and have something happening in every chapter from now on, which will sort of be 'resolved' at the end. Sort of episodic. Starting from the next one, of course.
I hope you can still follow everything. I had to cut out a burgeoning subplot when I was editing the chapter, which was unfortunate, but obviously I have to put a stop to any 'new' stories and people from making an impression. Otherwise I'll never get anywhere. I have some really juicy plans for a couple of characters besides Jin and Zuko (ATLA characters of course) which I want to get into. But it will all link up and nothing will detract from their story. I hope, at least.