Chapter Text
His Imperial Majesty, Fire Lord Ozai, set down his children’s report next to Admiral Zhao’s and took a moment to pinch between his eyes in hope that it would quell the headache threatening him.
He sometimes wished that his children were more flexible—that they did not stick so strongly to a decision once they had made it. Yet, even as he wished it, he had been prepared for it.
They antagonized the admiral, both knowingly and unknowingly. He had hoped when the man had put his support behind Azula in the courts that his children would have a powerful ally in the form of their cousin’s ex-lover.
But, of course, Zuko did not like him. He wasn’t quite sure why his son had such dislike of the man, but it seemed like even before the Avatar’s resurgence he was doomed to hear his son grumble about Zhao and his disrespect whenever the two crossed paths. And typically where one went the other followed, so even though his daughter managed to retain a relatively neutral perception of Zhao, she followed her brother’s opinion once their Avatar hunt had begun. And so there went his children’s habit of antagonizing and downright bullying military officials.
How Jee managed to survive them and even at times reign them in he had no clue.
He picked Zhao’s report up again and sighed quietly. Then there was, too, the unintentional antagonization, particularly on Zuko’s part.
Of course, Ozai was aware of his son’s issues. He knew how his children admired their older cousin. Lu Ten had, in almost all ways, been the perfect prince; it made sense that in order to survive with suddenly being Heir he would look to emulate the only true example he had. But while his son’s habits were bordering on concerning at this point, they were also getting the results Zuko wanted. He was far more competent in military meetings when he acted like Lu Ten, and it resulted in him gaining the favour of many in court that had previously thought him immature and unprincely.
Sadly, that favour didn’t extend to Zhao, who had complained at length about Zuko’s tendency to mimic his cousin’s mannerisms, dubbing them as “a disrespectful mockery to the late Prince Lu Ten (may he watch us all from Agni’s light)” and Zuko himself as “errant and out of control”.
And the admiral wasn’t wrong, but his complaints were enough for Ozai to know that he would never be a heartfelt supporter of his children’s claim to the throne, particularly Zuko’s as it was looking to turn out from the fact that his children had not once wished to switch from Zuko officially being Crown Prince (not that it was public knowledge) to Azula despite having the option to do so.
And that couldn’t be allowed, no matter how much his nephew had once loved the admiral. He had let his grief destroy all control he had once had, and he had too much power in both the military and courts and in firebending to be allowed to continue on as he was.
“Forgive me, Lu Ten.” He murmured into the silence of his office—his wife and daughter already awaiting him in their sitting room.
From his desk in a false bottom, he retrieved his supplies. A seal made to look like his own, but with enough flaws that anyone with a keen eye and a good knowledge of what his seal was supposed to look like would recognize it as a forgery. Paper of high quality but not the type he himself typically preferred—and most importantly, available in the colonies to anyone with enough money—was spread out on his desk as he began to write.
Admiral Zhao.
I hereby give you full permission to carry out your plans in the North Pole. Whether that be a siege or espionage, I trust you will do anything and everything in your power to remove the spirit Tui from the heavens.
Fire Lord Ozai.
He pulled his forged seal away from the page and examined it, comparing it to Zhao’s report with a critical eye. It wasn’t exact, of course, he still needed Zhao to believe it was his own calligraphy. But it was close enough that it plausibly could have been written by Zhao himself.
And that was all he really needed. The seal, paper, and difference from his usual writing style did most of the work, the writing itself was just another piece to the puzzle.
Ozai had always prided himself at being good at puzzles, breaking into Chika’s various puzzle boxes with ease when she told him there was a gift inside it for him.
His favourite had been a theatre scroll for a play that he had never heard of before and never found record of after. Still, he knew she couldn’t have authored it herself—she was many things but a writer was not one of them.
He placed the hardwood seal and the rest of the subpar paper in a metal brazier next to his desk, lighting it on fire. It was normally used to burning confidential letters after he had read them, but it was rather useful for covering up the traces of his own crime.
He took some of his usual paper and wrote a quick letter to his children, praising them both on their progress in lightningbending—he was still surprised Zuko had managed it already—and advising them both to set their goals on winning over the Avatar in any way possible. It helped that Zuko, at least, seemed to see the boy as somewhat of a friend already, comparing him to the young Lady Xu in mannerism and personality. Finally, he reminded them that, as they were now rapidly approaching the North Pole and the Avatar was likely already there since stopping at the Northern Air Temple, that it was of the utmost importance to declare themselves to their family there as soon as possible and treat them with the utmost respect.
Privately, he was thankful that he had already warned Chief Arnook of both his children’s personalities. He just hoped that the man took his words as seriously as possible, otherwise he’d be facing quite the surprise in the form of Azula.
He hummed as he rose from his desk, tucking both scrolls into his robes as he made the short trip to the hawkery.
Silently, he begged Lu Ten’s forgiveness in his mind once again. “May he die a watery death so you two may forever wander the Spirit World together,” He murmured as he slipped Zhao’s orders into the most nondescript yet quick bird the palace had, ordering it to deliver it to him when the night was darkest in the hope that no one would see it come or go other than the man himself.
He turned to his usual bird and gave it his children’s letter. “Take your time, darling,” He said as he stroked its feathers and fed it a treat as the other bird was already flying off. Finally, after finishing her treat and messing up his hair slightly, the second hawk flew off and he was free to finally go join his wife and youngest.
“Dad!” Kiyumi ran over to him when he entered, holding up a doll. “Look what I found in Azula’s room!”
His lips twitched downward as he knelt down to pick her up and carry her toward her mother. “And did your sister give you permission to go into her room and take this doll?”
“Mhm! She told me where it was and everything!” He felt her cuddle up to him and he smoothed down her wild hair, kissing her temple. “She said that Uncle gave it to her as a joke, but since she’s not using it anymore she thinks I should have it. Also because her and Zuko are probably going to miss my birthday and she wants me to have a gift for it, even though they also promise to make up for it when they get home. Zuko said I could have his wooden dao but mom said I can’t play with them until you manage to convince Master Piandao to come to the palace, so I use them properly and don’t hurt anyone.”
“Oh?” He rose an eyebrow at his wife as she gave him a playful smile. “And why is it my job to convince Master Piandao to come to the palace?”
“Because he’s your cousin, my dear. And because you convinced him once.” She responded, looking down at their daughter. “Kiyi, why don’t you tell your father what you decided to name your doll?”
“Oh! Right—I named her Kiyi!”
“After yourself,” He said dryly, “very witty, little spark.” He shifted her in his arms as she played with the doll and he settled down next to his wife. “Besides, I’m quite certain I wasn’t actually the one that persuaded Piandao here. Rather, Lu Ten confided in me after that he also sent the man a letter.”
His wife hummed as the odd air that always came whenever his late nephew was mentioned settled over them.
Of course, Kiyumi was just a child and had the same situational awareness as Zuko at that age—that was to say, none at all.
“Why does no one ever talk about Cousin Lu Ten?” Kiyi asked as she made her doll do firebending-like movements.
Ursa sighed and took Kiyi from his arms, kissing her forehead. “Your Cousin Lu Ten died in the Siege of Ba Sing Se a little over half a year before you were born, Kiyi.”
Kiyi puffed out her cheeks. “Well yeah, I know that! But we talk about dead people all the time—I literally have an entire class about dead people! And there was a Festival for Fire Lord Sozin a couple months ago and he’s very dead.”
“Well that’s because they’ve been dead for a long time.” His wife looked over to him for help, but he just shrugged.
He honestly didn’t care about talking about Lu Ten, he thought he deserved to have his achievements discussed and praised but…
“It’s a respect thing.” Ozai eventually said. “Not out of respect for Lu Ten, but for the people still alive who were close to him. For example, if I’m not careful when I bring Lu Ten up, I might cause your uncle to remember the day of his death rather than happier times when he was alive. Likewise, whereas you can talk about mistakes people made when they were alive because they can defend themselves, Lu Ten cannot defend himself anymore. That means that even something as simple as saying he was an only slightly above average swordsman—”
“Ozai.”
“Can be seen as immensely disrespectful because he’s not here to bring up how he was an excellent firebender, nor can he ever improve his swordsmanship and prove whoever said he was an average swordsman wrong.”
Kiyi nodded slowly, frowning. “And that might offend people who care about him?”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “It also depends on the person. Zuko and your uncle both have idealized versions of Lu Ten in their heads, it would hurt them more to hear criticism of him than it would hurt, for example, myself. Your cousin was a good man, intelligent and honourable. But he was also weak in many ways. He was idealistic and didn’t like responsibility much of the time. He was overconfident in his own abilities and over reliant on his firebending—and I would not be surprised if that was part of why he died.”
“Ozai.” Ursa’s tone was harsher and his smile only grew.
“If I said that to your brother, he would be very upset. It might even stroke your uncle’s fire enough for him to challenge me to an Agni Kai over Lu Ten’s honour. It even upsets your mother because she believes very strongly in respect, particularly of the dead. It doesn’t matter if Lu Ten himself would agree with everything I said, if he’s said some of it to me himself, because now it’s disrespectful.”
Kiyumi wrinkled her nose. “It’s also just kind of mean.”
“Yes, that too.” He chuckled. “But I’m kind of mean.”
Kiyi nodded and burst into squealing laughter as he reached out to tickle her briefly.
Ursa sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think you actually helped Kiyi understand at all,” She murmured as their daughter hopped off her lap and ran to the opposite end of the room. “And if I hear of her insulting historical figures or, Agni forbid, Fire Lord Azulon, it will be your fault.”
He shrugged, wrapping a gentle arm around her. “I can’t win every battle, my love. Perhaps this is finally the child that understands your explanations better than mine.”
Ursa laughed and kissed him as Kiyi pulled a puzzle block from the shelf and sat down to play with it. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“I tried, but the royal genes are strong.” He pulled her closer and relaxed as their daughter played. He had confidence their two elder children would prevail in their mission.
Just as he had confidence that Admiral Zhao would no longer be his problem.
Zhao was in a good mood, which meant Zuko was automatically wary.
“Admiral.” His sister greeted as Zhao stepped onto their ship, bowing to the two of them. “May we help you in some way? We were just about to commence our journey north—do you have a reason to delay us leaving port?”
“In fact, I do, Princess.” Zhao smiled. “Your father gave me permission last night to siege Agna Qel’a, I am merely here to warn you that it would be unwise for the two of you to make the journey in your ship, lest you get caught in the cannonfire. The Nation is still suffering from the loss of one of its heirs, I don’t know if it could take losing two more.”
The only reason smoke wasn’t coming out of his nostrils at the insult was because it was overwhelmed by the sheer confusion also brewing inside him.
From the quick glance Azula gave him, she was also confused. After all, they had just received a letter that morning reminding them to greet their family as soon as possible.
That wasn’t the type of letter their father would send after ordering Zhao to siege that same family. And he definitely would’ve at least warned them if he had made that order.
Azula was quick to ensure her confusion didn’t show on her face though as she smiled at him. “Of course not, Admiral. I suppose it would be safest with we joined your fleet for the siege then instead of making the journey to the North Pole alone.”
“You would be a welcome addition, of course. I have more than enough manpower, but more never hurts.”
Zhao’s smug look was wiped from his face as Azula shook her head. “You surely don’t think that we would be participating in the siege, do you, Admiral? My crew is far too highly trained and specialized to participate in a siege—after all, you don’t have the best track record for keeping those close to you alive during them, do you?” Zuko could feel the air around them heating up rather quickly, and he knew Azula had far too much control for it to be her fault.
“I think what Princess Azula means to say is that we will join your fleet for the siege, but we will not participate actively since it might interfere with our own orders from the Fire Lord.” Zuko looked over in tandem with his sister as Captain Jee came up to stand beside his sister, angling himself towards the admiral. “Brevity is the soul of wit, Princess.”
Azula frowned slightly at him, as did Zuko. Why did he care if they were being a bit rude—Zhao deserved it. Still, his sister nodded. “Exactly as Captain Jee said.”
The air cooled slightly as Zhao nodded curtly. “Thank you, Captain… it seems it has been too long since I’ve been to court.”
“It happens to all in the military eventually,” Jee inclined his head and shot a look to Azula. “Of course, while I can’t join the siege, I’d love to hear your plans. Perhaps we could have tea?”
“I don’t have the time now,” Zhao pursed his lips. “But I wouldn’t mind tonight after I finish up preparations. We set off tomorrow at dawn.”
Jee nodded as Zhao made the flame once more and set off to return to his own ship. “Please do not antagonize him, Princess Azula,” The captain said, turning to the two of them. “Zuko is a lost cause on the matter—”
“Hey!”
“But I’d expect you to know the value of keeping your options open. You should know how important of a figure Admiral Zhao is.”
Azula nodded curtly and Jee patted her shoulder before continuing back to whatever he was doing before Zhao had decided to ruin their day. Zuko stepped back with his sister and glanced toward her before they set off to their rooms in unison.
Of course, Mai was already waiting for them. She didn’t like being around during their firebending practice.
“I don’t like the look on your faces.” Mai said, doing her makeup using Azula’s mirror.
“Look, even ask Azula! It’s weird, why would dad tell us to greet our cousins if he’s just going to send Zhao to siege Agna Qel’a—Agni, why would he even siege Agna Qel’a?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want them teaching the Avatar waterbending?” His girlfriend shrugged as she put down her makeup and got up, brushing off her outfit. “I’m not disagreeing that its weird, I just know you two well enough to distrust that look. And I don’t like the fact that Azula hasn’t said a word since walking in here.”
His sister was oddly quiet, her hands interlaced under her chin with her elbows on her knees as she sat on her bed, staring at the door.
“Okay, I see how that’s kind of concerning.” He admitted after a moment of staring at Azula. “Lala? What’s up?”
Only then did Azula unfold herself, sitting up straight. “I don’t think father actually ordered this siege.” She finally said, letting a breath out. “I might’ve hit closer than even I realized earlier—Zhao failed at the Siege of Ba Sing Se. It effected him so much that he left the army entirely and chose to join the navy instead, despite having purposefully passed up the navy initially. I wouldn’t put it past him to see this as his chance to make up for Ba Sing Se and forge a siege order so no one could question him.”
Mai shook her head. “I know you don’t like Zhao, but that doesn’t seem like him.”
Zuko rose an eyebrow. “Mai, this is the same dude that was going to keep a kid half alive and suffering just so that the Avatar wasn’t reborn to cause more trouble.”
“And it’s also the same man who stopped in Gaipan despite the fact that he should’ve just informed the army about it and went on his way. Everything about Zhao suggests that he’d do anything for the Fire Nation. I can’t see him wasting the resources on a siege unless he was ordered to or he thinks it’ll somehow give the Fire Nation a winning hand in the war.”
“Maybe he does.” Azula waved a hand, frowning. “Maybe Zhao thinks that the Northern Water Tribe has something that can help us win the war. Maybe he thinks a siege is the best way to capture the Avatar, I don’t know. But there’s no way Father ordered this, and we need to find out what his plan really is.”
Mai sighed and crossed her arms. “You want me to cover for you while you sneak onto his ship? How are you going to get him to leave?”
Zuko grinned and glanced at his sister. “Captain Jee already took care of that part—they’re going out tonight.”
“It’s a good think we still have our masks then.” Azula smirked and Mai sighed.
“And I’ll pretend to be three people, I guess.” Mai crossed her arms. “I wish Ty Lee was here.”
“We all do.”