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Thing is, it’s all well and good that Zuko has been given the Crown. Fire Nation people have been fed nothing but pain and propaganda for hundreds of years. What good is the crown, when nobody, servant or Lord, looks at Zuko as anything other than a placeholder? A pawn to be directed this way or that? A useful method to keep the Dragon of the West in line?
To give credit where credit is due, Uncle did try. The Avatar and his friends left as soon as the crown touched Zuko’s head, but Uncle gave it his all.
Uncle is also getting old, he lost most of his internal political power by faffing about with Zuko on their de-facto houseboat and he doesn’t have the heart for Court, anymore. Zuko can see the ghost of Lu Ten weighing on him.
After a couple of weeks, Zuko gathers up what courage he has and sends him off to be the Ambassador to—everyone. Everyone who will have them. Uncle loves travelling and he is undeniably well-connected everywhere except Fire Nation; it’s a perfect fit. That he had made the right call would have been obvious even without the pathetically meagre protests Uncle offers. No, in the sea of bad decisions, this one is as clear as it is crushing. Zuko sees him off with a smile that hurts and locked knees, barely keeping his despair behind his teeth.
***
It would be easier—or simpler, at least—if this cursed fucking mess was some sort of personal repentance quest. If the price of failure was a clean death, he’d go to sleep with a smile on his face. Unfortunately, far more is at stake than the state of Zuko’s conscience. Fire Nation is dangerous; they are hurt and powerful and angry. The only chance of avoiding another continent-wide war in the next five years is in Zuko’s hands.
It would be easier if Zuko’s best wasn’t so comprehensively terrible.
***
It’s not that he doesn’t try. He does. He writes speeches and gives them. He is a good object lesson when you look at it from a right angle. No matter how you slice it, he had learned the lessons he is trying to teach. Father—and Azula, to a lesser extent—had made sure he would. So, night after night, he tries to pour them into a coherent story; tries to fish out some sort of narrative threat to all the suffering and condense it into a set of lessons. He does understand the scars Fire Nation has left on the world—and themselves—and knows that it can get better. Not good any time soon, but better. They can atone.
Other than Mai and Ty Lee, not even the staff is interested. His ministers—for a given value of his—let him talk, at least. The Generals don’t even bother with that much. Zuko doesn’t, truth be told, have the heart to blame them. Fire Nation wasn’t defeated with an army; Fire Nation was defeated because their King was a frothing lunatic. If he were a hair less insane, if he tried to lure the Avatar in with false promises of friendship, he’d have won. If he cultivated his relationship with his brother and had, in his command, Dragon of the West instead of the terrified gaggle of yes-men he so enjoyed terrorising. If he didn’t beat his son into uselessness and daughter into insanity.
From a military perspective, Fire Nation would have conquered the world, and the Generals know it. Talks about personal responsibility, reparations, guilt and shame go down about as well as can be expected. Maybe someone—maybe Uncle—could have shifted all that humiliated, violent energy into something productive. Maybe he could have snuffed the propaganda and bloodlust and hatred out. Zuko can’t. On the off chance that any of the Generals spare him a look, there is nothing there. He’d have preferred hatred to the uncaring, detachment that dismisses his physical presence, never mind his words. What charisma does Zuko have? What loyalty does he inspire? He’s not surprised they all left him. If anything, he’s surprised Mai and Ty Lee haven’t. What a fine go at statecraft, giving the job to three traumatised children and noting down how long it takes for assassins to clear the matter up.
Ty Lee takes to sleeping in front of Azula’s rooms that double as her cell. Not that she tries to run. They went from locked to unlocked to only locked from the inside. Ty Lee is there for Azula’s benefit, not the world’s. The loss of their father hit Azula harder than anyone would have thought. In hindsight—
Fuck the hindsight.
***
Mai keeps Zuko alive with her trademark focus. It’s necessary, too. Zuko fought off the first few batches easily enough, but they can afford to wait until he makes a dumb move. Meanwhile, what is he going to do, go sleuthing to find the perpetrator? Please. It would be easier to locate the handful of Nobles who don’t want Zuko dead, to say nothing of the Ozai fanatics. The only thing he can do is what he’s already doing—let the official investigation go on and hope he will manage to outlive their budgets. Already the quality of assassins has increased dramatically and with it, the asking price. Mai is to thank for this, Mai and her endless inventive ways of executing the poor souls. Zuko usually just shocks their heart still. She isn’t even furious that he’s not doing more to terrify the supply if they can’t do anything about the demand; that’s how exhausted and heart-sore they both are.
***
Three months into his so-called rule, somebody—he suspects the steel manufacturers, his most bitter opponents—decides to be clever about it. He meets a sweet-looking girl, apparently by accident. It’s a very targeted seduction; an offer of friendship, of uncomplicated conversation. An easy person to talk to, uninterested and blind to the realities of who Zuko is and what he needs to do.
Razi stabs him through the chest, and he doesn’t even try to stop her. The sight of Mai’s face twisted up in hatred and rage is the only thing that jars him from deep and sincere relief he feels as he’s bleeding out on the floor. Well, that and the messy corpse of his almost-girlfriend she hangs from the balcony by the garrotte she always has on her person.
“Someone will die for this,” she promises him, looming over a surgeon she terrified into behaving. “A lot of people, if I have my way.”
Great. Because that’s what they need. More death and suffering.
***
Zuko does survive, somehow, but between the initial stretch of uncertainty and inevitable recuperation, they lose what little ground they gained. The word spreads, twisting into hilariously gruesome stories about unnatural—possibly sexual—rituals that Mai and Zuko indulge in. The state of Razi’s corpse didn’t help, there, nor did her rampage through the aristocratic class. He isn’t all that surprised. If you come from a long line of monsters and spend months killing people—assassins, but who can tell—people are going to come to their own conclusions. It’s only reasonable.
Uncle returns in weeks, apologies flowing off his lips. Mai sneers at him and pointedly stands guard even when he is around. Zuko—
Zuko tries. He promised himself he wouldn’t guilt Uncle into staying in a place where he sees his dead son and his dead brother that most likely had killed his son and his dead sister-in-law that killed his father and his dead father that killed—
Point is, he won’t make Uncle stay. He won’t even ask. But if he offers—
He doesn’t offer, not really. He stays and wilts before his eyes. In the weeks that it took for Zuko to heal acceptably, Uncle ages ten years and catches insomnia.
Zuko boots him out, ignoring his insincere protests. The only thing worse than an absent Uncle is a dead Uncle and he fears what he will do if he says in this cursed place for too long.
***
In his more ludic moments, he thinks about Avatar’s motley crew and is choked with so much loneliness and self-hatred that he can’t even finish the thought, much less commit to it on paper. The few letters he sent had no reply. He’s not that old that he can’t learn. He’s not that old that he forgot the lessons he was taught.
“You need to take Azula,” he tells Ty Lee when the healers tell him he is allowed to bend. “You need to take Azula and run because she is no safer here than I am and it’s a matter of time before the rebels think to use her.”
Even Ty Lee’s ever-present cheer is gone, sapped by the long months of hostility and the ever-decreasing chance of ever accomplishing anything of worth. She nods, the shadow of her usual grin on her face clashing with the stormy eyes.
“Mai—”
“Don’t even think about it.” She has adapted quickest to the bloody nature of their work. “You’d be dead a thousand times if not for me.”
“We need an idea, Mai.” He lets her see some of the hopelessness lying ever-so-close to the surface. “We need to figure out an in with these people. Nobody knows me. Nobody thinks I am anything but a convenient placeholder. A way to appease the Avatar until they unearth a bender that can defeat him. I need to—”
“Yes.” She shrugs, eyes dark and resigned. “Do you have any? I don’t. Maybe a show of strength?”
Show of force, she says. “I suppose the first thing we need to do is to make sure nothing like this happens again.” At least being bone-deep exhausted means he can say ridiculous shit like that with a straight face. How do you rule people who don’t want to be ruled? “It makes us look even weaker, somehow. We can’t—we’re out of options. The Nobles stopped offering betrothal contracts, that’s how hopeless my position is.”
“You’ll figure it out”
He sighs. ”Sure. Ty Lee, please. Be careful. Uncle has a Fire Nation friend, Piandao. He lives in Shu Jing. Go to him first. Mai will help you leave the palace at least.”
***
Rai Mustang walks into the palace like it’s his backyard. It’s a whole thing. They don’t have a lot of informants, but Rai Mustang is a national hero. A darling of the people. What, precisely, the people expect him to do with Zuko is up in the air, but blood and fire probably feature heavily.
“No,” he says for the umpteenth time, “we do nothing, Mai. What can we do? He is a powerful bender and a folk legend. While I was off chasing the Avatar, he was protecting villagers and saving babies. He is untouchable.”
Mai bars her teeth. “Nobody is untouchable. Give me a high vantage point and a crossbow and watch me.”
Right.
“No. Our days are numbered either way. If Rai Mustang wants to take over—” Well. “Don’t you think it could be for the best?”
“What if he’s with the extremists?” Zuko watches helplessly as she resumes her nervous pacing, long steps sharp with violence. “What if he wants to kill you?”
“He’s not with the extremists.” Best focus on the part that he can answer without coming across as suicidal, which— “Why would he have come alone if he was? Why would he have come at all? He can afford to wait a few months more.”
“Because he wants the spectacle of killing you himself,” she snaps. “Because he’s a politician. Because he hates you. I don’t know and I don’t care. You’re inviting a Komodo rhino into your house, Zuko.”
No, he’s just accepting the inevitable. At this point, being usurped is about as inevitable as things come. Why waste any more time?
“The rebels wouldn’t have let a bender that strong walk into the Palace,” he tries halfheartedly. “You heard the stories, he never did anything except protect the villages.”
Mai doesn’t stop her nervous pacing. “That’s just it. A bender that strong could have made a difference. He could have helped and he didn’t. Why come now, when we’re desperate and alone? Why not go through Iroh?”
“So we ask Uncle, and in the meantime—”
Mai snarls. Zuko sees the powerlessness in her eyes; knows that the worst thing a woman like Mai can feel is being forced into something outside of her control.
“—In the meantime, we let him stay. What can we lose?”
“Our lives.” Mai flings herself into the sofa, scurrying up until she’s perched at the corner like a cat. “The crown. For all we know he could be even worse than—”
Zuko sighs. “I doubt it. If he is with the rebels—which we don’t know he is—they wouldn’t send him alone. He’s their best bet. Famous. Loved. Competent.” Everything Zuko isn’t. Well, that’s not strictly true. Zuko is plenty famous, just not for anything worthwhile.
“True.” Zuko doesn’t enjoy that that argument worked, but he isn’t surprised. Mai is nothing if not realistic.
“He stays. We ask Uncle.”
***
Rai Mustang is different from what Zuko expected. He is younger, for one. Looks Fire Nation but—Maybe mixed?
He’s also beautiful like Azula was beautiful. Like danger and competence and the type of settled confidence that makes you want to impress him. Zuko isn’t vain; he doesn’t dwell on his ruined face. Being around Rai Mustang’s casual perfection makes it difficult to remain such.
“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says, bowing low. Lower than anyone bothers to bow to him, these days. It immediately puts Zuko on guard. That is—a strange game to play. Is he making a point? Mocking him? “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Why have you come?” Mai prowls around Zuko, shoulders thrown back and steps soft. “I’m Mai, Fire Lord’s first advisor. What does Rai Mustang have to do with the Dragon Throne?”
“I came to offer my service, Advisor Mai.”
Zuko shivers. There is an art to speaking in large rooms, and Rai Mustang mastered it perfectly. His voice gives the impression of being deep and commanding, but it’s not. It’s a pleasant tenor, perhaps a shade or two lower than the norm. Zuko’s voice was deeper at fourteen and yet he never sounded so commanding.
“Why?”
“Because I have skills you can use.”
He can practically see the drops of bloodlust beading on Mai’s syllables. “I know you do. Why now? Why not before, when we were fighting for our lives?”
Should Zuko be ashamed for being too exhausted and awkward to speak? He feels like he should be, maybe.
“Many reasons,” Rai Mustang says, not for a moment losing the formal but relaxed cadence. “I didn’t understand the political situation well enough. I didn’t have contacts who could put me in touch with the right people.” He shrugs, shoulders rolling in an artful, calculated gesture. Zuko distantly considers that calculated is a good word to describe Rai Mustang. “My abilities are too destructive to be used in war. I didn’t want to, in other words.”
“You fought plenty,” Mai purrs. “We have the reports. Are you trying to tell us you are a pacifist?”
“Not a pacifist, no.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes cutting between the two of them, reaching conclusions Zuko can’t even guess at. “Simply not comfortable with being a soldier. My primary goal here is to advise you in political matters.” His lips curl into a smile. Zuko’s heart freezes. That is a dangerous smile. It suits him. “And fight off any stray assassins that may come your way, of course.”
“Are you with the White Lotus,” Zuko blurts, like an idiot. Maybe—he doesn’t think so, but Uncle doesn’t tell him everything. Uncle barely tells him anything. Maybe—
Judging by how his lips thin, it’s not likely.
“No. We have worked together in the past, but there is no love lost between us. I don’t think much about their methods at all, in fact, nor they of mine.”
“Why,” Mai says, but she is calmer. She shares the view of Uncle’s web, after all.
“I think they’re fundamentally spineless, old men without conviction or purpose,” Rai Mustang says without a pause. “They think I am a violent, power-hungry autocrat in the making without conviction or purpose. In a way, I suppose you could say our disagreement is philosophical.”
Zuko wants to frown but can’t summon enough energy to. Uncle is not spineless, not at all. He has conviction and purpose, Zuko just—can’t understand what the nebulous purpose is. Whatever it is, it didn’t include Fire Nation much, or they would be more interested in keeping it free from the claws of Ozai loyalists.
“I see.” Mai turns to Zuko with a glint in her eyes. “I take it back. Let’s keep him.”
Zuko shrugs. Of course they will keep him. Now that he is in the palace, he doubts there is anything they could do to make him leave. Who is going to force him? The servants who are pity-fond of Zuko? Mai? Zuko?
“Thank you, your Majesty. You will not regret it.”
Zuko meets Rai Mustang’s eyes head-on for the first time and lets the man understand just how little there is in him except regret.
“Welcome to the Dragon Palace.”