Dark Puck - Blood Ties

“No…” he whispered, and hastily checked for a pulse.

For one heart-stopping moment, nothing.

Then a faint flutter, so small it was barely detectable.

He breathed a sigh of relief, then carefully picked up his friend and carried him to the infirmary.

Then he came back for Ichiro.  The other man was sitting up now, one leg awkwardly in front of him.  “How is he?”

“Not good,” was all Zuko would say, then bent as if to attempt to pick Ichiro up, as well.

Ichiro held up a hand.  “Only one of my legs was broken,” he told the Firelord wryly.  “And I weigh a little more than my stick of a brother.  Just give me an extra leg down to the infirmary, please.”

Zuko nodded, and helped him up, ignoring how much his bad knee was hurting.

Together, the two men got Ichiro settled; looking around, Ichiro saw that while Kouji was being bandaged up and stitched together, there was no sign of the island girl.

Zuko had noticed as well. She was next on his list of people to find, and he limped off to do so.  Leilani was not among any of the bodies.

Which was a relief. But the fact that he still couldn’t find her wasn’t. He staggered about, checking closets — for all he knew, she’d been drugged and stuck in one to prevent her helping those wounded during the coup.

As it turned out, he was right; he found Leilani bound and unconscious in a closet near the infirmary.  He checked her for a pulse too, and, finding one, picked her up — his knee almost giving out in protest — and carried her back there.

Then he went looking for his son.

Mikoto was right where Haru had said he was, in the room he shared with Ty Lee.  Yui was with him, holding him close.

“DADDY!” the child cried, disentangling himself and flinging himself at his father, nearly knocking him over.

“Lord Zuko!” Yui said, looking tired and relieved.  “Have you seen Kouji?”

“He’s hurt, he’s in the infirmary,” was all Zuko could say, holding his son close.

She nodded, and hesitated.  “Do you need me to remain?”

He shook his head. “I’m taking Mito back to Katara and the girls.”

She bowed, then ran off, presumably to the infirmary.

Zuko, with his son, staggered back to where he’d left his wife and daughters.

Haru quietly handed him a temporary walking stick, made of suspiciously familiar stone, before taking his leave to check on Ty Lee and Pan.

Shortly after Haru left, Shang’s second-in-command came to join the royal family. “Are you all all right?” she asked, quietly.

“We’re fine,” Katara answered, curled up on the bed with her babies, Mito sitting crosslegged next to her, meeting his sisters. Zuko was in a chair a few feet away.

The guardswoman nodded. “I was told to stay with you, just in case.”

Tired, bleeding sluggishly from a gash on his forehead and a longer one across his bicep, Shang made his way to the Firelord’s apartments.  He did not like the timing of this attack at all, and he was no closer to figuring out who the duckmole in the palace was.  Well, for now, his second-in-command ought to be checking the perimeter, making sure nobody else was coming in while Shang supposedly went to get stitched up in the infirmary.

Imagine his surprise, then, to hear her voice, quiet and confident, discussing something with the Firelord in there.

Frowning, Shang walked inside.  “What are you doing here?” he asked.  “I ordered you to the perimeter.”

What happened next happened very, very fast. Her eyes widened slightly as Zuko’s narrowed, he stood up and she launched herself at him, driving a knife into his side.

Mito screamed.

Shang dropped his trident and lunged for his second, knocking her away from the Firelord and pinning her. She didn’t struggle, save to bring her hand up to her mouth and swallow something.  The bodyguard’s eyes widened, and he tried to force her to purge whatever she’d swallowed — to no avail.

She was dead in moments — the suicide pills the Róng Yào gave their agents were swifter and much less painful than the poison they had attempted to use on Zuko several months before.

Li Shang said several words he probably should not have in front of Mikoto as he rose to his feet and turned to the Firelord.  “Lord Zuko, are you—?”

He didn’t respond, just staggered over to his son and held him, trying to comfort the terrified, screaming child.

The sergeant groaned and idly kicked the body.  “Lady Katara?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

“And the princesses?”

“Both fine. Sleeping.”

“Good.  Good.”  Shang picked up his trident and leaned against it.

“You should go get cleaned up,” the Firelady pointed out, eyeing the cuts on his shoulder and forehead. “And so should you,” she told her husband, nudging him lightly.

“I’m not leaving you undefended until I’m certain the threat is over,” Shang replied.

“All right,” she said, accepting this. “But at least let me do what I can for you here.” She wasn’t going to use bending — she’d been forbidden from even trying for at least a week, and she planned to stick to that if at all possible.

“As you wish, my lady,” Shang answered, moving to where she could reach his wounds.

She cleaned and bandaged them neatly, then gently pulled Mito away from his father. “Your turn. Don’t even start with me.”

The soldier willingly took charge of the child while Katara tended to Zuko, then turned the boy over to his father once more.

He had calmed down somewhat, at least was no longer screaming, but clung desperately to his father when returned.

Finally, Shang’s men all reported back to him; all the Róng Yào were either dead or imprisoned now.  Shang dismissed them and sighed in relief.  “It’s over.”

Zuko shook his head. “It’s just getting started.” He pushed himself up, kissed his wife’s forehead, gently disentangled his now-sleeping son, and said, “I’m going to my study. I’ll be back later.”

Shang nodded and trailed Zuko there after detailing one of his men to remain with the Firelady.

After a few hours working in his study, the Firelord turned to Shang. “I’m going down to the prisons. You can’t come with me.”

His bodyguard’s eyes narrowed.  “Excuse me?”

“You can’t come down there,” Zuko repeated. “You don’t have the clearance.”

“If you think I’m letting you go anywhere alone after tonight—”

“I’m not going to be alone. My uncle will be with me, along with several officials who have the clearance to be down there.”

“Then I will take you to your uncle.”

“Fine.”

Shang suited actions to words, escorting the Firelord to Iroh.

Iroh was remarkably unscathed, given that he, too, had been one of the primary targets of the assault. He nodded at Shang, then turned to his nephew. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“It’s now or never. Let’s go.”

The bodyguard groaned and headed to his own office.  He’d need to figure out how the Róng Yào had managed to slip someone so high up into his own system, and fast.

*                       *                       *

And so, at least on the surface, the next few months passed quietly. Those injured during the coup — even Kouji — recovered. (Zuko managed to find at least five minutes to sit with his friend every day). Everything was geared to keeping up appearances.

But under the surface…

For some time every day, Firelord Zuko would disappear “downstairs,” where the prisoners taken during the coup were being questioned. Whatever was going on down there was kept completely quiet — Zuko, Iroh, and the men and women directly involved were the only people who knew.

Whatever was going on down there was obviously taking its toll on the man who had ordered it — he wasn’t yet twenty-five, and his hair had more silver in it every day. He was also steadily losing weight and, judging by some damage to his oesophagus, this wasn’t because he wasn’t eating.

One day, Ichiro arrived at Zuko’s office, down to a single crutch and with a lightweight cast on his almost-healed leg.

“What is it?” the Firelord asked, looking up from whatever report he was working his way through.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said quietly.  “…about our parents.”

“I know they were involved, if that’s what you’re getting at,” the other man said, abruptly. He didn’t have the time, energy, or inclination to play wordgames with Kouji’s brother.

“I know that,” Ichiro replied.  “I saw it when you visited Kouji yesterday.”

“If you think I care, or doubt — ”

“Kouji doesn’t know.”

“And you would like me to keep it that way.”

Ichiro nodded.  “Dad was… going to kill him.”

Zuko bowed his head. “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you, my lord.”  Ichiro hesitated, then added, “Don’t go thinking it’s your fault.  The Róng Yào were xenophobic jingoists, and yet two of them spawned an earthbender.  They would have done it sooner or later.”

He didn’t smile, not even wryly or bitterly. “Could you let Kouji know I might be a little later than usual this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” With that, he pushed himself up and past Ichiro and went downstairs.

The farmer sighed and went to see his brother.

Zuko joined them a couple hours later. “Hey.”

Kouji brightened on seeing the Firelord.  “Hi!”

The older man didn’t smile back, but settled himself into a chair next to Kouji. “How’re you feeling?”

“Much better — Doctor Chang says I should be able to get back to work soon.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“What about you?” Kouji wanted to know.  “You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine,” Zuko replied, making a valiant (if failed) attempt at a reassuring smile.

“You’re always fine,” the boy pointed out.

“Unless I can’t function,” the Firelord agreed.

Kouji sighed.  “Well, I’ll be able to help you soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

The boy’s silver eyes drifted shut, and his breathing evened out — he still tired easily.

Zuko levered himself up again, and limped off for his session with Leilani — he’d been skipping a lot of them lately, and had been threatened with Dire Consequences if he continued to do so.

One afternoon, about six months after the coup, Zuko, hair now completely silvered, limped into his study. “It’s over.”

Li Shang, who had been waiting for him, grinned; Kouji, who had arrived with food for the Firelord, blinked.  “It is?”

“Yes.” He settled himself into his chair, the leather creaking as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “They’re finished.”

“Good,” said Shang, his eyes flashing.

Kouji, on the other hand, looked concerned.

“Definitely,” the Firelord agreed with Shang, not picking up on Kouji’s concern, as his eyes were still closed.

“What happens now?” the younger boy asked.

“We go back to daily life without worrying about another coup,” Zuko answered.

“And I can relax a little bit,” Shang agreed.

“Precisely.” The Firelord’s eyes drifted open again, and he sat up a little straighter, shuffling through the papers on his desk to see if he could find his schedule and see what was next for him to do.

Li Shang bowed.  “I’m going to inform my men, with your permission.”

“Go ahead.”

The shorter man left, and Kouji quietly placed a plate on Zuko’s desk.  The food was mostly bland things; it must have been a pain for the boy to locate them.

The Firelord frowned a little, inwardly. Bland food was no guarantee that it wouldn’t come back up again a couple hours later. Besides, it had hurt to swallow for the last three or four days. He decided to pretend he was absorbed in what he was doing and that he hadn’t seen the plate.

After awhile, Kouji sighed and left.

Zuko sighed as well, faintly, put a stack of papers that seemed to be left over from two years ago — I really need to clean up my desk — off to one side, and continued to dig for his schedule.

The door opened, and Leilani slipped in.  “Lord Zuko.”

He looked up. “Leilani.”

“Doctor Chang asked me to check on you.”

He had asked no such thing; Leilani had noticed the weight loss and also that the Firelord was still eating and had come to the proper conclusions.

“Any particular reason why?” Zuko dodged, going back to the mounds of old papers on his desk.

“Weight loss.  You’re a twig, Zuko.”

“…ah.” He couldn’t very well argue with that.

She moved to stand behind him and pressed a cool, gentle hand against the back of his neck to conduct her examination.

And there was the reason it hurt him to swallow — his oesophagus was torn, slightly, in a couple places, probably due to the fact that he vomited every time he thought about what he’d done downstairs.

“…this is going to be weird, Lord Zuko,” she cautioned him.  “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said, though a little wary.

“Then open your mouth and breath through your nose.”

Still wary, he did as she asked.

A thin tendril of water snaked down his throat, thin enough to breathe around in case the Firelord panicked and inhaled, and two fingers touched his larynx gently.  He tensed, but didn’t quite panic, though he was clearly highly uncomfortable with this procedure.

It was slow, and highly strange, but then Leilani drew the water from his throat and disposed of it.  “Okay.  It’s over.”

He took a deep, shuddery breath, and one thin hand drifted up to his throat.

She moved to where he could see her.  “How long has that been going on?”

“Has what been going on?” he asked, not sure exactly what she was asking about.

“The vomiting.”

“…Ah. That.” He sighed. “A while,” he hedged. He couldn’t go into too much detail — like Shang, Leilani didn’t have the proper clearance.

“…we’re going to go over it tonight,” she told him, then held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest.  “You don’t have to go into detail.  But it needs to be gone over.”

“Fine,” he muttered, knowing he had to give in.

She bowed and left.

That night, he showed up at the usual place for their session — much as he’d dearly love to skip it, particularly tonight, he had a feeling she would hunt him down if he tried.

She was waiting for him — and yes, from the look on her face, she had come fully prepared to seek him out.

“I came, didn’t I?” he said, unsmiling — eight months ago, there would have been a touch of wry humour in that sentence — lowering himself to a seat.

“Yes, you did.”

“How’re you doing?” he asked, deflecting the questions he knew were coming.

“I’m fine.  Don’t try to delay this.”

“And Minami and Wéi Hù?” he asked, stubbornly ignoring her second sentence.

“Zuko.”

“What?”

“Do not dodge this.”

“I’m not dodging. I’m trying to be polite.”

“I know you, Lord Zuko.”

“How are Minami and Wéi Hù?” he asked again, choosing not to respond to that.

She sighed.  “They’re fine.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you.”  She then crossed her arms and gave him a Look.

“…you’re glaring at me. Is there any special reason?”

“You need to talk to me, Zuko.  What, precisely, has been affecting you so strongly you vomit enough to tear the lining of your throat?”

He sighed. “I can’t tell you,” he said, quietly. Not only do you not have the clearance for this information, I can’t… tell you what I did. I don’t want you to think any less of me than you probably already do, given some of the things I’ve told you in the past.

“You don’t have to give me the details, Lord Zuko.”

He bit his lip, and stared at his hands. “We broke the Róng Yào,” he said, finally.

“…ah.”

He didn’t volunteer any further information, and fought the urge to vomit again.  She reached out and touched his shoulder gently.  “You feel guilty for how you did it.”

“Yeah.” How could I do that? It makes me no better than they were. Worse. Because I’d been on the other side. I knew better.

“You had to do it, Lord Zuko,” she said quietly.

“I should have found a better way,” he replied.

“Were there any?”

“I don’t know.”

“Better this way, then,” she said softly.  “What if they’d tried again?”

“I should have found a better way,” he insisted, dully. “I should have been better than that.”

“You weren’t acting for yourself,” Leilani insisted.  “You were acting for your children, for your wife and your uncle, for your brother and for the world.”

“Still. What I did…” He trailed off, with a desperate, haunted, sickened look on his face, stood up carefully, walked a ways away, and threw up again.

Leilani watched him, biting her lip.  This… this was beyond her.  If he would talk to her more, she’d be able to do more for him, but he insisted that she didn’t have the proper clearance.

When he was done, he limped back over, and sat back down. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly.

He sighed, resumed staring at his hands, and said nothing more.

She hesitated, then said, “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

He looked relieved. “All right,” he said, and pushed himself back up.

Leilani watched him leave, and sighed.  Who could help him?

The problem was that there wasn’t anyone with the clearance to know the details who would be a viable option.

Finally, when full dark had settled, Leilani got up and went to speak to General Iroh.

The old man was just leaving his office for the night when she found him. “Leilani? What is it?”

“May I talk to you?”  She hesitated.  “It’s about Zuko.”

“…of course,” he said, and reopened the door. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you.”  Once they were both settled, she fidgeted for a moment, then said, “I don’t know how to help him.”

“I don’t either,” Iroh replied, quietly.

“He won’t  talk to me because I don’t have the proper clearance.”

“And he won’t talk to me because he doesn’t trust me the way he used to anymore. I’ve kept too many things from him over the years.”

“Can you think of anyone he could talk to?”

Iroh was silent for a long moment. “…He might talk to Aang. He won’t go into details, but… the Avatar understands him in a way I don’t think anyone else does.”

Leilani considered this, then nodded.  “I’ll send a message to him, then.”

“That would probably be a good idea.”

“Thank you, General Iroh.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The young healer bowed, rose to her feet, and went to write her message.