Archive of Our Own

The ship rocked as Lu Ten laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his cabin. Sleep evaded the prince, despite how exhaustion made his body feel as if it gained a hundred pounds, despite the luxurious bed that made the military cot he slept on for nearly two years look akin to a sheet of steel. In another world, Lu Ten supposed he would blame excitement for his sleeplessness as he sailed closer and closer to Caldera City, to the Fire Nation, to his home, the place he and Father whispered about returning to late at night, when the end seemed so near, now that they finally breached the outer wall.

This was not that world, however, and excitement was not what kept Lu Ten awake that night, but rather a feeling much more akin to dread than anything else, as he sailed home alone, Father left at the army camp to try an salvage what little progress they had made in the six hundred days of battle. Six hundred days of battle all wasted in a single day Lu Ten didn’t even remember.

He remembered going to sleep the night before, long accustomed to the jitters that arose before enacting a news strategy. If he tried, he could even hear the exact sequence of notes some exotic Earth Kingdom bird sang before he finally slipped into sleep. The next thing Lu Ten knew was pain, so much pain as he opened his eyes in a bright, bustling tent, healers swarming him, and Father by his side, fat tears streaming down his face juxtaposing the smile and hiccupping laughs when the man noticed Lu Ten’s consciousness. When Lu Ten went to grab his father’s hand, though, he finally realized.

It took a long time for him to calm down, to stop screaming and thrashing and demanding to know just what exactly happened. Through his hysteria, Father managed to give a rushed sequence of events – bad information, an ambush, Earth benders, no one else in the mission survived and they did not think Lu Ten would either, except the boulder fell strangely, crushed his arm, but staved off enough bleeding to keep him alive until healers arrived, he was lucky. Not that Lu Ten felt lucky.

Later that night, when the day healers went to sleep and the night healers busied themselves with others in need (Earth Kingdom diseases wreaked havoc on the camp this time of year), Father gave a more in depth description. The bad information he mentioned earlier, Father’s face pinched at this, was more than simply outdated or distorted, but completely false. Instead of the abandoned agrarian town they expected, Lu Ten and his men stumbled across an incredibly active one filled with skilled Earth benders. Father repeated Lu Ten’s luck, the miracle of his survival. Lu Ten still did not feel that luck, especially as he thought of the men, the high-ranking men that went with him on his mission, who earned their rank rather than received it due to birth-status, who talked of returning home to young wives or new children they never met on their way to secure one last strong-hold before they set sail back to their beloved home land.

As Lu Ten laid in his bed, still staring at the ceiling, he tried not to think of the bodies of those men now laying in caskets in the cool belly of the ship. Father still had not determined who exactly the completely wrong information came from or which scouts were supposed to go out to verify. Lu Ten remembered signing off on the copies of the information meant for documentation, but he couldn’t remember the face of the person who handed him the papers in the first place. Neither, it seemed, could anyone else.

The only bright side – barely even a bright side, rather his one, simple consolation – came from his father’s brilliant strategic ability and new-found vigor in making sure that the wall of the impenetrable city fell. After all, if it did not, then the sacrifice amounted to nothing, more meaningless casualties in a too-long war.

They sailed throughout the night, Lu Ten barely catching even a wink of sleep, and arrived just before dawn. Lu Ten stayed in his cabin throughout the docking process, perhaps the first time he did not find himself on deck to watch or help since his youthful trips to Ember Island with his father. But he wouldn’t be much help and he was much too old to simply watch (not to mention he already felt extraordinarily incompetent just lying about, let alone watching others complete actions he used to do with ease, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach watching the caskets be unloaded).

No, Lu Ten stayed below deck until after the docking process and still took his time in leaving. At least this part, the process of letting others carry his belongings off the boat, still felt somewhat normal, especially at Caldera City’s port. He never demanded particularly much of his servants, not in the ways he watched some nobility do, but, at Caldera City Port, he did not tend to fight them when they went to unload his belongings without his help, not when everyone knew, on sight, who he was and what he was meant to become.

When he went to go down the gangplank, however, Lu Ten’s heart sank ever so slightly. He thought he’d have more time to prepare, figured that Grandfather would forgo his ritual of meeting family at the dock, given the circumstance; instead, at the end of the plank, sat the palanquin, Grandfather inside. Lu Ten continued walking, slower this time, steps more deliberate and breaths more consciously controlled.

He gave a deeper bow than he knew Grandfather typically expected of him and tried his best to form the flame with his remaining hand – not even his dominant one, so the fingers felt clumsy in his attempt.

“Hello, Grandfather,” he said, somewhat stoic and still not meeting Grandfather’s eyes.

Grandfather said nothing. Instead, Lu Ten heard the ruffling of fabric and Grandfather’s feet suddenly came into view. As he lifted his head, Grandfather encased him in a tight hug that Lu Ten tried his best to return. The dread-like tension eased, just slightly.

“I thank Agni you made it home,” Grandfather pulled away, though his arms still rested on Lu Ten’s shoulders. The old man’s face lifted into one of his characteristic half-smiles. “And I thank you, Grandson, for the sacrifice you made for your country.” He clapped one hand on Lu Ten’s shoulder before pulling away and returning to his palanquin. “Let us return home, we have much to discuss.”

The real problem, Lu Ten realized in the early days of the transition from active combat duty to political palace life, did not come from missing the excitement of battle or being annoyed by petty royals who did not understand what war really meant or the frustration when another battle plan fell through where Lu Ten knew he would have succeeded. Not that those were not actual nuisances that Lu Ten now faced on a daily basis, but they weren’t full blown problems. No, the real problem came from his new-found inability to write (because, of course, it had to be his writing hand) and, it turned out, court-life required a disturbingly large amount of writing in the form of note-taking or strategic planning or, basically, any other official task he wanted finished in a timely fashion. There were plenty other annoyance that came with having only one hand (it took him twice as long to get dressed, he needed servants to properly put his hair up in the court-approved top knot, his favorite weapon and stress relief came in the form of dao swords), but not being able to quickly and legibly write proved more than a simple annoyance.

When he first voiced this to Grandfather, late at night over a cup of tea, the only time Lu Ten found it within himself to admit the new difficulties he faced due to his…predicament, Grandfather nodded sagely and, the next morning, Lu Ten found a bright-eyed boy, maybe fifteen years old, standing at his door with a large bag filled to the brim with papers.

And it worked! Having a scribe was wonderful…for half a day.

When Lu Ten went to enter the war meeting scheduled for that afternoon, the guards blocked his new shadow from entry.

“We’re sorry, sir,” they said, “but this meeting is classified.”

Lu Ten winced slightly, having forgotten Grandfather’s warning about certain meetings, then turned to the boy, Kuzon, “Its only one meeting. Perhaps this can be your break time?”

Kuzon nodded and went off. Though slightly disappointed, Lu Ten reasoned that the boy did need breaks. It would have been fine, too, if it ended up being only that one meeting.

But when Lu Ten went to speak to nobility about one bland matter or another, they also refused Kuzon at the door.

“You understand, Prince Lu Ten,” some slimy lord from a backwater island smoozed as he shut the door behind Lu Ten and in front of Kuzon. “Your scribe simply isn’t needed. This is just a cordial visit after all and privacy is just so valuable these days.”

Lu Ten couldn’t fight the man on that, despite the man clearly taking his own notes, barely disguised as “a simple letter to my lovely wife back home, she’s of a delicate persuasion, can never make the journey.”

By the end of the week, Kuzon recused himself from the job. Understandable, Lu Ten sighed, as scribes his age received payment by the page and the poor boy barely completed ten in a week’s worth of work.

“Perhaps an older scribe from higher standing, to put those fussy people more at ease?” Grandfather suggested, once again deep into the night in the room that held fond memories of Lu Ten’s youth, sitting around a Pai Sho board with Father and Grandfather. The steaming pot of jasmine tea made Lu Ten wish ever more for Father’s presence, especially as the siege of Ba Sing Se continued down the road of loss as opposed to victory.

“We both know why you hired a boy in the first place, Grandfather,” Lu Ten said, pouring himself another cup of tea, wishing for the stronger stuff he drank out in the field. Grandfather found alcohol not beholding to the status of royalty, however, so Lu Ten found himself forced into abstinence.

A young scribe can be passed off as rewarding a family’s good behavior by giving their child more experience in court. Older scribes, who saw the work as their career and got paid salaries, worked in either legal and academic circles or for those unable to take notes for themselves; not that everyone did not know Lu Ten incapable of currently taking his own notes, but an older scribe served as another constant reminder of the second-in-line’s weakness. It took years for the people to digest the fact that Agni did not bless son of the Crowned Prince and becoming a master in steel weaponry served as the prime catalyst for the public’s acceptance…

“And your relearning?” Grandfather asked.

Lu Ten sighed as he placed his cup down from taking a sip, flexing his still sore hand, “Frustrating – both in difficulty and pace.”

Grandfather nodded, “Agni will reveal a solution soon enough. We simply must give it time.”

At his words, Lu Ten was filled with dread at how long it would take for Agni’s light to expose this supposed solution and tried not to remember similar words said to him when he started getting on in age without revealing any hopes of being a bender.

The next day, Lu Ten found himself with a surprising abundance of free time, so he made his way to the quarters of his uncle’s family, in search of his cousins and hoping to stay out of Uncle’s way (he always felt a strange unease around Uncle, like the time the family went to Ember Island and Lu Ten found himself too far from shore on his play raft, then looked down to see a sinister circling fin). Luckily, Uncle tended to keep himself busy during the day.

In the courtyard, the one with a turtleduck pond and a large tree, Lu Ten found Zuko and Azula alone – Zuko relaxed in the springtime warmth, content to watch the turtleducks while Azula, constantly training it seemed, practiced bending forms in the corner. Ursa was nowhere to be found.

“And good morning, my dear cousins,” Lu Ten greeted cheerfully.

In the few weeks he had been in Caldera City, he hadn’t made as much time for his cousins as he had wanted to, especially with the knowledge that two years went by much slower for children than adults. Before his deployment, Lu Ten enjoyed spending time with the two, though he found himself more often in the company of Zuko; he still held fondness for Azula, but her early start in bending created a singular fascination in the young girl and when she realized he didn’t bend, he became unimportant in her little world. Zuko, on the other hand, approached his own bending in a more relaxed way and enjoyed a large variety of other things as well, which Zuko took upon himself to teach to Lu Ten as well (when Zuko started showing him sword stances, Lu Ten did not have the heart to explain that he was already a master; Azula apparently later informed Zuko of this fact and, in a turn of surprise, Zuko demanded Lu Ten teach him all he knew).

In the back of his mind, he knew to expect perhaps some hesitancy from them, from Zuko, as they tried to remember how they used to interact. He somewhat expected Azula’s barely-there glance and subtle nod of hello as she continued her set, but was puzzled when Zuko silently sat straighter, gave the slightest of bows with his head and a flash of the flame before returning to looking at the pond.

Always a rather nervous child, Lu Ten dismissed the odd behavior and sat down next to him, “What are you up to this morning?”

Zuko took a deep breath, spine becoming impossibly straighter, “The turtleduck eggs hatched this morning.” He gestured to a scroll in his lap, “I’m currently learning about different life cycles and found their hatching relevant.”

That was certainly…unexpected. Though certainly not a lazy student, Lu Ten remembered Zuko as a child eager to enjoy the world: who wanted to watch turtleducks for the fun of watching turtleducks, not because they were somehow “relevant to his studies.”

“I’m practicing the advanced sets of the intermediate level katas,” Azula said, suddenly deeming them worthy of her time. Apparently, Lu Ten did not respond quickly enough as she continued, “Usually, you start intermediate level bending at twelve.” Definitely an accomplishment, Lu Ten guessed, as the child was only barely nine. “Zuko hasn’t even started it yet.”

Ah, and there was the other reason Lu Ten never truly bonded with Azula.

Next to him, Lu Ten all but felt Zuko deflate and the old protective instincts in him rose once again, even after nearly two years of being abroad forced them into dormancy.

“Well, Zuko is learning two different martial forms. How is dao training going?” That always got Azula to quiet down, as her few attempts at wielding steel weapons ended in mere mediocrity, leading to her abandoning of the discipline to seek the more immediate rewards of her bending ability.

But Zuko simply retreated further and his face began to turn red.

“Father made him stop training over a year ago, since his bending’s so behind,” Azula gloated. “He’s never even used that dagger Uncle sent him. Not to mention, I moved past the same life-cycle lesson weeks ago. If he actually cared about his studies, he’d be inside, not lazing about the pond, pretending to study.”

“Shut up, Azula!” Zuko erupted suddenly, then sprinted off before Lu Ten could do anything but stand, confused as to how he lost control of the situation so quickly.

A major of the Fire Nation, Lu Ten thought sardonically, brought to heel by a children’s quarrel.

“He is such a crybaby,” Azula rolled her eyes before returning to her sets.

Lu Ten stared at the little girl going through her set, bending a flame almost entirely orange and yellow, a far cry from the usually deep red flames of other children her age. The color shift was what made the Intermediate Level so tricky when benders first began it, from what Lu Ten heard. The Beginning Level wanted any flame at all, it did not care much about intensity, but the Intermediate Level required at least half the flame to turn orange. It was strange to see such a small child yielding such intense flame, but Lu Ten did not have the time to think on it, instead setting off to find Zuko.

It took him longer to find Zuko than it would have two years ago, and Lu Ten couldn’t even blame that on his lack of an arm. But find him, Lu Ten did, within the window coverings of Uncle’s library, a room that Lu Ten knew no one but Zuko used. He nearly thumped himself over the head for not thinking of it sooner.

“Hey, buddy,” Lu Ten sat next to Zuko, carefully and, as always, hyperaware of his lack of a strong bracing arm.

Two years ago, Zuko would have fallen into Lu Ten immediately, demanding to be held as he explained everything horrible that had happened that day until he felt better. Two years ago, Lu Ten tried his best not to laugh, as the horrible things tended to range from “Azula called me a dummy in front of her friends” (which only ever bothered him if a certain Mai was there) to “Mom wouldn’t let me have dessert for lunch”. Two years ago, it took ten minutes of a conversation held behind a curtain to get Zuko laughing again.

But this wasn’t two years ago and the heartache Lu Ten saw in Zuko’s curled body screamed more than a ten-minute fix and more than whatever he had just witnessed between the siblings.

And when Lu Ten sat down next to Zuko, he moved away.

Lu Ten’s heart plummeted. “Zuko?”

Zuko did not respond, not even to lift his head out from his knees.

“Is this about your bending?” Lu Ten asked, but no response made him feel near frantic. “Dao training? I’m sorry Uncle made you stop, but maybe I can show you some things, like we used to? Would you like that?”

Whatever little I can now, Lu Ten did not voice, as he scrambled to think how to teach dao blades with one arm.

“When?” Zuko choked, still not looking at Lu Ten and moved even further into the curtain, though finally pulling his face from its hiding place. He did not look at Lu Ten, though, but the heavy curtain in front of him. “You’re too busy. Everyone’s too busy.”

Lu Ten opened his mouth to respond, but Zuko continued: “I was so excited when Mom said you were coming home, but it doesn’t feel like your home. There’s always something you need to do and I know you’re busy, but…”

Zuko trailed off.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Lu Ten swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know it’s been a few weeks since I came home, but it’s been a bit harder than I expected, transitioning back. Once I get properly settled, I’ll have more time, I promise.”

“But you won’t,” Zuko sniffed. “Even before the accident, you never responded to any of my letters.” Another sniffle, “Uncle didn’t even respond to the thank you letter I sent him.”

Lu Ten felt as if someone dumped ice water over his head. Once a week, out in the field, what felt like a lifetime ago now, Father and he sat in the General’s tent, opening the bundle of letters sent from Caldera City as an update to the absent royals of the on-goings of the palace. Almost every other week, Aunt Ursa sent a, somewhat bland and impersonal, letter while an even more distant letter came once a month from Uncle; nothing from either of his cousins.

 War made communication difficult, but how could all of Zuko’s letters fail to find their way to the front?

But Zuko was not finished.

“And this is only the third time I’ve seen you since you’ve been home, only time without actual adults around, and you always used to make time for me,” Zuko swiped at his eyes angrily as tears built.

Lu Ten felt frozen, watching Zuko continue to shake.

“Mom’s been different for ages, too,” Zuko said. “And-and I think it happened right when you left so, so obviously I did something, right?” Zuko finally looked at Lu Ten with large eyes, “What did I do? C-can I fix it, still? I know it’s been a while, bu-but I can try, right? Right?”

“Zuko, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Lu Ten stressed. “I’m so sorry that I never responded to your letters, but…bud, I don’t know what happened, I never got any letters. I figured you were just having too fun a time with the palace all to yourself to write,” he tried to joke, feeling way out of his depth.

This was the definitively wrong tactic.

Zuko’s face crumpled and he shook his head violently as sobs wrecked his body. Lu Ten moved towards Zuko, grateful the boy did not move away again, and was finally able to wrap his arm around the sobbing child.

“I missed you,” Zuko managed through his sobs. “I missed you and Uncle so much. I still miss Uncle.”

“I know, buddy,” Lu Ten held on to Zuko as tightly as he could. “I know.”

But what could he do? He was busy, he couldn’t promise Zuko time he didn’t have (though Agni knows what Ursa was doing all day, to his knowledge the wife of the spare heir did not have a more pressing duty than the one to her children)…

Then, an idea.

Personally, Lu Ten thought his idea genius, so he didn’t understand Grandfather’s lackluster response of: “I’m not sure, Grandson.”

“Zuko would make the perfect scribe!” Lu Ten pushed. “He’s young and of the highest status, no one would dare exclude him.”

“He’s quite young,” Grandfather said. “Your previous scribe was a teenager already finished with his formal, full-time instruction. Zuko, on the other hand, already has a quite full schedule.”

“I was unaware you knew much about Zuko’s schedule. Have you become closer, since I’ve been away?”

Grandfather shook his head, “You know quite well that your uncle is a downright menace.” Lu Ten refrained from laughing at his Grandfather’s annoyance, “All your grandmother’s fault, by the way – and she even admitted it, towards the end!” The old man shook his head once again, “No, any time I even breathe in the direction of his children, Ozai appears, inviting himself to war meetings or yammering on about some battle plan or another, have I mentioned he is an awful strategist? The man would kill off a whole generation of young men as cannon-fodder.”

“I’ve heard,” Lu Ten said, a bitter taste settling on his tongue. “He’s gained some popularity for his…bolder plans.”

His plans that would kill loyal soldiers without a second-thought, claiming that their enlistment equaled consent to die, but Lu Ten knew these soldiers. Most recruits did enter the ranks with lofty ideas of martyrdom and proving themselves to Agni, but, when it came down to the grit of it all, no one wanted to die and, in Lu Ten’s humble opinion, no good leader should enact a plan with their own people’s deaths assumed.

 “But…back to Zuko,” Lu Ten said.

“He’s still my grandson, I keep tabs on him through the servants,” Grandfather explained.  

“Do you keep tabs on Azula as well?”

“I would,” Grandfather’s annoyance resurfaced, “But Ozai keeps me more than well-informed on her progress.”

“Well, she is a remarkable bender,” Lu Ten acquiesced. He couldn’t imagine having to grow up with a sibling like Azula, because as arrogant and obnoxious as the girl could be, she truly did possess remarkable abilities.

“You, more than anyone, should know that bending is not everything,” Grandfather said.

“Do you have something against Azula?”

Lu Ten expected Grandfather to shake his head, say that he had misunderstood, explain that his perceived annoyance with the girl was actually residual frustration with her father.

But, instead, “She is dangerous.”

Lu Ten raised his eyebrows high, “She’s nine.”

“And already about to begin advanced level training. Most study the intermediate level for two years, at least, and she’s on her way to being the youngest master seen outside of the Sages,” Grandfather said. “Her instructors say that she’s ready, but I have never seen anything but arrogance and pride in her in regards to her bending. I am concerned about what Ozai is creating.”

“Can you not tell her instructors to slow her training?” It seemed obvious to Lu Ten, Grandfather was the Fire Lord after all.

“Not without the fear that her training will continue behind closed doors.”

Lu Ten felt suddenly very cold.

“The palace has been very different since you and your father left, Lu Ten,” Grandfather’s voice, though quiet, felt heavy. “I was actually hoping Iroh would return with you and, if he stays away much longer, I might just call him back myself.”

“You fear insubordination within the palace?”

Grandfather nodded.

“From Uncle?”

“I wish I could say not,” Grandfather said. “It’s a terrible position for a father to be in – as annoying as I can find him, he is my son.”

“You’re looking for a way to stop his plans without exposing him as a traitor,” Lu Ten realized.

“I may be the Fire Lord, but I am still a father. I could not bear to banish him, let alone kill him if it comes to that. He’s a horrible strategist, I had enough evidence to find him guilty months ago, but he is persistent. If only I could figure out exactly what his plan is…”

“Use Zuko,” Lu Ten said immediately.

Grandfather raised one critical eyebrow, urging Lu Ten to continue.

“Uncle has never paid much attention to Zuko. If we have Zuko act as my scribe, that will give you direct access to a basically unbiased source of information from within Uncle’s own family,” Lu Ten said.

“Now that is an idea. There is still the issue of Zuko’s age and his schooling…”

“It’ll be a temporary position. Just until I get the hang of writing again,” Lu Ten tried to restrain his smile as his plan began to fall into place.

Grandfather nodded, slowly, “That could work.” He narrowed his eyes at Lu Ten and pointed a wrinkled finger, “He’s not allowed in the war meetings, though."

The next day, not long after lunch, Grandfather summoned Zuko to the throne room, despite Lu Ten’s protests of it being much too formal for family, for Zuko. Grandfather simply gave him a knowing look and continued on as if he did not hear Lu Ten, leaving the young man to steep in his confusion until the doors of the throne room opened.

Zuko entered, not alone as expected, but with Uncle and Azula, Uncle at the front with his children flanking him. Zuko kept his head bowed, eyes on the ground as they walked up to the dais where Lu Ten sat next to Grandfather, while Azula walked with a pride obviously emulating her father before her. When it came time to bow, Uncle’s bow was shallow, his flame crude, and Azula followed suit where Zuko’s bow felt like almost an apology for his existence. In his peripheral vision, Lu Ten caught a glimpse of a knowing look Grandfather sent his way.

“I do believe I only summoned Zuko today,” Grandfather said.

Uncle laughed. Like it was a joke. Lu Ten bristled. Maybe he thought a summons too formal for family, but Grandfather still enacted a formal summons; Lu Ten could not even think if it was disrespectful to invite oneself to another’s summons, for no one ever had before. It was just not to be done. And Uncle laughed.

“Good day to you as well, Father,” Uncle said. “And you, Nephew.”

Lu Ten tried not to shudder at the familial address, but it felt…slimy, coming from him.

Not one to ever deal in small talk, Grandfather said, “I have a proposition for young Zuko.”

Zuko’s head shot up in confusion while Azula sneered.

“Yes, of course,” Uncle masked his confusion well, as he pulled Zuko forward roughly by his shoulder. The young boy stumbled, catching himself just before he fell. “Zuko is happy to serve his nation, however he can.”

“Lu Ten is in need of a scribe,” Grandfather explained. “It’s only temporary, until he perfects his writing once again, and I figured Zuko was well-suited for the task.”

Zuko looked at Lu Ten, eyes wide in surprise.

Uncle also seemed surprised, but not in the joyful way Zuko did. “Father, while I’m sure Zuko would perform the task…adequately, might I suggest offering this opportunity to your namesake, Azula? Zuko simply can’t afford the disruption to his studies the way that Azula can.”

The joy and surprise quickly left Zuko, his eyes falling to the floor once again, while Azula primped and preened behind him under their father’s praise.

“Nonsense, Son,” Grandfather said. “Zuko is months ahead of the average student his age. I mean no offense to my granddaughter, but Azula is simply too young for this level of responsibility, no matter how advanced she is in her own studies. No, Zuko shall serve as Lu Ten’s scribe for the next few months.”

Uncle’s careful mask cracked as his lips pursed just slightly, like he took a bight of a particularly sour lemon. As Lu Ten looked on, he figured he had never seen so much true emotion from the man before.

“But don’t worry, Son,” Grandfather looked quite satisfied with himself, “I’ve made sure Lu Ten knows that Zuko is not to sit in on war meetings.”

Lu Ten could almost hear the grinding of Uncle’s teeth.

“Too much violence for someone so young after all.”

So it was settled. Zuko was going to be Lu Ten’s scribe.

“Lu Ten?”

After nearly two years sleeping in tents or on ships with narrow, hard cots, Lu Ten found a great appreciation for the nice, large bed in his palace bedroom.

“Lu Ten…?”

He also appreciated being able to sleep through the night, not being woken up for watch or to break down camp because of incoming Earth Kingdom soldiers.

“Luuu Tennnnn.”

Not to mention the climate, Lu Ten much preferred the dry heat of the Fire Nation to the muggy humidity of the Earth Kingdom.

“Lu Ten!”                  

“Ah!” Lu Ten shot up in bed with a start, looking around wildly. In the darkness he caught sight of a small figure against the wall. Squinting he saw, “Zuko?!”

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled. He inched forward and grabbed the candle off Lu Ten’s night stand, quickly lighting it before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hi.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Lu Ten replied.

Zuko nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Why are you in my room at this hour?” Lu Ten tried to calm his racing heart. Zuko mumbled an answer that Lu Ten didn’t hear, “Pardon?”

“I don’t know how to be a scribe,” Zuko said.

“…what?”

“I don’t know how to be a scribe!” Zuko repeated with more urgency. “Azula was telling me about all these different rules and codes and I don’t know any of that!”

Later, Lu Ten would blame drowsiness for his continued lack of understanding, “huh?”

“I-It’s okay, though, because Azula does and she offered to be your scribe, so you just need to tell Fire Lord Azulon that Azula needs to be your scribe instead, since I don’t know how to do it,” Zuko said.

And finally Lu Ten’s brain caught up with the conversation. Azula. Of course.

“Zuko, there are no special rules or-or codes that you need to know. You aren’t a spy,” which was actually some weird flavor of ironic given Grandfather’s current plan and why Zuko needed to be the scribe. “Azula’s just jealous.”

Zuko blinked, “Azula’s…jealous? Of me?”

Lu Ten nodded.

“Why would she be jealous?” Oh, Zuko. Sweet, naïve, Zuko.

“Because you get to hang out with me all day, obviously.” Lu Ten ruffled Zuko’s hair. “Can I go back to sleep, now?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” Zuko apologized, hopping off the bed. “Um, so, I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Mhm.” Lu Ten closed his eyes.

“For my first day as a scribe.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Zuko?”

“Yes?”

“Go. Back. To bed.”

Zuko actually made more than just an adequate scribe. He took the job seriously, returning well-written notes promptly and in great detail, carefully listening and writing letters Lu Ten dictated. Within a few days, he worked out a quick short-hand that allowed him to document large swaths of information effectively, to the point where a three hour meeting made up just two sheets that, when given to Lu Ten, became closer to ten. After a week or two, Zuko’s own observations began filtering into the write-ups as well, such as who contradicted themselves and on what or which people would agree with Lu Ten no matter what he proposed. His clever organizational system helped when Lu Ten needed to go over a specific topic referenced in multiple meetings and, all in all, Lu Ten found himself more than impressed with the eleven-year-old.

He tried to tell Zuko as much, but the compliments never seemed to take hold.

“You have very neat handwriting, Zuko.”

“Not really, I’m still working on it. You should see Azula’s.”

Or that time a commander tried to sneak through a bloated expense report.

“Good catch, that man almost had me convinced I’d already signed that report.”

“You would’ve remembered later, I just happened to still have my short-hand notes from that meeting…”

Or when Zuko, unprompted, gave Lu Ten a book entitled The Far-Side Islands: A study in Noble etiquette in the most remote native Fire Nation territories before his meeting with the newly-arrived Earl of that region.

“Thank you, I didn’t even think to brush up on this!”

“Your meeting would’ve gone fine without it, I just thought you might want a refresher.”

Beyond his skill, Lu Ten also enjoyed being able to spend so much time with Zuko. It made him feel just the slightest bit normal. Like he wasn’t at least a full decade younger than all the other people in the room, like the ambush never happened, like the letters from the front of Ba Sing Se did not keep detailing a worsening situation when victory once felt so close.

He liked exchanging secret glances with his baby cousin when meetings turned dreadfully boring or when lower nobles started getting uncomfortably familiar. He looked forward to eating lunch in one of the private courtyards and, if time allowed, getting into short scrimmages – Zuko with his dao and Lu Ten with his old broadsword (though any time Lu Ten tried to get Zuko to show him some of his firebending, the boy became stony and standoffish). Zuko reminded him of the good things about home.

At the end of the third week of Zuko acting as Lu Ten’s scribe, Grandfather invited Zuko to one of their late night tea sessions. Or, rather, told Lu Ten to bring Zuko along, making sure Uncle remained unaware.

So when Zuko came by that evening to drop off his writings, Lu Ten urged him to stay for a while and, when it came time, to follow him. When he opened the door to Grandfather already pouring tea into three cups and Zuko’s eyes went as large as saucers, Lu Ten realized he should have probably warned Zuko about who they were meeting.

Zuko kept opening and closing his mouth, looking at Lu Ten but saying nothing, so he took the opportunity to gently shove Zuko into the room, shutting the door behind them before taking his seat. Shock making him mute, Zuko sat next to his cousin.

“Ah, good evening, Grandsons,” Grandfather smiled, handing Lu Ten a cup and then Zuko.

“Thank you, Grandfather,” Lu Ten smiled back before taking a sip. Jasmine.

“Thank you, Fire Lord Azulon,” Zuko stammered, staring down at his cup with still too-wide eyes.

“Come now, we’re family, Zuko, you may call me Grandfather.” Grandfather took a sip of his own tea and tsked, before looking up at Lu Ten. “The same leaves from the same bush following every instruction your father left and it still doesn’t taste the same, does it, Lu Ten?”

“If there were such a thing as a tea bender, it would certainly be Father,” Lu Ten agreed.

“So, Zuko,” Grandfather fixed his full attention onto the young boy who seemed completely unaware of what to do with it, “you’ve been doing some fine work as Lu Ten’s scribe.”

“Well,” Zuko swallowed, “I’ve always liked note-taking…I like knowing that I can go back and check what I think I know.”

“Ah, so you’re a clever one,” Grandfather said. Lu Ten wondered how much shock Zuko’s face could actually convey, as it always seemed to mount. “I’ve known far too many men who trust only their memory and memory, my boy, is a very fickle thing. Its why I take notes myself, in all my meetings.”

“You take notes?” Zuko asked, jaw dropping slightly.

Lu Ten raised an eyebrow at Zuko, “I also rely on notes, that’s why you’re taking them, remember?”

Zuko fidgeted, “you don’t have to say that, I know the real reason I’m taking notes for you.”

Lu Ten made eye contact with Grandfather, who cleared his throat, “You do?”

Zuko nodded, “you’re training me to be a career scribe, right?”

Grandfather’s thin eyebrows attempted to migrate into his hairline. “Why would you be training to be a career scribe? And who told you that?”

“Father did,” Zuko said. “Over dinner a little while back. Azula was still upset, so Father explained that since I won’t ever be a good enough bender to serve in the military at a level appropriate to my station, this was how you realized I could be useful.”

A moment passed, no one said anything.

“Not that I’m not grateful!” Zuko tried to assure. “I really do enjoy it and I’m a much better scribe than firebender.”

“Zuko, career scribes are definitely…necessary assets to our nation,” Lu Ten never saw Grandfather struggle with his words, but this situation clearly made him hesitant to say the least. “And, if that’s what you wish to do with your life, especially after Lu Ten marries and the likelihood of you taking the throne lessens, that is up to you, but this wasn’t meant to train you.”

“But Father said you discussed it with him before the summons?” Zuko cocked his head to the side, “You just didn’t want to embarrass me or anything, but I’m not embarrassed! I’m happy that I can be of use.”

“Zuko, if I had discussed it with him before the summons, why would he have tried to make Azula Lu Ten’s scribe instead?’ Grandfather asked.

“I…I didn’t think about it that way,” Zuko admitted.

Lu Ten watched as the boy tried to puzzle through the muddle, obviously confused as to how to piece together the two things he now knew without either one being a lie. The question was who he would choose to believe in the end. Grandfather watched Zuko as well, though attempted to appear preoccupied with his tea.

“That’s a weird thing for Father to lie about,” Zuko finally said, nose scrunching slightly, before shrugging. “Adults can be weird though.”

“Yes, they can,” Lu Ten agreed.

“Lu Ten,” Grandfather raised an eyebrow. “You’re an adult.”

“But he isn’t an actual adult,” Zuko qualified.

“And what would make me an actual adult, exactly?” Lu Ten asked.

Zuko thought for a minute, “A beard.” Then sipped his tea.

Lu Ten looked at Grandfather who simply shrugged and primly said, “You should get to work on that, then. If you want to be an actual adult.”

Life went on and Lu Ten found himself beginning to feel normal once again. It became a new kind of normal to do tasks with only one arm, a normal which, in a sense of odd irony, felt strange in and of itself, but Agni still shined and time passed. Zuko’s company made the days less mundane, Grandfather’s careful guidance kept him sane as always, and Father’s letters, though not writing of great strides in the conquering of Ba Sing Se, no longer wrote of losing large chunks of territory.

Grandfather’s plan worked quite well, as well. Through Zuko, Grandfather was able to intercept Uncle’s secret correspondence with a few higher-ups of various colonies (and replace those in leadership positions); it quelled the recent murmurs coming from those colonies that the people felt unsafe with Ba Sing Se still run by the Earth Kingdom. He weeded out which visiting nobility fell particularly vulnerable to Uncle’s honeycomb words and sent them home to keep the peace in their own regions. Two great blows that Lu Ten knew annoyed Uncle.

“I did not think he would rope his wife into this,” Grandfather said over dinner one night, “but I am at a loss for what else Ursa would be doing with all her time. I had noticed a distinct uptick in the amount of servants hired from her birth region, but simply believed it to be her wanting to help better the wealth of the area.”

“But why help him?” Lu Ten asked. “Aunt is not a weak woman and she doesn’t just do whatever Uncle tells her.”

It used to create more than passing gossip in the Palace, the loud and violent rows the couple engaged in during the early hours of the night for weeks after their marriage. They calmed down for a while, until Aunt gave birth to a frail little boy in the middle of the night during the dead of winter. Rumors claimed Uncle wanted the child culled, that Aunt staunchly refused, and the couple’s rivalry erupted once again. Lu Ten remembered sneaking into Zuko’s nursey every night until Zuko grew stronger (not that he ever believed Uncle capable of that, but…he still went).

“That is my confusion as well,” Grandfather admitted. “I do not see her benefitting from Ozai gaining power.”

After a moment of contemplation, a thought came to Lu Ten. “Could they be hiding something?”

“Ozai does not know how to hide anything,” Grandfather dismissed. “Perhaps Ursa is more power hungry than I previously believed. No matter, we at least know to be cautious of servants from that region.”

Lu Ten looked down at his roast duck, “They don’t happen to be kitchen workers, do they?”

Grandfather chuckled, “No, they’re mostly…” The old man paused as realization washed over him, “They’re all healers or personal attendants, actually. And two are bending instructors.”

“Is that relevant?” Lu Ten asked.

“I’m not sure. I should just send them all on a permanent vacation to Ember Island, it’d keep them both occupied and out of the way,” Grandfather grumbled. “Except Zuko, of course. Zuko would stay.”

Well, that was new, “Of course?”

“Only Agni knows how Ozai raised a child like Zuko, but he’s more than a fool than I previously believed,” Grandfather said. “That boy is dedicated, determined, and loyal beyond all belief. Once again, a horrific strategist, Zuko and Azula together would make more than a merely formidable team.”

Lu Ten thought that over for a moment, eyes growing larger as he thought more on it: Zuko’s attention to detail and, though awkward, charming personality combined with Azula’s bending and a ruthlessness that did not seemed to ease with age.  “You are not wrong.”

Not long after, dinner finished and Lu Ten retired to his rooms, he checked over some notes, read a bit of a play, and turned in early, ready to wake up the next morning to his new normal routine.

But the next morning, Zuko was nowhere to be found. He usually showed up towards the end of Lu Ten’s breakfast, either waiting by the door if he caught Lu Ten just about to leave or sitting, sipping an extra cup of morning tea as Lu Ten quickly finished his food. Lu Ten did not think too much on it, Zuko sometimes ran a little late and met Lu Ten at the door of his first meeting instead. Zuko was not there either, though, and after the hour long meeting, Lu Ten officially became worried.

He headed straight to Uncle’s quarters, but, before he could pass through the one door that lead to that section of the palace, he was stopped.

“Hello, Prince Lu Ten,” an attendant bowed deeply, as if showing him great respect despite clearly blocking his passage. “How may I be of service today?”

“I’m looking for my cousin, Zuko,” Lu Ten said hesitantly.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible today,” she said. “Prince Zuko is sick. Prince Ozai said he is not to have any visitors.”

Sick?

“What’s wrong with him?” Lu Ten asked. “He seemed perfectly fine yesterday.”

“Children just get sick sometimes,” the attendant replied. “And Zuko’s always been a bit frailer than others.

“Yeah,” Lu Ten’s eyebrows furrowed. “I guess…”

“Is that all?”

“Will he be all right by tomorrow?”

Still smiling, she replied, “Oh, no. It’s a bit serious, he might not be well for a while.”

“Have the healers been informed?” Lu Ten had just seen the Chief Healer of the Palace in halls, even asked if he’d seen Zuko, and the man claimed ignorance to the boy’s whereabouts. But if Zuko were this sick…

“Prince Ozai and Princess Ursa have their own private healers,” the attendant explained, “for matters likes this, you see. With two children as high-energy as the young prince and princess, they didn’t want to be constantly tying up the Palace Healers.”

And Lu Ten did remember this, but the official Palace Healers were the best healers in the entire nation.

“Is that all, Prince Lu Ten?” The attendant asked again.

“Yes, um, thank you,” Lu Ten quickly took his leave.

Something didn’t feel right. In fact, something felt very, very off…

A palace used for generations upon generations did not live that long without going renovations, some more serious than others. One of these more serious renovations came with creation of isolated quarters to allow privacy to the separate nuclear families. While the Fire Lord and Crowned Prince’s quarters were perfectly contained, however, the Spare Heir’s quarters had tiny flaws – tiny flaws that Lu Ten exploited eleven years ago and, luckily remembered now. They involved a series of old, narrow, all-but-forgotten servants passages and, if navigated extremely, extremely carefully, lead to the roof of the palace. From there, if one had an intimate knowledge of the palace’s lay out, they could walk the roof; this only worked if the room desired had a specific kind of window that began higher off the floor than normal and ended at the roofline – the ones that the architects only put in rooms intended for children, so they couldn’t open them until they grew tall enough to be trusted.

This was much easier when he was a teenage, Lu Ten griped as he squeezed through the passage. And had two arms, he thought as he got to where he needed to climb. In the end, his memory proved true and he found himself at Zuko’s window in little time. But when he tilted over the side of the roof to open the window, he got a clear view of Zuko’s bed. Zuko’s empty, still-made bed. Lu Ten still opened the window and climbed through, careful to close it behind him, then stood, perplexed, in the child’s empty room. Where could he possibly be?

Lu Ten left the room and set off down the hall. The quarters did not have an infirmary or even an area to turn into a temporary one. 

He checked the courtyard with the turtleducks. Empty.

He checked the dining area. Empty.

After the dining area, as he walked swiftly down the hall, a chill went over Lu Ten. They weren’t just empty of Zuko: they were empty of anybody. He took off down the halls.

He checked the children’s study room. Empty.

He checked the training yard. Empty.

He checked the private kitchen, every bedroom, the bathing quarters. Empty, empty, empty, he couldn’t even find the attendant he with whom he had just spoken!

He checked the library last, though on a regular day its emptiness said little. The room looked the same as the rest: in perfect condition, nothing out of place. Except, when he went to leave, he realized that wasn’t true: the one desk in the room, the one he remembered well because Zuko always chose to study there outside of lessons if the weather disallowed him from studying outside, no longer sat against the wall and the rug underneath the area held discolored, gray splashes, like the remnants of a stubborn stain.

Lu Ten left the quarters, quickly making his way to the throne room and pushing past the guards to enter.

“Prince Lu Ten, I assume you have a reason for your intrusion.” Which was Grandfather for: you better have a reason for disturbing me during a meeting, young man.

“My apologies, but…” Then, he saw who the meeting was with. A very perturbed looking Uncle.

“Grandson, are you all right?” Grandfather asked, standing. “You look shaken.”

“I’ll help him, there’s no reason for you to come down, Father,” Uncle began walking towards Lu Ten.

But there was something off about his gait. His arms didn’t move naturally, one stayed much too still.

One hand never left his robes.

Right before Ozai reached him, Lu Ten sprang into action, pulling the man close and hitting all the pressure points his father taught him years ago – Chi Blocking, temporarily stunning one’s ability to bend, the most useful skill for a non-bending combatant – and wrench

ing Ozai’s arm behind his back, then bending it. A large dagger clattered to the ground.

“Ozai,” Grandfather had clearly not listened to his son’s words, standing not far in front of them. “You came here to kill me.”

“You gave me no choice,” Ozai spat.

“Guards!” Grandfather yelled. The doors opened immediately.

“Yes, sir?”

“Arrest Prince Ozai for attempted assassination of the Fire Lord,” Grandfather ordered. “Make sure he does not escape.”

The guards quickly acted on their orders, carefully taking a now thrashing Ozai from Lu Ten’s hold and using the exit behind the dais that led straight to the palace containment center.

“What’s the likelihood that this was the extent of Ozai’s plan?” Lu Ten asked once the door closed.

And, of course, that’s when Ursa ran into the room. Her eyes went wide when she saw Lu Ten and Grandfather.

“Hello, Ursa,” Grandfather greeted, eyes narrowed.

“Fire Lord Azulon, Prince Lu Ten,” Ursa bowed. “I’m sorry to intrude, I must have gotten turned around somehow.”

She went to leave once again, but Lu Ten had already grabbed the knife, pinning her to the wall. On the blade it read: Never give up without a fight.

“Where. Is. Zuko?”

When she realized that minutes before she arrived guards arrested her husband, Ursa crumpled. She said little more than that Azula and Zuko were at a Retreat House in the country, then went silent. Lu Ten immediately hopped on a mongoose lizard, bringing the Chief Healer and two low-level guards with him.

The Retreat House proved none too difficult to find and when he knocked on the door, a kindly-looking old woman answered it.

“My prince,” She gasped, eyes wide. “What ever can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for my cousins,” he explained. “Prince Zuko and Princess Azula. I was told I could find them here.”

“Oh, yes, of course, come right in,” the old woman ushered them inside, picking up a basket of washing she must have set down to open the door. “I’ll get my husband, he’s the residential healer,” she explained, “It’ll be just a moment.”

She led them to a cozy sitting area, but Lu Ten remained standing, even after the woman left the room. He felt like someone shot him full of lightning, like pure, jittery energy coursed through his veins. The woman seemed friendly and normal and not part of a horrific assassination plot, but how would he know? Even after all this time, just under four months of uncovering and unraveling Ozai’s plans, he never expected to watch the man carry a blade towards him (and what oddness was it that he chose to use a blade instead of his bending?), to have to disarm and Chi block him before watching his arrest.

But Lu Ten couldn’t think about that now, especially as the Residential Healer walked into the room.

“Good morning, Prince Lu Ten,” the man, of similar age to his wife, bowed deeply. “My name is Ziru, I assume you are hear for an update on the conditions of your cousins?”

Conditions? Of Azula and Zuko?

As Lu Ten failed to respond, the Chief Healer, Kaan, took over, “Yes, I am the Palace’s Chief Healer, Kaan. There’s been a good deal of…chaos at the Palace this morning. How is Prince Zuko?”

Ziru shook his head, lips pursed, “He made it through the night, at least, and the wound does not seem to be infected, but his eye.” The man sighed, “I tried to tell Princess Ursa, I’m a Mind Healer. While I do have knowledge on burns and the such, due to my specialty and all, with the severity of his burn, he really should see a burn specialist, should’ve been taken to one immediately instead of brought all the way out here. I’ve done my best, but it will be a miracle if he won’t lose the eye completely. I have no hope in him not being blinded and its chance whether the ear will retain hearing.”

Despite the clearly horrified looks of his audience, Ziru kept talking.

“And the princess!” Ziru scoffed. “I did tell both Princess Ursa and Prince Ozai that the methods we were using to treat Princess Azula would only work as long as she remained in the lowest severity of addiction. She needed to be carefully monitored, any slight progression and we needed to drastically change her treatment! Princess Ursa was here almost every day, trying to learn all she could, I can’t believe this happened.”

“Addiction?” Lu Ten cocked his head to the side, “What addiction? She’s nine years old!”

“Flame addiction,” Ziru clarified. “Azula’s been a patient of mine…just under two years now, I’d say.”

“Princess Azula is a flame addict?!” Kaan exclaimed.

“Previously, I considered her a potential addict, but have now changed my diagnosis to official full-blown flame addiction. You were unaware?” Ziru asked, clearly surprised. “I’ve been receiving letters from your office since I took her on as a patient.”

“Can I see some of those letters?” Kaan asked.

Ziru nodded, pulling them out of a hidden pocket of his healer’s robes, “I actually brought them in, I wanted to discuss with you how she progressed so drastically without notice.” He handed them to Kaan who flipped through them. “Are they forgeries?”

Kaan shook his head, “Not necessarily. But they also aren’t from my office,” he pointed to the now-broken seal on the letters. “The dragon on my office’s seal is simply posturing, not actively  breathing fire. This is the seal of Prince Ozai’s personal healers.”

Ziru blanched, “I was unaware Ozai had his own healers. I assumed…”

“You assumed you were dealing with a more impartial party,” Kaan finished. “The seal is quite new,” Kaan shared a glance with Lu Ten, “I tried to tell Prince Ozai that the seals were too similar, especially considering that those healers are not under my supervision whatsoever, but he insisted that it was fine. I can see why, now.”

“But they’re signed Chief Healer,” Lu Ten pointed out. “They were still acting illegally, correct?”

“My letters are signed Chief Healer of the Fire Lord’s Palace,” Kaan explained. “Any healer with top-authority in their assembly takes the title of Chief Healer, but we don’t write many letters in the first place. This was designed to trick Healer Ziru, but it is not illegal.”

“Oh, by Agni,” the poor man looked incredibly distraught.

“Let me help you sit down,” Lu Ten offered, gently grabbing Ziru by his elbow and leading him to sit, taking a seat across from him, himself. “Do you need anything to drink?”

“You are too kind, my prince,” Ziru attempted a small smile, “Especially after I have failed your young cousins so, but I am all right.”

Kaan took a seat as well, the guards staying where the situated themselves by the entrance to ward off any wandering patients or staff.

“To be perfectly transparent,” Kaan said, “The most I knew about Azula was that she was a bending prodigy. Almost completed the intermediate level and on the track to be a master before her teenage years. Although that may be rumor?” He looked at Lu Ten for clarification.

Lu Ten shook his head, “No, she’s been progressing very quickly through her training.”

“She was supposed to be on a revised training program,” Ziru bemoaned. “I created one that I already thought ambitious – she would be learning the beginning intermediate level at seventeen, at the least, and not to progress past that. Past the beginning intermediate level, benders start using more intense fire, I told her parents to keep her on low-intensity, red flame only. No wonder Prince Zuko’s burn is so severe.”

“What happened to Zuko?” Lu Ten asked, impatience growing.

“Princess Ursa said it was a training accident,” Ziru said. “That Prince Zuko got too close while Azula was practicing. I tried to tell her that that wasn’t possible, given Princess Azula’s height, they had to have at the least been sparring, but it doesn’t look like that either. The others might be, but I didn’t see them until long after Princess Ursa left.”

“Others?” Lu Ten asked, then understanding set in, “Other burns?”

“Healed ones,” Ziru said. “All over the poor boy. When I first met Princess Azula, Princess Ursa said she had noticed Princess Azula zoning out while watching candles and just wanted me to check up on her. She claimed she knew a flame addict, back in her region, and was aware that that was one of the earliest signs. I checked the girl over, asked her some questions, and had her demonstrate some bending, but Princess Ursa said the girl had never committed acts of destruction. Of any kind."

“Like what?” Lu Ten asked.

“Low-level arson, like burning books or toys or the like, was what I was mostly looking for, so I asked and Princess Ursa said no. I even asked out-right if Princess Azula ever burned her brother, but Princess Ursa still refused.”

“You can’t diagnosis Flame Addiction without some form of destruction via bending abuse,” Kaan explained when Lu Ten still looked confused. He then turned back to Ziru, “Which is why I’m confused why you were treating her at all, if this was the claim.”

“Well, I didn’t diagnosis her as a flame addict, remember, I diagnosed her with the potential to become one, but extremely high potential that needed to be closely monitored,” Ziru said. “It’s part of my life-long research on childhood-onset flame addiction. I currently have about nine patients of various ages, but, admittedly, Princess Azula had the most perceived success; she was also the earliest caught, it seemed, which is why I treated her as an out-patient, the rest live here. I did manage to delay progression in almost all of my patients, but, even then, all my patients currently over twelve were forced to end their bending training. However,” Ziru perked up slightly, “none of my patients, now barring Princess Azula, have burned someone or committed acts of destruction once starting my treatment.”

“But why do you think it wasn’t a training accident?” Lu Ten never particularly got along with Azula, but purposely and severely hurting her brother?

“For one, the burn is located on the upper-left side of Prince Zuko’s face,” Ziru explained. “It must have come from a direction at least level to where Prince Zuko’s head was located. Furthermore, Princess Ursa arrived with the children quite late at night and the burn was still fresh; quite an odd time for training. Prince Zuko’s clothes were also covered in ink and his hands as well, as if he had been writing something. Why would he be writing in a training yard? Overall, Princess Ursa’s story simply made no sense whatsoever, but she refused to offer me any other explanation. Just said someone would be by to pick up the children in the morning.” At this, Ziru wrung his hands, but seemed hesitant to continue speaking.

“Is something bothering you, Healer Ziru?” Lu Ten asked after a long minute passed in silence.

“Princess Azula,” Ziru said. “She is…to be quite frank, Princess Azula appears to have the most severe case of flame addiction I have ever seen in a child. Her world revolves around fire: to her, it’s not just another skill, its communication, its control, it’s even a game!”

“You want her to stay here?” Kaan raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Ziru shook his head. “I am basically retired, my only patients are the children living in this house that I told you about earlier and a hand-full of war veterans. I cannot give her the care and supervision she needs, but it is my professional opinion that she cannot be allowed around people without close supervision via a Mind Healer at all times. Even then, it isn’t safe to have her around many people at all. Especially Prince Zuko.”

“Then what do you suggest?” With both Ozai and Ursa being tried for treason – and, undoubtedly, being convicted – responsibility of their children fell to Father; with Father’s absence, it then became Lu Ten’s, and he didn’t know what to do with a regular bending child, let alone a flame addict! The whole time Ziru talked, Lu Ten’s mind flashed through horrific stories he heard throughout his lifetime of flame addicts: some who existed as shells of people who only wanted to watch flame and became violent if you took it away, others who set fire to whole villages just to watch them burn, and even others, those like Azula it seemed, who spent all their lives waiting for the next time they got to merge fire and flesh.

“There are homes, further out in the country,” Ziru said. “I would recommend sending her there. They’ll help her. I can’t promise anything, it’s quite difficult to reverse progression, but she’s young. At the very least, it will give her the best chance at a more regular life.”

The rest of the day proved as chaotic as the beginning. Meeting after meeting with what felt like a thousand different people to get essential information to the correct people. Grandfather demanded an expedited trial of both Ozai and Ursa, the sentencing then conducted in front of the amassed public – Ozai to death, Ursa to life at Boiling Rock – for crimes ranging from conspiracy to endangerment of a child. At some point past mid-afternoon, Grandfather called in Lu Ten to sign the papers that released Azula into the custody of Rolling Hills Care Home for Women and Girls, a top notch, respected care center for those struggling with various mental health issues and with the ability to properly care for a flame addiction as severe as Azula’s. Still, Lu Ten’s throat felt clogged as he signed the papers.

“It’s a disease, Grandson,” Grandfather tried to comfort him. “She’s finally getting the help she needs.”

And he knew that, knew this was the best chance for her and Zuko, but it still felt like sending her away, like giving up on her.

These thoughts kept plaguing him until Kaan came to him after his last meeting.

“He’s awake,” was all the healer got to say before Lu Ten took off towards the infirmary.

Lu Ten did not get to see Zuko that morning, between Kaan insisting on using a carriage to transport Zuko and Lu Ten being assaulted with meetings upon setting one foot in the Palace. When Zuko finally got back to the palace, Kaan explained that he gave the boy a sleeping medication, to help with the pain of such transport and he wouldn’t be awake until later and Lu Ten was much too busy to sit at the bedside of a sleeping patient.

Even all Ziru said did not prepare Lu Ten for what he saw when he entered Zuko’s healing room. Propped up in his bed with approximately a hundred pillows, Zuko looked absolutely tiny and the bandages wrapped securely around his head looked absolutely massive.

Lu Ten closed the door behind him softly and walked to the small stool situated at the boy’s bedside. “Hey, buddy.”

Zuko tried to smile, but winced at the pain from his healing flesh, “Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

Zuko considered the question, “Floaty. Healer Kaan gave me medication.”

“Purple-ish thick liquid that tastes like sludge?”

“Yeah.”

“Be appreciative, that’s the good stuff,” Lu Ten joked. “That’s what they gave me when…well, when this happened,” he gestured at the stump left of his arm.

“I don’t need it,” Zuko grumbled. “I’m not taking anymore.”

“Bud-”

“I don’t need it,” Zuko insisted.

“Okay, okay.”

Silence took over the room as Lu Ten just looked at Zuko. The first time Lu Ten saw the boy when he returned from the front, he thought the boy looked so big, so grown up, he’d missed so much of the boy’s growth in the time he’d been gone. Here, though, Zuko seemed so little.

“You can ask,” Zuko swallowed, not looking at Lu Ten. “About, about everything.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lu Ten asked.

Zuko shrugged, “The healers say I should. With someone I trust.” His eyes flicked to Lu Ten for just a moment before turning away once again, “I trust you.”

Another quiet moment passed, “When did it first start? Azula burning you?”

“Not long after you left,” Zuko muttered. “It was my fault. I was missing you and I wanted to spar with my dao. Azula hates steel weapons, but I convinced her somehow. She got mad when I disarmed her and,” Zuko pulled his arm out from under the blanket, showing a small patch of slightly discolored, wrinkled skin on his bicep, “She grabbed my arm, I don’t think she even realized what she was doing.”

“Zuko,” Lu Ten forced himself to be calm, “None of this is your fault, okay? None of this.”

“I got Father killed,” Zuko’s lip began wobbling and his eyes filled with tears. “And Mo-mom arrested!”

What.

“No, no, you did not, why would you even think that?” Lu Ten asked.

“Be-because,” Zuko’s breath stuttered as he struggled not to cry, “Father said, said if anything went wrong it was my fault.”

Oh, no. “Zuko,” Lu Ten struggled for his calm. “Did you know about your father’s plan to kill Grandfather and me?”

Zuko shook his head, “No!”

“Then why would it be-?”

“Because Mom, told me to do my scribe work in my bedroom!” Zuko wailed. “But the library has better light and a better desk and I thought Azula was sleeping, but she wasn’t and she got mad and I didn’t see her and she burned me somewhere that couldn’t be hidden and it hurt so much, and Father started yelling at Mom about having to move up their plans, but they weren’t ready yet, and Mom was yelling, then we were running and I was in so much pain!”

That was all Zuko got out before breaking down into tears.

“Oh, hey, hey,” Lu Ten moved to sit on the side of Zuko’s bed, wrapping his arm around Zuko’s shaking form, “It’s okay. I promise, none of this is your fault.” It didn’t stop Zuko’s tears, but Lu Ten knew that sometimes, you just needed to cry.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Lu Ten murmured as Zuko began calming. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Zuko moved into the bedroom next to Lu Ten’s, once the healer’s deemed him strong enough. Despite Ziru’s grim prediction, Zuko did not lose his eye, but he did lose sight in it as well as most of his hearing in his ear. It did not keep the boy down, though. Lu Ten finally learned to write once again, allowing him to relieve Zuko of his duties as scribe and return him to his studies, trying to not show his discomfort when Zuko talked excitedly about how nice his new instructors were (they don’t smack me when I get questions wrong, they didn’t mock me when I asked to go over a concept again) and loved returning to his dao training. Though Lu Ten missed Zuko following him around all day, he knew Zuko needed an education.

“Zuko will be a very good right-hand man, when you’re older,” Grandfather said over dinner once, pretending not to notice Zuko’s obvious preening under the man’s praise. Zuko never accepted direct compliments, but happily listened when being talked about to someone else.

Lu Ten agreed.

When Father heard of what happened in the Palace, he immediately ended the siege; Grandfather, though he wanted Father home, predicted a riot within three days, but the public took the retreat surprisingly well, with whispers of understanding sweeping the nation (especially when it came out that the faulty information, all those months ago, came from a source too close to Ozai for comfort). Zuko claimed that he overheard a servant saying it made the royal family seem “more human.”

“Whatever that means,” Zuko scoffed over his tea. Three weeks after Father sent a letter announcing his return, the family eagerly awaited his imminent arrival. “What do they think we are? Dragons?”

“Legend actually does claim that we’re descended from dragons,” Grandfather said, all prim and proper as ever, daintily sipping his tea.

Zuko just raised his one eyebrow, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Lu Ten almost choked on his tea, “Zuko!”

“What?”

“Apologize to your grandfather!” Who actually seemed on the verge of laughing watching their exchange.

“He just tried to say we’re part dragon! Do you have scales I don’t know about Lu Ten?”

“It’s a legend.”

“So? It should still make sense.”

“Your favorite play is Love Amongst the Dragons, you have no leg to stand on.”

“Excuse me, that play is a masterpiece!”

When Father came home, everything felt like it was going to be okay. The Palace seemed more relaxed and meetings went smoother.

For over four years, it felt almost like before Lu Ten sailed off to war, barring the monthly trips he and Father took to the Care Home. Zuko never asked to go, they never suggested it to him, and Azula barely tolerated their presence: as part of her therapy, they introduced her to painting and now she divulged all the energy she once put into her bending into her artwork. As time went on and Azula’s Mind Healers wrote back and forth with Zuko’s, the story became pieced together: Ozai forcing them to practice bending for hours on end from the moment they first showed spark, settling disagreements between the children with sparring matches, only allowing game-play that doubled as training exercises.

For Zuko, it created a desire to distance himself from bending, very nearly quitting entirely until Father sat him down one day, offered to take over his training. Even Lu Ten saw the marked difference in Zuko after he accepted Father’s offer and when Lu Ten asked what he did differently, Father showed him water-bending scrolls with the movements Zuko displayed; Lu Ten didn’t ask further. His father always did take too much interest in the ways of others.

For Azula, however, much younger when she began bending than Zuko, it lit the kindling of her addiction. Her entire socialization revolved around bending, she understood little else.

Ursa tried, it seemed, but she realized the consequences too late, when actually saving one meant sacrificing the other. She tried, but she failed in the end. The plan the two concocted seemed simple at the outset, Ozai sent to the throne room to assassinate Grandfather with one of Zuko's daggers and Ursa meant to make it look like the room where Lu Ten was scheduled to be in during a meeting accidentally exploded due to the experimental technology being discussed. Ozai would blame the assassination on Zuko going temporarily insane, allowing Ursa to run off to her home region with the child while Ozai took the throne with Azula as heir. They did not expect on Lu Ten going to find Zuko and not go to his meeting. From there, it fell apart. 

But for four years it was okay. Zuko grew into a much more normal teenager, though incredibly awkward around others and frozen in the face of a pretty girl. Lu Ten grew more confident in his role. Grandfather’s health began to wane, so he and Father began the transition of Father into the position of Fire Lord. Four years after the assassination attempt, Lu Ten more often found Grandfather lounging around in courtyards with Zuko when the boy took studying breaks or praying to the ancestors or staring at the large family tapestry, always focused on his wife and ignoring the two burned spots beneath his portrait where Ozai and Ursa’s faces used to sit. Father continued to strengthen the colonies, though he paused war meetings and did not seem to be planning any further pushes into the Earth Kingdom (to Lu Ten’s confusion). It did not matter too much, though, for everything was okay.

And then, the Avatar returned.