Fighting Fire - Part 1
Fighting Fire
Written by ocelot_l
Rated PG-13
Warnings: Bad Language, Violence, Violence Against a Minor
Pairings: Hints of Linkara/Spoony
Summary: TGWTG/Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion; Born as a prince of the prosperous Fire Nation, Critic should be living a charmed life filled with every comfort he could ever desire. His twin brother, Guy, feels otherwise.
Word Count: 13, 115
Based on a piece of art by obnoxiousamy
A/N: I adored Amy's gorgeous art of Critic and Guy fighting! The colors were so vibrant and cheerful that I couldn't help gazing at it several times a day as I wrote! I knew where in the story I wanted to place the battle, so I wrote that first and then the rest of the story. I hope Amy and all of you enjoy it! :)
As a crowd of people dressed in fine robes of red and gold silk made their way out of the grand theater, chatting about that day’s production and making small talk, not one of them noticed as a small figure darted past their legs. He was clad in a black hooded cloak tied tightly around his body, and clutching a small inkpot and a fine paintbrush in his hands. Swiftly the figure made his way to the back of the Ember Island Theater and climbed one of the grassy hills overlooking the calm blue ocean. When he was certain he was alone, the boy set down his writing tools and pulled out a piece of blank parchment from one of the inner pockets of his cloak, arranging them in a manner conducive to working, before finally plopping down in front of the items with a satisfied grunt. He shot one last look around the area before lowering his hood. Sunlight glinted off the boy’s spectacles, as well as off the golden headpiece holding up his fine brown hair, but he took no notice of this as he dipped his brush into the inkpot and swirled it a few times. At last, the boy lifted his brush and started to press it against the parchment.
“If you plan to miss the Ember Island Players’ performance of ‘DragonMan’, you’d better miss it quickly; I doubt this dragon turd of a production will be around to miss for long.”
“My, Critic, you surely have been living up to your name lately, haven’t you?”
Critic jumped at the low, taunting voice suddenly murmuring into his ear and almost spilled ink all over his parchment in the process.
“Damn it, Guy, I told you not to sneak up on me like that!” Critic turned to scowl into the sweetly smiling face of his twin brother. Like Critic, Ask That Guy had fine brown hair held up in a topknot and blue eyes covered by golden spectacles; the two could almost pass for mirror images of each other. Almost, because when one looked into the eyes of the twins, there was always something off, some dark glint or hint of eeriness to be found in Guy’s gaze that Critic lacked entirely. The boys seemed to be as one, and yet were two entirely different beings, a fact that Critic was immensely grateful for whenever he saw that glint in Guy’s eyes. The glint that was shining down upon him that very moment. Critic tried to ignore his brother’s eyes as he scrambled to move his tools back into the pockets of his cloak.
“I really didn’t do much sneaking, Critic,” Guy replied, his sickly sweet smile still in place as he watched every move his brother made. “It’s a small island, you know. If you had been paying attention to your surroundings instead of filling your head with the nonsensical plays you’re always sneaking off to see, you would have seen me coming.” Critic blushed at his words. He hated knowing that Guy had found out about his visits to the theater. What business of his was it if that’s how he chose to spend his spare time? Critic said none of this, though, knowing his words would most likely lead to trouble, and that was one thing he did not need from his brother.
“Did you tell anyone where I went?” he asked, his eyes still narrowed, his lips pursed.
“That’s a very good question, little brother, but does that honestly sound like something I would do?” Guy replied, which only made Critic angrier. It sounded exactly like something he would do, and Critic was about to say as much when Guy laughed. “No, Critic, I didn’t let anyone know about your little secret. I’m sure you’re happy to know that, aren’t you?”
“Thrilled,” Critic said with a roll of his eyes.
“You’re actually very lucky that I wasn’t someone who intended to cause you harm,” Guy continued, his eyes wide and unblinking as he bent down and snatched up the sheet of parchment that Critic had been writing upon. “A helpless young prince like you, sitting all alone without a royal guard in sight, would be easy prey for a kidnapper or worse, Critic.”
“I am not helpless!” Critic snapped, leaping to his feet so he could meet Guy’s gaze with an irate glare. “No one would even think to try anything with me or I’d burn their fucking ass all the way to the North Pole! Now give me that back!”
“Such uncouth language for a prince,” Guy replied, his eyelids lowering as he started smirking at his brother. Instead of complying with his request, Guy held the parchment up over his head and no matter how high Critic jumped, it always remained just out of his reach. After a few seconds, the end of Guy’s finger produced a small flame, which he pressed teasingly to the corner of the parchment.
“Stop it!” Critic wailed. “You’re going to burn it, you mother fucker!”
“You’d better be sure not to speak like that in front of Mother, unless you want another lashing in front of the entire palace, Critic.”
Critic’s face burned crimson as he remembered the incident, his hands becoming fitsts, fingers digging into his palms as he tried to control his anger. “Shut up about that, Guy!”
Guy quirked an eyebrow. “Is that really any way to talk to your brother, Critic? Especially after I’ve agreed to keep this information from Mother? Perhaps it would be best if she knew about this after all. What would people say if they knew that the son of the Fire Lord was shirking his responsibilities so he could watch people prance about in silly costumes and gaudy masks?”
Critic growled. “I said shut up!” he cried as he lifted one fist into the air. Instead of swinging it into Guy’s face, as he often dreamt of doing, Critic held his fist as high as he could before he unleashed a large ball of fire, sending it up into the air. Usually his firebending had the effect of impressing his tutors and frightening the local children who came to visit the palace, but Guy gave neither of those reactions. Instead, his eyes lit up with delight as he watched the flames appear, and licked his lips, as if the sight somehow made him hungry. Only when the ball of fire vanished into the sky did he turn his gaze back to Critic and lifted his own tightly clenched fist.
“Is that an order, Critic?” he asked softly as a bluish energy started to crackle around his fingers. The parchment, only slightly singed, wafted down onto the grass beside him, but Critic could not tear his eyes from the electricity building around his brother’s hand. “Because I do not like to be given orders. Especially not by you.”
Critic swallowed and felt his knees start to wobble, but he urged another burst of flames to emerge from his fingertips. If Guy wanted to fight, he would not back down, not again.
Guy saw the determined look on Critic’s face and laughed, a dark, unearthly laugh that would not be suited for a man let alone a child, the crackling heat from his hand growing loud, so loud that Critic winced at the sound. He took a trembling step into the proper firebending position, his fingers spreading open then tightening once again, and launched his fist toward Guy.
“Stop this right now!”
Critic’s arm was caught mid-swing by an older, familiar hand and pulled down to his side. Guy’s arm was similarly captured and lowered; however, while Critic remained limp in the grasp of this interloper, Guy struggled to break free.
“Let me go!” Guy demanded, his smiling demeanor finally gone as anger overtook him. “Let go of me at once, Big Brother!”
The older teenage boy’s fingers remained firmly in place around Guy’s forearm and he shook his head. “Not until you calm down, Guy. You know you aren’t supposed to use this form of firebending unsupervised.”
“Mother would allow it,” Guy snarled but he nevertheless allowed the bluish electricity to dissipate from his body. The Other Guy nodded at his cooperation before releasing his hold on Guy so he could turn to Critic.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softening as concern filled his eyes. “I came to pick you up from your lessons but your tutor said you never showed up.”
“I’m fine,” Critic said quickly. “I just didn’t feel like going to my lessons today. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Mother.”
The Other Guy sighed as he rested his hands on Critic’s shoulders. “You really shouldn’t skip your lessons, Critic, but this time it’s okay. I’m just glad that you’re alright.” He pulled Critic into an embrace and Critic instantly hugged back. He always felt safe when wrapped in his brother’s arms.
When they pulled apart, Critic smiled at the Other Guy before noticing the look Guy was shooting them over his elder brother’s shoulder, one of anger and bitterness and slight jealousy. Critic swiftly looked down. “Thanks, Big Brother. Can we go home now?”
“Of course.” The Other Guy slid a hand around Critic’s shoulders as they started to walk. “Come along, Guy. You have lessons to attend as well.”
Guy watched the two walk along for a moment, his eyes dark and his heart pumping an irregular, almost too rapid beat. “Coming, Big Brother.”
----
A teenaged Critic adjusted the outfit he had just put on and glanced at himself in the mirror. He had grown tall and muscular over the years and looked very dashing dressed in black armor trimmed with scarlet detailing and fine gold trimming. This was royal armor; fitting for a prince who was about to sit in on an official meeting held by the Fire Lord herself. It was Critic’s first time being invited into such a meeting, and he felt a mixture of honor and anxiety over what would transpire.
“Very handsome, Critic.” Critic sighed as he noticed Guy in the reflection of his mirror. His twin was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, decked out in his own armor, and licking his lips as he often did when in Critic’s presence. “You certainly clean up nice.”
“Wish I could say the same for you,” Critic muttered as he picked up a golden hair piece and styled his locks into the traditional Fire Nation topknot. “Shouldn’t you already be inside the meeting room, Guy? I thought Mother insisted on you being her right hand during these sessions.”
“That’s a very good question,” Guy replied in that irritatingly sweet manner he had of answering queries he found amusing. “The reason I’m here is that Mother wanted me to personally escort you into the meeting. She would like you to be her right hand today, Critic, and for you to offer your thoughts on the newest strategies of our generals. It’s very hard work spreading the glory of the Fire Nation to the other regions of the world, you know, so Mother is always looking for fresh ideas.”
“Really? Mother really wants me to sit at her side?” Critic could feel his heart starting to race as he imagined taking the coveted position next to the Fire Lord, imagined his mother’s face for once beaming down at him with pride and acceptance. After today, Critic might no longer be considered the worthless third son, the heir with nothing left to inherit, and it filled Critic’s chest with something warmer than any flame he’d ever produced.
“Hurry up, Critic,” Guy broke into his thoughts as he turned around and started to walk off down the marbled palace hallway. “Mother does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Right, I’m coming!” Critic dashed out of his bedroom and after Guy, his steps light and bouncy as he made his way into the War Room. He paused before fully entering the shadowy room, peering around the sea of faces curiously. “Um, Guy, isn’t Big Brother going to be attending this meeting?” he whispered as his twin walked past him.
“Didn’t you hear, Critic? Our brother is still in the Earth Kingdom and not expected home until tomorrow,” Guy happily replied as he made his way to the left side of the grand throne positioned in the back of the room.
“Oh.” Critic’s earlier excitement quickly diminished while a small prickle of fear overcame him. He had rarely interacted with his mother without his elder brother being around to mediate, but Critic knew he was being childish to worry over such a matter. He was almost 18 now, almost a full-fledged adult, so surely he could handle a simple meeting like this without needing his brother to hold his hand. Besides, Guy was there, and he was every bit Critic’s brother as the Other Guy was. Critic nodded at this thought, feeling comforted somewhat.
The room fell silent then and everyone bowed their heads in reverence to the newly arrived woman who was slowly making her way towards the seat of honor.
“Good afternoon, Fire Lord Hagan,” murmured the soldiers and generals and strategists.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” Critic and Guy replied in unison. Fire Lord Hagan did not answer until she had plopped down upon her throne and clasped her hands together.
“So, Critic, I see you’ve decided to join us this time,” she said, glancing to her right side and then her left, where Guy was kneeling, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Yes, Mother.” Critic bowed again before kneeling beside her as well. “I am honored to sit at your side.”
“Lovely. Well now, since everyone has arrived, I suppose the meeting shall begin. Minions?” Hagan clapped her hands before nestling back against her throne, watching in amusement as battle plan after battle plan was laid out before her.
Critic sat eagerly at attention for the first hour and a half, taking in every stratagem and tactical maneuver with great scrutiny, searching for any flaw he could point out or improvement he might add. This did not come easy for the young prince, however, since he had never been big on learning about any of these subjects during his tutoring sessions. Critic had always been more interested in mastering firebending or drawing with charcoal then studying history and learning about the battles the Fire Nation participated in during its endeavor to share its greatness with the rest of the world. Now Critic was kicking himself for not paying more attention, because the meeting was quickly growing to a close and he had not contributed one iota of knowledge or insight. This was no way to impress anyone, let alone the Fire Lord.
Just as the last general presented her strategy, and Critic saw the shadow on the sundial move closer to the next hour, when the meeting would end, he heard something that snapped him to attention.
“In conclusion, my Lord,” the general said, pointing to a spot on the map of the world that sat between an area of the Fire Nation called Crescent Island and the Eastern Earth Kingdom, “the plans are ready to be set into motion. We shall detonate the Fire Nation passenger ship right here, close enough to the Earth Kingdom border that the debris shall litter their mud-strewn beaches. Citizens of both the Fire Nation and Earth Nation will be swiftly alerted to this tragedy and, once they investigate, will find numerous items and uniforms belonging to Earth Kingdom soldiers among the wreckage, leading them to believe that they are the perpetrators of the explosion. I am certain that this will be the spark our citizens need to invade and conquer the Earth Kingdom once and for all, so that our glorious culture and lifestyles may be shared with the world at last.”
“Hold on a minute, General!” Critic quickly rose to his feet and approached the woman, his arms crossed and his expression confident. “Are you actually suggesting we detonate a ship full of innocent Fire Nation citizens just to motivate our warriors? Have you lost your head, woman?” he asked, almost laughing at the absurdity of the idea. “Even if the other nations are being difficult and not openly accepting our advances, there is no way a crazy idea like this is going to help things! How in the world can you justify killing our citizens in this way?”
“Um, w-well,” the general stammered, her eyes growing wide with fear as she kept glancing at some point over Critic’s left shoulder, “th-the citizens would be offering their lives for the greater g-good of the Fire Nation and, um, and they would be, uh, l-lower class citizens without much to lose, s-so I think they would be thrilled to offer their lives for such a m-marvelous reason-”
“Marvelous?” Critic actually did laugh this time. “I think the words you are looking for are ridiculously stupid, General!”
Critic continued laughing, but soon fell silent when he realized every person in the room was watching him with a terrified expression. He blinked at them in confusion and adjusted his spectacles as he wondered what could possibly be going on. “Um, is it something I said?”
“That’s exactly what it is, Critic.” Critic whirled around in surprise when he heard his mother’s voice, and felt even more surprise when he saw she was no longer sitting comfortably on her throne. Fire Lord Hagan had stood up and rolled up the black, satin sleeves of her robes, showing off the pale, yet muscular arms hidden beneath. “My minions very rarely see what happens when a plan of mine is eviscerated so harshly, so they seem about ready to wet themselves in anticipation for what’s going to happen.”
“Wait, what?” Critic asked, the wheels in his head churning rapidly as he took in his mother’s words. “A plan of yours… you mean…” Critic’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “You came up with the idea to blow up the ship, Mother?”
Hagan nodded, her dark eyes sparkling angrily, a beautiful yet terrifying contrast to the white ash covering her face. “That I did, Critic. I thought it was a pretty brilliant plan myself. We could improve morale and eliminate some riff-raff at the same time, a win-win situation in my book. But if you find the plan to be, how did you put it… ridiculously stupid?” Critic winced as his words were spoken back to him in such an icy tone. “Then I suppose I’ll have to think up another plan. One that will not be dishonored so callously by my own son.”
“Mother, I-I had no idea,” Critic cried, clenching his hands together tightly as he bowed his head before the Fire Lord. “I would never have said such a thing if I knew the plan had been created by you! I swear I wouldn’t have! Please forgive me for my insolence!”
“Do you honestly expect me to forgive you when my honor has been tarnished like this?” Hagan cried, her eyes alight with a fire that soon blossomed from her fists. “I have raised you to be a prince, Critic, not common street ash who speaks without thinking and pays no mind to respecting his betters! If you are any son of mine, you will face me in a duel right now!”
“No, please!” Critic slid to his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles had grown white. He stared up at his mother, eyes leaking tears as he took in the pure rage and hatred that burned in her expression. Around him, the room had grown larger, since the other members of the meeting had huddled together in the corners, hoping to escape any uncontrolled rage their leader might unleash. All except for Guy, who remained kneeling beside the throne, his face alight with excitement and desire. Critic looked to them all, then looked to his twin, desperate, pleading for help that would not come. “Mother, please,” he wailed, sniffling pathetically as she advanced upon him, the heat from her hands growing so close Critic found it difficult to breathe. “I beg your forgiveness! Please don’t make me fight! Please don’t-ahhhhhh!”
Blinding white pain coursed through Critic’s body as Hagan unleashed a wave of fire upon her youngest son. Critic tried to deflect the blast with his bending skills, but no firebender was stronger than the Fire Lord, and the flames soon collided with his left eye. Critic howled with pain as he rolled across the floor, clutching at his face and begging again for mercy.
“Mercy?” Hagan laughed and shot several bursts of flame into the air. “The Fire Lord doesn’t know the meaning of the word!” She lifted her hands high, ready to strike Critic again, for good most likely this time.
“H-help me,” Critic moaned, his vision blackening as pain consumed his body. Before he passed out, he thought he saw a shadowed figured burst through the War Room doors and lunge at his mother, but that was most likely a hallucination. Who would dare to do something so foolish to the Fire Lord?
----
Sometime later, Critic wasn’t exactly sure when, the young prince of the Fire Nation awoke in a cool, damp environment. The left side of his face throbbed painfully and Critic moved his hand to touch the injuries, but his fingers came into contact with soft cloth instead.
“Ohhh… what… what’s this?”
“You’re awake? Oh, thank goodness.” Critic moaned once more and forced himself to sit up. He placed his hands on the side of the bed he was laying upon, vaguely realizing he was touching rough, cold wood, and took in a whiff of salty air before coughing slightly. “Hey, don’t push yourself. Stay lying down if you need to, Critic.”
“I-I’m fine,” Critic insisted. Without his spectacles on, he could barely see, so he squinted into the darkness to make out a familiar, comforting face smiling at him. “Big Brother? I thought you were in the Earth Kingdom?”
“I was, but I managed to arrive at the palace just in time. Here, Critic, drink this.” The Other Guy pressed a ceramic cup into his hands and Critic gratefully gulped down the water within.
“Thanks, Brother.” Critic set down the cup when it was empty and sighed, reaching one hand again to touch his bandaged eye.
“Does it hurt a lot?” the Other Guy asked, looking worried once more. “Now that you’re awake, I can try and give you some of the medicine we have.”
“I’m fine,” Critic repeated, not wanting to look any weaker than he was sure he already did. “I know if I just can sleep for a while I’ll feel better.”
“That’s fine, Critic. Take all the time you need.” Critic knew his brother was trying to be nice, but he couldn’t take him up on that offer. He needed to recover as quickly as possible and make this failure up to his mother. Very few people received a second chance from the Fire Lord, so Critic knew he’d have to do something big, something incredibly impressive to show her how sorry he was for his disrespectful words.
As Critic tried to think of what he could do to prove himself to his mother, he became acutely aware of how his bed was rocking from side to side. No, it wasn’t his bed, it was his whole room. Critic again squinted into the darkness and realized that instead of waking up in his lavish bedroom, he was in some dark, sparsely decorated metal room with round windows along the walls. No, not windows. Portholes.
“Are we on a ship?” Critic blurted out so suddenly that the Other Guy started chuckling.
“Took you long enough to notice. I thought you would’ve started complaining about the blankets being not up to your usual 1000 strand thread-count the second you woke up,” the Other Guy teased.
“Eh, shut up,” Critic muttered, suddenly feeling itchy from the low quality bedding and pushing it away from his body. “Why are we on a ship now?”
The Other Guy sighed and pushed his own golden spectacles further up his face. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this so suddenly, Critic, but it seems that the two of us are no longer welcome in the Fire Nation. Mother has granted us the use of this coal ship for one journey out of the kingdom, and after that we are never try to return.”
“What?” The color drained from Critic’s face and he felt suddenly cold. “We’re-we’re banished? Mother actually…” Tears started to well in his eyes and Critic looked away as his body began to tremble.
“I told you to lie down until you were stronger, Critic.” The Other Guy pulled the blankets back up around Critic’s body and this time he accepted them without objection.
“But… but why?” he asked, looking to his brother in confusion. “How could Mother banish us from our home? We’re her sons. How could she…” Critic thought back to his shameful display in the War Room and felt a rolling sensation in his stomach that he was certain wasn’t being caused by the boat. “Just because I made one little mistake… I didn’t even mean to...”
“It’s not your fault, Critic.” A warm hand pressed against Critic’s cheek, wiping the tears away. Critic nuzzled against the gentle touch, feeling slightly ashamed because he was much too old to be doing this, but mostly thankful that he was currently with the most affectionate member of his family. “You shouldn’t have even been at that meeting,” the Other Guy continued. Critic could just make out his frown through the darkness. “I told Mother that you were not ready to participate in something like that. I don’t know why she wouldn’t listen to my advice and invited you there when I wasn’t even home.”
“I can’t believe how much I blew it,” Critic murmured, too caught up in his thoughts of failure to think about much else just then. “Guy told me how much Mother wanted me to sit at her side and I screwed it all up. I should have just let Guy sit there like he always does. He’s better at being her right hand than me.”
The Other Guy lowered his hand to Critic’s shoulder and squeezed gently, drawing his attention again. “Critic,” he said slowly, “was Mother the one who invited you into the War Room, or was it Guy?”
“Guy,” Critic answered, not sure why this answer mattered. He blinked in surprise when he saw a glower overtake his brother’s usual calm expression, but seconds later it was gone and Critic wondered if he’d imagined it. “Um, Brother? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Critic.”
“I understand why Mother is upset with me, but you said that we were both…” Critic had to stop and force the word out, since it still felt wrong, and like ash upon his tongue. “We were both… b-b-banished, right? But you’re the first-born son, the proper heir to the throne. Why would she do this to you?”
“Well, Critic, when you charge into the War Room, lunge at the Fire Lord, and try to put her into a headlock, she isn’t usually going to be your biggest fan.”
Critic’s mouth fell open “That was real? You actually did that to Mother? How could you?”
“Once I saw that you were in danger, it was easy.” Critic’s face heated up and he lowered his head. He didn’t deserve to see his brother’s kind smile, not after their banishment was his fault. He should have been stronger, should have been smarter, should have known how to handle the situation. Guy would have known what to do. Guy wouldn’t have ever upset Mother like that. Why couldn’t Critic be better? Why wasn’t he more like Guy?
“Brother, I’m so-”
Critic’s apology was cut short when the Other Guy pulled him into a hug so tight he was left almost breathless as a result. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry for this,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I will never feel bad for protecting you, Critic. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I should have been more careful. I should have had others looking out for you when I wasn’t around. I’m so sorry, Critic. I’m sorry…”
As the Other Guy’s shoulders started to shake, Critic felt a lump form in his throat. He wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders and held him close in silence for quite some time. This was all Critic could do to make up for his failures right now, but one day, he would find a way to restore their honor. He would find a way to show his Mother how much he had matured and grown. He would find a way to have them both welcomed back into the Fire Nation with open arms.
----
“Order up at Table 10!”
Critic let out a breath of disdain as he grabbed the tray bearing two bowls of steaming hot noodles from the counter and started toward the table of hungry Earth Nation teenagers. As he walked through the moderately crowded noodle shop, he passed by the Other Guy, who was wiping clean a recently vacated table with a smile.
“The tips are generous today, Critic,” he muttered as his brother drew closer. “Tonight I’m treating you to the best sake one can find in Ba Sing Sei.”
“Oh, joyous times are here indeed,” Critic snapped back before dropping the tray onto its designated table. “Here’s your noodles.”
“Ah, dude, you totally splashed me with noodle water!” the teen wearing the ridiculously dark spectacles griped.
“So sorry, sir,” Critic said through gritted teeth as he curtly bowed before the boy. “Let me get you some jasmine tea, on the house, as an apology.”
Critic stormed off, through the kitchens and the staff break room, and into the storage room in the back of the shop. He made sure he was alone before he collapsed onto a sack of flour and clutched his head in his hands.
“What am I doing with my life?” he moaned. “I am a prince. I am royalty. I am not meant to be some dancing servant hog monkey for these dirt people!” Critic rubbed his hands through his once glorious brown hair, now thinning thanks to the stress of hiding out amongst the people he had been considered an enemy to for years. “Has it really been years since I’ve been home?” Critic murmured, his fingers moving down the top of his head to land upon the rough, scarred skin compromising the left side of his face now. The pain from the injury had died down long ago, but the memories remained clearly in Critic’s mind. He had been disgraced, along with the Other Guy, and banished to this kingdom of mud where he lived the life of a commoner. It was a horrifying life to Critic, and made worse by the fact that his brother, once heir to throne of the Fire Nation, seemed perfectly content with it. “How can Big Brother be happy always traveling around from one dirt city to the next, wearing these shitty robes, earning just enough money to pay for a room at the inn and an extra bottle of sake every other month?”
“I’m not surprised to hear that. Big Brother never did have the capacity for thinking about anything other than what he was going to fill his stomach with that day. That’s why he couldn’t cut it as a general.”
Critic’s blood ran cold as he heard that sickeningly sweet voice behind him, one he hadn’t heard in years. He stood up and turned around to find Guy, smiling as he lurked in the doorway, a habit he still hadn’t grown out of.
“Guy. What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
“That’s a very good question,” Guy replied, the phrase instantly sending shivers down Critic’s spine. “It’s actually not that hard to locate a young man with a ghastly burn mark marring his face who’s accompanied by an incompetent sad-sack of an adult.”
“Don’t talk about Brother like that!” Critic narrowed his eyes as Guy merely chuckled at his command.
“Alright, little brother, I shall bite my tongue for now, if it makes you happy.” Guy emphasized his point by literally chomping onto his tongue, which caused Critic to wince and turn away.
“You didn’t answer my first question, Guy. What are you doing here?”
In response, Guy reached a hand into his satin robes, ones Critic longed to touch for even a second, and withdrew a sheet of parchment. It was slightly tattered and bore the crudely drawn image of a somewhat chubby teenage boy with spectacles and blue arrows tattooed to his head and arms.
Critic studied it a moment before looking back to his twin. “What’s this?”
“My my, Critic, has spending so much time among the idiotic dirt lovers caused you to forget how to read?” Guy wondered. Critic blushed and turned his attention back to the parchment.
“The Avatar: Wanted Alive by the Fire Nation.” Critic frowned slightly. “Who the hell is the Avatar? He looks like a dopey dough-boy to me.”
“Critic, you really should have paid more attention during our tutoring sessions.” Guy chuckled as he walked inside the room and plucked an onion from one of the barrels, taking a large bite from it. Critic winced as he chewed on it but said nothing, since his brother often ate peculiar foods. “The Avatar is the person who can master all four types of bending. He or she is the most powerful person in the world, the one with ability to stop any other person, no matter how brilliant or strong or glorious that person may be.”
Critic put the puzzle pieces together quickly. “So that’s why Mother wants him captured. Though I’m surprised she’d bother bringing him in alive, since gruesome acts of murder are apparently more her style.”
“You’ve certainly grown bitter these past few years,” Guy cheerfully remarked as he finished the last of his onion and burned a spare piece of skin with a flick of his wrist. “But you aren’t wrong to be curious about that. You see, Critic, the Avatar has the ability to be reborn whenever she or he dies, so killing this one would only ensue a new one is born at once. If this one is brought to Mother alive, however-”
“She can keep him imprisoned and away from her plans for as long as she likes,” Critic finished. “I get the gist of this, Guy, but I still don’t understand why you bothered to come here and tell me about this. I highly doubt Mother cares if I’m involved in this hunt for the Avatar.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Critic.” Critic’s eyes widened as Guy approached him, tapping one finger along the drawing of the Avatar’s face. “Mother will be greatly interested in whoever manages to find and capture the Avatar for her. It doesn’t matter who accomplishes this goal, for the one who does so will be greatly rewarded, even if that one were a farmer, or a soldier, or a piece of homeless beggar trash… or a disgraced prince looking to restore his honor.”
Critic’s heart started to thump so loudly he could feel the pulsation in his ears. “You’re serious, Guy? If I capture this sack of crap, Mother will restore my honor? And what about Big Brother’s honor?”
“Of course, Critic,” Guy replied, voice smooth as silk. “Everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be granted to you once you capture the Avatar and bring him to us.” A small flame burst from Guy’s finger, dancing along the corner of the wanted poster until it started to smoke.
“Guy, stop that!” Critic cried, pulling the parchment away from him. “I need this to remember what the Avatar looks like! Besides, you can’t use firebending here! If one of the Earth citizens catches you you’ll be thrown in prison!”
“How terrible,” Guy said, making an expression of mock-concern. “Well, since I’m not used to the customs of this… charming land, I should be off before someone realizes I don’t belong here. Ta ta, Critic.”
Critic felt slightly stung by the implication that he belonged among these mud-lovers, but a small part of him knew the assertion was true. He’d become acclimated to Earth Kingdom customs and ways of life and knew exactly how to maneuver among these peasants.
“That’s why I’m the perfect one for this job.” Critic looked back down at the wanted poster before hugging it to his chest in glee. “I will find wherever you’re hiding, capture you, give you to Mother, and make my way back to the Fire Nation as the proud prince I truly am!”
“Hey! What happened to our jasmine tea?”
“Coming, valued customer!” Critic called out before muttering under his breath, “I hope you choke on this tea and die.” He swiftly rolled up the poster and slid it into the back pocket of his coarse brown uniform before hurrying into the kitchen to fetch the tea.
Through the shop’s back window, Guy watched his brother with a pleased expression.
Written by ocelot_l
Rated PG-13
Warnings: Bad Language, Violence, Violence Against a Minor
Pairings: Hints of Linkara/Spoony
Summary: TGWTG/Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion; Born as a prince of the prosperous Fire Nation, Critic should be living a charmed life filled with every comfort he could ever desire. His twin brother, Guy, feels otherwise.
Word Count: 13, 115
Based on a piece of art by obnoxiousamy
A/N: I adored Amy's gorgeous art of Critic and Guy fighting! The colors were so vibrant and cheerful that I couldn't help gazing at it several times a day as I wrote! I knew where in the story I wanted to place the battle, so I wrote that first and then the rest of the story. I hope Amy and all of you enjoy it! :)
As a crowd of people dressed in fine robes of red and gold silk made their way out of the grand theater, chatting about that day’s production and making small talk, not one of them noticed as a small figure darted past their legs. He was clad in a black hooded cloak tied tightly around his body, and clutching a small inkpot and a fine paintbrush in his hands. Swiftly the figure made his way to the back of the Ember Island Theater and climbed one of the grassy hills overlooking the calm blue ocean. When he was certain he was alone, the boy set down his writing tools and pulled out a piece of blank parchment from one of the inner pockets of his cloak, arranging them in a manner conducive to working, before finally plopping down in front of the items with a satisfied grunt. He shot one last look around the area before lowering his hood. Sunlight glinted off the boy’s spectacles, as well as off the golden headpiece holding up his fine brown hair, but he took no notice of this as he dipped his brush into the inkpot and swirled it a few times. At last, the boy lifted his brush and started to press it against the parchment.
“If you plan to miss the Ember Island Players’ performance of ‘DragonMan’, you’d better miss it quickly; I doubt this dragon turd of a production will be around to miss for long.”
“My, Critic, you surely have been living up to your name lately, haven’t you?”
Critic jumped at the low, taunting voice suddenly murmuring into his ear and almost spilled ink all over his parchment in the process.
“Damn it, Guy, I told you not to sneak up on me like that!” Critic turned to scowl into the sweetly smiling face of his twin brother. Like Critic, Ask That Guy had fine brown hair held up in a topknot and blue eyes covered by golden spectacles; the two could almost pass for mirror images of each other. Almost, because when one looked into the eyes of the twins, there was always something off, some dark glint or hint of eeriness to be found in Guy’s gaze that Critic lacked entirely. The boys seemed to be as one, and yet were two entirely different beings, a fact that Critic was immensely grateful for whenever he saw that glint in Guy’s eyes. The glint that was shining down upon him that very moment. Critic tried to ignore his brother’s eyes as he scrambled to move his tools back into the pockets of his cloak.
“I really didn’t do much sneaking, Critic,” Guy replied, his sickly sweet smile still in place as he watched every move his brother made. “It’s a small island, you know. If you had been paying attention to your surroundings instead of filling your head with the nonsensical plays you’re always sneaking off to see, you would have seen me coming.” Critic blushed at his words. He hated knowing that Guy had found out about his visits to the theater. What business of his was it if that’s how he chose to spend his spare time? Critic said none of this, though, knowing his words would most likely lead to trouble, and that was one thing he did not need from his brother.
“Did you tell anyone where I went?” he asked, his eyes still narrowed, his lips pursed.
“That’s a very good question, little brother, but does that honestly sound like something I would do?” Guy replied, which only made Critic angrier. It sounded exactly like something he would do, and Critic was about to say as much when Guy laughed. “No, Critic, I didn’t let anyone know about your little secret. I’m sure you’re happy to know that, aren’t you?”
“Thrilled,” Critic said with a roll of his eyes.
“You’re actually very lucky that I wasn’t someone who intended to cause you harm,” Guy continued, his eyes wide and unblinking as he bent down and snatched up the sheet of parchment that Critic had been writing upon. “A helpless young prince like you, sitting all alone without a royal guard in sight, would be easy prey for a kidnapper or worse, Critic.”
“I am not helpless!” Critic snapped, leaping to his feet so he could meet Guy’s gaze with an irate glare. “No one would even think to try anything with me or I’d burn their fucking ass all the way to the North Pole! Now give me that back!”
“Such uncouth language for a prince,” Guy replied, his eyelids lowering as he started smirking at his brother. Instead of complying with his request, Guy held the parchment up over his head and no matter how high Critic jumped, it always remained just out of his reach. After a few seconds, the end of Guy’s finger produced a small flame, which he pressed teasingly to the corner of the parchment.
“Stop it!” Critic wailed. “You’re going to burn it, you mother fucker!”
“You’d better be sure not to speak like that in front of Mother, unless you want another lashing in front of the entire palace, Critic.”
Critic’s face burned crimson as he remembered the incident, his hands becoming fitsts, fingers digging into his palms as he tried to control his anger. “Shut up about that, Guy!”
Guy quirked an eyebrow. “Is that really any way to talk to your brother, Critic? Especially after I’ve agreed to keep this information from Mother? Perhaps it would be best if she knew about this after all. What would people say if they knew that the son of the Fire Lord was shirking his responsibilities so he could watch people prance about in silly costumes and gaudy masks?”
Critic growled. “I said shut up!” he cried as he lifted one fist into the air. Instead of swinging it into Guy’s face, as he often dreamt of doing, Critic held his fist as high as he could before he unleashed a large ball of fire, sending it up into the air. Usually his firebending had the effect of impressing his tutors and frightening the local children who came to visit the palace, but Guy gave neither of those reactions. Instead, his eyes lit up with delight as he watched the flames appear, and licked his lips, as if the sight somehow made him hungry. Only when the ball of fire vanished into the sky did he turn his gaze back to Critic and lifted his own tightly clenched fist.
“Is that an order, Critic?” he asked softly as a bluish energy started to crackle around his fingers. The parchment, only slightly singed, wafted down onto the grass beside him, but Critic could not tear his eyes from the electricity building around his brother’s hand. “Because I do not like to be given orders. Especially not by you.”
Critic swallowed and felt his knees start to wobble, but he urged another burst of flames to emerge from his fingertips. If Guy wanted to fight, he would not back down, not again.
Guy saw the determined look on Critic’s face and laughed, a dark, unearthly laugh that would not be suited for a man let alone a child, the crackling heat from his hand growing loud, so loud that Critic winced at the sound. He took a trembling step into the proper firebending position, his fingers spreading open then tightening once again, and launched his fist toward Guy.
“Stop this right now!”
Critic’s arm was caught mid-swing by an older, familiar hand and pulled down to his side. Guy’s arm was similarly captured and lowered; however, while Critic remained limp in the grasp of this interloper, Guy struggled to break free.
“Let me go!” Guy demanded, his smiling demeanor finally gone as anger overtook him. “Let go of me at once, Big Brother!”
The older teenage boy’s fingers remained firmly in place around Guy’s forearm and he shook his head. “Not until you calm down, Guy. You know you aren’t supposed to use this form of firebending unsupervised.”
“Mother would allow it,” Guy snarled but he nevertheless allowed the bluish electricity to dissipate from his body. The Other Guy nodded at his cooperation before releasing his hold on Guy so he could turn to Critic.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softening as concern filled his eyes. “I came to pick you up from your lessons but your tutor said you never showed up.”
“I’m fine,” Critic said quickly. “I just didn’t feel like going to my lessons today. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Mother.”
The Other Guy sighed as he rested his hands on Critic’s shoulders. “You really shouldn’t skip your lessons, Critic, but this time it’s okay. I’m just glad that you’re alright.” He pulled Critic into an embrace and Critic instantly hugged back. He always felt safe when wrapped in his brother’s arms.
When they pulled apart, Critic smiled at the Other Guy before noticing the look Guy was shooting them over his elder brother’s shoulder, one of anger and bitterness and slight jealousy. Critic swiftly looked down. “Thanks, Big Brother. Can we go home now?”
“Of course.” The Other Guy slid a hand around Critic’s shoulders as they started to walk. “Come along, Guy. You have lessons to attend as well.”
Guy watched the two walk along for a moment, his eyes dark and his heart pumping an irregular, almost too rapid beat. “Coming, Big Brother.”
----
A teenaged Critic adjusted the outfit he had just put on and glanced at himself in the mirror. He had grown tall and muscular over the years and looked very dashing dressed in black armor trimmed with scarlet detailing and fine gold trimming. This was royal armor; fitting for a prince who was about to sit in on an official meeting held by the Fire Lord herself. It was Critic’s first time being invited into such a meeting, and he felt a mixture of honor and anxiety over what would transpire.
“Very handsome, Critic.” Critic sighed as he noticed Guy in the reflection of his mirror. His twin was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, decked out in his own armor, and licking his lips as he often did when in Critic’s presence. “You certainly clean up nice.”
“Wish I could say the same for you,” Critic muttered as he picked up a golden hair piece and styled his locks into the traditional Fire Nation topknot. “Shouldn’t you already be inside the meeting room, Guy? I thought Mother insisted on you being her right hand during these sessions.”
“That’s a very good question,” Guy replied in that irritatingly sweet manner he had of answering queries he found amusing. “The reason I’m here is that Mother wanted me to personally escort you into the meeting. She would like you to be her right hand today, Critic, and for you to offer your thoughts on the newest strategies of our generals. It’s very hard work spreading the glory of the Fire Nation to the other regions of the world, you know, so Mother is always looking for fresh ideas.”
“Really? Mother really wants me to sit at her side?” Critic could feel his heart starting to race as he imagined taking the coveted position next to the Fire Lord, imagined his mother’s face for once beaming down at him with pride and acceptance. After today, Critic might no longer be considered the worthless third son, the heir with nothing left to inherit, and it filled Critic’s chest with something warmer than any flame he’d ever produced.
“Hurry up, Critic,” Guy broke into his thoughts as he turned around and started to walk off down the marbled palace hallway. “Mother does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Right, I’m coming!” Critic dashed out of his bedroom and after Guy, his steps light and bouncy as he made his way into the War Room. He paused before fully entering the shadowy room, peering around the sea of faces curiously. “Um, Guy, isn’t Big Brother going to be attending this meeting?” he whispered as his twin walked past him.
“Didn’t you hear, Critic? Our brother is still in the Earth Kingdom and not expected home until tomorrow,” Guy happily replied as he made his way to the left side of the grand throne positioned in the back of the room.
“Oh.” Critic’s earlier excitement quickly diminished while a small prickle of fear overcame him. He had rarely interacted with his mother without his elder brother being around to mediate, but Critic knew he was being childish to worry over such a matter. He was almost 18 now, almost a full-fledged adult, so surely he could handle a simple meeting like this without needing his brother to hold his hand. Besides, Guy was there, and he was every bit Critic’s brother as the Other Guy was. Critic nodded at this thought, feeling comforted somewhat.
The room fell silent then and everyone bowed their heads in reverence to the newly arrived woman who was slowly making her way towards the seat of honor.
“Good afternoon, Fire Lord Hagan,” murmured the soldiers and generals and strategists.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” Critic and Guy replied in unison. Fire Lord Hagan did not answer until she had plopped down upon her throne and clasped her hands together.
“So, Critic, I see you’ve decided to join us this time,” she said, glancing to her right side and then her left, where Guy was kneeling, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Yes, Mother.” Critic bowed again before kneeling beside her as well. “I am honored to sit at your side.”
“Lovely. Well now, since everyone has arrived, I suppose the meeting shall begin. Minions?” Hagan clapped her hands before nestling back against her throne, watching in amusement as battle plan after battle plan was laid out before her.
Critic sat eagerly at attention for the first hour and a half, taking in every stratagem and tactical maneuver with great scrutiny, searching for any flaw he could point out or improvement he might add. This did not come easy for the young prince, however, since he had never been big on learning about any of these subjects during his tutoring sessions. Critic had always been more interested in mastering firebending or drawing with charcoal then studying history and learning about the battles the Fire Nation participated in during its endeavor to share its greatness with the rest of the world. Now Critic was kicking himself for not paying more attention, because the meeting was quickly growing to a close and he had not contributed one iota of knowledge or insight. This was no way to impress anyone, let alone the Fire Lord.
Just as the last general presented her strategy, and Critic saw the shadow on the sundial move closer to the next hour, when the meeting would end, he heard something that snapped him to attention.
“In conclusion, my Lord,” the general said, pointing to a spot on the map of the world that sat between an area of the Fire Nation called Crescent Island and the Eastern Earth Kingdom, “the plans are ready to be set into motion. We shall detonate the Fire Nation passenger ship right here, close enough to the Earth Kingdom border that the debris shall litter their mud-strewn beaches. Citizens of both the Fire Nation and Earth Nation will be swiftly alerted to this tragedy and, once they investigate, will find numerous items and uniforms belonging to Earth Kingdom soldiers among the wreckage, leading them to believe that they are the perpetrators of the explosion. I am certain that this will be the spark our citizens need to invade and conquer the Earth Kingdom once and for all, so that our glorious culture and lifestyles may be shared with the world at last.”
“Hold on a minute, General!” Critic quickly rose to his feet and approached the woman, his arms crossed and his expression confident. “Are you actually suggesting we detonate a ship full of innocent Fire Nation citizens just to motivate our warriors? Have you lost your head, woman?” he asked, almost laughing at the absurdity of the idea. “Even if the other nations are being difficult and not openly accepting our advances, there is no way a crazy idea like this is going to help things! How in the world can you justify killing our citizens in this way?”
“Um, w-well,” the general stammered, her eyes growing wide with fear as she kept glancing at some point over Critic’s left shoulder, “th-the citizens would be offering their lives for the greater g-good of the Fire Nation and, um, and they would be, uh, l-lower class citizens without much to lose, s-so I think they would be thrilled to offer their lives for such a m-marvelous reason-”
“Marvelous?” Critic actually did laugh this time. “I think the words you are looking for are ridiculously stupid, General!”
Critic continued laughing, but soon fell silent when he realized every person in the room was watching him with a terrified expression. He blinked at them in confusion and adjusted his spectacles as he wondered what could possibly be going on. “Um, is it something I said?”
“That’s exactly what it is, Critic.” Critic whirled around in surprise when he heard his mother’s voice, and felt even more surprise when he saw she was no longer sitting comfortably on her throne. Fire Lord Hagan had stood up and rolled up the black, satin sleeves of her robes, showing off the pale, yet muscular arms hidden beneath. “My minions very rarely see what happens when a plan of mine is eviscerated so harshly, so they seem about ready to wet themselves in anticipation for what’s going to happen.”
“Wait, what?” Critic asked, the wheels in his head churning rapidly as he took in his mother’s words. “A plan of yours… you mean…” Critic’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “You came up with the idea to blow up the ship, Mother?”
Hagan nodded, her dark eyes sparkling angrily, a beautiful yet terrifying contrast to the white ash covering her face. “That I did, Critic. I thought it was a pretty brilliant plan myself. We could improve morale and eliminate some riff-raff at the same time, a win-win situation in my book. But if you find the plan to be, how did you put it… ridiculously stupid?” Critic winced as his words were spoken back to him in such an icy tone. “Then I suppose I’ll have to think up another plan. One that will not be dishonored so callously by my own son.”
“Mother, I-I had no idea,” Critic cried, clenching his hands together tightly as he bowed his head before the Fire Lord. “I would never have said such a thing if I knew the plan had been created by you! I swear I wouldn’t have! Please forgive me for my insolence!”
“Do you honestly expect me to forgive you when my honor has been tarnished like this?” Hagan cried, her eyes alight with a fire that soon blossomed from her fists. “I have raised you to be a prince, Critic, not common street ash who speaks without thinking and pays no mind to respecting his betters! If you are any son of mine, you will face me in a duel right now!”
“No, please!” Critic slid to his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles had grown white. He stared up at his mother, eyes leaking tears as he took in the pure rage and hatred that burned in her expression. Around him, the room had grown larger, since the other members of the meeting had huddled together in the corners, hoping to escape any uncontrolled rage their leader might unleash. All except for Guy, who remained kneeling beside the throne, his face alight with excitement and desire. Critic looked to them all, then looked to his twin, desperate, pleading for help that would not come. “Mother, please,” he wailed, sniffling pathetically as she advanced upon him, the heat from her hands growing so close Critic found it difficult to breathe. “I beg your forgiveness! Please don’t make me fight! Please don’t-ahhhhhh!”
Blinding white pain coursed through Critic’s body as Hagan unleashed a wave of fire upon her youngest son. Critic tried to deflect the blast with his bending skills, but no firebender was stronger than the Fire Lord, and the flames soon collided with his left eye. Critic howled with pain as he rolled across the floor, clutching at his face and begging again for mercy.
“Mercy?” Hagan laughed and shot several bursts of flame into the air. “The Fire Lord doesn’t know the meaning of the word!” She lifted her hands high, ready to strike Critic again, for good most likely this time.
“H-help me,” Critic moaned, his vision blackening as pain consumed his body. Before he passed out, he thought he saw a shadowed figured burst through the War Room doors and lunge at his mother, but that was most likely a hallucination. Who would dare to do something so foolish to the Fire Lord?
----
Sometime later, Critic wasn’t exactly sure when, the young prince of the Fire Nation awoke in a cool, damp environment. The left side of his face throbbed painfully and Critic moved his hand to touch the injuries, but his fingers came into contact with soft cloth instead.
“Ohhh… what… what’s this?”
“You’re awake? Oh, thank goodness.” Critic moaned once more and forced himself to sit up. He placed his hands on the side of the bed he was laying upon, vaguely realizing he was touching rough, cold wood, and took in a whiff of salty air before coughing slightly. “Hey, don’t push yourself. Stay lying down if you need to, Critic.”
“I-I’m fine,” Critic insisted. Without his spectacles on, he could barely see, so he squinted into the darkness to make out a familiar, comforting face smiling at him. “Big Brother? I thought you were in the Earth Kingdom?”
“I was, but I managed to arrive at the palace just in time. Here, Critic, drink this.” The Other Guy pressed a ceramic cup into his hands and Critic gratefully gulped down the water within.
“Thanks, Brother.” Critic set down the cup when it was empty and sighed, reaching one hand again to touch his bandaged eye.
“Does it hurt a lot?” the Other Guy asked, looking worried once more. “Now that you’re awake, I can try and give you some of the medicine we have.”
“I’m fine,” Critic repeated, not wanting to look any weaker than he was sure he already did. “I know if I just can sleep for a while I’ll feel better.”
“That’s fine, Critic. Take all the time you need.” Critic knew his brother was trying to be nice, but he couldn’t take him up on that offer. He needed to recover as quickly as possible and make this failure up to his mother. Very few people received a second chance from the Fire Lord, so Critic knew he’d have to do something big, something incredibly impressive to show her how sorry he was for his disrespectful words.
As Critic tried to think of what he could do to prove himself to his mother, he became acutely aware of how his bed was rocking from side to side. No, it wasn’t his bed, it was his whole room. Critic again squinted into the darkness and realized that instead of waking up in his lavish bedroom, he was in some dark, sparsely decorated metal room with round windows along the walls. No, not windows. Portholes.
“Are we on a ship?” Critic blurted out so suddenly that the Other Guy started chuckling.
“Took you long enough to notice. I thought you would’ve started complaining about the blankets being not up to your usual 1000 strand thread-count the second you woke up,” the Other Guy teased.
“Eh, shut up,” Critic muttered, suddenly feeling itchy from the low quality bedding and pushing it away from his body. “Why are we on a ship now?”
The Other Guy sighed and pushed his own golden spectacles further up his face. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this so suddenly, Critic, but it seems that the two of us are no longer welcome in the Fire Nation. Mother has granted us the use of this coal ship for one journey out of the kingdom, and after that we are never try to return.”
“What?” The color drained from Critic’s face and he felt suddenly cold. “We’re-we’re banished? Mother actually…” Tears started to well in his eyes and Critic looked away as his body began to tremble.
“I told you to lie down until you were stronger, Critic.” The Other Guy pulled the blankets back up around Critic’s body and this time he accepted them without objection.
“But… but why?” he asked, looking to his brother in confusion. “How could Mother banish us from our home? We’re her sons. How could she…” Critic thought back to his shameful display in the War Room and felt a rolling sensation in his stomach that he was certain wasn’t being caused by the boat. “Just because I made one little mistake… I didn’t even mean to...”
“It’s not your fault, Critic.” A warm hand pressed against Critic’s cheek, wiping the tears away. Critic nuzzled against the gentle touch, feeling slightly ashamed because he was much too old to be doing this, but mostly thankful that he was currently with the most affectionate member of his family. “You shouldn’t have even been at that meeting,” the Other Guy continued. Critic could just make out his frown through the darkness. “I told Mother that you were not ready to participate in something like that. I don’t know why she wouldn’t listen to my advice and invited you there when I wasn’t even home.”
“I can’t believe how much I blew it,” Critic murmured, too caught up in his thoughts of failure to think about much else just then. “Guy told me how much Mother wanted me to sit at her side and I screwed it all up. I should have just let Guy sit there like he always does. He’s better at being her right hand than me.”
The Other Guy lowered his hand to Critic’s shoulder and squeezed gently, drawing his attention again. “Critic,” he said slowly, “was Mother the one who invited you into the War Room, or was it Guy?”
“Guy,” Critic answered, not sure why this answer mattered. He blinked in surprise when he saw a glower overtake his brother’s usual calm expression, but seconds later it was gone and Critic wondered if he’d imagined it. “Um, Brother? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Critic.”
“I understand why Mother is upset with me, but you said that we were both…” Critic had to stop and force the word out, since it still felt wrong, and like ash upon his tongue. “We were both… b-b-banished, right? But you’re the first-born son, the proper heir to the throne. Why would she do this to you?”
“Well, Critic, when you charge into the War Room, lunge at the Fire Lord, and try to put her into a headlock, she isn’t usually going to be your biggest fan.”
Critic’s mouth fell open “That was real? You actually did that to Mother? How could you?”
“Once I saw that you were in danger, it was easy.” Critic’s face heated up and he lowered his head. He didn’t deserve to see his brother’s kind smile, not after their banishment was his fault. He should have been stronger, should have been smarter, should have known how to handle the situation. Guy would have known what to do. Guy wouldn’t have ever upset Mother like that. Why couldn’t Critic be better? Why wasn’t he more like Guy?
“Brother, I’m so-”
Critic’s apology was cut short when the Other Guy pulled him into a hug so tight he was left almost breathless as a result. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry for this,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I will never feel bad for protecting you, Critic. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I should have been more careful. I should have had others looking out for you when I wasn’t around. I’m so sorry, Critic. I’m sorry…”
As the Other Guy’s shoulders started to shake, Critic felt a lump form in his throat. He wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders and held him close in silence for quite some time. This was all Critic could do to make up for his failures right now, but one day, he would find a way to restore their honor. He would find a way to show his Mother how much he had matured and grown. He would find a way to have them both welcomed back into the Fire Nation with open arms.
----
“Order up at Table 10!”
Critic let out a breath of disdain as he grabbed the tray bearing two bowls of steaming hot noodles from the counter and started toward the table of hungry Earth Nation teenagers. As he walked through the moderately crowded noodle shop, he passed by the Other Guy, who was wiping clean a recently vacated table with a smile.
“The tips are generous today, Critic,” he muttered as his brother drew closer. “Tonight I’m treating you to the best sake one can find in Ba Sing Sei.”
“Oh, joyous times are here indeed,” Critic snapped back before dropping the tray onto its designated table. “Here’s your noodles.”
“Ah, dude, you totally splashed me with noodle water!” the teen wearing the ridiculously dark spectacles griped.
“So sorry, sir,” Critic said through gritted teeth as he curtly bowed before the boy. “Let me get you some jasmine tea, on the house, as an apology.”
Critic stormed off, through the kitchens and the staff break room, and into the storage room in the back of the shop. He made sure he was alone before he collapsed onto a sack of flour and clutched his head in his hands.
“What am I doing with my life?” he moaned. “I am a prince. I am royalty. I am not meant to be some dancing servant hog monkey for these dirt people!” Critic rubbed his hands through his once glorious brown hair, now thinning thanks to the stress of hiding out amongst the people he had been considered an enemy to for years. “Has it really been years since I’ve been home?” Critic murmured, his fingers moving down the top of his head to land upon the rough, scarred skin compromising the left side of his face now. The pain from the injury had died down long ago, but the memories remained clearly in Critic’s mind. He had been disgraced, along with the Other Guy, and banished to this kingdom of mud where he lived the life of a commoner. It was a horrifying life to Critic, and made worse by the fact that his brother, once heir to throne of the Fire Nation, seemed perfectly content with it. “How can Big Brother be happy always traveling around from one dirt city to the next, wearing these shitty robes, earning just enough money to pay for a room at the inn and an extra bottle of sake every other month?”
“I’m not surprised to hear that. Big Brother never did have the capacity for thinking about anything other than what he was going to fill his stomach with that day. That’s why he couldn’t cut it as a general.”
Critic’s blood ran cold as he heard that sickeningly sweet voice behind him, one he hadn’t heard in years. He stood up and turned around to find Guy, smiling as he lurked in the doorway, a habit he still hadn’t grown out of.
“Guy. What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
“That’s a very good question,” Guy replied, the phrase instantly sending shivers down Critic’s spine. “It’s actually not that hard to locate a young man with a ghastly burn mark marring his face who’s accompanied by an incompetent sad-sack of an adult.”
“Don’t talk about Brother like that!” Critic narrowed his eyes as Guy merely chuckled at his command.
“Alright, little brother, I shall bite my tongue for now, if it makes you happy.” Guy emphasized his point by literally chomping onto his tongue, which caused Critic to wince and turn away.
“You didn’t answer my first question, Guy. What are you doing here?”
In response, Guy reached a hand into his satin robes, ones Critic longed to touch for even a second, and withdrew a sheet of parchment. It was slightly tattered and bore the crudely drawn image of a somewhat chubby teenage boy with spectacles and blue arrows tattooed to his head and arms.
Critic studied it a moment before looking back to his twin. “What’s this?”
“My my, Critic, has spending so much time among the idiotic dirt lovers caused you to forget how to read?” Guy wondered. Critic blushed and turned his attention back to the parchment.
“The Avatar: Wanted Alive by the Fire Nation.” Critic frowned slightly. “Who the hell is the Avatar? He looks like a dopey dough-boy to me.”
“Critic, you really should have paid more attention during our tutoring sessions.” Guy chuckled as he walked inside the room and plucked an onion from one of the barrels, taking a large bite from it. Critic winced as he chewed on it but said nothing, since his brother often ate peculiar foods. “The Avatar is the person who can master all four types of bending. He or she is the most powerful person in the world, the one with ability to stop any other person, no matter how brilliant or strong or glorious that person may be.”
Critic put the puzzle pieces together quickly. “So that’s why Mother wants him captured. Though I’m surprised she’d bother bringing him in alive, since gruesome acts of murder are apparently more her style.”
“You’ve certainly grown bitter these past few years,” Guy cheerfully remarked as he finished the last of his onion and burned a spare piece of skin with a flick of his wrist. “But you aren’t wrong to be curious about that. You see, Critic, the Avatar has the ability to be reborn whenever she or he dies, so killing this one would only ensue a new one is born at once. If this one is brought to Mother alive, however-”
“She can keep him imprisoned and away from her plans for as long as she likes,” Critic finished. “I get the gist of this, Guy, but I still don’t understand why you bothered to come here and tell me about this. I highly doubt Mother cares if I’m involved in this hunt for the Avatar.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Critic.” Critic’s eyes widened as Guy approached him, tapping one finger along the drawing of the Avatar’s face. “Mother will be greatly interested in whoever manages to find and capture the Avatar for her. It doesn’t matter who accomplishes this goal, for the one who does so will be greatly rewarded, even if that one were a farmer, or a soldier, or a piece of homeless beggar trash… or a disgraced prince looking to restore his honor.”
Critic’s heart started to thump so loudly he could feel the pulsation in his ears. “You’re serious, Guy? If I capture this sack of crap, Mother will restore my honor? And what about Big Brother’s honor?”
“Of course, Critic,” Guy replied, voice smooth as silk. “Everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be granted to you once you capture the Avatar and bring him to us.” A small flame burst from Guy’s finger, dancing along the corner of the wanted poster until it started to smoke.
“Guy, stop that!” Critic cried, pulling the parchment away from him. “I need this to remember what the Avatar looks like! Besides, you can’t use firebending here! If one of the Earth citizens catches you you’ll be thrown in prison!”
“How terrible,” Guy said, making an expression of mock-concern. “Well, since I’m not used to the customs of this… charming land, I should be off before someone realizes I don’t belong here. Ta ta, Critic.”
Critic felt slightly stung by the implication that he belonged among these mud-lovers, but a small part of him knew the assertion was true. He’d become acclimated to Earth Kingdom customs and ways of life and knew exactly how to maneuver among these peasants.
“That’s why I’m the perfect one for this job.” Critic looked back down at the wanted poster before hugging it to his chest in glee. “I will find wherever you’re hiding, capture you, give you to Mother, and make my way back to the Fire Nation as the proud prince I truly am!”
“Hey! What happened to our jasmine tea?”
“Coming, valued customer!” Critic called out before muttering under his breath, “I hope you choke on this tea and die.” He swiftly rolled up the poster and slid it into the back pocket of his coarse brown uniform before hurrying into the kitchen to fetch the tea.
Through the shop’s back window, Guy watched his brother with a pleased expression.