Chapter Fourteen
Characters: Zuko, Kohaku (OC)
Summary: An AU that plays on the idea of Zuko being born with an identical twin, and how it would twist and change the events of the series. Spans through from before the series, to after the series.
In This Chapter: Kohaku baws at Ozai, doesn't get what he wants, and Zuko realises just how hard it is to not be like the aforementioned.
Prologue
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Kohaku stormed through the halls, making his way to the throneroom without invitation. He was furious, and his fast pace did nothing to assuage this, especially since the rushing wind summoned by his flurried gait only emphasized the fact that his clothes now had holes in them.
It had been an innocent question, one that hadn't deserved the response he had gotten, much less the humiliation that had followed, and while Kohaku would admit - reluctantly - that asking such a question in public wasn't the smartest thing he could have done, it still had been a simple question.
Although, he thought now as an afterward, maybe not innocent.
But there was something about Mai that made him think of not-so-innocent things, really. The way she was, the way she spoke and moved... He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. And what was even worse was that even though she tried to hide it, he knew that her mind was always on his damned twin brother.
Almost three years had done nothing to cure her of that, despite not hearing from him directly at all.
Kohaku just didn't get it. He didn't understand why she had to be so stubborn, why she had to keep hoping and wishing, why she had to pretend that what was wasn't what it was.
All he had asked was if she needed someone to keep her warm at night during the winter. It was just a question, a silly, flirty question, and she had the nerve to throw knives at him. And to make it even worse, she had pinned him to a tree, in front, where everyone could see him, the Crown Prince, pinned and helpless and unable to move. And then she just left him there, wearing a smirk.
And no one had bothered to help him. He would have liked to blame it on the fact that maybe they weren't sure if they could touch him, or that acknowledging his predicament would get them into trouble. As such, it had taken him a full hour to free himself.
It was enough to make anyone want to scream.
He knew that Ozai could fix it. He also knew how Ozai could fix it. No one could argue the word of the Firelord, and Kohaku knew that Ozai would agree with his plan.
He walked into the throneroom, the heat of the fires comforting him as he strode towards the dais. Without hesitation, he knelt and prostrated at his father's throne. He knew that, despite his closeness with Ozai, he still had to show protocol in front of others - and there were others. A small group of older men huddled around a map of the Earth Kingdom, their previous looks of consternation replaced with confusion at the sudden interruption.
"Rise, Prince Kohaku," Ozai said calmly, "and tell me what you feel is important enough to interrupt one of my meetings."
Kohaku did so, staying on his knees. Without preamble, he spat out, "Make a marriage contract with Mai and her parents. I want her to be my wife."
Ozai raised an eyebrow, then raised a hand and waved it. The older men bowed and filed out, muttering under their breaths comment that Kohaku couldn't catch. He memorised their faces, though, knowing the comments to be about him, and vowing to himself not to forget who said them.
When they were alone, Ozai said, less calmly but with some bemusement, "You want to be married, Prince Kohaku?"
"Yes," he answered. "I want Mai to be my wife. I always have, Father. You know that her parents sent her over so that she would marry me." He refused to mention Zuko; he was no longer a part of the family, and thus he no longer counted. "She's of good breeding and of good political stock. Once married, and once the problem with Omashu is settled, she and I could move there and govern, in your name, of course."
"Clearly you've thought this through."
He certainly had; an hour pinned to a tree does that. "Yes, I have. When can you have the contract written up?"
Ozai was silent for a moment before responding. "Prince Kohaku, are you sure you want to steer into this path? Arranged marriage can be a double-edged sword. You may get the woman you want, but with force - a deadly thing to use."
"I don't care!" Kohaku snapped. He was tired of sitting around waiting for Mai to accept that Zuko wasn't coming back, that falling in love - or lust - with him was in her best interest. "I'm of legal, marrying age now, and she has been for a year. Write up the contract!"
"Prince Kohaku," Ozai said slowly, his voice silky. Kohaku instantly knew he had overstepped, and he bowed back down to the floor. "I'm sorry, Father," he said honestly. "I just... want her."
"Do you love her?"
Kohaku looked up, blinking. Did he? He wasn't quite sure. He thought she was alluring and striking, and found her valuable and interesting. He wanted her, but loved her?
Ozai leaned back, taking Kohaku's silence for what it was. "Perhaps you should think about that before presuming you can order me around. You're dismissed."
"But-,"
Ozai pressed his lips together, and with burning cheeks, Kohaku rose to his feet, bowed, and stormed out, no less angry than he was coming in.
"You want someone to talk to?"
Zuko wheeled around towards the sound of the new voice, for a moment not registering that it wasn't the adult voice he sought, but a kid's. His eyes fell on a figure clad in orange and yellow, holding a staff between his hands. He was completely bald, a bright spectre in such a dim surrounding. He looked serious, and would have come off that way, if he hadn't been straddling a penguin - his obvious method of getting there.
Zuko would have dismissed him as an eccentric, but one closer look at the boy's forehead stopped him. There, plain as day and almost the same colour as the clear sky above, was a tattoo shaped like an arrow.
"You're him?" Zuko burst out, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he thought he would choke. "You're the Avatar?"
It had always been said that the Avatar was an Air Nomad, that somehow he had escaped Sozin's fire and managed to elude his children for a hundred years. Many people thought that the Avatar had been reborn, which was why such care was use when capturing waterbenders and earthbenders, but there was still that niggling sense of doubt that maybe one shred of the Nomadic race had survived.
But... this can't be right. It's been a hundred years... he should be ancient!
And yet, Zuko knew he was right. He had been in enough Air Temples to know what those markings and colours meant.
"No way," the other boy, Sokka, breathed out, sounding as doubtful as Zuko felt. As he watched, the young airbender leapt from the back of the penguin, who looked glad to be rid of him. Wordlessly, the airbender stood a few paces away, his staff held casually, but firmly. Clearly, he knew how to use it.
"But..." Zuko couldn't help but feel not just disbelief, but a faint tinge of nausea. "You're just a child."
The boy paused, tilting his head to one side, before answering with, "Well, you're just a teenager."
Something about this felt wrong. If he, Zuko, were to fight the Avatar - he, who was older and larger than him - would it be fair? Would it be fair to overpower him this way? Would victory be sweet, or taste of ashes?
Why don't you ask Kohaku? He knows what it's like to beat on kids smaller than him.
It was like a splash of cold water, that thought. He realised, with shame, that he had been acting just as his brother would have been acting in his place. And the last thing he ever wanted to be was like his brother. If he were to prove himself, he wanted to do it his way, not Kohaku's way.
"I... I can't leave without taking you with me," he said slowly.
The boy blinked. "Why?"
"Aang, don't talk to him!" Sokka snapped out, moving to his side and holding his club ready. "Nothing that comes from his mouth is worth listening to!"
"But... it really could be important," Aang replied.
"Sokka's right, Aang," the girl, Katara, said, her words firm. "Nothing he could say is worth it."
"If you are the Avatar - which I'm pretty sure you are - I'm not leaving without you!" Zuko snapped out, sick of being ignored and spoken around like he wasn't there; it hit too close to home. Without hesitation, he dipped into a stance, his hands already ablaze.
Sokka started forward, but the Avatar held up his hand, stopping him. With dark eyes, he gave a worried glance at everyone around him, before he said, very calmly, "If you need me for something, I can go with you. You just have to promise me that no harm will come to the village after we leave."
Zuko was so grateful for this that he almost sagged in relief; it was only the fact that he needed to appear dangerous that he didn't. Unbidden came the thought, He's saving you from doing anything stupid. Take it, and you'll still get what you want!
Wordlessly, he met the airbender's gaze and nodded once.
"Wait, Aang, no! Are you crazy?" Katara darted to his side and grabbed his arm. "He's Fire Nation!"
Aang nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. But if there's something worth hearing and it's something I can help with, don't you think it's better I find out first? And this way..." he looked away, and gently pulled his arm free. "This way, no one has to get hurt."
Zuko's mouth went try, but he refused to show it. He gestured to Pon and Win, and the two men came forward and flanked Aang in a heartbeat. Katara, Sokka, and Kanna remained in front, watching as Zuko led the Avatar away, muttering curtly, "Set a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going home."
Despite the bitterness of what he was doing, that one word kept his heart hard. He tried forget the look of dismay on the faces of the villagers. He tried to forget the kindness that Aang was showing just by surrendering.
He couldn't. But he tried.
Iroh met him on the deck, his eyes flaring as he saw who he was leading on board. "You were right," he breathed out.
Zuko tried not to let the obvious surprise in his uncle's voice cut too deeply. "Yes."
From behind him, Aang said, very brightly, "Hello."
"Uh, hello," Iroh answered, his eyes on the orange-clad figure as he was marched in front of him and onto the desk of the ship. "Nephew, you have the Avatar."
"Yes," Zuko tried to snarl, but instead the word came out like a plea, a desperate plea, for confirmation. His eyes met his uncle's, and he saw bemusement and wonder in those old eyes, and wondered what Iroh saw in his.
The gaze lasted too long for Zuko's taste; he felt as if Iroh could see right through him. Jerking away, he shouted out, "Get this piece of scrap metal moving!" A moment later, he felt the old machine hum to life.
He knew he should have felt elated. He should have felt glad. He should have been laughing, laughing for real, at the thought of going back home with the Avatar in chains, freeing his name from its own set of chains of shame and dishonour.
However, as he slammed the door of his chambers shut and slumped down in front of his altar, all he could feel was fear. An old, strange fear, akin to the kind he felt when he wasn't sure if Kohaku was going to jump out behind a wall and pummel him. He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, trying to concentrate and root his thoughts on being calm, so that once he did reach home he would be the image of tranquility. That was what he wanted, really; he wanted to go home and pretend like this was nothing but business as usual, like it was natural for him to be gone for years, only to return with someone supposed to be dead.
As he felt the flames of the candles sputter to life, he tried to keep his thoughts on that wonderful image, the image of his triumphant return, the two and a half years of shame and humiliation wiped away in one single second. He tried to summon up the image of Azula, who would probably be taller and less annoying now, looking quietly proud that he had grown up into someone she could look up to; of Mai, who would smile her secret smile and place her long, cool hands on his; of his father, coming down from the dais and holding his arms out for an embrace.
And finally, of Kohaku, who would stand there shocked, dismayed that his shamed twin was not only still alive, but that he had done exactly what he had set out to do, and that now, because of it, there was no longer a place for him.
The image was so clear, so real, that Zuko felt a smile curve upon his lips. It was probably the first time that he had ever felt proud at the idea of outsmarting - and humiliating - his twin.
Summary: An AU that plays on the idea of Zuko being born with an identical twin, and how it would twist and change the events of the series. Spans through from before the series, to after the series.
In This Chapter: Kohaku baws at Ozai, doesn't get what he wants, and Zuko realises just how hard it is to not be like the aforementioned.
Prologue
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Kohaku stormed through the halls, making his way to the throneroom without invitation. He was furious, and his fast pace did nothing to assuage this, especially since the rushing wind summoned by his flurried gait only emphasized the fact that his clothes now had holes in them.
It had been an innocent question, one that hadn't deserved the response he had gotten, much less the humiliation that had followed, and while Kohaku would admit - reluctantly - that asking such a question in public wasn't the smartest thing he could have done, it still had been a simple question.
Although, he thought now as an afterward, maybe not innocent.
But there was something about Mai that made him think of not-so-innocent things, really. The way she was, the way she spoke and moved... He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. And what was even worse was that even though she tried to hide it, he knew that her mind was always on his damned twin brother.
Almost three years had done nothing to cure her of that, despite not hearing from him directly at all.
Kohaku just didn't get it. He didn't understand why she had to be so stubborn, why she had to keep hoping and wishing, why she had to pretend that what was wasn't what it was.
All he had asked was if she needed someone to keep her warm at night during the winter. It was just a question, a silly, flirty question, and she had the nerve to throw knives at him. And to make it even worse, she had pinned him to a tree, in front, where everyone could see him, the Crown Prince, pinned and helpless and unable to move. And then she just left him there, wearing a smirk.
And no one had bothered to help him. He would have liked to blame it on the fact that maybe they weren't sure if they could touch him, or that acknowledging his predicament would get them into trouble. As such, it had taken him a full hour to free himself.
It was enough to make anyone want to scream.
He knew that Ozai could fix it. He also knew how Ozai could fix it. No one could argue the word of the Firelord, and Kohaku knew that Ozai would agree with his plan.
He walked into the throneroom, the heat of the fires comforting him as he strode towards the dais. Without hesitation, he knelt and prostrated at his father's throne. He knew that, despite his closeness with Ozai, he still had to show protocol in front of others - and there were others. A small group of older men huddled around a map of the Earth Kingdom, their previous looks of consternation replaced with confusion at the sudden interruption.
"Rise, Prince Kohaku," Ozai said calmly, "and tell me what you feel is important enough to interrupt one of my meetings."
Kohaku did so, staying on his knees. Without preamble, he spat out, "Make a marriage contract with Mai and her parents. I want her to be my wife."
Ozai raised an eyebrow, then raised a hand and waved it. The older men bowed and filed out, muttering under their breaths comment that Kohaku couldn't catch. He memorised their faces, though, knowing the comments to be about him, and vowing to himself not to forget who said them.
When they were alone, Ozai said, less calmly but with some bemusement, "You want to be married, Prince Kohaku?"
"Yes," he answered. "I want Mai to be my wife. I always have, Father. You know that her parents sent her over so that she would marry me." He refused to mention Zuko; he was no longer a part of the family, and thus he no longer counted. "She's of good breeding and of good political stock. Once married, and once the problem with Omashu is settled, she and I could move there and govern, in your name, of course."
"Clearly you've thought this through."
He certainly had; an hour pinned to a tree does that. "Yes, I have. When can you have the contract written up?"
Ozai was silent for a moment before responding. "Prince Kohaku, are you sure you want to steer into this path? Arranged marriage can be a double-edged sword. You may get the woman you want, but with force - a deadly thing to use."
"I don't care!" Kohaku snapped. He was tired of sitting around waiting for Mai to accept that Zuko wasn't coming back, that falling in love - or lust - with him was in her best interest. "I'm of legal, marrying age now, and she has been for a year. Write up the contract!"
"Prince Kohaku," Ozai said slowly, his voice silky. Kohaku instantly knew he had overstepped, and he bowed back down to the floor. "I'm sorry, Father," he said honestly. "I just... want her."
"Do you love her?"
Kohaku looked up, blinking. Did he? He wasn't quite sure. He thought she was alluring and striking, and found her valuable and interesting. He wanted her, but loved her?
Ozai leaned back, taking Kohaku's silence for what it was. "Perhaps you should think about that before presuming you can order me around. You're dismissed."
"But-,"
Ozai pressed his lips together, and with burning cheeks, Kohaku rose to his feet, bowed, and stormed out, no less angry than he was coming in.
"You want someone to talk to?"
Zuko wheeled around towards the sound of the new voice, for a moment not registering that it wasn't the adult voice he sought, but a kid's. His eyes fell on a figure clad in orange and yellow, holding a staff between his hands. He was completely bald, a bright spectre in such a dim surrounding. He looked serious, and would have come off that way, if he hadn't been straddling a penguin - his obvious method of getting there.
Zuko would have dismissed him as an eccentric, but one closer look at the boy's forehead stopped him. There, plain as day and almost the same colour as the clear sky above, was a tattoo shaped like an arrow.
"You're him?" Zuko burst out, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he thought he would choke. "You're the Avatar?"
It had always been said that the Avatar was an Air Nomad, that somehow he had escaped Sozin's fire and managed to elude his children for a hundred years. Many people thought that the Avatar had been reborn, which was why such care was use when capturing waterbenders and earthbenders, but there was still that niggling sense of doubt that maybe one shred of the Nomadic race had survived.
But... this can't be right. It's been a hundred years... he should be ancient!
And yet, Zuko knew he was right. He had been in enough Air Temples to know what those markings and colours meant.
"No way," the other boy, Sokka, breathed out, sounding as doubtful as Zuko felt. As he watched, the young airbender leapt from the back of the penguin, who looked glad to be rid of him. Wordlessly, the airbender stood a few paces away, his staff held casually, but firmly. Clearly, he knew how to use it.
"But..." Zuko couldn't help but feel not just disbelief, but a faint tinge of nausea. "You're just a child."
The boy paused, tilting his head to one side, before answering with, "Well, you're just a teenager."
Something about this felt wrong. If he, Zuko, were to fight the Avatar - he, who was older and larger than him - would it be fair? Would it be fair to overpower him this way? Would victory be sweet, or taste of ashes?
Why don't you ask Kohaku? He knows what it's like to beat on kids smaller than him.
It was like a splash of cold water, that thought. He realised, with shame, that he had been acting just as his brother would have been acting in his place. And the last thing he ever wanted to be was like his brother. If he were to prove himself, he wanted to do it his way, not Kohaku's way.
"I... I can't leave without taking you with me," he said slowly.
The boy blinked. "Why?"
"Aang, don't talk to him!" Sokka snapped out, moving to his side and holding his club ready. "Nothing that comes from his mouth is worth listening to!"
"But... it really could be important," Aang replied.
"Sokka's right, Aang," the girl, Katara, said, her words firm. "Nothing he could say is worth it."
"If you are the Avatar - which I'm pretty sure you are - I'm not leaving without you!" Zuko snapped out, sick of being ignored and spoken around like he wasn't there; it hit too close to home. Without hesitation, he dipped into a stance, his hands already ablaze.
Sokka started forward, but the Avatar held up his hand, stopping him. With dark eyes, he gave a worried glance at everyone around him, before he said, very calmly, "If you need me for something, I can go with you. You just have to promise me that no harm will come to the village after we leave."
Zuko was so grateful for this that he almost sagged in relief; it was only the fact that he needed to appear dangerous that he didn't. Unbidden came the thought, He's saving you from doing anything stupid. Take it, and you'll still get what you want!
Wordlessly, he met the airbender's gaze and nodded once.
"Wait, Aang, no! Are you crazy?" Katara darted to his side and grabbed his arm. "He's Fire Nation!"
Aang nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. But if there's something worth hearing and it's something I can help with, don't you think it's better I find out first? And this way..." he looked away, and gently pulled his arm free. "This way, no one has to get hurt."
Zuko's mouth went try, but he refused to show it. He gestured to Pon and Win, and the two men came forward and flanked Aang in a heartbeat. Katara, Sokka, and Kanna remained in front, watching as Zuko led the Avatar away, muttering curtly, "Set a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going home."
Despite the bitterness of what he was doing, that one word kept his heart hard. He tried forget the look of dismay on the faces of the villagers. He tried to forget the kindness that Aang was showing just by surrendering.
He couldn't. But he tried.
Iroh met him on the deck, his eyes flaring as he saw who he was leading on board. "You were right," he breathed out.
Zuko tried not to let the obvious surprise in his uncle's voice cut too deeply. "Yes."
From behind him, Aang said, very brightly, "Hello."
"Uh, hello," Iroh answered, his eyes on the orange-clad figure as he was marched in front of him and onto the desk of the ship. "Nephew, you have the Avatar."
"Yes," Zuko tried to snarl, but instead the word came out like a plea, a desperate plea, for confirmation. His eyes met his uncle's, and he saw bemusement and wonder in those old eyes, and wondered what Iroh saw in his.
The gaze lasted too long for Zuko's taste; he felt as if Iroh could see right through him. Jerking away, he shouted out, "Get this piece of scrap metal moving!" A moment later, he felt the old machine hum to life.
He knew he should have felt elated. He should have felt glad. He should have been laughing, laughing for real, at the thought of going back home with the Avatar in chains, freeing his name from its own set of chains of shame and dishonour.
However, as he slammed the door of his chambers shut and slumped down in front of his altar, all he could feel was fear. An old, strange fear, akin to the kind he felt when he wasn't sure if Kohaku was going to jump out behind a wall and pummel him. He crossed his legs and shut his eyes, trying to concentrate and root his thoughts on being calm, so that once he did reach home he would be the image of tranquility. That was what he wanted, really; he wanted to go home and pretend like this was nothing but business as usual, like it was natural for him to be gone for years, only to return with someone supposed to be dead.
As he felt the flames of the candles sputter to life, he tried to keep his thoughts on that wonderful image, the image of his triumphant return, the two and a half years of shame and humiliation wiped away in one single second. He tried to summon up the image of Azula, who would probably be taller and less annoying now, looking quietly proud that he had grown up into someone she could look up to; of Mai, who would smile her secret smile and place her long, cool hands on his; of his father, coming down from the dais and holding his arms out for an embrace.
And finally, of Kohaku, who would stand there shocked, dismayed that his shamed twin was not only still alive, but that he had done exactly what he had set out to do, and that now, because of it, there was no longer a place for him.
The image was so clear, so real, that Zuko felt a smile curve upon his lips. It was probably the first time that he had ever felt proud at the idea of outsmarting - and humiliating - his twin.