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Chapter Text

One thing that Sokka has learned over the course of his journey with the Avatar is this: you are always at your most vulnerable right at the finish.  Just when you have what you desire within sight, just when you can reach out and touch it, can taste victory, fate will step in.  

And today is going to be no exception, is it, Sokka thinks. He knew they were going to have to fight their way out of Ba Sing Se - nothing is that easy, especially in the middle of an ongoing coup, and especially when Azula is involved. Earlier, Toph had busted them out of their shared prison cell, and now Sokka, along with Toph and King Kuei - the former king now,  he supposes - are guarding Appa while they wait for Aang to find Katara in the catacombs beneath the palace.

Sokka rests his hand on Appa's fur, stroking soothingly.  Appa lets out a soft noise of concern. "It's okay, buddy," Sokka says.  "Aang's coming back. He and Iroh are gonna find Katara and Prince Angry Jerk and we can all get out of here."

Toph kneels down beside them, hands spread out in front of her on the earth.  She’s got that expression on her face when she’s concentrating on reading the vibrations in the ground.  "Someone's coming," she warns.  "Actually... it's a lot of people. We should get ready to leave."

Sokka's learnt not to doubt Toph's intuition, or her ability to see deep into the earth.  "Alright, let's get going," Sokka says.  "Let's get Bosco and Kuei on Appa and get ready to go."  He pulls out his club and takes a fighting stance just in front of Appa, glancing around.  This is why Sokka chose to wait here for Aang and Katara; it's an open plaza - one of the smaller ones off to one side of the palace - and close to the catacombs.  The wide open space is mostly decorative shrubbery and gardens, but it affords Sokka a clear view in all directions. 

He senses the arrival of the Dai Li before he sees them.  The earth rumbles; the stone beneath his feet ripples as the Dai Li emerge from both the palace and from a tunnel in the earth.  He turns, swinging his club to block one of the agents that appears from the ground.  Toph is almost instantly overwhelmed, bending the earth rapidly in all directions in an effort to keep the Dai Li clear of Appa.  Sokka doesn't hesitate to use his boomerang, sending it a wide arc in an effort to cull at least one of their attackers from a distance.  Small chips of rock cut through the air as Toph deflects a large boulder hurled their way and Sokka grimaces in pain as one of the shards slices across his cheek, instantly drawing a trickle of blood.  

In the background Appa bellows in anger, and a group of Dai Li agents are flung backward as he whips his tail around and bends the air.  

Sokka spots what he thinks is Katara in the distance, moving at speed toward them. 

In his distraction, one of the Dai Li gets close enough to launch one of their rock gloves at Sokka, wrapping around his ankle and foot and anchoring him to the ground.  "Katara!" Sokka shouts. His voice cracks, fear getting the better of him.  "We gotta get moving! Hurry!" He lashes out with his club, all the while trying to get his foot free.  

Toph moves, pushing back more of the Dai Li, breaking their hold on Sokka and freeing his foot. "Something's wrong with Twinkletoes," she says.

Sokka tears his gaze away from the Dai Li and toward Katara.  She’s closer now, and she’s carrying something in her arms.  It looks like - like a limp body ?  Sokka’s mind goes horrifyingly blank before rage and denial bubble up to the surface.  He can’t - that can’t be Aang, can it? Aang is stronger than that, he’s the Avatar for Spirits sake! 

 He redoubles his efforts to keep the Dai Li back, but they keep coming, wave after wave. These new agents are fresh to the fight; they haven't been stuck in a prison cell, they haven't had to fight their way free.  Sokka is tiring, and he can only imagine that Toph is feeling the same.  

Katara rises on a wave of water and streaks toward them across the plaza; a last ditch race to the finish before they are completely overwhelmed.  Aang is unmoving in her arms.  She reaches Appa and places him carefully on the bison next to Kuei, and then drops down to Sokka.  She clears the immediate area of Dai Li in a single forceful slash of water, working with Toph.

"What happened to Aang?" Sokka asks, turning to look up at Appa. "Is he -"

"We fought Azula and Zuko," Katara bites out, voice wobbling with emotion she’s barely managing to contain. "That bitch shot Aang full of lightning while he was in the Avatar State.  Now get on Appa, we need to go so I can - we need to go." Katara blinks back tears. She looks fierce, even beneath the tears, whipping out water in violent lashes towards their attackers.

Sokka doesn't want to acknowledge what Katara’s implying. Aang was limp in her arms and he can't think about what that means right now.  They have to survive this first, and that means pulling up his adult pants and trying to fix their immediate problems, namely getting the hell out of here.   "Where's Iroh?"

"He’s not coming." Katara's voice sounds like steel. "Zuko betrayed his uncle and joined with Azula instead."

Sokka doesn't have time to ask for details.  Right now it’s unimportant.  Appa bellows a warning, and the ground rumbles beneath Sokka's feet.  He holds off the Dai Li agents with his club, watches Katara get settled on Appa, then Toph.  Once everyone is on, he runs for Appa, choosing escape over making a stand.  Appa's just starting to rise into the air. He's reaching for Appa, about to jump for him, when three Dai Li burst from the earth beneath him, surrounding him and pulling him back to the ground. Sokka goes down hard onto his hands and knees, dropping his weapon; he was not expecting anyone to burst from the earth beneath him.  Fuck. 

He’s overwhelmed quickly; three against one is not a fair fight.  It takes only a split second for them to restrain his hands behind his back with their stone gloves, and then, with a surprised yelp, he's dragged down beneath the ground.

The last thing he hears before the rock closes over his head is Katara screaming.

Sokka is pulled down by the Dai Li into an absolutely massive underground chamber.  The descent to the cavern floor is terrifying. Sokka can’t move in his restraints; he's surrounded by enemies, and they are careening at full speed toward the ground.  Sokka is helpless, at the mercy of both the agents and wherever it is they are taking him.  

The Dai Li watch Sokka closely, despite being restrained in their stone cuffs.  When they reach ground level and the stone elevator stops, Sokka looks around, mentally playing out the battle in his head, what he knows of Katara and Aang's bending abilities.

The catacombs are in a state of utter destruction.  A fierce battle has been fought here recently; pillars of slowly melting ice form great arches and frozen waves, piled against crumbling buildings, spread across the ground and over the canals that intersect the underground plaza.  The ground is shattered and torn in places, as if Aang had been earthbending.  Massive, glittering green crystals litter the walls and floor in stacks, bathing sections of the cavern in a sickly green light. There are bodies - uniformed bodies of the Dai Li - amongst the wreckage, and Sokka looks away. What happened here?

Near a particularly large body of displaced water is a cone of green crystals, and caught within them is... "Iroh?" Sokka says in disbelief, raising an eyebrow.

"Move." One of the Dai Li pushes him none too gently towards the centre of the plaza.

Standing in the middle of the ruins are Sokka's two least favourite people: Azula and Zuko.  Both of them look like they've been in a hard fight, clothes torn and dirty; although Zuko looks the worst for wear out of the two.  His hair is longer than the last time Sokka saw him in that desert ghost town; it makes him appear softer around the edges, less perpetually annoyed.  He’s lost muscle mass, too, and looks leaner, although that might be because Sokka’s used to seeing the bastard in armour.

The Dai Li agent shoves Sokka to his knees in front of them both.  Sokka grits his teeth against the rough handling.  He flexes his arms behind his back, but the stone gloves are solid.  Without Toph or Aang to bend him free, he's not going anywhere fast.

"Well, this is unexpected," Azula says, placing a hand on her hip and looking down at Sokka. Her lip curls in derision.  "I didn't expect to find another Water Tribe rat in the sewers. What should we do with him, Zuzu?"

“I don't care what you do with him. Why are you asking me?” Zuko crosses his arms and looks away - and not in the direction of his uncle.  Interesting, Sokka thinks.

Sokka pointedly ignores Azula; he's now much more interested in Zuko - and curious.  Zuko looks...Sokka can't quite put a finger on it.  He looks like his usual shifty self, his gaze evasive, but something is off.  When he does meet Sokka's eyes, it takes Sokka back to their first encounter in the South Pole. Zuko’s expression had been like flint, hard like diamonds, his anger as strong as the armour he wore and just as unbending. The man before him now is just as rigid and unbending but..Sokka can’t quite put his finger on what bothers him about Zuko right now.  

“What did you do to Aang?” Sokka demands.

Azula raises an eyebrow.  "The Avatar? I thought it was obvious.  He's dead.  I shot him full of lightning while he was in the Avatar state.” Her smile is sharp, her eyes flash with excitement, bordering on manic glee.  “He's not coming back, little rat. Your insignificant little uprising is over and the Fire Nation now controls Ba Sing Se."

With a yell of anger Sokka rises to his feet, lunging toward her. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Zuko shifting into a defensive stance and part of Sokka is gratified to see that Zuko still considers him enough of a threat to take him seriously, even when he's shackled and his hands are bound.

Azula neatly side steps Sokka’s attack, letting out a grating laugh as she does so.  “Careful,” she warns. “I’m not really in the mood to play today.”

Sokka is immediately restrained by the Dai Li.  This time they lay hands on him, holding him in place with a vice-like grip around his biceps.  They aren’t gentle about it, either.

Azula looks him over slowly; it’s a measuring gaze, sizing him up, dissecting him. “I can see why Zuko finds you so interesting.  Put him in chains, along with Uncle," Azula instructs the agents standing behind Sokka. "Both of them will make a wonderful tribute to bring back to Father, along with the other traitors."

Sokka glares at Azula, and at Zuko for good measure. Inside, he's freaking out.  Father can only refer to one person: the Fire Lord. Spirits, they’re going to drag him back to the Fire Nation, aren't they? He's heard of Hari Bulkan - the Fire Nation capital city, built within the caldera of an extinct volcano, home to the Fire Lord and the elite. It's about the furthest point possible from where they are now geographically - which means further away from Katara and Toph and... Aang, wherever they've flown to.  Sokka has to believe that Azula is lying, that Aang survived her lightning bolt. Katara would be able to heal him, wouldn’t she?  She also has that vial of sacred water Pakku gave her when they parted ways.

The Dai Li agents manhandle Sokka into chains, hands still secured behind him. At least nobody's trying to chi-block him; that stings like a son of a bitch when the numbness wears off.  They do the same for Iroh, who seems worryingly disengaged from what's going on around him, almost unresponsive.  He will not meet Zuko's gaze, and Zuko doesn't look for it either.  There is much more going on here between them than what's visible on the surface.  

Sokka tries to ignore the rising anxiety at being chained. The rock gloves were bad enough, but chains? It hints at a permanence Sokka doesn't care for, or want to think about.

"Put them in the cells beneath the palace," Azula says dismissively. "We'll transfer them to my ship when the rest of the army arrive and we're ready to leave."

"Of course, Princess." The man holding Sokka's chain bows briefly, and tugs Sokka forward, away from the catacombs.

It’s been two weeks since Ba Sing Se fell.

Zuko stands on the ship deck, watching the deep waters of the Southern Sea glide by. The water is a dark blue-grey weight against the horizon, the waves rolling in constant, neverending motion. The air is much cooler now they have rounded the bottom of the Earth Kingdom peninsula, past the ruins of the Eastern Air Temple. Even now they are visible on the distant mountaintops, scarred and jagged like broken teeth against the cloudy skyline.

Someone has found him spare armour to wear, just in case he needs to defend himself.  Zuko’s old armour is long gone of course - he was wearing it when Zhao decided he was better off dead and blew up his ship in port.  That seems so long ago now, doesn't it? It’s been months since he's had the protection of his armour - physically and figuratively.  He feels safer in it, even though it's not his own. It protects him from the environment, the stares and curiosity, his own perceived shame.

But more than anything he is glad to finally see the back of the Earth Kingdom.  He's experienced so much since he and Uncle - since he arrived here.  The geography of the Earth Kingdom forms a complicated map, of which he can trace not only the landscape, but the complicated ebb and flow of his emotions, his sanity (and lack of it at times), even the change in his body, his soul and his way of thinking. He thinks back to the battle at the North Pole, of capturing the Avatar and almost dying, and in hindsight it occurs to him that although he was driven, he was incredibly naive to think his plans were just going to fall into place perfectly.  He feels so much older than he did then; soul battered, scarred with a mix of desperate low periods, of hitting rock bottom, and equally soaring highs. He is no longer a pampered prince, newly exiled; he has become leaner, has learned what nourishes himself in body and soul, and for a short while, found peace within himself at last.

Or so he thought.

Apparently he was wrong, because now he has thrown all of that away based on a single impulsive, reckless decision. He has thrown away the regard, and possibly the love, of his uncle and exchanged it for  the chance to be welcomed back within his father's grace and to regain his honour.

This was what he wanted, what he has struggled to achieve for three long years.

He's not sure if he's made the right decision yet or not.

They've been at sea for days, cutting south and then west. The captain made the decision to skirt south rather than slipping through the Serpent's Pass.  There's still a chance that a Fire Navy cruiser flying the flag of the royal family might be targeted by pirates - not to mention the risk of being harassed constantly by the Southern Water Tribe and Hakoda's Sea Wolves.

There's also the fact they're carrying a number of important prisoners - one of them is Sokka, the Avatar’s companion and the son of Hakoda himself.  If the chief of the Southern Water Tribe finds out that a warship is spiriting his son away to Fire Nation waters, they'll have a battle for their lives. Secrecy is of the utmost importance.  

And so they'll continue to slip quietly through dangerous waters, always on the lookout. Hakoda's navy is well-versed in stealth.  They can slip silently through the grey seas at night, plant explosives below the waterline before the lookout even notices. There are never any survivors of these raids, only floating wreckage.

With not much else to do, Zuko’s spent a lot of time thinking about those last days in Ba Sing Se and about that fight in the catacombs.  Azula had killed the Avatar; Zuko had watched him fall, shot full of lightning. He saw Katara escape with his limp body in her arms.  

But something nags at Zuko’s mind, an unravelling thread that Zuko cannot help but pick at.  Katara had had a vial of sacred water, the water she was going to use to heal Zuko’s scar before they had gotten interrupted. Zuko has spent a number of sleepless nights on board ship wondering if she’d been able to heal the Avatar with it. Can you reverse death itself with spirit water?  

Conveniently, Zuko has a prisoner on board this ship right now who might be able to answer that very question and put Zuko’s mind to rest at last. Sokka.  Everything comes back to Sokka, doesn’t it?

Zuko turns away from the neverending waves and the churning grey of the sea and makes his way into the lower decks of the ship, toward the brig.  He walks with purpose - that's the key to avoid being questioned, isn't it? Most of the crew offer him nods as he passes by, but it’s clear they are still unsure as to his position - at least until the Fire Lord confirms it.

He makes his way down the stairs to the lower decks, the sound of his steps echoing off the metal walls and floors.  The sound is jarring, one he’s still getting used to again, and it reminds him strongly of his old ship.  She may have been smaller than most of the modern navy, and she may have been on her last legs, held together with rust and prayers to the sea gods, but she was Zuko’s. 

This huge vessel - named the Eternal Peace of all things - is a floating palace of sorts, full of large rooms and reception areas decorated with gold. The working parts of the ship, the crew quarters, the mess halls and armouries, are all below decks, sombre and unpainted, although clean and serviceable.

The brig is tucked away below decks near the rear of the ship, not far from the engine room, and it takes Zuko quite the walk to get there.  It's definitely stuffy down here below decks, the air close and warm.  

Inside the brig is a guardroom, with two doors that lead to the cells.  The cells to the left are full; they’ve brought back a number of political prisoners.  Two of the generals from the Council of Five are here, and Long Feng, former Grand Secretariat and leader of the Dai Li.  Azula seems to have a particular hard-on for bringing this man low and breaking him, and Zuko’s not sure he’ll even make it to a cell in the Prison Tower inside Hari Bulkan, not if Azula has her way.

A guard unlocks the doors to the cell block on the right.  There’s only one prisoner in here, and Zuko’s steps echo off the metal flooring as he walks along the passageway. He pauses in front of the farthest cell, breath caught in his throat now the moment is here.  He can feel his heart beat in his chest, his fingers curling into fists.  Every time they see each other it’s explosive; whether it’s words or weapons or bending, and something in Zuko craves it, looks for it.

Sokka stands up slowly, his expression closed off, suspicious.  He's mottled with fading bruises and scrapes that are visible on his bare arms, defence wounds earned during the fight with the Dai Li, Zuko reckons.  His cheek is marked with a slashing cut that looks painful, even as it heals.   Someone has removed the manacles, although his wrists are bruised.  

"Well if it isn't Prince Angry Jerk," Sokka says sarcastically, breaking the silence. He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall of his cell, the picture of indifference. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your exalted company?"

Zuko takes a deep breath.  Just like that he can feel his patience fraying, unravelling rapidly. Sokka is one of those people that seems to instinctively know how to push his buttons, even with just a few words. "Knock it off, Water Tribe," he bites out.

Sokka snorts humorlessly.  "Water Tribe? We're still doing that name calling thing?"

"You started it!" Zuko  exclaims, gesturing back at him.   

"Yeah, well, I'm not conversing any further with your Royal Fancy Highness until you use my name," Sokka growls.  He stalks toward the bars, pointing a finger at Zuko.  "It's Sokka, by the way, but I think you already know that. You're just choosing to be an asshole."

Zuko glares back, because of course he knows Sokka’s name, and he is choosing to be an asshole.

"You know, I can choose to get you clean clothes and some hot water to bathe, but maybe I won’t," he bites out.  “How long have you been wearing those same clothes, Sokka?” 

Sokka opens his mouth and then closes it, glaring back. "What do you want? Have you come to interrogate me or are you saving that for someone with more experience?"

Zuko recognizes the fear behind Sokka's question. They are both old enough and experienced enough with war, to know being behind bars as a prisoner is never going to be pleasant. Zuko holds Sokka's life in his hands, and they both know it.

“I have a question for you,” Zuko begins carefully.  

“And?” Sokka is still glaring at him, although Zuko can see his nervousness.

Zuko pauses.  He realises this is a delicate moment.   Is he really going to put his own life in Sokka's hands and ask him if he thinks the Avatar survived? Even giving voice to this question would give Sokka a hold over him.  It could possibly get Zuko killed if anyone overheard him - at the very least it would jeopardise everything he's done in order to finally make his way home.

All he has to do is ask one question: does the Avatar live? His future in his father’s court and as Crown Prince might be wholly dependent on what Sokka does, or doesn’t know.

But he can't bring himself to ask the question, not yet. He thought if he stood here, before Sokka, he might be able to, but he doesn't have enough distance mentally between the fight in the catacombs and now. He doesn't have the objectivity of time passing; it's only been a couple of weeks.  He has done so much, betrayed the one family member he loves and looks up to, simply in order to earn the right to stand before his nation and his father and be welcomed home.  He cannot voice this fear; he cannot give it breath and life. Not yet.

It’s clear that Sokka fears what Zuko or others might do to him here. Zuko fears what his own father will do to him once he reaches home. He cannot risk Sokka knowing, cannot risk him spilling Zuko's doubts to a Fire Nation interrogator.

"Never mind," Zuko says, stepping back from the bars. "I was mistaken."

"Mistaken over what? You are so damn infuriating!" Sokka bites out, reaching for the bars, wrapping a hand around one. His knuckles are bruised, and for a moment Zuko is drawn to Sokka's humanity, a map of his pain, his valour and determination, stamped into the fragile bones of his hand. He had fought to survive Ba Sing Se, just like Zuko had. Maybe they have more in common than he thought; both of them survivors.

"I'll make sure you get hot water to bathe," Zuko says, stepping backward again and moving toward the door.

Sokka looks frustrated. "You coward," he grits out.  "Tell me what you came to ask me."

Coward. Zuko's been called that enough times and it still hurts.  It's a deep wound, it still bleeds and may never heal properly. But he's not going to let Sokka have the last word.  He whirls back to face him. He can no more stop himself from spitting the words out than he could take them back, a wounded animal lashing out the only way he can. "I’m a coward? Then where are your friends, Sokka?" he says. "Where is your rescue party?"  He takes a couple of steps back into the room, stalking toward Sokka. Sokka moves back, away from the bars, to the safety of his cell and the far wall.  Something inside Zuko is pleased at Sokka's reaction, his retreat, and for the first time Zuko feels like he has the upper hand here. "Maybe they've decided you aren't worth the trouble of rescue after all."

He waits for Sokka to respond, but surprisingly he doesn’t.

Zuko slams the door on his way out.

Sokka is used to being on the water.  He’s an expert at sailing small boats like his umiak, and he’s had experience sailing some of the larger-masted sloops and cutters that make up the Southern Water Tribe fleet.  He’s not used to being on the Fire Navy vessels, however.  It feels like he’s in a floating tin can; it echoes with the sounds of everyday living, of the sailors who sail her, the crew who toil through their shifts, the prisoners caught in her depths.  This ship has no soul, and Sokka cannot appeal to her for protection.  All in all, it’s rather like the Fire Nation herself.

In the weeks at sea, with nothing much to do other than stare at the wall, he’s learnt to read the moods of the ship.  How she feels on high tides and rolling waves, how still she sits on calm seas. The engines are always running; a slight vibration in the floor, an endless hum down here in the bowels of the ship.  

The engines sound different today.  Sokka can’t explain it but it feels more like they are cruising at a slower speed than before, less of a headlong rush to the finish line.  Earlier, he’d heard what sounded like a shrill bell ringing out; there had been the sound of many crewmen rushing around, someone yelling something about a gate.  

And now, he can hear the door to his section of the cells being unlocked.  It’s not time for his meagre supply of daily rations and water, and the break to his routine is jarring and makes him apprehensive.  What does it mean for him? Have they finally decided to take all the prisoners on deck and execute them?  Fear surges through Sokka, even as he moves to stand on legs that want to give out beneath him.  He’s seen a lot of death over the last year, and his mind is quite willing to apply every one to his own situation.  Will they take them on deck and throw them overboard, let their chains drag them down to the bottom?  Or will they be forced to their knees, have their throats slit from behind, like animals? 

When the door opens, it’s not Sokka’s usual guard - the one that brings him food and water.  He’s never learnt the man’s name and he’s never shared it, but he will occasionally bring him hot water to wash in, which is…surprisingly kind.  

No, this guard is different.  The guard that approaches Sokka’s cell is new; built like a brick wall with bulging muscles that burst from his uniform armour.  His expression is frighteningly blank, the expression of a man who's seen too much and learned to disassociate.  That, or he thinks Sokka is so far beneath him he’s not worth the effort.  “Back against the wall, Water Tribe,” he barks, reaching for a bunch of keys at his belt.

Sokka does as he’s told, moving to the far wall and putting his back to it. Resisting now will only get him injured or killed, and if he needs to make a break for it on deck, he needs to be injury free.  His father has always drilled into him the need to weigh your options, to make decisions based on the moment if it can be helped, and better yet, to always try to plan ahead.  Sokka’s a plan guy like his father; he took that piece of advice to heart and ran with it.

The man unlocks the cell door and leaves it wide as he steps inside.  Sokka watches the man move; assesses his body language, the size of him, the distance to the door, the - 

“Hands out in front,” the man growls, snapping Sokka’s attention back to him.  Sokka grits his teeth and does as he’s told.  He focuses on not shaking, on not telegraphing his apprehension to this man.  He will not give this asshole a reason to make his life hell, not when he knows there’s fresh air on deck and the possibility of freedom, however fleeting.  The manacles are heavy; heavier than the ones the Earth Kingdom uses.  They snap shut and lock with finality, and Sokka flexes his hands and wrists.  “Outside,” the guard instructs, grabbing hold of the short chain between the manacles and tugging.  

“Okay, take it easy,” Sokka mutters.  “I’m going.”  He steps outside his cell for the first time in weeks.  As much as he hated it there, it was, after a fashion, safe.  Nobody could sneak up on him without his knowledge - he’d always hear the sound of the locks opening, the clang of metal decking against boots. He always knew where his jailors were.  To step outside that perceived safety net is anxiety-inducing, terrifying.  How many steps to the guard room? To the stairs? The upper decks? His execution?

When Sokka finally steps up onto deck, he is surprised to find it’s dark.  There’s a sliver of moon in the sky, casting a weak light over the ship.  In front of Sokka the pointed prow of the ship spears the night sky like a broken bone.  His jailor grabs him by the bicep and drags him around to face midships.  For a moment, surprise bursts through Sokka.  They are docked in port - that’s why the ship felt different under him.  The air is warm, even now at night, and in the far distance he can see the massive peaks of at least three volcanoes, and the warm, twinkling lights of a city.  That must be Hari Bulkan in the distance, the Fire Nation Capital.

The deck of the ship is bustling, and Sokka is pulled to one side close to the prow with the other prisoners.  None of them speak, but Sokka recognizes General Yiwen and General Khièu - part of the Council of Five, and of course the Grand Secretariat, Long Feng - the bane of Sokka’s existence for many a month.  The man still manages to look proud, like everyone else is beneath him.  

It soon becomes clear why they’ve been moved to the side.  Like any big ship, communication is key, and apparently someone missed the memo that the Prince and Princess wanted to disembark.  There’s a lot of shouting going on.  Someone calls for the palanquin bearers and then as one the deck goes silent.  

Since he’s near the front of the group, Sokka has a clear view of Zuko when he steps on deck, Azula at his side.  Azula is dressed as usual in her armour, as is Zuko.  He looks every inch a prince; impeccably dressed, his hair tied in a formal top-knot and a small, golden flame placed inside.  His posture is perfect, his expression blank, and that’s what hits home for Sokka.  He has never seen Zuko so frighteningly blank; every time they had met in the past the prince had radiated many emotions - anger, frustration… passion.  No matter what Zuko was attempting, he has always done it with passion, a desire to succeed above all else. Yet the man that stands on deck before Sokka is rigid and unyielding, devoid of emotion.

As one, every person on deck bows.  Sokka feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him bodily down onto the deck, face first into a kowtow along with the other prisoners.  The extra movement must catch Zuko’s attention, because he looks over.  Sokka catches his eye as he goes down, and he sees the moment Zuko’s eyes widen in recognition.  That blank expression cracks briefly. Sokka can see a myriad of emotions cross Zuko’s face in seconds; anger, surprise, fear, before Zuko gets it under control.  He turns away, says something to a servant, and pointedly ignores the palanquin that’s offered.  Sokka snorts.  Typical Zuko.  Zuko makes his way to the gangplank and stalks off the ship, while Azula follows in her palanquin.

Sokka spends the rest of the night in a daze, passed from one guard to another, escorted with his fellow prisoners from the docks and up the steep road to Hari Bulkan itself.  Dawn is spectacular, the sun rising just as they breach one of the gates to the caldera and are ushered into the maze of service buildings and toward the prison itself.  

This is it then, Sokka thinks.  Here is where he dies; within the circular walls of this cage, carved from the caldera rock.  

And even as the walls of this new prison close around him, Sokka cannot help wondering why Zuko had looked at him with such naked fear in his eyes.

Sokka spends the day listening to the ebb and flow of the guards as they process the rest of the prisoners that arrived with him.  There is a moment when the furor dies down and an unsettling hush settles on the prison.  Sokka can hear two of the guards talking outside in whispers; the mention of General Iroh and Dragon of the West, followed by betrayer of the Fire Nation.  Is Iroh here then?  Sokka hadn’t seen him in the brig on board the ship, but it’s possible as a member of the royal family he might have been held in better quarters.  It appears whatever privileges he was afforded on the ship are no longer in effect, especially if he’s down here with the rest of the political prisoners from Ba Sing Se. Maybe the Fire Lord wants him to rot into obscurity.

The next morning Sokka is greeted by a new guard.  He grins at Sokka as he moves to unlock the door, and Sokka pauses a moment before he ducks out through the opening to stand on the other side. Sokka doesn’t like the way the guard is looking at him, even as he gestures for Sokka’s wrists and binds manacles back on him.  “Time to go for a walk, Water Tribe,” the guard says.  His smile is sharper now, like he’s enjoying himself.

“To where?” Sokka asks.

“You have an appointment with the Fire Lord,” the guard says.  “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

The throne room is a huge, cavernous affair, bisected with intricately carved pillars of wood, a gaping maw lit with flame.  The spaces to either side of the pillars are filled with courtiers dressed in finery, so many hues of red and gold as to make Sokka’s head spin.  He ignores the way they point at the prisoners,  muttering and talking behind their hands.  Sokka feels raw, laid out on display for these people, and for a moment his rage at his situation overtakes his anxiety about what’s to come.

He is led as part of a procession of chained prisoners, clearly a display for the nobles and courtiers.  With every prisoner forced to his knees before the Fire Lord, a long list of that person’s crimes against the Fire Nation is read and recorded by scribes.  This whole thing feels like a farce, a show put on for the benefit of Ozai and his court, a way to count heads.

Throughout the proceedings, the Fire Lord is merely a shadow on his throne, seated behind a wall of flickering flame. Sokka cannot make out anything but his outline.  To either side of him sits Zuko, on his right, and Azula to his left. The picture-perfect Fire Lord and his heirs, the Crown Prince and Princess.  From where he waits, he cannot make out Zuko’s face, he’s too far away.  He wonders what he’s told Ozai and the war council.  Has he, or Azula, told them about the invasion plans Sokka was developing?

“It is our command that General Khièu, General Yiwen and the Grand Secretariat Long Feng be executed immediately.” Ozai’s words cut through Sokka’s musings. His voice is surprisingly deep and measured, not what Sokka was expecting.  “Display their bodies at the Great Gates of Azulon as a warning to any who dare oppose the Fire Nation.”

The throne room is silent at Ozai’s ruling.  They aren’t even going to get the courtesy of a trial, are they? Sokka flexes his wrists in the manacles he’s wearing.  He should have tried to escape at the docks, or, or, something.  Spirits, he’s an idiot.  

The Generals are led from the room, followed by Long Feng.  Sokka’s brain isn’t working; he’s gone numb.  Long Feng catches his eye as they pass each other.  If the man feels anything about his imminent execution, Sokka can’t tell. 

Sokka is forced to his knees in front of the throne, and made to kowtow to the Fire Lord, forehead pressed to the polished floor before he’s allowed to rise back to a sitting position, eyes down.

“Now what to do with you?” Ozai purrs.  “The Water Tribes have been a thorn in my side, and that of the Fire Nation, since the beginning of our great war. Hakoda and his Sea Wolves continue to cause me no end of trouble.  But you, you are more than just a son to Hakoda, are you not? I have heard many stories told of the Water Tribe savage who leads the Avatar’s little band of miscreants.”  

Ozai stands, and the flames before him part in a wave.  He walks down the steps slowly, hands behind his back, posture unyielding.  Sokka can see where Zuko gets that stick-up-the-ass attitude from.  Like father, like son.  He walks toward Sokka, stopping before him.  All Sokka can see is his shoes, peeking out from under the heavily embroidered hem of his robe. Sokka looks upward, up into the face of the man who wants to destroy the world, and holds his stare, unflinching.  He can hear murmurs of disbelief from the courtiers in the shadows. Clearly, nobody looks into the face of the Fire Lord unless invited to do so.  Well, fuck that, Sokka wants to see the man who’s going to kill him.

Ozai looks over to his right, where Zuko still sits on the dias and assesses him.  “Princess Azula has told us how Crown Prince Zuko struck the final blow and killed the Avatar. How does that make you feel, son of Hakoda?”

Sokka goes blank for a moment.  Wait - Zuko killed Aang?  But that’s not what Katara said, she said -

Ozai steps to the side, walking around behind Sokka.  The rustle of his robes cut through the silence of the court, who hang on his every word.  “Maybe it’s time we showed the world what happens when we catch ourselves a clever little water rat, hmm?  Shall we see what secrets you hold in that head of yours, what things you know that might be of use to the Fire Nation?”  Ozai completes his circuit of Sokka, pausing just out of sight to his right.  “Once I have all your secrets, Sokka of the Water Tribe, I will make an example out of you.  I will send a message to the world and to what remains of your people.   Captain, once you have interrogated our guest, chain our prisoner down to the steps of the harbour as a warning.  Let the tide drown him slowly, day by day, and then welcome him home.” Ozai smirks.  “Is that not the way of your people, son of Hakoda, to return to the water?”

“Not like that,” Sokka bites out.  Not in agony, a slow death in increments. Spirits help him.

“Stop!” 

That single word echoes through the throne room, followed by the excited whispering of hundreds of people.  Sokka stares at Zuko, who has risen to his feet on the dias.  Has he lost his mind speaking out against the Fire Lord?

“As Crown Prince of the Fire Nation I invoke my right by conquest.”  Zuko’s words ring out clearly across the hush of the throne room.  He steps down the stairs, taking his place at the bottom, posture rigid, facing his father.  What the hell is he doing?

“And what exactly is it you wish to claim, Prince Zuko?”  Ozai’s voice is calm, yet Sokka can pick out the hint of a threat laced with amusement in his tone.  He’s humouring Zuko for the moment, it seems.

Zuko points at Sokka.  “As the person who brought down the Avatar, and as Crown Prince, I choose to take this man as my war prize.  He will be an ornament to my court, and my First Consort.”

Chapter Text

“As the person who brought down the Avatar, and as Crown Prince, I choose to take this man as my war prize.  He will be an ornament to my court, and my First Consort.” 

The words had slipped from Zuko’s tongue, well-practised and with ease.  They have a ring of ceremonial language about them, rather than being just a simple demand. Although it's not the first time a Crown Prince or Princess had taken a prisoner as a war prize, the words themselves - less the Avatar part - are lines in a long forgotten play that Zuko’s mother had favoured. He had learnt them as a child, hoping to please her in their recital.  He’d forgotten he even knew them until now; four long years of navigating a hostile world tends to burn away frivolous things.

Ozai looks thunderous.  Zuko can feel the air tighten around the Fire Lord, electricity prickling the hairs on the nape of his neck. Zuko’s father is most dangerous when he’s like this, when he perceives his authority’s been undermined - and Zuko has done it in public.  He has to remind himself he wasn’t banished because he spoke out of turn that day in the war room, it was because he refused to fight the Agni Kai.  Zuko has learnt his lesson well, however.  He will remain firm, will not bend to his father’s anger and perceived betrayal.  To show weakness to Ozai is to invite death; to stand his ground might let him - and Sokka - walk out of here intact.

“Clear the room.”  Ozai waves a hand dismissively, and the courtiers slip away, leaving only the Fire Lord, Zuko, and Sokka.  Oh, and Azula, how could he forget?  “You too, Azula,” Ozai commands. “I would speak with your brother alone.”  He stares at Sokka, never once looking up at Azula.

“But Father -” 

“Do as you are commanded, Azula!” Ozai barks out.  Zuko can see the faint spark of fire coalesce around Ozai’s clenched hand, and he sucks in a breath.  He feels frozen to the spot, terror coursing through him.  Ozai has been the subject of Zuko’s dreams and nightmares for four years now, looming larger than life, hollowing him out until he’s tired of reliving the same things over and over again. Until yesterday, he had not seen his father in almost four years.  Until yesterday, the last time they’d been in the same room Ozai had placed a hand on Zuko’s face and - 

Azula stands - Zuko just catches her movement out of the corner of his eye.  She parts the flames before the dias with a sweep of her hand, and they turn blue for a quick few seconds before returning to the orangey-red of Ozai’s fire. She marches down the stairs, pausing before Ozai and offering him a bow.  “Fire Lord,” Azula says, unable to keep the bite from her tone.  Then she is gone; the sound of her feet light on the polished stone floor.

Zuko sucks in a breath, forcing himself to remain present, to not spiral into his memories.  He needs to remain alert, to appear like he has his shit together - at least on the outside.  Ozai is a predator who can sense weakness, and while Zuko is in his good graces and the hero of the moment he needs to use that to get what he wants.

Silence holds the space for a long few moments, long enough for it to border on uncomfortable.   

Sokka kneels before the Fire Lord.  He clearly does not dare look up to see Ozai’s face, not this time.  Maybe he senses the danger he’s in, a single misstep away from a horrific death.  Was this how Zuko looked right before his father burned him?  

“You have put me in a delicate position, Prince Zuko,” Ozai says eventually. His voice is sibilant, bordering on cruel.  “On one hand, I have a prisoner who potentially holds the key to a great deal of enemy information. On the other, tradition forces me to acknowledge your right by conquest.” 

Ozai turns, walking past Sokka again until he’s standing in Sokka’s blind spot, just behind his shoulder.  Shit. Zuko knows Ozai is doing it to intimidate Sokka, and to keep Zuko guessing as to what he might do next.   Zuko prays Sokka doesn’t choose to look up at Ozai, to make eye contact.  Ozai let him get away with it earlier, but he will not let it pass unpunished again. 

Zuko goes still when Ozai moves toward Sokka, but he’s not expecting him to twist his fingers in Sokka’s wolf tail and pull his head backward, jerking him upright.  Sokka comes up off his hands for a moment, making a bitten off sound of pain as Ozai’s grip tightens in his hair.  Sokka’s back arches as he moves with Ozai’s grip, eyes watering as his hold increases.   He turns Sokka toward Zuko, allows Zuko to absorb the danger Sokka is in.  Zuko is frozen; he cannot take his eyes off the length of Sokka’s neck, the bruises on his arms, his bound hands, and the way his body arches into Ozai’s grip, trying to balance himself against his hold.

“Tell me Prince Zuko, you would take this savage as your First Consort?” Ozai asks.  “You have the pick of any noble in the Fire Nation and yet you choose this man?  Does he suck cock so well that you would jeopardise your newly reinstated position as Crown Prince? ” Ozai pauses, before he lets go of Sokka’s hair, letting him drop back to the floor.

Zuko flushes scarlet at Ozai’s crass words.   

“I do not believe I would not be risking my position.” Zuko responds. Stay calm, think logically. He needs to choose his next words carefully. “Sokka is the son of a Chief, he is royalty in his own nation. He could be useful to us alive and in one piece.”

“Are we befriending the Water Tribes now, Prince Zuko?” Ozai demands, walking around Sokka once more.  He stands beside him, a clear indication that Ozai still sees Sokka as his, rather than as Zuko’s.  He glances down at Sokka.  “Or are we conquering them? Do you really feel our country is best served by prying this savage’s secrets out of his head, or by using him as a convenient hole to fuck when you feel like it?”

Zuko knows that if he was thinking objectively, the best case scenario for him would be to make sure Sokka is killed outright - immediately. He wouldn’t be able to spill his secrets to anyone if he was dead.  But listening to Ozai explain in graphic detail in front of his court what he had planned to do to Sokka had turned his stomach. How can anyone relish doing such a horrific thing to another person?  Zuko hadn’t realised he’d made his decision to confront Ozai until he’d actually done it.  Now it's done, in front of the whole court, and there is no way to gracefully bow out for either of them.

“I stand by my decision,” Zuko says, focusing on keeping his expression bland, his posture at a parade rest, hands behind his back, echoing his father’s.  “I will have him for my Consort.”

Ozai smiles; it’s utterly unnerving.  “Good, Prince Zuko.  I see you have learned to stand your ground against me, something a Crown Prince must do.”  He paces back a few steps, moving away from Sokka and toward Zuko.  “You have learned courage while you were away. As tradition demands I will accede to your request. Sokka of the Water Tribe is yours to use as you will.”

Ozai sweeps from the throne room, leaving Zuko with Sokka.  Sokka seems to relax a little, now that the Fire Lord is gone, looking up from the floor.  Something in Zuko warms, seeing him on his knees before him, and it catches Zuko by surprise.  He can feel his face heat, even as Sokka glares at him.

That glare stays with Zuko all the way back to his bedchambers, long after Sokka has had the manacles struck from his wrists and he’s been escorted to his new quarters. 

Sokka has had a long day.  So much has happened in the space of hours; he's been chained, sentenced to a cruel and horrific death, and in the next moments claimed by Zuko in front of the Fire Lord and his entire court.  His emotions are all over the place; abject terror has been replaced with humiliation, mixed with an all-encompassing relief that he will not die today, not like Long Feng and the Earth Kingdom Generals. Guilt mixes with his relief, because how can he watch them be led off for execution, and stand there and be glad it's not him joining them?

There was a moment in front of Ozai when Sokka chose to shut his mind down.  For the moment it was easier to simply be, rather than to struggle to react like expected.  Ozai is a monster, and he wanted Zuko to react to Sokka's mistreatment, to the name-calling, the threat of imminent death. Zuko had looked like this when he was disembarking the ship; blank and unresponsive, and Sokka is able to finally see it as the defence mechanism it is. 

So, Sokka had shut down and let Zuko take control.  Even though he didn’t know what game Zuko was playing, he had to trust him, to put his life in his hands.  It was a difficult thing to do;  every time they had met in the past Zuko had been combative and violent in his attempts to capture Aang. Sokka and Katara have always been collateral damage to Zuko, barely worth the effort of acknowledging unless they actively got in the way of his objective.

Sokka had watched Zuko, held his gaze, even as Ozai twisted his hands in Sokka's hair and bared his unprotected throat to him.  It was symbolic of course; Ozai showing Zuko how precariously Sokka’s life hung in the balance. He’d silently begged Zuko to stay calm and focused on the endgame, nothing else.  The only way that either of them would get out of this in one piece was if Zuko kept his wits about him.

Sokka had never felt such relief as when Ozai had let him drop back to the floor, the self-satisfied tone of his voice, cruel and amused, as he told Zuko he was only waiting for him to stand his ground before giving him what he wanted. Sokka wonders if Ozai was the one to gift Zuko the burn on his face.  Honestly,  Sokka isn't sure he wants to know.

Now that he stands in the relative safety of his new suite of rooms, a space just for himself, one question still bothers him.  Why did Zuko risk everything to stand up to his father in front of the court, just to save Sokka? Surely it would be easier to let him die at the hand of the Fire Nation rather than make him a consort? What does Zuko achieve with this? What does he want?  

It comes to Sokka in a rush.  Zuko’s clever, damn.  What Zuko did makes sense of a sort; making Sokka his consort elevates him to a royalty-adjacent state.  Nobody can touch Sokka without attracting the ire of the royal family.  This means Ozai can't have his torturers pry out Sokka's secrets, not without crossing lines within the complicated hierarchy of the court.  Sokka's got to admit it was a clever play, especially if Zuko had enacted it on the spot and in the heat of the moment.

So the question becomes, which secret is Zuko worried Sokka might spill? It seems a very…personal secret that Zuko must think Sokka has - so something about Zuko himself? Or something else?

Of course it could be the complete opposite. Maybe Zuko just wants to isolate Sokka, away from the persuasion of torture, so he can take him out without fuss. Maybe he intends for Sokka to disappear inside the palace walls and just never come out.  Sokka doesn't know anything about being a consort or what it actually means, apart from the obvious stuff, but maybe Zuko's made a simple choice.  Can he expect a knife in the ribs the first time he sees Zuko alone?

Sokka's thoughts are sidelined when the door opens, and what he can only describe as a troupe of attendants arrive, carrying armfuls of silky fabric.  They are led by a rather brusque looking middle aged man with incredibly perfect posture.  Right, Sokka can see how this is going to go.

As a single unit, everyone sinks to their knees and manages an almost perfect kowtow, even the woman carrying all the silks.  The man sizes Sokka up, lightning fast, and then says, "Greetings, Lord Sokka. I am Song. We are here to prepare you for your evening with Crown Prince Zuko."

"My what now?" Sokka says.   

"Your evening," Song repeats. "First nights are always so important.  We are here to make sure tradition is met and that everything goes smoothly."

Sokka's brain is particularly slow on the uptake this afternoon, especially after everything he's already dealt with today.  He just wants to sleep for a few days.  He has no idea what to do with all these rooms he apparently now inhabits, nor all these people, who clearly are taught euphemism and court-speak as a survival skill.

Sokka is herded by Song and three other male attendants toward a bathing room, just off Sokka's bedroom.  Sokka gets a glimpse of a large bed with carved posts that reach for the ceiling, gauzy drapes and a wide-open veranda that leads to a balcony, before everyone tries to get hands-on.  

Sokka is done with this shit before they even reach the bathroom.

"Do not touch me without permission," Sokka warns.  “Final, and only warning.”

One of the young men reaches out, and touches Sokka on the arm.  As soon as his fingers wrap around Sokka’s bicep and tighten, it’s game over.  Sokka’s subconscious immediately labels this gesture as a threat.

In the space of under thirty seconds Sokka has incapacitated all three attendants using only his bare hands and two of them are on the floor.  Song looks... surprised, but holds up his hands in the universal gesture of backing-the-fuck-down.  Some of the other attendants in the main reception room are milling around, whispering excitedly.  More than one is blushing.  Spirits, these people are crazy, Sokka thinks.

"Today has been a very long day, and it’s made me twitchy,” Sokka grits out.  “A piece of advice, Song? Do not fuck with a warrior when he's feeling threatened, okay?"

"But the Crown Prince -" Song protests.

"The Crown Prince can go fuck himself tonight," Sokka bites out.  He's in no mood to be facing off against Zuko, regardless of whether everyone thinks he's now property of the man or not.

Song looks contemplative, clearly weighing up where his loyalties will lie. "I will inform the Crown Prince's staff you are unavailable this evening and focusing on settling in," he says eventually. "We will draw you a bath before you retire, my Lord."

Sokka waits, and when he's sure nobody is going to get in his space again, he lets himself relax a little.  He talks himself down in increments, calming that part of him that still says fight or flight, that says defend yourself from the threat.  Song and his attendants are only doing what they have been instructed.  They are servants, bidden to do their jobs, and Sokka cannot hold that against them.  If he plays things right, they may eventually become valuable allies and even informants.  The elite always ignore the servants, and perhaps Sokka can use that to gather intel.  He needs to put his own problems aside and start working on getting them on his side.

"My apologies," Sokka says. "It has been a long day and I'm exhausted."

Song contemplates Sokka for a moment and then bows in Fire Nation way, left palm open over his clenched fist.  “We will take our leave, Lord Sokka,” he says. “Please alert one of the guards outside your door if you require our services.”

Sokka bows back - probably breaking etiquette since he now apparently has a title, of all things.  “Thank you.”

With a final nod, Song collects his people and what’s left of their dignity and sweeps from the room, entourage in tow.

Now that Sokka's suite is empty of people and nobody's watching him, he takes a moment to simply breathe. To let the day fall away, knowing that he doesn't need to uphold a front, to appear strong.  There are guards outside his door, and while that means for the moment he can't leave and his freedom is curtailed, it means that nobody else can get in either.  

He wanders toward the bathroom, past the ornately carved wooden screens that obscure the doorway, and into the room itself. 

It's beautiful. The room is tiled in pale blues and silvers, with a large square bath set into the floor. For a moment Sokka can almost imagine he's home,  the colours of the south surrounding him in a pale blue and grey embrace.  He feels some of the tension leach out of him, his shoulders dropping and the tight knot in his stomach unfurling.  Song has made sure the bath was filled with hot water before he took his leave, and with a final look around to make sure he is alone, Sokka begins to strip off his dirty and tattered prison clothing. The only thing he has left of himself and his Water Tribe clothing is the bone necklace he's always worn, and he's reluctant to remove it.  Still, the need to feel clean overrides that small nagging doubt, and he unfastens it, placing it carefully on the teak side table to retrieve later.

He wades into the hot water, holding back a groan because it feels so good.  The water already comes up to his hips and he sinks further into it, ducking his head under and fully submerging himself.  He holds his breath until he can't any longer and then surfaces. Spirits, that feels good.  It does make him realise exactly how grimy he is though.  He works his way over to the edge of the pool, and sorts through some of the products that have been placed at the side.  He spends long minutes washing his hair and combing out the tangles with his fingers, scrubbing himself down until his skin is flushed and tender from the attention. Only then does he sink down onto one of the built-in benches and soaks, letting himself float bonelessly and think of nothing at all.

When he finally gets out of the bath he leaves his prison garb where he left it.  He hunts through a cupboard in the corner of the room and finds a long silky robe that he wraps himself in instead, and wanders out into the bedroom.

Dusk had fallen while he was soaking. He walks toward the veranda, seeking the last of the sunlight before it drops below the horizon.  His rooms face onto the back of the palace, two of the volcanic peaks visible in the far distance.  He can smell the rich scent of night-blooming jasmine, warmed by the fading sunlight.  Another scent pervades the air, and Sokka searches for the source of it, passing back through his bedroom and into the sitting room.  There, on the low table, is a collection of tiny dishes filled with different foods, including a bowl of covered rice and some kind of soup.  Sokka sinks down onto a cushion and marvels at the food; it's quite different from what he's seen before.  It smells spicy, pungent and bitter, and his mouth waters at the thought of hot food.  He takes a hesitant taste, wary of the level of spice, but he finds he quite enjoys it anyway.  It is something he's no doubt going to have to get used to.  The presentation of the meal is beautiful; even the vegetables are arranged into intricate depictions of flowers and leaves, tiny carvings made to be consumed once they have been admired.  

Sokka is used to sharing food and his possessions with his tribe, of spending mealtimes in company and sharing stories around the fire, of camaraderie.  Sitting alone in a vast, empty space and eating alone seems strange and unusual.  

He can already feel himself flagging, running out of energy.  Being able to take a bath and being clean for the first time in weeks feels like heaven.  But the truth is he's bone tired. Tired of fighting for survival, of making it through another uncomfortable day, of wondering if it will be his last.  Tired of having to remain strong in front of others, of the threat of violence or pain.  He wants to sink into the bed, and sleep it all away.

There's nothing stopping him really, is there?  

He finishes what he can of the food, dozes through the last of his tea, and then wanders back to the bedroom.  The bed is vast; it looks unyielding but is actually the opposite when Sokka gets a knee up onto it and pulls back the embroidered silk coverlet.  Smooth sheets cover the bed, and Sokka lets himself fall, going boneless onto them, face first into the pillow.  Tui and La, he now owns a fucking pillow. Perfect.  

For the first time in a month or more, Sokka allows himself to rest.

There's a part of Zuko that still can't believe he's back home.  Waking with the sun, feeling Angi's heat on his skin so close to his bending's birth place sends Zuko's inner flame flaring with a self-satisfied heat, banked and pleased. Zuko feels inner peace at last - at least with regard to being home.  There are other things that still nag at his peace of mind, however.  

Hari Bulkan has always been a closed environment, full of like-minded elites and titled aristocrats feeding off the bounty of the Dragon Throne, squabbling over the royal family's scraps and bending over backward to be noticed by the Fire Lord himself.  The city itself is beautiful, nestled within the crown of an extinct volcano.  There are winding streets and markets, pleasure parks and lakes.  Most houses have red tile roofs, decorated with gilt imperial dragons and slithering naga that guard the eaves,  their gaze firmly fixed on the blue sky.  Over it all, the palace itself towers over everything.  It's a hulking leviathan that stands on blasted, scorched earth, a finger pointing to the sky, reminding everyone of who rules in this place. Zuko has never liked the palace - not only because of the way it hulks over the rest of Hari Bulkan, but also because of its reminder of what happens when the Avatar decides that the balance of the world has been violated.  The scorched earth that surrounds the palace is a lesson to take to heart, and Zuko has spent many weeks now thinking about what he's been taught - and indoctrinated into - with regards to the Fire Nation and its role as saviours of the world.

He is having doubts.

Zuko has thought long and hard about it since Ba Sing Se, and he's unsure that if the Fire Nation  wins, extending its... teachings to the rest of the world, would the world in fact be a better place? Will the fire nation citizens themselves be better off? The more he thinks about it, it becomes clear to Zuko that Sozin's war has done no favours to its people.  Over the last century they have been fed a steady diet of lies about their superiority over the other nations. They've had their sons and daughters, benders and soldiers, sacrificed to Sozin's bloody war.  The Fire Nation has taken their families, their resources, and twisted their love for their nation into hatred, simply to fuel the war effort.

And, as Zuko stands on the balcony looking over the peaks of the volcanoes, he wonders if maybe he can work toward changing things.  Would his contribution make a difference? What if he stood against his father and declared for peace instead of war? Zuko lets out a derisive huff of amusement.  He knows what would happen - if his father is creative enough to devise an execution for Sokka that involves drowning him in the element most closely associated with his tribe, Zuko would hate to think what cruelty he might deliver on a son who turns traitor.  Up until now Zuko's own punishment has been extreme, all but impossible to fulfil.  Zuko realises now that he was never supposed to complete his task; it was set up as an impossible goal.  He was supposed to fail.

So what does he have to lose? Does he turn his face at last from Hari Bulkan, disappearing into the vast expanse of the world?  Maybe he should embrace his alter ego Lee; customer service failure, dishwasher and sometime maker of tea, and simply vanish into the towns of the Earth Kingdom and have done with all this talk of fate and destiny.

But things are changing.  He has Sokka now, doesn't he? Sokka is intelligent and perceptive, and maybe useful.  Zuko had saved him on a whim, scared he might spill Zuko's secrets, but loath to see him suffer an horrific execution.  But, if he can convince Sokka to work with him, maybe Zuko can make a change.  Conveniently, because he's now Zuko's consort, they can legitimately spend time alone together, without interruption.  All zuko needs to watch for is the court spies, the watchers in the walls, those in the pay of other nobles and his father and sister. If he can convince everyone he's lost his head over a piece of Water Tribe ass, content to fuck his days away in pleasure with his consort, maybe they'll underestimate him enough to grow bored and underestimate him.

Zuko sighs heavily and looks to the sky for inspiration. Agni's balls.  Now for the hard part: convincing the piece of ass in question it's a good plan. It should be easy, right?

Now that Zuko has decided he wants to test the waters with Sokka, to see if they can maybe put aside some of their differences and work together, he's impatient to get started.  Zuko needs to feel Sokka out and see where he is mentally.  He's still not sure if he should risk broaching the subject of the Avatar's potential survival; it might be better in the long run if Zuko can distract Sokka away from that particular problem.  Sokka knew about Black Sun - a particularly dangerous piece of information that he’d tried to give to the Earth King. How exactly did Sokka discover the information and figure it out?  All firebenders experience a disconnection with Agni during Black Sun, but the knowledge of predicting the solar eclipse is a closely guarded secret.   

He sends a note to the Keeper of the Door, requesting Sokka's presence this evening. In the meantime, he's going to go hawking, and take his mind off palace intrigue and backstabbing and courtly murder.

As the sun sets, Zuko gets ready to greet Sokka.  He has assurances from the Inner Palace that Sokka will join him later, once darkness falls. He eats a light dinner and then bathes.  He wants to make a good impression on Sokka, an impression where he's not trying to actively kill or maim him, so Zuko figures he'll start small and work his way up to more grandiose gestures later.  He spends a few moments dithering, standing in the middle of his rooms, wondering whether he should order more food in case Sokka is hungry or if he should maybe rearrange the seating so they are at a table rather than on one of the divans - what would make Sokka more comfortable?  Then there's the matter of what he should wear - can Zuko dress down in loose pants and a shirt or should he wear a more formal robe over the top? Should he wear his hair up or down?

Agni, he's so bad at stuff like this! How does one make your enemy your confidant and partner in crime? How do you explain that even though you actively tried to kill them last time you saw them, maybe together you could find a way to just move past that now?

Why isn't there a fucking guidebook for this kind of shit?!  Zuko makes a frustrated, angry noise and decides pacing for a few moments might help.

It does not.

Fuck it.  He's going to wear his hair down and dress casually; it'll be less intimidating for Sokka and won't give him an excuse to go straight on the defensive.  

That decision made, Zuko sets out to extinguish some of the lamps strewn about his apartments, reasoning that the less light cast in the room, the less a spy hidden in the walls might be able to lip read - or see.

The first indication Zuko gets that this is going to be a much more formal and awkward affair than what he had originally intended comes when he hears the sound of instruments being played down the corridor outside his room.  He pauses in the middle of fluffing an embroidered silk pillow (he's not nervous, dammit) and wonders why it sounds like the music is getting louder.  

There's a pause outside the door, and then both of Zuko's guards swing the heavy doors open in tandem.  Zuko, dressed in a gauzy sheer top and silk pants, barefoot with his hair down, is suddenly confronted by a crowd of servants of the Inner Palace, musicians, and a rather important, yet constipated looking official who must be Sokka's new main attendant.

Ah, Zuko thinks.  I‘ve entirely misread the whole affair, haven't I?   Because while Zuko realizes that making Sokka his First Consort is simply a way to protect him, to work with shared goals in mind, apparently everyone else thinks it's because he wants to fuck Sokka.

In retrospect, Zuko thinks, Sokka probably thinks that too.

Fuck. He's going to have to do some serious damage control in a few minutes, isn't he?

The crowd parts in a distinctly theatrical movement, revealing Sokka, who is standing at the back of the procession. Zuko’s first thought is, wow , because someone really went all out.  Most of Zuko’s experience with Sokka’s clothing style could be classed as the make-do-and-mend Water Tribe warrior special. Theoretically Zuko knows that Sokka wears his hair in a warrior’s wolf tail, and that he wears a blue robe over his pants tied at the waist.  The rest is a jumble of flexingbicepsswingingclubdangerbluntforcetrauma and not much else until the fight is over and he realises that hey, he’s actually still alive.  Hakoda’s son is a dangerous enemy, despite the awful puns and punchlines.

This Sokka, Sokka the Consort, is a whole different concept. He’s dressed in pale blue silks patterned with flowers, and he appears to be wearing a formal sampot tied up between his legs, with many formal folds at the front that fall like waves.  Zuko’s trying not to stare like an asshole but beneath the sheer gauze of Sokka’s over robe he can tell he’s wearing gold armbands around his biceps.  He has beads in his hair, his warrior’s tail bound with blue ribbons.

Zuko thinks he might need to lay down.  One look at Sokka’s expression tells him it might be better to talk to his dick later and maybe salvage the situation before he causes a breach of etiquette.  Yeah, Sokka is not happy.

Sokka walks forward a couple of paces and then, after a brief silent exchange with his main attendant, offers Zuko a perfect Fire Nation bow.  Zuko returns it, but not quite as low - as courtesy dictates - and then stands to the side, sweeping his hand out in a gesture that implies Sokka can enter.  If there are any formal words that are supposed to be spoken for this sort of event, Zuko doesn’t know them.  “Please, uh, enter,” he adds awkwardly.

“The First Consort, Sokka, Son of Hakoda, enters through the doors,” announces a man that Zuko recognizes as Niet, the Keeper of the Door of the Inner Palace.  Oh wow, super formal, then.

Sokka steps over the threshold to Zuko’s apartment and pauses.  Niet pulls out a sparkstone and strikes it three times close to Sokka’s shoulders.  Zuko remembers this from one of his mother’s plays, remembers the gossip from early lessons on literature and some court etiquette that he had to endure as a Crown Prince. Before the sparks can land on Sokka’s broad shoulders, Zuko sweeps his hand out, palm up.  He tugs with his fire sense.  The sparks drift toward Zuko, coalescing into his palm, swirling in a tiny vortex of twinkling fire. It’s a display of his prowess as an imperial firebender, chosen of Agni.  He closes his hand around the flame and it vanishes, warm against his skin.

Niet bows.  “Agni has spoken, and approves.”  With a nod at Sokka he kowtows to Zuko, along with the rest of Sokka’s entourage, and then backs out, closing the doors behind them.  

A strange, awkward silence hangs between them.  Sokka is doing a marvellous job of looking absolutely murderous, but his body is still, like he’s waiting for something.  Zuko steps backward a few steps and turns towards his chambers.  He walks into the main room, heading toward the pile of cushions he’s arranged.  He can hear Sokka walking behind him, a few paces back.

He hears a quiet thud of a footfall behind him. Zuko’s body screams threat and he moves to the side, spinning around and sweeping a foot out.  Sokka jumps over it, because he was clearly expecting it and that’s what he does .  He pushes at Zuko, and Zuko goes down onto the bank of silk pillows, flat on his back, making a distinctly uncool noise of surprise.

Sokka is on him in moments, straddling his hips to keep him down and fisting his hand in Zuko’s hair and pulling.  Zuko makes another noise that isn’t pain - or surprise - and Sokka’s eyes go wide.  A blush burns across his cheekbones and he lets go, instead pinning Zuko down with his hands on his biceps.  There’s a brief struggle until Sokka finally gets Zuko pinned in place.

Zuko is mortified.  He had no idea hair pulling was a thing, especially after the events of yesterday with his father and Sokka.  That was not sexy.  That was - 

“Wow, I can see a whole bunch of new revelations unfolding for you in the kink department as we speak,” Sokka drawls. He tightens his hands around Zuko’s biceps.  “Unfortunately, it’s not a discussion we’ll be revisiting.”

Zuko swallows, throat dry.  Sokka is sitting on him, and even though there are two layers of silk between them Zuko feels a little like he’s on dangerous ground.  Sokka has always been an opponent to be feared, to treat with caution.  This version of Sokka, smelling like orange blossom, dressed in sheer, soft fabrics, muscles on display - Zuko has no idea what to do with himself or the situation.  This was not something he factored into his careful planning to feel Sokka out.  Now he’s thinking about feeling Sokka up.

“Eyes up here, Crown Prince Zuko,” Sokka bites out.

Zuko does his best to focus on Sokka’s face, rather than his flexing abs.  He feels mesmerised by the way one of the beaded strands of his hair swings forward when Sokka leans down to glare at him.

“First things first,” Sokka instructs.  “I am not an ornament, as you called it when you claimed me in front of your father. I am not a fucking doll, Zuko, and I will not be used like one. I will not allow you to fuck me. I am not your property.”

“Understood,” Zuko agrees. He doesn’t try to dislodge Sokka; he remains beneath him, held down, clearly not a threat.

“What?” Sokka rears back a little in surprise.  “Then why -”

Zuko moves.  He’s swift, the element of surprise on his side.  He twists beneath Sokka, flipping them over and slipping between his legs, until Sokka is the one pressed beneath him, wrists captured in Zuko’s hands. Sokka growls in anger and rolls his hips, pressing upward in a bid to escape.  Agni, Zuko can feel his blood heating, despite his promise a moment ago.  He needs to focus. 

He leans down, until he’s pressed against Sokka’s chest, lips hovering by his ear.  “I need us to work together, Sokka,” Zuko whispers furiously.  “I need unfettered access to you, and that clever brain of yours.  The only way to do it is to make it look like we are fucking, understand? I want you to help me save the Fire Nation and overthrow a tyrant: my father.”

Chapter Text

Zuko wants Sokka to help him do what?? Sokka's internal thought process grinds to a halt.  What the fuck is Angry Jerk talking about? Overthrowing his father?!  It also doesn't help with his thought process that Sokka's trapped under Zuko's body - pinned down if he wants to be exact, and has the asshole breathing words into his ear in his breathy, rough voice.  If Sokka didn't actively dislike him he might even consider it seductive.

"And why would you think I'd want to help you?" Sokka whispers back just as furiously.  He struggles a little, attempting to get leverage to throw Zuko off, but Zuko's done that little trick all hand to hand fighters learn quickly; using his body weight to pin his opponent.  Zuko's fingers tighten around Sokka's wrists and Sokka's brain goes a little fuzzy around the edges.  His breath hitches in his throat as he curls his hands into fists. "Why did you save me from execution?"

Zuko makes an irritated tutting sound.  "Why would I save you?" he asks.  "Because I didn't want to see you tortured and then killed slowly? It was never my intention to see you suffer, Sokka." He rears back a little, until Sokka can just make out the confused expression on Zuko's face - like he can't understand why Sokka doesn't get it.

Unfortunately Zuko's movement slides his body over Sokka's, a subtle tick of his hips forward and Spirits, Sokka’s body is a fucking traitor.  His senses are already on overdrive, what with being in a strange and hostile environment, his body hyper-alert to everything around him. He can feel every place that Zuko's lean body presses against him, from chest to hip to thigh, to the band around his wrists where Zuko holds him down.  Even so, Sokka can feel himself responding to the stimuli, his bare chest and nipples brushing against the sheer fabric of Zuko's embroidered shirt.  

“Get off of me,” Sokka snarls.

Zuko shakes his head.  “Will you help me? Please?  Sokka, I promise to release you from this arrangement once all this is over.”

Sokka freezes. Okay, now he’s listening.  “Explain. Quickly,” he adds.

Zuko lets out a breath, like a stay of execution (and doesn’t Sokka know all about that?), and drops his head to rest for a few short seconds onto Sokka’s shoulder, before he shifts again, lips oh-so-close to Sokka’s ear. “It’s entirely likely we are being watched,” Zuko begins.

Sokka jerks in surprise, tilting his head toward Zuko, cheek bumping against his. “What?”

“There are probably spies within the walls, so we need to know if this is a safe place to talk openly.  On my honour, I promise you Sokka, I wouldn’t invade your personal space like this if I knew we were unobserved. I need the court to believe I am not a threat, that you are not a threat. I need them to believe you have me wrapped around your finger and unable to think of anything else but getting inside of you.”

Sokka lets out a grunt of - you know what, he’s not sure how he feels about that statement, but Zuko’s words are starting to make sense and he doesn’t like that at all.    

“Before we work toward any kind of goal we need to find out if and how I’m being watched.” Zuko says.  

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Sokka reminds him. “You haven’t told me what you plan on doing.”

Zuko raises himself onto his arms, just enough to glare down at Sokka and make one of the perturbed expressions he’s so good at.

Sokka sighs.  He guesses this is all he’s going to get for now until they know they aren’t being watched. He thumps his head back onto the pillow and goes lax and compliant.  “Fine.  I will play your game - for now. I will hang on your every sparkling word. I will be effervescent with joy in your presence. I will do what needs to be done.  I have one hard rule, however: kissing on the mouth is off limits,” he adds. “No negotiation.”

Zuko pushes off Sokka and sits upright on the cushion, one leg pulled up to his chest.  He wraps his arms around his leg and looks at Sokka.  “No kissing?” He leans back in again. “But you’re fine with-”

“Shhhh.”  Sokka holds a finger up to his lips, watching as Zuko’s golden eyes drop down to his lips and then back up to meet his gaze, clearly trying to get a read on Sokka’s level of cooperation.  “Now take me to bed, Crown Prince Zuko,” he says.

Zuko blinks at him and then moves, almost like someone kicked his brain back into gear.  He rises fluidly to his feet and holds his hand out for Sokka to take.  Looks like Zuko has decided to play along, Sokka thinks.  Good.

As Zuko leads Sokka into the bedroom he wonders why Sokka is so adamant about not kissing.  There are things they might have to get comfortable with - and doing with each other - in order to make this farce believable to his father and to the court. Is it a thing Sokka is uncomfortable with in general or just with Zuko? 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Sokka says. He pauses in the door to the bedroom, seemingly apprehensive for a moment - or maybe he’s taking notes of the layout of the room, the windows and doors, the easiest ways out if there’s an ambush.  

It reminds Zuko this is a dangerous game they are playing - and that Sokka has only agreed to what Zuko wants because he’s waiting for Zuko to tell him what’s really going on.  He can’t forget that Sokka is still essentially his enemy, and tonight he’s going to sleep with him, to close his eyes, to be unconscious in the same space as a person that’s actively tried to kill him before.  Granted, Zuko’s done the same to Sokka in the past.   How do you convince your brain you are safe when you’re lying next to a person who is both an enemy and an ally at the same time?

But before they even get to that point, they have a ceremony to enact - this will be the price of Sokka’s cooperation and the beginning of Zuko’s stratagem.  This is the opening volley in a still as yet hidden coup of Zuko’s making, a ritual offering to those who hide in the shadows and watch.  Zuko wishes they could have done this differently, but here they are, committed together for this short period of time.

He leads Sokka toward the dias, up both steps until they stand next to the bed.  When he turns to face Sokka, he can tell he’s tense, the lines of body alert, movements stilted.  Does he wonder if Zuko will keep his word? 

Zuko steps into his space, pushes the sheer robe from Sokka’s shoulders, and lets it fall to the floor.   He leaves his hand on the warm skin of Sokka’s shoulder, a touch point, as he leans in. Sokka’s breath stills, lips parting, like he’s going to remind Zuko of his promise. There’s no need; Zuko does what he’s been asked.  He doesn’t try to kiss Sokka, instead he places a barely there, delicate press of his lips to the edge of Sokka’s jaw, just beneath his ear.  He feels Sokka’s hand come up to curl around his bicep, the other resting on his waist, and his body goes lax beneath Zuko’s touch.  He tilts his head and gives Zuko silent permission to carry on.  It occurs to Zuko they didn’t discuss how far they’d take this charade, how much of themselves they’d give each other, and it’s too late to ask now.  For the moment, he’ll take his cues from Sokka, he decides.  

He mouths his way down Sokka’s neck, placing kisses along the muscle there.  His hand slides down from Sokka’s shoulder, over his pec, fingers brushing over Sokka’s nipple.  It’s not a thing Zuko really intended to do, but Sokka jolts and lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening on Zuko’s waist as he steps in closer.  

He can feel the warmth of Sokka’s body where it presses against his own skin, and he can’t help but let his hands wander down to the dip of Sokka’s waist,  across the soft skin of his belly and the tightness of his abs.  Sokka is a warrior and has the body and musculature to prove it, and it is a joy to admire with all of Zuko’s senses; touch, taste, scent.  The scent Sokka wears has mellowed against his skin, not so sharp and more honeyed now, and his skin is soft.  He lets out a soft exhale, right against Zuko’s shoulder when Zuko grazes his teeth along Sokka’s exposed neck, and he pulls Zuko closer, like he’s chasing more of it.  

Zuko can feel his body reacting to Sokka’s closeness.  It’s dangerous; he can feel his cock filling out, especially when Sokka slides his leg between Zuko’s and rocks forward.  Zuko’s brain is starting to forget Sokka is still an enemy; he’s beginning to focus only on the pleasure, the way Sokka’s body moves against his, the answering hardness he can feel pressing against the crease of his hip and belly.

Sokka tightens his fingers in Zuko’s hair, tugging his head back and exposing his throat. Dangerous, whispers the voice in his head. He can slit your throat like this.   Teeth graze down Zuko’s neck, rougher than Zuko was, the heat of Sokka’s mouth intoxicating as he sucks a love bite in the skin just beneath Zuko’s jugular.  His fingers tighten in the strands of Zuko’s hair, holding him in place, and Zuko lets a real moan escape this time.  He’s fully hard now, cock heavy, and he ticks his hips forward.  Sokka shifts, and then, yes , now they can rut against each other.  

Content to have Zuko where he wants him, Sokka releases his hair.  Zuko sways for a moment, lust-drunk, taking in Sokka’s expression; lips parted, eyes pools of blue like the deepest ocean, gaze heavy lidded and cheeks flushed.  He makes quick work of the shirt Zuko’s wearing, and his fingers slide along the waistband of Zuko’s pants.  “How far?” he whispers at Zuko, tugging on the drawstring but not pulling.  Waiting for permission.

Zuko rallies his thoughts. He glances at the bed, and back to Sokka.  He’d really just planned to make this look good, to get them under the covers so they could pretend, but this has escalated out of Zuko’s control and become far more heated than he intended.  He wishes they had the luxury to discuss this, and he’s about to step back, when Sokka pulls on the drawstring.  His expression is open, and he wets his lips, glancing down the length of Zuko’s body.  He’s clearly aroused, body relaxed.   Sokka steps back in and cups the back of Zuko’s head, lips pressed to his ear.  He pauses, and says, “We can take care of each other, this evening.  I need it.” 

Zuko feels the words like an orgasmic punch to the gut. He can barely formulate the word yes in reply, before Sokka is pushing Zuko’s pants down over his hips.  He tugs at the jewelled belt around Sokka’s waist, then begins unwinding the sampot he’s wearing.  Zuko’s still in his loincloth, and as he glances down, it’s clear they dressed Sokka for easy access.  He’s bare-ass nude beneath the sampot, all glorious brown skin with a mouth-watering happy trail that leads from just beneath his navel down to the root of his erect cock.  Agni, Sokka’s got a gorgeous dick.

Sokka’s quick with his fingers, working at loosening the loincloth with deft movements, until he has Zuko just as naked.  He takes Zuko’s hand, squeezing gently (in reassurance?) and climbs onto Zuko’s vast bed, pulling him down next to him. So much skin on skin, Zuko thinks. Sokka’s needy, tugging him closer, twining his legs through Zuko’s, pulling him on top.  Zuko presses his weight down over Sokka and rolls his hips.  Sokka’s voice hitches on a sigh, so Zuko does it again.  They quickly find a rhythm together, and any thoughts of danger or enemy evaporate against the stuttering roll of Sokka’s hips, the flex of his muscles, the way he presses his hands all over Zuko’s skin, tangles in his hair, bites his way down Zuko’s throat and into the meat of his shoulder.

Zuko gets his hand around Sokka’s leaking cock, palming him and squeezing, and then starts to jack him off.  Sokka’s moan is throaty and loud, his head falling back onto the pillow, overwhelmed in the pleasure. “Fuck, Zuko,” he bites out, grabbing at Zuko’s ass and palming at it, dragging him closer. Zuko’s got a hand around both of them now, and together they fuck up into his palm.  Sokka drops his hand down to help, forming a tight tunnel for the both of them.  The sound of pleasure echoes in the room; little moans and sighs, a swear word, the slick of their pre-come easing the way. He leans down to get his mouth around one of Sokka’s nipples, and Agni , the reaction as he bites at the tightened nub, flicks at it with his tongue.  Sokka arches almost off the bed, cock jumping in Zuko’s hand, a blurt of pre-come slicking Zuko’s palm.  With a smirk, Zuko switches to the other nipple, drunk on the reaction he can tease from Sokka’s body.

He’s so close to coming.  He can feel the tight, heavy arousal settling in his belly, his balls drawing up.  Sokka thrusts up into their joined hands, hard cock sliding next to Zuko’s.  He makes a bitten off sound of pleasure and pulls Zuko down close, fingers in Zuko’s hair.  Zuko can feel the stutter of Sokka’s hips now as he fights the rhythm, the pull of his body.  Zuko’s no better, intoxicated on Sokka’s scent, his warmth, his hard body flexing beneath him.

Sokka flips them over, taking control, and Zuko can do nothing but be manhandled.  “Gonna come,” he stutters out, words slurred.   

Sokka’s hand fists in the hair at his nape, leaning down to whisper hotly in Zuko’s ear I hate you as he comes himself, body tensing and shaking.  It sends Zuko off the teetering edge and barrelling straight into orgasm, and he’s not sure what that says about him, that a Water Tribe peasant whispering I hate you in his ear is a turn-on. He bites down hard into the junction of Sokka’s neck and shoulder, pinching at his nipple.  Sokka arches again, cries out in pleasure, painting Zuko’s abs with ribbons of come between them.  

After a few moments Sokka rolls to the side, flopping onto his back. Both of them lay there, not speaking, letting their bodies cool.  Zuko’s body is tacky with drying sweat and come, more relaxed than he’s been in months .  He can feel every place where Sokka bit him, where he left his own love bite.  He glances over at Sokka, who’s staring at the bed canopy.  He’s got…more than a few bite marks littered on his shoulders and neck, evidence of Zuko’s lust, and it sends something in Zuko purring in pleasure.  Zuko turns toward Sokka, but doesn’t try to touch him.  “Are you okay?” he asks.  

Sokka nods.  “I got what I needed,” he says.  He looks over at Zuko, noting all the marks he’s left on him, no doubt.  He doesn’t apologise for what he said, and Zuko doesn’t expect him to.  Feelings are not a part of this arrangement, and they both know it.  They don’t need to like each other, only  to cooperate with each other.

“Sleep well, then,” Zuko says, and rolls over, pulling the coverlet over his body and closing his eyes.

When Sokka wakes, it's to find himself in another strange bed.  Having only just settled into his own apartment in the palace, it takes him a moment to remember that he's somewhere else - namely Zuko's room.  It comes back to him slowly - being paraded through the corridors like a prize, a not-so-auspicious introduction with Zuko, and then Zuko trying desperately to persuade him into a cozy game of plot-to-kill-Ozai.  

It takes his brain a few seconds to remember the rest.  “ Tui and La,” he mutters, swiping a hand down his face.  The movement sends off a whole cascade of aches and sharp pains, especially on his neck, and he pokes gingerly at one particular love bite he can feel.   The whole evening comes barreling back; arousal and pleasure getting the better of both him and Zuko, what was supposed to be subterfuge and pretence had led to actual sex.  He’s made some pretty dumb decisions in his life, but sex is not something Sokka’s ever shied away from. He enjoys it, why shouldn’t he have it when he can?  Zuko was fully consenting, although had been hesitant at first until he’d gotten into the swing of it, had figured out some of Sokka’s tells and pleasure points. Sokka can’t imagine how much fun of a bed partner Zuko could turn out to be if they both actually liked each other, which brings Sokka barreling toward the part when he told Zuko he hated him, and then came so hard he’d almost blacked out.  Apparently that little slip of the lips had gotten them both off, so Sokka can’t be too upset about it.  Zuko is still his enemy after all, he reminds himself.

Sokka hears footfalls over the floor, light and careful, and then a figure appears in the doorway.  Zuko.  He's dressed already in the blood-red and black of his princely armour with his hair up in a topknot, his golden flame hairpiece nestled in place over it.  

Sokka leans up on one elbow, coverlets pooling around his waist, to watch him approach. Zuko always looked good in his armour.  The wide shoulders of the chest piece make him look broader than he is, and more dangerous. The neck of the armour almost hides a love bite that matches Sokka’s - but not quite.

Sokka's first reaction - despite last night’s activities - is to tense up and prepare to fight, because he's used to this when he sees Zuko dressed for battle.  There's another, newer, part of him that is starting to see beneath the cold and bitchy veneer that Zuko shows to the world.  There’s the person who thinks only of his nation, who might be willing to risk everything for it. There’s the person who likes having his hair pulled in bed and manhandled when Sokka can get the drop on him.  Interesting. He's going to withhold judgement though; Zuko is still his enemy, at least until he proves himself otherwise.

Zuko pauses in the door, giving Sokka a moment to adjust and to wake up properly. He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms, but he appears somewhat relaxed. Orgasms tend to do that.

"You're leaving, Prince Zuko?" Sokka asks, deciding to stick with the polite formalities until he has the lay of the court and its etiquette.

Zuko nods. "I have a war meeting with my father and the generals."  He steps into the room, boots echoing across the floor as he strides with intent toward Sokka.  Sokka tenses; despite trying to convince his body not to, his eyes searching for weapons, flame daggers, any of the things Zuko has been known to come at Sokka with in the past.  He forces himself not to react, to remain unaffected.

Zuko leans down, fingers gentle as he tips Sokka's chin up and leans in, whispering in his ear. "Use the time alone in my quarters to search for what we discussed. I doubt anyone will be watching you since I'm not here."

And then the warmth of his body is gone, away from Sokka.  Zuko keeps to his promise not to kiss Sokka, to respect that single rule he's put in place, just like he did last night. His fingers brush across Sokka's arm, almost a caress, and then he's gone.  Sokka listens to him talking to someone at the door of the apartments, probably a guard, and Sokka allows himself to flop back down onto the mattress.

He allows himself to fall asleep again - Zuko has a really comfortable bed. When he wakes an hour or so later, there is a tray on a table near the door, and on it, a tall vessel chased in silver. He slips from the bed and reaches for the sampot he discarded last night, wrapping it around his hips and tying it in place.  

Someone had been in the room while he slept this morning.  He finds it extremely disconcerting that one; he hadn't heard anyone come in, and two, he didn't wake - even with his heightened sense of danger, accumulated over the last year or so.  Someone was here, and was very light on their feet.  

On the plus side, there’s no doubt that in the space of a few hours half the palace will know Sokka slept in the Crown Prince's bed last night, and that can't hurt their planned subterfuge.

The drinking glass is sweating slightly.  It's nestled in a silver chaser decorated with cutout designs, no doubt to keep it cool.  Ingenious, Sokka thinks.  He dips the tip of a finger into the drink, checking to make sure it's not poisoned.  His finger doesn't tingle, nor does his bottom lip when he brushes it there briefly.  Still, he waits five full minutes, just in case.  Then he licks his lip. Mmmm, it's like sherbert ice? It tastes tart and fruity, with an underlying sweetness.  Sokka could absolutely get used to this sort of thing, he decides.  

Once he's drunk the sherbert (and not died messily), he takes a moment to look around properly.  He'd missed a lot of details yesterday, what with Zuko keeping the mood lighting down low and Sokka being...engaged in mutually beneficial discussions with Zuko.  

The Crown Prince's apartments scream Fire Nation, with patterned red silk on the walls, gilded ornamentation, and teak furniture inlaid with ivory and abalone. The only things not red and gold in here are the gauzy curtains that frame each doorway that leads out onto the veranda.  They flutter in the breeze, circulating the air. In contrast, Sokka's suite is decorated with a lighter touch, and if he was intending to stay he'd have it redone in something that's not red or gold.

Zuko's apartments are designed to be private and accessible only to those he chooses to let in.  They are set up as a series of interconnected rooms; the main sitting area leads to another sitting room that's an office space, then a dressing room that leads to Zuko's bedroom and off that the ridiculously huge bathroom.  Sokka walks slowly through the space on bare feet, enjoying the feel of the wooden floor under his soles. His foot squeaks on a floorboard, and then again a few steps on. He'd noticed this yesterday but hadn't given it much thought, nor this morning. It seems entirely random, but Sokka wonders - as he steps in the doorway and it squeaks -  if this is an actual nightingale floor, purposely designed to make noise at specific spots, and to alert the occupant to intruders or potential assassins. It could be useful.  It makes him wonder how many other Crown Princes have had these apartments, and how many of them were marked for assassination or were the victims of court intrigue.

Sokka pauses in the centre of the office and looks around with a new eye.  He can see that Zuko might not be paranoid without reason, but instead is legitimately worried about who's watching him in his most private spaces.  Sokka can't imagine living with that kind of level of fear, and it makes him examine Zuko's behaviours in a new light. 

More steps across the gently creaking floors lead Sokka back to the bedroom with its giant canopied bed on the dias, and the now empty glass on the table.  He spends a moment staring at the bed, thinking about last night, and he can feel the faint flicker of arousal stirring in his belly at the memory.  He purposely turns around and walks back to the dressing room, avoiding the squeaky floorboard he knows is there.

The person who delivered this drink didn't wake Sokka. They could have avoided the nightingale floor he supposes, if they were familiar with Zuko's apartments, and a servant most likely would be.  But Sokka knows he didn't  hear any doors open and close, and he didn't hear the guards either.  So the servant in question didn't enter through the main doors of the apartments.  Sokka hasn't seen a servant in the public hallways since he was installed as Zuko's consort, so it stands to reason the servants are traversing the palace in some other way.

Most likely, in passageways built into the walls.

Sokka starts looking for a hidden doorway; running his fingers over the panelling in the sitting room, checking for worn spots or bumps near the edges.  And there it is, hidden near the corner, opposite the veranda doorway.  He presses on the panel and hears a popping sound, and then the door swings open silently.  It's narrow, carefully carved to blend in with the panelling, and so well constructed it's almost invisible. Also well used, judging by the lack of dust.  Sokka takes a hesitant step inside, wishing he had shoes or boots on and not the remains of the frippery they'd dressed him in last night.  He follows the corridor, leaving the door open enough to cast light down the passage.  It banks a sharp left, following the walls of Zuko's apartments.  In the musty half light, Sokka spots a beam of sunlight arcing across the wall, and when he approaches he can see why.

Zuko was correct in worrying his apartments - and that he himself - were being observed.  Fastened to the wall at eye level is a little carved wooden disk, and when Sokka pushes it to the side he can look through the hole left behind and see into Zuko's inner sitting room and office.  He can't make out much as the sun streaming through the bank of doors from the veranda creates a wall of light, but at other times of the day or night a person could view the whole room.  Sokka drops the disk back into place and continues down the corridor.  It branches to the right, away from the royal apartments, but Sokka sticks to the left branch.  It's dustier here, obviously not used much, but there is evidence of a couple of different sets of footprints in the dust that are recent.  Curious, Sokka follows them, finding another disk, and when he looks through it, he's got the perfect view of Zuko's bedroom, and the giant bed on the dias.  

Sokka frowns.  Spirits, it's entirely likely at least one person was spying on them last night when they got off.  Suddenly, Sokka is really glad Zuko suspected as much - maybe it was a good thing their desire got the better of them and what they did was entirely genuine.  Sokka’s not sure they could have pulled off faking it enough to be entirely convincing.   

He's going to need to let Zuko know, as soon as he can.

It also means that his own apartment probably has the same setup, so he'll need to figure out what's going on in there as well.  Ugh, this is just not the kind of bullshit he'd signed up for when he agreed to help Aang save the world. And once he starts thinking about Aang, he can feel his grief welling, making his throat ache and his eyes sting.  Even now, he's still not sure if Aang made it, or if Katara was able to save him. There's not been any whispers of a sighting of Aang since shit went down in Ba Sing Se, but then again Sokka has been in prison for the last month.

Sokka turns on his heel and returns to Zuko's apartments, shutting the door behind him carefully so as to hide any evidence of his field trip.

Zuko is probably going to be busy for most of the morning.  He could waste some time here, poking around Zuko's office and generally being nosy, but he doesn't like the idea of potentially being watched any further than he already has been.   So Sokka makes his way back to the large set of double doors and opens one.

Both guards turn at the same time, clearly not expecting anyone.  Sokka waves. "Uh, gonna head back to my rooms?" he says. It comes out as more of a question than a command.

The guard on the right bows. "I will escort you, Lord Sokka," he says.

"Cool, cool."  Sokka can do this, it's no big deal.

And so begins the most public and carefully choreographed walk of shame he's ever had the joy of participating in.

Chapter Text

Zuko marches down the corridor at speed, wanting to put as much distance between him and his father's war council. He puts his most unapproachable expression on his face, and ignores everyone trying to vie for his favour and lurking in the public areas of the palace.  He mostly succeeds; but that's what his accompanying guards are for when people won't take a hint.

Ozai is readying plans for the invasion of the Earth Kingdom during Sozin's comet.  If everyone thought the destruction and genocide of the Air Nomads was bad enough - well, Ozai wants to do better.  He wants to bathe the earth with fire and eradicate the Fire Nation’s final threat.  After that, Zuko has no doubt that Ozai will turn back to mop up what's left of the Water Tribes after Zhao's incompetency and his defeat in the north.

In the intervening years since Zuko was banished, he’s learned his lesson well - it's burnt into his face, after all - so he does not contradict his father, nor does he try to object.  He chooses to appear as a dutiful son, returned to his nation and eager to please; the hero that killed the Avatar. Instead, he'll continue to work from the shadows. Rather than try to stop the Fire Nation, he will stop the Fire Lord.  

There comes a point when a man must pick his battles, Zuko thinks.  Isn’t there a phrase or a folktale about biting the head off the serpent?

He needs to find Sokka.  His guard hurries to catch up with him, and Zuko can hear him cursing under his breath. Another turn and Zuko's inside the more private area at the rear of the palace where the royal family live.  He passes the apartments reserved for favoured consorts and strides toward his own suite of apartments.

The guards stand to attention, and then swing the doors open.  Sokka is not here.  Zuko didn't tell him specifically that he had to wait for Zuko to return, did he?  "Where is Lord Sokka?" Zuko demands, turning back to the guards.

"Lord Sokka returned to his rooms earlier," one says.  His eyes linger just above the collar of Zuko's armour, where Zuko knows there's the dark smudge of a love bite just visible. He grits his teeth; he's going to need to get used to people looking at him like this - he needs them to look at him like this, like he's a playboy, a seeker of pleasure, someone who doesn't care to step out of line. He nods.  "Please send for Min," he says instead.  

Min was Zuko's attendant when he was a child, up until he was exiled.  He was responsible for nursing Zuko through the first few days of the aftermath of Ozai's lesson.  In the intervening years of Zuko’s banishment he’s grown into a young man that clearly turns heads around the palace.  Before he claimed Sokka, Zuko might have even made a move himself. Besides, Zuko does not know if Min is trustworthy any longer; he's had years to settle into palace life and politics without Zuko as his master.  It’s very likely he’s in someone else’s pay and reporting Zuko’s movements back to them.  

Zuko pinches his nose and sighs. He's getting a headache.  He knows it's stress; having to be constantly on guard, relying on only yourself at all times, watching for danger - it's already starting to get to him, to eat away at what little peace he had.  It’s ironic that the only person he can trust right now is the one person who's actually had a couple of decent tries to kill him in the past.

One of the main doors opens and Min slips inside, offering Zuko a bow.  "You sent for me, Prince Zuko?"

“I did.” Zuko walks toward the second sitting room, into the dressing room.  Min follows him silently, and Zuko notes how the man avoids the squeaky floorboards of the nightingale floor.  It might be time to make a few changes to the floorboards, Zuko thinks.  I should have the placements of the squeaky boards moved.  Maybe Sokka can help me out.   Min strips him from his armour quickly, clearly still practised at doing so.  He's silent while he works, and Zuko isn't sure if that's because they have no familiarity with each other any more, or if Min isn't sure of Zuko yet.  To Min, Zuko is also an unknown quantity, the banished prince now back in favour.  Zuko wonders how he feels about it.

"Could you send for Lord Sokka?" Zuko asks.  "Tell him to meet me outside in the royal gardens by the moon gate? Also, we'll take dinner on the boat."

"Of course, Your Highness." Min bows and leaves to pass the message on to the guards outside the door.  

Zuko slips into the bathroom, taking a quick wash and cleaning up.  He had a bath this morning while Sokka slept off their night of – debauchery isn't the word, but Zuko's not sure what else to call it exactly.

Min is waiting for him again when he emerges from the bathroom, helping him slip into something casual: loose, knee length drawstring pants and a sleeveless shirt that fastens down the front with silk corded knots in the colour of warm gold.  It also shows off his shoulders, one of Zuko's better features as far as he's concerned.  He also swaps out his flame crown for a golden hair pin with tiny garnet dangles that Min pushes through his topknot.

Once Min seems content with Zuko's appearance, they set off for the gardens.  This is really the first time Zuko's taken a proper walk in the palace grounds since his return.  This part of the gardens close to the palace are divided by the landscape into lots of outdoor areas, each with its own theme, designed to be viewed in curated sections.  Further out near the lake these rooms transform into carefully framed vistas to show off the landscape's beauty.  Zuko passes through one garden with four stylized doors; one at each major compass point, and each door leads to another garden based on each of the four elements.  Zuko heads for the door shaped like a stylized flame and steps into a riot of reds and pink flowers that clamber over the walls and corners like uncontrolled, licking fire.  Tall sheafs of grass with burgundy stems bend in the evening breeze, adding movement to the garden. Carefully placed rocks and stone evoke the distant mountains of the Fire Nation peaks; a miniature cosmos.  Only the path that winds through the centre remains clear, and it's a relief to the senses to pass into the next area with its pale blue flowers that carpet the ground.  Each step of Zuko's foot crushes the flowers and releases a light scent.  The sound of running water echoes from close by, calming the senses, and bamboo grows thickly at the edges of the garden.  There is a wall on the far side, and in it is set a round opening, shaped like the full moon.  

Sokka is waiting for him, his own servant standing patiently a few steps away.  This evening, Sokka is dressed in a sampot in a deep, jewel-toned blue, embroidered with silver flowers around the bottom. A jewelled belt cast in silver sits at his waist.  He's wearing matching silver bands around his biceps, and his Water Tribe choker, along with ear cuffs that dangle prettily when he turns his head.  He looks beautiful; as untouchable as a cold, arctic night.

"You look lovely," he says, as he approaches Sokka.

Sokka seems to startle at his words, a faint blush appearing on his cheekbones, before he offers Zuko a perfect Fire Nation bow. When he stands straight, the blush is gone and his expression is once again under control.  "Your Highness," he says in greeting.

"Let's walk down to the lake together," Zuko suggests.  He holds out his arm, and Sokka seems to take the hint, wrapping a hand around Zuko's elbow and pressing his warm body against his side.  Zuko leans in, enough to whisper into Sokka's ear, "We can talk privately there."

Sokka manages to look sceptical, raising an eyebrow, which doesn't bode well for what he clearly needs to talk to Zuko about.

They stroll leisurely through the grounds, over little stone bridges and burbling streams, through wooded copses and bamboo stands; a carefully cultivated journey to please the senses and lull the mind into relaxation and an appreciation for nature’s surroundings.  It works; Zuko can feel himself relaxing as the minutes pass, he forgets about their entourage of Zuko's guards and both his and Sokka's servants.  He begins to appreciate the company, and the warm press of his companion's body against his.

The gardens start to slope a little, and then as they turn a corner they are confronted with a spectacular view of a vast lake, with the rising edge of the caldera in the distance framing the sky as a backdrop.  The sun is close to setting, bathing the sky golden against the blue of the lake.

"Wow," Sokka says begrudgingly.  

Zuko smiles despite himself.  "You sound impressed even though you don't want to be."

"Only the Fire Nation would have the hubris to build a pleasure palace in the mouth of a volcano and expect it not to blow up under them."   

Zuko starts walking toward the shore, Sokka following. "We are beholden to the will of Agni," Zuko says.

"You sound like a fortune teller I met once," Sokka says.  "Ask me how that went."

"What happened?"

"The volcano exploded in our faces and we all almost died." Sokka says flatly.  "Good job we had two master benders and Aang with us or everyone in the village would have perished.  That's what hubris gets you: a face full of burning lava."

Zuko's really got no response to that, does he? They watch the water for a few moments, soaking in the awkward silence between them, neither of them sure how to broach it.  "Um, shall we walk down further?" he says eventually.

They skirt the edge of the lake, small wavelets lapping at the shore with a shhhing sound. In the distance a flock of heron-gulls take off in a flurry of squawking,  feathers ruffled.  Their destination approaches; a pavilion at the edge of the water, its red roof and red painted pillars catching the setting sun.  Zuko leads Sokka through the pavilion and out onto the little causeway that extends into the lake.  Zuko's guards silently take up positions just outside the pavilion, ensuring nobody can approach them without warning. Both Min and Song remain behind in the pavilion, in case either of their masters require them. 

"Where are we going? To the boat?" Sokka asks, looking around. 

The path is only wide enough for one person, forcing them to go single file. Zuko gestures to Sokka to go first.   He watches Sokka from the rear, free to admire the width of Sokka's broad shoulders and his biceps, how his waist tapers down into his slim hips.  He's got strong legs too, and seeing him clothed in just the sampot and all that jewellery, feet bare - it's a contradiction and Zuko likes it.  Like Sokka is just one flick of the wrist away from being completely naked.

"Hey, Zuko? Oi, Jerk bender!" Yeah, apparently Sokka had stopped walking and was saying something.  Zuko attempts to focus.  "You zoned out for a moment," Sokka says with a frown.

"I'm good, just thinking," Zuko replies. Act cool, you idiot.  

Sokka sighs.  "Never mind. Let's go."

They reach the boat and step up onto it.  It’s not really a boat, but instead a cleverly designed two-storey pavilion.  The stone base has been fashioned to look like the hull and prow of a boat, curling up at the front in a decorative arch, carved with a gilded nine-headed naga.  It's big enough to easily host a circle of trusted friends.  More importantly, it’s surrounded by water, as if it was sailing on the lake.  It's perfect for privacy, which is why Zuko chose to drag Sokka out here in the first place.

"This is a clever design," Sokka says, looking around the boat as he steps further inside.  

"It's a throwback to Azulon's misspent youth," Zuko says. "Or so the story goes, anyway."  Zuko has a hard time imagining his grandfather doing anything that qualifies as fun .

"Fire Lord Azulon?" Sokka asks incredulously.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Zuko says, reaching for Sokka’s hand.  He intertwines their fingers, noting the tension in Sokka’s hand as he does so, fingers stiff. It takes him a few seconds to relax and adjust to Zuko’s touch.  “Sorry, I should have –

“It’s okay,” Sokka says.  “You just caught me by surprise.  No harm done.”

Zuko tugs them toward the stairs, hands intertwined, and climbs to the second level.  Gauzy curtains flutter in the evening breeze. There are thick carpets on the floor and cushions scattered around, creating an informal, yet sensual, private space.  Here, Zuko can talk to Sokka, air their concerns and make their plans.  

Sokka releases his hand and wanders over to the railing closest to shore, resting his hand on the red lacquered wood.  Zuko follows him, and as he approaches, Sokka hooks an arm around his waist and pulls him snug against his side, leaning in for a quick nuzzle into Zuko’s neck.  Sokka is keeping up appearances in case anyone is watching, Zuko realises.  He’s setting the scene for his own potential seduction.  Zuko doesn’t know how he feels about that; stomach churning with distaste at the thought of Sokka whoring himself out, while at the same time acknowledging that this is a game they’ve agreed to play for a hidden audience.

The sun sets, slipping below the rocky lip of the caldera.  Within moments the light is gone, and Zuko reaches out, snuffing out the flames on all the standing lamps, leaving the one at the top of the stairs lit and the rest of the pavilion in seductive darkness.  From the shore, they should appear as no more than shadows, difficult to discern, harder to kill.

He reaches out and traces his fingers lightly along Sokka’s jaw, noticing how still he holds himself in Zuko’s arms. His eyes are pools of blackness like the deepest of seas and full of secrets.  Zuko wonders if it’s possible to drown in them, should he stare long enough. “Shall we sit and talk?” He slips out of Sokka’s warm hold and crosses the room, leaving Sokka to follow of his own will, to make his own choice as to when he’s ready to join him.

It’s one of the most difficult things Zuko has ever done, because once Sokka commits to Zuko’s plans, Ozai’s days are numbered, and there is no going back.

Sokka feels like he’s out of his depth.  

He can feel the tension in the room shift, and it’s not subtle.  He leans back against the railing, watching Zuko cross the room.  He appears relaxed, maybe to a casual observer, but Sokka’s seen him when he’s cornered, when the odds are against him.  Zuko’s like a predator faking relaxation; he’s on a hairpin trigger.  It puts Sokka on edge even more than he already is – is Zuko expecting this evening to go pear shaped? Is he expecting some kind of attempt on his life – or Sokka’s?  “Don’t you want to leave a couple of the lamps lit?” he asks.  Light is usually a friend, but maybe plotting in the darkness suits their purposes better.

Zuko shakes his head.  He holds out his hand, waiting for Sokka to make his mind up, to join him. Sokka sighs.  He doesn’t like feeling like he’s not in control of the situation, not knowing what the next move is, or the move after.  Sokka is a planner; he needs information, and the only way he’ll get it is to share his own observations with Zuko.

This is the moment they expose each other's bellies, their soft underskins, and see which of them makes a move to stab the other clean through.  Sokka really hopes not, but the truth is he’s in bed - figuratively and literally - with the Fire Nation right now.  The war has been raging for a hundred years; if someone was going to find a way to broker peace they would have done it already.  

Zuko sits down in beside a small table, movements precise and almost formal as he sinks to his knees.  Sokka joins him, sitting cross-legged beside him.   Zuko uncaps a fat-bottomed ceramic jar and pours wine into two shallow cups, passing one over to Sokka.  

Sokka touches the edge of the pottery cup, turning it around.  “Has this been tested for poison?” he asks.  Zuko frowns, watching as Sokka touches his fingertip to the liquid, like he did in his apartments, seeing if the liquid burns or tingles.  He waits, and then does the same to his lip.

Zuko watches him, eyes fixed on his mouth, his finger as he taps his bottom lip.  He touches his tongue to his lip, watching Zuko in return.  Sokka can feel the air charge between them with something that is definitely not danger.

“Are we good?” Zuko asks.  His voice is rough, tipped low and husky.  He waits until Sokka nods and then tips back his cup in one swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing.

"This is all very elaborate planning just to talk to me privately." Sokka waves his hand around, gesturing at the pavilion.  “The location, the guards.” Your paranoia, he clearly doesn’t say. He takes a sip of his own drink. It’s umeshu - plum wine - sweet and heady; intoxicating against the backdrop of a warm summer evening.

Zuko pushes a plate of fruit to the side, out of his way.  He brings the jar of umeshu closer, and pours himself another, turning the cup around on the table.  "If I do not take these precautions for us now, you will end up chained to the harbour steps just as Ozai threatened, and I will probably be joining you.  Above all else we must keep ourselves safe first.  Now tell me, what did you find out this morning after I left you in bed?"

"Your apartments are compromised," Sokka says bluntly.  "The servants use passageways to traverse the spaces between the royal apartments, but I found one branch that appears to be used to keep tabs on you specifically.  There's a spy hole that looks into your office and one into your bedroom."

"So, we were watched last night, when we…?" 

"Got each other off? By at least one person," Sokka says. "Do you trust your manservant?"

"No, not yet. He was with me before I was banished, but while I was away he was assigned elsewhere. I'm not sure who he served and I haven't asked.  I’ve been gone too long to expect loyalty from him, especially in a viper’s den like Ozai’s court."

Sokka nods, clearly thinking. "I think my servant, Song, could be trustworthy eventually, but that doesn't help us now. We have barely six weeks to make plans." He glances at Zuko.  Now is the moment they commit, to each other and to the coup.  "And now it’s your turn, Zuko. Time to share your reasons for wanting to overthrow your father with me. Convince me of your resolve to see this through."

Zuko huffs out a long breath and frowns at Sokka.  "You want me to go into an exhaustive breakdown as to my reasons?"

"Yes, I do. I mean, I’ve been listening to you yelling about your honour for the last four years while you try to melt my face off.  I’m gonna need more than that."  Sokka shifts, until he is facing Zuko, sitting only a few inches away.  It's such a small distance, yet such a long way away.  "You need to convince me why I should risk myself for you. I have freely given you access to my body in order to keep up appearances, Zuko. I think you owe me your reasons."

Zuko nods and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I know you are risking much to aid me," he begins.  He’s looking at his hands, resting in his lap, but glances up at Sokka.  The lamplight catches the gold of his eyes, the heavy fall of his eyelashes, and the dark smear of his scar across his face. He is both captivating and equally intense; a tragic figure in a play brought to life. "Let me say firstly that I did not realise Azula was going to kill the Avatar. I was not lying when I said my plan was always to capture him and bring him back to the Fire Nation.  When I was banished, Ozai was clear that it was the price I had to pay if I ever wanted to return home.  I wanted to come home, Sokka.”  The naked want in Zuko’s eyes is difficult to acknowledge.  For a moment, Sokka can see the young boy that Zuko was, scared and hurt and wanting to go home.   “It was a complete surprise to me when Azula shot him full of lightning in the catacombs and he went down."

Sokka's expression turns grim at the sudden reminder of Aang’s death. "Continue," Sokka bites out, not trusting himself to say more at the moment.

Zuko looks down at his hands in his lap, fiddles with the drawstring on his pants for a moment.  "I thought if I bought the Avatar back it would end the war. That the soldiers of the Fire Nation could also come home.  That we might no longer need to keep sacrificing our generations for a war that never ends. It must end so the land, and the people of the four nations can heal. I -” Zuko takes deep breaths, clearly calming himself before continuing.  “During the voyage home I realised that while my father rules over the Fire Nation this will never happen.  He is power hungry and will stop at nothing to destroy everything, to bring the world under his heel.  He intends to bathe the world in flame when Sozin’s comet appears in the sky."

“He wants to do what?” Sokka is stunned. He stares at Zuko, hoping that what he said might resolve into something he understands.  Because there is no way that–

“He’s going to do what Sozin did the last time the comet appeared in the sky.  Every firebender who harnesses its powers will become incredibly powerful, and will be able to bend with the force of hundreds. He intends to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground and leave nothing standing.  The genocide of the Air Nomads was just the start of the war.  Ozai intends to finish it with this.”

Sokka struggles to put all this information together, to understand the larger picture.  He definitely needs a drink now.  “Okay, one problem at a time.”  He holds up his hand, as if expecting Zuko to keep barrelling on. “How in the Spirits do you expect the two of us to stop Ozai from starting another genocide? You’re crazy; we’re not an army.”

“We can use The Day of Black Sun to our advantage,” Zuko says. “We can take Ozai out before Sozin’s Comet arrives.  The Earth King told Azula that you had found information on Black Sun and was going to use it to invade the Fire Nation.   That was surprising, because the Fire Sages are supposed to keep the date a secret; it’s highly classified information.”

“Classified? Doesn’t everyone kinda notice when they suddenly can’t bend, and the sun goes black?” Sokka lets out a laugh that is entirely unamused.  “Okay, okay,” Sokka says.  “Ozai will be expecting an attack, but he won’t know where it will come from.  Maybe we can work that into our plans.”  Sokka flops back onto the bank of cushions, leaning on one elbow so he can still sip his plum wine.  “How did you find out about Ozai’s plans for the comet?”

Zuko lets out a deep sigh.  Finally he unbends enough, maybe realising Sokka isn’t dismissing him out of hand.  He moves to sit cross-legged, which Sokka has to admit looks a lot more comfortable than how he was before.   It’s like Sokka’s given him permission to cut his strings and relax his rigid posture. “Ozai told us what he had planned a few days after I returned home.  It was during my first war meeting as a returning hero. It was the first time he called me Crown Prince publicly before the court.”  Zuko looks out of the pavilion, up at the stars.  Sokka watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.  For a moment, Sokka wants to see what he’d look like with his hair down, spread out on the pillows. The other voice in Sokka’s head whispers, enemy and kill .  

“Azula told Ozai and the war council that you’d found out about Black Sun and planned to use that information to lead an invasion.  That’s why he wanted to interrogate you - to uncover exactly what it is that you know about Black Sun, and what your invasion plans are.”

Sokka goes still at the reminder.  “He could still do that, couldn’t he?” he asks.

Zuko shakes his head.  “No, you are considered royalty now, as you are my consort and are untouchable.  It’s why I pushed to have you as my First Consort and not just a concubine.  If a concubine was suspected of treason, they could be questioned and charged.  A First Consort is essentially royalty.”  

“Well, um, thanks?” Sokka says.  He knows that a single thanks doesn’t cover the fact that Zuko saved his life, and saved him from a horrible, protracted watery death and weeks of torture.  The thing is, how do you thank someone for that? Sokka’s not super good at expressing genuine emotion without making it into a joke, because that’s easier, and if he gets his feelings thrown back in his face, he can pretend he was just kidding.  It happened enough growing up that Sokka learned to use humour to defend himself.

There’s nothing funny about this, though.

Zuko leans closer, reaching out with his hand to touch Sokka on his wrist, to draw his attention back to the conversation.  “You don’t owe me thanks, but you can help me by telling me about your plans for Black Sun.”  

Sokka still doesn’t know if he can trust Zuko, and his hesitancy must show on his face.

“Sokka, you have to trust me with this.” Zuko is clearly agitated.  “You need to - I need you to take a leap of faith with me.  What else can I do to prove myself? I have promised you your freedom once this is done.  Tell me what else you want and I will give you what I can.”

A leap of faith, huh?   Sokka looks Zuko over.  He thinks back over all the times Zuko came after them, going on about his honour, his plans for the Avatar.  He was a consistent bastard over the years as they grew up but two things never changed; one, his absolute obsession with his honour, and two, screaming about his plans to capture the Avatar.

Zuko has been as honest as he can be the entire time, Sokka realises. He has never once said he was trying to kill Aang, only capture him.  

Huh.

This realisation doesn’t absolve Zuko from all the other horrible shit he’s done, or the number of times he tried to kill Sokka or the other people who aren’t the Avatar, but it does give Sokka what he needs now.

“I will trust you,” Sokka says, “until our agreement terminates with the end of the war.”

Zuko lets out a shuddering, relieved breath and seems to fold in on himself, like he’s reached some kind of goal he’d never thought he’d actually obtain.

“Okay, good.  I will trust your word as well, Sokka of the Water Tribe.”

“That’s super formal of you.” Sokka can’t help that this feels like a war pact – something with weight and substance to it, similar to the pacts the Tribes make before they end a war council and sail out.  Suddenly, Sokka aches for home – not the home he left, but something less tangible; a feeling of home.

“Sometimes formality is necessary, even in underhanded dealings like these.”

Sokka moves closer to Zuko, reaching for the jar of umeshu.  He slowly refills both of their cups, pushing Zuko’s back toward him.  “This is good wine,” he says.  The scent is heady, mixing with the night air.  “Even a supposed savage like me can tell this is something special.”

Zuko lets out a soft laugh, but it fades quickly.  “My father enjoys only the finest umeshu, made from the most succulent plums.  This type of plum only grows in the Earth Kingdom.  If Ozai has his way, this might be one of the last bottles left before he burns the orchards back to the barren soil.”

Fuck. Zuko has a specific way of really hammering home a concept.  He’s not content to step carefully around the outside of it, but instead prefers to stomp over it until his point is made.  It’s a very vivid picture he presents of what the world might look like if Ozai is victorious.

“I feel like I’m already mourning,” Zuko says. His voice breaks on the last word, coming out as a rushed, husky whisper.  “Regardless of whether we stop him or not, the world has already changed. I sit here, plotting with my enemy and I ask myself, am I doing the right thing? Am I doing this to fix a wrong, selflessly, or am I so caught up in my own delusions of grandeur I can’t see I’m just like my father?”

“I think if you can ask  yourself those questions, Zuko, you have the ability to tell right from wrong.  The Avatar - Aang - was a bridge between the spirit world and the corporal world, and he is gone. Instead, we have to step up and do the best we can with what we have.”  Sokka takes a breath and lets it out slowly.  Zuko has bared his belly to Sokka - now Sokka must return the favour.

“Now that the Avatar is dead, I'm not even sure if they’ll proceed with the invasion." Sokka focuses on keeping his voice even, to keep the Avatar as a distant concept rather than his friend , the person who made him laugh, the kid who burnt his seal jerky because he thought it was kindling for the fire.  He spent those early days in prison on board Azula's ship grieving - but also hoping that Katara was able to heal Aang with that spirit water she had. He wants to believe that Aang lives, he wants it so badly.  It's why he can't tell Zuko about it - not yet. Invasion plans can be changed or adjusted on the fly, but the knowledge that the Avatar lives, if that is the case?  That's a once-in-a-lifetime trump card, the surprise of the century.  Sokka doesn't trust Zuko enough to share that information, not yet.  

"Sokka?" Zuko leans forward, his expression concerned. "Are you okay?"

Sokka huffs out a derisive laugh. "I'm far from okay, but here we are." He looks out over the lake as he gathers his thoughts. In the dark, it looks like rippling black glass, the far wall of the caldera blending blackness against black.  Only the stars sprinkle the sky like scattered diamonds, but the constellations are still mostly unfamiliar to him.  

"Before Azula conquered Ba Sing Se I had started drafting detailed plans for an invasion of Hari Bulkan, based on the Day of Black Sun.   I'm assuming Katara would have taken those plans back to my father and started gathering our allies.  Hakoda’s got a mind for planning; a knack for anticipating the enemy, which is why he’s such a thorn in the side of the Fire Navy.  But it does mean that you and I will be planning our movements based on my old plans, rather than what Hakoda has changed over the last month or so."  

"I think it's safe to assume your father will still move ahead as you had planned,” Zuko says. “Even without the Avatar, it's too good an opportunity to pass up. The Fire nation will be defenceless against other nation’s benders, leaving only the Imperial guards to defend the city and harbour.  Ozai will be much easier to defeat than at any other time in his life.  We will never get another opportunity like this to remove him from the playing field."

"You don't seem bothered that we'll be attacking your home," Sokka says.

Zuko fiddles with the fringe on one of the rugs near his foot.  His jaw is clenched, eyes cast downward.  His voice is thin and hard, like steel, full of emotion that he won’t show.  "Of course it affects me.  I would prefer to make this a bloodless coup, and I want to make sure loss of life is minimal if it is at all possible."

Sokka fills Zuko's cup up for him, pushing it into his hand.  Sokka lets out a deep sigh. Daaamn , this whole thing seems bleak.  "And what happens when -"

A shrill, eerie cry echoes across the water from the shoreline. Zuko holds up a hand, pausing Sokka in mid-sentence.  Sokka can feel the tension in Zuko's frame suddenly, and it puts him on alert too, uneasy.  "What is it?"

"Peacock-badger mating call," Zuko says. He's listening carefully. "It's the lookout I had hidden in the trees just off shore. He's there to warn me if a potential enemy might compromise the area around the boat while we talk."

"Like, an assassin?" Sokka asks.  Fuck .

Zuko spares Sokka a glance.  His grin is sharp, entirely unamused. "An assassin, or maybe someone equally as dangerous who might seek to disturb our evening." The cry echoes again. "That’s two warning calls. They're approaching the causeway - so not an assassin; they're usually much more stealthy."

Sokka can hear the person being challenged by the guards, and a shrill, demanding voice carries across the water, one Sokka would recognize anywhere.  "Azula," Sokka bites out. “Doesn’t she have a fucking social life? Why is she trying to ruin yours?”  

For the moment, Zuko looks terrified - no, not terrified, it's something so much more complicated than that, something that goes layers deep. "How do you want to handle this?" Sokka asks. "Zuko?"

"Agni's balls," Zuko swears. "That answers the question of if she has spies amongst my household staff. I didn't tell anyone where I was going this evening, other than that I'd be with you. And yet here she is."

"Okay, then it's time to fake it," Sokka says.  He doesn't give Zuko time to think; he grabs him by the wrist, and with a tug he pulls him down beside him.  "You'd better put me in my place, princeling, and you'd better do it quickly, before our guest arrives."  He's already reaching for the jewelled belt around his sampot, but Zuko  is far quicker at getting it undone and unravelling the fabric than Sokka is. If it was any other time, Sokka would have a whole bunch of questions relating to how exactly stick-in-the-ass Zuko managed to find time to get game.  Spirits .

Instead, Sokka pushes up Zuko’s shirt and gets his pants undone with a tug on the laces.  Zuko strokes his palm up Sokka’s thigh, parting the silk of his sampot and exposing his skin to cool air. Sokka manages to bite back the little sound of pleasure that wants to burst from his traitorous throat.  Zuko’s taking too long; he hooks a foot around his knee and uses his body weight to roll them over, until Zuko’s under him.  Who's got game now, huh? he thinks, and slides down Zuko’s shocked and unresisting body.  He nips at Zuko’s exposed hip bone, glancing up at him with a grin that’s almost feral, and kisses his way across Zuko’s adonis belt, nuzzling into his soft, warm skin.  Zuko’s eyes go wide and his lips part.  He reaches out with a shaking hand, fingers curling in Sokka’s braids, catching on the beads woven into his hair.  A strand of hair falls down over Zuko’s forehead where it’s slipped from his topknot and –

"Well, well, this is something I didn't think I'd ever want to see.”  Azula is standing at the top of the stairs, expression pleased, like she’s discovered them doing something they shouldn’t be. (She had; but not the thing she thought they were doing.)  “Your water rat is quite alluring when he’s half naked, Zuzu."

Sokka slowly sits up from between Zuko’s thighs and turns to face Azula. Her voice is grating; it sends cold chills down his spine, dousing any interest he had in pleasure. He could fake surprise, but he can’t help thinking about the last time he was in a room with her; when she killed one of his best friends. 

Zuko stands up slowly, retying his pants.  He flicks fire toward one of the other lamps, brightening the room.  Zuko doesn’t have to fake his annoyance when he says, "What do you want, Azula?"

"I can't visit my favourite brother?" she says coyly, hands clasped behind her back and head tilted to the side.

"I'm your only brother," Zuko adds.  He moves his body in front of Sokka. It’s a protective gesture; one Sokka doesn’t need nor want.  "Why are you here? I'm obviously busy."

"I was bored.  Besides, you can play with your new toy whenever you want. You never have time for your little sister."  Azula wanders further into the room, closer to the table.  She stares at the opened wine, Sokka’s dishevelled clothing and comes to an obvious conclusion, just like he intended her to when he flipped Zuko onto his back.

Sokka is over the bullshit.  "Isn't it a little late for teenagers to be out unsupervised?" he asks, peering around Zuko’s legs.

If looks could kill, Sokka would be dead. Azula looks both murderous but strangely delighted.  "My, my, he has opinions as well as a backbone.  How interesting .  Maybe I should borrow him."

"Over my dead body," Sokka growls before Zuko can respond.

Azula steps around Zuko and bends down.  She places her fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. "That can be arranged," she purrs. "It's just a matter of time before you slip up, peasant. Life here at court is far, far different than it is back in your little village. I'd be surprised if you survived the next few weeks."  

Zuko goes rigid, and it says a lot about Azula that Zuko reacts this way, but doesn't attack. Zuko here in the palace is a much different animal than the one he presents outside the Fire Nation.  It's almost like he's been bridled, much more cautious and restrained than when he only has to answer to himself.  

Sokka knocks Azula's hand away dismissively.  He knows he's playing with fire, but he's damned if he's going to let someone like Azula intimidate him.  He's aware she's dangerous - very dangerous, but he can't give her the upper hand this early in what is going to be a long game.   He rises to his feet.  Fortunately, Zuko never got as far as actually unwinding the sampot from around his waist; instead it hangs in a fall of crisp embroidered silk to his ankles. 

Azula smirks.  She stares Sokka down, and he refuses to break eye contact.  He will not give ground to her, he will not fold first.  “Well, don’t let me stop you playing with your prize, Zuzu,” she says eventually, dragging her gaze back to Zuko.  Her eyes are yellow-gold, Sokka notes, not the warm, pure gold of Zuko’s.  It’s surprising how much it informs Sokka’s opinion; she’s a carrion crow, feeding on the remains of her friends and enemies alike. 

She turns around, giving her back to both of them as she walks away. At the stairs she pauses.  “Have you visited Uncle yet?” she asks.  “I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to see you.  After all, it’s not really a long walk, is it? Good night, lovebirds.  Don’t stay up too late.”

Zuko watches her retreat back across the causeway, and doesn’t return to Sokka’s side until she’s past the guards, and his hidden informant has signalled the all clear.

“You are playing with fire,” Zuko says, sitting back down.  “”Azula is unhinged, and she will not forget any slight you deal her.”

Sokka snorts.  “She was already my enemy; a few sharp words isn’t going to change anything.”

“Yes, but antagonising her will only draw her attention to us.”  Zuko looks frustrated.  “She likes to play with her food.  The more it struggles, the more she likes to prolong its agony.  If we give her reason to notice us, she’ll start to watch us a lot more than she already is. You agreed to do this my way. We need to  look harmless, besotted with each other and nothing else. I’m sorry.”

Sokka leans back on his hand and looks Zuko over.  Really looks him over.  He looks tired, but he still burns with some inner flame, something that draws Sokka ever closer despite their enmity. He appears a little more human with that one lock of loose hair falling over his forehead and Sokka has to fight the urge to reach out and pull the jewelled hair stick from his topknot, watch his hair fall around his face and soften his expression. “You’re right,” Sokka says.  “We need to lay low and not draw attention to ourselves.  Will you visit Iroh like she said?”

“No, it’s too dangerous.  She’ll be expecting me to do just that.  I’m not sure what her angle is with Uncle, or why she’s trying to draw him into her games.”

“Maybe it’s simply revenge.”  Sokka lays back on a pillow, getting comfortable now she’s gone.  “She doesn’t seem like the type of person to need a reason for what she does.”  He yawns.  Azula’s departure has burned any and all adrenaline out of his body, leaving him worn out. Or, it could be the plum wine they’ve been drinking.   Sokka holds out his arm.  “Come over here.”

Zuko looks puzzled and strangely vulnerable.  “You want to cuddle?”

“Yes, I do.  We have appearances to keep up.  I’m tired –” he yawns again, “-- and getting cold, so I would appreciate a little warmth over here.  Don’t make me walk back to the palace in the dark.”

Zuko lets out a little laugh; breathy and amused. “So I’m your blanket now?” 

“Hmm.” Sokka lets his eyes slide closed, and only opens one when he feels Zuko carefully lay himself beside Sokka, body pressed delicately along his side.  There is a moment when Zuko’s body temperature feels normal, and suddenly he’s toasty warm.

Enemy or not, Sokka could quite get used to having a personal heater like this.

Chapter Text

Sokka is beginning to get used to being in the palace.  A week has passed and he's learnt quickly that he needs to compartmentalise; there's only so much he can do about being surrounded by enemies without losing his mind.  Not everyone is a world-class bitch (like Azula) or a megalomaniac world-burning asshole like Ozai. Most of the court are sycophants trying to climb - or assassinate - their way up the social and political ladder; generals and military types that Ozai surrounds himself with, and the aristocratic families that produce them.  Sokka is tolerated by the court because he has this weird adjacent relationship to royalty now he's (supposedly) fucking the Crown Prince, and the court understands that. Apparently this is normal, and Sokka has spent more than a few quiet moments late at night wondering how many consorts and concubines have made a play for power over the years - and how many fell foul of it.  Sokka needs to be careful. He needs to assume he is always being watched.

On the other hand, he's starting to see the humanity behind some of the people here, especially the servants. Sokka knows there are also vipers in the pit here, those that accept bribes to spy on others, those that work to forward the agenda of their masters.  But he's finding that if he stops to listen to the servants, and even engage with those that will talk with him, they are just...people. People who work hard, and then go home to spouses and families, who suffer hardship and joy, happiness and pain, just like the people of Wolf Cove do.  Just like the people of the Earth Kingdom that Sokka encountered on their travels.  

He's also getting used to having Song around.  After that first altercation in Sokka's apartments, where he'd laid three of Song's assistants out on the ground, they came to a silent agreement. Song will not invade Sokka's space with a boat-load of unfamiliar people without giving him notice, and Sokka will remain calm as best as he is able.  In Sokka's defence, he had given a verbal warning first before he acted, but maybe that doesn't translate the same way in the Fire Nation as it would back in the Water Tribe. Anyway, they have a mutual agreement between them, which means they both know what to expect.  Song is an excellent intermediary and understands how the Inner Palace works. Sokka would be an idiot not to utilise the man's skills on his own behalf, and his knowledge could be invaluable in the future.

The thing that's going to get to Sokka more than anything is boredom.  He can already feel it creeping at him, that vague sense that he could be doing something worthwhile but instead he's sitting around looking... pretty.  Yeah, he thinks, I hate that. It's not that Sokka dislikes being considered handsome, or hot, or whatever, but rather the fact that he's not the type to sit still.  His body's a temple, and he likes the worship, but he enjoys doing things, like training, in order to stay looking hot. He's an outdoors kind of guy; a hunter, a warrior.

Song enters the main sitting room and offers Sokka a bow.  "Lord Sokka, you sent for me?"

Sokka puts the scroll he's been reading to the side, carefully rolling it up so it doesn't get damaged.  "What are the rules regarding training?" He could have asked Zuko, he supposes.

Song looks politely aggravated.  "Training, my lord?"

"Yeah, like getting outside and training with weapons or something? Something that is not sitting around inside."

Song looks like he can't possibly comprehend why Sokka would want to be outside. He glances out through the open door to the veranda, where the rain is falling gently. "It is drizzling outside," he says.

Sokka looks over his shoulder.  "Yep, it is."  He waits patiently for Song to offer more information, or shut him down.  Sokka doesn't know his boundaries as a consort, and he doesn't like having to take Song's word for it.  He's definitely gonna check with Zuko.

Song looks like he's considering something, and then he says, "The Crown Prince trains with his sword master in the mornings."

Sokka is starting to understand Song-speak, and this translates to the suggestion that Sokka could go off and find the Crown Prince if he so chooses, and therefore by some kind of consort-osmosis also participate in training. With swords.  Sokka avoids snorting with laughter out loud, prefering to keep the status-quo with Song.

"Thank you, Song," he says. "Do I have anything to wear that is suitable for training with the Prince?"

Song bows.  "I will do my best to locate something for you, Lord Sokka."

Sokka grins and returns to his scroll while he waits.  

By the time Song returns, he's read another three inches further along in The Tale of the Seventh Sea.  He's actually starting to get into the story, although there seems to be rather a lot of tentacles in it. Sokka has a feeling that’s going to factor in later somehow.

"I hope this will be suitable," Song says.  "I have consulted with the Keeper of the Door and he has generously provided you with these."

These is an armful of clothing in Fire Nation red and golds.  He follows Song into his bedroom, and Song helps him change.  it feels weird to be wearing red; it's a colour that pulls a visceral reaction from him whenever he sees it.  It's the colour his enemies wear; it's the colour of Zuko.  it's the colour of danger, of fire and anger and passion.

Song helps him into the soft linen pants and a sleeveless top, tying it closed and wrapping a red silk sash around his waist.  He finishes off the outfit with a pair of sturdy boots and tucks in his pants.  Sokka has a feeling of deja vu, well aware he's seen Zuko in a similar outfit on a number of occasions.

"You'll do," Song says, sweeping a critical eye over Sokka's body.

Sokka makes his way toward the royal apartments, followed discreetly at a distance by one of the guards from outside his door. He's getting better at orientating himself in the palace; the pillars in the royal quarters are carved and gilded with gold, much more ornate than the public areas. He steps up to one of the doors that lead to the gardens, past the guards and out into the outdoors.  He takes a breath of fresh air.  The sky is overcast after the rain, but the plants and walkways are damp, rapidly drying in the heat.  

Sokka sets off for where Song had mentioned the private training grounds were, and it's not long before he can hear the sound of weapons clashing in the distance.  He changes direction, following the sound, heart rate increasing with excitement, wondering what he might find.

The training ground is a simple courtyard, nestled amongst the landscape and hidden from the main bulk of the palace.  It's surrounded on all sides by covered walkways that protect the area from weather and also do double duty as a place to spectate from.

Zuko is easy to make out; it's just him and a tall, striking-looking older man on the sand-covered courtyard, circling each other, swords drawn. Zuko is shirtless, his torso sheened with sweat, muscles flexing as he engages with his opponent in a clash of steel.  

The other man moves with an easy, precise grace that Sokka immediately envies; he's clearly a master at using swords, and making them work for him as an extension of his own body, both a shield and a weapon. 

Zuko is the exact opposite.  He's wielding dual swords - dao -  and Sokka immediately recognizes Zuko's signature style of fighting; a flurry of movement, flashy and quick, and it screams look at me and danger. He wields his swords like he does firebending, with incredible skill and a natural talent that Sokka envies.

"I thought firebenders didn't use swords," Sokka calls out.  

Zuko stumbles, distracted, and his opponent ducks under his guard, sliding his own sword up along the blade, until Zuko is forced to disengage or risk losing his fingers.

"We'll take a break," the man says, bowing to Zuko.  "It seems you have a visitor."

Zuko nods. He brings both blades together in one hand with a (completely unnecessary) flourish, and Sokka realises they fit together cleverly, looking like a single sword. Zuko passes them off to a waiting servant, who also hands him a linen towel. He dabs at his face and neck, which does nothing to curtail Sokka's interest in the rest of his gleaming body. 

A hint of a smirk plays at the edge of Zuko's generous mouth, enough to snag Sokka's interest.  "Master Piandao, this is my First Consort, Sokka of the Water Tribe. Sokka, this is Master Piandao, my former teacher and a master swordsmith in his own right. He is visiting us from the countryside."

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Sokka," Piandao says, offering him a bow. "His Highness has told me much about you." 

Sokka returns the bow perfectly. "Has he now?"  Sokka glances over at Zuko.  "Have you trained Prince Zuko for long?"

"Ever since he was old enough to hold a sword," Piandao says with a smile.  "His Highness has always been interested in swords."

"I'll bet he has," Sokka says quietly, giving Zuko the side eye. 

Piandao chooses not to acknowledge Sokka's whispered comment. "And what about you, Sokka?  I understand you are a warrior, and well versed in Water Tribe weapons and fighting styles." 

"I've picked up what I could over the years," Sokka says. So, Zuko told Master Piandao that Sokka was a warrior, and not just his prisoner-turned-consort? Interesting.  "I have a lot more to learn, though," Sokka adds. "Like Prince Zuko, swordplay in particular interests me."

Zuko looks like he might die  on the spot if Sokka continues with the double entendres. Sokka's well aware they are having a completely separate conversation than the one he's having with Piandao, and yet he can't help shake the idea that Piandao is smart; he knows exactly what's going on here, judging by his smile.

"I think we should end today's lesson, Your Highness, then you can spar with Lord Sokka to your heart's content." Piandao bows again to Zuko.  "Maybe I might be permitted a favour? Let me train your consort," he says. "I think we can both learn from each other, and I am always eager to talk with those that favour different styles of fighting."

Sokka is excited.  "You want to train me?"  He looks at Zuko.  Zuko will have to give, or withhold, his permission, and while normally that distinction would chafe at Sokka, right now the idea of having an actual swordmaster offer to train him is much more exciting.

"I don't see why not." It's clearly in Zuko's favour to allow Sokka to train.  Having an ally that can fight with a variety of weapons could be invaluable when they stand up to Ozai.

Piandao inclines his head. "Thank you, Your Highness. Then I will see you tomorrow, Lord Sokka?"

"Absolutely."  Sokka bows again to Master Piandao, and waits until he's left the courtyard before he turns back to Zuko.  "So, you train every morning?" he asks. 

Zuko throws the towel back toward one of the stone benches under the covered walkway.  "If I have time.  My firebending practice comes first of course. Did you come to watch?"

"I came to join you," Sokka says. "I'm starting to lose my mind sitting around reading scrolls by myself, waiting for you to summon me. Unless practice with you is forbidden?"

Zuko smirks, and that mischievous look is new. "It's not normal," Zuko says. "Most of my father's concubines and consorts prefer other pursuits. Why do you ask?"

Now it's Sokka's turn to grin. "Fancy getting your ass handed to  you?"

Zuko pauses.  He makes a point of looking Sokka over, mostly for show, because he knows it'll rile his opponent up. Sokka is dressed in red and gold; it brings out the rich brown of his skin, highlights the blue beads in his hair, and  it makes him look exotic and foreign. Dangerous.  "You want to spar with me? Maybe we should stick with wooden training swords to start."

Sokka looks less offended than he expected. "You know I'm not familiar with swords.  I usually fight with my club as my main weapon of choice.  I’m pretty sure the first time we fought my boomerang almost took your head off."

Zuko retrieves a set of wooden dao from one of the waiting manservants, hefting them in his hands to get a feel for them.  They are slightly off balance, but not bad for training swords.   He eyes up his opponent. He's gonna kick Sokka's ass, and enjoy doing it. "Almost took my head off? If I'd wanted to, Water Tribe, I could have beaten you twice over in the time it took your boomerang to come back to you."

" Water Tribe? I see you've slid backward with your pet names, love."  Sokka crosses his arms, but it's clear he's not taking actual offence, just playing along.  "I understand if you're afraid to spar with me. Are you worried I might try to take you out?"

"You'd be dead before I'd bled out, love. That's what the royal guards are for."

Sokka's smile is sharklike, all teeth and excitement. "Give me one of your wooden swords then and we'll see who's on their back by the end of this." He stalks over to the rack of weapons and selects a straight sword, seemingly at random.  He spends some time testing the weight of it in his grip, before he wanders back over to join Zuko on the sparring ground. He leans in, close enough to suggest he's going in for a kiss.  Zuko fights not to blush; he can feel his face heat with it. He knows it's Sokka's only rule: no kissing.

"You know how much dirty talk riles me up, Your highness," Sokka says coyly.  One of the guards in the background coughs.

"Maybe I'll just beat the sass right out of you," Zuko says with a raised eyebrow. "Let me know when you're ready."

Sokka's smirk is devastating, almost as much as the first swing he takes.  His biceps ripple with the movement, and he steps toward Zuko, swinging under his guard.  Yeah, Zuko can maybe get behind the extra exercise if his opponent looks like this; vicious and alive and spoiling for a fight. It charges Zuko in all the best ways. This is foreplay; each word between them is its own separate conversation, a counterpart to the dance their steps mark out on the sandy ground. 

Zuko dances to the side, a flurry of blades, the movement designed to distract and confuse his opponent.  Sokka yelps, stepping backward and to the side, twisting his body as he blocks Zuko's swing and ducking beneath and to the side.  Zuko's forced to compensate for the sudden move, using both swords to block Sokka's next blow. He rotates his wrist, over Sokka's sword and around, twisting it out of his hand.  He steps into Sokka's open guard and brings one of his dao up to Sokka's throat, wooden blade resting there; a suggestion of death, of blood, of danger. The thrill of it is distinctly sexual, and both of them know it.  It’s about power, it’s about who’s on top, it’s about who surrenders first.

Sokka is panting hard, eyes full of excitement even as he holds up his hands in surrender.  Zuko presses forward just a little, enough for Sokka to feel the blunt edge just beneath his Adam's apple.  Sokka tips his head back, exposing his throat.

"Do you yield?" Zuko asks, voice raspy and rough. 

"I thought you were going to put me on my back?" Sokka glances down, eyes sweeping hungrily over Zuko's body before he meets Zuko's eyes and stares him down.

Zuko... doesn't think Sokka is playing for the crowd this time. He can feel the tension between them, drawing tighter by the second, like lightning, the air electric.

And then Sokka ducks away to the side, slipping out of the reach of Zuko's wooden blade.  It's a smooth move, like he's practised it before, and Zuko has to wonder how often Sokka trained before coming here as a prisoner, and how he trained.  Some of his moves are fluid like water, no doubt a Water Tribe thing, and others are reminiscent of the Avatar, movements like the swirl of air currents.  Zuko is reminded of Uncle Iroh trying to teach him about redirecting lightning, and how you have to understand and borrow from all the different elements.  It looks like Sokka has done the same and incorporated it into his fighting skills.  

Zuko can feel his own excitement bubbling up, because it's fun to spar against a knowledgeable, skilled opponent who is probably not actively trying to kill him.  Sparring against Azula is a lesson in not dying; she has no subtlety, no joy for the fight.  It's kill or be killed, where every match is a death match, where she must be pulled back from the brink by her instructors.

"Pay attention," Sokka snaps, hitting Zuko on the side with the flat of the wooden blade.  "I'm your opponent, not whoever you're thinking about right now."

Zuko pulls himself back together. "You don't want all my focus on you," he warns.  "I can take you down in seconds if I really wanted to. I'm just playing with you."

Sokka raises an eyebrow.  He circles, staying just out of reach of Zuko's dao. "Shit talking huh? Didn't think  you had it in you, Your Highness."

Zuko steps in, swords moving in an arc.  He keeps low, sweeping at Sokka's knees, bringing his other sword up as Sokka leaps over the first, and Sokka is forced to the sandy floor, rolling back up onto his feet like a cat.  He moves gracefully, movements quick and punchy, but he hits like a hammer when he does land a blow. Zuko's not surprised; he's heard similar tales of fights against Water Tribe warriors, agile and deadly.     

Sokka's next parry has more confidence now that he's getting used to the weapon, and Zuko has to work harder to get under his guard.  He pushes back and Sokka breaks the parry, stepping away for a breather, circling around Zuko.  He's trying to get on Zuko's left and he wonders if he's guessed Zuko's vision is worse on his scarred side. It's not super noticeable, but if there's one thing Zuko has learnt over the last year is that Sokka is remarkably observant, often only requiring a couple of careful seconds to come to a conclusion and then act on it.

Sokka may be improving, learning how to wield his wooden sword quickly, pulling on his experience with his other weapons, but he's starting to give ground. His skin shines with perspiration, and Zuko wants nothing more than to strip him bare and have him here on the dirty ground where everyone can see him.  The thought is like a punch to the gut; it hits hard out of nowhere, taking his breath away.

This time when Zuko grins it's predatory; he knows he has the upper hand.  Both of them realise that neither is going to back down, not until there's a winner.  

And Zuko is going to win.

He can feel how his body wants to flow into the rhythm of the fight. Piandao has taught him that every fight is a dance, a conversation between opponents. Now, he's leaning more into the dance, his body moving quick and fast, flowing without thought into the next parry, the next strike.

"Who taught you to fight so fluidly?" Sokka bites out.  "The Blue Spirit?"  What? Why would he -   Zuko falters for a moment, and Sokka uses his hesitation to get under his guard.  He almost has Zuko; for one quick second his wooden blade almost grazes past Zuko's collarbone. Surely Sokka is fucking with him. He must know Zuko is - was - the Blue Spirit?  Aang would have told him about their run in and his escape at Pohuai Stronghold, wouldn't he? He needs to shut Sokka up before he says something even more incriminating in public.

He leans back, letting Sokka overreach with his swing - a classic rookie mistake if you aren't used to fighting with a sword - and ducks under his arm. He knocks Sokka's arm away, twisting fluidly until he's behind him.  He crowds into Sokka's back, bringing his blades around and against Sokka's exposed neck.  Sokka freezes, probably forgetting for the moment the blades are wooden, and tips his head back to avoid contact.  "Drop your sword." Zuko presses closer, until he's pressed against the length of Sokka's hard body.  Sokka is panting, chest heaving with exertion to match Zuko's. Zuko can feel every line of Sokka's lean, muscular body against his, and judging by the way he shifts against Zuko, he can feel that Zuko is well on his way to half-hard.

"Yield," Zuko growls.

"I dunno," Sokka says. "I kinda like how you have me right now."

Sokka's words punch home to Zuko, powerful and honest.  It's the first time Zuko can say he feels genuine arousal and desire for Sokka, without it being clouded with messy shit like hatred and frustration and anger.  This is pure want, bright and clear and urgent, and Zuko can feel a breathless moan of desire leave his throat, whisper-quiet, that only Sokka can hear.

Sokka goes rigid in his hold, as if Zuko has truly caught him off guard with his reaction.

Zuko catches movement from his good side - one of the guards -  and releases Sokka, dropping his blades to his side.  A servant approaches, taking Zuko's practice blades, and Sokka's sword, and retreats back across the courtyard.  

Zuko stares at Sokka.  Both of them are panting from exertion, from the joy of the fight.  Sokka's expression is easy to read; full of frustrated desire and excitement.  He rakes his gaze down Zuko's body, letting Zuko know without words exactly what he wants to do.

Fuck it . They've played to the crowd, hiding their true intent behind carefully curated pretence, like actors in a play. But here, now, Zuko wants Sokka, for real.  And Sokka can tell, judging by the slow, sensual smile he gives Zuko, the way he moves closer. 

And then Zuko remembers where they are, remembers what this is.  This is not real desire between them; they are enemies. If this was any other situation, Sokka would be slipping a knife between Zuko's ribs, not leaning toward him with warm desire hazing his blue eyes.

Sokka's one rule was no kissing, and Zuko will not break it. He does not want to see regret on Sokka's face later when he realises he gave into the moment.  Zuko is not dishonourable enough to take what he has not been given freely.

He nuzzles into Sokka's neck, breathing in his familiar scent, but where Sokka expects Zuko to melt into him, he remains just out of touch. They still have an audience; they have to keep the pretence going.

Zuko steps back before Sokka can reach for him. Takes another step,  ignoring the way Sokka's expression shifts to surprise and then annoyance, then shuttering completely.  

He should say something, shouldn't he? Explain himself? Zuko's not good with words though, and he struggles for the words he needs.  "Sokka, I -"

"Getting shy now, Zuko?" Sokka bites out.  He grabs Zuko by the bicep, pulling him back in. "In case you've forgotten, I've had your dick in my hand, Your Highness.  It's a little late to get shy about it."

"That's not what I-"

Sokka slides his hand up Zuko's nape, into his hair, gripping firmly. Zuko braces himself for a blow, hand fisting in Sokka's red shirt. "Forgive me for reading more into this than there is." Sokka's lips brush across Zuko's earlobe, breath hot. His voice is like steel; smooth and cutting.   "I won't make the same mistake again."

Sokka releases him and turns on his heel, walking away.

Fuck.

Sokka is furious with himself. He'd started to lower his inhibitions around Zuko, to relax, to show his softer side.  He'd thought Zuko was doing the same; that having to trust each other in order to survive Ozai's court had given them a mutual understanding, some common ground.  It was the both of them against Ozai.  Spirits, he was wrong.   Zuko had closed himself off, shut himself down.

He feels humiliated.  Fortunately there hadn't been much of an audience.  Piandao had left at that point, leaving only Zuko's Imperial guards to witness Sokka's rejection.  They probably think they're having a lover's spat or something insipid like that.

How can he have been such a fool to think Zuko was on the same page as him?  Zuko's entire reason for saving Sokka was to stop him from being tortured at Ozai's command, to keep his secrets safe.  He must remember that each of them are acting out roles, and while those roles are romantic, their actual relationship is not.  

He walks away from the practice fields, and toward the formal gardens, getting purposely lost in the cultivated wilderness.  Zuko, wisely, does not follow him.  He finds another pavilion, tucked away across a bridge.  It's much smaller than the others Sokka has seen, clearly designed for intimate conversations, and is surrounded by a large pond full of flowering lotus and lily pads.  The pavilion has sliding screen doors facing the water, and Sokka slides them shut until there is just barely a gap between the shoji.  It's just enough that he can see if anyone approaches across the single bridge that leads here.  Sokka pulls out one of the cushions from the storage and sits cross-legged, one knee pulled up to his chest.  

It begins to rain outside; the intermittent drizzle they've had on and off all day finally turns into a proper summer rain shower.  The patter of the rain on the roof, on the bamboo trees outside, whispering against the lily pads creates a pleasant white noise, and Sokka can sink into the sound of the rain and just...be himself.  He gives in; drops the careful hold he has, and allows himself to let go.  He watches the rain, and wishes it was snow, drifting lazily, like big fat snowflakes that herald deep snow, the beginning of a blizzard. He's so far from home, from his family, from his friends.  He wishes that, just for a moment, he felt safe enough to relax his guard but he dare not, not even here when he is alone.

Fortunately, Zuko has not followed him, so he has at least this little respite, and will keep it until someone tracks him down.  Eventually they'll realise he's missing, but until then he'll watch the rain fall, watch it bubble on the surface of the pond.  

He thinks he dozes; the rain a constant backdrop to his numb thoughts.

Am I falling for Zuko? he wonders.  Objectively, the guy is hot, sure. But this is Zuko, Prince Shouts-a-lot, the guy who chased them all the way to the North Pole. If Sokka was a girl, he'd have punched Zuko in the face for being persistent - wait, he has punched him in the face. Nevermind. But - and there's always a but - Zuko has changed since they first encountered him.  His personality has shifted, he's become more nuanced as a person, a little more complicated, and Sokka likes him complicated. He doesn't know what happened to Zuko between the North Pole and Ba Sing Se, but it's changed him for the better.  He's still grumpy, and frustrated, but he's learnt to think actively about his situation, and obviously given it enough thought to believe that he can change the Fire Nation for the better.  He thinks they can take down Ozai, so either Zuko has huge brass balls or he's truly got an angle that's subtle enough that he thinks he can pull it off.

And what's Sokka done? He’s started to slide.  Started to buy into the game they are playing with the court, and allowed himself to get closer than he should.  Allowed himself to enjoy being with Zuko.  

He almost broke his promise to himself: no kissing.  Because he's not gonna kiss anyone unless he really feels something for them, it's the one thing he decided he'll hold back for his special person.  Zuko can have his body; it's just sex, it's just a good time.  The Water Tribe have never been bothered by sex, they celebrate it.  But there, on the courtyard, he'd slipped enough to want to give that final piece of himself to Zuko, all because they'd both gotten themselves wound up enough on adrenaline and the thrill of the fight.

Still, the rejection stings, even if Zuko was maybe right to step away.  He is a prince after all, and once Ozai is dealt with, he'll be Fire Lord.  Sokka will always be a stepping stone to the throne, the one that got away.  Because he has Zuko's promise, doesn't he? That once this is done, Sokka gets to walk away. He'll get to go home.

He'll get to sit at the door of his house in Wolf Cove, and watch the snow fall. Maybe even sit there with his friends, his family, his tribe. To have a few drinks and celebrate surviving.

The rain tapers off into a gentle drip drip of water that tinkles down the rain chains, a musical accompaniment to his thoughts.

He might doze, he's not sure, but when he blinks his eyes back open he feels chilled, and the rain is falling again.

Just outside the door under the overhang is an ornate lacquered tray, with a steaming flask on it and a clay cup, glazed in a vibrant blue.  The tray has been placed in view, but doesn't disturb his privacy, as if the person who'd left it wanted him to rest.  He gets up and retrieves the tray, looking outside, but the garden is empty.

Upon closer inspection, the flask is filled with hot mulled wine, perfect for the weather,  fragrant with the scent of jasmine and honey. He takes a sip, lets the heat slide into his body and warms him up.  There's a covered bowl next to it, and it contains little cakes, spicy with a warmth to accompany the wine.

And, at the very bottom, hidden from view, is a Pai Sho tile.

Confused, Sokka picks it up.  It's just a regular tile, with a white lotus on it.  No explanation, no reason for it being there. He has no idea how it even got to be here, at the bottom of the bowl.  Someone clearly intended it to be found by him, but only him.

Sokka loves a mystery, and he’s going to figure out what this means, and who sent it to him. 

Chapter Text

Sokka decides to hide the Pai Sho tile in the pavilion. Considering how carefully it had been hidden, and how much trouble the person went to to get it to him, Sokka isn't sure  that he should bring it with him.  He doesn't know what it's supposed to represent - is this a Fire Nation thing?  For all Sokka knows, receiving a Pai Sho lotus tile might mean you've been marked for death. He's got no context for it, other than what it is: a tile from a game of strategy. Clearly, he needs more contextual information, but he can't exactly ask anyone in case he draws attention to himself in the process.

So, he buries the tile under the corner of the screen that makes up the rear of the pavilion. he's careful to make sure the ground doesn't look like it's been disturbed, and then, after making sure nobody else is in the vicinity, he leaves.  The rain has slowed enough to make walking in it bearable.  The pond is a darker green, churned by the rain, and some of the koi in the pond are nibbling at the surface, picking off the tiny insects that have been disturbed. 

Sokka feels distinctly out of sorts.  The weather is just as changeable as his mood; he still has a headache, and feels off balance, both due to his nap and his disagreement with Zuko.  Maybe a bath will warm him up and make him feel more balanced.

He spends a good hour or so soaking in his ridiculously huge marble bath, and by the time he gets out Song has laid out a long, soft robe with draping, wide sleeves for him to lounge in.  Not gonna lie, Sokka is enjoying the amenities. Next to the robe is a scroll, and Sokka recognises Zuko's crest pressed into the wax that seals it.  Huh. What's this? He belts the robe closed and wanders out onto the balcony, deciding that privacy might be called for.  The sun is setting, and a low mist hangs over the treed slopes of the volcanoes.  The effect is eerie and unsettling, a little like Sokka's mood.  

He breaks the seal and unrolls the scroll.  Zuko's handwriting is tense and choppy, the characters formed with barely any thought for beauty or style.

Sokka,

I think it might be best if we take a few days to ourselves.  I will be back, and in your presence, by week's end.

Yours always, Zuko.

It's clear Zuko's upset, and the contents are terse. Of course Zuko isn't going to commit details of their agreement - and disagreement - to paper where it could be read.  Sokka can't tell, but he's going to assume that the scroll has been opened by an informant, the wax melted enough to open it and then reseal it afterwards.

Sokka wants to be annoyed with Zuko, his pride demands it.  He was rejected, in public, by his so-called (fake) lover. But Sokka is aware that Zuko is walking a thin red line with the plots he's hatched, and Sokka walks that line alongside him. Sokka cannot even imagine what sort of punishment Ozai might mete out should he discover what they are up to.  Zuko is being careful, removing himself from the scene before things spiral out of control.  Sokka wants to surrender to Zuko, give into him fully and completely, he realises that now.  Zuko is fascinating; complicated and dangerous, he always has been.  How has Sokka managed to fall under his spell like this, and so quickly? Or, has Sokka always been kidding himself, mistaking his enmity for desire? No, he thinks.  Zuko has been a relentless hunter in the past, set on his singular goal to capture Aang. Sokka has only ever been collateral damage, a barrier to Zuko, a problem to dispose of. And Zuko has been the same for Sokka; a problem to solve, to escape from.  And yet here they are, having to rely on each other in order to survive Ozai and his court.

They need to make more traction than they have been.  The Day of Black Sun will be upon them in the next couple of months, and they need to have a plan in place.  A support network.  Allies.  Sokka re-rolls the scroll and leans against the stone balustrade.  The time for kidding around has passed.  What Sokka really needs is advice from someone he can trust.  What he wouldn’t give to be able to speak with his father, or Bato, and run his thoughts past one, or both of them. 

And then there's the other thing constantly niggling at his mind: Ozai.  

Ozai has made a point of centering Sokka's worth as a prisoner around his relation to his father - to Hakoda.  It’s true that Hakoda is chief, the leader of the Sea Wolves and the Southern Water Tribe.  Why does Ozai feel so threatened by him?  What sort of advantage does Hakoda hold over Ozai?  Sokka feels like he's chasing smoke, but he knows he's onto something.  He's grasping at threads in a worn tapestry, and maybe he needs to keep pulling until something comes together.  Dammit, he could really do with talking this through with Zuko, and now he's gone off for a couple of days.  

Sokka sighs.  Okay, plan B. He'll wait for Zuko to get back, and meanwhile act like the spurned lover the situation demands. This will be the first time Sokka is actually alone in the palace, without Zuko's guidance - or protection.  This could be a blessing, or a curse.  

Only time will really tell which one it is.

Sokka is surprised to learn that Piandao isn't just going to teach him how to fight properly with a sword. 

"There is much that makes up a master swordsman that is not the ability to wield the weapon itself," Piandao says. "You must learn to observe your environment, to make quick decisions based on that knowledge and what you know of your opponent. You must learn to use your body as a weapon and not only your sword. You must know yourself, Lord Sokka, before you can know your sword and use it well."

"And how do I do that?" Sokka asks, because that is a lot of stuff to get to grips with.

Piandao smiles enigmatically. "It is my intent to teach you all of this," he says simply.

In a way, it's good that Zuko has removed himself from Sokka's side for the first few days of training.  Sokka's not sure he would have been able to concentrate fully with Zuko distracting him from the sidelines.  Because Zuko is a distraction; he's brooding, and sexy, and driven, and if there's one thing Sokka is apparently extremely weak to, it's Zuko's particular brand of irritated competence.

"Pay attention." Sokka feels the air stir as Piandao's wooden training sword slices by his shoulder.  He twists to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow.  Piandao is taking the training seriously, even if he's reduced to training Sokka using wooden weapons until he is proficient enough to spar with steel.  "Crown Prince Zuko is not present, Lord Sokka," he adds. "Do not bring him into the fight. The fight belongs to us, not a third party."

Sokka pauses, bending over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "Right. Sorry," he adds.

"Maybe we should pause here."   Piandao stands, sword held upright behind his back in what Sokka has learnt is his resting pose. "Your mind is clearly on other matters."  

Sokka would normally disagree but Piandao isn't wrong.  Sokka has felt wrong-footed all day, and that's no fault of anyone but himself.

Piandao pauses, clearly sizing Sokka up. "I will teach you to calm your mind," he says. "Tomorrow, you will learn how to play Pai Sho."

Sokka jolts upright, staring at Piandao.  "Sorry, what?"

"Pai Sho. It is an excellent game of strategy," Piandao explains.

"Yeah, I know what Pai Sho is." He walks over to the covered walkway, placing his training sword back in the weapons rack. "I didn't realise you knew how to play," he adds.  He is not gonna sweat this, because the odds of Piandao mentioning Pai Sho right after someone leaves him a hidden tile? Sokka needs to keep a straight face and not give anything away.

Piandao sits on the bench next to Sokka, gazing out over the training courtyard.  His expression is hard to read; Sokka doesn't know him very well yet.  "I was taught Pai Sho by one of the greatest masters to ever play," Piandao says.  "And I had the pleasure of teaching the Crown Prince to play when he was younger."

Sokka huffs out a laugh of disbelief. He cannot imagine Zuko sitting still for long enough to learn the complicated rules of the game, let alone play it. "How young was Zuko when you started teaching him?"

"I began his general weapons training when he was around twelve. He took to the sword quicker than he did Pai Sho," Piandao adds.  He sounds almost fond as he reminisces.  "Prince Zuko is impatient, he does not do strategy very well. I have hopes for his improvement, however." 

Not good at strategy? Oh, you are so wrong, Sokka thinks. Zuko is a planner, but not in the heat of the moment where every second counts. 

Piandao gives Sokka a knowing look, like he understands what Sokka is thinking. "It is not surprising that Prince Zuko chose a weapon like the dao, rather than a sword like you seem to favour.  The dao are two halves to a whole; they are designed with deceit in mind. They are distracting when used by an expert, a flurry of steel blades and death in the right hands."

Sokka hums agreement.  "I've not seen him use them in battle," he says. "He always used firebending to fight us.  He's relentless in the chase and rarely gives up on it unless something else gets in his way first."

Piandao turns toward Sokka more, clearly interested. "That does very much sound like Prince Zuko. Clashing with an opponent in battle is invaluable. It gives you insight into their true self. Over the years I have learnt that facing a person in battle is invaluable; they can only show you their true self if they wish to triumph over you."

Sokka thinks on that. Thinks about the different times when he's faced various people.  Zuko, who stills abides by honour in a fight - even when he turned on Iroh in Ba Sing Se, he was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. And if ever there was a commentary on Zuko it is encapsulated within that phrase, he thinks.  Azula - she's a different story. When she'd fought them all in that tiny, deserted village in the Earth Kingdom she'd surrendered 'with honour' and then immediately broken that battlefield trust.  If what Piandao says is true, by that action Azula can never be trusted, even if she claims to be on your side.  Which makes Sokka now wonder about the uneasy truce the siblings seem to have.  She will break that trust, whether it's sooner or later.

"I can see you thinking about it," Piandao observes.  "That moment right at the end of a fight tells you all you need to know: your opponent, stripped down and vulnerable in their potential victory or defeat. It can be exhilarating, and also devastating."

Sokka has so much to mull over from this conversation and think about. "Devastating? How so?"

"To obtain victory over your opponent means that often, it ends in the death of that person. You have achieved victory at the cost of human life, just when you are beginning to understand that person."

"Unless you spare their life," Sokka adds.

Piandao stands up, for a moment towering over Sokka.  And yet Sokka never feels afraid, only maybe a little intimidated. Piandao nods.  "Yes, unless you spare their life," he repeats. "And then you have knowledge of that person, and control over them."

Sokka isn't sure what Piandao is trying to tell him; he can't parse this one out yet. The conversation holds too many twists and turns, a secret code Sokka is only just glimpsing, but he doesn't have enough context or knowledge yet, to understand.

Piandao bows. "I will take my leave of you for today, Lord Sokka," he says. "We will meet tomorrow instead to start your training in the other arts."

Sokka stands, returning the bow. "No sword training?" He is not pouting, he is a grown man.

Piandao tries and fails to avoid smiling. "No, the body must rest occasionally in order to absorb the knowledge it has obtained. Not to fear, we will return to sword training the day after tomorrow."

Sokka bows again, and when he looks up Piandao is watching him closely. "And that means no convincing any of the Imperial Guards to spar with you after I'm gone," he adds, side eyeing a couple of the guards near the covered seating area.  

Busted.

"Come, we will walk back together, and you can show me your favourite garden that you have discovered so far."

The next few days pass by without incident.  Sokka trains with Piandao in the mornings; either with weapons or one of a number of other disciplines that he deems worthwhile for Sokka to learn. Calligraphy, Pai Sho, landscape painting - all of these apparently have some adjacent skill Piandao feels Sokka would benefit from knowing.  Sokka doesn't have years to learn and struggle through the theory and application of all these topics, but Piandao is determined to have him experience them all in some form or another. 

In the afternoon, Sokka has taken to walking the gardens of the palace, often finding himself at the waters edge.  He's long accepted that the water is in his spirit, it's part of his nature to seek it out. He's aware he's being watched; most afternoons he has a tail, a person following him as he wanders.  Sokka doesn't seek to discover who it is; it's in his interests to appear to be compliant to the court rules, even if he's itching to put on a pair of Zuko's linen pants and clamber all over the environment, hiding out until he can discover who it is that's watching him.  No, instead he puts on an outward show of compliance; a soft sort of melancholy since Zuko's gone traipsing off on his own.  Sometimes Song will join him with a couple of members of his household staff.  They trail after Sokka with cushions and blankets, baskets of food and scrolls in case he wishes to read.  On those days, Sokka sets up on the edge of the lake shore and spends the hours reading racy (and sometimes illustrated) scrolls, of which the palace library has a vast collection.  Sokka isn't going to think too much about why, if he's being honest with himself, but he thinks it might have something to do with Azulon, and the two twin concubines who still reside in the royal wing across from Sokka's apartments. Sokka wastes a good couple of hours trying to imagine what Azulon was like in his youth, and gives it up eventually.

After a couple of days, some of the more bolder members of the court join him.  Lady Aiya, the wife of one of Ozai's minor generals, joins him first.  She's amusing in a quiet way, with a cutting sense of humour, and very observant. Sokka finds it weird that she would approach him, but he supposes being the First Consort of the Crown Prince elevates him to at least her level socially.  He's not sure yet if she's here to befriend him, or spy on him, but next time she brings another friend, and then her husband, and pretty soon Sokka's introspective horny scroll reading has to be put off until later at night, when he has time alone. 

"I hear you are becoming a social butterfly," Piandao says the next time they meet to play Pai Sho.

Sokka sets a rose tile at the intersection of his gate and the red garden and looks up at Piandao. "Not by choice," he replies, twisting the tile a little in it's spot. "I was simply hanging out by the lake, reading racy scrolls just to see if I could get away with it.  They approached me first."

"Everyone loves a good gossip."

Sokka smirks.  "And do you, Master Piandao?"

Piandao moves one of his jade tiles.  Sokka thinks he's trying to set up a harmony near the centre of the board, but the knotweed tile he has in play is confusing him. Maybe he should play his wheel tile next and see what that might do to the tiles currently in play.

"I do not gossip, Sokka.  I merely deal in facts," Piandao says.  He raises an eyebrow, daring Sokka to contradict him.  "If you are thinking of playing the wheel tile next I would advise against it. Prince Zuko always makes the same mistake."

Sokka pauses, observing the board with a new eye.  "And does Prince Zuko listen to your advise?" 

Piandao sighs, but it's more exasperated rather than annoyed. "The Crown Prince often makes surprising choices.  I'll be honest, sometimes I am not assured he even knows himself what he will do next."

"I doubt General Iroh even knows what Zuko will do next."  Sokka picks up a chrysanthemum tile and pops it on the board.  Sokka is officially now making up strategy on the fly, just like Zuko. Fuck it.

"That is an... interesting gambit, Lord Sokka," Piandao says.  "It's either very inspired, or you've forgotten what some of the tiles do when in play."

Sokka leans back, into the pile of cushions.  It's nice to sit on his balcony and bask in the sun with good company to keep him entertained.  He picks up his drink, making a pleased sound when he tastes lemon with a hint of mint within the sherbet. Song seems to have figured out what Sokka's tastes lean toward and begun to anticipate him.  He'll have to thank him later.  

"So what brought you back to court?" Sokka asks.  The question is loaded, and they both know it, but now, after some time together, Sokka feels justified in trying to feel out what Piandao is up to. From everything that Sokka has learnt about Pai Sho in the last week, he knows that a Master of the game would never make a move without carefully assessing the board first. Whoever planted the white lotus tile in Sokka's dessert that day very much intended it as an opening gambit in a larger, real life game.  Sokka is clearly a new piece on the board, but he doesn't know which one he is, not yet.

Piandao plants a white jade tile in the gate nearest to him. "Curiosity bought me back to court,” Piandao says.  “I had heard the Crown Prince had a new consort - from the Water Tribes, no less. I decided I wanted to meet him for myself."  

"I thought you wanted to train Zuko?" Sokka asks. "Why concern yourself with me?"

Piandao stares at Sokka across the board.  The lighthearted atmosphere trickles away, leaving two people staring at each other across the board.  This is a moment, Sokka thinks.  This is one of those moments where something is going to change, but I don't know what, or why.

"You are an enigma," Piandao says eventually. "The prince has always been passionate, but not towards a person, only an ideal, a goal. He seems very passionate about you. I was curious as to what sort of person could captivate the prince so deeply."

Part of Sokka is pleased that their fake romance seems to be fooling everyone, but part of him is still bitter about it.  "Maybe once Zuko had achieved his goal to destroy the Avatar he needed something new to play with," Sokka says flippantly. 

Piandao picks up the boat tile, turning it over and over in his hand. "And do you enjoy being with him, Sokka? It must be difficult to be bound by conquest to a man that killed your friend. And yet I can sense the pull between you, the dance, the give and take."

"You mean the push and pull?" Sokka can't help but throw that out there.  Tui and La, what is this conversation within a conversation? What exactly is Piandao alluding to?

Piandao smiles, and it is not a warm smile. "Yes exactly; the push, and pull."  He places the boat tile near Sokka's carefully created harmony.

Sokka watches his entire gambit fall apart in a moment. Agni's balls, this game is infuriatingly complicated.  "You seem remarkably familiar with Water Tribe mythology and spiritual customs, Master Piandao."

This time Piandao's smile is warmer. "I have a couple of friends within the Water Tribes.  They have taught me much over the years; their beliefs just to name one. Also their drinking songs, their friendship, the best way to ride the tides and where to sail safely."

"That... is not a usual thing for the Water Tribes to share," Sokka says.  Experience has taught them to be wary of the other nations - especially the Fire Nation, of which Piandao is very clearly a member of.  "And who might these very helpful friends of yours be? Maybe I know of them?"

Piandao nudges his second rhododendron tile two intersections to the left.  "Alas, that story will have to wait for a more opportune moment, Lord Sokka. It would appear I have won this game." 

Sokka frowns and looks up at his opponent.  "This game is so frustrating!  It seems  simple and yet there is all this talk of harmonies and gates and… blooming flowers."

"I think you understand a lot more of this game than you let on," Piandao says.  Sokka doesn't think he's talking about Pai Sho, either.  "It is simple once one understands what tile is used for what purpose."

"I see. And yet you seemed to have succeeded in winning even without your white lotus tile," he says pointedly.  "It seems to be missing from your set."

Piandao stands up, and Sokka follows, reluctant to give Piandao the higher ground, even though the gesture is not threatening. "It does appear that I have misplaced my white lotus tile," Piandao says. "Hopefully when the time is right it will be returned to me."

Sokka inclines his head in understanding: message received. "I hope so as well," he replies.

"Did you wish to spar tomorrow as usual?" Piandao asks. Do you need more time to work through what I have said?

"Let us meet the day after tomorrow. I am hoping Prince Zuko will return to me shortly."

Piandao bows. "Until later then, Lord Sokka."

Fuck.  Sokka watches Piandao leave, Song seeing him to the door.  Sokka sits back down and stares at the board in front of him, tiles laid out.  Piandao has indeed pulled off some kind of wizardry, creating a Great Harmony in the centre of the board.  All Sokka's pieces were immediately put into disharmony by the move.  Piandao is truly a master at the game, and Sokka would do well to learn how he thinks through his strategies.  There are number of pieces Piandao hasn't played; he's missing the white lotus, but he also hasn't played the orchid tile.  From what Sokka remembers, this tile is especially important.  if  you don't have a white lotus tile in play, you cannot capture the orchid tile. The orchid tile can capture any flower tile on the board and has one of the greatest ranges of movement out of all the tiles.  He picks it up, turning the tile over in his hand, thinking as he does so.  What - who - does this unplaced tile represent? It's clear Piandao is using Pai Sho as a euphemism for a real life game of strategy. Is Piandao the white lotus? It's clear from their conversation just now that Piandao placed the white lotus tile for Sokka to find, and he didn't deny it when asked.  Sokka is already going over the played moves from their game in his head, trying to assign tiles or gambits to people or situations. The problem is he doesn't have the key to it all; he'll never know if he's correct in his assumptions or not.  Piandao is the key, and it seems if Sokka wants to know more, he'll need to return the white lotus tile to him.

Normally Sokka would leap at the chance to absorb all this information being offered to him, but Piandao seems strangely recalcitrant when it comes to Zuko and his motives.  Sokka decides he needs to wait until he's talked with Zuko. Piandao, like the rest of court, believes they are lovers, but he does not know they are already plotting their own coup.  Whatever Piandao is up to - that could interfere with Zuko's plans, and Sokka can't risk that.

He flops back onto the cushions and lets out a deep sigh.  Song appears in the doorway as if summoned by Sokka's ire. "Does my lord wish for one of his scrolls to pass the time?" he asks.  His eyebrow twitches, but his bland expression does not change.  

"Sure," Sokka says, because clearly half the court thinks he's a deviant pervert, dragging Zuko down the same path. "Have you found part three of that tentacle scroll yet?"

Zuko is glad to be back in Hari Bulkan. He watches the harbour come into view slowly from the deck of the airship. The airship is much bigger than the small balloons the Fire Nation have been working on since they captured the prototype at the Northern Air Temple.  That prototype was damaged, but still whole enough to glean valuable information from, at least according to his father.  The result of months of work have produced this flying leviathan, a ship in the sky.  It is faster than the larger ships of the fleet, and able to carry a large compliment of troops in relative comfort.  Ozai is convinced this is the way forward.

"And how do you like the view from high up here, Prince Zuko?" Ozai asks.

Zuko feels the brush of Ozai's robe against his shoulder, and fights not to flinch away from his father's proximity.  Instead, he grits his teeth, forcing down his reaction.  He can't show weakness in front of Ozai, and definitely not his own anger.  He's promised himself he'll save that anger for when he kills Ozai; only then will the Fire Lord see what his years of calculated cruelty have wrought.  In the meantime, he'll be the perfect son, the perfect heir, everything that Ozai ever wanted in a son.

"The view is interesting," Zuko says noncommittally. "The palace looks imposing from here."

Ozai nods. "It does.  Sozin had the right idea when he rebuilt it out of the rubble.  Avatar Roku did him a favour when he levelled it to the ground."

The air ship comes about, drifting to the left as the captain turns them.  They pass over the palace; Zuko can make out the lake below, the small dot that is the stone ship he took Sokka to.  The gardens are a maze laid out below him; a cultivated wilderness.  He wonders how Sokka has fared in his absence.  Zuko's leaving was abrupt, especially on the heels of their disagreement, and he'd only had time to pen a terse acknowledgement before he'd left. Zuko realises he's looking forward to seeing Sokka. He needs to explain himself to Sokka, and he's not sure what his reception will be like.  That's the thing, Zuko doesn't know Sokka well, if at all. He knows Sokka is a good warrior, intelligent and kind.  But those are just things, objective observations made at a distance.  Zuko has only just started to peer below the layers of Sokka's personality, and he's fascinated by the glimpses he's seen.  He just hope his actions before he left haven't set their budding relationship back to zero. 

Just to be safe, and to put his mind at ease, he'll visit Sokka immediately, he decides.

"Your mind is miles away," Ozai observes.  when Zuko turns his head, Ozai is watching him, his smile as sharp as his gaze.  "What occupies you so, Prince Zuko?"

Time to throw himself into the illusion, Zuko thinks.  "I'm thinking about Sokka," he says.  "I've missed him while we've been away."  

Once they reach the south side of the island, the airship turns over the sea, and then starts to drop, slow and controlled, the sound of the propellers droning in the background, a constant buzz.  The ground rises up to meet them, and the ship docks on it's platform.  The sound of soldiers shouting echoes through the quiet cabin as the airship is tied down and anchored.

Ozai is still watching Zuko, rather than what's happening outside.  "Enjoy your time with your Consort, Prince Zuko.  I will see you at tomorrow's war council."

Zuko bows as his father exits, and when he's sure he's alone, he stands up and lets out a long sigh. Now Ozai is gone, he feels like he can breathe again.  He can drop the pretence that everything is okay.  What he really wants to do is get this fucking armour off.  He really hates the fact that he's expected, along with most members of the council and the governing lords, to wear full armour at court.  Still, he thinks as he steps from the airship and into a palanquin, taking his armour off has become an almost sensual experience, a ritual to be enjoyed.  He gets to strip off his court persona along with the armour, layer by layer, until he is not Crown Prince Zuko but just Zuko. Zuko is a person who enjoys a good play, admires poetry, and enjoys being with the people who bring him happiness - although those are few and far between.

When he reaches the palace, he steps from the palanquin, determined to enjoy the walk.  He's aware of his ever-present shadow following him, his bodyguard and watcher.  That at least makes Zuko feel safer.

The palace feels quiet; no doubt it’s a different place when the Fire Lord isn’t present and maybe word hasn't quite reached the majority of the court that Ozai has returned.  Zuko guesses that the city takes time to breathe deeply when its left to its own devices.  Ozai is an iron hand, unwavering in his vision for total world domination, and that can be felt daily in the background stress of the city.  This afternoon, the palace is silent, only a few servants going about their business.

Zuko takes a moment to wash up in his own chambers, donning a casual shirt and gathered, loose linen pants. He pulls his hair up into a loose topknot and secures it with his favourite garnet hair pin. Now that he's back he feels restless, suddenly unmoored and without purpose.  He knows why of course; he wants to see Sokka, and putting it off is just making him antsy.  Fuck it, he's going to find him.

Min appears surprised when Zuko leaves his quarters, but wisely doesn't follow.  It's clear that Sokka isn't expecting him, nor are his ever-present guards at the main doors to the apartments.  He sweeps past them, stepping into Sokka's sitting room.  

It's empty.

A swathe of cushions are scattered over the floor in heaps, burying the thick carpet underneath.  A couple of scrolls are discarded to the side, and when Zuko leans down, picks one up and unrolls it, his eyebrows almost disappear into his head. Theoretically, Zuko has heard about The Tale of Genji's Five Brothers, but he had no idea it had been illustrated.  He tilts his head to the side a little to get a better look.  That is not a cucumber, is it?  After a few moments, he realises he's getting sidetracked.  He re-rolls the scroll and drops it back next to the others.

He wanders through the sitting room, toward Sokka's bedroom, which is also empty.  Which leaves only the balcony or the bathing room.  "Sokka?" he calls out.  He's absolutely not going to barge in on Sokka while he's in the bathing room.  

At first, Zuko thinks Sokka isn't going to answer him, is just going to blatantly ignore him to prove the point that Zuko is - was - a dick. And then he steps out from the doorway, expression quizzical and confused. His expression goes hard and blank when he sees Zuko, and yeah, now this is super awkward.  "Prince Zuko? I didn't expect you back just yet."  He bows.

"You look good," Zuko blurts out, because he's clearly an idiot.

Sokka glances down at himself.  "I know." Sokka gives him a cold smirk, daring Zuko's eyes to wander.  It's hard not to; Sokka's naked except for a sheer red robe, embroidered with golden dragons that writhe and dance over his hips and thighs, flame leaping across his chest.  The fabric is damp, sticking to his skin in places, turning it translucent, so he must have been in the bath when Zuko wandered in.  His hair is pulled back in a wolf's tail, beaded to match his robe, the ends damp with water. Sokka looks incredible in red and gold, and Zuko feels it pull viscerally at him, that Sokka is wearing his colours even while he was gone.

"Can we talk?" Zuko asks.  His voice has gone husky, his throat dry.

"About how you up and left, leaving only a note?" Sokka bites out.  He crosses his arms, every inch the warrior, and somehow Zuko finds that hotter than the fact Sokka's mostly naked.  Maybe it's a mixture of both things he finds appealing?

Zuko takes a tentative step forward.  "Yes, I wanted to explain myself," he says.  "You deserve to know why I left and where I've been."

Sokka looks him over, clearly weighing up his options.  After a moment of consideration, he uncrosses his arms and steps to the side.  “Come, we can talk in here. We shouldn't be overheard or watched.”

Zuko follows him into the bathing room.  The giant sunken tub is filled with steaming water, flower petals drifting on the surface.  The entire room is humid, perfumed and decadent.

Sokka slips off the robe.  He watches Zuko, waiting for a reaction as the sheer fabric slips down his arms, pooling at his elbows, and then further to his waist, his hips, finally his feet.  He steps over the robe, naked as the day he was born, and and glances coyly at Zuko.  He finally looks away as he makes his way down the marble steps into the bath, the water rising around his thighs, caressing his hips.

Zuko only takes a breath when Sokka looks away.  Agni, he’s beautiful.  Does Sokka realise how much Zuko wants him? Does he realise Zuko is only holding back because he’s not sure how much of what is between them is real, and how much of this is pretend, a situation born of their shared goals?

Sokka moves to the far side of the pool and leans against the marble edge.  He sinks down further, the water now lapping at his chest.  "Are you going to stand there or join me?"

"I didn't realise I was welcome," Zuko says hesitantly.  "You've made it quite clear I disappointed you and that you are upset."

Sokka sighs. "I am, but I realise there are also probably extenuating circumstances.  I'm giving you the opportunity to explain yourself."  

"Fair." Zuko nods, and begins to strip down.  He slips off the belt holding his shirt closed and tugs it off, throwing the shirt onto one of the stools to the side.  He has his fingers on the drawstring of his waistband when he happens to glance up. He freezes.

Sokka is staring at him - at his body, watching him with avid interest.  He's not coy about it either, drinking in the sight of Zuko disrobing with a hungry look on his face.  Slowly, Zuko stands up, and keeping eye contact, pushes down his pants, sliding them over his hips and down his thighs. He kicks them to the side, and stands before Sokka just as naked. It  feels like the air is charged between them, a familiar feeling he welcomes like his own hunger.

As he steps into the water, Sokka moves, sliding backward toward the far corner of the bath.  His skin is flushed, maybe with heat from the water, or maybe Zuko's proximity.  He has missed Sokka - missed his intelligence, his wit, his snarky observations.  Missed watching him move, the way he takes control of a fight or a spar. Zuko doesn't pause at the edge by the stairs, he keeps moving through the water, toward his goal.

Sokka's eyes widen just a little, just enough to tell Zuko he's interested, that he's not moving to block Zuko or shut him down despite acknowledging that he’s still upset with him.  Zuko crowds him back against the marble, hand landing possessively on Sokka's hip, caressing over his heated skin.

Sokka is so close Zuko can feel his breath on his skin, and Sokka reaches out, pulling him closer by the wrist until they are pressed belly to belly, thigh to thigh.  And oh, this is what Zuko needed.  He feels safe here with Sokka, despite their enmity - or at the very least he can relax.  He can say what he wants, doesn’t have to watch his every word in case it will be picked apart by Ozai or Azula, or any of the myriad spies at court.  Here, he doesn’t have to worry if his food is poisoned.  Sokka has his back, at least for now, and Zuko can let go and be here in the moment.

Sokka slides his calf over Zuko’s hip, drawing him closer,  and Zuko goes with the movement.  His cock is heavy, filling out as he brushes against Sokka’s hip.  “I want you,” Zuko murmurs.  He leans down to brush his lips against Sokka’s pulse, nipping at the skin of his neck.  Sokka’s fingers slide through his hair, tugging a little, and Zuko’s cock twitches.  Sokka knows what he’s doing; he knows Zuko likes his hair pulled.

He stills owes Sokka an explanation, but Sokka seems to want him now, impatient to get Zuko as close as possible.  “Sokka, I should expl-“

“Talk afterwards,” Sokka says.  “It will be a long conversation, trust me.  I have news for you as well.  Right now, let’s just-“

Sokka yelps a little as Zuko lifts him by the hips, out of the water and onto the edge of the tub.  Zuko runs his hands up Sokka’s calves, his knees, his inner thighs, watching Sokka for a reaction.  Sokka is panting lightly, hands curling over the marble edge of the sunken bath, but he doesn’t push Zuko away.  He licks his lips, watching as Zuko slowly drops down to place a gentle kiss just above his knee.  Zuko kisses his way up Sokka’s inner thigh, grinning when Sokka moves to spread his legs a little to give Zuko room.  Sokka’s skin is wet, and heated from the water, and his legs tremble the closer Zuko gets to his prize.  When they’d had sex that first time, it had been heated, jerking each other off hard and fast, neither of them really getting much of a chance to admire the other.  For a moment it had even been questionable as to if one of them was going to actually murder the other, so yes, this time is different.  Sokka is much more relaxed, although still a little wary, but he’s willing to let Zuko play with him.  

And Zuko wants to play.  He’s ravenous suddenly; all of the stress of the last days with Ozai suddenly melts away here in Sokka’s presence, and he wants nothing more than to make Sokka feel good, to watch him fall apart in pleasure.  Also, he’s not gonna lie; Sokka’s cock is big and pretty and he can feel his mouth watering, the desire to get it down his throat all-encompassing.  He’s reached Sokka’s inner thigh, the crease of his leg, and he nuzzles across, breathing Sokka’s scent in.  It’s muted due to the perfume in the bath, but he still lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering closed as he mouthed across the sensitive skin of Sokka’s balls, placing kisses. 

“Look at you,” Sokka whispers.  He spreads his legs a little wider, slips his fingers back through Zuko’s hair. “Are you gonna suck my cock, make me feel good?”

Zuko’s eyes flutter open, and stares up the length of Sokka’s cock to make eye contact.  “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he says.  He licks his way up the length and suckles at the head, before sinking slowly down.  Sokka moans, spine arching and fingers tightening in his hair.  Zuko sets a slow and steady pace, enjoying the weight of his cock in his mouth, Sokka’s little reactions.  He starts to work out what makes Sokka’s breath hitch, his thighs tremble.  He can’t get him all the way into his mouth, not yet, so he settles for wrapping his hand around the base, working as much as he can, playing with Sokka’s balls.  He really likes that apparently, breath hitching around a moan.

“Fuck, Zuko, like that,” Sokka coaches.  His hips stutter, pre-come blurts over Zuko’s tongue and he moans at the taste.  Carefully he starts to work further down Sokka’s cock, taking a little more each time, and the thought of taking all of Sokka makes his own dick ache with need.  There’s no way he’s gonna deep-throat him, not without a lot of practice, but Zuko wants to do his best.  Sokka’s hips tick forward and Zuko takes a little more.  Now Zuko’s not stopping him, Sokka begins to thrust slowly into Zuko’s mouth.  “That’s it,” Sokka says.  “Take a little more, I know you can.”

Zuko’s cock throbs.  Fuck. He does, he takes a little more, Sokka’s voice lulling him into a safe space where he can just enjoy the moment.  The thrust of Sokka’s powerful hips, the scent of his skin, the weight of his cock in Zuko’s mouth, how he lets Zuko take control.; it’s exactly what he needs.

Sokka’s breath is coming faster now, belly heaving.  His hand is clenched on the edge of the tub, the other tangled through Zuko’s hair, pushing him gently down onto his cock.  He has one leg around Zuko’s shoulder, and he’s whispering a litany of praise and encouragement, even as he shakes apart in Zuko’s mouth.  Zuko can’t help but let out a soft moan, and it’s the vibration that sends Sokka over the edge with a fuck, fuck, Zuko, I can’t - 

Zuko has very little experience with sex generally, maybe a little more with blowjobs.  Sokka comes down his throat, and Agni, Zuko loves the power that comes with it, the surrender.  He did this to Sokka, he made him come, but at the same time he has to take what Sokka gives him.  He pulls off Sokka’s softening cock slowly, admiring how lax and fucked out he looks.  He’s leaning back on one hand, breath still coming fast, cheeks flushed against his dark skin.  He looks beautiful, truly a spirit of the water.

“Spirits, Zuko,” Sokka says between breaths.  “I needed that.”  He gives Zuko an appraising stare, and then drops into the water.  He pushes Zuko back against the tiles, hand sliding over his hip, brushing over his hard cock.  Zuko lets out a grunt of pleasure; it’s almost painful he’s so hard.  Sokka wraps his fingers around Zuko’s cock, gives him a couple of slow strokes, and pushes his thigh between Sokka’s.  “You wanna ride my thigh or shall I jack you off?” he asks.

“Hand job,” Zuko bites out.  He’s almost vibrating with need now, and Sokka presses against him, pulling him close with a strong arm around his waist.  He jacks him off slowly, building the pleasure, twisting his wrist, and fuck, it’s perfect.  Zuko’s fingers bite into Sokka’s biceps, holding on as he rolls his hips into Sokka’s hand.  Sokka leans in and nuzzles at his neck, sucking a love bite into his skin. 

That’s what pushes Zuko over; the love bite. The act of being claimed publicly where everyone will see it.  His hips flex, fucking into Sokka’s hand and then he’s coming with a bitten off moan, head dropping to Sokka’s shoulder as he rides his orgasm out.

It takes them a few moments to calm down, and then Sokka shifts away, giving Zuko space.  “Welp, that’s in the bathwater now,” he says.  “I should have maybe thought that through before I let you come.”

It takes a few moments for Zuko’s orgasm-befuddled brain to catch up.  “Oh,” he says, like it’s some kind of profound statement.  

Sokka lets out a laugh, soft and amused.  “Maybe we should get out?”

Zuko helps Sokka dry off when they exit, and Sokka does the same in return.  He slips his red and gold robe back on, and Zuko puts his pants on.  He turns to face Sokka.  “Thank you for not immediately chucking something at my head as soon as I walked in here,” he says.

Sokka makes a face.  “That’s a really low bar to meet.”

Zuko shrugs.  He steps close enough to brush his fingers along Sokka’s jaw, the caress careful, exploratory. “I enjoyed this.  It’s not why I came here, but still, I can’t say I’m sorry it happened.”

“But?” Sokka says.  He rests his hand on Zuko’s waist.  He doesn’t step away or evade Zuko’s touch, so Zuko feels he can at least explain the thing that’s bothering him the most to Sokka now. 

"I will not break our agreement,” Zuko says softly.  “As much as I want to, and I really want to kiss you right now, I cannot let you compromise on this one thing."  Sokka opens his mouth to speak and Zuko gently brushes his thumb over Sokka's plump bottom lip. "You were very clear there would be no kissing and it was part of our agreement when we started this," he murmurs.  Sokka's eyes have gone heavy-lidded again, and his tongue darts out, sweeping across his lip where seconds before Zuko had touched him.

Agni, Sokka is really hard to resist.  "That is why I hesitated on the training field the other day.  Even though we were in the heat of the moment and my feelings were genuine, I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t kiss you.  My honour will not let me."

"I really dislike your honour sometimes," Sokka says flatly.  “But yes, you made the right choice.”    His expression is open; he’s not angry.  "Thank you for keeping to your word and honouring mine.  Your rejection stung at the time but I understand why you did it."

Zuko releases his breath.  He feels lighter suddenly, knowing he made the right call.  “I’m glad,” he says. “Do you want to talk further? Is it safe to speak here?”

Sokka shakes his head.  “I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s safe.  Song doesn’t appear to be a threat but I can’t confirm yet if we are watched outside of the bathing area.”

Zuko nods.  “Shall we meet for dinner on the stone boat?”

“Yes, at sundown?”

Zuko reaches down and takes Sokka’s wrist in hand.  He presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, and then steps back.  “I will see you at the boat, then.”  

It’s only when he’s half way down the corridor he realises he kissed Sokka’s wrist, like they were actually a romantically involved couple.  He covers his face with his hands, because really, what the hell is he doing?  They weren’t even in public; nobody could see them.

Dinner is going to be awkward, isn’t it? 

Chapter Text

Zuko is finally starting to relax. Yes, he's back in the viper's pit of Ozai's court, but he has Sokka on his side now. He’s no longer having to navigate the twists and turns of court life on his own, and Sokka is starting to become his confidant, his partner, his shield.  Zuko’s earlier orgasm also goes in Sokka's favour - there's nothing like good sex to relax the mind and body and put him back on a somewhat even keel emotionally. Even the wrist kiss - he's now had time to work through the rollercoaster of realization that yes, he actually did that, but hopefully they can just move past it and maybe Sokka won't be a bastard and bring it up when they meet later.

Speaking of later; Zuko's selected an outfit for this evening’s dinner already, and he's currently going through some of his gold armbands with Min, looking for something that will match the belt he plans to wear and will compliment his tunic.

There's a disturbance at the door, and Zuko pauses, listening to his guards give a challenge.  Zuko glances at Min, who's jaw tightens, but he shows no outward sign of concern otherwise.  He does move to the entrance to Zuko's sitting room, placing himself between Zuko and the doors, although he makes it look like he's just retrieving an item from the table. Clever, Zuko thinks. He glances around, making note of how far he is from the dagger he has hidden down the side of his bed frame, for emergencies.  He doubts this is one; anyone would be a fool to approach the Crown Prince in daylight, fight their way into his apartments, and try to assassinate him.  Not unless there was an honest attempt to stage a large-scale coup -  it's happened in the distant past.  Everyone knows what happened to Crown Prince Zhoan and his entire family.  It’s the sort of bedtime horror story people share late at night, when the candles flicker and gutter in their holders, and stormy weather rolls in.  It stands as a lesson in hubris, a warning, and it still makes Zuko’s throat close when he thinks about the details of it too much.

The guards finish their challenge, and when the doors open to reveal Azula, Zuko actually breaths out a sigh of relief.  Min returns to his previous task, smoothly covering up what he was doing before.  

"Good afternoon, brother."  Azula stands in the center of Zuko's sitting room, hands behind her back.  She glances around, hungry gaze searching the room, before she finally looks toward Zuko.

"Azula.  What do you want?" Zuko continues to put items to the side, discarding the pieces in silver or items that are overly jeweled.  He wants to look understated tonight, but part of him still wants to impress Sokka.

Azula takes the acknowledgement as permission to engage in conversation - of course she does.  "What, I can't greet my brother when he gets back from his little excursion with Father?"

"It wasn't an excursion," Zuko says.  "We were visiting a military installation."  That would be an understatement, Zuko thinks.  He really needs to talk to Sokka about it this evening.

Azula turns slowly, looking around the room.  Zuko's not sure what she's looking for exactly, but he highly doubts this little social call is innocent.  "Aren't you going to tell me about it?  Dismiss your slave, and we can talk in private."

Zuko crosses his arms. "Min is not a slave, and you know it. He is a member of my household, and I will not dismiss him. I'm busy and I need his assistance."

"Busy selecting jewelry for your Water Tribe rat? How cute."  Azula picks up a random scroll and opens it. She closes it quickly; it must be one Sokka had left around before Zuko went on his field trip, and it's probably not the structured essay on poetry that she's expecting.  "Fine, I'll speak plainly since you won't dismiss your servant."  She glares at Min, but Min merely straightens, gives Azula an impassive, measuring look, and takes the armbands he's selected back into the bedroom.  

Once he's gone, Azula steps closer. "I'm not sure why Father took you on your little fieldtrip and left me behind, but I will find out."

"Jealous?" Zuko can't help but poke at Azula.  Part of it is sibling rivalry dialed up to the extreme, part of it is genuine curiosity as to what she's hoping to gain here.

"I'm not jealous," she spits out. "I just hate that you get to stroll back in here, and steal Father's attention for your own. You were banished for three years; your life was worth less that that of a mangy dog, and yet here you are, greeted in triumph upon your return.  He even let you keep your Water Tribe whore. I could tell him the truth, you know.  I could tell him that I killed the Avatar and chose to give you the glory instead."

Zuko walks toward the balcony, knowing Azula will follow him. It won't do either of them any good if anyone overhears.  When he reaches the railing he turns around.  Azula is close on his heels; forced to take a step backward. "And do you really think Father is going to listen to you if you tell him? The first question he'll ask you is why you lied.  The second will be why you are trying to discredit me, the Crown Prince."

Azula's face contorts with rage. Zuko can feel the air around them heat as she struggles to keep herself under control.  Azula's slipping; she usually has perfect control over both her firebending, along with the mask she wears for the world.  For a moment, Zuko wonders what else is going on in the background that he's not a party to and that has her so riled up and combative. 

After a few moments, Azula gets herself back under control, her expression once again deceptively passive.  "You think you can take what's rightfully mine," she hisses. "I've worked hard to get Father to trust me, and then you waltz back in and take my place.  You don’t even want the glory and the praise. I won't let you take what's mine, Zuzu."

"It was never yours in the first place," Zuko says. 

Azula clenches her jaw, eyes narrowing.  "We'll see what you hold dear, brother. I thought you'd be grateful that I gave you the opportunity to come back home a hero.  Clearly I was mistaken."  She turns on her heel and stalks from the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.  

Azula is spoiling for a fight, and when she gets like this she starts breaking her toys. They are going to have to be careful, Zuko thinks.  She's too wound up right now to think clearly, but that moment will come when she snaps, and they'll need to keep an eye on her.

Min is still in the bedroom when Zuko exits the balcony, and he schools his face to look impassive.  Servant or not, Zuko isn't going to take any chances that anyone thinks the royal family is not united.

Sokka leaves the apartment and heads through the royal wing of the palace toward the doors that lead to the gardens.  Song, and another member of his staff, Yawen, brings up the rear, carrying a selection of food, drink and blankets with them.  Song has deemed it safer to bring everything with them, as it has already been taste-tested for poison.  Sokka can't argue with his logic - if Sokka assumes that Song is actually working for him and  is not in the pay of another faceless court noble.  If Song is loyal, what he says is true.  If not, Sokka or Zuko could easily pay a heavy price for it.  Sokka isn't going to take chances, not at this court.  He'll test it himself before he or Zuko eat any of it.

Sokka turns the corner and comes face to face with Ozai.

Well, shit.

Sokka immediately offers the Fire Lord a low bow, hands clasped in the symbol of the flame.  Behind him he can hear Song and Yawen drop to their knees in a kowtow, various baskets and things being set down behind him.  

"Lord Sokka," Ozai says.  He sounds amused.  “What a pleasant surprise.”

"Fire Lord Ozai," Sokka acknowledges, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.  He doesn't dare raise his eyes, nor rise from his bow, not even while they are, essentially, alone.  Ozai is dangerous and Sokka knows it.

He absolutely doesn't trust him.

"Rise," Ozai says, clasping his hands behind his back.   

Fuck, Sokka thinks, of course now is the time that he bumps into the Fire Lord of all things; half dressed and looking like he's going out to get laid. He's suddenly very aware of the marks that Zuko's left over his body recently.  Ozai's gaze drags over his body, from his casually tied sampot, to the lose shirt he's wearing that exposes his neck and collarbones - and all the love bites that show beneath his Water Tribe choker.

"Walk with me," Ozai says.  He turns on his heel, and heads toward the exit to the gardens. 

Fuck, fuck fuck, Sokka reiterates.  This was not what he had planned for this evening.  He and Zuko need to compare notes on what's happened recently, and they need to do it urgently.  But, what had they done instead?  Rather than discussing those important things as soon as they'd seen each other, they'd let their desires get the better of them, and gotten each other off. And now that decision’s biting Sokka in the ass, because he's going blind into whatever this situation with Ozai is.  He has no idea what went down while Zuko was with his father on their field trip.  He doesn't even know where they went.  In future he needs to stop thinking with his dick and use his brain instead.

"How are you finding life in the palace?" Ozai says. His heavy robes rustle against the spotless tiled floors as he walks. "I hope Crown Prince Zuko has been looking after you well, and that you are settling into your new role."

"He has."  Sokka is surprised his voice comes out even and measured.  Inside he's shitting himself; the last time he dealt with Ozai, the Fire Lord had him by the hair and on his knees, threatening to burn him to ashes if Zuko didn't explain himself satisfactorily. Sokka tries to gather his racing thoughts and ignore how off-balance Ozai makes him feel just by being in his presence. He's fighting his own fight or flight instincts; Ozai is dangerous, and it's clear he's playing with Sokka right now, and through Sokka, Zuko.  He won't release Sokka from his presence until he's gotten what he wants from their conversation, so Sokka needs to give him something. "Prince Zuko has been very attentive in making me feel welcome." That seems like a fairly safe comment, Sokka thinks.

Ozai looks over at him, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Prince Zuko seems rather smitten with you.  I would hope you are paying him the same attention in return?"

"Of course," Sokka replies.  The doors to the gardens loom ahead, and Sokka approaches them with dread.  Just how long is Ozai going to keep him captive under the guise of pleasant conversation? What does he really want?

Ozai approaches the doors, and the guards stationed there swing them open.  The twilight air, still heated from the day's sun, gusts inside, brushing over Sokka's exposed skin like a lover's caress. "We will take tea together in the Pavilion of Falling Rain, I think," Ozai says to Sokka. "It will be nice to get to know my son's First Consort properly." 

Sokka cannot refuse, and they both know it. When they step out into the garden, Song and Yawen fade into the background, setting off on an alternate route for the stone boat, and hopefully to warn Zuko.  For a moment, Sokka wishes he was going with them.  The haste at which both of them move suggests a great desire to get the hell out of the immediate vicinity and away from the Fire Lord, and Sokka curses them under his breath.

"What do you think of the royal gardens?" Ozai asks and they step from the palace into the ornamental gardens.  "You've had time to get to know your way around them by now, I would think?"

"They are beautiful," Sokka says. 

"My grandfather, Sozin, designed them for his new Lady, to celebrate their marriage."  Ozai begins walking to the left, toward where Sokka knows the training grounds are. "They are designed in the classic style, small rooms that open out onto wider vistas." He looks at Sokka, who's desperately trying to keep a polite but safe distance without appearing to do so. "Personally, I do not enjoy surprises. I prefer to be able to see far ahead in front of me, to see what is coming."

Sokka stares off into the distance, where the black walls of the caldera tower over the far shore of the lake. "Sometimes what's in the distance is still blurry and out of focus," he responds before he can stop himself.  "Knowing the shape of something doesn't expose it's details, my lord."

Ozai pauses, just enough for Sokka to note his misstep, and then he keeps walking.  "Your mind is sharp, Lord Sokka.  I think at any other time I might have enjoyed sparing verbally with you."  Ozai holds out his palm, gesturing to the next garden that has opened up.  "Shall we take tea and the measure of each other?"

With a sinking feeling Sokka recognizes the place Ozai has brought them to.  It's the small pavilion he'd retreated to after his argument with Zuko.  He had no idea it even had a name - who names their garden pavilions? Sprits, it's such a Fire Nation thing to do.

Sokka follows Ozai over the small bridge and around the lotus pond. The bamboo has turned bright green after the earlier rain, bathing the pond and it's surroundings in bright color and the strong scent of petrichor, earthy and sensual.  Some of the larger flowers give off a musky perfume that tints the air; some kind of night blooming jasmine perhaps.

The palace servants have been busy while they've been strolling through the gardens.  The pavilion is lit with lamps, it's doors pushed open to reveal a low table surrounded by cushions, and a steaming pot of tea and a set of ornately decorated cups set on a tray. Ozai takes a seat close to the doors, but with his back to the wall.  It's a defensive position, leaving Sokka with his back exposed closest to the doors and the forested area behind him.

Sokka waits for Ozai to make the first move.  He keeps his eyes downward, hands folded in his lap, the picture of an innocent courtier. They both know it's bullshit.

"You may look up, Lord Sokka," Ozai says.  Here in the space his voice is modulated, but it still sets Sokka on edge. Ozai will never lose the air of command or the threat that is inherent in his voice; a sharp blade hidden within velvet.

Once Sokka meets Ozai's gaze there's a moment where they both stare at each other; both of them sizing each other up.  Ozai's eyes are almost golden; like Azula's they are filled with sharpness, constantly narrowed with suspicion. Sokka can see where Zuko got his air of aristocratic disdain from, although at least Zuko seems to be tempering his with experience and exposure to the world at large.  Ozai has never been told no, and it shows in his demeanour.

After a moment, Sokka looks away, out towards the pond. The tension breaks, and when he looks back Ozai is reaching for the tea pot.  He holds his voluminous sleeve out of the way as he pours.  It's graceful to watch, and it reminds Sokka of Master Piandao when he was teaching Sokka to write calligraphy without getting ink on his sleeve.

Ozai gestures to the cup nearest Sokka.  Sokka now has a choice: offend the Fire Lord by testing the tea first, or trust him and drink from the cup.  Ozai smirks, and then reaches for his own cup, passing it to Sokka instead and taking Sokka's in return.  He sips, watching Sokka the whole time, clearly enjoying Sokka’s hesitation.

"Do you like the pavilion?" Ozai asks.  "This was always one of my favourite places to sit and think when I was younger. It's very isolated, surrounded by bamboo and protected by the small pond.  The noise of the rain washes away the sound of any conversation, making it an ideal place to retreat for privacy."

Stay cool, Sokka coaches himself. He's testing you, he doesn't know what you are planning. He doesn't know about the Pai Sho tile. "I found this place the other day," Sokka offers. "I stumbled upon it by accident. It's quite an enjoyable place to sit and be still.  I'll have to show it to Zuko at some point."

Ozai raises an eyebrow at the blatant use of Zuko's name without his titles, but he lets it go for now. "I formed my first thoughts about the possibility of becoming Fire Lord here, in the quiet with the rain falling on the roof above me," Ozai muses conversationally.  “It was here I decided to make my play for the Dragon Throne, to usurp it from my brother Iroh. It didn't work of course. As punishment, my father ordered me to kill my first born - Prince Zuko -  because I had stepped out of line and gone against the order of things."

Sokka's mind goes blank with shock.  What is Ozai talking about? "Fire Lord Azulon wanted you to kill your own son?" Sokka blurts out. Spirits, this place is a cesspool of violence and murder. Zuko has never mentioned that his grandfather had ordered him killed, but it’s not really something that just randomly comes up in conversation when you’re busy fucking your enemy, is it?

Ozai's smile is devoid of humor; cold and calculated. "I stepped too far from my place in the established hierarchy and overreached myself - in my father's eyes, anyway. Crown Prince Zuko should have paid the price for it, and I would have done it, but his mother begged me not to, and instead offered me another solution. And here we are."

He looks at Sokka, and Sokka can read between the lines.  Ozai's warning him not to play games, but he's hedging, he doesn't know anything concrete, other than that Sokka visited the pavilion the other day.  For some reason that bothers Ozai; Sokka will need to be cautious if he comes here again.

"You should be careful where you tread at court, Sokka, it can be a dangerous place. I would hate for my son to lose his comfort in you, or for you to lose the Crown Prince."

Sokka purposely doesn’t look toward the corner where he hid the Pai Sho tile.  He cannot afford to give himself away, not now.  Instead, he takes a sip of his tea, refusing to show even the tiniest hint of vulnerability.  Ozai is a man who thrives off the weakness of others, who glories in his position and the power he holds over everyone.

Ozai doesn’t hide how closely he’s watching Sokka.  “You are quite cultured for a Water Tribe savage,” he says. "I'm surprised at how well you conduct yourself."  He’s clearly looking to irritate Sokka, to poke at him.  “Or is that something you’ve learned to do here?”

“The Water Tribes have always been cultured,” Sokka says.  “We have our own unique ways of doing things, of treating our peoples and those of other nations. My father taught me everything I know.  He taught me to question everything I heard, to look for solutions, to cultivate friendships and how to be a warrior.  In retrospect, I consider myself very cultured, Fire Lord Ozai.”

Ozai’s lip curls and his eyes warm with something almost like excitement, like Sokka’s just fallen into his verbal trap.  “Ahh, your father, Hakoda.  I still very much would like to have an honest conversation with him.  He’s fascinating to me on so many levels.”  Ozai pours more tea, gesturing to Sokka.   He drinks fastidiously, Sokka notices, one hand resting under the small cup, the other cradling the side delicately. “I have had reports that Hakoda and his Sea Wolves are on the move again.  As his son, you know him best, you can anticipate him. What do you think he is doing off the coast of the southern Earth Kingdom?”

“I cannot say, Your Majesty. I haven’t seen him since he left the village with his warriors almost five or more years ago.”  Okay, so that’s a blatant lie, but Sokka’s developing a really good resting bitch face, and he reckons he could probably survive a game of Pai Sho without breaking character. 

Ozai taps his finger on the table, head tilted ever so slightly as he observes Sokka. The lamplight flashes on his flame headdress and the gold embroidery on his robes.  “Tell me, are you loyal to the Fire Nation, Sokka?” 

Shit.  Sokka should have seen this coming.   This is dangerous, he thinks. He’s much more of a warrior than he is a wordsmith, or a courtier.  Ozai lives by the rules of the court, and he adjusts those rules as he feels like it.  This conversation is a minefield and – Sokka exhales on a breath.  He thinks of his father; of that time on the beach before the coup in Ba Sing Se.  He remembers his father explaining how tangle mines work, and Bato rolling his eyes and telling Sokka that he’s just like his father.  Sokka can work with that.  He can evade, and hide, and tack into the wind like the Sea Wolves do when the ocean spirits swell the waves.  To survive you have to ride into the storm, prow first.  You never come at the big waves sideways; it’s a death sentence.  Sokka needs to do the same if he wants to survive this conversation and the Fire Nation court. And yet, he can still take another leaf out of Hakoda’s playbook; he can litter the field with the courtly equivalent of tangle mines and leave them in many unexpected places.  He can wait for the Fire Nation to drive themselves onto the rocks.  “I am loyal to my country,” Sokka says, gesturing out at the garden outside.  “And I have put myself solely in Prince Zuko's forgiving and gentle hands.”

Ozai must know it’s a complete non-answer.  “And are you as loyal to the Fire Nation as you are to your prince, Sokka of the Water Tribe?” he repeats.

Why does Ozai want a definitive answer so badly? “I follow wherever Prince Zuko chooses to lead me,” Sokka answers finally. “That is our agreement.  As his First Consort I am still his property.” That’s as much as Ozai is going to get, he thinks.  Has he found what he’s searching for within Sokka’s answers?

Ozai smiles, acknowledging the half-answer.  “And does my son keep you loyal with the threat of pleasure, or with an iron hand?” he says slyly.  He stares once more at Sokka’s neck, and the love bites littered there.

Enough is enough.  Sokka bows down over the table and then stands.  “Please excuse me, Your Majesty.  I fear I am keeping you from more important matters.  I should be on my way.”  He’s not going to sit here any longer and have to listen to this constant back and forth.  Neither of them are getting the upper hand.  Maybe that’s the point - maybe Ozai just wishes to know that he can disrupt Sokka’s plans whenever he feels like it.

Ozai huffs out a laugh. “Go then, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.  Find your entertainment wherever you may.  We will speak again.”

Sokka takes the out.  He’s cognizant of the fact he hasn’t waited for Ozai to rise with him, and offers him a hasty bow instead.  He’s gone before the man can change his mind.  Still, as he hurries toward the lake and to Zuko, he wonders what Ozai discovered amongst Sokka's answers.  The man looked amused, looked like he had gotten what he needed.

And that thought worries Sokka.

Sokka is late. 

The unpleasant feeling in Zuko's stomach speaks to his general unease and distrust of Hari Bulkan and the people within it. 

Sokka should have been here just after dusk, and now it's full dark.  Zuko's hidden bodyguard hasn't sent an alarm signal, but it still puts Zuko's teeth on edge. Something doesn't feel right; he can feel it like nails along his spine, like sharp metal on glass.

He's about to start retracing his footsteps when he sees a shadow disengage from the shrubbery and foliage on shore.  it's definitely Sokka, but he's coming from the ornamental gardens, not the palace, and he’s alone.  Where are his servants?

Zuko leaves his vantage point on the upper deck of the boat, rushing down the stairs and out, along the causeway, to greet him.  He arrives just as his guards issue their ceremonial challenge and greeting, and let Sokka pass.

Sokka looks - flustered isn't quite the word.  Maybe haunted would be a better descriptor, he thinks. "What happened? Did you see Azula?" he demands.

Sokka shakes his head. His jaw is set, expression tight.  "Let's talk in private."

Sokka takes the lead, and Zuko follows him up the stairs, knowing they are secure here and won't be bothered without ample warning.  They are as safe as they can be, he reminds himself.  Zuko feeds his chi into the two rush lamps at the top of the stairs, letting their warmth and light spill across the deck.  The tea lights on the table flicker with Zuko's agitation, and it forces him to ground his mind and emotions to steady the flame, and in turn to focus back on Sokka and what is bothering him. 

Sokka for his part is silent, settling himself cross legged at the low table, one hand resting on the table top.  He curls his hand into a fist as Zuko sits down opposite him.  Zuko waits patiently for Sokka to gather his thoughts.

"I just had a run in with Fire Lord Ozai," Sokka says. "That man is terrifying, especially when he's trying to play nice."

"Shit," Zuko says.  "I know all about Ozai when he's trying to be charming and persuasive.  What happened?"  He reaches for the flask containing the sake, and pours a cup, passing it across the table.  

"I ran into him on the way here."  Sokka throws back the cup of sake, making a face. "He started asking me a bunch of questions about my loyalty to the Fire Nation and to you.  Then he made me have tea with him in the Pavilion of Falling Rain or whatever the fuck it's called."

"The Pavilion of - " Zuko is baffled. "Okay, never mind, carry on," he adds, pouring himself a glass and taking a sip, and then another.  

Sokka lets out a deep breath and shifts, leaning an elbow on the table.  He stares over at Zuko and frowns.  "You look nice."

Zuko laughs, the sound sudden and surprised.  He can feel heat creeping along his cheekbones, flushing his bare chest.  "I'm half dressed," he points out. For you, he doesn't add.

"There's nothing wrong with my logic then," Sokka decides, pouring himself another drink.  He pulls a plate of food toward him and selects a snack, some kind of spiced meat rolled in cabbage.  “Have  you taste tested these?” he asks.

The rolls are one of Zuko's favourites.  Zuko watches him eat; spends a moment admiring the line of Sokka's body, still tense but starting to relax; the love bites littered at his neck, and Zuko knows for a fact he's got a couple on the inside of his strong thighs from their bath earlier.

Sokka finishes the roll and licks at his fingers.  It's a testament to his agitation that he doesn't turn it into a show for Zuko, but rather lets out another sigh and leans back on one hand.  He tilts his head slightly.  "Anyway, enough about Ozai, let's talk about something else, please."

"What’s bothering you?" Zuko says.  "Not just from a personal point of view, but something else. What did he ask you about?" 

Sokka sighs.  He glances to the ceiling, clearly putting his thoughts in order, before he looks back at Zuko. "There was a lot of the usual innuendo and double-speak.  He's particularly interested in my father for some reason, and kept bringing that up.  He wants to know if I knew where Hakoda is and what he has planned.  He seemed particularly concerned that I was loyal to you, and in turn the Fire Nation now that I was here."

It's Zuko's turn to frown.  "Okay, so I get the whole Hakoda thing; Ozai clearly wants to protect our shores and wants to know where his enemies are.  I'm not sure why he thinks you've got up to date information on that though?"

Sokka opens his mouth as if he's going to say something, and then closes it. Finally he says, "I haven't seen Dad since before the fall of Ba Sing Se.  Obviously."

"How long ago?" Zuko leans forward. Sokka's being vague on purpose, he'd swear on it. It sends a prickle of unease up his spine.  Zuko has no choice in this but to rely on Sokka, he has to trust he's being honest. He’s still your enemy, his brain reminds him. He still has his own agenda. "Sokka, when did you last see your father and the Sea Wolves?"

"Are you questioning my loyalty now?" Sokka drawls. "I suppose the romantic atmosphere and the alcohol is a step up from your father's offer of tea in exchange for state secrets."

Zuko knows Sokka uses cutting sarcasm as a defence mechanism, but knowing that doesn't change the fact that his words still wound, even a little.  He's not wrong, however. "Hakoda's fleet could be useful," Zuko points out.  "They will be useful for Black Sun."

"And I will find a way to get a message out to him," Sokka says. "Giving you his location will only put you at risk, along with any plans we make. The more information out there, the easier it is to break us apart if we are questioned."

Zuko nods.  Sokka is correct; it's never a good idea for one person to know everything. However, he doesn't like that Sokka is clearly withholding information from him. 

"Since we're talking about Ozai, are you going to tell me what happened on your field trip?" Sokka asks, changing the topic.

Now it's Zuko’s turn to heave out a deep sigh. He scrubs at his face - the good side - and  mentally prepares to see the evening's mood take a further nosedive.  "Father took me out to one of the northern islands.  He wanted to introduce me to the General in charge of the facility and parade me around as the Crown Prince and as his heir."  Zuko toys with his cup on the table, turning it a little.  He looks up at Sokka.  "There's no way to really sugarcoat this, but Ozai has been building a fleet of airships over the last six months.  And he's going to use them to spearhead his invasion of the Earth Kingdom."

"Airships? You mean air balloons? Fuck, this is bad." Sokka looks away; he almost looks guilty. 

"I know it's bad," Zuko exclaims.  "That's why I'm telling you! Ozai's got at least ten of these built, maybe more in another, separate location."

"I, uh, I helped to design them. The prototype at least. I thought it was destroyed when your army attacked us at the Northern Air Temple," Sokka admits.

Zuko shakes his head.  "They retrieved the prototype from the cliffside, apparently, and used it to reverse engineer the war balloon.  Father told me that he's had some of his top engineers working on something bigger, and that's what he took me to see."

"And that is?"

"They are huge airships, Sokka. The balloon is long, like a lozenge shape with a rigid frame.  And instead of a basket beneath it, it has metal cabins.  The biggest is Ozai's flagship, close to the same size as one of our mid-range naval warships.  It has crew quarters, and living quarters, and I'd probably be super-excited by the incredible engineering if Ozai wasn't planning on using them to scrub another nation from the planet's surface."

"Yeah," Sokka says faintly.  "Is that what he’s planning to use them for?  Something else to add to the list then: destroy the Fire Lord's fleet of secret airships. I'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed here." 

Zuko flops down onto his back, into the cushions. "Same." It feels like there are too many moving pieces at play here.  There's the court itself with its established factions all jostling for favour; the royal family, and the head of it all, Ozai.  Everyone playing everybody else against each other.  Factions and loyalties shift like sand in flood water, ebbing and flowing and drowning those that can't stay ahead.  It's impossible to keep track of everyone and everything.  

"Maybe we don't need to worry about everything else going on," Zuko muses. "Maybe we just need to focus on removing Ozai. We'll have Black Sun as well, and an invasion force - hopefully."

"We do need to contact my father," Sokka says.  "We need to know what he's done with my plans and how he's adapted them.  That'll give us some idea of where we need to place ourselves and who we might be able to trust."

Zuko nods.  "I feel like we are static here; stuck at the center of a maelstrom while everything flies apart around us."

"We need to step into the fray, and soon," Sokka agrees.  "Which brings me to an interesting thing that happened while you were away."

"Go on, then, tell me what you did."  Zuko pushes the flask of wine toward Sokka.  "Tell me something dramatic and ridiculous to take my mind of the clusterfuck here."

Sokka snorts.  It's unexpected and kind of hilarious, and completely Sokka, with a careless contempt for court boundaries and etiquette.  It's kinda hot, too, that Sokka really doesn't give a fuck; that even dressed 'casually' he has this artful careless grace about him that Zuko finds fascinating.  Zuko thinks that he could practice for years and never attain what Sokka has naturally.

"So, while you were away I practiced my sword play with Master Piandao," Sokka begins.  He winks at Zuko, and then says, "and then we played Pai Sho."

"Oh?" Zuko does not flush at the mention of Sokka practicing his swordsmanship skills.

Sokka leans forward.  "What are your thoughts on Piandao?" he asks.  "Has he ever mentioned anything weird like -"

The cry of a peacock-badger echoes from the trees; the sound piercing, breaking through whatever Sokka was in the middle of saying.  "Is that your look-out?" Sokka asks.

The cry echoes again.  "Yes." Zuko stands, walking toward the railing and looking out over the darkened gardens.  He can feel his fire itching just beneath the skin of his palms, the desire to protect and to defend making him antsy.

In the distance, he can see a cohort of Fire Nation guards making their way from the direction of the palace courtyard and down toward the pavilion that guards the entrance to the stone boat.  

"Are they coming this way?" Sokka moves up to stand next to Zuko, watching them approach.  

Zuko's personal guards come to attention as they draw closer, spears crossed across the entrance to the causeway.  The guard challenges the approaching soldiers, but Zuko's guard don't stand down.

"This is going to get sticky if we don't sort this out quickly," Sokka observes.

Zuko glances over to Sokka, takes in his serious expression, his hand curled on the railing like he wishes he was holding a weapon.  "Agreed," Zuko says.  "I'll go down there and find out what the disturbance is about. Wait here."

"Ohhhh, I don't think so," Sokka says.  "I'll go with you in case you need backup."

Neither of them are dressed for a fight.  Sokka doesn't even have a weapon on him; Zuko at least has his firebending if he needs it.

"Sokka, you should wait here," Zuko says, pushing away from the railing. "If they're here for me on Ozai's orders, I'd rather you weren't in the line of fire."

Sokka laughs humourlessly.  "I hate to break it to you, but you publicly named me your Consort.  If they're here for you I can guarantee they'll take me too." 

Zuko tuts, but doesn't refute Sokka.  "Fine."  He makes his way down the staircase, Sokka a shadow on his heels. He crosses the causeway, head up, posture straight.  If he's going down, he's going to do it as a prince.  He stops just behind the crossed spears of his two guards, and calls a flame into his hand.  He can always claim it's so he can see better, but he knows he's really doing it as a warning, a reminder that he's a royal firebender blessed by Agni, and not to be trifled with.   "Explain yourself, Captain," he says.  "Why the disturbance?" He doesn't recognize the man, hasn't seen him before.

The man offers him a quick, perfunctory bow.  "Crown Prince Zuko, you must come with me."

Chapter Text

"Crown Prince Zuko, you must come with me."

Zuko sizes up the man bowing before him. "I'm going to need a little more information," Zuko says.  He raises his hand, flame burning brightly in his palm, and looks over the cohort of Fire Nation soldiers here to escort him back to the palace.  "Has something happened?"  He can feel the ghost of Sokka's fingertips against the small of his back; a reminder he's there.

"Both you and Lord Sokka are commanded to return to the palace, my lord," he repeats.  "By order of Fire Lord Ozai."

Zuko grits his teeth.  He feels the brush of Sokka's fingers again before the touch disappears.  He lowers his hand, extinguishing the flame.  Zuko has no choice but to comply; to resist will put his own life in danger, and also Sokka's.  And, until he knows the reason for the summons, there’s no point in overreacting.  It could simply be Ozai being dramatic, or once again establishing his dominance over Zuko and his court.  Jumping to conclusions won't do him any good, he decides.  "Very well. Lead the way, Captain -?"

"Captain Jie, sir.  This way."

The walk back is quiet, punctuated by the rustle of the soldiers’ harness, timed footsteps on the grass and gravel, and then later on the marble of the palace hallway floors.

Captain Jie stops at the intersection of the hallway; one leading toward Zuko's apartments, the other toward where Sokka's rooms lay.  A group of four soldiers form up around Sokka, and Zuko can feel his anxiety skyrocket.  He clenches his fists, jaw tight, and gives Sokka a subtle nod.  Even if Zuko is confined to his quarters for whatever reason, he should be able to slip through the secret passages if he needs to, and eventually make his way to Sokka's rooms or close enough by.

"I will have Lord Sokka escorted to his quarters," says Captain Jie.

Zuko watches Sokka as he’s led down the hallway, surrounded by guards.  He keeps the bubbling terror at bay, the cold sweat, the thought that somehow his father has figured out what he has been planning with Sokka.  The ever present fear that both of them will pay, subject to a horrifying death for daring to attempt to overthrow the Fire Lord. When Sokka's escort has turned the corner, Zuko takes a slow, deep breath.  The walk to his doors is hurried, and there are yet more guards stationed in the corridor outside Zuko's apartments.  His regular guards are not here; Zuko has lost track of both of them since they left the stone boat.  This means Zuko has no familiar backup should shit hit the fan, and it's not a good position to be in.  Even having Min here would be a relief if he's being honest with himself.

Captain Jie gestures at the guards on the door, and they swing them open.  Zuko walks toward the doors, and then the smell hits him.

It's like a charnel house inside his apartments.  

The doors swing shut behind him and Captain Jie steps forward, toward the secondary sitting room and Zuko's office.  Zuko follows; dread building.  He knows this smell; he’s intimately familiar with it after all.

There, just outside Zuko's bedroom doors, is the remains of a body. Zuko can feel the bile rise in the back of his throat, a sharp burning need to throw up which he ruthlessly shoves back down.  A pool of congealing blood carpets the worn wooden floors, seeping into one of the woven rugs that covers the floor.  The body is burnt horribly, the smell of roasted flesh permeating the entire apartment.  Someone has thrown open all the doors to the balconies, letting in fresh air in a futile attempt to clear the apartment.

"Do you recognize the...body?" Captain Jie asks.

Zuko nods, once.  "It's my manservant, Min," he says. "I saw him just before I left to meet Lord Sokka.  I recognize some of his clothing." Some of what's left, anyway.  "Do you know who did this?" he asks Jie.

The captain shakes his head. "Not yet.  Clearly a firebender," he adds, sweeping his hand out to encompass the room. "The body has been burnt but nothing else in your rooms has caught fire or been destroyed. That suggests a targeted burst of intense fire that usually only comes from a firebender.  The blood is harder to explain."

"Someone with a grudge did this," Zuko mutters. "They attacked Min first and then burnt the body afterward."

Captain Jie raises an eyebrow. "We are working on the assumption that your manservant caught his attacker by surprise.  Maybe they were searching your rooms for something and didn't expect him to be here. Or maybe they were hoping to find you."

Zuko forces down the anger he can feel rising.  Min's death is senseless.  There is no sign of anything overturned or missing, but still Zuko forces himself to focus, to really look and make sure.  The fact of the matter is that Zuko has never felt settled here in Hari Bulkan, and his apartments show that. Anything here is a remnant of things he left behind when he was banished; old scrolls and accounts, a favourite blanket thrown over the back of the divan.  All his clothes are new; he was a child when he was banished, he's now the Crown Prince and an adult.  The jewellery he was having Min sort through earlier is still laid out in his bedroom, everything accounted for except for what he's wearing.  Zuko is not stupid enough to leave around actual evidence he's plotting against Ozai, and even less likely to commit any of it to parchment.  A spy going through his apartments would not find anything even remotely incriminating, as everything is locked in Zuko's head.

Min's death is pointless; it resolves nothing.

And it makes Zuko angry.

"There's nothing missing," he says.

He steps carefully around the body.  The smell is nauseating.  Zuko is assailed with both guilt and horror. Guilt over the fact he feels this way, that the body before him is someone in his employ he was supposed to look out for and failed to do so.  He hadn't known Min long enough to form a proper bond with him, to trust him, but he had done his duty unfailingly and (mostly) without complaint, and now he was dead, probably because of Zuko.  The horror is more personal for Zuko.  The smell of burnt flesh is something he is intimately familiar with because of his own facial scar. That scent-memory draws him into old thoughts and experiences, old memories of the moments and days after he was burned; the pain and agony, the fear, the hopelessness, the shame of it.  All these thoughts and feelings crowd at Zuko now, rising with old clamouring, spiteful voices to remind him viscerally of all his experiences, to suggest that if his father had decided not to teach him a lesson, but instead to punish him outright, his childish body might have laid like this, burnt beyond recognition, on the dias of the Agni Kai. A burnt offering to Ozai's cruelty.  

It's a reminder of what Zuko is here for, what he's joined with Sokka - his enemy - to accomplish. It's also a reminder that Ozai is not the only monster hidden within the palace walls.

Zuko can't stay here.  He can feel himself starting to spiral, his vision going grey at the edges, sounds becoming muffled and distant.

"-et you know, Prince Zuko. Your highness?"

It takes precious seconds for Zuko to realise that Captain Jie is talking to him.  He shakes his head, enough to clear it. "I'm sorry, what?" he says.

"My apologies, Prince Zuko. We will find you somewhere else to stay in the meantime," the captain says.  

Zuko takes a step back, away from the charred body.   "I will stay with Lord Sokka. Direct anyone to me there."

The captain bows, and Zuko turns on his heel to leave his room.  His two usual guards are back; they close formation around him as he makes his way down the hallways to Sokka's apartments.  Zuko no longer feels safe here; in actual fact, he's amazed he was starting to settle in at all.  Now he's reminded of the danger apparent here, both to himself and those close to him, and the quicker he can make lasting changes here the better.

"My lord, can I get you anything?"

Sokka is not doing a good job of remaining calm.  He's starting to wear a path in the thick carpet underfoot; pacing back and forth. Nothing good can come from this situation: Zuko escorted to his apartment under guard, Sokka held here separately.  The main door to his own apartments are also guarded, and Sokka’s not sure if that’s to keep him in or protect him.  He bites his lip, worrying at the skin.  What is happening to Zuko right now? Is he under house arrest? Or has something else happened?  Spirits , if Ozai had discovered something during his chat with Sokka he moved quickly - Sokka had had time to walk to the stone boat and that was all.  Although, he supposes, all Ozai would have had to do is issue a command and place them both under arrest, wouldn't he?

Fortunately, Song and Yawen were waiting here when Sokka was escorted back by the guards.  Song keeps giving Sokka concerned glances, but waits patiently to the side, a silent sentinel watching over the room.

Sokka wonders if he should dismiss Song, and maybe attempt to reach Zuko in his apartments by using the hidden passages in the walls.  He's not sure how far the passages that connect to Zuko's apartment go; whether they all join up somewhere or remain separate.

There's a disturbance outside the door suddenly; Sokka's guards calling a challenge and then muffled talking.  Sokka waves Song towards the back of this apartment, and stands his ground in front of the door.  If they are going to try to take him to prison, he's going to go down fighting instead, he decides.  The memory of being confined in that metal cage on the ship on the way here is too fresh, too raw, as is the memory of hopelessness and despair. He won't willingly go into such confinement again.  He'll make a break for it and try to escape or die trying.

When the doors swing open, Zuko bursts through, pushing past the guards in front of the door.  The motion puts Sokka on the defence, reaching for the nearest weapon, which happens to be a highly decorative metal candlestick.  Zuko stands in front of the closing doors, eyes glancing around the room.  He looks a little unfocused; skin grey, breath fast.  He doesn't look well.

Sokka takes a hesitant step toward Zuko, throwing the candlestick to the side.  "Hey, you okay?"

Zuko finally seems to realise Sokka's there, and his shoulders relax.  Then his eyes go almost comically round, and he races for the bathroom.

Sokka's intimately familiar with throwing up; he recognizes the sounds and then understands why Zuko looked so out of it.  "Song, can you get us something calming to drink? Tea maybe?"

Song bows, and makes his way toward the rear of the apartment.  He disappears from view; so that answers another question for Sokka - there's a hidden passage into and out of his rooms as well. He hears Zuko retch again, and rushes into the bathroom. As he enters, Zuko is just sitting himself up, leaning back against the cool tile of the wall. He looks dishevelled and sweaty, eyes closed and hair mussed, far from the attractive and collected Prince of the Fire Nation he saw earlier.

Sokka crouches in front of Zuko, giving him space should he want it.  He reaches out and touches Zuko on his ankle.  "I'm getting you some tea. You okay?"  Zuko lets out a shuddering sigh and pushes his hair out of his eyes.  He seems to freeze, and then clearly tries to disguise the motion.  Sokka frowns. "Zuko? Talk to me.  What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm... okay," he says, eyes fluttering open.  His gaze is a little vacant still.

"Okay as in, getting by or okay as in I'm fucked ?" Sokka asks.

Zuko looks annoyed.  He pulls one leg up to his chest and rests his arm on his knee.  It's deceptively casual, but Sokka had started to learn to read Zuko.  He's covering something up, but maybe crowding his space isn't helping.  Sokka stands up.  "Maybe I should give you some space.  I'll be outside if you want to talk."

"No - wait."  Zuko looks a little panicked.  "It's okay, you can stay."

Okay, so something has Zuko really spooked. Sokka nods, and sits down next to Zuko, back to the wall as well.  They sit in silence and the minutes pass, and eventually Zuko shifts next to Sokka, trying to get comfortable.  "We don't have to sit on the floor, you know."

"I know," Sokka says. Zuko is staring straight ahead.  His voice is soft, unsure, and Sokka doesn't ever think he's heard Zuko speak like this before.  Sokka's more used to the old Zuko; the playground bully, the yelling.  More recently he's gotten used to another side of Zuko, the thoughtful, intelligent side that speaks in a measured tone or, even better, the Zuko who talks in sensual, teasing whispers in his ear.

"Are we under arrest?" Sokka asks, "or just confined to our apartments?"

"The latter."  Zuko tips his head back, resting against the wall. "There's..ah, a body in my apartment. It's Min."

Sokka has to think for a moment, place the name within the court hierarchy. "Wait - your manservant?" Sokka turns slightly, so he can see Zuko better. "What happened?"

Zuko's eyes slide closed and then he blinks them open.  "Someone clearly attacked him, and then set fire to the body." Zuko's words are clipped and concise, probably to mask the emotion Sokka can see threatening to burst through Zuko's carefully constructed composure.  "I... I couldn't stay there. The smell was - It was - "

Sokka reaches out, touches his hand to Zuko's knee, rests it there.  Something tells him Zuko won't accept a hug, but maybe human touch will be enough for now.  Sokka can draw a direct correlation between this and what must be ongoing trauma for Zuko. He wears his scar on his face everyday - a constant reminder of his father's regard, his teachings, his punishment. Seeing what happened to Min is probably a stark reminder of what could have been.  The fact that Zuko's servant was murdered in Zuko's room shows an equally cruel mind at work - a custom-made punishment and reminder to Zuko of his past.

"Do you think your father orchestrated this?" Sokka asks.  

"I don't know." Zuko's voice comes out in a strained, rushed whisper that threatens to break.  "I hate this place. Everyone is a potential assassin, everyone wants something from someone and will do whatever they can to get it. Nobody is safe, nobody can be trusted. Everyone can be used as a weapon against each other."

Sokka strokes his hand up Zuko's knee, trying to keep his touch calm and impersonal, safe. He tries not to think about his own mother, murdered in the same fashion by some faceless Fire Nation soldier.  He grits his teeth and blocks out the images that have haunted his mind for years, of his father finding his mother's burnt body, the shattering grief that he'd tried to hide from his children.  Sokka may have been young, but he remembers it like it was yesterday.

"Stay here with me for now," Sokka whispers. "You can't go back to your rooms, not to that."

Zuko stirs a little, leaning into Sokka's shoulder, just enough to touch.  This careful reaching out, the hesitant offering of contact between them both breaks Sokka's heart and makes him want to rage; that Zuko feels he needs to test his boundaries before offering his trust or affection when he feels vulnerable. Sokka’s rage is aimed at Ozai; a monster dressed in a king's clothing, a man who sets his family and his court against each other for twisted reasons Sokka can't begin to understand.  

"C'mon," Sokka says, nugging back gently at Zuko.  He stands slowly, pulling Zuko to his feet and hustling him gently toward the bedroom.  Song has been and gone; a tray with a pot of steaming tea and two glazed cups rests on a tray beside the divan in the sitting area. Sokka nudges Zuko toward the bedroom, and then pours two cups of the hot tea.  He adds honey to his own, and leaves Zuko's as is.  He sips at his; testing the tea for poison.  More than ever he's aware they are playing dangerous games, that anything could and can be used to kill either one of them.  After a few moments with (fortunately) no reaction, Sokka carries the cups into the bedroom and passes one to Zuko.  While Sokka was in the sitting room he removed all his jewellery, his golden armbands now discarded carelessly on a side table.  

Zuko takes the tea with a murmured thanks and sips at it while Sokka pulls back the coverlet on the bed and removes his sampot.  He's left only in his loincloth, but Zuko's seen a lot more than that at this point, so Sokka's not going to worry. He slips under the covers, and Zuko puts the tea cup back on the side table, sliding in next to Sokka.  Sokka lets his arm rest along the edge of the pillow, super casually, and Zuko simply folds into his side, resting his head next to Sokka's shoulder.  Okay , Sokka thinks, pseudo-hug in progress. Gently, he curls his arm over Zuko's shoulder, pulling him a little closer.  He almost misses the whispered thank you Zuko breathes into his shoulder. He's much more aware of the way Zuko's body remains rigid in his arms for the rest of the night, like he's terrified to relax, or the way Zuko doesn't cry, even if his body seems to be desperate for relief.

Sokka promises death to Ozai over and over all night, until he finally falls into a restless slumber close to dawn.

When Sokka wakes the next morning, Zuko's side of the bed is empty.  The sheets are still warm, so he hasn't been gone long.  Sokka stretches, feeling his body start to wake properly.  

Zuko is standing in the middle of Sokka's sitting room, a cup of Ca Phe in hand, which he sips distractedly while two servants Sokka hasn't seen before wrestle him into his armour.  Sokka pulls the creased sampot from the floor where he left it last night and ties it around his waist, and then joins him in the sitting room.

Zuko is already layers deep into dressing; his undertunic in place, pants and boots on. His hair is tied in a perfect topknot, his prince's crown a bright flame of gold to match his eyes.  His two attendants place his black and red cuirass on, buckling it in place while Zuko watches Sokka approach.  His expression is guarded, as though he expects Sokka to immediately call him out for his lack of composure last night. He holds out his arm as the attendant buckles one of his grieves to his forearm, and then the other.  

Sokka slips through Zuko's guard, leaning in to nuzzle at Zuko's neck just below the ear. They've got to keep up appearances, and with Zuko a captive participant Sokka decides this is the perfect time to fuel palace rumours once more. Zuko freezes, as if he senses Sokka is about to do something he'd normally object to.

"You're kinda hot in your armour," Sokka murmurs. "I can't decide if my flight, fight or fuck instincts want to kick in, and which one is top of the list to indulge first."

One of the servants lets out a startled cough, and the other finishes buckling Zuko's other grieve with an air of long-suffering commitment.   Zuko is blushing, but he follows it up with a dagger's glare that brings back a lot of memories for Sokka.  Yeah, he's kinda hot in a I-want-to-kill-you kind of way, Sokka thinks.

"The other cup is for you," Zuko says, barrelling through the tension. "It's Ca Phe. You said you liked it."

Yep, Zuko's embarrassed, because he's being belligerently thoughtful in a bossy sort of way. Sokka grins. "Aw, Sweetness, you shouldn't have."  

The other servant clears his throat - it sounds like a laugh - and bows to Zuko.  "Is there anything else you need, Prince Zuko?"

"No, thank you." He waits until his attendants have left and turns to Sokka.  "Must you?" he says, arching an eyebrow.

Sokka nods.  "Yes. Gotta keep up appearances."

"By embarrassing me?" Zuko puts his cup down on the tray and checks his reflection in one of the mirrors, adjusting his cuirass.

Sokka steps up behind him, hands on his shoulders, and watches him through their reflections in the mirror.  They're almost the same height, but Zuko looks a lot more bulked out in his armour, his slim waist and hips more defined when he's dressed like this. He is hot; Sokka wasn't lying a moment ago.  Seeing Zuko like this sends a lot of mixed signals ricocheting around in Sokka's brain; he can appreciate Zuko's appearance, his grace, but those thoughts are in direct warfare with the adrenaline rush he gets, the survival instincts that want to kick in.  Before Sokka was captured, the only time he'd ever see Zuko dressed like this was before or during a battle. This armour signals danger to Sokka, and while Zuko's hair has grown out and softened his features, it still sends a thrill of adrenaline hurtling through his system.  And yeah, Sokka's wires are definitely crossed in his head because now he welcomes the rush, the way his body comes awake with excitement when he sees Zuko dressed like this. "Let's spar later," he says, leaning in to press his lips against Zuko's neck.  He keeps eye contact with Zuko through the mirror, and while he feels Zuko tense a little he doesn't pull away; in fact Zuko tilts his head a tiny amount to give Sokka more room.  Sokka doesn't even think Zuko realises he's done it - bared his throat to the enemy.

Yeah, Sokka is a little worked up, isn't he?

"I’ve been summoned by Ozai to a private counsel.  Azula’s also going to be there, but I’m not sure what it’s about.  I'm not sure how long he’s going to keep me there," Zuko says, turning to face Sokka.

Sokka takes a moment for his brain to catch up, arousal fizzling out at the turn of the conversation. " Is it about what happened yesterday?"

Zuko sighs.  "I don’t know, the message didn’t say."

"Is it possible you think he thinks you - or I - was involved?" Sokka steps back and gives Zuko some breathing room.

Zuko tugs at one of his grieves until he's happy with it.  "I think if he suspected either of us we'd be in a prison cell next to Uncle."  His voice is matter-of-fact, like he's seen various coups and plays for power enacted before, with similar results.  "It's more likely he wants to decide what to do next. If he decides this was a direct threat to his acknowledged heir - me - it's likely shit is going to hit the fan and nobody will be safe from the fallout."

"Might be time for a vacation," Sokka muses. "I don't like the sound of being on constant lockdown.  That will make things... difficult for us."

"Agreed." Zuko looks Sokka over, eyes tracing an invisible trail down Sokka's body, and Sokka can almost feel it like a ghostly caress. His golden eyes snap back up to Sokka's, like he's just realised what he's doing. "Hopefully this won't be a long meeting. I'll find you here later?"

Sokka grins.  "I'll be here. I might visit Piandao in the meantime if I'm allowed past the doors."

"I'll make sure of it. Stay on guard, just in case." Zuko gives him a final, searching look, before turning to the door and slipping out.

Sokka is absolutely going to remain on guard, he doesn't need to be told twice.

Once Sokka has bathed and is dressed, he heads out into the gardens, and toward the training grounds.  He's hoping he'll 'randomly' bump into Master Piandao - he doesn't want to send a message, verbal or otherwise, in case he's been watched.  In light of recent events with Min, Sokka doesn't want to risk putting himself further in the spotlight and questions being asked - questions he'd have a hard time answering.  Song has sent Yawen after him, following at what he considers a polite distance, and Sokka manages to give him the slip, finding his way in a roundabout fashion to the Pavilion of Falling Rain.  He waits a while, until he's sure nobody has followed him, and then he retrieves the lotus Pai Sho tile from its hiding place, concealing it in a fold of his tunic.  

He spends another twenty minutes there, watching the frogs eat bugs on the lily pads, and making it look like he intended to be here all along.  Rushing off immediately after retrieving the tile would have looked suspicious, and if his presence here is reported to Ozai he needs to be able to say that yes, he was here admiring the view, and not have it look suspicious.  He even removes his boots and soaks his feet in the cool waters.  Maybe he's committing an unforgivable breach of etiquette in doing so, but honestly, he doesn't care.  The frogs and the dragonflies don't seem to mind either.

He tries to organise his thoughts in preparation for his conversation with Piandao.  The man is intelligent, quite often one or two steps ahead, both in his abilities with a sword and with his mind.  Sokka needs to be careful; to make sure not to expose his own plans.  That's part of the danger of the game; the risk of exposure while trying to uncover the thing you want most.

Once he feels enough time has passed, he sets off for the training grounds.  There are no guards here today, the space is empty, the covered walkways devoid of observers. It's like all the courtiers and attendants have decided it's better to stay out of sight.

And yet, barefoot on the sand is Piandao, working steadily through what looks to be a complicated set of kata.  Sokka sits on one of the benches and observes.  Piandao has his eyes shut, his body aligned as he moves fluidly through each kata, graceful as he switches from one to the next.  The jian he's wielding flashes in the sun, the blade catching the light in short, flickering bursts.  It's beautiful to watch; both man and weapon in perfect harmony, and Sokka hopes that one day he'll have even a fraction of Piandao's poise and expertise.

When Piandao is finished he turns to Sokka and opens his eyes.  "I thought I sensed someone watching me," he says. "Greetings, Lord Sokka."  He bows his head; a quick acknowledgement.

Sokka stands up and returns the bow. "Master Piandao. I thought I might find you here."

Piandao raises an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

Sokka takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly.  He takes a moment to observe the man in front of him, to consider if he's making the right decision here.  What he does next could potentially impact the plans he and Zuko have, depending on what Piandao reveals.  Is he making the right choice? Will what Piandao have to offer that might help them with Black Sun, or is he just putting them in the path of a different, just as complicated set of plans?  Honestly, Sokka thinks he can only deal with one coup at a time.

He reaches into his sash, and pulls out the lotus tile.  He holds it up between his fore and middle fingers.  "If I return this to you, be aware we come as a matched set," Sokka says. "Zuko and I... it's complicated. But either you accept us both or not at all.  You seemed unsure of his intentions when we spoke before."

"You are not afraid to lay out your expectations," Piandao says. "That's impressive, considering you don't know what I am offering. I knew I chose correctly the moment I met you."

Sokka gestures to the benches in one corner of the yard.  Together, they walk over and take a seat.  Piandao rests his jian against a weapons rack, out of reach, Sokka notes. He's showing he's willing to listen to Sokka. Good.

Now they are less exposed to potential observers, Sokka feels a little more comfortable. "What is it exactly you have against Zuko?" he asks.

Piandao smiles; it barely touches his eyes. It’s a smile just for show, for ettiquette's sake.  "Tell me Sokka, why do you follow him? He murdered the Avatar and, some might say, destroyed any hope of the world achieving balance. That makes him the enemy of most of the known world. The Avatar was your friend, a teammate, and now you are in bed with your enemy. One thing I ask of you is this: are you tied to Prince Zuko because he owns you, or because you wish to be with him?"

Now it's Sokka's turn to offer a self-deprecating smile in return. "I'm glad we are speaking plainly at last. Prince Zuko and I have an arrangement, separate to the circumstances you speak of. This arrangement benefits us both and will have wider connotations in the future."

"Your words are like calligraphy," Piandao observes. "Very pretty, but ultimately just an artistic interpretation of the wider truth."

Now Sokka does smirk.  "And you can hold an entire conversation amongst the tiles of the Pai Sho board, my lord.  My offer stands: Zuko and I form a Harmony, and we cannot be split across the board. This is non-negotiable. I understand if you need time to come to a decision, but I offer you this: your Orchid tile wasn't removed from the board by the Rhododendron tile. You should look elsewhere, although maybe just as close to home."

Piandao gives Sokka a hundred-yard stare, his quick mind obviously recategorizing people and events.  "Surprising," he says in response.  "This changes the layout of the board considerably.  I thank you for the return of my missing tile."  He holds out his hand and Sokka places the white lotus tile in his palm.  "Why don't you bring Prince Zuko to sword practice tomorrow?"

Sokka smiles, and this time Piandao returns it with a bow.  Sokka waits until Piandao is gone and then he slumps back onto the seat, staring up at the wooden ceiling.  He feels like a noodle, strings cut.  He didn't realise how tense he'd been during their conversation, and just how much he felt rested on Piandao accepting Zuko with his secrets.

Now, he just needs to get Zuko on board as well.  

When Zuko enters the throne room it is empty, however light spills from one of the antechambers off the main room.  Zuko supposes this is where his father must be, which also signals that he still intends to keep this meeting private.  Zuko is not sure if that bodes well for him or not.

He enters the antechamber to find Ozai there, talking with his captain of the Palace Guards, Zanshen.  Captain Zanshen is in his mid-forties, well-built and handsome, clean-shaven, which is unusual for Fire Nation residents. It's always seemed to Zuko that once a man hits the other side of twenty-five, they suddenly start sprouting facial hair and bushy beards. He's privately sworn he's never going to do it; Zuko will remain facial hair free until the day he dies.

"Crown Prince Zuko, welcome. Captain Zanshen was just explaining what he had discovered during his investigation into your attendant Min's death," Ozai explains. He looks rather satisfied and that sets off little alarm bells in Zuko's head. Things have never gone well for him when Ozai has the upper hand, have they?  "I thought you should be here for the captain's report."

"Of course, th-"

"I'm here, father." Azula bursts through the doorway in a rush of manic energy, interrupting Zuko mid-sentence. Zuko bites his tongue; now is not the time to start an argument with Azula, not in front of Ozai. Especially not now that it appears Captain Zanshen has information about Min's murder.

Ozai turns to Azula, his heavy robes making a shhhhing noise on the marble floor, the heavy embroidery and goldwork dragging across the floor as he moves. "You are late, Azula," Ozai says.  Disapproval rings in his voice. "I summoned you an hour ago and you have kept not just I, but Crown Prince Zuko and Captain Zanshen waiting. I trust you have a good reason for your tardiness?"

Zuko knows Azula; knows she was probably late because being the last to arrive would draw Ozai's attention to her.  In the past, this may have been a sort of positive reinforcement for her, but now, judging by Ozai's expression, not so much.

There is danger here, Zuko realises, but he can't make out the shape of it yet.

"I'm sorry father," Azula begins, bowing her head.  "My attendants were incompetent, and kept me later than I intended."

Azula is predictable; someone else is always to blame for her actions. Ozai seems unimpressed, but turns back to Zanshen. "Captain, why don't you recap what you've told me?"

"Of course." Zanshen gives Ozai a bow and resumes his parade rest, hands behind his back, stance wide.  "I have conducted a thorough investigation into the murder of Crown Prince Zuko's attendant, Min. I have personally questioned any potential witnesses to the crime, along with those who discovered the body," he begins.

"The murder," Ozai says. "Prince Zuko's attendant was singled out specifically."

That has Zuko's attention suddenly, and when he chances a quick glance at Azula she looks surprised at the clarification as well. Ozai makes it sound personal, and that heightens Zuko's sense of impending danger. Things haven't clicked in his head yet, but he can feel hints of something larger at play starting to come together.  Sokka would probably understand what's going on a lot quicker, and he wishes he was here.

"Yes, Your Majesty, the murder," Zanshen says.  "It appears that Crown Prince Zuko's servant, Min, was caught by surprise. We initially suspected that the Crown Prince was the target of the attack.  However, all the servants we questioned made it very clear that the Crown Prince left publically to meet his consort for dinner an hour prior to the attack."

Ozai nods.  "Ah, yes. I had tea with Lord Sokka myself."

Zuko has a sudden thought that maybe Ozai planned his meeting with Sokka - so did Ozai order Min killed? And why? What does Ozai have to gain from his death? Something still doesn't add up.  

What also doesn't add up is the fact that Ozai isn't holding this meeting publically.  Usually, the throne room would be packed to the gills with gossiping courtiers, jockeying for a prime view of the proceedings and the resultant fallout of those caught in the crosshairs.  The room echoes now with Zanshen's voice, empty except for Zuko and Azula, Ozai and his guard.  Zuko can feel dread start to creep in, and he's glad he's wearing his armour. It feels like protection against what is going to happen next - whatever that may be.

"So if Prince Zuko wasn't the intended victim," Ozai gestures to Zuko, "then the Crown Prince's attendant must have been.  Why?"

"Did the servants see anyone else enter or leave, Captain?" Zuko asks.

Ozai graciously allows Zuko to breach etiquette by interrupting, and Zuko suddenly feels like he's fallen into a carefully laid trap. He can feel the lock snap shut behind him.

"That hardly matters," Azula snaps. "Father, he's only Zuzu's servant. Surely there are more important things to discuss here."

"You will be quiet, Azula." Ozai turns to face her, expression thunderous.  "Captain Zanshen, please enlighten us as to the list of people that entered the Crown Prince's chambers after he left yesterday evening."

Zanshen looks toward Azula and then back to Ozai. His voice does not waver, sure in the knowledge he has gathered.  Zuko thinks he is a man that takes his job seriously, and takes pride in his own competency. "There was only one person seen entering Crown Prince Zuko's apartments last night, and that was Princess Azula."

"That's preposterous," Azula bites out.  She crosses her arms; a picture of annoyed disapproval.  "How dare you insinuate that -"

"Azula," Ozai cuts over her. "Are there witnesses, Captain?"

Zanshen nods. "I have in custody two of Prince Zuko's lesser attendants, who overheard an argument between Min and Princess Azula.  The attendants were entering via the servant's passages, and left immediately upon realising it was the Princess inside.  They wished to provide Her Highness with privacy."

"You are going to take the word of two slaves over mine, father?" Azula demands. "Servants can be replaced; it is nothing."

"Nothing?" Ozai shouts. "I will not have games played in my court! I will not have your petty squabbles causing interference, Azula. It is not your place to play judge, jury and executioner because you don't like something the Crown Prince - MY chosen heir - has done.  Here, in my court, I am the law and you would do best to remember that."

"But fath-"

"Azula, you will learn to hold your tongue," Ozai barks out.

Azula looks impotent with rage.  She turns to Zuko, eyes wild. "What if I told you that Zuko did not-"

She's going to say it, Zuko thinks. She's going to tell Ozai that it was she who killed the Avatar, not Zuko. It's not going to make a difference though, is it? Just as Zuko told her, either way she's undermined her position. She can't come back from this, not now - and not for the reasons she suspects. Now, Ozai has made a stand over Min's murder, and the Fire Lord can never be wrong; that's the law.

"Captain Zanshen, please escort Princess Azula to her rooms and make sure she remains there."

Zanshen bows.  "Of course, Fire Lord Ozai."  He turns to Azula and gestures to the doorway. "Please come with me."

Azula moves toward Ozai, determined to speak, but he cuts her off with a raised hand. "You will remain in your apartments until I have decided how to deal with this. If you are a true heir of Agni and the Fire Nation, you will abide by my decree, Azula."

Azula's mouth snaps shut.  She's impotent with rage, but manages to wrestle herself back under control.  She stalks from the room, Captain Zanshen following behind.  Zuko can just make out a cohort of palace guards surrounding her, prepared to escort her back to her rooms.

Zuko curls his hands into fists behind his back; feeling the bite of his nails into his palms.  The pain allows him to focus, to not break character. He can't show weakness in front of Ozai. He has to remain strong, because this could just as easily be him if their positions were reversed. Sweat prickles at his nape, the small of his back, and yet he manages to keep his expression blank and unaffected.

Because now Zuko understands.  The trap Ozai has laid isn't for him after all; it's for Azula.  Azula is a powerful firebender of the royal line; she's thirsty for power, and in Ozai's eyes, it's only a matter of time before things come to a head between them.  Ozai wants her gone - out of sight, out of mind. Just how much of this he orchestrated Zuko isn't sure, but Azula's ego has proven to be her downfall. Ozai knows how to play Azula, how to use her anger and ego to nudge her in the direction he wants.  

And now, Min has paid the ultimate price for this royal powerplay, and that makes Zuko angry.  He hates the court, the constant struggle to win. Generations of his own family have nurtured the animosity he sees here, the ambition to win at all costs.  No more.  Zuko will end it here with Ozai, before the world pays a further price for the Fire Nation's hubris.

Ozai looks satisfied as he watches Azula depart.  He turns to Zuko and raises an eyebrow, as if to say, well, what do you think?

"What will you do with Azula?" Zuko asks.

Ozai smiles. It's cold, and doesn't touch his eyes.  "I will find her a husband. She won't be able to challenge me if she's busy producing secondary heirs for the Dragon Throne. Maybe you should also begin searching for a suitable partner to provide you with heirs, Prince Zuko."

The last thing Zuko is going to do is voluntarily put another child through what he's been through. "I'm not sure I have the time - or the energy - currently for that, my lord," he says. "Lord Sokka keeps me busy enough as it is."

"I'm sure he does." Ozai sweeps from the room, leaving Zuko, alone.

And now the room is clear, he's finally able to breathe once more.

Chapter Text

Sokka has not been outside the palace since he arrived as a prisoner of the Fire Nation. No longer imprisoned on the ship that brought him here, instead he's been caged this last month inside the palace.  He's swapped one prison for another; from an iron cage to a gilded cell with gilded restraints. But as of tonight, he's going to finally be able to leave the confines of the palace and the caldera.

Piandao has invited Sokka and Zuko to a dinner party at his house, which lies in one of the more affluent areas of the city outside the caldera itself. Despite having been issued an invitation by a resident, Sokka had been required to follow formality and still request permission to leave from the Keeper of the Door.  Apparently the Fire Nation doesn't like their consorts traipsing around outside of the palace.

Zuko is dressed formally, wearing long silk robes that are belted at the waist, with a high collar and loose sleeves.  Sokka has dressed to match him in complementary colours, although he’d baulked at wearing something so stuffy and formal - even if Zuko looks sexy in it.  Instead he’s gone for something less formal - a silk sampot and an embroidered sleeveless tunic, with gold bands at his biceps and his ankles. He feels much more able to deal with potential threats if he can move freely, and Fire Nation court robes don't do that. "Don't you feel like you might strangle yourself in that robe?" Sokka says, waving a hand vaguely in Zuko’s direction. "I mean, you look good, sort of rigidly royal but hot?"

Zuko raises an eyebrow. "You wear a choker daily," he says, ignoring Sokka's comment. "How can a silk robe be more confining than that?"

Sokka eyes Zuko's robe; deep red with gold embroidery on the loose sleeves and around his neck. "You have all that embroidery on it," Sokka points out. "Doesn't it annoy you?"

Zuko shrugs.  "I got used to it - we always wore mostly formal clothing even when I was a child. While you're here you'll have to do the same."

Sokka glances in the mirror and strokes a hand down the front of his shirt.  "Nope, I'm gonna avoid super formal court wear for as long as I can," he decides. Zuko keeps glancing at Sokka when he thinks Sokka isn't looking.  He's clearly checking Sokka out, but trying to hide it, and Sokka turns away so Zuko can't see his smirk.  Tonight Sokka has allowed Song to put his hair up in a top knot, and Zuko has lent him his garnet hair stick.  It makes a tiny tinkling noise when Sokka turns his head.

"Okay, I'm ready," Sokka says, tugging at the sash around his waist.  "How far do we have to walk?"

"Walk?" Zuko looks baffled, but amused. 

Sokka has a sinking feeling, and feels like he's about to be played.  "Yeah, walk .  That thing you do where you step forward and before you overbalance and fall flat on your face."

Now Zuko is grinning.  "The Crown Prince doesn't walk, Sokka.  He is bundled into a palanquin and carried to his destination."

"And can the Crown Prince change his mind and actually walk? I'd like to see some of the city I've been incarcerated in."

The smile drops off Zuko's face at the reminder.  "Just humour me until we're out of the caldera, Sokka. Then we can walk. It will be better to be seen to be cooperating, rather than drawing attention to ourselves."

Sokka knows Zuko is right. Creating ripples of resistance while inside the palace or the caldera district wouldn't be a smart idea, not right now.  

Together they make their way out of the royal quarters, and down past the throne room and the public receiving areas of the palace.  Hung high on the walls of the main corridor is a portrait of every Fire Lord ever to hold power, starting with Zuko’s distant ancestors and moving forward. The older artwork has small artistic changes to it, but the style doesn't change much.  It's clear the Fire Nation prefers to stick to what it knows, to what's 'correct' rather than encouraging growth and individualism. That will be it's downfall in the war, Sokka thinks. Their rigid attitude makes them predictable - it makes Ozai, to an extent, predictable.  Sokka will use that information when he finalises their plans.

The palanquin is already waiting outside the gates to the palace.  As Sokka walks past the gates, there are a precious few steps to where the palanquin waits, one servant holding back the curtain.  For a brief moment, Sokka seriously considers bolting.  He can feel freedom, right here, right in these few seconds, like fresh air and blue sky, big, rolling waves and cool water. He wants to feel unfettered and free, and it takes Zuko's gentle touch on his wrist to pull him back.  

Rage bubbles up in Sokka at Zuko's reminder, and for a moment he feels that Zuko is as much his jailor as Ozai.  The only thing that stops Sokka from running is the thought that Piandao might hold valuable information.  Still - if he doesn't, if this is grandstanding, Sokka thinks, he will still have the opportunity to slip away later in the evening.  It's actually perfect, the more he thinks on it.  Zuko will be engaged with Piandao in what will probably boil down to a passive-agressive verbal sparring session, and all Sokka will need to do is use the distraction to remove himself from the vicinity.  Until he sees the area where Piandao lives, however, he won't have any way to know whether he'll be able to escape successfully.

Reluctantly, he climbs into the palanquin, Zuko sliding in next to him.  The swaying motion is weird; difficult to anticipate, not to mention how excruciatingly slow their progress is.  Sokka figures Zuko already knows this, but he seems resigned to the slow pace, sitting formally, back ramrod straight and gaze burning a hole into the diaphanous drapes that enclose them within.

"We should probably discuss this evening," Sokka says.  He crosses his legs at the ankles and gets comfortable, leaning back on one hand.  He's used to sitting like this; it's a very Water Tribe thing.  "How do you want to handle this if things don't go well?"

Zukko turns his body enough to look at Sokka. "You haven't actually said what Piandao wants from us. From you , specifically."

"I don't know, which is why we're attending this dinner," Sokka says. "I've already told him that we come together, only as a team, and he either takes us both or not at all."

Zuko smirks; it's self deprecating and devoid of humour.  "He doesn't trust me, does he? He thinks I killed the Avatar."

"Is this something you want to come clean about and tell him?" Sokka prompts.  In retrospect, he wishes they could have had this conversation beforehand, but the palace is not safe, and if they spend all their time at the stone boat Ozai might begin to ask a lot of questions.  

Zuko sighs.  He picks at the edge of his formal robes, a nervous gesture. He makes him seem more human suddenly. "I think we need to know his intentions first. If he's just going to complicate the situation around what we are trying to do, we need to withdraw."

"Agreed, that's what I was thinking." Sokka pulls the curtain to the side just enough to see a sliver of the side of the caldera as they descend down toward the market and harbour areas.  The lights of the harbour twinkle in the distance, and beyond that, the dark sea, deep and vast.  "Let's hear what he has to say first and then we can decide what we might want to share."

"I don’t think that we should share anything this evening," Zuko says. "We listen to his words, and we regroup afterward to decide what we do next. Azula's fall from grace has only taught me one thing; that Ozai's favour is fickle, and dangerous. It's reminded me that we need to move quickly, and quietly, to achieve our goal. The  more people involved, the easier we are betrayed."

Zuko has a point.  There's a seductive element to wanting to bring like-minded individuals in on their plans, but past experience has always taught Sokka that striking quick and fast is the better course of action.  The more players involved, the longer the wait until they can strike. Things can go wrong; loyalties can be bought and change, betrayals happen. Zuko has probably seen all of this over and over again here in his father's court.

"Anyway, now's as good a time as ever to give you this," Zuko says, interrupting Sokka's musings.  He reaches beneath one of the pillows and pulls a package, wrapped in red silk, from beneath it.  He holds the package out with both hands, head bowed slightly, and Sokka takes the package carefully.  

It's surprisingly heavy.

The shape beneath the wrapped silk is familiar, and Sokka feels his heart soar for a moment as his fingers curl carefully around it.  "Is this my -"

Zuko leans forward and places a finger against Sokka's lips.  The message is clear; the return of this item is secret.  It is, after all, a weapon.

Sokka fumbles hastily as he moves to unwrap the package, emotions rising.  The silk falls away and there, in his hand, is his boomerang.  He hasn't seen this since the fight in Ba Sing Se.  "I thought this was gone forever," he whispers shakily, searching Zuko’s face. "How do you have this?"

"It was on the ground in the courtyard of the Earth King’s palace," Zuko says. "I was looking for clues as to where the rest of your team went, where they might be headed. I found this under a body." Zuko glances down to the boomerang.  He reaches over and runs his fingertips carefully along the sharp edge of the blade. "There were a lot of bodies," he says, looking up into Sokka's eyes.

Sokka swallows.  The air feels close suddenly; charged.  Zuko isn't laying blame - there is no blame in war. Soldiers die. But the way he reaches for Sokka's weapon, the way he handles it, Sokka can't place what's going on in Zuko's head.

"If I fail," Zuko begins, and he looks down, refusing to meet Sokka's eyes, "If I fail and you have the opportunity to finish what we started, do so. If not, I want you to walk away.  Go back to your life and live it."

"Zuko - " Sokka begins.

Zuko shakes his head.  "This is a gift from me to you." He nudges the boomerang away, pushing it back toward Sokka. "Use it to get out if you have to."

"Okay." Sokka nods.  He reaches out and strokes his fingers along Zuko's strong jaw line, and waits until Zuko makes eye contact again. "But only if you promise not to go out on some kind of suicidal attempt to save me. We plan, and we execute this to the best of our abilities? We get out together and then you save the Fire Nation."

Zuko nods. “Okay.”

The litter comes to a swaying halt, and there's the sound of voices outside. "Shall I bring this with me? In case things go south?"

Zuko shakes his head.  "No, I'm armed." Sokka has no idea where he's hidden a weapon, but maybe that's why he's wearing a long formal robe. Sokka wraps the boomerang and hides it back under the pillows, down the side of the palanquin's frame. "Thank you."  Now would be the perfect time to kiss him his brain supplies helpfully. Sokka drops his hand and Zuko leans away, the moment broken.  Sokka feels a little dazed, and Zuko looks equally off-kilter, cheeks flushed with the faintest of pink. Huh .  Sokka could kick himself now, couldn't he? He'd made a no-kissing rule, and Zuko can be an irritating, honourable bastard, and is now going to abide by Sokka's stupid rule until his dying breath. Sokka is an idiot, because now he really does want to kiss Zuko. He wonders what his lips feel like, how he kisses.  He knows Zuko can be passionate, and enthusiastic in bed, and he wonders if when he kisses, he puts the same kind of passion into it.

The curtains are pulled open, effectively derailing Sokka's thoughts like a splash of cold water to the face.  Zuko slips from the palanquin on the other side. He steps out, talking to one of the bearers, and then leans back in, holding out a hand for Sokka to take. The palanquin has stopped beneath the shade of a flowering tree, blossoms scenting the evening air with a subtle perfume.  "Shall we walk from here?" he asks with a smirk, as if the last few moments had never happened.

Zuko hasn’t been here in a long time.  There was a time, when he was a prince and in favour, that he would visit his sword master - Piandao - at his city house.  Now, Piandao spends most of his time at his castle in Shu Jing.

So, it’s interesting that he’s chosen now to return to Hari Bulkan and the royal court.  Zuko is happy to take up his training with his former master; one can never get too much training, especially in the martial arts, and he’s glad Sokka is benefiting from it as well.  

This evening is important, because he’s finally going to find out why Piandao has been so interested in Sokka.  It’s clear he’s not toying with Sokka simply because he’s Zuko’s newly appointed First Consort.  Piandao has never been interested in court intrigue.  Politics, yes - but Zuko thinks that maybe Piandao has been much more involved in shadow politicking than he had assumed.  It’s clear Piandao has many more layers than Zuko had previously thought.

Once he’s free of the palanquin, Sokka takes a moment to settle his clothing and look around. Zuko observes Sokka; watches the way his keen gaze takes in his surroundings, cataloguing the neighbourhood and, if he knows Sokka, noting potential escape routes.  He looks the picture of elegance, his lean, muscled body displaying his expensive clothing, the jewellery he wears. Every step he takes is accompanied by the tiny tinkling sound of the jewels in the hairstick Zuko lent him, and it only now occurs to him that he must make the same sounds when he wears it.  It’s a distracting piece of frippery, tucked into Sokka’s thick hair, pulled up into a perfect formal topknot.  

Piandao's estate is nestled in a quiet, affluent district outside of the caldera, and surrounded on both sides by equally large houses with gated entrances.  The narrow road they are on is laid with stone, and meanders up and down, following the slope of the main caldera.  Mature trees and bushes overhang the street, making the walk seem almost private.  They leave the palanquin with its bearers, and walk down the lane.  Sokka threads his hand through Zuko's arm, presenting the perfect picture of a courting couple, on a night out.  Sokka servant Yawen follows at a polite distance, along with Zuko's two guards bringing up the rear.  

"I can almost pretend we're alone," Sokka says in a stage whisper, leaning in.

Zuko laughs.  "Now wouldn't that be an idea," he says, voice pitched low. He stops at a pair of tall wooden doors, carved with a stylized white lotus. Zuko’s guard knocks, and the  door is opened by Fat, Piandao’s long time manservant and butler.  As Zuko steps through the gate with Sokka, he’s transported back in time.  Not much has changed here; the garden is filled with the same plants and shrubbery, although the trees are larger.  There’s the pool in the middle of the courtyard, and it’s surrounded on three sides by rooms, joined by a covered walkway.  Zuko is surprised by how secret this place feels to him as an adult; the sounds of the city and harbour do not intrude here.  The shade of the trees hide the house from the street, the doors block all visitors unless they have an invitation.  As a child, and as a teen, Zuko had simply taken this for granted; it was his swordmaster’s house.  He had never thought to consider why this place was so hidden, especially when the estates of other nobles chose to show off their wealth and favour.

Maybe now Zuko will find out why, exactly, this place is so private.

Piandao walks out to greet them, offering Zuko a perfect bow, and then gives Sokka a nod and a smile.  "Thank you for joining me for dinner," Piandao says.  "Let me show you inside."  He takes a step to the side, gesturing for Zuko to enter.  He climbs the steps, the way familiar even after so many years.  

The rooms have not changed much in the intervening years of Zuko's exile.  The walls are plastered white and complimentary wood furnishings decorate the main room.  The shoji screens are left open, inviting visitors to step further into the house, to explore.  They come to another large room set with cushions, low tables set to the side.  Zuko does not sit - not immediately.  He steps up to the edge of the room and onto the wooden veranda.  Sokka releases his arm, content to let him wander, while Piandao offers him a drink.  Their conversation fades into the background; mere pleasantries and general conversation, designed to ease everyone into the evening.  

Zuko is on edge, despite himself.  He can feel the press of his dagger against the outside of his thigh where it's strapped in place.  One can never be too careful; especially stepping into a situation like this.  Piandao might wear an affable face, simply a master of swords, a learned man, but he is clearly more.  

How much more remains to be seen.

"Prince Zuko, will you join us?"

Zuko turns.  Piandao is watching him, hands clasped behind his back.  He's dressed similarly to Zuko in a long formal robe of black silk with a high collar.  Just as Zuko is armed, it's entirely likely that Piandao is as well, not to mention the room is probably filled with hidden weaponry, or is at least within easy reach.  Zuko isn't overly concerned about Sokka; he's more than shown Zuko over the years that he's capable of turning anything into a deadly weapon, and using it with devastating effect.

Zuko turns back into the room, joining Sokka. "Sorry, I was just admiring the gardens," he says.  "They've grown since I was last here."

Piandao smiles.  "The garden is something I pride myself on.  I have left it untended the last few years, so I am surprised, and yet pleased, to find it still blossoms and grows without my instruction."

Zuko can scent court speak a mile off, but this feels like more.  Sokka is looking at Zuko with a considering, thoughtful expression, and Zuko knows Piandao is talking less about his shrubbery and more about... something else. Agni , Zuko hates all the double entendres and layered insinuation.  Sokka is the budding diplomat and spy; Zuko is good at hitting things and yelling.  That's why they work so well together.  Still, he should pay careful attention. He can admit he's working outside his wheelhouse, but he's not stupid either.  He shouldn't let Sokka carry the weight of their plans alone, he decides.  He needs to be active here, to offer support.

Piandao gestures to the cushions placed in a circle, and Zuko moves to take a seat.  He sits nearest the door, Sokka moving gracefully into position next to him, with Piandao sitting opposite.  Fat, and Yawen, bring in lacquered trays of foods, placing them on the tables set before each person.  

"The food looks beautiful," Sokka says, leaning forward to admire the dishes. "It looks like art, and I'm almost reluctant to eat it."

Each tray holds a number of small, yet complimentary dishes filled with food; vegetables cut into flowers and vines, bowls of seasoned fish, a kaleidoscope of colours and textures. The presentation is as good as anything served at the royal table.  Even the chopsticks are made of jade.

Piandao and Sokka make small talk, discussing the court and the gardens, content to pick at their food.  Sokka turns to Zuko occasionally, drawing him into the conversation for a few moments before Zuko's attention wanders again.  He can't help it; he feels out of place here. He knows Piandao blames him for the Avatar's death. He knows Piandao has only invited him here because Sokka has insisted.  

"Where are your usual household servants?" Zuko drops the comment like a dead weight into the conversation. He knows he's being rude, but part of him wants to see how Piandao will spin it.

Piandao smiles; that polite, court smile he's so good at wearing.  For a moment, Zuko wonders what he looks like when he smiles naturally.  "I gave them the evening off, Your Highness," Piandao says.  He puts his chopsticks down on the rest, and folds his hands neatly in his lap. " I thought it might be more conducive to our conversation if we didn't have to worry about eavesdroppers, or spies," he says plainly.

Zuko's got to give him credit for honesty this time, but then he supposes Zuko and Sokka are not the only ones in danger; Piandao is just as guilty as them when it comes to plotting potential treason it seems.  

"And you trust Yawen?" Sokka interrupts. "He's my servant, not yours.  How would you know if he's trustworthy?"

A small smile graces Piandao's lips.  "Yawen works for me, Lord Sokka. I made sure he was placed with you when you arrived."

Sokka flushes red; an indication he's annoyed. In the past, Sokka would most definitely have had something to say about it, Zuko notes, but right now he's struggling to remain calm.  Interesting.  

"And how much information has Yawen been reporting back to you?" Sokka asks blandly.  

Oh, he's pissed , Zuko thinks.

"I'm not interested in what you and the Crown Prince do in your spare time," Piandao says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm much more interested in the court and what certain people are doing within it. Having a servant in your entourage ensures I have someone I can trust on the move all the time, going where you go.  It allows him to have a reason to be out and about, and to observe."

"And you are telling us this why?" Zuko drops his embroidered napkin onto the table and settles his arm on the arm rest next to his pillow. "What do you hope to obtain from sharing this information with us, Master Piandao?"

"A valid question, Prince Zuko," he says. "I have shared this information as a show of good faith between us. I would also hope that this knowledge is useful.  If any situation spirals out of control while either of you are in the palace, Yawen has been instructed to do what he can to extricate you, or protect you should it be needed."

Across the room, Yawen executes a bow and then begins to clean away the remaining food.  Fat brings in wine to replace the food; bottles of best-year plum wine and expensive sake, which Sokka waves off.  Zuko isn't adverse to having a cup of the plum wine, it's always been his favourite.  Once the wine has been poured and the lamps lit against the encroaching darkness, both Fat and Yawen leave the room and close the shoji behind them.

Once they are sure they are alone, Sokka says, "Are there any other surprises I should be aware of?"

"Pai Sho is a careful game, Lord Sokka," Piandao begins. "Quite often the mid-game has been decided by the opening Harmonies created within the first moves.  I will speak as plainly as I can, to avoid misunderstandings.  I am taking an incredible gamble here in speaking with you like this, as I am sure you are aware.  As much as I have enjoyed training you over the years, Prince Zuko, in both mind and the way of the sword, the fact of the matter is that we would not be sitting here now together, had not Lord Sokka stipulated it as the only condition of our meeting.  You have gravely endangered the future of the world when you recklessly slew the Avatar - or so I understand.  The Avatar was not just a young boy, which in itself would be a heinous crime, but also the balance between nature and humanity.  In one moment you have removed that balance from the world.  We stand on a precipice now of your making.  If we do not curb the Fire Nation the world will tip even further out of balance and be destroyed."

Sokka is watching Zuko, biting his lip, as if he wants to refute what Piandao has said.  It is a damning judgement, but both of them know Zuko is not to blame.  However, they have agreed to not share any information this evening until they've had time to discuss it together.  Zuko's guilt, or lack of it, will have to wait until later.

"You sound like my uncle," Zuko says grudgingly, breaking the silence.  

"There could not be a greater compliment," Piandao says. "Prince Iroh is a great man, in spite of his current circumstances."

"He is a good man." Zuko sips at his wine. The words but you betrayed him hang unspoken in the air.

Sokka reaches out and places a hand on Zuko's knee, offering comfort.  "Will you tell us why you asked us here, Master Piandao?" Sokka asks. "Obviously you suspect something, or have some kind of goal, something that you feel we would be useful for."

Sokka has balls, Zuko will give him that.  He's  not sure if he was in Sokka's position he'd be coming out and just asking like that, but then Zuko has been brought up with court etiquette and intrigue, and Sokka has not. Maybe I'm the odd one out here, rather than Sokka , Zuko thinks.

Piandao sets his cup to the side.  Even in resting pose, one arm on his arm rest, his back is ramrod straight.  He has perfect poise, even as he begins to speak.  "I belong to an organisation called the White Lotus," Piandao says. "We are a group of like-minded individuals, from the three remaining  nations, that wish to see the world restored to balance. We want all nations to live once more in harmony."

"And is that harmony issued under your rule?" Zuko bites out. "What exactly does that look like?"

Piandao smiles; it's cold and brittle, and for the first time in years Zuko is aware of exactly who Piandao is, how skilled an opponent he could be if pushed.  Zuko has youth on his side but he's not sure he'd come out the victor against him.

"Ideally we had hoped to restore harmony under the Avatar's guidance, but that sadly will no longer come to pass," Piandao says.  "We have always believed each nation should guide itself, with a greater, unified goal in mind.  Speaking plainly, your father has proven he cannot be trusted with the guidance of his nation. He allows his ego to rule over him, and his country."

"And the Fire Nation lets him," Sokka adds quietly.  "Let's be honest: Ozai is a symptom of the world as we live in it. As much as Aang was my friend, his long, one hundred-year absence allowed the Fire Nation to become what they are."

Zuko wants to stand up, to be angry.  To exclaim about how much the both of them are wrong, that given the choice the citizens of the Fire Nation would never allow a tyrant - or a series of tyrants - to flourish.  And yet they have.  Whether it was a conscious choice to look the other way or not, the damage is done.

"And the White Lotus," Sokka says.  "What do they bring to the table? How will they be different?"

"We have always watched," Piandao replies.  "We have advised, where we can, or nudged, where that advice has been ignored.  We are legion; and we are hidden in many places."  He holds out his hand, as if to remind them of Yawen.  “We are not the impetuousness of youth, but rather the wisdom of age, tempered and crafted.”

Sokka shifts on his cushion, tucking his leg close and leaning his arm on it; the picture of a Water Tribe warrior in his element.   "You have a spy network," he says.  "Clever."

Piandao nods.  Zuko remains silent, merely a watcher for the moment.  Sokka's mind is sharp, and Zuko is more than willing to let him lead the conversation.

"We have a wide net cast, to use a Water Tribe metaphor," Piandao says. "However, a net can only catch the fish and trap it, or direct it in one direction versus another. By its very nature it is full of holes.  What we need is a spear, a sharp point; a weapon.  I think that one, or both of you, could be that weapon."

Zuko feels a thrill of alarm at Piandao's words. His alarm is mixed with excitement, because here is someone who may be willing to help them end Ozai's reign of terror and destruction.  Outwardly, Zuko doesn't react; he can't let Piandao see his eagerness.  Neither he nor Sokka are ready yet to lay their cards out for the White Lotus to see.  

Sokka's reply does not disappoint him.  "Master Piandao, you said before that you had good friends in the Water Tribe, but you wouldn't divulge who they were."

"That is correct, Sokka," he replies.

Sokka tilts his head to the side, as if he's considering Piandao’s words.  "Can you get a message to my father?" he asks.

Zuko sucks in a shocked breath. Sokka's mentioned this before, but he assumed Sokka wasn't serious. What is he up to?

Piandao gives Sokka a long look, and Sokka doesn't flinch, simply returns the stare.  Eventually, Piandao lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I take it you have a message already composed?"

Sokka nods.  "I do. Consider this another test," Sokka says. "We must be doubly sure you have good intentions toward us before we commit to assisting you.  I'm sure you understand that. A spear is useless unless it is aimed in the right direction."

"You expect a reply from Hakoda, then?" Piandao asks.

"I do."  Sokka moves again, climbing to his feet.  Zuko rises with him, senses that the evening is coming to a close.  "Once I have my reply, we three can meet again."

Piandao stands, smoothing down his robes.  "It could be a couple of weeks until I have your reply," he adds.  "I cannot achieve what you request of me immediately; we are all at the mercy of the tides and the waves."

They have time, Zuko decides.  The Fire Festival is in a couple of weeks, and then it's another month after that until Black Sun.  He's willing to give Sokka this - to let him have the reassurance that his father is well.  Knowing his father’s whereabouts will be one less thing for Sokka to worry about.

"We should still keep up appearances regardless," Zuko suggests.  "Sokka, you should still practise at least a couple of times a week with Piandao, the same as I. The less we deviate from our normal 'routine', the better."

"Agreed." Sokka reaches out a hand and brushes it down Zuko's sleeve.  It's almost a fond gesture, and when he smiles, it feels private and warm.  It puts Zuko a little off balance.  "Shall we retire for the evening? I'm sure we are keeping Master Piandao up later than he is used to."

Sokka's getting good at politicking and courtly behaviour, Zuko thinks.  Judging by Piandao's expression he agrees.  "Thank you for the hospitality and the meal," Zuko says with a nod to their host.  

Piandao bows. "Prince Zuko, Lord Sokka.  Thank you for your companionship and your company."

It's dark when they leave, Sokka having dictated a short note to Hakoda, which is clearly in some kind of code; maybe Water Tribe, maybe a personal family cipher.  He leaves it with Piandao, and then together they exit, slipping from the front entrance of Piandao's estate.  As the door shuts, the white lotus carving becomes glaringly obvious.  Zuko lets out a grunt of amusement.

Sokka elbows him in the side and laughs.  "Wow," he says. “That symbol couldn't be more obvious, and yet, apparently nobody has any idea what it means.” 

"Agreed," Zuko replies.  "Come on, let's walk back to the palanquin. The guards can follow us."

Yawen is a silent shadow behind them, keeping a perfect distance.  Zuko spares him a glance, but doesn't react.  Technically Yawen is Sokka's servant, so he'll leave it up to Sokka how he wants to handle the knowledge he’s working for Piandao.

For now, they'll go about their normal business, doing normal things and making sure not to draw attention to themselves.  And, he supposes, when Sokka has his answer via his father, they can begin to finally make their move.

Chapter Text

The morning is already warm when Zuko is roused by Sokka's manservant Song. He leaves Sokka sleeping in bed; grumbling in his sleep and reaching for the nearest pillow to cuddle, mouth slightly parted. The dawn breeze is a barely felt brush against Zuko's sleep-heated skin. He stands in one of the doorways that lead onto the balcony, watching the sky lighten, a pale golden sliver of light against the hulking backdrop of the volcanoes that make up the spine of the island.

And then the ground rumbles.

The dawn sky is suddenly dark with a cloud of squawking birds that burst into the heavens; thousands of them that move in unison as they flee the caldera. The ground under Zuko's feet shudders and, disorientated, he takes a careful step back away from the balcony and into the safety of the apartment. He hears the sound of wood creaking above him as the ground moves, the tinkling of tiles as they slip on the roof.

A single tile falls from the edge to burst into pieces at Zuko's feet, and then the tremor fades as quickly as it started.

Agni is vocal this morning, Zuko thinks.

"What was that?"

Zuko turns, and Sokka is walking toward him, gloriously naked and completely unconcerned about it. That casual confidence makes Zuko's mouth go dry, and for a moment he forgets about Agni's displeasure.

Sokka snags a diaphanous silk robe from where he'd discarded it on the settee, and slips it on. He comes to stand next to Zuko, glancing outside. He stares down at the broken red tile on the ground. "Earthquake?"

Zuko nods. "Agni is sharing his displeasure apparently."

Sokka frowns and reaches out to touch Zuko on his shoulder. The small sting of pain draws Zuko's attention; a fine sliver of dripping red under Sokka's questing fingertips. "Looks like he got you," Sokka says quietly, showing Zuko the pads of his fingers. A few drops of Zuko's blood is smeared across his brown skin.

Zuko tries not to take it as a warning. However, it's hard to ignore the thrill of fear that jitters through him. Today is Agni's sacred day, when the sun is at it's zenith, when the Fire Lord gives thanks to the God for his gift—although it's hard to argue that Ozai, with his megalomaniac ego, gives anything more than titular service to the god.

Sokka fills a bowl with cool water from the bathing room and pushes Zuko toward the bank of cushions, fussing at him until he sits down. Sokka's touch is gentle as he wipes at the cut on Zuko's shoulder, pressing gently but firmly to stop the bleeding. "Do you think Agni's reminding you about the festival?" Sokka asks curiously. He looks up to gauge Zuko's expression and then back down at the wound, pressing to stem the bleeding.

It's a legitimate question. Zuko's not ever been one to give the gods much attention—they weren't there to offer protection when Ozai disfigured him in front of the entire court. When Ozai used the Agni Kai, a sacred ceremony, to press his will onto Zuko, Agni didn't lift a finger to stop him. The fire sages might argue that lack of response was Agni's judgment, but Zuko doesn't believe that, not for a moment. The only way he's going to believe in the gods is by some kind of irrefutable proof, and that's as likely as Zuko seeing an actual dragon in real life.

"It's simply the volcano letting off pressure. It's just a coincidence it's the same day as Agni's festival."

Sokka grins. "There's my angry princeling. I was starting to wonder where he'd gotten to."

"I'm not angry," Zuko disputes, "just pragmatic."

"You should have been an earthbender instead," Sokka says with a raised eyebrow. "Your cut's stopped bleeding, you should be good now."

"Thanks." He holds up his arm, feels the small ache of the cut. A single sliver of red mars his skin, but in the reality of things it's inconsequential.

Sokka leans back on the settee, settling himself. He's the picture of lazy indulgence, leaning back against the cushions, chin resting on his hand, but Zuko knows better. Sokka is always observing, always cataloguing everything. "Sooooo, what's the game plan for today then? What do you Fire Nation lot do to celebrate Agni's sacred day? Throw a party? Throw some prisoners into a volcano? Give me all the deets."

Zuko sighs. "It's a festival, Sokka. Food, drink and so on."

"Wow, you are a hard room first thing in the morning," Sokka says flatly.

Zuko brushes a hand through his hair—it's getting longer, easier to pull into a topknot now. He sighs. "All the citizens get to experience the fun part of the festival," he explains, "while as the Crown Prince I have to accompany my father to the temple and perform the rites to Agni in front of the high court."

"Oh?" Sokka looks interested.

"Don't worry, love," he says with a smirk. "You're my Consort, which means you get to suffer through it as well."

The closest Sokka has come to royal pomp and circumstance so far in his travels with the Gaang is the Earth Kingdom, with it's ridiculous reliance on insular tradition and hierarchy. A close second would be the Northern Water Tribe with their equally isolationist stick-up-the-ass attitude, although he's pretty sure a lot of that has changed since the Fire Nation attack. Today, the Fire Nation seems determined to prove that they can just as bad as the other two.

When Zuko said 'suffer through it' he wasn't kidding. It's almost noon, signalling the sun at it's zenith on Agni's sacred day. Apart from that quiet moment he had with Zuko after he woke up, it’s been go go go. He's endured being primped and dressed, stuffed in a palanquin with an equally primped Zuko, and then made to walk in some kind of traditional procession with the royal family into the Fire Temple. Apparently as Zuko's First Consort he gets the honour of walking with the Crown Prince, since Zuko isn't married. Sokka also suspects Ozai has something to do with it, as Azula has also been dragged out of her confinement for the ceremony. Ozai clearly wants to project the image of a loyal, healthy family and his heirs to the general populace.

The first thing Sokka notices about the Fire Temple in Hari Bulkan is that it's nothing like the one he visited on Crescent Island on the solstice with the Gaang. Crescent Island's temple had soared toward the heavens as if reaching for the sun, a bridge between the heavens and earth, it's vast, expansive rooms and curving red roofs.

In direct opposition, Hari Bulkan's Fire Temple is nestled deep underground. All that's visible to the general populace is a tall, carved doorway in the rock wall of the caldera itself. It is flanked by stern-faced palace guards in flashy ceremonial armour.

Sokka is not really prepared for what lays inside of the temple. Instead of the soaring wooden ceilings of Crescent Island and wide open windows, Hari Bulkan's inner sanctum to Agni is a claustrophobic cave with soot blackened walls and flickering, anemic firelight. In places the cavern soars, held up with fire-blackened wooden pillars, gold paint just visible from beneath the many layers of soot. Crimson silk prayer flags embroidered with gold are strung from beam to beam, across the ceiling and toward the altar, the flags moving in the heat-haze from the altar in rear of the cave. The air smells close and heat-burnt and the taste of charcoal lingers at the back of Sokka's throat.

To Sokka, who is used to the cool blue of the water's benevolence, it's liquid caress and it's life-giving properties, the high temple to Agni is as close to what Sokka imagines hell would be if he ever had the misfortune to step into it. There's something about this place that reeks of old secrets and the iron-tinge of blood; of deeds committed in the darkest of nights, of betrayal. There is no sign here of Agni's healing light, it's warmth and comfort. This is a place of men, a place where the nurture of the female aspect of Agni has no meaning and has all but been eradicated.

This is Ozai's domain, through and through.

The upper echelon of the court families have been allowed inside to witness Ozai's commune with the god himself, and the room is full of hushed whispers as the royal family enters. Zuko steers Sokka to the right, where they will have a good view of whatever is going to happen next.

Sokka leans over to whisper in Zuko's ear. "Who's the super smirky dude in armour escorting Azula?" Sokka hasn't seen him before, so he's not a palace guard from the royal wing.

Zuko leans in, breath hot against Sokka's ear. "General Chaeryu. He's a distant relative of mine I think, named after one of my ancestors. He's also just inherited an estate from his own father, so I'm guessing my father will bind him to the royal family through Azula. He's probably worried about Chaeryu's loyalty now he's inherited, and wants to kill two birds with one stone; get Azula out of the city and out of sight, and control his General. As far as Ozai is concerned, there's not a downside.” Zuko pauses for a moment and then says, “He's going to use this ceremony as a backdrop to legitimize Azula's punishment."

Sokka bites his lip, thinking. He can see why Ozai would choose such a man as Azula's new husband. Chaeryu is, or was, wavering in his loyalty now he has come into his inheritance. Being given a royal princess as a wife is a clear sign of his legitimacy in Ozai's eyes, but the Fire Lord needs to watch him. Maybe it's another one of Ozai's traps, setting Chaeryu up to reach for the throne, giving him the excuse to execute him. Not that Ozai needs a reason or an excuse to do anything—he's the Fire Lord.

The Head Fire Sage has started chanting, arms lifted in supplication before the altar. The fire in Agni's giant cauldron are banked low, barely present flickers of sullen, orange-red flame.

When Ozai approaches the altar, his robes flicker with gold embroidery and gems. His outfit is reminiscent of the prayer flags Sokka noticed earlier; crimson silk, embroidered with dancing golden dragons—just in case anyone was not aware of Ozai's connection to the Dragon Throne. Zuko has been given something similar to wear, and it's not lost on Sokka how similar he and his father look in the darkness. The only difference would be that Zuko has his hair in a topknot instead of down and, with his face turned to the altar, Sokka cannot see his scar. For a moment, he is chilled, disquiet and fear skittering down his spine like claws at the comparison.

Ozai approaches the altar, not as a supplicant willing to coax his god back to life, but as a conqueror, one who demands his god obey. His robes billow behind him, his golden crown reflects the dull firelight, matching his eyes, and Ozai stands before the flickering pit and raises his arms.

The sudden heat and roar of the ignited fire makes everyone startle, some courtiers even taking a step back. The heat is like an oven against Sokka's skin, all consuming and volatile. Ozai brings the flames down to a more tolerable level, a red and orange glowing background against his perceived triumph.

"I have brought forth Agni's flame once more!" Ozai declares to the crowd, and to Sokka's keen observation this is all a display, another way to show that Ozai is a son of Agni, a royal firebender who commands Agni's flames at his will.

He turns and gestures grandiosely to Zuko. Zuko, who steps forward to stand beside his father. Zuko reaches into the wall of Agni's flame, and as his fingers touch the sacred flames, they turn into a rainbow of swirling colour.

Sokka gapes, mouth open in shock. He's seen Azula's blue flames up close, and felt the heat of Ozai's red flames, but never has he seen fire reflect the colours of a spirit rainbow; blues and greens, golds and yellows. The flames lick playfully at Zuko's outstretched fingers, and when he pulls his hand back, flame nestled on his palm, the flames chase after his touch.

The room is silent as Zuko comes to stand before his father, his hand outstretched. Ozai sweeps the flames from Zuko's hand, and they turn red once more. Zuko sinks to his knees before his father in supplication, a royal kowtow, and Sokka follows suit. The court kneels in unison, a deafening quiet smothering what should be a joyous occasion.

Sokka has his forehead pressed to the floor, does not dare to look up. He can sense the danger here; knows Zuko made the right decision to kowtow to his father. It's possible that if he hadn't, he'd be a charred corpse on the floor this time.

Agni has made it very clear who his chosen one is, and it is not Ozai.

Zuko must be sweating in his court robes, Sokka thinks. Ozai, despite his need to conquer, must still pretend that he's a magnanimous ruler to those in the Fire Nation. It's one thing to brand his son on the field of an Agni Kai, but it would be quite another to go against what is clearly the will of Agni, and in his sacred, personal, temple. Ozai is going to be furious later, and Sokka wonders where and on who his punishment will fall when he's in the privacy of the palace.

It's not a comfort to realize he already knows who is going to pay the price for Agni's favour; and that's the prince on his knees before his father.

Ozai stares down at his son. "Rise, Prince Zuko," he says. "Walk with me." Ozai's voice is deep, and steady, but from the little he's pieced together from Zuko and from general knowledge, Sokka knows Ozai is far from it.

Zuko has little choice but to obey, rising elegantly and fluidly from his position on the floor to standing. He tucks his hands in his voluminous robes, staring straight ahead, the picture of filial obedience. He does not meet Sokka's gaze, instead falling into step beside his father. Azula follows behind with General Chaeryu. She looks contemplative, and that's never been a good sign of things to come.

Sokka hangs back, not eager to get caught up in the gossip and jostling for position that a situation like this usually involves. He waits until the majority of the court has moved back out into the sunlight, and then starts to make his way toward the door. He’s startled by a gentle nudge at his side. "Lady Aiya!" he says, bowing politely. It's been a couple of weeks since he's seen her, or had the opportunity to sit beside the lake with her and her friends and gossip.

"Lord Sokka, escort me outside?" she asks coquettishly. Her husband is talking with another one of Ozai's generals, but gives Sokka a quick nod of acknowledgement.

Sokka offers her his arm, and she tucks herself close to his side. Her smile is warm, and she prattles on about typical court nonsense, which Sokka only pays minimal attention to. As they exit the temple, Sokka looks around but can't see Zuko. The palanquin they arrived in is still here, so Zuko must have gone ahead with his father. That's worrying.

He feels Aiya pressing against him, pushing something into his palm. It feels like a message; a small messenger scroll. She leans closer, one hand over her mouth, as if she's flirting in the court fashion. "Master Piandao sends his regards," she says with a wink. She pulls him down so she can whisper into his ear. "If you need to send a return letter, you may use me as your intermediary."

Surprised, Sokka pulls back enough to look her over. She still looks mischievous, but he can see she's serious. And then she pulls out her fan, snapping it open. The red silk cord has a carved white jade pendant, and carved on it is a lotus flower. A white lotus. She offers him a bow, and her husband steps forward to offer his arm. Sokka returns the bow in a daze, and moves toward the palanquin, slipping inside and pulling the curtains closed.

Once inside he lets out a shaky breath. What the fuck is going on in Hari Bulkan? How many people work for Piandao and his White Lotus ? He's still stung by the knowledge that his personal guard, Yawen, is also working for Piandao. Yawen is there to protect him. And while he does believe that in a pinch Yawen will protect him, part of him can't help but wonder what would happen if Piandao decided Sokka was expendable to the White Lotus.

He glances down at his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal the message tube. It's paper is rolled tightly and sealed with Piandao's white lotus seal. It's doesn't look like it's been tampered with, and since Lady Aiya delivered the message, it's likely it's come directly from Piandao himself. Unless—and Sokka hates to think about the ramifications—Aiya is setting him up, or is a double agent. Sokka has no way of knowing. Spirits, Sokka is tired of all this intrigue.

He feels the palanquin lift as the bearers settle it between them, and then the sway as it begins to move. Sokka cracks the seal on the paper and unrolls it, scanning it's contents rapidly.

Sokka, as requested. See if you can find a way to my estate in Doi Mae as soon as possible. P

The rest of the letter is in code, appearing as gibberish to anyone who doesn't have the key. Water Tribe code is archaic and purposely kept that way. It makes Sokka's throat ache with homesickness to see it written in what is clearly his father's handwriting.

Sokka is holding a piece of his father for the first time in years. He wants to treasure this moment, to savour the knowledge that his father held this piece of paper, wrote on it, and wrote to Sokka. That all his attention was focused on Sokka for just these few, precious moments.

Hello son, Sokka translates. He's rusty with the code, and has to concentrate to figure it out. It doesn't help that he just wants to savour the moment, to savour this piece of his father, to bask in it, and he can't. He has mere minutes to read this in privacy and then destroy the evidence.

My greatest wish has come true, knowing that you are well, even if not particularly safe. Our mutual friend requested I write to you, he said you needed proof. My good friend B has made his way back to us, and now we wait for the right time, according to the tides. Not much has changed here.

So they are sticking to Sokka's plan. That's good news, because Sokka is intimately familiar with the details and timing of it.

We thought we had lost our ship's mascot, but he is well. Your sister sends her good wishes, and bids you drink water only from the sacred well.

Sokka blinks. The phrasing is clumsy, and it's clear Hakoda isn't a diplomat with a clever tongue and a mind that twists and turns with deceit. But once Sokka figures out what he thinks his father is trying to say, he can feel tears welling, hot and wet against his lashes. Aang is alive, just as Sokka had hoped. Since his father mentioned a well, he figures Katara must have used the sacred water she carried from the spirit oasis to heal Aang.

This changes everything. The world doesn't know it, but the Avatar is back.

Sokka’s mind starts to whirl with the possibilities. If Sokka and Zuko can align things here in Hari Bulkan, it will make it so much easier for the invasion force to do it's job and distract the Fire Nation troops while Aang deals with Ozai.

Sokka takes a deep breath, relief settling happily in his stomach, suffusing his soul. Aang is alive! His friends, and his family, are alive. He can feel weight lifting from him, the burden of crushing guilt at not being with them a little less difficult to bear.

I am proud of you. Be well are Hakoda's last coded words, scribbled hastily like he's in a rush. Maybe the messenger was waiting for him to finish writing?

Sokka gives the letter a final look over, brushes his finger across his father's writing. And then he begins to tear the paper into long strips. Fortunately the scroll is small. He can't keep hold of this letter; when he enters the palace it must be gone. He also can't risk surreptitiously dropping the pieces one by one out of the palanquin and trust to the spirits they won't be found.

Yeah , Sokka thinks. Only one way to get rid of this missive. It's far too important and far too damning to remain whole . He doesn't dare wait until they are inside the palace and near a brazier where he can burn it. Good job I haven't had breakfast, he thinks, pushing the first strip into his mouth.

"You swallowed it?!" Zuko whisper-exclaims, drawing the attention of at least one servant in the room.

"Shhhh!" Sokka says. "Agni's balls, Zuko, keep it down."

One of the servants is smirking—they probably think Zuko is talking about something else entirely. Something... perverted.

"Could you give us a... couple of hours?" Sokka says to the room.

Song bows, and ushers the remaining servants from Sokka's chambers. The doors click closed, and they are left in silence. Zuko pushes Sokka toward the balcony windows, where there's less chance of a spy listening to them. Sokka stumbles a little since he’s forced to walk backward, and Zuko grabs him by the hips, reeling him in, pressing him against the wall. He leans in, cupping the back of Sokka's head, as if he's going to kiss him. Sokka feels the traitorous flare of hope and desire rush though him, only dashed when Zuko bypasses his mouth and nuzzles into his neck. He presses his palm against Sokka's chest, and Sokka wonders if Zuko can feel how quickly his heart is beating, how it thunders inside him with a painful mixture of hope and disappointment.

"What did the letter say?" Zuko demands. Nuzzled in like this, nobody will able to lip-read either.

Sokka allows himself to put both hands on Zuko's waist, anchoring him in place. He can feel how tense Zuko is beneath his touch, far from the eager lover he’s pretending to be. "My father is well," Sokka begins hesitantly. "They haven't changed the plans for the invasion."

Zuko relaxes minutely. Sokka nuzzles back, buying time. He nips at Zuko's unscarred ear, pushes his hips forward a little, keeping up the pretense of foreplay, and begins to work on a new lovebite for Zuko’s neck. He still can't tell Zuko about Aang, he decides. He hasn't changed his mind about that; even if they are working together, Zuko knowing the Avatar lives could be dangerous. If Ozai was to find out—well, it won't be pretty. Zuko could be banished again for failing to kill the Avatar and lying about it, or Ozai might just kill him outright this time. Being the consort of a traitor prince would get Sokka nowhere, and he'd probably end up in the torturer's chair with no-one to protect him.

No, the less people that know that Aang is alive the better.

Sokka slips his arm around Zuko’s waist and pulls him closer. “What happened with Ozai after the temple?”

Zuko tenses. His fingers curl into the fabric of Sokka’s shirt, like he’s looking for an anchor point. He clears his throat, leaning away from Sokka’s touch. “He demanded to know what I did to the flames in the temple,” he says. His voice is husky, the words barely whispered. “I told him I didn’t know what had happened, but I’m not sure he’s convinced by that, even if it’s the truth.” Sokka gives him a moment, leaving him to mull things over. "My flames felt different. I felt joy instead of anger. I felt connected to something greater than me."

“In a good way?” Sokka asks carefully.

Zuko nods. “Yeah, it was nice. I felt at peace bending for the first time. Usually it’s a push, a rush of anger and venom torn from me and made manifest as flame. This felt like happiness and joy.”

“I’m glad.” Sokka pulls Zuko closer, until they are hugging. Zuko resists for a few seconds, and then goes almost boneless in his arms. This is new for them, this hug. This is simple comfort, not the pretense of spent lust, or fake emotion. This is simply Sokka giving Zuko a hug.

And somehow, Sokka doesn’t mind that.

The sun is bright this morning, rising over the harbour mouth of Hari Bulkan. There's not a cloud in the sky, and Agni rises higher toward the noon zenith. The sea is like glass, barely a ripple of tide to show for it, and no wind. It's like the heavens and the gods have paused this morning, Sokka thinks. It's not good sailing weather, and he hopes his father's fleet has dropped anchor somewhere safe to wait it out.

It was a full moon last night, and as Water Tribe, Sokka can feel it's gentle pull from deep inside him. He’s not a bender, but it’s something he’s learned to recognize; the push and pull of the tides and the sea. This full moon reminds Sokka that it's barely a month to Black Sun, and he needs to figure out how to get to Piandao's estate without it appearing obvious. He glances over at Zuko. Do Crown Princes get vacation, he wonders, and if so, maybe they could sneak away?

"Ready?" Zuko says. Today he’s in his ceremonial armour, a crimson tunic embroidered with gold peaking out from underneath. His hair is in a topknot, with a red silk ribbon wrapped around it, the ends floating down behind him, between his shoulder blades. Sokka kinda likes the ribbon; it makes Zuko seem less stuffy and awkward. Sokka is in formal wear too; high collared crimson robe and hair also bound in a topknot, although he doesn't wear the golden flame hairpiece like Zuko does.

Today is Azula's wedding day, so Sokka isn't getting away with anything less than full-on formal wear unfortunately. He already feels claustrophobic.

"I’m as ready as I'm going to be," he mutters, tugging at his tunic. "So, how do royal Fire weddings usually pan out? Do guests get stabby, or drunk, start fights over dynastic squabbles, or... "

Zuko blinks at him, expression mostly blank. "What?"

"You know," Sokka waves a hand vaguely, "Like, at Water Tribe weddings, everyone gets plastered, and then someone usually ends up either falling in a snow bank or into the sea and has to be pulled back out, and there's lots of juicy and tender, roast meat..." He trails off, mouth watering at the thought of meat. When Zuko doesn’t reply he sighs and says, "Okay, then, I'm gonna assume we're going with the unfun version here in the Fire Nation where every glares at each other and nobody enjoys themselves. Noted."

Zuko walks up to Sokka and runs his hands down the silk of Sokka's tunic, hands heavy but strangely comforting. The servant adjusting Sokka's robes steps back a little to give them space, bowing as they exit the room.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Azula does try to incinerate her groom today," Zuko says. "Father has had her under lock and key since that meeting and only let her out the once for Agni’s festival, remember, where she was abnormally docile."

Sokka had heard from Aiya all about it last week. Apparently Azula had spent a number of days ranting and raving; threatening death on everyone, and then she'd gone quiet. While others might see this as a sign of weakness, of capitulation, Sokka can guess it's far from that. In Sokka’s experience, Azula is never, and will never be, docile.

Azula is plotting something.

"Well, at least it'll be a spectacle. I'm kinda glad I'll be a lot further back in the crowd and far away from the incineration part of today's program."

"About that," Zuko says with a grimace, patting Sokka on the shoulder in the most fake gesture of sympathy Sokka’s has ever witnessed. "Father wants you to accompany me during the ceremony."

"What?" Now it's Sokka's turn to look blank-faced. "Why? I'm essentially a Water Tribe hostage, forced to fuck the Crown Prince to avoid execution. I'm pretty sure his Fire Lordliness doesn't want me on such public display to his court, regardless of how the court hierarchy works."

Zuko winces and takes a step backward. "I'm sorry."

Sokka lets out a sigh. It's one thing to accompany Zuko to Agni's festival, quite another to accompany him formally to a royal wedding. Sure, he's a royal consort, but even Sokka can see that this is an unusual request. Also, there's a part of him that doesn't want to be recognized; that doesn't want anyone from the Water Tribes hearing about Hakoda's only son being forced to become a royal whore, in bed with the Fire Nation figuratively and physically. Inside the confines of the palace he can't be seen by outsiders, can't be observed by anyone who might recognize him as Water Tribe. He doesn't want to shame his own father, nor have Katara and the Gaang hear lurid stories about the Crown Prince's new consort. What if they think he's a traitor? What if they think he's given valuable information to the enemy?

Katara is probably going to eviscerate him when they finally see each other again.

"-okka?" Zuko gives him a shake. "Sokka, snap out of it."

"Huh?" Sokka hadn't realized he'd started to spiral. He mentally shakes off the fog. He doesn't have time to do this now, does he?

"Ready to go?" Zuko asks. He's frowning, concern evident on his face. "We don't want to be late."

"Uh, sure." Spirits, he needs to get his shit together. Sokka smooths down his robes and follows Zuko to the door. Together they make their way to the entrance of the palace, down familiar corridors all decorated for the wedding. Outside, everything appears stark and overly bright against the harsh sunlight, and Sokka is glad to slip into the palanquin alongside Zuko.

The journey takes a while; down the switchback road that leads from the palace and Caldera and into the less exclusive parts of the harbour town. They'd come this way when they visited Piandao at his estate. Back then there had been less people around. Today the streets are thronged with crowds using any excuse to celebrate. Flags and streamers line the route, some cleverly painted to look like dragons and naga. There is no wind, and the dragons do not gambol and fly through the air, only hang limp from their poles, waiting for a breeze that does not blow. Sokka can still feel the vague pull of Tui after last night’s full moon, and the god seems sullen and angry, exerting influence over the heavens and La’s seas even now.

Something else has happened, something recent that has the elements unbalanced.

Ozai has had a dais set up close to the water’s edge in the harbour, and it rises upward above the swell of humanity here to witness the wedding. It’s high enough that everyone will be able to see the proceedings. Even this far back, near the tower that blocks the entrance to the city proper, Sokka can make out the crimson flags embroidered with gold dragons that flank the rear of the platform.

The palanquin carries them ever forward, Zuko’s guards clearing the way through the gathered crowds. So far the crowds are well-behaved; only later when the celebratory drinking starts will things become rowdy. The palanquin is set down gently, with barely a bump, and Sokka takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I can do this, he thinks. I can stand before the masses and hold my head up. I am Water Tribe, and I am proud of who I am, and the nation from whence I come from. This circus act is simply a step on the road to crushing the dominion the Fire Nation has over the world.

The curtains part, and Sokka hold his head up proudly as he steps out of the palanquin. Zuko is close behind him, and Sokka moves to the side. The crowd is silent; whispers carry through the crowd. Sokka steps into place beside Zuko, taking his arm like the pliant Consort he’s supposed to be. He leans in toward Zuko, whispering, “Okay, not the response I was expecting. What’s going on?”

Zuko shakes his head. “I have no idea, but I don’t expect it’s good.”

The crowd parts silently before them as they walk toward the platform. The closer they get, the louder the whispers become, and every step feels like a death knell, a funeral march. Ozai is waiting, centre stage, crimson flags behind him, hands clasped behind his back. His crown glints in the stark sunlight, and as they get closer it’s clear he’s watching them like a hawk. Should he not be watching the arrival of Azula’s palanquin? Why is he so fixated on the both of them, Sokka wonders.

As they approach the dais, Sokka’s eyes catch on something blue at the edge of the harbour steps. Now’s he’s seen that flash of familiar colour he can’t look away. Surrounded by a cacophony of crimson silk and the stark white of the paving stones that make up the steps of the harbour, the blue stands out even more.

Chained to the steps of the harbour is a man – a Water Tribe man. It is not lost on Sokka how much the man resembles him; they could almost be brothers. Worse still, he knows this man – this... boy; Alaq. He’s not much older than Sokka, a distant relative on his father’s side from one of the other villages.

Sokka wants to be sick. He remembers Ozai’s words that day, when he stood before him in the throne room. “I will make an example out of you,” he had said.  “I will send a message to the world and to what remains of your people.   I will chain you to the steps of the harbour as a warning, and let the tide drown you slowly.”

Alaq is dead because he looks so much like Sokka. Ozai had obviously handpicked his victim personally from among his Water Tribe prisoners, knowing that Sokka will make the connection on his own. Knowing that Sokka would understand what he had done—that despite Zuko claiming him that day to spare his life, it is only a temporary reprieve. Ozai wants to make sure that everyone—that both Sokka and Zuko—understand that Sokka’s fate is only postponed until a later date. That Ozai will have Hakoda’s son, because the easiest way to break your enemy is to strike at his flesh and blood.

And now, Alaq is dead, drowned beneath the waves, the chains pulling his body down even now so he’s just beneath the still water. His blue eyes are open like he’s staring at the heavens, mouth slightly parted although no breath comes from his drowned lungs. His wrists are bruised and bloody beneath the chains, the flesh of his throat torn as he clearly struggled to breathe as the tide came in. The chains restrain him around his throat in a parody of the Water Tribes warrior necklace – Sokka’s necklace. His hair floats in a cloud around him, the tiny braids hanging weightlessly in the water, blue beads clinging to the tips.

No wonder Tui is angry. No wonder La will not stir the waves.

Sokka stumbles, just enough for Zuko to switch from supporting Sokka on his arm, to gripping him tightly so he doesn’t fall.

“Do not react,” Zuko hisses under his breath. “Ozai wants you to react. Do not give him the satisfaction.”

It’s not really a matter of giving Ozai satisfaction, is it, Sokka seethes. It’s going to be more a question of if Zuko can restrain Sokka from attempting to murder the bastard in public. Clearly Ozai is hoping for just that sort of reaction.

Zuko looks pale, skin bleached of colour, scar a deep red, his eyes wide. He looks on the point of hyperventilating, barely keeping himself together. He has a tight grip on Sokka’s wrist, fingers bruising in their cage around his wrist. And Sokka realizes this is not the first time Zuko has had to deal with something traumatic his father has done to him in public. Zuko’s flight or fight instinct is right there; he’s on the edge, and yet he’s trying to keep it together for Sokka. Because if Sokka flies off the handle now, Ozai will have won. He will kill Sokka, and that will leave Zuko in his power once again.

Sokka raises his chin, and for the second time in his life he glares at Ozai, meeting him as an equal. Ozai watches as Zuko guides Sokka up the steps of the dais, side by side. At the top, Zuko bows before his father, his fingers around Sokka’s wrist tugging gently. Sokka waits the extra second just so everyone knows his obeisance is token at best, and then lowers his head.

He wants to spit at Ozai’s feet, to make it very clear how he feels. Rage bubbles beneath his skin, threatening to burst free. But this is what Ozai wants; an excuse to break the rule of Zuko’s Right by Conquest. If Sokka moves against Ozai, Ozai can claim it was in defence.

No, he needs to be patient, to bide his time.

Together, they move off to the side. Sokka sinks down on a cushion next to Zuko, but Zuko does not let up on his grip on Sokka’s wrist. Maybe it’s a warning not to do anything stupid, or maybe it’s simply a way for Zuko to ground himself, but he doesn’t let up on his grip, not when Ozai greets his daughter and her new husband, not when the ceremony is over.

By the time Agni sets, Sokka wrist has long since gone numb.

Chapter Text

Zuko is in turmoil. From the outside, he appears the ever dutiful heir to the throne, content to sit beside his father and gaze upon the crowds below the dais, blank faced and unmoved. Inside he's screaming; fists battering at the invisible walls that hem him in, face wet with tears and knuckles bloodied and bruised.

He's still in shock—shock that Ozai was so blatant in his cruelty, displaying his brutality for the entire populace to witness. The crowd is subdued, not their usual riotous selves, and let's be honest here, Zuko thinks, Fire Nation citizens have learned to ignore a lot of things that are too troublesome to complain about. Ozai, in his blind belief of his own magnificence, may have taken a step too far, but he's so caught up in his own hype he can't see it.

Zuko cannot understand why Ozai would murder another prisoner in cold blood. Of course he's being naive, he understands that now. He knew his father was dishon o urable, but when Zuko claimed Sokka publicly he thought that was the end of the matter. Even now, conditioned by years of his father's abuse, he can't quite believe Ozai would go to the lengths he has done just to make a point. His father has taught him well, used stick and rod, sibilant whispers, and finally fire, to keep his first born son in line. And now Zuko has taken a step outside of those teachings, Ozai very much wants Zuko to know that rescuing Sokka caused another, innocent man's death.

Zuko feels sick to his stomach. Ozai ordered this man chained to the steps of the harbour, and let the waves wash over him and drown him. This would have been no quick death. This man, Sokka's friend , a member of his tribe, would have had time to panic, to realize what his fate would be, and to understand that he was going to die.

Because Ozai is letting Zuko know in no uncertain terms that he can attempt to twist fate, can try to save a person he cares for, but that action will have it's own set of consequences. Ozai is teaching him another valuable lesson; that someone will always pay the price for his actions. The only difference here, however, is that Ozai is clearly enjoying Zuko's—and Sokka's—reactions. For all Zuko knows he did it simply to see how either of them would react.

Zuko should already know how much of a sadist Ozai already is. This is just another flavour of that sadism.

Zuko swallows back the bile rising in his throat, and blinks hard, trying to calm himself. He can't lose his shit here in front of the crowd, can't show himself to be anything less than subservient—at least not yet. Only when he and Sokka are ready will he allow Ozai to realize exactly how fucked he is, how badly he has underestimated his son and his allies.

And that thought is the only thing keeping Zuko from publicly breaking down right now. That, and his grip on Sokka's wrist, an anchor to bind him to the only person who actually has his back. Sokka, a tether for his sanity, a voice of reason.

The Head Sage of the Fire Temple is droning on, raising his hands up high toward the sun, beseeching Agni to bless Azula's marriage. Azula looks sulky beneath the traditional headdress and flowing outfit she wears. It's obvious she's having a hard time disguising her true feelings, and they are starting to bleed outward and show. Zuko would wager it's only a matter of time before blood is spilt. At least she'll probably wait until she's out of view of the Fire Lord, he thinks. Her newly minted husband, Ch ae r y u, looks like a typical playground bully, but having reached middle age he's yet to grow out of it. He would be a handsome man if he didn't look so calculated, his features sharp and his gaze even sharper. Zuko has heard he has a son of teenage years at home already from his previous wife. Anyone with a brain can see the inevitable disaster waiting to unfold.

Sokka shifts beside him, twisting his wrist within the confines of Zuko's hold. Zuko looks down, surprised to see how tight his grip is on Sokka's wrist. He can feel the heat radiating from his own palm; the only outward indication of his inner turmoil. Horrified, he lets go of Sokka, watching as Sokka quickly pulls his injured wrist into the confines of his tunic's sleeve, hiding the evidence with a wince . Still, Zuko can see what he's done. He's left a faint mark on Sokka's wrist where he's held onto him, and the skin is red. Agni , he hopes he hasn't burned Sokka. Why didn't Sokka say anything, or move away? Worse still, had he tried to and, caught up in his own spiralling thoughts, Zuko had ignored his discomfort?

What type of person am I? he thinks furiously. Am I the sort of person to ignore a friend's discomfort? His lover's discomfort? What does that say about him? Is he a monster, another Ozai, waiting to fulfill his destiny, bringing more death and destruction to the world? Is he that unobservant that another person 's pain means nothing to him?

Zuko feels a sharp pinch on the outside of his thigh and he startles, jerked out of his thoughts by the sudden pain. He looks over. Sokka appears the same as before, outwardly calm, staring out over the crowds, clearly not looking toward where everyone knows the body of his proxy lays beneath the water. He tilts his head minutely toward Zuko, his eyes a flinty gray-blue. "Snap out of it," he hisses quietly so that only Zuko can hear. "Are you going to give Ozai, and Azula, the satisfaction of seeing you lose your shit in front of the entire city?"

Sokka's words are a dash of freezing cold water on his slipping thoughts. He sucks in a shaky breath. He wants to apologize to Sokka, to check him for injury but he can't , not yet. Not in public. They both have a role to play.

And now Ozai is rising to his feet, and so must Zuko and Sokka. The ceremony is over, and one way or another, the true test of Azula's ambitions will be exposed.

It's weird seeing Azula looking so...feminine. She's been stuffed into the traditional wedding robes; long red robes with black trimmings and, as a royal princess, her robe is embroidered with a single gold dragon that curls sinuously down her back, from between her shoulder blades to the hem. The eyes of the dragon are huge rubies, gems that flash like a warning, mocking Zuko from across the room. Her hair is dressed with a wig; a profusion of braids wrapped around her head, a jewelled golden hairpin skewered through the bun at the nape of her neck. It too is decorated with a golden and jade dragon, and Zuko can remember his mother wearing the same thing at court functions when he was a child.

For a brief moment, his vision swims, and he can almost see his mother standing there.

Ch aeryu has a proprietary hand wrapped around Azula's bicep, already staking his claim physically as well as ceremonially. He towers over her, and next to him, Sokka makes a disgusted noise.

"He's three times her age," Sokka bites out quietly. "What is Ozai thinking?"

Zuko turns to look at Sokka. He's beautiful in the light of so many candles, brown skin glowing. But his expression is twisted with distaste, disgust written on his face. "Is this what the Fire Nation does? Marries girls off without a care for how they feel?"

"Do you think I'd have a choice if my father chose a much older partner for me?" Zuko says flatly. "I'd have to honour his will. I may be Crown Prince but it doesn't mean I'm not a pawn to be used as my father sees fit. He's allowing me to entertain myself in your bed for the time being, darling ," Zuko bites out. "Besides, don't mistake Azula's show of familial piety for compliance. Azula will always do what benefits Azula."

Zuko knows he's being an asshole, but there's a twisted part of him that doesn't know how to comfort Sokka, not after what they've been through today . A normal person might quietly wait things out until they can be alone to discuss it , but Zuko knows deep down he's broken. He realizes he shouldn't antagonize Sokka, that he should be supportive, but he can feel the strain of the day taking a toll on him, the shock of Ozai's cruelty settling into his psyche. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, takes another. "I'm sorry," he offers.

Sokka stares back him, blank faced, and then deliberately turns away. He picks up a goblet of red wine from a nearby table, sipping at it silently. It looks like blood, staining Sokka's lips red momentarily until he licks it away. Sokka is dressed in red, like he's been dipped in blood, and Zuko wonders how many people the both of them will sacrifice at the end of this, just to save the Fire Nation.

"Let's leave," Zuko says. "Our duty is done here anyway."

"Thank the spirits." Sokka sets his goblet down. "I don't think I can stand to watch any more of this farce than is absolutely necessary."

The walk back to Sokka's apartments is fraught with silence. Sokka does a good job of appearing a dutiful consort; nestled into Zuko's side, leaning in like he's slightly tipsy and maybe a little flirty. That changes as soon as they step through the doors. Sokka removes his hand from Zuko's arm and growls, "Everyone out. Now."

Startled, Sokka's attendants scatter, exiting back through the doors. Song raises an eyebrow. "Will you be requiring anything else this evening, my lords?"

"No, thank you." Zuko starts to pull at the golden flame in his top knot, letting his hair slip down as he tugs it free of the ribbon . His lengthening bangs fall into his eyes and he shakes his head, brushing them aside. "We can take care of ourselves this evening. Thank you."

Song refrains from any sort of comment, and merely bows, retreating from the room with a bow. Sokka waits a few moments, just long enough to ensure that nobody is going to try to barge their way back in, and then he rounds on Zuko. He grabs him by the bicep, tugging him toward his dressing room, out of sight of the reception rooms. Zuko thinks it's best to just go along with it; reacting in any sort of way will only poke the tiger, so to speak.

Once inside, Sokka gives Zuko a not-so-gentle push, until he's pressed against the wall. He reaches out, and Zuko resists flinching away from his touch or worse, pushing back. Sokka's fingers wrap around the leather strap and buckle that holds Zuko's ceremonial armour in place at his shoulder. He tugs hard, releasing the buckle. He does the same with the fastenings on both sides of it and pulls it free.

Sokka is not talking—and Zuko doesn't know to react to that. Poisonous or aggressive words Zuko knows how to combat, or deflect, but this—this is Sokka holding back his words, his explanation, his reasoning. Consequently, Zuko feels unbalanced, unsure of what Sokka wants from him or what his place and role is in this silent conversation they are not having. Sokka's expression is thunderous, like he's angry and holding things in, holding himself back from Zuko. I t feel like punishment, but doesn't Zuko deserve that? Hasn't his family repeatedly tried to destroy Sokka's?

"Sokka, what --"

Sokka tugs hard at Zuko's armour and pulls it from him. "Don't," he snaps . "I don't trust myself to speak right now, your Highness. Unless you want me to blow our cover, I suggest you don't ask me to explain myself."

Your Highness . Sokka is not only redacting his words, he's not even going to give him the courtesy of using his name . "I didn't mean to burn you," Zuko blurts out in a rush.

Sokka stares him down, then lets go of Zuko's armour. It drops to the floor with a clank , setting Zuko's teeth on edge. Zuko suddenly remembers Sokka is as much a warrior as he is, and he feels like he's teetering on the edge of their whole arrangement falling apart. Ozai barely had to lift a finger to drive a wedge between them.

Zuko moves slowly to the side, gets his back away from the wall so he's not cornered like prey. "Both of us are upset," he whispers furiously. "We cannot have a proper conversation here, it's not safe." He pauses. " Please trust in me, please wait long enough for me to get us out of the palace." Don't let your anger fester, he wants to say. Please don't hate me for something my father did.

Sokka laughs bitterly. He gives Zuko a considering look. "Fine. I'll do as you ask and wait. Good night." And with that, he stalks from the room, leaving Zuko to remove the rest of his own armour and tunic.

Time seems to trip by in fits and starts for Zuko as the days pass . Sometimes it moves like treacle, thick and slow, other times it feels like he's running interference, trying to catch up. Sokka is keeping up his end of the bargain they've struck, continuing to be attentive to Zuko in public and when his attendants are around. In the quiet of the night, however, he lays next to Zuko like a stone, unresponsive and cold. He sleeps as far from Zuko as he can without actually leaving the bed. Zuko can feel the silent thrum of Sokka's anger; it cleaves a space between them, and all the growing warmth, all of the careful thing that was growing between them has gone.

Sokka is as much a stranger as he ever was, but Zuko's no longer the angry, aggressive teen he was. He has no way to release his growing frustration, and ends up sparring with Piandao more often than not, channelling his annoyances into sword play. Even if Zuko's no longer the Blue Spirit, he's still incredibly good with a set of blades , and under Piandao's guidance, he's becoming better. One day he might even outpace Piandao himself, although the man has an ever-evolving bag of tricks up his sleeves, it seems.

Maybe it's time to pull the Blue Spirit out of retirement, Zuko thinks. Well, the Blue Spirit no longer exists, he amends; his mask is lying at the bottom of Lake Laog a i where he threw it. But the essence of the Blue Spirit? Zuko still carries that within himself. He doesn’t need a mask.

I t's time to do some reconnaissance, rather than sit around doing nothing. Knowledge is everything, after all, and most of the knowledge he needs, and wants, will be in his father’s private office in the royal apartments. The thought of getting out, of doing something, sends a thrill of excitement through him. He can feel the adrenaline starting to flow, and he feels like he’s starting to wake, as if from a long slumber. He wonders if Sokka feels as caged as he does here, and yearns to get back out into the world.

He waits until Sokka has left for the day , gone off to socialize with Lady Aiya and her group of friends down by the lake. Zuko waves off his own attendants and his guards and makes his way down the corridor, back to his old apartments. He has a twofold reason for returning here today : one, he's sure he can locate something to wear that is dark, and will blend in with the shadows, just like the Blue Spirit. Secondly, the Crown Prince's apartments are a lot closer to Ozai's than Sokka's are. Why sneak the whole way when you can walk half of it in plain view?

He slips through the main doors of the apartment, making sure the doors are locked behind him. It's been about a month since he's been in here. No welcoming light brings warmth here, and with rain clouds on the horizon, hovering over the caldera basin and adjacent volcanic peaks, the rooms are thrown into long shadow. It's the perfect time to do some sneaking around.

Someone has thoroughly cleaned the rooms since Azula tried to cover the murder of Zuko's servant, Min. Zuko can still faintly scent fire in the air, but it's barely noticeable now. He walks through the apartments, noting a rug has been placed over the spot where Min died. Zuko does not lift the rug to look beneath. He makes his way into his old dressing rooms, and begins searching for something to wear which will help him blend in with the shadows. His search is fruitful; his servants have neatly folded all his spare clothes—the ones he didn't transfer to Sokka's apartments—and it doesn't take Zuko long to find a pair of black drawstring pants and a matching short-sleeved tunic. He rummages around until he finds a black silk scarf in another cedar-lined chest, and uses that to cover most of his face. His scar is pretty recognizable, especially if he gets caught, but it gives Zuko a safety net; he feels more his old self like this, more the Blue Spirit. He pulls on an old pair of boots, and takes out one of the daggers he keeps in another hidden compartment of the chest. He slips it into his belt at the small of his back. It's an old favourite, this dagger; about the length of his forearm and wickedly sharp, with a blade that curves toward the end. This knife is for slashing, not stabbing, and is designed to flay skin from bone as easily as one would a pig-chicken. It's weight settles into his hand like a long-forgotten friend, familiar and warm.

Now he's dressed appropriately, Zuko makes his way toward the back of his bedroom. The room is dusty; a thin film of it settling on the table and the coverlet on the bed. Sokka had found the servants hidden passageway in the office, but Zuko has a theory as to why the Crown Prince's rooms are so close to the Fire Lord's. Before Zuko's family made familicide a pastime, it stands to reason that the Fire Lord and past Crown Princes must have needed a way to meet that didn't involve all the pomp and ceremony of a regular court appearance. What if the family just wanted to hang out? Or, more likely, escape if something happened? It's been on Zuko's mind ever since he'd told Sokka about one of the previous Crown Princes, Zhoan, who was murdered during a palace coup.

If there is going to be an escape route, it will be very close to the bed, Zuko thinks. This room is the farthest from the apartment doors, and the most defensible and private.

He brushes his fingers along the back wall, right in the corner. Nothing. Part of him wonders if he’s mistaken, but no – there’s always a way out, isn’t there? He can feel something close by though, feel it through his bending, like there's a void here. He can't really explain it, and doubts if he could make it make sense to anyone else. He follows his gut instinct, and kneels beside the bed. There’s a plush rug here, so he peels it back. He summons a small flame into his hand, hunching over so as not to let the light bleed outward. He doesn’t need anyone glancing up at the windows and seeing light where there should be none. He can just make out the faint outline of a door in the floor. He smirks; allows himself a moment to acknowledge that sometimes he does have a good idea or two.

He holds the flame close to the floor, traces the outline of the door with his eyes. There’s no handle – it’s a secret door – so that means there’s another way to activate the door and get it to open. And what do most – if not all – members of the royal family have?

Flame.

And that’s why he could sense it with his bending; his inner flame is the key to open the door.

Zuko puts his hand over the door, and feeds a small fl icker of fl ame against the spot. He clos es his eyes, uses his fire-sense to guide him. He feels a click within the mechanism, and the door pops open silently. Cavernous darkness greets him, but he can just make out a metal ladder descending downward. This is an escape route then, not a way to move unseen between apartments.

It takes him minutes to slip through the door and down the ladder, to close it quietly over his head. He feeds more fire into the flame in his hand and glances around. The passageway is narrow here, but it’s panelled in very dusty wood. He can make out faint gold paint in places and shakes his head. Only the Fire Lords would panel a rarely used hallway in gilt. Unbelievable.

So where does this dusty hallway lead? Above his head he can make out spider-bird webs wafting in a breeze, so there is also circulating air. That’s good to know. The spider-birds? Not so much.

Holding the flame aloft, Zuko begins walking along the passageway, cognizant of where he’s putting his feet at all times. He doesn’t know how long this passage has been unused, or what’s hiding in it. After a few minutes, the passage branches – one side to the right, which would take him out under the private royal gardens and, he reckons, probably to another corridor which would take him eventually outside of the caldera. The corridor stretches ahead into the darkness, and this is the path that Zuko takes. After about a minute, h e finds an ornate, if narrow wooden staircase, cleverly recessed into the wall. This signals that he’s found the hidden access into his father’s apartments. Before he attempts to enter, he walks past the stairs and holds up the flame in his hand, peering further down the corridor . No spider-bird webs here, and the walls and floor are dust free. Does this mean Ozai uses this passageway regularly? Where does it go?

Zuko doesn’t have time to find out. He extinguishes the flame in his palm, plunging him into darkness. He can just make out a sliver of flickering light at the top of the staircase, an outline of a narrow door. No ladder for the Fire Lord then, but a proper door in the apartment wall. Can’t have the Fire Lord tripping on his way down a ladder in those robes , can we? Zuko snorts.

Slowly, he makes his way up the staircase, trying not to make any kind of noise or step on a potentially creaky stair. At the top, he presses himself against the door. It’s solid, with thick brass hinges that appear to be well oiled.

H e listens, his good ear pressed to the warm wood. He closes his eyes, seeking with his fire-sense, searching for other voids, other points of flickering flame within Ozai’s apartments. The Blue Spirit is used to waiting, practised at patience, at gauging the right moment. He has no idea how long he waits there, listening to the room, feeling it settle, getting a baseline for what it feels like.

Minutes pass and he hears no sound, no indication anyone is close by. It must be close to evening , Zuko guesses. The Fire Lord is probably taking dinner with his friends and the sycophants that surround him, those of the nobility that seek to curry favour.

It’s now or never. If Zuko wants to find some of leverage, figure out what his father is planning, he has to go now. He grips the handle, but it does not turn.

Of course, he needs fire to make this lock work. As he summons a flame , he wonders if the door is trapped and only accepts Ozai’s flame – worse, what if it requires lightning? He’s never been able to produce lightning, despite his uncle’s patien t tutelage. Fortunately, h e senses the lock give, and now he’ s able to slip through the door into his father’s bedroom. The door clicks shut behind him, and he notes where he is for when he needs to get back out.

Heart hammering in his chest, part fear, part exhilaration, Zuko looks around.

Ozai’s bedchamber looks... surprisingly normal. The bed is huge, with a gigantic crimson canopy hung over it, resplendent with the usual golden dragons gambolling up and along the bed hangings. There’s a scroll partly unrolled on the side table, and while Zuko isn’t surprised to see it’s a blueprint for a building project of some kind, he is surprised by the scroll underneath; poetry.

He grimaces. He doesn’t want to think of his father as human; someone with feelings. He sure as shit never had any kind of feelings for Zuko, did he, other than taking pleasure in cruelty.

He’ll not find anything of interest in here, he decides. Anything of note will be in his private office. Ozai has a public office just off his throne room in the main wing of the palace, a place where he meets with his advisors and so on. That was where Zuko was summoned when Ozai denounced Azula for the murder of Zuko’s manservant, Min. What Zuko want here is to gain access to his father’s private office, the place he will probably keep important documents, the things he won’t want any one to see. Ozai is paranoid, and he will want these things within easy reach.

Zuko keeps to the shadows, trusting that his dark clothing and the mask over his face will keep him mostly hidden, just another shadow. While he doesn’t think anyone is in Ozai’s apartments, he cannot be totally sure. Zuko will need to keep on constant guard and have eyes pretty much in the back of his head so he’s not surprised by a random attendant.

He slips from the bedroom, ignores the dressing room and bathroom off to the side, and sees a recessed door, tucked into a small foyer. This will be Ozai’s office, and Zuko has no doubt it will be locked as well.

And then he hears voices.

Shit. It’s exactly what he didn’t want; a couple of Ozai’s attendants entering the main rooms. Zuko curses, tries the door handle, but of course it’s locked. There’s also... no actual lock, so it doesn’t require a key. Firebending it is, then. Zuko glances around. He can feel nervous sweat pricking at the nape of his neck, his temple, the small of his back beneath where his dagger rests. He presses his hand to the handle plate but his fire sense grasps at nothing; the key to opening the door is not here.

If this is truly Ozai’s domain, the place he keeps anything important, it’s not going to open with a single flame, is it?

The servants in the outer room are talking softly among themselves. There’s two of them, a man and a woman. One of them is lighting the lamps in Ozai’s outer reception and sitting rooms, no doubt in anticipation of his return. Neither of them are benders fortunately, and they won’t be able to sense his attempt to feed fire into the lock. No, anyone with a flicker of bending ability would have been drafted into the military immediately, and now that works in Zuko’s favour.

He has a decision to make. He has to break the lock on the next attempt, or leave. He cannot – will not – harm any of these servants; they have done no wrong and Zuko will not risk creating a scene that will draw attention to himself.

Stay or go, he chants silently. Stay or go.

The light creeps closer as the servants reach one of the outer rooms.

Stay or go?

Fuck it.

Zuko pushes a hand against the wood of the door, the other against the frame and feels. There can be no more than two lock ing mechanisms , working in tandem, right? Ozai only has two hands after all, same as Zuko. He pushes carefully, locat ing the voids, the blank spaces that tell him the re is something there .

He feeds in flame, but it doesn’t give. This lock is keyed to Ozai’s l ightning then. Fuck . Zuko bites his lip, hard enough to feel the bruise forming on tender skin.

He can’t pick this lock, not without bending lightning .

He grits his teeth, watching the flickering lamp light coming closer. The servants have almost reached the dressing room; it’s now or never.

There must be a way in, Zuko thinks. He glances up at the ceiling, looking for an entrance, a way in that’s not through the door. Think like the Blue Spirit! And then he spots it. There, above the door, is an ornately carved wooden transom screen – a ranma—the width of the door and maybe four hand-spans deep. It’s designed to let the cooler air circulate but, more importantly, it’s a way in.

Zuko takes a few steps backward, as far as he can without being spotted, and then runs at the wall. He pushes off, wedging himself upward with his feet and hands, until he’s got his back pressed against the ceiling and wall. When he’s sure he’s wedged enough to be safe, he kicks out sharply with his foot. The ornate screen moves, so Zuko does it again. He can hear the servants chatting in the distance and uses that to cover the sound of his foot connecting with the screen. Gripping the edge of the exposed lintel, he swings at the screen feet first, and uses his momentum to slip through the opening, dropping to his feet in a crouch inside the room.

H e glances around. The room is dark, but he notices the screen on the floor next to where he’d landed. He pulls over a stool and carefully places the screen back in place with seconds to spare. Pressed against the door he listens. No alarm is being raised; he can hear the attendants as they make their way through, lighting the lamps in the dressing area and his father’s bedroom, and then the voices recede.

He’s in the clear.

Gasping for air, Zuko drags down the mask and takes deep, silent breaths.

He hasn’t been this fucking wound up since he rescued the Avatar from Pohuai Stronghold. Agni’s balls, he’s going to have a fucking heart attack. He waits precious moments in the darkness, just in case the servants return. He allows himself a small flame, held in the palm of his hand, and looks around. This room is entirely enclosed, with no windows and therefore, no way of anyone spying on Ozai. There's a large, carved wooden desk in the middle of the room, settled on a plush, soft rug and cushions scattered along one side. One of the walls is entirely taken up by scroll storage, most of them carefully labelled by either Ozai's personal scribe or Ozai himself. Against the other wall are a number of locked chests, banded with iron.

There's a painting on the wall; a landscape, with tall forested mountain peaks in the background, a house near the water's edge. Well, not so much a house as a small palace, with red tiled roofs, the white stucco walls baked in the sun. There are many bright flowering vines around the house and along the pathways that wind down to the black basalt cliffs and the beach beyond. Zuko thinks he should recognize this place; it niggles at his mind like a memory he can't quite place.

Still, he doesn't have time for introspection. There has to be something here, something he can use to bring Ozai down with. Zuko starts his search among the chests against the wall. Most of them contain sealed scrolls, clearly precious ones. Another contains some silk fabric and a white jade hair pin, which is a lot smaller than the hair stick Azula wore to her wedding. This is more something a man might wear, he thinks, pushed into his topknot. Tucked between the silk is a folded sheet of poetry, and a portrait, and beside that a bundle of incense, wrapped with a thick white ribbon; the colour of mourning. This is a votive offering to the dead—usually burnt at funerals, hence the white ribbon.

One might assume that Ozai could be keeping a memento of his own father in order to honour him, or maybe something of Zuko's mother. She's been missing for years, never spoken of, an enduring mystery that eats quietly at Zuko's insides. Does Ozai know something Zuko doesn't? Is she dead but he's too much of a coward to publicly burn an offering in her memory, instead locking it away here in his private office?

Zuko picks up the portrait. Surprisingly, the subject is a young man in his mid-twenties, completed by the artist with quick, unsure strokes of black ink that isn’t without it’s charm. The man looks familiar, and Zuko stares at the portrait, trying to place him. But when Zuko turns the picture over, he can see writing on the back—a person's name.

Zuko blinks, fingers tightening around the portrait. The name on the back is not of his mother, but only a single character: Min.

Zuko thinks back to his room, to the rug on the floor, to the spot where Zuko's manservant had died at Azula's hand. When Zuko had returned to court as a reinstated Crown Prince, Min returned to his service. He'd never gotten around to asking in whose employ he'd been while Zuko was banished. Sokka had even asked him, and it slipped Zuko’s mind at the time. One thing is becoming clearer though; Ozai has gone out of his way to hide his mourning of this person, to grieve in private.

Zuko can’t help but start to make mental connections – maybe he’s seeing things where there wasn’t anything, but – was Zuko's attendant also his father's lover? Zuko lets out a soft breath, mind reeling. Was Min reporting back to Ozai every night with an update on Zuko’s activities? Fuck, if so, Zuko was right to get Sokka to play along, to never break character as lovers, even in private. Was Min one of the servants that watched them that first night from the secret passage? Zuko can feel his face heat with embarrassment.

He tosses the incense back into the chest with the portrait and shuts the lid forcefully. No wonder Ozai reacted the way he did at Min's death. Zuko had assumed Ozai had set the whole thing up to frame Azula, but maybe Zuko is giving his father too much credit. Maybe Azula had made a mistake when she murdered the man who might have actually been his father's longtime secret lover.

Zuko doesn't have time for this. This doesn't change his opinion of his father, or what Zuko and Sokka have to do. He shoves the revelations away, determined to find what he needs to as quickly as possible. He's not going to think about the disappointment curling inside, about how he still doesn't know what happened to his mother. He can't think about it now; there simply isn't time.

He stands up, and begins to search through the wall of scrolls and documents. Each scroll is carefully stored within a case and tagged, so he's able to peruse quickly through them. His father is neat; he doubts this is the work of a scribe, judging by the lengths Ozai has gone to to make sure this room is private.

Zuko drags his fingers across the tags, muttering to himself. Airship Fleets reads one. Hmm. Zuko pulls the scroll out and drops it on the table and goes back to the shelves. Some scrolls are in cases, some loose. Some appear to be so old they are crumbling; brittle with age and lack of care. Sozin's Line reads this one. It's a small scroll, and Zuko hesitates. Does he have time to delve into the family tree? Fuck it, why not? Maybe he can find out where the family started viewing world destruction as a viable idea.

He pulls it out and puts it next to the first scroll. Once he has a number of scrolls that might be useful, he debates whether he should look at them now or try to take some of them with him. He doubts his father is going to be looking at the ancestry scroll, so he tucks that in his sash for later. He kneels down at the table and unrolls the one marked Airship Fleet s . A lot of this information is stuff Zuko already knows; his father had taken him to the military base on that island a few weeks ago to show him what he'd been doing with his new airship s .

However, there's an annotation at the bottom, likely in Ozai's hand, an addendum to the official scribe's reckoning of numbers, tallies, and supplies. This is... disturbing. There's another island, located to the north ern end of the outer lying islands that make up the archipelago.

It takes Zuko a few moments to figure it out—Ozai has a second airship base, hidden in a dormant caldera on a small island. This means he has a lot more airships that Zuko initially thought—seventeen more to be exact. Fuck.

Zuko can feel his pulse racing. This is what he came here for; this is what he seeks; definitive proof of Ozai's grand plan to destroy the Earth Kingdom. There's a large map on the desk and Zuko risks lighting one of the lamps on the table so he has both hands free. He uses weights to stop the edges of the map from rolling up, traces his fingers over Hari Bulkan and west to the small island he visited with Ozai. He taps the map. This is where Ozai took him. Zuko has assumed that Ozai intended to go west toward the eastern side of the Earth Kingdom; a long voyage to be sure, but maybe not so much in an airship, and definitely a lot quicker than by sea. There's a reason most ships don't bother going west to reach the Earth Kingdom, it's a much more viable idea to be able to stick close to land and to be able to dock if needed.

But, Zuko had overlooked one major, but obvious, thing: Ba Sing Se is already conquered and under Fire Nation control—Ozai doesn't need to go back there, not when he has an invading army already in place. No, his father needs to gain control of the Earth Kingdom's food producing regions to feed his army, and to drive deep at the heart of her soul. That's what Zuko would do if he were to invade . He would find a way to destroy the Earth Kingdom's spirit. Ozai will set fire to the forests, to the lands around the colonies. Some of them are already in revolt, so Ozai will make an example of them—a grisly example. He'll burn them on the day of the comet, and then secure the abundant heartlands. This makes so much sense to Zuko; when he'd spoken with Sokka about Ozai's plans they'd both had a hard time understanding why Ozai would just burn the crops and the food supplies. It seemed like a pointless exercise with no gain for the Fire Nation other than scorched earth.

No, i nstead Ozai’s going to burn the forests, the places where the spirits of the land, of nature, reside. The guardians of the spiritual ancestors of the Earth Kingdom—this is what Ozai wants to destroy, along with the colonies in uprising. He will strike fear and anger into the hearts of the remaining populace, knowing that word of Ba Sing Se's fall will have reached them. And then only the Water Tribes will be left, a single, yet divided nation standing against Ozai and the might of his armies.

Zuko lets out a shuddering breath and sits back on his heels. This is terrifying, this realization. Stopping Ozai is no longer just a matter of personal vendetta, but a reason to save the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes. To save Sokka's people .

With the Avatar dead, Zuko knows that assassinating his father is the only course of action. Ozai is Zuko's family—as much as he doesn't like it—and with his uncle in prison, Zuko is honour bound to step up and complete the task. It's his duty to stop Ozai's reign of terror.

He needs to talk to Sokka and update him. Sokka may not be talking to him, but he doesn't need him to. He just needs Sokka to listen to what he has to say. Personal feelings aside, this information is greater than their squabbling.

Zuko can hear voices in one of Ozai's anti-chambers. His father must be returning from dining, ready to go to bed.

He needs to leave now .

He lets the map roll up and glances around. He stuffs the invasion scroll back on the shelf, and extinguishes the lamp. The room is plunged into darkness.

Zuko makes his way quietly over to the door. Can he get out, or should he stay here, and try to leave once Ozai is asleep? Part of Zuko, the terrified child he was, is half-convinced Ozai never sleeps. Monsters don't need to, do they? Fear and darkness are their domain, the place they are most at home in.

He can't stay here. He's got to at least try to get back, he decides. It doesn't take him long to get himself back though the opening above the door now he's done it once, and he takes a few precious moments to put the screen back properly, clicking it back into place. Hopefully nobody will even notice there's been a break-in. He's just about to head back through the bedroom when he hears footsteps in the next room. Zuko flattens himself against the wall, glad for his dark clothing and his mask to hide most of his pale skin.

He can see his father's shadow on the ground as he stands in the entrance to his bedroom. His shadow is huge, reaching for him in the flickering lamplight like a demon sent to devour his soul. It hearkens back to Zuko's childhood anxieties and fears, his father's crown a halo of spiked shadow around his head, above the fall of his hair.

Zuko's dead if he's spotted. There is no way he can talk himself out of this, no excuse he has for being here like this in Ozai’s private apartments. He can feel his dagger pressing into the small of his back. Could he use it on his father if he got the chance? What if he has the perfect opportunity to do it now, when Ozai is left alone? The thought is dizzying; thinking of all the pain and the suffering he can prevent by just... sliding the blade home. Part of him desperately wants to see Ozai's expression when he realizes it's Zuko who's killed him.

The shadow twists as Ozai turns back to whoever he's talking with. "Is there any word on Iroh?" his father says, voice muffled through the adjoining wall.

"No, Fire Lord Ozai. General Iroh is still missing. He hasn't been seen since his escape on the day of the wedding." Zuko cannot make out the person replying; their voice muffled beyond any kind of recognition.

Zuko sucks in a surprised breath. His uncle has escaped from Caldera Prison?

“You will keep this under wraps or risk execution,” Ozai instructs. “If this information reaches the citizens of Hari Bulkan I will have every single guard in Caldera Prison flayed alive. Am I clear?” Ozai growls in annoyance, stalking toward the unlucky person delivering the news. His shadow recedes, leaving Zuko with a precious few seconds to try to understand what the hell he just heard. For now, an assassination attempt will have to wait; he can't risk being noticed.

Zuko moves. He flits through the shadows, into the bedroom and toward the door. He doesn't stop; he doesn't have time to linger. He feeds his bending into the door once more, feels the mechanism give, and slips through. He's light on his feet, hurrying down the staircase and into the darkness of the passageway. He's a little more familiar with the corridors now, and he keeps moving, passing the fork that leads under the gardens. He makes a mental note to explore it at some point; it would be invaluable information to know where exactly the tunnel exits outside. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the ladder that opens into his old apartments.

Now he's clear of immediate danger and the possibility of discovery, Zuko pauses in the darkness. For a moment he lets all these recent revelations wash over him. Now is not the time to worry about the minutia of everything he's learned, but one thing is absolutely game-changing.

His uncle has escaped from the Caldera Prison, and Ozai is keeping the information secret. Why? Does he fear Iroh's reach, now that he declared against him in Ba Sing Se? Zuko wonders where Iroh is—is he close by, biding his time, or is he already as far away as possible? Did he escape on his own, or did he have allies to assist him? For a moment Zuko is elated at the news. Not only is his uncle free at last, but this is another unwanted distraction for Ozai, something else to divert his attention away from what Zuko and Sokka are planning.

He needs to find Sokka and update him.

Zuko climbs the ladder, bending flame back into the lock and opening the door. He crouches in the darkness next to the bed and waits silently for a few heartbeats, just in case anyone is in the apartments. The apartment remains in quiet darkness, a reminder that he doesn't live here, not any more.

The truth is this hasn't been home for years. He has forged his own path since he last truly called these rooms home. He is no longer the impressionable, hopeful teenager he was, but a young man ready to fight for what he believes in.

He strips out of the dark (and now dusty) clothes he's entered the tunnels in, mentally packing his alter ego away for the time being. He pulls on his tunic and pants, becoming the Crown Prince once more. He tucks the scroll he's liberated into his belt for later, and makes his way to the doors, unlocking one of them and slipping out into the hallway. The door seals shut behind him with finality, and Zuko can't help but feel like this is an ending of sorts.

Sokka is not in his apartments, so Zuko steps outside into the gardens. He can hear laughter a short way away, and begins to wend his way through the walled gardens, following the pathway. The occasional lamp illuminates the entrance to the next garden, and Zuko seeks out the sound of Sokka's laughter to guide him. Sokka's voice sounds rich and warm in the darkness, his voice deepening as he's gotten older. He's not the loud, weird ly determined kid Zuko remembers from their first meeting either. He pauses in the entrance to the final garden, observing Sokka for a moment, unnoticed in the dark.

Sokka is, of course, holding court in the Water Garden, surrounded by a small group of court lords and ladies. Tall bamboo plants give the garden privacy, feeding into the intimate atmosphere, and a gentle perfume scents the air from one of the nearby vines that clamber up the walls. Sokka is laying on his back in the grass, head resting on a pillow, and he's gesturing with his hands toward one of the court ladies who sits nearby. The woman is holding a sheet of paper, and Sokka is miming some kind of action while she struggles to understand what he's explaining.

One of the men in the group looks up and spots Zuko, and immediately lowers himself into a graceful bow. And just like that, with a ripple like reeds in a breeze, the lightness of the moment he's witnessing is broken. Sokka freezes, and then turns his head toward Zuko. His smile is completely fake, eyes like flint in the lamp light. "Your Highness," he says, sitting up. "What brings you to our little gathering this late at night?"

"I am in sea r ch of your lovely company, Lord Sokka," he replies, offering a gentle smile in return. One of the ladies giggles, and Zuko marvels at the fact that nobody senses anything wrong between them. Or, if they do, they chose not to acknowledge it. The Fire Nation court has had decades, maybe centuries to learn to ignore the strife within the ruling family. It must be like second nature by now.

Zuko forces himself to keep his steps light, body loose, as he walks toward Sokka. He sinks down onto the blanket next to him, and Sokka quickly moves from the pillow to lay his head in Zuko's lap. Well, this is... unexpected, Zuko thinks, not unless it's Sokka intention to bite his dick off in public, or maybe punch him in the balls. Honestly, judging by the shark-like grin on Sokka's face, neither would surprise him.

The court ladies giggle once more, and begin organizing all the pillows, tidying up and preparing to leave. A woman approaches them and bows. She looks familiar, but Zuko can't place her or her titles properly, only that he's seen her with Sokka before as part of the Lady Aiya's group. "We will take our leave, so you can be alone," she says with a smile, turning to leave.

Once she's gone, Sokka lets out a deep, aggravated sigh and crosses his arms over his stomach. "Why are you here?"

Zuko looks around, checking that the garden is empty. He leans down over Sokka, hair falling forward over his face. He ignores Sokka's tone, his expression, and focuses on t he things he needs to impart to Sokka . He does not loose himself in the stormy depths of Sokka's eyes, nor the coiled strength of his body. He dares to place his hand gently on Sokka's chest. Sokka's heart beats fast beneath his palm, but he doesn't push Zuko away.

"I broke into my father's private office," Zuko whispers.

Sokka's eyes go wide. "You did what ?!" Sokka makes as if he's going to sit up, but Zuko expected this and uses his hand to gently push Sokka back down.

Zuko brushes his fingers along the edge of Sokka's clenched jaw and tilts his chin up. His angry eyes glare into Zuko's. "There's a secret passage between my old rooms and my father's. That's not important right now," Zuko explains. "What is important is that there are two secret airship bases, not one, and that Iroh has escaped from prison. Ozai is keeping it secret."

Sokka says nothing, but it's clear he's thinking things through, sifting quickly through plans and contingencies. He pushes up off Zuko's lap and twists, shoving Zuko down onto the blanket onto his back. He leans down, until he's merely a whisper away, within kissing distance. Zuko’ s heart stops beating for a second, breath caught in his throat. He can't help looking down to Sokka's lips, and then back up again quickly. He knows he's been caught fantasizing; he sees the moment when Sokka realizes it and freezes.

"Get me out of the palace and get us to Doi Mae ," Sokka hisses.

And then Sokka's gone; his hand lifting from Zuko's yearning body and leaving him cold and alone in a garden surrounded by the very essence of him.

And leaving Zuko to wonder what it would be like if they were not the enemies they seem destined to be.

Chapter Text

Zuko has spent the last couple of nights lying awake, trying to figure out how to get both him and Sokka out of Hari Bulkan without drawing suspicion. In the end, Ozai solves the problem for him.

He tries to ignore the frisson of fear that skitters down his spine when his father summons him to the throne room. He can't ignore the voice in his head that says Ozai knows Zuko was snooping around in his apartments and his private office; that Ozai will punish him for his transgressions publicly—for a second time.

Zuko dresses in his black and red armour; a mental barrier, protection against whatever his father will demand of him. He makes sure his hair is dressed in a perfect top knot, crown in place. As he walks toward the throne room, he wonders if this is the end of his road, if Ozai is waiting to deal out his own particular brand of justice for a final time. He keeps his fears locked tight away, his expression blank and almost haughty. He's spent years learning that cultivating (and growing into) a generally disagreeable demeanour keeps people at arms length and less inclined to interact with him. Being banished at the ripe old age of thirteen had taught him that if he keeps a distance, the peoplehe cares about are less likely to share in his disgrace. Over time he'd grown into the role he'd set himself; the disagreeable, angry Prince with an incendiary temper and an inner flame to match. People had started to avoid him of their own accord.

It wasn't until he’d seen the Avatar's group, that Zuko had even realized that there was the prospect of friendship as a concept. Zuko has never had friends. Mai and Ty-Lee were always extensions of Azula—orbiting her rising star, rather than paying any attention to Zuko himself. He had hoped, before Ozai drove a wedge between them, that he and Sokka might be good friends after this is all said and done. Once Ozai is gone—and Zuko doesn't dare think too much about the aftermath, about what it would be like to be free of his father for good, to wake up in the morning and not have to worry about dying at his father's command—once he is gone, Zuko hopes to be normal, to have friends. There's a small part of him that even hoped that he and Sokka might be more than that with time. But Ozai has done his job well. Their truce and all Zuko's fragile, burgeoning feelings for Sokka lay shattered at Ozai's feet, a victim of his cruelty and lust for power.

Zuko is used to being fractured inside and not showing it on the outside. And today is no different, is it? So it's imperative that he find a way to get both him and Sokka away from court, before it claims their lives rather than just their alliance.

He keeps a measured pace as he walks toward the throne. He sinks gracefully into a full kowtow, and only raises his head enough to greet his father. Never was there a better reason for the phrase keeping one's head down.

"I have decided to send you to Ember Island for a short holiday, Prince Zuko. Azula will join you with her husband, Chaeryu." Ozai is a dark, crowned silhouette behind a wall of orange flame, seated under the canopy of state. It's like he's closed himself off completely from his audience, and Zuko wonders if that's because of Iroh's escape from prison. Hiding behind a wall of flame isn't going to protect anyone from another firebender, Zuko thinks.

And...vacationing with Azula? Zuko's brain shorts out at the prospect. No. Absolutely not. Ozai doesn’t understand the meaning of a relaxing holiday if he thinks Zuko's going anywhere within three counties of Azula and her new husband. Zuko stays in a kowtow, only rising to sit seiza when he thinks he has his expression under control. It won't do to show surprise, or any kind of emotion Ozai can use against him.

"I will be meeting with my generals, to plan our invasion of the Earth Kingdom," Ozai explains. "Take the time to enjoy yourself. Relax. I will need you at your best when you return. I will need the Crown Prince by my side."

Zuko's brain stutters over Ozai's apparent casual benevolence toward him. This means Ozai doesn't know Zuko broke into his private office! His relief is palpable; he feels a rush of triumphant adrenaline course through him, making him lightheaded for a moment. His father doesn't know that Zuko is aware of his second, hidden airship base. More importantly, he doesn't know that Zuko is aware that Iroh has escaped from prison.

Is Ozai actually going to do Zuko's work for him, he wonders? This is the perfect segue he's been looking for; a way to ask for what he wants without appearing to be plotting anything or, Agni forbid, disagreeing with his father. "I wondered if I might visit Master Piandao," Zuko says carefully. "He offered me an invitation to his estate but I was reluctant to accept in case you needed me here." There, that sounds normal, right?

Ozai shifts a little. "Piandao was your sword master when you struggled with firebending, was he not?" Ozai says tartly.

"He was." Zuko is not going to rise to the bait. Ozai knows full well who Piandao is—he would have never let a simple nobody train the Crown Prince.

Ozai appears to consider Zuko's request. "Very well," he says. "Azula and her new husband are currently spending time in the palace at Ember Island. It wouldn't do for the Crown Prince to be displaced by them." The gears in Zuko's head are turning rapidly; he can imagine the scene if Ozai actually sent word to Ember Island, informing Azula she'd have to surrender her holiday home to her brother during his stay simply because he’s the Crown Prince. "Besides, I have heard Shu Jing is quite pleasant this time of year."

"So I have heard," Zuko responds. He is not going to correct his father if Ozai thinks he's going to Shu Jing. It's better for both Zuko and Sokka if the Fire Lord assumes they are there rather than Piandao's secondary estate on the south coast. No, it's better for everyone all round if Zuko just...doesn't mention where they are going by name and lets the implication stand.

"When will you leave?" Ozai gestures vaguely toward the side at a servant, as if Zuko's departure is of some importance and should be dealt with immediately. Maybe it is, who knows?

Zuko thinks. He needs to pack, and try to find some way to communicate like an adult with Sokka. On the other hand...the quicker he can get away from this cesspool of intrigue, the better. "We will leave tomorrow," Zuko says, dropping into another low bow. "I would not want to keep Your Majesty from your Generals."

He manages to keep it together long enough to exit the throne room and make his way back towards the royal apartments. He finds a random empty apartment, one that used to belong to one of Sozin's lesser concubines and shuts the door behind him. He slumps down the wall, letting out a shuddering sigh as his butt hits the floor and he leans back. Agni's balls, he thinks, what were the odds of that happening? Are the gods truly on Zuko's side at last?

Only time—and history—will tell.

Sokka is genuinely surprised that Zuko has kept his word. The city of Hari Bulkan is finally behind them, it's volcanic peaks now just grey smudges on the distant horizon. Flying on Appa had always seemed to eat up the distance, the miles barely registering at all, but now travelling by ostrich-horse really hammers home how big the Fire Nation is, and how vast it's landmass is. It’s not as big as the Earth Kingdom, but the coast is not a simple jaunt away.

It takes them two days by ostrich-horse to reach the southern edge of the main island. The roads are well maintained and often used by the army to move supplies around, but that doesn't change the fact that the distance on foot is still considerable.

Towns and villages slip by and the journey is made more awkward by the frosty silence between him and Zuko. Spirits, Sokka is angry. He's not just angry at Zuko, but angry at everything; the Fire Nation citizens, turning a blind eye to the suffering of the rest of the world, including the suffering of those in their own nation. He's angry at Ozai—actually, Sokka doesn't even have a word to adequately describe how he feels toward Zuko's manipulative, sadistic father. He's angry at the Southern Water Tribe for sending their warriors out—their sons—out to fight for some nebulous win, some vague victory. At the Northern Water Tribe for ignoring the entire world and locking themselves away. He's angry he's been surrounded by attendants and sycophants in the palace for so long that he can't even vent his anger without someone either trying to help or report his actions.

Fuck, it feels like he's going to burst with rage. He needs to get a lid on it or find a healthy way to vent his feelings.

Of course there's the alternate option: Sokka could simply use the opportunity to slip away during the night. They’ve brought minimal guards with them, and he's gotten good at being stealthy since he left home. With the right planning it should be fairly easy to evade the guards.

This would be a brilliant plan if he didn't want (or need) to meet Piandao in Doi Mae. Piandao has shown Sokka one of his hands in his great game of Pai Sho; that he is in contact with Sokka's father, and therefore, in contact with the fleet and it's allies. Also, it sounds like the estate is geographically much closer to the sea than Sokka could have hoped for. Unfortunately, Sokka has to conclude that sticking with the Fire Nation and Zuko for the time being is his best bet at reuniting with both his father and the Gaang.

They pause near a bubbling river on the evening of the second day, to water the ostrich-horses and rest before their final push toward Doi Mae the following morning.

Sokka dismounts and stretches, reaching for the sky and feeling his back crack in at least a couple of places. Yikes. Beaky (which Sokka has decided is the ostrich-horse’s name) snuffles against his hip, clearly searching for treats in his pocket. Sokka doesn't have any, so Beaky gives him an attitude-laden glare, followed by an aggravated huff, before beginning to forage for grass along the ground.

It's as good a campsite as it's going to get, Sokka observes. It's a few hundred meters from a small side-road; most people wouldn't even know it's here, but Piandao had sent out a guide to meet them earlier, and it's clear the guide knows her stuff. The ground is mostly level near the river bank and grassy, which offers a nice cushion to sleep on. The clearing is surrounded by trees and clumps of bright green bamboo nearer the water's edge. The water will nicely hide any sounds of occupation they make, and it should make the entire group almost invisible to anyone travelling close by.

Their guide begins to help the guards unload the pack animals, and then begin to erect a tent for Zuko and Sokka. This is another thing that makes Sokka angry; that everywhere His Royal Jerkbender goes he apparently needs an entourage and a tent to sleep in. Sokka glares at Zuko's back; Zuko, who looks mildly uncomfortable and slightly constipated by having to watch a bunch of grown men erect a tent on his behalf, simply so he can park his royal ass on a fluffy duvet overnight while everyone else sleeps in a blanket. Now Sokka's watching him properly, and not bouncing along on Beaky, he notices Zuko seems a little off; eyes flicking to the sides like he's staring into the tree line, senses on cautious alert. He looks, Sokka decides, a little haunted, a little bit off, and he wonders kind of fuckery Ozai pulled on his son before they left.

Dinner is a strained affair, with Zuko and Sokka sitting silently next to each other while the soldiers and Piandao’s guide share a separate fire a polite distance away. They look like they are having a lot more fun; laughing and joking while sorting out watch duty for the evening before everyone turns in.

"I'm going to bed," Zuko says. He makes a neat pile of his plate and the leftovers, and then heads toward the tent.

Don't let the tent flap hit you on the ass on the way in , Sokka thinks uncharitably. God, I'm such a petty bitch.

He's just as angry with himself as he is with everyone else, he decides. He's very much aware that Zuko is not in control of his own destiny right now, and that in order to play and succeed at the game they are enacting, Zuko has to do certain things and appear to be on his father's side. Sokka knows that he himself is also partly to blame for a lot of what has come between them recently; still, he's not feeling any level of charity towards Zuko, and—and, Zuko is still his enemy! How's he supposed to react when shit hits the fan like it has done?

Sokka waits long enough that the moon is high in the night sky, and then he tiptoes into the tent, ducking down under the flap. Zuko is already asleep, his back to Sokka and rolled over on his side. He's let his hair down out of the top knot he wears it in, and it makes him look vulnerable, much younger. His hair is thick and glossy, falling over his hidden face, and for a single second, Sokka wants to reach out and touch, to card his fingers through it.

...which is what he is absolutely not going to do, he confirms with himself. Instead, Sokka rolls himself tightly up in his own blanket and turns his back on Zuko, shutting his eyes.

Maybe if he convinces himself he's asleep it'll actually be true.

Sokka's been sleeping for a while, enough to be sleep-warm within his blanket, muscles relaxed. He's woken by a quiet sound; the sound of something being moved, and then brief, cool air on his back. Sokka waits, eyes slitted until his sight adjusts to the dark. When he hears no further disturbances, he rolls over.

Zuko's bedroll is empty.

Sokka reaches out a hand; the blankets are still warm with Zuko's body heat. Maybe he just got up to take a leak? Then he remembers Zuko's odd behaviour earlier, and something niggles at him. Fuck, he wants to roll back up in his bedroll and go back to sleep, but Sokka's conscience won't let him. He may be mad at Zuko right now, but he can't leave the guy to deal with danger on his own. Sokka knows what its like to be outnumbered in a fight.

He exits the tent, coming face to face with two of Zuko's guards, sitting by the fire. "Uh," Sokka offers intelligently, letting the tent flap fall back closed behind him. He'd forgotten about the guards, so clearly Zuko is in zero danger. Spirits, he's an idiot.

The guards stare at him for a couple more moments, and then one of them points behind Sokka. Sokka looks behind him, expecting to see Zuko, but instead sees a gap between the bushes and what must be a pathway used by the local wildlife. He looks back at the guards, and the guard clearly sighs. "Prince Zuko went that way," he says, and gestures again.

Sokka gives the guard a thumbs up and follows the trail into the forest. It takes him a minute to realize they probably think he and Zuko have gone off for some kind of private time. Embarrassing, and aggravating, but it feeds into everyone's perception that they are, indeed, fucking.

As soon as Sokka leaves the warm glow of the campsite's fire he's plunged into stygian darkness. It's as if a door has closed behind him, leaving the light behind. The tree canopy towers above him, blocking any visible starlight from view. The trees are shadows upon shadows, and Sokka automatically slows his pace to a crawl in order to adapt to the darkness. He turns, and the camp fire is a small, dwindling glow behind him; a reminder of civilization and comfort. He pauses, listening for any sounds.

Zuko is nowhere to be seen.

He hears the mournful cry of an owl-cat in the distance and then silence. Against his better judgment Sokka continues to walk further into the forest. After a few minutes he realizes he's lost the path, but when he turns around to try to get his bearings he can still see the campfire.

Where the fuck did Zuko go? Should I be worried?

There's the sound of a twig snapping right next to Sokka, like the sound of brittle bones breaking, and then he's slammed back against the nearest tree hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sokka lets out a grunt of pain, lashing out at the shadow in front of him. His attacker bats his fist away like he was expecting the attempt, and then presses a hand over Sokka's mouth.

Dazed, it takes Sokka a few seconds to realize he's found his errant prince.

"What are you doing out here!?" Zuko hisses furiously. He keeps a hand on Sokka's tunic, twisting his grip within it so Sokka doesn't get the bright idea to move.

Sokka twists his head away, effectively removing Zuko's hand from his mouth. "What am I doing out here?!" Sokka whispers back, just as incensed. "You're the one creeping around like a creepy person in the dead of night when you should be sleeping in your fucking blanket! I came out here because I was worried about -" Sokka stops himself mid-sentence before he says anything else damning. "You left the tent," Sokka finishes up flatly.

Zuko manages to make an expression that conveys just how dumb he thinks Sokka is. His gaze is flinty, reminiscent of a younger, much less accommodating Zuko. "Maybe I came out here to take a leak," he says. It’s clearly a lie.

"You're such a -"

Zuko slaps the hand back over Sokka's mouth. "Agni, you are shrill when you are wound up." He stares at Sokka for a moment, then bites at his lip, as if he's weighing something between them.

Sokka waits, body alight with the feeling of danger around them. What has Zuko so on guard? Why is he so tense? He can feel the press of Zuko's hand against his mouth, his leg pushing between his thighs, anchoring him to the tree, his fist in Sokka's shirt. Zuko narrows his eyes, and Sokka suddenly feels very small and very much out of his element.

Zuko opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is interrupted. "I -"

"Your Highness?! Lord Sokka? Are you out there?"

Zuko rolls his eyes and looks like he's physically holding himself back from swearing. He fails. "Agni's balls," he mutters under his breath. He releases his hold on Sokka's shirt and his hand from his mouth and steps back, putting distance between them.

One of the guards is making his way from camp and along one of the trails, torch lit and yelling at the top of his lungs. He's holding his torch up high as if it's going to magically cut through the darkness and illuminate his missing Crown Prince.

"What were you going to say?" Sokka demands. "What is going on? Zuko, answer me!"

Zuko shakes his head. "Not here. Not now." He turns on his heel and strides back toward the camp.

"For fuck's sake!" Sokka shouts. He's past the point of caring if anyone thinks they are having a lovers spat or not. Zuko is absolutely infuriating. Sokka thought they'd been making strides, working together, but it feels like everything has gone to shit since Ozai—since he—Sokka takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to calm himself. His hands curl into fists at his sides and his jaw aches he's clenching it so hard. He can't think about Alaq and what Ozai did to him.

Sokka strides after Zuko, back towards the light of the campfire. One of the guards nods when he sees Sokka return, his expression bland. That's right, everyone thinks they probably had sex again, great.

When he ducks back into the tent, Zuko is lying on his side, facing away once more. His entire body screams discomfort, his posture stiff and unyielding.

Sokka doesn't pick a fight. He doesn't try to talk to Zuko; it's clear Zuko doesn't want to talk to him, so why push things? He lays down quietly, and thinks about maybe trying to break the ice again and reassure Zuko, let him know that Sokka does have his back.

He's not sure Zuko would listen.

On the morning of the third day, they are able to see Doi Mae in the distance—or the mountains it's named for, anyway. The deafening sound of rushing water fills Sokka's ears, and when they round a corner, the forest falling away to the sides, he can see why. The valley is supplied with water by a massive waterfall—foamy water cascading hundreds of feet to the rocks below with deafening finality, before rushing further down the valley.

The estate is unobtrusive; the main building is two stories high and surrounded by white walls, red tiles shining in the distance. Sokka can start to make out a number of rooftops within the enclosure, hinting at a sizable self-managed estate, surrounded by tilled fields of ripening rice and grains which ripple in the breeze. This is a working estate as well as a pleasure palace, and Sokka is immediately intrigued by the idea. After all, he's used to a small, self-contained village, isn't he? In a way, his village and this place aren't dissimilar; both surrounded by walls with living spaces within, and a sense of community fostered. The only difference is the locations, and the fact that this place grows it's food rather than hunts or trades for it.

Sokka takes a deep breath of the air. The valley is surrounded by mountains, with the estate nestled half way down what is clearly a flood plain that leads out toward the sea. The coastline can't be more than a couple of miles away; Sokka can scent a change in the air. It's a little fresher, a little cooler than the humid, sometimes oppressive air around Hari Bulkan.

Their small group wends its way along the road toward Piandao's estate. Zuko remains silent, but he sticks close to Sokka, never more than a horse's length away. Sokka knows it's a protective gesture, but he can't help but feel antsy; like Zuko's waiting for something to happen. Has the Fire Nation court's politicking followed them so far away from Hari Bulkan? What is he missing, what undercurrents ripple beneath them?

Zuko turns his ostrich-horse at the next road, leading the group along the western side of the estate walls. In the distance Sokka can make out a large set of wooden double doors set within the retaining wall, and as they get closer he can see Piandao's familiar white lotus design carved onto them.

The doors swing open and Piandao's manservant, Fat appears before them. He bows as they approach, and the entourage comes to a stop. "Greetings, Prince Zuko, Lord Sokka," Fat intones. "Welcome to Doi Mae."

"Is Master Piandao here?" Zuko asks.

"Alas no, Your Highness. The Master has further business in Hari Bulkan, and begs your understanding. He will join you later in the week." Fat stands to the side and gestures within. Zuko urges his mount forward into the courtyard, and Sokka lets Beaky follow along. Zuko's accompanying guards begin to dismount and organize the supplies they've bought, while Fat leads them toward the main house.

Sokka is beginning to think Piandao has a penchant for gardening in his spare time. Or, more likely, he enjoys the views and employs someone else to actually do the gardening. His house in the city was surrounded with carefully designed shrubbery, the views created to envelope the observer in greenery and frame the landscape. Here in Doi Mae the same hand has been at work, cultivating the gardens in such a way as to frame every view to maximum effect. The main house is set back toward the rear of the property, and only reachable along several winding pathways that cross a small, bubbling stream. There's probably some meditative aspect to crossing the stream more than once, a lesson to learn, a parable. Sokka's intrigued but has more to worry about than philosophy and sacred journeys right now.

And yet, being here in Doi Mae, for the first time in a long while Sokka feels his body start to unwind and relax—until he spots Zuko, that is. He's still holding himself rigid, formal and unreachable, expression blank. Does he even realize he's doing it, Sokka wonders?

"Your apartments will be here, Prince Zuko, Lord Sokka," Fat intones, gesturing toward an expansive single-storey wing to one side of the main residence. It's private and yet accessible.

So, they're sharing a set of rooms again. Sokka is craving his own space; he misses the fact that when he arrived in Hari Bulkan he had his own set of rooms to retreat to when things got too much. Ever since Azula murdered Min, it's felt like Zuko has been in his back pocket, ever present, always there, and now that things are strained between them it's gotten worse. He feels constantly on edge, teeth gritted against his lack of privacy, no room to think for himself. Zuko is like a locked box; unable or unwilling to show Sokka what's he's hiding (or protecting?) and Sokka is one annoyed look or dismissive gesture away from losing his shit completely.

Sokka has enough time to change out of his travelling clothes into something more comfortable and wash up before dinner. He sits next to Zuko as the servants bring out food; plate after tiny plate of beautifully presented fruits and vegetables in complimentary sauces, rice, and sticky, sugar-coated confectionery in the shape of flowers and leaves. The Fire Nation sure know how to present food well, don't they?

As soon as dinner is done, Zuko excuses himself to bathe, and Sokka takes the opportunity to wander into the main wing of the house. The coastal air is refreshing, and Sokka finds he feels more lively here, more... awake. He finds a Pai Sho table in one of the rooms. It’s a pleasant place to pass the time, with doors that open onto a veranda that frame the mountains like a painted picture. There is a wall filled with cubbies holding scrolls, many more scroll cases and ornate boxes set against the other wall. Piandao's house is lived in and clearly loved, and Sokka is envious of a man that can feel settled enough in a single place to put down roots. He hopes that one day he is able to do that for himself, wherever that might be.

He spends a pleasant hour perusing the scrolls, picking out one or two to read later. A couple are questionable in nature and a little risque, and Sokka is absolutely going to give those a read, isn't he? As the sun sets, Fat finds him still in the same place. He says nothing, merely lights a couple of candles so Sokka can see better, and he wonders if this is the type of thing he's used to doing for his master.

"Is Prince Zuko in the house?" Sokka asks.

Fat turns his attention fully to Sokka and bows. "No, he is not. He went out for a walk through the fields."

"He left the house?" Sokka asks with a frown. Where, and what the hell is Zuko thinking going out without an escort or, at the very least, taking Sokka with him for backup?

Fat looks resigned. "The Crown Prince is able to look after himself, my lord," he says. "He said he needed to clear his head."

"I'm not—I know he can look after himself. " Dammit, Sokka is going to lose his temper. Any sign of the temporary calm he'd accumulated here in the library is suddenly gone. "I think I"m going to retire," Sokka says. "Can I borrow a couple of scrolls?"

"Of course, please choose those you wish to read at your leisure." It's then Sokka notices Fat already has a scroll in one hand, which he holds out to Sokka. "This came for you this evening from Master Piandao."

Sokka takes the scroll, noting the white lotus seal on the outside.

"You may wish to burn that when you are done," Fat suggests.

"Thanks." Sokka breaks the seal on the scroll; all thought of Zuko and his mercurial moods slipping from his mind for the time being. He's aware of Fat leaving the room and sliding the screen closed behind him, and Sokka is left in the darkening twilight with Piandao's letter.

Piandao has a very particular way of writing, Sokka notes. Every stroke of every character is decisive and neat; truly beautiful penmanship. He gets straight to the point:

Lord Sokka,

Greetings to you and his Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Zuko. I hope that you are settled comfortably within the house at Doi Mae. I beseech you to use it as your own for as long as you reside there. I have left instructions for Fat to accommodate you as best as he, and the estate, can.

And so to business now the pleasantries are out of the way: I have left a gift for you with a local man. I thought you might appreciate some time to revisit the sea, since your people are born from it. You must miss it very much. To that end simply show this seal to the fisherman in Shinkai village, no later than two days from now, and he will assist you. Make sure you are not gone too long.

Piandao

Sokka huffs out a laugh and rolls the scroll back up. Piandao, as usual, manages to say a lot and yet not much all at the same time. He is a courtier at heart, ever ready to engage in a deadly dance of subterfuge and hidden truths. Sokka wonders what he will find when he reaches Shinkai, but he can make a good guess. He turns over the seal in his hand, noting it is a Pai Sho tile—the boat tile to be exact. Yeah, he has a very good idea what—or who—he will find at the end of this journey.

Sokka cannot think too much on it, on the thought of seeing his father again after so long. He can't let himself hope too deeply, just in case he's wrong. While Piandao has gone out of his way to couch this day trip as a present to Sokka, to make it seem like a gift, one friend to another, Sokka still must be careful. He needs to be aware of who is around him, because if he's followed, he'll expose his father and in turn the entire southern navy. Their coup will be over before it's even started.

Part of him wonders if he should even attempt to meet with his father. Piandao has gone out of his way to arrange this meeting, and yet Sokka hesitates, the tactician in him warning him that the odds are too high, the fall too steep if he is found out. There is simply too much at stake.

And yet Sokka yearns to see his family again. To see his father bicker with Bato, to see him in his environment, surrounded by his men. To make sure that he yet lives, and breathes, healthy and hale and oh so very dear to him.

Despite his reservations, Sokka's made up his mind to go before he even finishes re-rolling the scroll and setting it to burn brightly in the candle flame.

Zuko is up and gone from their sleeping room by the time Sokka wakes the next morning. Sokka is now at the point in their self-inflicted disagreement that he wants to talk it out, or at least attempt to figure out where they've fractured apart. The problem is, Zuko is running avoidance, and this infuriates Sokka to no end. Zuko has always been confrontational at best, borderline psychotic at his worst. The fact he refuses to engage with Sokka at the moment is somewhat worrying.

Sokka's voice of reason advises him that it's probably best to approach Zuko with careful handling. He knows if he comes on too aggressively, Zuko will clam up again. So, with that in mind, Sokka takes a few deep breaths and stakes out a corner of their rooms, waiting until Zuko slinks in sometime in the late afternoon.

Sokka doesn't make a conscious decision to be combative, but all the frustration and anger of the last week comes crashing to the fore as soon as he sees Zuko. It's like Sokka's brain realizes he's got Zuko alone for the first time in days, with nobody listening in to report back to Ozai. And oh boy, he's gonna use the time to demand an explanation as to what the fuck is going on in Zuko's head.

He stands, arms crossed and fuming, watching as Zuko enters the rooms and turns, closing the shoji screen behind him quietly.

"Did you know Ozai was going to execute Alaq in my place?" Sokka demands.

"What?" Zuko turns back into the room. He looks startled to find Sokka in the room. "Sokka, I - "

"Did you know?! Answer the question, Zuko."

Zuko steps further into the room, toward Sokka. He's searching Sokka's face, probably looking for an explanation as to why he's so angry. Zuko should know better.

"Of course not." Great, Zuko's trying to sound reasonable. "Sokka, what's really going on here?"

"What's going on?" Sokka scoffs. He strides across the room, getting up in Zuko's business. It's aggressive behaviour, and Zuko seems to realize things are going downhill rapidly. He takes a step backward, confusion still evident on his face. "What's going on is that your father-" Sokka jabs at Zuko's chest with his finger, "executed a prisoner of war publicly, and with great fanfare, clearly, and I'm supposed to believe that the Crown Prince— his heir—didn't know about it?"

"Why the fuck would I know?" Zuko demands, shoving Sokka's hand away. "My father doesn't involve me in his affairs of state. In his eyes I am a tool to be used as needed. You know that."

"Do I?" Sokka pushes forward again.

Zuko barks out an incredulous laugh. "We've been working together for months, Sokka. I have shared everything I know with you. I have placed my trust in you. That could have gotten me killed time and time again, and yet I've chosen to deal fairly with you in the hope of a better outcome for both our nations. And you want to fuck that up by arguing over something I had no control over?"

"Fuck you." Sokka curls his hands into fists. Don't take the bait , he chants to himself. Don't take the bait.

The thing is, Zuko has made it his life's work to aggravate Sokka (when he's not actively trying to kill him), and the same could probably be said in reverse. On a base level they are born enemies, trying to overcome years of programming and work together. There's going to be teething pains, isn't there?

Zuko's smirk is familiar; dismissive and cruel. Sokka knows he's not going to like Zuko's next words.

"Princes don't get fucked, Sokka."

Yeah, Sokka was right; he knew Zuko was going to be a fucking dick.

Zuko lets out a little derisive laugh. "Maybe if you get on your knees for me I'll consider it."

It's the laugh that does it. Sokka swings his fist, catching Zuko off guard. Zuko evades, but doesn't quite make it, and Sokka's fist catches him a glancing blow on his jaw. Zuko staggers backward, reeling from the punch. It soothes the beast in Sokka's soul that's itching to get out, to fight this out.

But Zuko's not gonna stand still and take it, no. He's never been the type to cower behind others, has always fought his own battles. Today is apparently going to be no different.

Zuko hits hard. Sokka had forgotten that in the time he’s been trapped in Hari Bulkan.

Zuko follows his punch up by running at Sokka, tackling him to the floor. They fall in a tangle of limbs, and Sokka grunts as he lands on his back, hitting his head. He rolls, bringing Zuko with him until Zuko's underneath him. Zuko looks furious, spitting-angry like an alley cat. He tries to bring his knee up, catching Sokka on his torso instead, knocking the wind from him. They wrestle, neither getting the upper hand; a silent battle for domination that neither is winning. They are evenly matched in this; Sokka's spent his informative years play-fighting (and actual fighting) with the village boys, resulting in more than one black eye or set of bruised ribs. He's since fought many battles since leaving the village with Aang. Zuko seems like a person who's always had to fight for what he wants. He fights like a scrappy fighter-for-hire, far from the considered, royal firebender he's supposed to be. There's a story there, Sokka thinks, and maybe one day he'll get to hear it from Zuko.

Not today, though.

Sokka gets in another underhand punch, and Zuko responds by trying to bite Sokka. Another knee to his already tender ribs allows Zuko to get Sokka under him, straddling Sokka's hips and struggling to pin his wrists to the floor.

"Did you think that Ozai's message was just directed at you?" Zuko glares at Sokka. He looks defeated, winded, gasping for breath. He sits back and releases Sokka's hands, and wraps his arm protectively around his ribs. "Father has always liked dispensing lessons—usually fatal ones. Did you think this time would be any different? There was always going to be some kind of demonstration of his power over us, some kind of point to be made."

"Ozai is evil," Sokka spits from beneath him. "He needs to go down."

"What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do?!" Zuko shouts, glaring at him. His eyes, usually a warm gold, are hard like chipped amber, mouth twisted in a snarl. "I need you! I need your help! Why are you being so fucking difficult?"

"I'm angry," Sokka snarls. He puts his hands over his eyes, unable and unwilling to look at Zuko for the moment. He sighs heavily and drops his hands. Zuko doesn't move, still straddling Sokka's hips. He's staring at Sokka like he owes him an explanation. "I'm angry because I didn't expect Ozai to actually follow through on his promise," Sokka says sullenly. Then he adds, "I'm angry because I feel like I could have done something if I'd been one step ahead of him."

Zuko lets out a shuddering breath and slips to the side, lying next to Sokka on the floor. Neither of them are touching, but at least they aren't fighting, he supposes. Sokka's jaw hurts, and his ribs. He glances over at Zuko; Zuko's staring up at the ceiling, his breathing steadier now.

Zuko turns his head and glares at Sokka. "What?" he demands. "Happy now? Do you feel better?"

"No." Sokka glares back at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"What do you want, Sokka? If you want to end our arrangement, I suppose I understand." Sokka ignores how Zuko's voice has gone husky, a little broken at the end of that sentence. "I'd rather do this with you, but I can manage the attempt on my own if I have to. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to go it alone, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

"Spirits, I hate you," Sokka says. "Why can't you be a thoroughly horrible person like your father? Why do you have to make me feel things for you, you prickly bastard?" He sits up, leaning back on his hands.

Zuko looks absolutely baffled by the turn in the conversation. "Prickly? What?"

"You've been weird ever since we left the city," Sokka says. "You've been avoiding me as much as possible. You've been distracted, distant, and downright rude. I thought we were a team, Zuko! I thought you -"

I thought I mattered to you.

Zuko pushes himself upright slowly. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, and then grimaces at the pain. "You distanced yourself from me," Zuko says. "I know our arrangement wasn't perfect, that our feelings were faked to blind people to what we were doing, but you took the first step back. I thought we had grown a little, that even while it wasn't a perfect situation, I thought we had each other's back, that we could trust each other enough to succeed, at least in this." Zuko takes a deep, shuddering breath. He's staring down at his hands, folded in his lap, and won't meet Sokka's face.

This is Zuko being vulnerable, and Sokka suddenly feels like a complete asshole.

"But Alaq -"

Zuko looks up at Sokka now. The glare has gone, replaced with resignation and not a small amount of defeat, Sokka thinks.

"Don't you think I was aware there would be sacrifices, that people would die?" Zuko says. "I was aware that one wrong move would get me killed, would get you killed and yet I still thought it was worth seeking out my enemy and asking you to help me. I thought you might give me the advantage I lacked, offer me some clear insight where mine is only muddied by my heritage and my loyalty to my nation. I needed a fresh outlook, someone with a clever and quick mind who could look at things differently and intelligently and offer me a way forward I could never have achieved on my own. So yes, I knew there would be sacrifices, Sokka. I'm sorry one of those sacrifices was your friend, your countryman. But he won't be the last, of that I am sure."

"You really thought this through from the start, didn't you?" Sokka says.

"I had to." Zuko doesn't look away from Sokka. It's like now they've made eye contact they've reconnected. Sokka owes Zuko the truth as much as he can, he realizes. Neither one of them can afford to deal in half-truths any more.

"I’m angry at you," Sokka admits. "I know deep down that you had nothing to do with Alaq's death, but I wanted someone to be angry at.” He stares at the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he looks back at Zuko. “You are the only person I feel safe being angry with." Even as he says the words he knows it's the truth. He's not been able to articulate his feelings before now, which has added to his frustration. "Why have you been so distant since we left Hari Bulkan? What’s going on in your head, Zuko? Now, more than ever, we should have each other's back. The other night in the forest—what was that about?"

Zuko's looks concerned for a moment. "I have a hidden sentry," Zuko explains. "He's my man and mine alone, not beholden to anyone else. I hired him myself and I trust him with my life. Daiyu is very good at his job," he adds. "He's always watching when I'm outside the palace, and he will always let me know of any danger. You've heard him signal me a couple of times in warning."

Sokka blinks and frowns. He’s heard him before? "When?"

"When we were meeting in the stone boat. You heard the cry of the badger-peacock? That was Daiyu letting me know Azula was approaching. It's his job to simply watch, to wait, and to warn me if he thinks I'm in grave danger."

"Okay? I haven't heard anything tonight though, or recently?" Sokka replies.

"Exactly." Zuko sighs heavily. "He's been on our trail since we left Hari Bulkan, as expected. I heard his call the first night, and his check in. We use a series of different animal calls to communicate," he explains. "I have heard nothing since."

"Oh, shit," Sokka says with dawning realization. "So that's why you were distant; you were worried. And you think..."

"I don't know what to think," Zuko says. "The night you followed me into the forest, I was trying to locate him. At the very least I was hoping he would be able to signal me without being compromised if I was far enough from camp."

Sokka shifts closer to Zuko, enough so he can reach out and touch his knee with the tips of his fingers. It's a brief touch, a testing of the waters between them, a question. "Is it possible...do you think this is Ozai making another point?" he asks. "Is this another one of your necessary sacrifices?"

"I don't know." Zuko's admission is almost a whisper, as if he's exhausted. He reaches out, fingers brushing over Sokka's where they rest near his leg. "I'm tired," he admits. "I want all of this to be over."

Sokka's jaw tightens with something akin to grief. His throat aches fiercely, eyes pricking with unshed tears of both frustration and upset. He leans into Zuko's tentative touch, fingers curling around Zuko's, seeking comfort through touch. "Same," he whispers. "I want to laugh again, at some point. I want to laugh with you, maybe."

Zuko is staring at him, wide-eyed with surprise, mouth slightly parted. "You want to laugh with me?" he says.

Sokka smirks; he can't help it. "Laugh with you, yes. Maybe other stuff later." He winks, and he feels Zuko's fingers tighten around his, his grip more sure, and yeah, now they're holding hands for sure. Sokka feels a little giddy with the possibility, and he's pretty sure he's thriving off Zuko's faint blush.

They have so much to talk about, properly, when the time is right. Right now this new thing blossoming between them feels too nebulous, fragile and tentative. It’s too early to be taking strides forward into defining their relationship, Sokka feels. But this – this feels like a beginning, a way forward.

Fat finds them later like this, just in time for dinner, lying on the floor, bruised and battered, still holding hands and fast asleep.

When Zuko wakes, it’s dark, and he's alone.

He remembers him and Sokka finally coming to blows earlier; the pent up emotions of the last week coming to a head. It's not surprising the fight got physical quickly—as enemies, they are used to fighting each other. At least now they were just fighting to prove a point, rather than kill each other, Zuko thinks soberly. The bridge of his nose aches where Sokka headbutted him, and he's covered in myriad little bruises were they'd scuffled with each other. Still, this has allowed them to clear the air, or at least, begin to.

The peace between them is temporary and fragile, but Zuko has hope they can strengthen their bonds. For the first time he feels a fledgling hope, and something else, something small and delicate fluttering nervously inside him. This isn't lust—although that does play a part; he's always been weirdly attracted to Sokka as his enemy—this is something more. This might be the start of real feelings for Sokka as a person, as someone he wants to spend time with.

He feels his face heat and a tentative smile grace his lips when he thinks about holding hands with Sokka last night. The old, broken Zuko would have scoffed at something so childish and...immature, but really, it feels nice to not have further expectations. It's strangely freeing to know they were together in that moment with no care for anything outside of it.

Can they forge something beyond Zuko's plans to wrest control from his father? Is there a future where Ozai is gone and Zuko and Sokka can be together?

He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It's strangely quiet outside, he notices. None of the lamps have been lit that usually line the edges of the pathways through the gardens. And where is Sokka?

He climbs to his feet and straightens his tunic. He slides the door open and wanders through the receiving rooms. Still no Sokka. A quick check of the bedroom shows that he's not here either.

Strange.

Zuko leaves the apartments, walking quickly along the pathway toward the main house and the rest of the compound. Something is nagging at him, some sixth sense, some base survival instinct that tells him something is wrong. Daiyu is missing. Sokka is missing. Zuko takes deep breaths and tries not to lose his shit.

As he nears the main house, he sees a young man exit the building. The servant spots him and sketches a quick bow, hands clasped in the symbol of the flame. "Your Highness," the servant says.

"Where is Lord Sokka?" Zuko asks.

"He left earlier, my lord. He took one of the ostrich-horses from the stables and left through the main gate. I thought that you -"

There is a sharp, buzzing sound, and something brushes past Zuko's cheekbone. The sting is immediate, and even as he raises a hand to his face, his brain struggles to understand what he's seeing before him.

Time slows to a crawl.

The servant in front of him is grasping at his throat, an arrow protruding from his neck. Blood pours from the wound, staining his robes crimson. Zuko watches in horror as he crumples to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.

He can see arrows, burning with flame, falling from the sky. The roof of the granary goes up in flame, and someone lets out a scream that is cut off almost immediately. Zuko turns, comes face to face with the shadow of an archer, bow drawn and an arrow trained on him.

Zuko's first though is, Yuyan archer, but the silhouette is wrong. This man is Fire Nation.

Zuko's second thought is that Ozai has finally decided to put his heir out of his misery for good.

Someone off to the side shouts a warning, pulling Zuko out of his stupor. "Prince Zuko! Get down!"

The man lets fly another arrow, this time aimed at Zuko, and Zuko rolls to the side to avoid it, into the shrubbery. The archer curses, and in the burgeoning light from the fires, Zuko sees him place the bow over his back, and pull a dagger from his belt. He moves toward Zuko, searching side to side for him, methodical and careful in his approach. Zuko ignores the screams he can hear in the courtyard, innocent people dying, Piandao's servants that have been caught up in this power play.

Zuko has no idea who this archer is, and he considers trying to capture the man before discarding the idea. When he draws level with Zuko's hiding place, Zuko bursts from the shrubbery. He doesn't go for the weapon the man is holding, instead comes up behind him, slides his hand around and under his jaw, twisting violently and snapping his neck. The man falls silently, and Zuko spares him a long enough glance to liberate the body of the dagger. He's not good with a bow, only passable, and decides it's not worth the hassle taking the weapon. There is nothing on the body to identify either the man himself or his allegiances.

Zuko grabs the dagger and moves at a crouch through the compound. Burning arrows still fall from the sky, so whoever is responsible for the attack has archers situated outside as well, probably to pick off survivors. The light from the smouldering roofs makes Zuko's life easier, and he is able to move quickly, stashing the dagger in his belt. The main house is burning quickly, the paper and wood that makes up the building only fuelling the inferno. Bodies of servants lay scattered on the ground, some in groups as if they'd tried to protect each other, and Zuko grits his teeth. He wants to scream. Who would do this? Why would they do this?

He reaches the main courtyard. It's a slaughterhouse; men attacking anyone they can. Zuko still has not found Sokka, and at this point hopes he is far away from the fighting. Whatever his reasons for finally leaving Zuko, Zuko cannot be angry with him. He may well have saved his own life by leaving.

"Crown Prince Zuko!"

Zuko turns at the voice—it sounds familiar? He falls into a firebending stance, bringing his hands up as the man who had called out approaches him. The man holds a bow, arrow notched and bow strung, ready to fire. But this is not a bow like the other archer's; this is a noble's hunting bow he wields, with gold tipped, tasselled finials and carved decoration. Despite that, it is still a bow. It will still bring down a strong, angry buck from a hundred paces and kill it dead.

"I'm Prince Zuko, what do you want with me?" This close Zuko can make eye contact with the archer. He has a noble's topknot, and although his tunic is black to blend in with the night, it's clear he's not a common soldier. Zuko feels like he should know this man.

"What do I want with you?" the man sneers, taking his stance. He's confident in the fact that nobody will attack him; the slaughter continues, flames leaping many feet into the night sky as the fires take hold properly. "I want you dead." He narrows his eyes, and that small gesture is enough for Zuko. The arrow flies, and Zuko moves to defend himself with his firebending.

Well, he tries to.

He has no flame. At best it's minimal, barely a glow in his palms. He can’t even summon the familiar rush he should feel as he directs his chi.

He can't firebend.

He steps to the side, narrowly avoiding the arrow, and tries again, stepping into his stance and directing his chi through his palms.

Nothing.

Shit! Where is his flame?!

The man nocks another arrow and lets fly. Nocks another arrow. Lets it fly. Fires again.

Zuko knocks the first away with the dagger, the second is messy, grazing his arm. The third... the third hits home. Zuko feels it punch into flesh and bone. it's like being hit with a hammer, or at least that's how it feels. He grunts, dropping to one knee from the force of the arrow puncturing his side.

The pain is indescribable. It's both sharp and dull; it radiates outward and Zuko shakes out a gasp of pain, vision blurring with shock. He can't get up—can't even imagine trying to stand up right now. Time seems to slow like cooling molasses, sound becomes blurred and muffled. He can hear his heartbeat, a rapid staccato in his ears.

The archer approaches him slowly, cautiously, ready with another arrow, and stopping barely a foot away. Zuko tries to find his buried flame, to pull it up to fight with, but it feels impossible. His will is draining along with the flow of blood from his wound. He can feel his fingers slipping on the shaft of the arrow, feel where the steel point digs into his flesh.

"And so the Crown Prince falls." The man above him looks down on Zuko, and for a moment Zuko sees Zhao instead, smug with triumph. Zhao's voice intertwines with his attacker's, blurring together. Zuko shakes his head, tries to clear the fog.

Everything is burning down around him. Sokka has gone and left Zuko alone.

He could give in here, and let go. Let it happen.

He stares up at the man above him, bow held loosely now in his hand. He thinks he's safe, that he's won.

"I know you," Zuko wheezes out. He grimaces; he will not fall, not yet. "You are Chaeryu’s worthless son, Niuan. Why are you here?"

The man snorts in derisive laughter, and raises his bow one last time. He takes his time nocking the arrow to it, and pulling the bowstring taught. The bow creaks as he draws, protesting the movement. He takes aim carefully, and Zuko knows this time he will not miss his mark.

"Princess Azula sends her regards," Niuan says.

And he lets the arrow fly free.

Chapter Text

Sokka dismounts from Beaky and ties the ostrich-horse's reins to one of the hitching posts in the centre of the village. It's a small place; barely twenty huts in total around an open market and a well, clinging to the shoreline of the vast South Sea. It's the type of place that's sprung up out of necessity, not through planning. Most of the houses are thatched, some are tiled with rough grey clay. With nightfall approaching, most of the inhabitants are inside, probably seeing to dinner. Sokka's not here to get dinner though; he's here to follow Piandao's lead.

The sound of the sea beckons to him; the waves a rhythmic rush of bubbling joy, just out of reach. It's been months since Sokka has breathed the open sea air, felt the sea breeze on his skin. He can taste the salt in the air, the fresh breeze that threatens to turn into a biting wind should the weather change. Right now, the evening is warm, the waves gentle, but Sokka has enough experience with the tides and the fickle seas to know that that could change at any moment.

He's looking forward to getting out on the sea. Piandao was very careful to remain vague in his letter, but as Sokka stands there, turning the boat Pai Sho tile over and over between his fingers, he knows in his soul that his father is waiting for him. Sokka understands the very great risk that Piandao has taken in arranging this meeting, and Sokka is more than aware of the consequences for them both should someone find out. Sokka has weighed those consequences against what he'll find at the end of his journey and decided they are worth the risk, worth it to see his father's face again, to see his tribesmen. He will finally know if Aang survived Ba Sing Se, and if Katara managed to heal him. So many threads woven together and twisted apart, now coming back together under gentle, guiding hands. The tapestry of Sokka's life is complicated, but at this moment, nothing could feel more simple.

Sokka just needs to take these few steps to the beach front, to find his contact, and then to leave.

There's a small part of himself that wonders if he'll decide to come back.

He's glad he and Zuko had a chance this afternoon to start to communicate properly, to lay a temporary groundwork between them. Sure, Zuko can throw a mean punch, but at least they got most of the poison between them out and into the open. That feels good.

He hopes Zuko understands why he left without saying goodbye. There is no world where Zuko could have come with him on this trip, no way showing up at a Water Tribe war camp with the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation could go well. Sokka's time on this trip is limited, and explaining Zuko's presence would eat all of it up. No, Sokka has to do this alone. He's going to need all of his wits and charm to explain why he's sleeping with the Crown Prince willingly and accompanying him in public as his Consort. Right now there is every indication that Sokka is a traitor—a traitor thinking with his dick. That's immeasurably worse, Sokka thinks. He is not looking forward to explaining his actions, and he's going to need some goodwill if he wants to get his father's ship captains on his side.

Still, time is wasting.

He wanders down to the beach, where the waves make a loud shsssshing sound, both deafening and comforting at the same time. Hundreds of miles to the south lies Sokka's homeland, the rest of his village and his family. He can feel the pull of it in his soul, calling him home.

A man steps out of the darkness. He stands in the waves, thigh deep in the rolling waves, a steadying hand on the prow of a small row boat. He reaches for Sokka with his other hand, waving him forward. The man is tall, with skin the colour of worn wood, his face a map of his past experiences at sea. He's not dressed in Water Tribe colours, but the single bead in his braided hair gives him away, as does the clasp of his strong hand over Sokka's forearm in greeting.

"We should hurry," he says, and Sokka wants to soak in the familiar cadence of his accent. Sokka misses this, misses his dialect spoken properly; with enough time he could probably pinpoint which village this man hails from.

Sokka knows something is wrong the moment the man looks over Sokka's shoulder and his eyes widen. Sokka's hand flies to his boomerang, fingers closing around the familiar weapon as he turns, expecting an attack.

"Fire, on the horizon," the man says gravely, pointing in the direction of Piandao's estate.

Sokka gapes at the blaze of orange light, pulsing on the horizon. It looks distant, a blob of colour against the velvet sky, but Sokka knows this can't be a coincidence.

Just at that moment, a man stumbles out of the fields, blood at his temple. He's dressed in Piandao's livery, the white lotus on his tunic stained pink from blood. He looks terrified. "The estate is under attack!" he cries, pointing into the distance.

"An attack? What happened?" Sokka demands, wading out of the water. His blood turns cold at the thought that Zuko might be in the thick of the fighting, or even worse, hurt.

The servant sees Sokka, sees someone who appears to be in change, and latches on to that. "Assassins," the man garbles out, eager to talk now he feels safer. "Archers."

Archers. Assassins bring death, and Zuko is the only high profile person at the estate. Sokka looks down at his boomerang, curled in his hand. He bites his lip, indecisive for the moment.

Even now, Zuko might be fighting for his life, alone, while Sokka pisses around on the beach front. He might even be dead.

Sokka can feel rage building inside him, but it's not the hot rage of anger, but calculated and cold, like ice.

"Sokka, nobody will hold it against you if you leave now and rejoin the fleet," the sailor calls out over the waves. "Let the Fire Nation burn and come home with us."

Some of the men from the village appear, surrounding Piandao's servant, asking him questions. Some of them are already armed, melting into the fields and rushing toward the estate.

Sokka has a decision to make. Should he follow the villagers to the estate and defend it, find Zuko and make sure he's okay or, to melt into the darkness, to disappear into the sea and meet with his father? Hasn’t he been looking for a way to get back to his tribe ever since he was captured? Hasn’t he wanted to be free of the Fire Nation and Ozai’s reach? If he leaves, he can help his father plan the attack on Hari Bulkan personally.

"Sokka?"

In the end, it's no decision at all, really.

"I can't." Sokka turns back to the sailor, waiting by his boat. "I can't leave these people to be attacked," he explains. "I can't leave Zuko to deal with this by himself. I - " he takes a deep breath, committing himself. "Hakoda will understand. Tell him the plan remains the same, and if there is another way to meet before Black Sun I will do my best."

And with that, Sokka walks away from the shore, and doesn't look back.

Sokka can feel the heat from the fire as he races toward Doi Mae. Sparks float lazily in the night air, and the smell of burning wood and tile clogs Sokka's nostrils. As they get closer he slows Beaky down, keeping an eye out for attackers. He's a hundred feet from the edge of the fields that surround the village before he sees the first body: a man, lying face down, two arrows in his back.

Sokka's rage burns cold with fury at this sign of senseless death, at the same time his heart races with fear for Zuko. How long has passed since the attack started?

He vaults off of Beaky, giving the ostrich-horse a smack on it's rump to send it back toward the village and safety. He ducks close to the wall, boomerang in hand. It's been so long since Sokka has been in a life or death situation in battle, and he can feel his heart race, adrenaline pumping. He feels almost hyper-aware, glancing around to get his bearings. He can hear screaming in the distance, just over the sound of crackling flames. Thick, roiling smoke wreaths the buildings close by, the heat almost unbearable.

He needs to find Zuko, and quickly.

Sokka slips through an open gate in the wall and into the compound. This is the main area of the estate, with it's large courtyard and reception rooms. Sokka keeps to the shadows, bending down each time to check for signs of life among the bodies scattered across the courtyard. All of the dead are Piandao's servants, all wearing his colours. There are no enemy dead here, and Sokka thinks the servants, and the estate, must have been caught completely by surprise.

He startles one of the archers almost by mistake. The man doesn't get time to fight; Sokka takes him out silently with Boomerang, and watches with satisfaction as he drops to the ground. One less person to bring death to Piandao's people.

It’s time to even the odds.

Sokka moves through the buildings and into the courtyard that faces the rooms he and Zuko share.

He freezes.

There, standing over a half-kneeling man is a lone archer, arrow nocked, bow drawn tight.

As he watches, the kneeling man struggles and fails to stand, his hand clenched around an arrow in his side.

Sokka knows the man on the ground. Knows him like one knows a lover, every inch of his body. He knows the taste of his skin, and the feel of his pulse during climax. He knows the broken sound of his voice when he comes.

That man is bleeding out before him.

The archer says something to Zuko, and as he draws his bow and releases the arrow, Sokka steps out into the firelight. He sends his boomerang arching toward the man—toward the arrow—and it slices cleanly through the wooden shaft, breaking it in half before it can reach Zuko. It falls to the ground in two pieces, useless with its momentum gone.

The man nocks another arrow, and glances at Sokka. "You missed," he says with a cruel smile. "But you can’t get to him before I -"

The boomerang flashes in the firelight, arcing back as it returns, and buries itself in the man's skull with a sickening crunch that Sokka can hear from where he stands. The archer drops instantly to the ground, a puppet with strings cut, dead before he hits the floor. "Boomerangs always come back, asshole,” he sneers.

He rushes over to Zuko, taking a moment to grab his weapon, and then kneels. Zuko is trembling with the effort of staying upright, but at Sokka’s touch he slides gracelessly to the side and into Sokka’s arms. Sokka lowers him carefully, keeping him supported, wrapping a hand around Zuko’s over the arrow. “I got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

There's blood seeping from between Zuko's fingers where the arrow's punched through. It's dripping to the dirt beneath him, even as his hand shakes, fine tremors as his fingers curl around the shaft of the arrow. Sokka meets Zuko's eyes, ignores the blood collecting tellingly at the corner of Zuko's mouth. His eyes are like liquid gold, reflecting the fire burning around them. He seems unfocused, glassy eyed.

"Z-zuko," Sokka stutters out. He can feel the warm spill of Zuko’s life blood as it seeps away.

Zuko tries to raise his head. He coughs, and the sound is wet. That terrifies Sokka. Zuko shakes his head, and it’s a choppy, angry movement. He lifts his head, eyes lidded and glassy beneath his fringe. Gone is the put-together image of the Crown Prince that Zuko likes to present in public; now he looks ruined, a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth, over his lips.

"Don't you dare die on me," Sokka grits out. "We'll find a healer, and we are gonna get that arrow out, and you are gonna be fine, yes?"

"I thought you'd left me." Zuko blinks slowly, eyes finally focusing on Sokka. "But you came back," he whispers.

Sokka is not going to sit here and watch Zuko die. "How could I not come back?" he says gruffly. "The thought of—no, we are not doing this now." He shakes his head, then leans forward to cup Zuko's cheek in his non-bloody hand. Zuko's skin is starting to heat; he's not sure if that's a fever thing or a firebender thing. "I'll make you a deal," Sokka says. "You live through this, and I might think about letting you kiss me."

Zuko lets out a breathy, weak laugh that turns into a grimace of pain, but Sokka is glad to see his eyes are focused on Sokka now, even as he’s drifting in and out of consciousness.

“It was Azula,” Zuko says, forcing the name out with a breathless laugh that turns into a cough. “Azula sends us her regards.”

And then his eyes close as he slumps over, head lolling against Sokka’s shoulder as he loses the battle with consciousness.

Sokka can feel panic rising; an electric burn that bubbles in his chest and makes his hands shake. “Zuko?” Sokka doesn’t want to shake him, but – he can’t be – “Zuko? Talk to me dude, tell me you’re gonna be okay,” he pleads. He uses his free hand to put his fingers under Zuko’s chin, to tip his head up. His eyes are closed. Sokka places his hand on Zuko’s heart, feeling for a pulse, for anything. He can feel the sticky slow seep of warm blood between his fingers as Zuko bleeds out from the arrow wound. What does he do? Does he leave him to get help? Does he try to carry him to somewhere safer?

Zuko’s fingers go lax beneath Sokka’s, until Sokka is the only one of them pressing on the wound. Sokka shifts; he tries to regulate his breathing, breaths coming faster. He can’t lose Zuko. Zuko has been his rock, his support since leaving Ba Sing Se. He’s annoying, and conceited, but clever and thoughtful at the same time. He listens to Sokka’s harebrained schemes, and clearly tries to make the right decisions. He doesn’t deserve to die like this, bleeding out from an arrow loosed by an assassin from the shadows.

He will not let Zuko die.

Sokka shifts, attempts to get his feet under him so he can lift Zuko, when he senses movement to the side. He has his boomerang in hand, ready to throw, when the figure says, “Lord Sokka, it’s me; Fat.”

Sokka slumps down under Zuko’s weight. Fat approaches, kneeling down. He gives Zuko a glance over, gaze resting for a few telling seconds on the arrow, the blood seeping from between Sokka’s fingers. “I’ll take him,” he says, placing a hand on Sokka’s arm. The touch is grounding; Sokka immediately feels less like he might fly into pieces.

“I can’t leave him,” Sokka says in a rush. “What if he needs me?”

Fat gives Sokka a grave look. “The people of this estate need you just as much,” he says softly. “I will get Prince Zuko to safety. I need you to help protect those that remain.” He pauses for a moment. “You are a warrior, Lord Sokka, first and foremost a Water Tribe warrior, fierce and loyal. And while you wish to be there for your lover, we need you to help drive out the remaining attackers. The men of the village need someone to rally to, to look to for guidance in the fight. I need you to be that person. Can you do that?”

Sokka nods. “Will you – can you look after Zuko?”

“I will. Let me take him.” Carefully, Fat slides his arms around Zuko, lifting him from Sokka’s lap. Together they angle Zuko so the arrow isn’t jostled. “Keep pressure on his wound,” Fat instructs. “We will get him inside your quarters, which are untouched by the attack, and then you must go.”

Sokka is glad for Fat in this moment. Sokka needs to not think for a minute, to let someone else take control. Part of him understands that it is also what Fat is asking him to do with the defenders of the estate, to rally them to fight back.

It’s not a long walk to their quarters, and Sokka gets them inside. He pulls a blanket over the coverlet on their bed and waits as Fat lowers Zuko onto it. One of the male servants appears, eye wide in shock when he sees Zuko. “Lin, take over from Lord Sokka and press against the wound for me,” Fat instructs. “We need to keep the bleeding to a minimum.”

Lin hurries to obey, his shaking fingers hesitant until Sokka wraps his fingers around the man’s, pressing down. “Like this,” Sokka says. “Don’t stop even if it looks like it hurts.”

Sokka steps back, watches for a moment, making sure Zuko is being cared for. Fat pauses. “Lord Sokka, please. We can take it from here.”

Sokka nods. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go.” He backs away slowly, watching Fat gather supplies, talking softly to Zuko all the time. He’s in good hands, Sokka thinks.

He turns on his heel and leaves before he changes his mind.

Zuko is sleeping.

It's almost dawn, and the single lantern in the room slowly burns down, finally running out of fuel just as the sun rises.

Sokka reaches out with a hand, gently touching Zuko on the arm, but Zuko doesn't respond. He looks pale, bordering on ghost-like, most of the colour drained from his skin, the scar on his face standing out in stark contrast. Sokka's eyes are drawn again and again to the bandage around Zuko's torso. The bandage is clean; but for Sokka it's become an obsessive need to check to make sure Zuko's no longer bleeding out. Those few moments where Sokka had watched Zuko fall will never fade from his memory, etched like a carving in stone, a permanent reminder of just how fragile and uncertain fate can be. He can still smell the burning wood from the buildings, feel the sting of the smoke in his eyes, and hear the screams of the people around him. And until Zuko wakes, Sokka will be trapped in that moment.

The estate is safe at last. Sokka had helped dispatch the last of the attackers, leading some of the men to a victory of sorts. It's a hard won victory. Their attackers seemed to have been, for the most part, a small group of trained, elite archers, mixed in with some other fighting men. These, by all reports, had minor skill and a great deal of attitude—the sort of thing you find among the untested nobility; first and second sons yet to bloody their weapons. But, with their leader down, they'd been scattered and disorganized, allowing Sokka and his men to get the upper hand. It had been a brutal fight, the work of hours before Sokka could safely say the estate was free from attack. They piled the bodies inside one of the only outbuildings left standing, along with the body of their leader – the one who had tried to assassinate Zuko. Fat is currently researching the crest stitched on the attackers clothing, trying to figure out who they are, which in turn might offer clues as to why the estate was attacked.

The sound of the shoji screen opening makes Sokka refocus on the room around him. Fat enters, giving Sokka a nod in greeting. He's carrying a tray that holds some steaming vegetable soup and a bowl of rice. It smells incredible, and Sokka's stomach rumbles. Fat carefully puts the tray down next to Sokka and moves to sit cross legged nearby. He arranges his robes and gestures to the tray. "Eat," he says. "I will check Prince Zuko's bandages."

Sokka reaches for the bowl of rice and the chopsticks placed next to it. "How did you find time to have food cooked?" he asks, shovelling in a mouthful of hot rice. Tui and La, it tastes divine.

"The cookhouse and kitchens are not damaged," Fat explains, "which is fortunate. Most of the damage is to the main house—we've lost my lord's house, two of the granaries, and a couple of smaller outbuildings."

"That's better than expected," Sokka replies. The rice has a mild nutty flavour, just what he needs.

"The fire burned particularly hot, but we had a couple of firebenders on the staff who were able to control and redirect some the fire. Their help, along with the other servants and villagers, has been invaluable in saving most of the estate," Fat says. "We have been most fortunate."

Sokka watches Fat check Zuko's temperature, and then adjust the bandages over his torso. "If you are going to stay with him tonight, keep an eye on his body temperature," Fat advises. "You will call for me if anything changes."

Sokka knows Fat means what he says; he will not risk the Crown Prince dying on his watch. Beyond that, Sokka also knows that Fat has a certain level of fondness for the prince, and his concern is genuine. "Any idea who the attackers were?"

Fat sets his face in a stubborn line and he frowns. "I have suspicions based on the crests some of the attackers were wearing," he says. "They belong to one of the great clans, and if they are moving openly like this by attacking Prince Zuko we have a bigger problem than we thought. I have sent to Master Piandao by messenger hawk to update him and ask for advice."

"Before he passed out Zuko said something to me," Sokka says hesitantly. "He said, 'Azula sends her regards'. Do you think this is her doing?"

Fat gives Sokka a considering, shrewd look. "You suspect something," he says. "Why is that?"

Sokka shrugs. Now is not the time to expose some of things he and Zuko have discussed. "When Prince Zuko wakes up he will hopefully have some insight," Sokka hedges.

"Mmmm. Maybe you are correct, Lord Sokka. Now, eat." Fat gestures to the untouched soup on the tray. "And maybe try to get some rest next to your lord, yes? I will spare a couple of guards to stand watch outside your rooms. I do not like surprises, and I suspect neither do you. There is also the small matter that I also do not wish for Fire Lord Ozai to think I have done less than my duty requires."

"Thank you. For everything," Sokka says.

Fat stands, and then offers Sokka a bow, hands clasped. "Rest, Lord Sokka." And then he is gone, calling out orders as he goes.

Sokka does not rest. He dozes in fits and starts, waking suddenly, the fear of finding Zuko bleeding out following him into his dreams. Finally he lays there, blinking into the distance, watching the sun’s rays turn the tatami mats to a colour like liquid gold. He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself up. He also stinks, and needs to find time to get a proper wash in.

Zuko is still as a corpse, and for a moment Sokka panics. He reaches out, checking for breath by placing his hand on Zuko's chest. The rise and fall is there—he's breathing, but it is weak and thready. Sokka exhales noisily, relief coursing through him. Zuko's a stubborn bastard and has survived a lot worse than an arrow to the torso in the time he’s known him, but that doesn't stop Sokka from worrying. He brushes Zuko's hair back off his forehead, and he can feel the heat emanating from Zuko's skin. Firebenders run hot naturally, don't they, he thinks. Something to do with the nature of their chi? Still, even to Sokka, Zuko feels like he's running a dry fever, his body working overtime.

Piandao's physician arrives just as the sun sets. She gives Sokka a nod and sets out checking Zuko's pulse. Sokka remains watchful, but lets her work. She check his bandages, applying salve and ointment to the wound. “Is that honey I can smell?” Sokka asks.

She looks up and nods. “Yes, it’s a family recipe of my own. The honey helps the wound heal, when mixed with other ingredients. Do you have something similar in the Water Tribes?”

So, she knows he’s Water Tribe; interesting, and yet it doesn’t seem to bother her. “We do,” he explains. “We trade for the ingredients we cannot get at home, like honey, and certain herbs. As a warrior we have to know how to care for wounds – if not, they may be fatal.”

“And yet despite knowing all this, you allow me to attend to the Crown Prince,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

Sokka decides he likes this woman; she is observant and knowledgeable, good things to have in a physician. “You are Fire Nation,” he says. “You understand the parts of healing I do not. I know brute force, and healing as survival. You understand, I think, the humours of the body and how it works with firebending. I do not have this knowledge, and so I trust you to help me heal the Crown Prince.”

She smiles, and wordlessly returns to her task, binding Zuko’s bandages once more around his torso and checking on his other bruises and scrapes. When she’s finished, she collects the bowl of salve and the old bandages, and rises to her feet. “If you require my assistance, ask for Kayo. I will be back this evening to check on you both.” She offers Sokka a quick bow as she leaves.

Now he’s alone with Zuko, Sokka takes the time to look him over. He looks like he’s sleeping now; the lines around his eyes less tight, his body a little more relaxed. Maybe Kayo had put something in the ointment that worked as a pain killer, as well as a salve?

He looks down at his hands, suddenly aware of the dried blood under his nails. He grimaces; he needs to bathe, and being dirty around someone with an open wound is not ideal. He gets up, opens the door, and asks one of the guards to send for some hot water. He’s loathe to leave the room for even a moment, not even long enough to bathe. Paranoia can be healthy, he tells himself. Paranoia keeps you alive, and he’ll use it to his advantage for the time being. Maybe sometime in the future Sokka will look back on all of this and laugh – or maybe even weave it into the tapestry of his life’s story. Until then, he will remain on watch, ever vigilant.

The first thing Zuko notices when he regains consciousness is the dull ache in his side. He can feel the tight wrap of the bandages around his waist and torso, and he arches his back a little, shifting on the mattress. His body protests the movement; back twinging for a moment, and Zuko is left with the sudden insight of what it must be like to grow old. He's not ready for that, not yet.

It takes him a moment to remember where he is and why. The room is vaguely familiar. There's a small wooden bowl by Zuko's bed, filled with a half-used roll of linen strips, a jar of ointment, and to the side a towel. There's a discarded pillow, like someone has been keeping watch over him while he slept, a sitting, silent sentinel. Next to the pillow is another basket that holds a couple of scrolls, one rolled halfway like the reader had just put the scroll down. Sokka then, no doubt reading one of his lurid tales of adventure and debauchery. The seal on it shows it belongs to Piandao, but Zuko isn't going to think too much into that if he can help it.

It looks like Sokka has been watching over him, changing bandages and keeping him clean. He wonders what type of caregiver Sokka is—is he brusque and business-like, wrapping bandages and checking wounds with those quick, strong hands of his, or is he a person to take his time and make sure the task is done carefully, but properly? Zuko rather thinks it's the latter, and looks forward to maybe being awake the next time it happens.

He's not sure how long he's been out of commission for. Is it hours, or days? Weeks? He's sure if it was close to Black Sun Sokka would have figured something out, some way of making sure Zuko was well enough to participate. Since there doesn't seem a hectic flurry of anxious people milling around, Zuko is going to assume he's only been invalided for a couple of days.

At least his side is not actively painful as long as he keeps still. He moves carefully, lifting a hand and pushing down the coverlet. He's wearing loose sleep pants but no shirt, and he's wrapped in fresh bandages. He can smell the faint smell of lavender, and maybe beeswax, and something deeper. That must be from the jar of ointment he can see in the basket.

The other thing he notices is he's hungry. That's a good sign, right?

Movement catches his eye and he turns his head just enough to see what caused it. And oh, what a glorious thing it is, too. Sokka is standing just outside the opens doors to the private garden that surrounds this wing of the estate. Dappled light flickers through the tall plants and shrubs, casting sunlight and shadow on Sokka's flawless brown skin. His hair is down, falling to his jaw in a blunt, unforgiving cut which has always fascinated Zuko. It's such a contrast to how it is when his hair is up in a topknot; it both makes him look severe, and dangerous, and yet alluring all at once.

Sokka is washing. He's naked, stripped down to nothing with his back to Zuko, unaware he's being watched. (Or, more likely, Zuko thinks, he's very aware he's being watched but has already figured out it's Zuko). Zuko has never really seen Sokka so stripped down; he's seen him naked, seen him undressed and half-dressed, but Sokka has always been in control of what Zuko sees. As he sluices the water over his broad shoulders (getting broader now as they grown into adults, Zuko notes), Sokka presents an artless sort of disregard that Zuko finds captivating. Water cascades over his skin, down the knobs of his spine, droplets and runnels chasing the curve of his back and his ass, down his strong, muscular thighs and legs to the wooden boards beneath his feet. The tips of his hair are wet where the water has soaked in, and the sunlight highlights his muscles and the scars he's earned during the years they’ve fought, striven against each other. Zuko wonders, not for the first time, if he’s given Sokka any of those scars.

Zuko feels a little lightheaded, and it's probably not due to food-related hunger, but rather something deeper and more carnal bought upon by the absolute feast of naked flesh before him.

Zuko snorts; like he could get it up right now even if he wanted to!

The star of Zuko’s potential wet dream turns his head enough to notice Zuko is awake. “Zuko?”

His body language changes from languid and relaxed to instant alertness. He reaches for the towel he left on the porch steps, and towels off rapidly before rushing to Zuko’s side. Zuko struggles to sit up and the wound twinges painfully. He curses, just as Sokka places a firm, warm hand in the middle of his chest and gently pushes him back down.

“Nope, none of that,” Sokka chides. “You are confined to bed, and not allowed to get up. Stop aggravating the wound.”

Zuko lets his head thump back down to the pillow. “How long have I been out?”

“This time or all the other times you’ve woken and asked the same question?”

Zuko looks at Sokka blankly. Sokka stands and reaches for his loincloth. “I’m not having this conversation naked,” he explains, twisting the linen with expert movements. He’s covered in a matter of moments, tying the loincloth off to one side and threading the remainder through the waistband. Then he sinks back to the floor, so he can converse with Zuko again.

“I’m pretty sure you underestimate the level of background appeal you have,” Zuko mutters. “Loincloth or not, you are still mostly naked and highly distracting.”

Sokka flashes Zuko a dirty grin, along with a raised eyebrow.

That expression reminds Zuko of something; something fleeting, caught in the fog of forgetfulness. He remembers Sokka’s voice, urgent and broken, and for a moment Zuko is caught up, back in the moment when he thought he had finally reached the end of his journey, and that he was dying. “You told me that I could kiss you if I lived,” Zuko says, plucking the memory from his subconscious.

Sokka’s smile gets even sharper. “I said I’d think about it,” he corrects.

Huh. “That’s not a no.”

“Consider it... encouragement to work on getting stronger and healing.”

Zuko takes a shallow breath, testing how far he can, or should move. Sitting up isn’t an option right now apparently, since Sokka is monitoring him, but later? Perhaps. “How long have I been laying here?”

Sokka exhales noisily. As he does so he looks off to the side, like he’s calculating or deciding how to broach the subject. Eventually he says, “It’s been about a week. I think we’ve had this same conversation about four times: you wake up, express dissatisfaction with the state of your healing, attempt to get up, and then usually pass out due to exhaustion.”

“So you are guarding me?”

“I’m encouraging you to let yourself heal properly,” Sokka says in a flat tone. The mirth is gone, as is the sparkle in his eyes. “You almost died, Zuko. You went limp in my arms. Your skin was grey and you were bleeding out.”

Zuko looks away, uncomfortable with Sokka’s expression; he looks vulnerable, still horrified by what he’d seen. “But I didn’t die,” Zuko huffs. “It’ll take more than a single arrow to kill me.”

Sokka moves suddenly. One moment he’s beside Zuko’s bed, the next leaning over him, hands planted on either side of Zuko’s head. Even though the move is aggressive he takes care not to jostle Zuko, he notes. “You are lucky that arrow wasn’t tipped with poison,” Sokka bites out harshly. “Azula sent a death squad after you – a team of highly trained individuals. Only the fact they were led by an incompetent fool allowed us to beat them back. Many people lost their lives, and that number almost included you.”

“Niuan,” Zuko says.

Sokka leans back a little. “What?”

“The archer who tried to kill me – the one you stopped with your boomerang. He’s Azula’s new husband’s son.”

Sokka searches Zuko’s face. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, I am. I don’t know him personally – but I recognized him. He didn’t deny it when I spoke his name.”

“I should let Piandao know. He and Fat have been searching the archives looking for a match to the crest some of the archers were wearing.” Sokka sits back on his heels. He’s clearly organizing his thoughts, putting Zuko’s information into context within what he already knows.

“Wait, Piandao is here?” Zuko asks.

“Yep. He arrived a couple of days ago with a small entourage. I think Piandao wanted to check on his people, and make sure they are looked after. And also probably discuss what to do about the estate and to make future provisions so it doesn’t happen again.”

Zuko nods. He’s feeling extremely tired all of a sudden. He glances over at Sokka. “Don’t let me forget this, okay? I’m getting better, right?”

“You are. It’s slow work but you are healing, Zuko.” Sokka pulls the comforter back over Zuko’s stomach.

“You won’t leave me?”

“No, I’ll be here.” Sokka leans forward, and hesitates with a hand raised near Zuko’s shoulder. He wavers, and then brushes Zuko’s hair back from his forehead with a gentle touch. “I’ll wake you for some stew, okay?’

Zuko nods. Consciousness is fading fast, but he feels different. This is the start of a healthy, healing sleep, he thinks, and not the exhaustion borne of a fight for survival. And, Sokka will be here, watching over him.

And with that comforting thought, Zuko sleeps.

Chapter Text

The next time Zuko awakens, he remembers his previous conversation with Sokka. No longer is he a blank slate, tabula rasa. He remembers the fire, and the buildings burning around him. He remembers struggling for breath, down on one knee and at the mercy of Azula’s stepson. The old part of Zuko, the prideful young prince, hates that he was forced into such a position, vulnerable and bending a knee while he bled out, unable to help himself, unable to firebend. He was helpless to protect himself or to protect others.

The newer, more hopeful side of Zuko understands on some level that he could no more control the situation than he could the weather, even if he wanted to. But the knowledge he's lost his bending begins to sting. What does it mean? Where does it leave him, a firebender with no ability to bend?

And not only that, but an injured firebender who cannot bend.

How is he supposed to defeat his father like this?

Zuko is suddenly restless, but he forces himself to still, to breath through his initial panic. Going off like a crazy person—like his father would—won't help him now.

He needs to assess the situation.

He stretches carefully, expecting a twinge of pain but cautiously pleased when there’s isn’t one this time. He’s not fully healed, not yet, but he feels more human, more rested. He’s also hungry. He sits up, waiting for the fuzz of vertigo to pass, and when nobody appears to chastise him, he takes the opportunity for what it is and climbs gingerly to his feet. Still no pain, but his body is stiff with disuse and he feels dirty. Sponge baths are great, but Zuko wants to bathe properly and feel clean. He does feel lightheaded, but that’s most likely because he’s been laying down for so long. Attempting a walk to the bathhouse attached to this wing should be doable, he thinks.

He has to stop twice; one to lean against the wall just outside his sleeping room, and the second time he has to take a seat on the engawa and rest for a few moments in the shade. He’s more winded than he expected. He’s definitely been laying down too long.

He spends a few moments watching the servants bustle about. Some are clearly household servants, dressed in blue and crisp white linen, and some are labourers, helping rebuild the estate buildings. The place is a hive of well-intentioned activity, and Zuko wonders how he slept through all of this.

Eventually he is noticed by a passing servant, who offers him a quick bow. “Your highness, do you require assistance?” The young man raises his eyes quickly; long enough to glance at Zuko and probably confirm the Crown Prince isn’t about to expire – before he looks down once more.

Zuko shakes his head, and then remembers the youth isn’t looking at him. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says. “I’m heading toward the bathhouse.”

“The main bathhouse is in the process of being repaired,” the youth explains. “The roof was damaged in the fire. I can have a servant prepare the private baths in the guest wing, which survived the attack.”

Zuko was headed in that general direction – or so he thought. Still, nobody needs to know he’s veered off course, do they? Zuko graciously allows the servant to lead him to the private bathhouse, and once he’s alone he lets out a long sigh. He feels tired by the walk, but not the draining tired of before; he doesn’t feel like he’ll die if he doesn’t sleep. That in itself is a small victory, and one he’ll take. Once he’s sure the servant has left, he glances around the room. Before he left, the youth opened the woven screens, leaving Zuko with another stunning, but private view over the small garden that encloses the bathhouse. Outside a small stream trickles through the garden, bubbling over rocks and gravel, while shrubbery and trees form a private canopy to shield his nakedness from prying eyes. Speaking of naked, he should probably clean himself up and then get in the tub.

He’s glad of the small wooden stool he can sit on while he cleans up, and he spends some time soaping up and simply enjoying the task of getting clean, of feeling the scented soap lather over his skin. The wound in his side is a puckered newly formed scar, pink and delicate. The healing looks further along that he imagined it would, and not for the first time Zuko wonders about whether a physician could heal with firebending, like Sokka’s sister does with her waterbending. Would it be possible to heal with fire, or is it a destructive element only? Zuko knows that fire can be a nurturing element as well as a destructive one. While Ozai and Zuko’s ancestors have encouraged the Fire Nation to use fire to harm their enemies, Zuko also knows that it has the ability to keep people warm, to heat water, to do any number of useful things. He uses it himself to heat his body to keep Sokka warm on occasion, and Uncle Iroh used it to heat tea all the time.

Iroh. Zuko feels a flash of guilt at the thought of his uncle. So much has happened recently, and Zuko simply hasn’t had time to process what he learnt from Ozai when he broke into his study. Uncle Iroh is free, and Ozai doesn’t know where he is. Zuko doesn’t know where he is either, and even though Zuko has been outside the confines of the palace for at least what must amount to a couple of weeks, he’s heard nothing from his uncle. Iroh still thinks Zuko is a traitor, cozied up to Ozai and being a dutiful son, and Zuko has no way to let him know that is not the case. But where has Iroh escaped to? Does he have allies somewhere else, or has he gone back to the Earth Kingdom?

The sobering truth is that even if he could find Iroh, Zuko wouldn’t tell him what he and Sokka have planned, would he? Keeping their plans secret from everyone is the best course of action, and Zuko will not deviate from that promise to Sokka.

Zuko steps into the tub—a wide, wooden affair that smells of hinoki—and sinks down, right up to his shoulders. The heated water is silky against his skin, a bit like a lover's touch, gentle and soothing. This is what he needed; to relax while still being present in the moment, rather than unconscious. It gives him a chance to think things through without interruption. He leans back against the edge of the tub, closes his eyes, and lets his mind wander at will.

As he drifts, Zuko runs his fingers gently over his wound. He can feel a faint warmth, something nestled under his skin—separate from the warmth of the water. He doesn’t feel malice from it, not at all. But it feels more like a gentle foreign chi, coaxing his natural healing abilities to work faster, better. The wound itself has closed over, faster than he had expected, but it is not fully healed. The ache inside still occasionally feels like he's been punched, but he's not a stranger to debilitating wounds. Healing is painful, and Zuko knows that lesson well. So, he'll take all the help he can get right now. But he’s curious, and resolves to talk with the healer that Sokka brought in to help when he has a moment.

While he's relaxed, he tries to coax his fire sense back to life. Part of him is hesitant and unsure, but he ruthlessly dials back his hope. He searches deep down, trying to pull his natural chi to the surface but he’s forced to admit he has nothing; no reserves of energy to bend with. It’s gone. How is it possible to lose his bending like this? And yet...at the festival to Agni, Zuko had bent fire. It was not his usual flame, pulled from the deep well of anger inside him. No, it had been something different, something light and joyous, and the flames had echoed that, dancing in a myriad of playful colours.

He's not looking forward to the conversation with Sokka when he tells him, oh, by the way, I can no longer bend fire, so that's out. He's going to have to tell him, and they are going to have to figure out quickly whether it's something they need to account for the closer they get to Black Sun. It's barely two weeks away, and time seems to be accelerating rapidly. He's going to need to find time to try to bend this new form of his fire, isn't he? See if he can coax that flame to the surface. And if he can, can he even use it as a weapon?

He lets out an exasperated sigh and sinks down further into the water. Too much thinking, too close to waking up, he decides. Resolved to soak his troubles away, Zuko dozes in the water, letting the steaming water rejuvenate his spirit and calm his mind. He’s not sure how long he soaks for, but eventually he realizes he’s going to need to get out and make his way back to his quarters.

He’s about to get out of the tub when he hears the familiar call of a badger-peacock. The call is coming from just beyond the wall of the bathhouse. Zuko opens his eyes, frozen in place for a moment, his heart starting to pound against his chest.

The cry comes again; haunting and clear, very familiar. Slowly, Zuko rises, sloshing water over the edge of the tub in his haste to get up. It can't be, can it? He lets out a return call. The cry echoes again, lilted and slightly different, and Zuko feels a smile crack his face when he gets the expected response to their code. Daiyu. Zuko's spy had missed their designated check in, and Zuko had assumed the worst; that he was dead, ambushed by one of Zuko's many enemies.

Zuko moves as quickly as he can towards the wall at the back of the courtyard, uncaring of his nakedness or if anyone sees him. He listens again, lets out another call, which is answered, closer this time. He looks up. A canopy of trees blocks his view of the sky, but Daiyu is close by.

“Prince Zuko?” Daiyu’s whispered words are urgent. It snaps Zuko back into focus.

“I’m here. Are you able to meet me?” Zuko asks.

There is a moment of fraught silence. Then, “Not here, there are too many guards patrolling the edges of the estate. Meet me in the stables if you can; I will wait for you there.”

“Agreed.” Zuko doesn’t mince words, he knows Daiyu needs to leave quickly before he’s seen.

Adrenaline pumps through his body. Daiyu is alive. Zuko has been raised on court intrigue and danger. It's as if this single discovery has brushed the cobwebs from Zuko's mind, clearing away the fog. With Sokka at his side, Zuko once again feels like they have a chance, that the moment of waiting in the wings is done.

It's time to lay his pieces out before Sokka, for them to decide which gambit they will use. To look at the Pai Sho board with clear minds and firm intent, and see it through to the end.

They are back in the game once more.

Zuko makes his way through the estate. He sticks to less well-travelled areas, and times it so that most of the servants and craftsmen will be in the common areas near the kitchens, having lunch. There's a flurry of activity around the shell of the building that was Piandao’s quarters. During the attack it had been one of the main targets, and it's roof had caught fire quickly, despite a couple of on-staff fire benders trying to control the blaze. Once he reaches the stables, Zuko slips inside, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Sunlight filters weakly through the door opening, and the musty smell of warm, clean hay and ostrich-horse fills the space. He walks toward the rear of the building, past the stalls with their wooden walls and brass fittings.

A shadow detaches itself from the rear wall, resolving into the familiar figure of Daiyu, Zuko's man. He's dressed as a labourer would be, in a rough tunic and leather belt, loose linen pants and straw sandals. He looks like he's been working, his hair tied in a messy topknot, dark strands falling around his face. As Zuko approaches, Daiyu nods in greeting. His hand rests near his hips, and his finger move in their previously agreed up code: not compromised. Zuko lets out a breath of relief. He takes one final look around the stables and, sure they are alone, he speaks. "I'm glad to see you, friend," he says. "I thought you were dead."

Daiyu snorts inelegantly. "I'm harder to kill than you thought then, Prince Zuko. But so are you, from what I hear."

"I came closer than I'd like," Zuko admits. "We don't have much time, and I don't want to compromise you further. Am I right in assuming you have sensitive information to share?"

"I'm sure you are aware by now it was Chaeryu’s son that tried to assassinate you?" When Zuko nods, he continues. "I was careless in the forest, my lord, and for that I apologize. I was so busy watching your back I missed the enemy scout watching me. It was rookie mistake. As soon as I realized I was being followed, I circled back to see if I could catch them unawares. Since you and Lord Sokka already had an armed escort, I thought it would be a better use of my time to find out why I was being followed."

"It’s sound reasoning," Zuko says. "I'm curious as well. Nobody should even know you exist."

"It was a trap," Daiyu says flatly. He leans back against the stall wall and crosses his arms. "There was a small group of four waiting for me. The first one was a decoy, a plant. I was supposed to notice him and I did. That part of their plan worked swimmingly. I became suspicious and followed him, right into an ambush."

"And then they thought their superior numbers would bring you down quickly and easily," Zuko finishes.

"Almost did. Four on one is never a fun fight, and I'm not a bender either," Daiyu says. "I did get two of them, then I played dead. Acted like one of them knocked me out and I went over the edge of the escarpment, a nasty little rocky outcrop thing close to the river, just off the forest path. Fortunately there was a bunch of brush and shrubs at the bottom or I might have snapped my neck. As it was the fall knocked me out anyway, so it was all super convincing."

Zuko can't help but grin at the description. "I'm glad you aren't badly injured."

"Only my pride," Daiyu adds. "But it saved my life, along with their stupidity. They didn't bother looking for my body once I'd gone over the edge, it was probably too much trouble to get down there. Once I'd regained consciousness, I turned the tables. I followed the remaining two men to see where they were going. They didn't seem to be bothering to hide themselves much, they just made camp and seemed to be waiting for something. They kicked the bodies of their fallen comrades over the same cliff I sailed over – absolutely no respect for the dead. They had no leadership, no chain of command, and that was what caught my interest. I realized these two weren't professional soldiers or even experienced guards. They were friends, on equal footing, which meant they probably had equal status. When nobody showed up to meet them the next morning, they turned tail and made a hasty withdrawal."

"And, in your opinion, who were they?" Zuko asks. Daiyu is observant and a good judge of character; it's why Zuko hired him.

"The two I initially killed were trained assassins. The two survivors were not – that’s why they survived; they stayed back and let the hirelings do the dirty work. These two were bored second and third sons." Daiyu looks at Zuko, gaze flicking to the door and back again, keeping an eye on his surroundings. "I overheard them talking once I’d climbed back up to the top of the cliff. They weren’t being careful, they weren’t trying to be quiet. They are disenfranchised courtier's sons, who've been fed a steady diet of 'remember when's' by their noble fathers. They think Ozai has overlooked them, refused to give them their rightful dues. Some of them think they should be royal princes, that their father's should have been Fire Lord. They think their blood is purer than Ozai's, and yours."

"So they followed Niuan to Piandao’s estate, hoping he might assassinate me, and then they could be hailed as heroes if there was a coup. Get in on the ground floor of the new regime."

"That is my thinking."

Zuko nods. "Where are these traitors now?"

"I followed them back to a compound in Lizun province. It's a country estate nestled on the southern shores of a large lake, made from an ancient volcano that filled with water at some point in the past."

"I know of it. The land belongs to another one of my father’s generals.” Zuko thinks for a moment, running through the possibilities. He really needs to run this by Sokka, talk it out. “Would you be up to undertaking another journey? Are you fit and uninjured?” Zuko asks.

“Of course,” Daiyu replies.

“Retrace your steps to Lizun province. It’s what, a day’s journey from here, maybe two? I want you to watch the estate. I want to know who comes and goes. I will be returning to Hari Bulkan as soon as I can – send me a hawk when you have some information on their movements.”

“Of course, Prince Zuko.” Daiyu nods, sketching a quick bow, before heading toward the door and the sunlit courtyard. "Good evening Lord Sokka," Daiyu says casually as he passes the stall near the entrance. Zuko barks out a laugh at Sokka's stuttered greeting from behind the dividing wall.

Sokka's head pops up and he steps out, casually brushing invisible straw from his tunic. "Well, busted I guess," he says, stepping from the stall where he'd been hiding. He saunters over to Zuko. "How long do you think he knew I was there?'

Zuko grins. "Pretty much from the start of our conversation."

Sokka leans an elbow on the stall wall. "And what about you?"

"Hmm." Zuko looks upward, thinking about it, drawing out the moment. "I caught your movement out of the corner of my good eye. You were waiting when I left the bathing room and followed me."

Sokka shrugs, like perving on your lover is normal business in the Water Tribe. He sighs dramatically. "Can't blame a man for trying to catch a glimpse of skin. Clearly I need to work on my stealth skills; I'm more of a ‘hit stuff, ask questions later’ type of guy."

"I am aware of that, having been on the receiving end of your 'hit stuff' before." Zuko reaches forward and pulls Sokka into the stall so they can’t be observed. Fortunately it's one of the ones that have been recently cleaned and laid with fresh-smelling hay. The scent of meadow flowers and warm summer days fills the narrow space, and the dim light illuminates a private, yet small space for them to talk in without being overheard. Sokka pushes Zuko up against the rear wooden wall of the stall and steps closer,so they are pressed close together.

Sokka's actions probably stem from a desire to make sure their conversation is private and unobserved, but it still sends a little thrill through Zuko at being so expertly manhandled. Two can definitely play this game, he thinks. He pushes into Sokka's warmth, putting his lips close to his ear.

Sokka clears his throat at Zuko's movement. Sokka's scent fills his senses. "You heard the gist of the conversation with Daiyu?" Zuko says quietly.

"I did." Sokka presses his other hand against the back wall, and nuzzles up against Zuko's neck. "He's your scout then, the one you thought was dead?"

Zuko nods. "I sent Daiyu to follow Niuan’s group. I want someone to keep an eye on them and to find out what they are up to."

"Is that a good idea?" Sokka's breath is hot against Zuko's neck. He shifts, thigh pushing between Zuko's even as his hand settles more firmly on the small of Zuko's back, slipping beneath his tunic and finding skin. If they’re discovered, they present a pretty picture; the Crown Prince being ravished by his consort in the stables. "He's your bodyguard, your early warning system,” Sokka points out. “If you send him on a reconnaissance mission, you’ll be unprotected."

"But I’m not unprotected, am I?" Zuko says. He pushes Sokka back a little so he can see his face. "I have you at my side. Sokka, I think I have to take the risk. We need to know what other factors are working against us if we want our plans to succeed. I don't want to put time and effort into planning my father’s downfall, only to have the whole thing fall apart if an unknown factor introduces itself into the equation at a later date."

"You mean your sister?"

"Yes. I don’t trust her and I don’t trust any of the political malcontents she seems to be drawing close to her."

"So you think that Azula has somehow bought these people together? She's always been a poster child for dissatisfaction. But that seems awfully short period of time to put together a plot to try to assassinate you. Ozai only sent her away from court after the wedding."

Zuko shifts a little. He keeps an eye on the stable door, in case anyone comes in. “The question becomes this: are these dissatisfied sons who participated in the raid working on their own, or are Ozai’s generals involved?”

“Either way, there are a lot of moving people and factions, especially if you also count whatever Piandao’s White Lotus are up to. I can’t imagine they’ll sit on the sidelines forever, although I feel like their game is a much longer one,” Sokka says.

“Can we play them all against each other?” Zuko wonders. He knows he’s just throwing ideas out there, but if he doesn’t, it’s going to feel overwhelming.

“We need to keep our eyes on our goal, and our goal only,” Sokka says. He strokes his hand down Zuko’s arm. It’s a grounding touch, and keeps Zuko in the present, rather than spiralling off into what-ifs and maybes. “We risk complicating it all if we start trying to second guess everything. We know what our plan is, and we know what Hakoda is going to do and when. We know where your father will be, Zuko. That’s all we need to know. Let’s wait until we hear from Daiyu, and worry about that if we need to.”

Zuko lets out a long sigh. Sokka is right. There’s no point complicating things needlessly. They can’t control everything.

“Okay?” Sokka asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. How are you feeling? You were still sleeping when I left the room.”

Zuko cocks his head. “And if I said I’m fine? Would you take my word for that?” Zuko’s feeling defensive suddenly, he’s not sure why. “I don’t want to be coddled any longer, Sokka. I’m sick of lying around, resting.”

Sokka takes a step back to give Zuko room, which he appreciates. It means Sokka is taking him seriously. “You aren’t lying around, Zuko, you are healing.”

“We can’t afford to wait for me to heal fully,” Zuko points out. “This has to be enough. I have no doubt my father is going to call me back to Hari Bulkan soon, and when he does we need to be ready to act on Black Sun.” Sokka gives him a flat look, and it’s obvious he disagrees. “What do I need to do to make you see I’m fit enough to fight, Sokka?” Zuko asks. And then he has a thought; an idea. “Watch me,” Zuko says.

“Huh?” Sokka is clearly confused. “Okay?”

Slowly, Zuko reaches for the sash around his bathing tunic. It’s soft linen, held in place with a simple sash. He makes sure Sokka is watching him, and then reaches for the sash, unwinding it. The fabric parts easily, butter-soft with use, and Zuko drops it to the floor of the stall, where it lands on the fresh hay beneath their feet. Then he pushes apart his robe, revealing the skin beneath; chest and pecs, nipples peaked in the cool air, torso and belly. He lets it fall from his shoulders, joining the sash on the floor.

The more skin Zuko reveals, the more Sokka seems to slow, until his full attention is locked directly on Zuko. In turn, he observes Sokka, watches the way he drinks in Zuko; his scars, the recent bruises and, of course, the mostly healed arrow wound in his side.

Zuko knows Sokka has seen his wound many times, especially when Zuko was unconscious and healing, but he also knows Sokka needs to move past this. If he continues to be too careful with Zuko, spending his time worrying about if Zuko is strong enough to see their plans through, he’s going to make a mistake. He’ll choose to protect Zuko rather than get the job done, and Zuko needs Sokka focused on winning. He needs a warrior and a tactician, not a nursemaid. So, he’ll be vulnerable in this moment, and let Sokka take his fill. He’s lost a bit of weight since the night he was injured, but he’s getting stronger again. And he’s going to prove that to Sokka tonight, he decides.

He steps closer to Sokka and takes his hand, places it in the centre of his chest, over his beating heart. “I am here,” he tells Sokka. “I am alive. It will take a lot more than a single arrow to kill me. You’ve been trying for years and haven’t succeeded either.”

Sokka huffs out a laugh in acknowledgement, and presses his palm against Zuko’s heartbeat, right in the centre of his chest. His skin is warm, soothing to the touch. “True,” he says. He leans in, resting his forehead against Zuko’s, cupping the back of his head with his hand. Sokka takes his time, telegraphing his movements, in case Zuko wants to bolt, but Zuko’s never been good at backing down from a challenge, and he kinda issued this one, didn’t he? Zuko raises his chin and glares at Sokka, daring him to do whatever it is he’s going to do. The light in the stables is dim, so it makes it hard to read exactly what Sokka might be thinking, but he finds his heart rate increasing the closer Sokka leans. He realizes he wants Sokka to touch him. He shifts, not nervous exactly, but-

Sokka’s hand touches his jaw gently, fingers taking hold of his chin, thumb brushing along the corner of Zuko’s mouth, a delicate, thoughtful caress. He looks serious now, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something. The air is thick with promise, with potential. Zuko feels like he’s going to fly apart; he feels hot, like his chi might burn through him in one glorious rush of ecstasy.

“Zuko...” Sokka breathes his name like it’s a prayer.

Kiss me, Zuko thinks furiously, like the act of demanding it, even mentally, will make Sokka obey him. He can’t tear his gaze away from Sokka’s, even as he moves his chin just enough that Sokka’s thumb brushes fully against his lips. Zuko’s lips part, tongue darting out to flick against Sokka’s thumb, then bolder when Sokka’s doesn’t draw back. He wets his lips, placing a soft, drawn-out kiss against Sokka’s thumb, sucking on the tip. It’s brazen he knows; an invitation, and even in the dark he can see Sokka’s gaze sharpen with interest.

Sokka’s touch feels like a lifeline, something physical to hold onto to. Beneath his hands Zuko can feel soft, warm skin over hard muscle, every scar from every battle they have fought against each other. It’s a map of familiar territory, but it has never inflamed him as much as it does now. “Agni,” Zuko grits out. “Why is it so hard to stay away from you?” His head falls back as Sokka leans in, breath hot against Zuko’s neck. He fists his hands in Sokka’s tunic, closing his eyes. He can’t look any longer, wants only to feel, to revel in his desire.

He feels Sokka laugh gently against his neck, lips parted, pressed against his skin. “I’m not Agni,” Sokka whispers. “But I bet I can make you just as heated as he could. Want to find out?” Sokka trails a hand languidly down Zuko’s back, over the swell of his ass, squeezing firmly before caressing over his hip.

Zuko blinks opens his eyes in surprise. Is Sokka suggesting what he thinks he is? “Here?” he blurts out.

Sokka’s grin is infectious. “Hmm,” he says coyly, “well since you mentioned it...”

Zuko’s about to protest, and then he pauses. Why is he protesting? Is it just habit? Why not indulge himself a little, take what he wants for once and meet Sokka in the middle. A little give, a little take, a little ecstasy and delight...

Mind made up, Zuko pulls at Sokka’s tunic, tugging at the sash around his waist and loosening it. Sokka pauses for a moment, as if he’s surprised by Zuko’s sudden interest. Sokka moves to help. “Wait,” Zuko says, fingers covering Sokka’s. “Let me do this for you.” Carefully, he works Sokka’s tunic open, slipping it free of the sash and helping him out of both pieces of fabric.

Zuko’s always loved Sokka’s shoulders. He’s always had a secret thing for that damn Water Tribe outfit Sokka always wore. Sokka may have been his enemy (are they still enemies?), but Zuko can’t deny that Sokka moves like water when he fights, flows like liquid, deadly but beautiful, one moment calm and next like a raging storm. And here is that beautiful storm before him; body bare for Zuko to explore, staring at him like Zuko is an epiphany, the answer to everything. It’s overwhelming, it’s intimidating, and yet it makes Zuko want to follow Sokka’s lead, to see where this goes.

Zuko reaches for him, gliding his hands over Sokka’s skin, fingertips pressing into the hard muscle of his biceps, stroking up over his chest and pecs, brushing his nipples. He maps Sokka’s body, remembering what makes him sigh, what makes him moan. Drags his fingers down Sokka’s abs, along the waistband of his pants. He tugs at the drawstring, teasing. “It’s been too long since we did this last,” Zuko whispers.

Sokka looks surprised for a moment, and then he leans in, strong arms wrapping about Zuko, holding him close. His palms stroke across Zuko’s skin, down his back, making Zuko arch into his touch, to chase more of it. Sokka lets out a deep sigh, and it sounds like contentment, mixed with something else, something Zuko can’t name. When Sokka draws back, his eyes search Zuko’s, as if he’s looking for answers. Zuko doesn’t have them yet, can’t yet put a name to what has shifted between them since the attack. Instead, he reaches up, fingers tangling in the short hair at the base of Sokka’s neck, and loosens the tie around his warrior’s wolf tail. It comes loose with a tug, Sokka’s hair falling around his face. It instantly softens Sokka’s features, makes him look ethereal and fae, something of myth and legend, rather than the hardened warrior Zuko knows him to be. “I want you,” he admits, and he winces internally at how vulnerable it sounds, even to his own ears.

Sokka’s smile is soft but teasing. “You want to have me in the stables? Kinky.” He leans closer again, and making sure Zuko is watching, and drops to his knees in the hay. He pulls at the drawstring on Zuko’s pants, and as they fall, he leans in to nuzzle at the join of Zuko’s hip and leg, where the skin is soft and sensitive.

“Oh shit, Sokka,” Zuko breathes out, fingers tangling in Sokka’s hair. He can feel the smile Zuko presses against his heated skin, and then Sokka’s hand is around his half-hard cock, teasing him to full hardness. He mouths at Zuko’s length, hot breath making Zuko’s hips rock forward in anticipation. Sokka doesn’t tease him further, but takes him into his mouth, and Zuko lets out a moan at the delicious feel of Sokka around him. Sokka sets up a languid, teasing rhythm, watching Zuko’s face for clues, reading his body’s responses. The hard wood of the stables stall digs into Zuko’s back but he’s beyond caring, intent on watching Sokka’s mouth on him, spiralling pleasure mounting. And just when Zuko is close, when his breath is coming short, the fog of orgasm starting to cloud his thoughts, Sokka pulls back. Mindlessly Zuko chases his mouth with his hips, cock twitching, but Sokka lets out a soft laugh and grabs Zuko’s wrist. He climbs to his feet, grinning.

If Zuko is being honest, he’s kind of vexed. He was soooo close to coming. “Don’t look so grumpy,” Sokka says. “I have an idea I think you are gonna like just as much, if not more.”

“Better than my coming down your throat?” Zuko whispers back. “You are a tease, Water Tribe.” He pushes at Sokka’s hip roughly, reversing their positions, until Sokka is pressed with his back against the wall. He doesn’t look very upset by the reverse in fortunes, if Zuko’s being honest.

“Oh? Don’t you want to hear my idea?” Sokka reaches for Zuko’s hand again and places it on his own abs, just above his belly button, his hand resting over Zuko’s. He tightens his grip for a moment, and then moves their joined hands together, up his torso and back down, leading Zuko’s touch, controlling it. Slowly their entwined hands travel back down, over Sokka’s stomach, down to his navel and then his belly. His muscles jump under Zuko’s touch, and Zuko finds his breath picking up again, his cock showing renewed interest. Sokka uses his free hand to undo the ties to his linen pants and lets them slide off his hips, dropping down around his ankles. Sokka should look ridiculous, like a cuckold caught with his pants down, in flagrante delicto, but instead he looks strong and sure of himself, sure of the fact he can bring Zuko as much pleasure as he can handle, maybe more.

Zuko’s already after his first prize, and he reaches for Sokka’s cock, already hard and leaking pre-come. “You like sucking me off?” Zuko asks, and the question sounds breathless and eager. “It gets you hard?”

“What do you think?” Sokka doesn’t deny it. Instead, he pushes on Zuko’s hand, wordlessly firming his grip around Sokka’s cock, and starts to jack himself off. Zuko lets him lead, curious as to how Sokka likes to get himself off, and after a few moments they have a rhythm going, once that makes Sokka’s hand tighten over Zuko’s, his breath come short, and his lips part. For a moment, Zuko thinks Sokka’s going to bring himself off like this, but then he pauses, and beings to press Zuko’s hand downward, off his cock. He leads them, hands still intertwined, over his balls and then to his thighs. “Here,” Sokka says, and finally releases Zuko’s hand. “Fuck me here.”

Zuko doesn’t understand what Sokka is trying to imply. He looks up at Sokka, confused. “Here?”

“Between my thighs,” Sokka explains. He pulls Zuko closer by the hip, until they are pressed together. “I want you to fuck my thighs. I promise it’ll feel good.” He grips both of their cocks togerther, stroking in time, Zuko fucks up into the tight channel their hands create, pleasure spiking at the feel of Sokka’s cock, rubbing against his. Pre-come blurts from Zuko’s cock, mixing with Sokka’s, and Sokka gathers it up on his fingers. He spits into them, and then smears it on his thighs. “You with me?” he asks, checking in. “Might feel a bit of friction to start, but I promise it’s gonna get good.”

Zuko nods, because he has no idea what Sokka is really talking about but he’s willing to go along with it if it’s going to feel good. Sokka grins again and pumps Zuko’s length, getting him nice and hard. He shifts his stance, bringing his legs together until his ankles are flush, and then presses the tip of Zuko’s cock between his thighs. Sokka’s right; it feels weird and there’s not much glide yet. Sokka spits into his palm again and strokes Zuko’s cock with it. Then, seemingly satisfied, he winds an arm around Zuko’s waist and pulls him closer. Zuko’s cock sinks between Sokka’s muscular thighs and Zuko lets out a little sigh at the movement. He begins to move his hips; slowly at first, not really understanding the appeal, especially when they could have probably moved this to their quarters and actually fucked like adults. And then something shifts. Zuko can’t say what it is that changes exactly, but something does. The glide is smoother. Sokka’s thighs grip him tightly, hard muscles and soft, warm skin. Sokka lets out a soft moan, arm tightening around Zuko’s waist. “You like this?” Zuko asks.

Sokka nods. “Hmm, feels good. You feel good.”

That spurs Zuko on. He starts to move his hips in earnest, and the pleasure begins to build again. His cock moves slickly now between Sokka’s trembling thighs, and he changes the angle a little. Now the head of his cock is pushing behind Sokka’s balls, rubbing against his taint, and Sokka lets out a throaty moan. “Fuck, that’s good Zuko. Keep doing that,” he says.

Zuko presses his hips forward. What started out as a smooth glide is now something more. He starts to roll his hips, finding a rhythm that pleases both of them. Sokka’s hands slide over his back, down over his ass, kneading at the muscle. His fingers slip between Zuko’s cheeks, over his asshole. Zuko moans, voice throaty with pleasure. Sokka presses his lips against Zuko’s neck, mouthing kisses on his heated skin, and Zuko snaps his hips forward. It feels like Sokka’s thighs are gripping him tightly, like a well-fitting glove, and he can almost imagine what it could be like to have his cock buried deep inside Sokka, fucking him hard, fucking him open. Zuko pulls Sokka closer, wanting more of him; the taste of his skin, his sweat-damp scent, the warmth of his body. He can feel the way Sokka’s body trembles against his, the sound of his breath coming faster, the tips of his hair tickling against Zuko’s skin where they are so tightly pressed against each other they might as well be joined. Zuko’s caught between Sokka’s thighs and his fingers, and Sokka presses a fingertip against his hole, gentle but teasing. Zuko mouths along Sokka’s jaw – he needs to see his face, see his reactions – but Sokka keeps them close, his hips ticking forward to match Zuko’s rhythm now. Together they chase release, breath mingling, bodies straining.

“That’s it,” Sokka whispers. “Come on, Zuko. Fuck me.”

There’s something obscene about the way Sokka says the word fuck, Zuko thinks. It’s not a command, but it’s also not a suggestion. It’s a plea. Zuko can feel his balls drawing up, hot pleasure tightening in his belly. He gets a hand around Sokka’s leaking cock, and starts stroking him in rhythm. Sokka nuzzles into his neck, lips pressing hidden words Zuko can’t understand against his skin, cock jumping in his hand, slick with pre-come. It’s too much for Zuko, senses overloaded and all he can think is Sokkasokkasokka as he comes, the tight curl of ecstasy releasing in a hot rush, come coating Sokka’s trembling thighs, hot and sticky. “Fuck,” Sokka breathes out. “That’s it Sweetness, give it to me.”

Zuko grits his teeth, another wave of pleasure rolling over him. He comes down slowly, savouring the moment, the pleasure. He’s starting to get over-sensitive, and slips his cock from between Sokka’s thighs. He looks at Sokka, who’s grinning stupidly, despite still being rock hard and having not come yet. Zuko needs to remedy that. “What do you want?” he asks. “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Sokka looks a little dopey, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the moment. “I would love that,” he says, “however I’ll settle for a handy and we’ll call it even for now.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t call it that,” Zuko replies, but he does reach for Sokka’s cock again. He starts a rhythm similar to what Sokka had shown he liked from earlier, and when Sokka puts his hand over Zuko’s, they work together. It’s not long before Sokka’s breath is coming hard and fast again, his body trembling beneath Zuko’s hands. Zuko can tell he’s close, and he can’t resist playing Sokka at his own game. He pushes in close to Sokka’s ear and says, “Next time I might let you fuck my thighs, Sweetness.”

Sokka comes suddenly with a sharp, bitten off moan, come blurting over Zuko’s fingers and his own. His body locks up, head thrown back and neck exposed, hair loose and skin glistening. Sokka is beautiful in that moment, he thinks, completely unaware of his own power over Zuko, bliss written on his face. Zuko wants this moment to last forever.

And then Sokka lets out a trembling sigh and opens his eyes. His gaze is heavy with pleasure, lips plump and red, and Zuko can’t look away.

Maybe I don’t want this moment to end, Zuko thinks. What if these feelings lasted a lifetime instead of just this once?

And now he knows he’s well and truly fucked.

He’s falling for his enemy.