AN: Hey y'all! Thank you so so much for all the reviews and love! Here's the exciting next chapter yay!

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When the ship first came in sight of land, Zuko stood on the observation deck and watched the mountains ease past all day long. His eyes traced up the smoke trails of distant volcanoes until he could no longer differentiate them from the darkening sky. Then he watched starlight wink off the warm sea. He watched the first rays of dawn strike a towering wall of rock that Navigator Chon informed him was a part of the Black Cliffs.

However hard he looked, though, he did not remember any of the islands they passed. There was only a horrible ache in his chest as he watched the slow approach of the Gates of Azulon. The towering statue of his grandfather had, during the pleasant voyages of his childhood, filled him with pride and awe.

But Zuko hadn't seen the gates the last time he passed this way. He had been in a cabin below, suffering the fever that had followed the Agni Kai. Now, he could only glare up at it, Azulon's likeness looming in domination over the sea, over him.

The statue was bronze, and it did not exhibit the tarnish and weathering he had seen on many monuments in his travels. Even as this occurred to him, though, he realized that, of course, this statue was not so old at all. The gates couldn't even have existed back in the Avatar's day. Before Zuko's grandfather, Harbor City had been open to the ocean.

Peeling his white-knuckled hands off the rail, Zuko stalked below. Time was growing short, and there were matters he intended to see to personally before they made landfall.

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Sokka stood by his pallet and watched Zuko orchestrate the placement of a large mirror against one wall of his cell, accompanied shortly by a basin, a folded towel, soap, and a razor. All of the servants cleared out as their burdens were positioned to the Prince's satisfaction - except for Yotsu, who lingered by the open door. Zuko, finally bereft of people to boss around, turned on Sokka.

"We arrive at the capital tomorrow. Make yourself presentable."

Sokka scratched the straggly hairs on his chin. "Actually, I'm trying out a new look. Rugged and manly, am I right?"

"You're not," Zuko said, glowering at him, then the mirror. "You look like a common thug and your warrior's wolftail could almost be mistaken for a topknot."

Sokka hesitated, then shrugged and went to sit before the mirror. At the sight of his reflection, he stopped. "Aw man…"

It was true, his hair had grown out all over. In his reddish brown clothing, he very nearly looked Fire Nation. Except for the blue eyes.

"A prince is emblematic of his people," Zuko recited. Sokka did not really watch his reflection pace by behind him. "When you're presented to the city, they'll call you a savage. But the wolftail… with your head shaved, it's not so unlike a Phoenix Plume. It might make an impact."

"An impact." Sokka flicked his eyes to Zuko where he hesitated in his pacing. The look on his face shifted in a heartbeat from uncertain to seething.

"Just get cleaned up, Sokka. Yotsu will help you if you want."

"Oh no," Sokka said blithely, "unlike my sister, I don't need help with my manscaping."

Zuko frowned at him and just waited. With a final shrug, Sokka wetted his hands, took up the soap, and washed his face. It had taken years to perfect his routine, but he was well practiced now, and having an audience didn't bother him. At least Zuko didn't pester him to hurry up the way Katara always had.

Methodically, Sokka slid the razor along his jaw in a cascade of short strokes, clearing away the unfortunately scattered beard hairs he had accumulated. Then he rinsed and began on his scalp. In the mirror he could see that Zuko still watched him, a thoughtful line in his brow.

"Are you going to make Katara shave her head again, too?"

From the way Zuko blinked and stiffened, it was pretty clear that the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Princesses don't really wear the Phoenix Plume."

"How about slaves?" The razor rang as it rasped free. "Is there a certain style for that? I seem to remember Zhao's waterbenders were sporting a pretty short cut."

Zuko glared at him. "Katara's hair stays as it is."

Sokka shrugged and expertly sheered the hairs off the back of his head. "You're the boss, Boss Man."

When the job was done, Sokka washed away the traces of soap and admired his work. He looked almost like himself again. A little sleep-deprived, maybe, and his clothes were way too red, but he grinned and made muscles at himself anyway.

"What are you doing?" Zuko demanded with quiet disgust.

"Representing the Water Tribe with charm and incredible good looks."

"You mean jokes and buffoonery? That won't win you respect in the Fire Nation. Quit slouching. Princes don't slouch unless they're in informal company. Even though you're a prisoner, you have to hold yourself as if you command every room you enter."

Sokka turned around to frown at the stiff guy behind him. "So, basically, puff up like you. Do I have to scowl all the time, too? Because I think that'd give me a headache."

Coincidentally scowling at exactly that moment, Zuko paused. His mouth remained tightly downturned, but the lines around his eyes slackened minutely. "Just remember, whatever happens, you're a prince."

With that, he stalked out of the cell and Yotsu summoned his underlings back in to cart off all the stuff. Sokka remained sitting on the floor, watching the activity until Yotsu came to collect the soap dish.

"That guy, huh?" Sokka chuckled confidentially. "What do you think that was supposed to mean?"

"I do not know, Prince Sokka." The valet kept his eyes on the soap and his expression gave away nothing. Watching him, Sokka began to get a sour feeling in his gut.

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Aang, lounging on his pallet and bending short jets of air to float a tuft of Momo's fur overhead, nearly leapt out of his skin when Zuko came barging into his cell.

He'd been thoroughly chastened when Sokka told him that he'd let too much slip during his meeting with Zuko more than a week ago, but his embarrassment had only deepened when Toph overheard. She congratulated him loudly and sarcastically enough that Katara found out, too. The look she had given him…

She'd ultimately said it could have been worse, but Aang knew that he had really let her down. So he had promised to be more careful and avoid talking to any of their captors. Zuko's sudden appearance made him immediately break out in a cold sweat.

"What's going on?"

Zuko stopped before him, crisp and formal. "This voyage is almost over, Avatar. I won't present you to my father looking and smelling like a vagrant. My servants will attend to you."

"'Attend to' me?" Aang screwed up his face. "You mean like give me a bath? That sounds pretty weird."

Zuko only narrowed his eyes. "Just let them do their job. If you bend, I will make you regret it."

Aang swallowed and thought carefully. "I… think you know I won't."

"No," Zuko said slowly and heavily. "I don't know that."

Aang blinked at him, bewildered, but Zuko only shot him a final hard look and strode from the cell. A handful of servants came in a moment later and began cleaning Aang up, taking his clothes to wash, and carefully shaving his head. It was, indeed, very weird to sit in his underwear with a handful of men wiping him down with warm cloths, but their movements were perfunctory and they worked fast. Mildly embarrassed by the strangeness of it all but willing to go along with it, Aang held still, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander.

He didn't really understand the way the others viewed Zuko. He didn't get how he could be both an enemy and a sort of ally, and he really didn't see why anyone would hold so tight to anger. Aang had been furious and devastated when he realized what had happened to his people. In fact, he had entered the Avatar State and blew down part of the Southern Air Temple - because that was what unchecked anger did. It destroyed everything around it.

Zuko, as far as Aang could tell, was always angry. Even in this. It was essentially a kindness to let him face the Fire Lord with his arrow on display, proclaiming him the monk he was, but Zuko certainly did not make it seem like kindness.

But Aang forgot all about Zuko and the awkwardness of being washed by strangers as his mind stuttered across the Fire Lord. Throughout the voyage, he had thought more and more of what awaited him at its end. Every time he returned to the thought, it was like tripping over an unexpected obstacle. His stomach plunged. He saw again the roaring man in the flames, hotter and closer than the vision had ever been, in the swamp or his nightmares.

"My sincerest apologies," cried the servant directly behind him. He dabbed anxiously at the back of Aang's head with a cloth. "Please, you must not move, Avatar!"

"Oh," Aang shrugged, belatedly feeling the sting where the razor had nicked him. "Sorry… I guess I'm just not used to, um, being attended to. The Air Nomads didn't really have servants. We always just did this stuff on our own. You know… in private."

The servants did not look up from their tasks, but Aang's face reddened anyway. At length, the young man who was efficiently wiping off under his left arm quietly said, "It is a mark of great respect that Prince Zuko would order his own servants to see to your care, young Avatar."

Aang smiled hesitantly. "Uh, right… I guess that is pretty nice of him."

One of the others snorted. "You're not fooling anybody here, Jong. The Prince only brought us down here because he has no use for us himself. Don't get all starry-eyed about it."

Jong shot the other man a sour look, but before he could speak, the middle-aged man who had scrubbed Aang's clothes in a bucket and was now steaming them dry vigorously between his hands turned a hard look on the other servants. "Have you all embraced impropriety in the Prince's service?"

"No, Yotsu," said Jong, a little shame faced. The other servant echoed him shortly.

"Then silence yourselves and finish your work," Yotsu said. His hands never stopped moving over the yellow fabric.

"They're not bothering me! Really!" Aang almost reached up to rub the back of his neck, but stopped himself. "I'd honestly take impropriety over awkward silence any day."

None of the servants spoke. The bath ended shortly and they helped Aang on with his clothes and filed out. Alone again, he laid down on his pallet and stared at the ceiling. He didn't fidget. He didn't play. He didn't meditate or try again, fruitlessly, to reach out to his past lives. Aang laid on his pallet and reminded himself over and over that his friends were just a wall or two away. Whatever the Fire Nation had in store for them, they would face it together, and it would be okay.

Yet, every time he shut his eyes, Aang stood alone, one boy monk facing a mountain of fire.

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The ship docked at Harbor City just past dawn the following day and Zuko lurked on the main deck as the sun mounted the sky, watching the preparations for the procession. Presently, the sky bison was being loaded onto a large steel-reinforced cart drawn by a team of rhinos. The beast was drugged still, and weak besides from over a month spent in the brig. As the crane hoisted its sagging bulk out of the hold and over the ship's side to the cart waiting on the dock below, it was like a sad mockery of true flight.

Zuko watched, glowering, until the task was complete. Then he strode down the gang plank to the palanquin where Azula waited. She cast him a faintly annoyed look.

"Do you intend to hover over the palace servants this way as well? Diverting as it has been to watch you rattle off commands like a lowly sergeant, I doubt Father will appreciate your scorn for dignity."

Zuko sat beside her, stiff-backed next to her languid recline on the cushions. "There'll be other things to do in the palace."

He did not see the look on Azula's face, but he felt her eyes on him. A bead of sweat rolled down below his high collar.

"Worry is for commoners and weaklings, Zuko. You, a prince, are above such earthly annoyances."

"I'm not worried," Zuko said, curling his lip. "I have nothing to worry about."

He reflected that, if Azula had been Toph, she would hum that she could tell he was lying. But Azula only pinned him with her sharp eyes. Though she merely shifted on the pillows and signaled the servants to close the gauzy curtains, Zuko felt as if she were breathing down his neck. The fabric swayed shut, shading them and obscuring them from the eyes of the soldiers who had formed up in ranks to welcome the royal procession through the gates.

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Katara did not see Zuko across the busy deck as Lieutenant Roshu marched her up from the brig. She was distracted by the way the gathered workers and soldiers cleared a path for her when they saw her coming. Though she kept her gaze lowered in the proper way for a slave, she could see their body language change as they spotted her. Many soldiers grew rigid. Many workers craned their necks.

Katara let the scrutiny pass over her and wash away, leaving her expression tranquil. She let their reasons for staring flow out of her mind and focused on each measured step forward.

Roshu directed her down the gang plank and into her place in the procession. Not far behind her was Toph, encased in a body-sized steel box and being loaded onto a wagon by four large men. Through the small window, Katara thought she could see the earthbender's face in the shadows, sly and calm.

Moments later, Sokka was delivered to her side. He wore manacles and a troubled expression. His eyes darted across the wharf ahead and widened.

"That's a lot of soldiers."

Katara followed his gaze and felt her stomach drop. She tried for a moment to count their gleaming headpieces - not helmets like soldiers abroad wore, but some kind of ornate band with plates on either side that stretched down to the jaw - and quickly gave up. There were so many.

To think, she had believed that the few hundred soldiers and recruits under the mountain had been an army. To think, this was just the force the Fire Nation kept behind to defend the capital in the unlikely event of an attack.

On the dock ahead, Katara spotted the top of an ornate palanquin as it was lifted and born forward. Zuko, she remembered, had scoffed at the idea of the Fire Nation being defeated, regardless of the Avatar's return. Nearer to her, she could see Aang, chained to two posts in the bed of a wagon. Though his arms were outstretched by his restraints, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for an impact. He looked so tiny in the face of that sea of red armor.

Small, yes - but not helpless. Katara took a deep breath and shouted. "We're here, Aang! We're with you!"

He peered over his shoulder at her and managed a nervous smile that quickly faded. When he turned back, though, he stood straighter.

"Yeah, Aang," Sokka chimed in. "We're all-"

"Silence," Roshu said behind them. Katara shot him a dirty look.

"Do you mind?" Sokka huffed. "My beloved sister and I are sharing a moment with our friend after weeks of separation. We're bonding, here!"

"You'll shut your mouth as ordered or you'll be led on a chain at the end of the procession. Now march, prisoner."

"Yeah, fine…" Sokka glanced at Katara and she pointedly rolled her eyes where Roshu could not see.

The line made slow progress at first, but it became steady as they climbed the incline toward the gate. Katara and Sokka walked behind a squad of soldiers with Roshu following closely and a line of armored firebenders blocking them off on either side. It was a bit claustrophobic, but Katara didn't really notice.

More than half of the soldiers standing at attention on either side of them were women. Their uniforms were the same that the men wore, but it was obvious in their faces and the curves below their light shoulder plates. Katara stared at them from the corner of her eye all the way up the avenue.

"Would you listen to that?" Sokka asked as they neared the gates. "They're throwing us a welcome party."

Katara looked through the yawning arch and tried not to let her jaw drop. "That's not a party, Sokka. It's a mob."

Indeed, the street beyond was choked with people, milling and vying for a better view. People even sat on the rooftops and gathered in the open upper-story windows. As Aang passed, some shouted or shook fists, but most continued cheering as they had for the royal palanquin.

"Maybe a mob is the Fire Nation version of a welcome party?" Sokka shrugged beside her, then frowned. "And hey, I'm the pessimist. Shouldn't you be the one looking for a bright side?"

Katara smiled too-sweetly. "It sure is a pretty day, though, Sokka. Would you just look at all this sunshine?"

She meant it to be sarcastic, but it really was nice to be in the hot midmorning sun after so many weeks in the brig. The air was warm and humid from recent rain, but the breeze rolling in off the sea whisked the sweat from her skin and ruffled the damp hair that curled against the top of her neck. Then they passed through the gates and the breeze was snuffed out.

People were howling at them.

Katara kept her chin level and her eyes low, but she could see the press of faces past the firebenders on either side of her. They hooted and jeered, they shook fists and made threats - against the Water Tribe, against Sokka, against her. It was difficult to pick out singular voices amongst the clamor but, from the few things Katara could decipher, that was for the best.

"Hey wolf pups!"

"-back to that block of ice you-!"

"-hundred men died under that mountain!"

"Ao-ao-awoo!"

The crowd roared, but no one dared press the firebender escort. Still, sweat broke out on Katara's brow now that had nothing to do with the heat. There were so many people, and they were all so angry.

"Don't let them see you're rattled."

Beside her, Sokka walked with his head held high and a grim expression on his face. He shot her a sideways glance.

"Show no fear."

Even now, sweating under her steel collar in a strange land, the words made Katara think of home, of Sokka training the boys under his watchtower. It was the first lesson she had ever learned about being a warrior. In fact, she had rallied herself with these very words when the creepy prince turned up on that island, and when she'd been Suki's prisoner, and when she'd faced Toph in the arena. Now, Katara clenched her jaw and lifted her head to a level inappropriate for a slave.

It was only because her eyes were fixed on the horizon instead of on the heels of the soldiers before her that she saw the rock coming. It was fist-sized, arcing out of the swarm of bodies toward Sokka's raised temple.

Katara didn't pause to think. In a rush, she reached for the dampness still clinging between the paving stones and struck upward with a knifing gesture of her arm. The rock stopped in midair, inches from Sokka's startled face, encased in a thin splash of ice that jagged up from the street.

The people surrounding them went silent, their yellow and tawny and amber eyes fixed on Katara. The firebenders glanced between her and the crowd, uncertain which to defend against which. The squad ahead began to draw away, still unaware of the disturbance. Katara could see these people, all these hateful faces, closing in on her and Sokka like a sea she couldn't hope to bend.

Show no fear. She stiffened, sank more fully into her stance. Her heart still jolted beneath her jaw, desperate and terrified, but her hands were steady as she braced herself for the attack.

Yet, before the squad had left four full paces between them, a voice cracked into the silence from behind her.

"Princess Katara," Roshu barked, loud enough to reach both sides of the avenue, "the Prince will hear of this defiance. Now march!"

Katara glared over her shoulder at him for just one second, just long enough to see the stubborn jut of his big jaw and the tense lines around his eyes. It reminded her in a flash of how he had refused to flinch the night of the full moon, even when she had leveled a dozen icy daggers on his heart.

Then Sokka tugged her arm and she turned back around to stalk forward. The crowd resumed its previous noise, but did not escalate again. Unbeknownst to her, her stride no longer resembled the measured step of a slave, so much as the prowl of a waiting predator. Katara didn't care - she was too busy watching for more rocks.

Instead, her eyes fell on the face of a little girl, lifted up on her father's shoulders to see the procession. She stared back at Katara with an elated, frightened expression. Katara looked away first. At her sides, her hands trembled.

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Sokka breathed easier when they left Harbor City and began the march up the mountain road, even though the climb was difficult and the sun was beating down hotter than he had ever felt it before. He even felt good enough to finally crack the joke he'd been sitting on since things almost turned ugly in the street.

"I mean, come on! They brought me all the way to the Fire Nation just to finish me off with earth? What's that all about?"

Katara rolled her eyes at him. "You're so right. That guy really should have thrown a fireball at you."

"Hey, I don't think it's too much to ask for a thematically appropriate, irony-free death."

"Silence," Roshu said again from over their shoulders.

Sokka was silent. It hadn't escaped his attention that his sister's keeper had probably saved their lives back there, between the timely intervention and the loud reminder to the crowd that they were royal prisoners. So much for Zuko's haircut idea, though.

The procession came at last to the top of the mountain and filed through a set of massive gates into a much nicer-looking city than the one below. Here, the paved streets were tidy, the tall buildings were in better repair, and the people waiting in crowds were a much cleaner, better-dressed lot. There was still a lot of booing for the Avatar and the Water Tribe, but Sokka didn't feel the same urge to duck and cover.

People had gathered all along the broad, straight avenue, right up to a circular wall at what Sokka estimated was the city's center. These gates stood open as well, so he didn't have to guess what lie beyond. The palace sat massive at the center of a plain of rock, its red and gold spire jutting into the sky. Even though he saw it from half a mile away, Sokka still stared in awe as they approached. The city was full of buildings bigger than anything he had ever seen before, but the palace was vast among even them.

And the closer they got, the vaster it seemed.

The procession filed between the inner gates and up open flights of steps into the broad courtyard between the towering wings. There, they stopped. Ahead, more wide stone steps mounted the base of the spire, terminating in a grand entryway at their summit. Squinting, Sokka saw drably-dressed attendants on either side, but in the center where he might have expected to see a tyrant in a flaming crown, there was only empty space, and open double doors.

Parts of the procession broke away. Regiments of soldiers fell back, wagons were unloaded and steered away. Aang, still chained to his posts, was raised on a platform from the wagon bed and hoisted onto the shoulders of burly guards. Farther ahead, Sokka could see Zuko and Azula emerge from their palanquin and begin mounting the steps, ranks of servants at their heels.

Then Roshu ordered them to follow and, with just an honor guard of soldiers remaining, Sokka found himself climbing the steps beside Katara. She was still glaring ahead as if on the watch for the next attack. That, at least, was good - that she'd dropped her humble posture and was facing her interment like the battle it was. Sokka clung to that scrap of reassurance through the blur of activity that followed.

The palace was as vast inside as out - and twice as complicated. He lost sight of Zuko and Azula between the cavernous receiving chambers and the spare, cramped halls intended for the staff. Then Aang and Toph vanished and Roshu directed Sokka and Katara into a small tea room where they sat for hours at a scored table, guards choking the corridor and watching them through the only door. As the stifling afternoon passed, servants - none of whom had been on the ship - delivered a light meal and, later, tea. Sokka complained idly that it was crazy to serve hot food on a hot day, followed by a hot drink. Katara froze his tea in its cup. Which, actually, when it started to thaw, was pretty refreshing.

Only when the corridors darkened with late afternoon did the tedium break. A murmur arose from down the hall, orders were relayed, and Sokka and Katara found themselves hustled out of the tea room and into a new part of the palace. Gas lights burned already all along the grand hallways, flickering where window shades were propped open to catch the cooling air of dusk. Sokka became aware of a reedy voice - no, two voices - orating to what sounded like the ocean.

"…where Prince Zuko at last threw off his disguise…"

"…and, finally reunited with Princess Azula…"

"…defeated the Southern Water Tribe renegades," the voices cried together. The sound Sokka had mistaken for surf welled up anew, and this time he realized what it was - the cheering of a truly massive gathering of people. He shared a nervous look with Katara as the guards stopped them near the corridor's end.

"Yet Prince Zuko has grown bold and cunning in his years abroad!"

"He did not allow the enemies of the Fire Nation to go free! Instead, he captured the heirs of the savage Southern chieftain…"

"…Prince Sokka, and the famed warrior Katto of the Water Tribe - none other than the Princess Katara in disguise!"

Sokka and Katara were marched past a towering fiery display, only to turn as if walking out of the flames onto a balcony where the two old women from the ship already waited - and beyond them, what may as well have been an ocean after all. The gathering was difficult to make out where Sokka stood, caught between the violent light of the flame wall and the orange blaze of the setting sun, but he could pick out hundreds of tiny, distant lights. Lanterns, held aloft over what must have been thousands of people. Thousands of booing, jeering people.

At least, Sokka reflected, they were too high up to worry about any stray rocks.

Their guards guided them off to stand at one side of the balcony, and Sokka blinked in surprise as something cold clutched at his hand. Beside him, Katara stared out on the crowd, her chin high and her expression unshaken. Her fingers clenched around his tighter than the manacles around his wrists, though. It had been years since she had been frightened enough to hold his hand, since she had believed he could protect her. And now, here they were, prisoners in the Fire Nation. Sokka had never been so certain that he couldn't protect her - but she needed him now more than ever. Whatever he had to do, he realized, he was going to do it. Sokka squeezed her hand back and held his head higher as the crowd roared its displeasure.

"Each on their own," one of the old women proclaimed, and their audience quieted to hear, "your Prince and Princess possess the passion and ambition that have made our Nation the greatest in the world!"

"But together, Prince Zuko and Princess Azula have truly accomplished the impossible!"

"United," they chorused, "they have captured the Avatar!"

They pointed identical bony fingers toward a lower balcony, off to one side, where sudden lights flared to reveal a yellow-clad figure struggling against chains. Sokka could see the bald head and the blue arrows, but something wasn't right.

"That's not Aang," Katara murmured beside him. "Where's Aang?"

"Maybe they wanted to be extra sure he didn't escape." Sokka shook his head minutely. "I'm sure Aang is safe. I mean, it's not like they would kill him - then they'd just have to find him all over again…"

Katara shot him a brittle look from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. You're right."

Still, her fingers felt stiff and cool, and they did not move, even when he squeezed them tight. The old women raised their arms overhead, their wide sleeves draping down like wings.

"Now, welcome home your heroes!"

"Your princess, whose clever foresight and prodigious skill in battle made these heroic victories possible!"

"Princess Azula!"

Sokka watched her stride out of the wall of fire and present herself to all the people of the capital as if the thunderous cheers were no more than her due. If anything, Azula looked bored as she stopped at the balcony's edge and looked out over the lantern-studded crowd. Her armor was black and gold, more ornate than what she had worn on the beach that day more than a month ago, and the light of the setting sun gleamed off that and the gold ornament in her perfectly-arranged hair.

She would have seemed beautiful, aglow in all that light, if Sokka hadn't known already what she was capable of doing with her blue fire. He watched her stand before her people and remembered Tukna, scorched and still on the sand.

"And, after five long years, your Prince at last has returned!"

"All hail Zuko, Heir Apparent!"

The crowd had been loud before, but as the Fire Prince strode to the edge of the balcony, their screams built to an even greater pitch. Zuko's armor matched Azula's, and his normally shaggy hair was combed and oiled to hold it in a topknot. Sokka had never seen him look so much like an actual prince, and from the gilded armor to the screaming crowd to the puffed-up way he held himself, it all clicked into place.

It was laughable that Zuko had ever tried to pass for an angry refugee, even for a second - because this was what he was. The Prince of the Fire Nation.

But Zuko and Azula wore their royalty very differently. Where she gazed blandly off into the distance, Zuko peered down at the gathered masses. Even when he finally raised his chin, there was no satisfaction in his downturned mouth, no relief in his furrowed brow.

Sokka barely restrained the urge to snort and shake his head. He glanced sideways at Katara, and found her glaring at Zuko with renewed fury. The nerve of the guy - he wrecked everything for them, and then didn't even have the decency to enjoy his sleazy victory.

"Silence," the old women cried. "Princess Azula speaks!"

A hush fell over the crowd. Sokka looked to the Princess where she waited, a hint of displeasure tugging her mouth down at the corners.

"The Southern Princess has vowed to serve Prince Zuko, but her brother lives by the mercy of his enemies," she said, cold and crisp into the silence. "Let this savage be reminded that the Fire Nation knows no mercy. Let the rulers of all lands be reminded of their place before the Fire Throne."

The crowd cheered and Sokka stared uncomprehendingly at Zuko, who did not even flinch. His gut flipped. Hands clamped onto his shoulders and Katara's cold fingers wrenched from his as he was forced to the center of the balcony. The guards knocked him roughly to his knees.

Katara took one step to intervene, but Zuko met her eye and stopped her with a subtle shake of his head. Sokka saw her jaw clench and her eyes flick toward him, and he knew that, if she acted now, there would be no chance of Zuko setting her free. He had to do something to stop her.

Unaccountably, he remembered what Zuko had said in the brig. He was a prince. No matter what happened, he had to act like a prince.

Show no fear.

Sokka lifted his chin and did not struggle against the guards. "You can imprison us with chains and forced promises," he said, loud and clear, "but the Water Tribe will never accept Fire Nation sovereignty!"

Azula, smirking faintly, made a slight gesture to the guards.

Behind him, Sokka heard the sound of a knife pulled from a sheath. Katara stood like a fierce statue, her eyes fixed hard on a point above him. She was holding her breath, braced to leap into motion.

One of the guards took hold of Sokka's wolftail, and with a few quick saws of the knife, sliced it off.

Sokka did not move as his hair fell loose to his cheeks. He only stared at Zuko's unmoving back, processing. It was a struggle not to laugh at this petty assault, when he had expected something more painful.

Clearly, Zuko had expected this, though. So much pomp and presentation - was it all for this moment? The crowd was roaring its approval. Had Zuko given Sokka the razor just to make this spectacle more shameful? It was hard to look at the dark, jagged shape of him standing between Sokka and the setting sun, and not shove him off the balcony.

But in the same breath, Sokka understood. The people in Harbor City were so angry. What better way to calm that bloodthirsty mob than humiliating a foreign prince? What better way to keep them from throwing rocks than to display a far more spectacular vengeance on their nation's enemies? What better way to protect Katara than to inflict the full share of cruelty on Sokka?

I don't want to come across like I'm going easy on you.

Sokka only stared at Zuko's back for a few seconds as his mind shuffled these thoughts like a deck of cards. Everything snapped together. Grudgingly, Sokka shut his eyes and allowed a minute nod.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the guard offered his severed wolftail to Azula. She waved him off with formal satisfaction.

"Present it to Princess Katara. A token to remind her of her brother, who she will never see again."

Sokka looked on, clenching his fists against his chains, as the guard approached Katara. Her hand shook as she accepted the lock of hair, clutching it as tight as she had held his fingers minutes ago. Her eyes slid up to him, blue and bright as the icy sea. Sokka could swear he felt a glacier-chilled breeze soothe the heat from his brow, gentle as their mom's hand.

"Don't worry, Katara," he said quietly as Azula ordered him away to some prison. The guards began hustling him back toward the wall of flame, but he didn't look away from his sister's face. "I'm here."

.


.

Aang tugged again on one of the chains that held his wrists up and out, then at the ones that held his ankles low and close. There was no slack, no room to wiggle. The manacles were snug as buttoned cuffs around his slim wrists.

The chamber he'd been taken to was massive, so big that if Aang blew all the air he could as hard as he could, he might be able to shimmy the cobwebs that clung to the domed steel ceiling. The air was dry from the unrelenting heat of the sleeping volcano, and guards stood at the chamber's one opening, a door at the far end of a long steel bridge. The paneled metal floor sloped down away from the platform on which Aang was anchored and his chains were set into massive rings welded and bolted in place.

He had thought his prison on the ship was bad, but here he didn't get to move at all. It was crueler than anything he had imagined. Toph was going to have a tough time getting to him without those guards seeing, too, unless they took a break at some point. Aang had been half-standing and half-hanging for what had to be several hours now and he hadn't seen the guards so much as move.

But then, perhaps they had switched out and he just hadn't seen. He had drowsed through what must have been the entire afternoon following the stress and heat of the morning. In fact, his head felt heavy now and his eyes were impossible to keep open. The silence of the room weighed on him with an almost physical pressure. His chin sank down to his chest.

When his eyes opened next, Aang blinked slowly, then startled fully awake. The guards were gone, but a man stood on the steel platform just feet away, watching him. A huge man in the sharp mantle of state, crowned with the golden flame. His yellow eyes simmered like windows into a furnace and the slight smile on his face had the same unkind sharpness Azula possessed. There was no need to ask who he was - the name rasped out of Aang's dry throat as if pulled by string.

"Fire Lord Ozai."

The Fire Lord narrowed his eyes fractionally and arched one eyebrow. His voice was mild and chilling, his thoughtful drawl dragging like fingernails against the nape of Aang's neck.

"For one hundred years, my ancestors have sent armies and fleets to every remote corner of this world, scraping through the ashes of your temples and hunting down every last Air Nomad. My father spent decades cultivating his networks of spies in the Water Tribes, eliminating any possible candidate with raids and assassinations. My brother searched - before he grew fat and disgraceful. Even I, in my youth, invested time and resources into the hunt for the Avatar…"

He lifted both eyebrows, peering down his nose at Aang. "And who should end your years of hiding but my son. Will wonders never cease?"

Aang had dreaded this meeting for months, ever since his visions in the swamp. The Fire Lord had grown in his mind into a titan, representing all the evil of the world - but now here he stood, and he was just a man.

Aang's hands closed on empty air and hardened into fists. "I wasn't hiding. If I hadn't been frozen in the ice when Sozin attacked my people-"

"You would have died," Ozai said easily. "And Fire Lord Azulon's campaign to find your reincarnation would have been a success. You would have hung here, in this very prison, until the present moment found you, shriveled with age but very much alive." His mouth widened into a smile. "As I will keep you for all the long years of your life."

Aang shook his head to dispel the ice locking up his spine. "No! I'm going to break free of this place and put this war to an end!"

Ozai's smile broadened. "And I suppose you believe you are the one who will stop me? Let us suppose that you're right, and you do manage to escape - even if you had full mastery of the two elements now at your command, do you really think that you could hope to face me in a fight, much less all the power of the Fire Nation?"

Aang could not tear his eyes away as Ozai raised one hand and ignited brilliant flames over his open palm. Sinister shadows lanced up the Fire Lord's face.

"Water and air are alike in their weakness, Avatar. They do not hold up well against adversity. Even earth will crack under enough heat."

A bead of sweat raced down Aang's brow. His breath came short and stuffy.

"Fire is the only true power," Ozai said. "Eventually, everything burns."

Suddenly, Aang drew a great breath and blew out the flames with a gust so powerful that it spun the Fire Lord around in a flurry of red robes. Ozai righted himself with an indignant glare, a few strands of long hair blown out of place.

Aang shrugged and half-grinned. "I'm sorry, I thought I saw a spark fall on your sleeve. See? The Avatar looks out for everybody - even you."

"How delightful," Ozai sneered as he stood tall over him. "Perhaps if you hadn't spent the past hundred years cowering in an ice floe, the world would be a better place after all. Something to occupy your thoughts for the next hundred years."

Unhurriedly, he turned to leave, only the sounds of his shoes echoing off the cavernous chamber. Aang felt the silence press in around him again, thick as tar. It forced him to battle to the surface.

"You can't keep me here like this!"

The Fire Lord did not so much as pause in his stately walk across the bridge.

"Fire Lord Ozai! The war has to end! Balance must be restored!"

"Must it?" Ozai paused before the door and peered slyly back at him. "One hundred years without the Air Nomads, and the world goes on turning. Don't you imagine that, if balance was really so important, catastrophe would have befallen us by now?"

"What is war," Aang demanded, "if not a catastrophe for soldiers and innocent people and the land itself?"

"War is only struggle on a grander scale, Avatar, and struggle is one of life's constants." Behind Ozai, the door clanked open. The Fire Lord cast Aang a final smirk. "Only the weak call it anything else."

.


.

Toph ran her fingers along the glossy edge of the table, then followed the grain in the wood to where she remembered her teacup sat. Still, her finger bumped the wooden cup too hard. She felt the trickle of hot liquid under her thumb and the scent of ginger in the air thickened.

"Please," she said for the umpteenth time, fighting hard to keep the frustration out of her voice, "can we go for a walk on the grounds? All I need to settle my stomach is a little fresh air."

"I'm sorry, Miss Bei Fong," the maid said again, "but you mustn't leave the suite."

The sympathy had dwindled throughout the afternoon and now she could only barely keep the exasperation out of her tone. Toph could hear it, but only just - and that was a sure sign of the quality of this maid's training. Royal servants. It made Toph want to heave a big gusty breath and throw something - but ladies didn't do that kind of thing.

"All of the windows are open, though," the maid went on, "and the evening will cool very soon. If you would like, I could fetch a fan."

"Actually, I would like that very much," Toph said carefully. "Would you please?"

"Right away, Miss Bei Fong." With a brief assurance of her speedy return, the maid hurried out. Her feet hardly thumped on the wooden floor at all, but Toph very clearly heard the door slide open and her steps recede down the hall. Then, hers were the only breaths left in the room.

She let out an enormous sigh and, rising carefully to her feet, began feeling around the room with her hands. It was a spacious sitting room with a large rug, doors on two sides, a couple of cabinets, and three windows along a third wall. Each shutter was propped open to catch the lackluster breeze, but the smell of dirt and the sounds of leaves occasionally brushing together drifted up from far below. Toph thought she remembered the porters climbing some stairs, but it had been difficult to tell from inside her metal box.

Really, who could have predicted that the Fire Nation palace would be so substantially composed of wood?

"Oh, Snoozles," she sighed, "you're gonna laugh your dumb head off about this some day. Probably not any time soon. …but if you ever say you told me so, I'm gonna punch you. Fair warning."

"They say that talking to people who aren't there is a sure sign of budding madness," came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Toph jerked away from the window and spun to face Azula. She hadn't heard her footsteps at all. That on its own wouldn't have been a surprise - her steps on the ship had often been light - but it was frightening to suddenly realize she was no longer alone in the room.

"If you do feel yourself sliding into a psychotic state," Azula went on, "do refrain from damaging the furniture. They're antiques. I can't say that I would miss them, personally, but this is one of the finer guest suites, and the palace has only the highest standards to uphold."

Her voice was moving, Toph realized, turning her head toward where she was fairly sure Azula had paused across the room. "Relax, I'm not going to mess up your stuff." She folded her arms over her chest. "If you just stopped by to remind me to use coasters, message received."

"Hardly."

Toph startled and adjusted the angle of her head. Azula had crossed the room and stood at the window beside hers. From the brush of silk against polished wood, Toph could tell she was leaning against the sill.

"The truth is, I could no longer restrain my curiosity. My servants often amused me during the voyage by regaling me with the latest antics of the helpless but plucky Earth Kingdom maiden in the brig. They admired your high breeding, and of course fell quite thoroughly under your ruse." The volume of her voice changed subtly and Toph could practically feel her assessment. "I simply had to meet you again. Toph Bei Fong, the - what was it you called yourself in those fighting pits? The Blind Bandit?"

"If you're threatening to out me to the staff, go ahead. I doubt they'd believe you anyway."

"What they believe is of no consequence. They may believe that you're a genteel blooded lady or a slavering ruffian - it makes no difference. All that matters is that they obey orders." She leaned closer, and Toph could hear the smirk in her voice. She could feel her breath faintly stirring her bangs. "And trust that my staff will obey my orders. By all means, ask to walk the grounds a thousand times. They will never allow you to leave your new… let's call it a temporary home. The term 'prison' is so uncivilized."

Toph flung up a hand between them, generally where Azula's face should have been. "Save the 'abandon all hope' speech, would you? I don't do well with lectures."

"Then allow me to illustrate my point more directly."

Faster than Toph could react, Azula grabbed her wrist and forced her arm out the window - or would have, if her knuckles hadn't barked something in the way. The grip on her wrist withdrew and, frowning, Toph felt along the criss-crossed wooden bars.

"Lattice work," Azula explained, "designed to keep out the worst of the sun. The panels are still quite strong, though. I doubt a genteel noble's daughter would be able to smash through and climb down from this treacherous height before being discovered. Particularly without the benefit of sight."

Toph snorted. "Yeah, yeah - resistance is futile, whatever-"

She stopped as her fingers traced down to the sill and came upon an object waiting there. The instant she felt it, Toph knew what it was. A rectangle of glossy cloth with an embossed seal. Her finger traced the winged boar, barely feeling each splayed pinion.

"I had planned to keep the original, of course," Azula said conversationally, "but it seems I'll have to send it off to your family after all. They insist they need more proof than a detailed rendering of the crest and your physical description. To be quite honest, though, I doubt they will put up much resistance to my overtures. The Bei Fongs are little more than a long-celebrated noble house settling into decline. Oh, they will tout their loyalty to the Earth King and cling to their long-standing traditions, but in the end they will find themselves faced with a simple decision."

The crest dragged out from under Toph's numb fingers.

"They will either choose to earn a respectable place in the new governance of Gao Ling, or they will allow the Bei Fong name to disappear with their only heir."

Toph wrestled her uncertainty back and folded her arms over her chest with a derisive snort. "I've got bad news for you, Princess. My parents aren't exactly a military powerhouse. They never get their own hands dirty and they keep like five guards on staff. Whatever you want them to do to 'earn' your favor, you'd better brace yourself for disappointment."

"Oh, I doubt that will be necessary. I rarely misjudge an aristocrat," Azula said, strolling across the room. This time, Toph heard each step, every rustle of silk - and she heard it because Azula wanted her to. The sounds cut off near the door. "And, should this turn out to be one of those rare occasions, and your parents do disappoint me… Well, it is you who should brace yourself, Miss Bei Fong."

"For what?" Toph chortled. "The deepest boredom I've ever known?"

In response, there was only silence. A faint breeze stirred through the windows and, far below, leaves shushed together. Toph waited a long moment, the hairs on her neck raising.

"Fine! Just walk away mid-banter! Like that's intimidating!"

There were some soft steps, then the maid's voice hesitantly broke the quiet. "Ehm, Miss Bei Fong? Were you… speaking to someone?"

"N-no," Toph said, turning back to face the window. She patted the air until her fingers brushed the lattice, then let the weight of her arm hang from the tenuous grip. "I'm alone."