Chapter 17: Trust
Slivered stream
And rapid song,
Know one in blood,
Or trust the throng
Zuko was cold. Cold in the Fire Nation, and under his Court robes. And as if that were not mind-boggling enough...
“Okay,” he nodded as if he were relaxed and in complete control. “So you’re saying that approximately two hundred refugees are going to be on our doorstep soon, and we don’t have the facilities to house them?”
Arguably, the only comfort he had was that Chief Advisor Hui had delivered the news with the same poise as he always had. Now that Shen Li was gone, Zuko had found himself depending more and on the older noble, and the fact that Hui had remained so composed throughout the preceding Court session was a calming reminder that he should behave similarly. Zuko sighed inwardly. Then again, it wasn’t much of a comfort.
“Well... not exactly, Fire Lord. You see, the city does have its share of inns and taverns which should be able to take the brunt of the flood. But with the peace summit coming up and the foreign delegates arriving, I fear that we will be severely stretched for space.”
Zuko snorted almost inaudibly. “I don’t think that should be too much of a problem,” he muttered to himself without thinking.
Hui’s eyes sharpened. “There are troubles?”
Zuko startled. He had been sitting in the throne room holding court for almost two hours now, and his attention was beginning to lapse even when he knew it shouldn’t. Cursing himself for having let the problems about the peace summit slip, he swung into damage control mode. “Not really,” he hastened to explain. “It’s just that perhaps our original goals were a little too optimistic. Many of the leaders are currently needed in their homes to maintain control, but with the Avatar on side, I think that everyone is aware that there is some sort of unofficial peace. That just means that a formal summit will have to be delayed a little.”
Hui’s eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said neutrally. “Well in that case, I see little problem in terms of housing the first stream of refugees. They will find shelter in our current facilities easily enough.”
“Good, good...” Zuko nodded, before stopping himself abruptly. “Wait, did you just say the first stream of refugees? Have there been more reports?”
It was the Chief Advisor’s turn to be startled, this time out of his benign composure. “No, but isn’t it clear that there will be?” Hui’s grayish brown eyes rose to meet Zuko’s. “There are many villages dotted around our main island, Fire Lord. The reports that we have heard so far mention only four or five of them.”
Zuko resisted the urge to grind his teeth. It wasn’t as if Hui sounded condescending. Indeed, the man had been in his position for so long he had probably learnt to skim his words within a hair’s breadth of any emotion at all. Still, Zuko didn’t have to hear it to know that shreds of it were there. “I know that, Chief Advisor,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “But what makes you think that there will be more?”
This time, Hui didn’t bother to hide. “People do not just decide to abandon their homes, Pr- Fire Lord Zuko,” he chided. “There is clearly something at work, and I expect that the reports will come in soon to enlighten us. But until then, we must plan for the long term.”
Zuko gave up and ground his teeth. He was tired of being stuck in the throne room listening to fawning courtiers throw themselves at his feet about troubles insignificant compared to his greater worries. He was tired of waiting around for reports and of trying so desperately to balance truth with concealment. Most of all, he was tired at the constant battle raging inside of him as he reigned, trying to find a balance between harshness and compassion, control and impulse, his instincts and the unspoken rules of Court. And it showed, because he had to be slipping badly for Hui to be taking him to task like this.
Sitting back, Zuko expelled an almost fiery breath. He wasn’t sure whether he was more annoyed at Hui or himself at the moment. He wasn’t normally like this, he reminded himself desperately. In fact, he had been coping surprisingly well with the minutiae of being Fire Lord so far. But with Shen Li and Mai gone, the problems piling up, and the lines of trust, truth and honour blurring with lies...
Abruptly, Zuko turned to the window. It was small in the throne room, perched high above metres of wall to offer an angled glance into the blue of the sky. But what it meant still remained. He knew that he shouldn’t be here. He should be out with Shen Li and Mai, investigating the nature of this newest threat to his people.
But instead, he was stuck in Court, listening to lying nobles and waiting for reports.
Zuko gripped the sides of his throne. “I’m quite aware of the need for long term planning, Chief Advisor,” he said crisply, frustration sharpening his focus once more. “However, my issues with this matter stem from the fact that it is difficult to plan for the long term when we are not even aware of what the long term may hold.”
Again, Hui looked at him oddly. “We are never aware of what the future may hold, Fire Lord,” he said reasonably. “However, I think it is clear that the reports of these bandit raids will only increase, therefore we must prepare for the consequences.”
Bandits? Zuko was glad he was in control of his mental faculties once more, otherwise he would have likely blurted something out that would have given his extracurricular knowledge away. And for now, he still wasn’t quite sure whether Hui could be trusted with that information. Despite his heavier reliance on the man, he hadn’t been so obtuse as to not notice the shared glimpses his Chief Advisor kept having with some of his Ministers. He would have to tread carefully.
“If what you say is correct, then preparation shouldn’t be a problem for the first stream of refugees,” Zuko kept his tone carefully schooled, watching Hui for any hint of expression. “But how about prevention?”
Nothing flickered across Hui’s face. “What are you proposing, my Lord?”
“Heading off these... bandits first. If we deal with the raiders, then there will be no need for anyone to flee their homes and retreat to the city.” A lick of Zuko’s tightly held frustration escaped. “It’s better than just sitting around on our hands!”
If he’d been slower, he wouldn’t have caught it. As such, Zuko was rewarded with his first bounty when the Chief Advisor paused for just a moment, his serene countenance fading into sadness before snapping back into place.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my Lord,” Hui said resignedly.
Zuko counted to ten. “And just what about that proposition was impossible, Chief Advisor?”
Hui folded his arms into his sleeves. “The entire thing, my Lord. I’m afraid that when it comes to prevention, we can do nothing.”
The words stretched out in his mind like thin, fine wire, and then Zuko snapped. “Nothing?” he hissed. “For Agni’s sake, I’m the Fire Lord! These are my people!
Hui shrugged helplessly. “Until we know more our hands are tied. But then, even if we did know our enemy’s power and plans...”
He left it trailing there like bait, and Zuko wanted to swear as he pounced on it. “What?” he demanded curtly.
The old man sighed. “Fire Lord, the majority of our troops are in the Earth Kingdom. Or dead. We only have a few garrisons here. Even moving one of them away to deal with these bandits would leave the city unprotected.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m helpless?”
A strange look glinted in Hui’s gaze. “Power is relative, my Lord.”
“There is nothing relative about the safety of my people and my country.” Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “Chief Advisor, if you’re trying to tell me there’s a way to solve this without using military force I’d be glad to hear it.”
The words were strong, forceful, and they parted around the old man like water around a rock. The old man paused then, as if something had just occurred to him. “Actually, perhaps we might use our two problems to our advantage,” Hui mused. “Make the best of a bad situation, so to speak.”
Zuko’s ears perked. “What do you suggest?”
“Well, the depletion of our forces here means that we have several barracks left vacant in the city. Perhaps the following streams of refugees might be bunked there?”
For some reason, Zuko felt a strange sense of deja vu, and he remembered another time on the Fire Nation docks, watching as Aang, Toph and Appa flew away.. “You are wise, Chief Advisor,” he said neutrally, waiting for the other to respond.
But this time, Hui remained standing. “I serve my nation, Fire Lord,” he said softly, and Zuko felt a strange prickle run down his neck as Hui’s look became searching. For a moment, Zuko fluctuated between pride and the compelling urge to tear his gaze from such an alien examination. But then before he could decide, Hui pulled away smiling.
“Just like you do,” the Chief Advisor said in satisfaction. “Just like you do.”
8 8 8
In the minutes that she waited, Mai took careful stock of her situation. It was tiresome, annoying work, especially when all she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. But now that she was conscious, the noblewoman knew that she simply couldn’t afford to let her guard down. She was alone in an unfamiliar forest, with absolutely no clue how far she’d been washed downstream. She was also still weak, as much as she loathed to admit it, from the death-defying plunge she had taken. Added to that, the fact that her nearest known ally was still a distrusted former enemy made her determined to be on her feet and fending for herself again as soon as possible.
Of course, to do that, her body had to heal first. Cautiously, Mai sat up straighter, flexing each muscle in turn and listening for the response. A great, painful bruise curled its way up her leg, and although she couldn’t see it, she knew that another was splayed across the surface of her back. Briefly, Mai remembered the rushing, tumultuous moments of when she’d first hit the water. It had been such a moment of chance - the frothy wave had been arcing high at that second, with just enough force to slide her over a submerged rock which would have surely killed her and into the deeper, choking currents of the water. What memory she had of what happened after that was filled with flashes of pain, hard stone that had battered her body and a particularly bad moment where she’d tried to cling on to something, resulting in the water snapping her back with terrifying force against a ragged boulder which she hadn’t noticed. And then had come the choking, the clawing, the dazed stunning even as she tried to breathe, tried to fight against the water even as its force dragged her down to the bottom and made her bleed against the rocks. Now, as Mai flexed her shoulders, she was almost grateful for the oblivion that had followed soon after, when the back of her head had struck something else.
Still, once she’d completed the round of testing from her toes to her fingers and back again, Mai was surprised to find that she was mainly aching, as if her muscles had undergone a strenuous boot camp for a half a week. Frowning, the noblewoman cast her mind back and slowly pieced together the blue glow, the gentle voice, and the sapphire eyes. Magic.
Which brought her back to her former enemy. The waterbender. Katara. The slight declivity of Mai’s lips deepened as she thought about her. She’d heard from Ty Lee that the girl had disappeared, and now it was patently obvious where she had gone. But why? Who was she to drag a drowned girl from the river? Who was she to dress up as the Painted Lady? For that matter, who was she to heal said drowned girl, even after everything that had happened between them?
The questions buzzed in her mind, and quite frankly, annoyed her. Although she seemed to have been mostly healed, her body had yet to recover, and the idea of being dependent on an unknown not only galled her, it worried her. Mai liked being in control of a situation, being able to weigh up all the factors with a critical eye before she made her choices. But with the waterbender’s confusing emotions and... and... charity, Mai felt as if she were grasping at straws. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she would feel better if she could simply see it all as a court game of debts and dues; see Katara’s actions as merely a ploy to gain something in return, a benefit or a profit from Mai’s continued existence and debt. But not only was there no reason for that to be true, the shocking unguardedness in the waterbender’s eyes and face had screamed louder than words to the contrary.
Mai expelled a breath. It was that same openness, that emotionality which unnerved her, made her unsure of her footing with the waterbender. She really was the strangest girl. If Katara had kept a blank face, stayed neutral and tended to her as any other restrained healer or politician, Mai would have been at ease.
But she hadn’t.
Surprisingly enough, it was the memory of the waterbender’s feelings chasing themselves so openly and so naturally across her face which spurred Mai to action. Shoving away the confused roil of her thoughts, the noblewoman eyed her body critically. Her clothes were dry, but they hung messily on her body, no doubt rearranged and ripped by both the river and the waterbender’s hands as she sought to heal her. Fighting down the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks at the thought, Mai flexed each set of muscles again. If she couldn’t find her feet psychologically in her new situation, she was damn well going to try finding it physically so she could be out of here as soon as possible and back to her mission and...
And Shen Li.
Suddenly, Mai stopped moving. The guard captain. Where was he now? The last she remembered of him was his stricken eyes as he watched her fall, and the memory almost made her grind her teeth. What was he doing now? Did he think she was dead? Was he going ahead with the mission? Was he looking for her? Even while the trained and regimented Fire Nation warrior in her hoped that he’d kept his head and gone ahead with the mission, she could feel the twist of a quietly traitorous wish, one that she quickly left wordless and weak against the iron of her will.
Left behind, nothing special, an echo of Azula’s voice taunted her, and suddenly Mai was moving again, gripping the rough bark of the tree behind her as she tried to move her body into obedience, tried to stand against the ache and throbbing pain of her muscles. She got perhaps halfway up before everything gave way and she slipped and fell. Cursing silently in the recesses of her mind, Mai tried again, an almost desperation fuelling her limbs. Up. Up. She had to get up. Get back on her feet. Get back to herself. Get back control...
And then all thoughts of the guard captain and of rising vanished from her mind. Mai heard an alien rush of water against the background of the river, and she looked up to see the ethereal form of the Painted Lady. The surprise was enough to bring her back down to earth again, but her attention was too fixed on the figure in front of her to properly notice.
The mist parted, and then the spirit was flesh once more. Katara stepped down from her wave on the river, looking exhausted and battle-torn. Mai blinked as she realised that Katara hadn’t lied. She’d come back. She had.
Soundlessly, Mai raised her head and watched as the waterbender shrugged off her shawl, revealing a nasty graze on her left arm. Wearily, Katara walked to the small tent set up deeper in the clearing, her belongings bundled in a small bag by its opening. A low wince of pain fell from her lips as she bent down to lay the shawl on the pile, and Mai waited for Katara to walk back to the river and heal herself, curious to see it done before her eyes. Yet when the now recognisable blue glow shimmered into existence, the waterbender was heading in her direction, and Mai’s eyes widened faintly in surprise.
“How are you feeling?” Katara asked kindly, crouching down to the noblewoman’s eye level.
“I’m fine,” Mai said, a little uncomfortable. Even though she knew it was just a girl beneath the paint and the golden crescent, it was difficult to stare the Painted Lady in the face. “You can take off that veil now, you know. I already know who you are.”
Katara shrugged. “Later. Let me check your back and chest again.”
The underlying inflection of care in her voice sounded painfully foreign. Mai froze for a moment, almost wishing she was unconscious again. But she wasn’t, and Katara was waiting, some strange vessel of what Mai vaguely recognised as sympathy in her eyes. Grinding her teeth, the noblewoman expelled a sharp breath of air and turned away slightly. When she didn’t move further, the waterbender took it as acceptance and carefully inched forwards to unwind the clothing.
Mai steadfastly looked away as the scraps of material spilled scratchily from her shoulders in rips and tears, the holes large enough in some areas for Katara to simply reach through and apply the water there. The two girls were silent for a few moments, one concentrating, the other bearing it through with a tightly clenched jaw. Finally, Katara pulled back, folding the garments back to cover Mai’s skin once more.
“There,” she said unnecessarily, sitting back on her heels. “It should be feeling better pretty quickly now.”
Mai nodded in response, her mouth strangely dry. “Thank you,” she rasped reluctantly, turning back from where she’d been studiously eying the darkness of the woods to face her healer. In the softness of the moonlight, Katara’s face was almost serenely beautiful, the compassion on it reminding her strangely of someone else. Mai found herself staring in an attempt to pick out exactly what kinship she was seeing, before snapping herself out of it when she realised the waterbender was speaking.
“... to be honest, though, I’m surprised,” Katara admitted, absentmindedly playing with the small pool of water in her hand. “You took some pretty nasty scrapes against the rocks, and the injury on your head was terrible. All things considering, it’s a miracle you didn’t...” she paused suddenly, glanced at her patient, and then had the grace to look disconcerted. “Well, uh, break anything.”
Yeah. Miracles. Mai struggled against the impulse to voice the word left unspoken. It was a miracle you didn’t die. For some reason, the thought sounded too suspicious and wondering in her head at that moment, and so she said nothing. Instead, she shrugged lightly, and she felt Katara’s eyes slide over her impassive face before sighing and turning away, taking the silence as a signal that the exchange of words was over. Surprisingly, Mai felt an odd pang of regret as the waterbender stood, walked a few paces to her tent, and then finally began to tend to herself. She was still questioning herself as to why she felt so uncertain when she registered Katara beginning to loosen the veil and hat, and as they started pulling off. Mai stared at the sight revealed underneath.
“You look ridiculous,” she said bluntly before she could stop herself.
Katara felt the tangles behind her and pulled a face. “Well, it’s not like I had time to do my hair properly before I went,” she muttered resignedly, tugging at the veil. “It held up all right until I was fighting.”
Surprisingly enough though, there was no rancour in Katara’s voice. Mai had been expecting annoyance at least, but even that wasn’t there. Instead, the waterbender seemed merely... accepting. It was enough to make the noblewoman pause. And then, without even realising it, Mai rose slowly to her feet.
It was hard at first. She had to grip the tree for support, lever her blood-deprived legs beneath her and move clumsily with the pins and needles. But even then, Mai wasn’t finished. Her body complaining at every step, Mai shakily closed the distance between them. Each newly healed muscle throbbing and aching as she walked, but Mai paid them no heed, concentrating instead on anything but the suddenly quizzical look on Katara’s face. When she finally reached the other girl, Mai reached forwards with weighted fingers and lifted the veil and the hat off her head. Dropping them down to land lightly on the shawl, Mai turned back. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she picked up the brush from Katara’s pile of belongings and began combing out her hair.
Instantly, she was surprised by how luxurious it was. The strands fell like rippled silk through her fingers, and she decided that despite the knots, it was clear that the waterbender took care of herself. Still, the tenseness beneath the chocolate strands also told Mai that said waterbender was still frozen in surprise.
“Wh... What are you doing?”
Mai pushed a huff of breath out between her lips. “What does it feel like?” she replied sarcastically. “Now hold still.”
Mai didn’t know what to think when Katara hesitated, and then closed her eyes and allowed her to continue. A small ripple of surprise pushed at her from the implicit trust in those actions, an implicit trust that even Katara’s continued tenseness didn’t diminish. And given everything that had happened in the past year, the battlefields, the betrayals and the fight, Mai wasn’t sure whether to believe in her eyes or her suspicions.
The Fire Nation girl exhaled slightly in annoyance, picked up a particularly snarled tangle, and then patiently began to work the brush through. If she didn’t think about everything else, the work was oddly soothing, so much that she decided to take her own advice for once and just concentrate on the task at hand. It was slow, careful work, but it took her mind off the tumult in her thoughts, the confusion and the unsettling feeling that she was treading on new and uncharted land. Soon, the combination of Mai’s slow, methodical strokes and the natural beauty of Katara’s hair left the tresses smooth and silky against the waterbender’s back, and without missing a beat, Mai began to gather it up in a neat braid.
When the last hair was clipped back, the noblewoman stepped back and surveyed her work. Not bad, not bad at all, Mai thought, a strange sense of satisfaction settling in her chest. But then her eyes drifted down to the waterbender herself, and at the questioning blue glance, she quickly became unsettled again. Struck, Mai folded her arms back in her sleeves. “What?” she asked defensively. “I used to do this for Ty Lee all the time.”
Katara gingerly touched her fingertips to her head, and then pulled them away. “No... I mean...” she paused, and then her blue eyes swam up to meet the other’s gaze truthfully. “Thank you.”
Mai looked at her oddly, uncomfortably, warily. Truth and honesty shone from those blue eyes, the same eyes which had watched over her while she slept, had monitored her healing as she recovered, and had shone with the vastest range of guileless emotions Mai had ever seen.
The noblewoman shook her head She really was the strangest girl.
“You’re welcome,” she finally responded, and whether she meant it to or not, her voice held more of something indescribable, something that wasn’t boredom or anger or hurt, than it had for weeks.
8 8 8
It was a slightly unsettled Zuko who stumbled out of the throne room to meet his next engagement, the sun shining almost painfully into his eyes. Given all the way that the day had began, he was fairly certain that facing up to members of the general populace was not going to an enjoyable experience. But Ty Lee was already waiting by the palace entrance... although ‘waiting’ was perhaps too broad a term for her current position.
Zuko folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not paying you to dangle from the dragon decorations.”
Upside down, the acrobat’s face instantly turned contrite. Reaching up with one hand, she unhooked her legs and then somersaulted herself backwards, landing with a perfect spring in front of him. “Oh, I’m sorry Zuko! It’s just that I was waiting and I was bored and...”
Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the last strains of his headache. “It’s all right,” he amended. “It’s just...” I want to kill something. I want to find something. I want answers. “... I’ve had a long morning.”
Ty Lee nodded sympathetically and expectantly, as if waiting for him to elaborate. And somehow, the open acceptance on her face spurred him to blurt out the question on his mind. After all, here was a willing ear... who more importantly had been in the Fire Nation while he’d been banished. Still, Zuko internally clenched as the words came out. It galled him to feel so uncertain about his own judgement, but right now he really needed a second opinion.
The Fire Lord took a deep breath. “Tell me, what do you think of Hui?”
The acrobat looked surprised. “The Chief Advisor?”
At Zuko’s nod of affirmation, her mouth screwed up in thought. “Well, um... I don’t really know much about him,” she offered uncertainly. “I mean you know I was never at Court much.”
Zuko’s heart sunk. “Of course. Forget I mentioned it.”
“But that’s not to say I didn’t hear things!” Ty Lee was suddenly bright again, glad that she could help. “From what I know, he seems to take his role as Advisor really seriously, thinking it’s all about neutrality and wisdom of experience and all that. Oh! And I heard that in his spare time he funds and visits orphanages and schools. Isn’t that nice? Something about giving stirring speeches about Fire Nation culture and trying to keep traditions alive...”
Ty Lee trailed off as she saw that Zuko was no longer directly listening to her, his far-off gaze suggesting instead that he was busily filing away and analysing the information. Her eyes sparked with curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
Caught out, Zuko snapped back to attention. “Hmm?”
Ty Lee bounced on her toes. “Why do you ask?” she inquired again.
“Well, uh...” At her questioning look he sighed and cradled his head briefly in his palm. “Honestly? Don’t worry about it. I don’t think it’s too important. Maybe I’m just overreacting...”
Ty Lee’s brows furrowed, and when Zuko looked into her guileless eyes, for some reason an echo of a night long past murmured in his brain. I know you. He blinked and it was gone, but the memory remained and Zuko almost started when the acrobat spoke again.
“Trouble with the nobles?” she asked. As she spoke, she flipped onto her hands and began to handstand-walk ahead of him. He followed the curious spectacle of her with a sigh.
“Trouble with everyone,” he summarised curtly, “But that’s old news. How about you? Have you anything to report?”
Abruptly, Ty Lee lowered herself to her feet again and moved back to walk at his side. Covering his surprise at the suddenly serious look on her face, Zuko turned to her as they began to walk out of the palace. For a moment, he wondered whether he should call his palanquin bearers so they could talk in some semblance of privacy... but then he remembered the point of the exercise and stayed his hand. The small coterie of guards trailing them should be enough, he decided grimly, and then focused his attention back on his companion.
“They’re mostly friendly enough,” the acrobat began haltingly. At that, Zuko couldn’t stop himself from eyeing her pink outfit, her cute braid, her innocent features, and he knew again that he’d made the right choice for his Public Relations officer. Everyone loves you. But me? That’s an entirely different equation. “But a lot of them are really... well... edgy. No one’s sure what you’re trying to do with the soldiers. I think your speech at the coronation helped... that was really good by the way. I noticed quite a few people spoke approvingly of that. The only problem is that you didn’t really outline any specifics, and so people are starting to doubt again. And a lot of them, well...”
She gave him a quick, surreptitious glance, and Zuko suddenly felt inordinately tired. “Just say it, Ty Lee.”
She looked away. “A lot of them are saying pretty mean things about you,” the acrobat admitted. “And I mean, really. It’s not like I lived with you this past year or anything, but I’m pretty sure most of them are lies.”
Zuko said nothing. Ty Lee subsided unhappily, sensing the deep torrents running underneath his guise. They passed the palace gates with only a brief conversation to the guards and a firm order, and as the Fire Lord stepped onto the streets a shot of memory passed through him. It hadn’t been so long ago that the instant he stepped outside, a cheering throng was awaiting to sing his praises.
Now there were no crowds. He hadn’t announced that he was venturing out, and so people were milling around the roads as per normal, going about their business. He read weariness and fatigue in their movements, saw wariness and distrust in their faces as they haggled and bought and cared. For a moment, it seemed like they were in a strange vacuum as Zuko clinically looked over this fragment of his people, seeing Ty Lee’s words playing out in front of him.
But even that didn’t last for long. Slowly, people began to realise that their new Fire Lord was amongst them, and the trade and daily travails gradually ceased. At the change, half of his party of soldiers split off to drift amongst the crowd, attempting to identify and ward off threats while the other half stayed at a protective distance behind him. Zuko felt his lips lift slightly in a humourless grin at the reminder of his security ultimatum, and then turned to the task at hand.
Slowly, cautiously, the Fire Lord talked one on one with his people. It began innocently enough at first, inquiring after their days and the current situation Ty Lee took him by the arm and led him around, still somehow managing to be deferential, approachable, and her same bubbly self to everyone they met. Zuko on the other hand was less comfortable. He moved his mouth around reassuring words, spoke of promises and honour and even the specifics of his policies when he was asked. At that, he saw surprise in their faces at his honesty, saw it displace the misgivings and turn doubt and dislike into uncertainty. But even as he spoke, he knew that it would take actions and not words to convince his people.
So he wasn’t surprised when a young boy, barely seven, stepped up to him and spat at his feet. In fact, in the clamour and cry that followed, Zuko actually felt oddly detached. It was as if his mind had separated from his body, as if he were merely looking on as he spun in front of the child and sent a warning ring of flame at his own guards when they dove for him.
Zuko was barely aware of the crowd of shocked faces as he issued one last sharp command to his guards not to harm the boy, and then crouched down on one knee to meet his subject’s eye level. The boy was shaking now, his eyes wide with fright and his face pale. He was dressed in a well-made tunic, probably the son of some minor well-to-do merchant, and his hair was done in a flawless topknot. Zuko couldn’t help but grin humourlessly at the shock on the boy’s face. Clearly he had not thought his defiance through before he’d done it. That, and his still childlike features, was all it took to gentle the Fire Lord’s voice.
“What’s your name?” Zuko asked raspily.
The boy stared mutinously at him, all too aware of the crowd now around them, silently watching as the drama played out. For a moment he was tempted to spit again, make some political statement that his people would be proud of. But then he focused on the man in front of him, and on the almost eerie calmness he wore like a cloak.
The boy swallowed. “Hing.”
“Hing,” Zuko gazed at him seriously, and the boy noticed that he had large, grave eyes that seemed weighted with too much of the world. “Why did you do that?”
Hing was incredulous. Wasn’t it obvious? Did the traitor prince really think he could just waltz back to his country and expect everyone to be happy? He was about to spit the words out when he made the mistake of looking back into those golden eyes, and then everything froze.
Suddenly, he was confused. Father had told him that the traitor prince was weak, cowardly, and most of all, dishonourable. Dishonourable. One of the worst insults that a Fire Nation citizen could use. And yet... the man in front of him didn’t seem weak or cowardly. He held himself like a royal, a quiet constancy in his gaze, and that was what made Hing’s breath rush out of his lungs in a different form.
“Why did you do what you did?” the boy asked unhappily, unsure now of whether to trust his eyes or his ears.
The Fire Lord seemed to consider the question for less than a second, yet when he tilted his head to answer he somehow gave the impression that he had deliberated upon it for much longer. “I did it to save my country,” he said calmly. “I did it for the Fire Nation.”
Hing’s eyes opened in disbelief. And years of training, months of learning his family’s ways and mouthing his Father’s objections made him spit in the dust again. “Save our country?! You betrayed our country!”
The thin, childlike voice carried unbelievably far in the wind. Zuko rose to his feet, slowly, the memories of another time and another face weighing him down. And again, this time with even more surety, he looked down at the boy with steadfast strength.
“That’s not the way I see it,” he said simply.
There were no insults, no cries of declamation. There was no cheering. There was only silence as Fire Lord Zuko stood, turned, and began to slowly walk back to the palace. He left a little boy behind him, confused, angry, and still too old for his age. And the people watched him as he went, noting closely each and every aspect of him, seizing on the tiniest hint of feeling shown by his body. There was not an ounce of defeat in his step; he walked like a man double his age and with triple the quiet confidence, and that somehow made the crowd doubt, made the crowd wonder, made the crowd disperse as silently as they had formed.
Ahead of them, Zuko closed his eyes briefly and thanked Agni for the silence. It might have seemed damning, but at least the absence of noise could mean many things, good as well as bad. Besides, anything had to be better than the cruel twist of applause...
Zuko steadied himself with a breath at the memory. That night on Ember Island had been... numbing. He remembered the shock of hearing people cheer as his twisted doppleganger on stage disappeared into the shadow of flame. It had been surreal, watching the caricature of himself die. But what had almost ended him had been the cries of approval afterwards...
No one else had questioned him later about it. The entire play had been a shock to everyone, after all. But a gulf had opened inside him that night, and if it hadn’t been for the single, strength-giving brown hand that crept over the distance between them and squeezed, he might have given himself into the despair.
Zuko’s eyes snapped open. He had no time for despair. Not now, not when everything was still resting on him, when everyone was depending on him. Sure, the cringe-worthy play had been frighteningly effective in spreading lies and hate. But he would just have to step up to the challenge once again, make them see...
And sudden idea alighted in Zuko’s brain. A sudden, impossible, rapturous idea that almost stopped him in his tracks. As it was, it occupied him for the rest of the walk back, the intentness on his face making his pink-clad companion wilt with worry.
So intent was he that he barely noticed the palace gates closing behind them, the murmured order making the guards disappear more instinct than conscious thought. Soon it was just Zuko and Ty Lee walking slowly along in silence, making their way back to the palace. Neither said a word, the former still lost in thought, the latter anxious and fretful, until finally she let her worries override her other concerns.
“Zuko?” Ty Lee asked timidly. “Are you okay?”
The Fire Lord jerked back into his body. “What? Oh, I’m fine. Just... thinking.”
Ty Lee’s plait fell off her shoulder as she cocked her head. “Thinking about what?”
Zuko suddenly halted abruptly, almost in mid-step. “Tell me, do you think we could get someone to re-write a play?” At her surprised look, he hastened to elaborate. “Specifically, the play about the Avatar and the last year. I want to get a re-write. I want to give people the truth. Do you think we could get someone to re-write it?”
“Well sure!” Ty Lee said, her gray eyes still a little confused. “There’re a few great bards around, but most of them have been penniless during the war. And there are the court-employed ones...”
Zuko thought of the old crow-ravens huddling over their propaganda and shuddered. “No. Not them,” he said firmly. “There has to be someone else I can sponsor, someone else I can talk to.”
Ty Lee frowned. “We-ell... from my time at the circus we heard of some pretty cool playwright groups. Maybe I could look them up for you.”
“Do that, please,” Zuko narrowed his eyes, lost in thought. “We’ll have to organise some time where we can sit down and give a true, corroborated version. I want to have scribes and soldiers who were there to vouchsafe our version of events. I want the public to know the truth. We’ll have to organise some legal thing to swear it in.”
The acrobat nodded. “That sounds like a great idea!”
It was as if Zuko hadn’t heard her, so wrapped up in his idea that the world seemed to blur at the edges. “We’ll have to make some massive changes to the casting as well,” he mused. “For one, we need to find a new actress for Katara. That, or the old one has to lose weight, learn how to act, lose the make up, become actually beautiful and... no scratch that, we definitely need a new actress.”
Ty Lee paused and watched with great interest as unconsciously, the Fire Lord’s grim face softened. “Yes. We need... we need one who can do it right. One who can be passionate and strong, be... be loving and kind. Be terrifying and... and compassionate. Be forgiving, and, and... what? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Oh nothing, nothing,” the acrobat smiled roguishly, her eyes twinkling. “Just thinking something, that’s all.”
Out of habit, Zuko scowled, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. In an effort to look more imposing, the Fire Lord crossed his arms. Unconsciously, a more menacing tone crept into his voice, one that hearkened back to older days searching for the Avatar and I’ll save you from the pirates. “And what might that be, pray tell?”
Ty Lee’s eyes rounded. “Oh nothing, really nothing. It’s just that... well, you know. Since you’re the Fire Lord and all, not to mention the sponsor, I’m sure they’ll run the castings by you before they lock them in.”
The innocent look on her face was enough to deepen his suspicion, but Zuko also knew when to give up... for now. Focusing on the second part of what she’d said, he smirked. “Excellent.”
And then he paused as if something had just occurred to him, and the smirk became vicious. “And this time, they’d better get the scar on the right damn side.”
