The Dragons Gate

Disclaimer: Avatar and all associated characters belong to Nickalodeon and other people who are not me. The following is literary adoration done for fun, not profit.

Warning: Minor spoilers for the “The Storm”.

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The nightmarish eternity of deep burning pain, intersected with hallucinations and moments of brief, drugged awareness, had been bad; the first day of full consciousness was worse.

“I’m on my boat,” he said, staring up at the massive, rivet studded metal plates that made up the ceiling. His voice came out cracked and strained with misuse; the bed under him was damp with sweat, the left side of his face was stiff and swollen. He could barely open his left eye.

“Of course,” said a rough and familiar voice, “It was your birthday present, after all.” Cool hands patted his hot shoulder. “Welcome back to the waking world, my nephew.”

Zuko took a deep breath and felt it catch in his throat. “Uncle,” he rasped, the relief in his voice unmistakable. He’d expected to awaken alone; abandoned on some Earth nation island with no weapons or attendants. But his Uncle was with him, perhaps…perhaps he had imagined his father’s declaration of banishment, perhaps the suffering and burning had been enough.

But if that was the case, then…

“Why am not in my quarters in the palace?” he demanded weakly, the dry, cracked skin of his lips tearing and leaving the taste of copper in his mouth.

“Ah, I believe you could do with some tea,” Iroh said, chair creaking as he stood, “For your throat.”

The lanterns swayed, a motion Zuko’s achingly empty stomach echoed. If he focused, he could hear the distinctive sound of water moving past the hull and the roar of the engines. They were at sea.

Zuko closed his eyes.

“I am exiled,” he said and turned his head to the side, so that his Uncle would not see if his body betrayed him, again, to tears.

“But at least,” Iroh said, the bed dipping as he sat on the edge of it and the gentle scent of jasmine tea mingling with the oil and burning coal odor of the ship, “You are not alone.”

---

It would have been better if he were alone, Zuko decided some hours later as he stood on the prow of his boat, surrounded by endless stretches of water. Iroh was near him; close enough to catch him if his faltering strength failed him, far enough away to preserve his equally faltering pride.

Zuko had only taken the ship out of the harbor twice before now; once with his father on the day of the gifting, the second time to enjoy having something so powerful under his sole command. That had been three weeks ago, when he’d had the time to spare between lessons.

He didn’t know the captain or crew or the few soldiers that had been forced into exile along with him, since he’d never taken notice of or interest in them before. Now, he could taste their hostility and dislike like bile in the back of his mouth. They had been sent away from their homeland because of him and probably hated him for it.

Blunt nails curled into his palms; what did he care of their petty problems and complaints? Any of them could return home if they wanted to leave! They wouldn’t get the warmest welcome, but neither would they be thrown into the nearest Fire Nation jail.

He was the only one with no choice.

A blast of sea spray stung his face, a lash of icy fire on his burned eye that the numbing pain medicines couldn’t diminish. In the waves below, dark shapes raced alongside the ship, occasionally breaking the surface to show blue or green backs to the golden afternoon light. Miles and miles behind them, lay the mountains and fields of his home.

Straightening, he pushed away from the railing and crossed the deck to his berth. His legs felt rubbery from the combination of days spent abed and unfamiliarity with the roll of the ocean. Every eye, from helmsman to deck swappers, was on him.

How did he look to them, with his damaged face and most of his hair shaven away? Did they see him still as their prince, or as a dishonorable disgrace? Did they even know what had brought him to this downfall?

He walked with his chin up and did not stumble.

---

“Perhaps you should rest one more day,” Iroh suggested from the doorway, “We could play a very nice game and drink some hot–”

“I’ve rested enough, Uncle,” Zuko snapped, as impervious and demanding as ever. Injury and exile had not mellowed his manner any; indeed it had added a bitter, cutting edge to it. “I need to return to my training.”

If only, Iroh thought with a sharp ach in his old chest, he was not so impatient. So much could have prevented. Again and again he had warned him, and still…

Iroh let loose a long sigh and smiled, looking down upon his nephew. He did love the boy, but Zuko, for all his skills with firebending and fighting, simply didn’t understand the dangerous web of loyalties and politics that entangled the palace.

Perhaps the fault lay with Iroh himself, for allowing the boy to remain innocent for so long.

“Is it true,” Zuko spoke up suddenly, his attention focused on the shin guard he was studiously lacing up, “What father said about my bringing home the Avatar being the only way to restore my honor. I…am not sure of my memory.”

Iroh quirked his mouth to the side, feeling and smothering a dark flare of anger. How cruel you are, brother, to give your son a fool’s hope.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he drawled, reaching up to rub at his chin, “Of course everyone and their ancient grandmother have been searching for the Avatar since he vanished a hundred years ago. I have heard it’s been turned into an enjoyable board game.”

Zuko knotted the last tie and rose sharply to his feet, quickly grabbing the edge of the altar table to keep his balance. For one, unguarded moment, he looked exactly what he was; a hurt and lonely fourteen year old cast away from everything he had known. Iroh took a step forward.

Zuko’s face closed down, like the shutting of doors. Iroh had seen it before, in warriors forced to be men before they had stopped being children.

“I will succeed where they failed,” Zuko said with absolute conviction, pushing past his uncle without the deference anyone else his age would have given the old general, “I will restore my honor. Have the commander begin collecting all information pertaining to the Avatar for the last ten years.”

“Now, now, Prince Zuko—“

“I am going to train!”

So headstrong, so determined; he was either going to get himself killed at an early age or become one of the most powerful leaders Fire Nation has ever seen.

Iroh shook his head and allowed himself a knowing smile.

Be careful my brother, he thought as he followed his nephew topside, or you are going to find yourself facing a very dangerous enemy.

__________________________

Fire Nation and the Fire controlled regions of Earth Nation spread out in splashes of green and red paint on the polished wooden board. Slim lines of black marked their borders, while great stretches of blue separate and divided them, providing challenges to some and protection to others. Across their surface small, delicately carved figures of onyx, jade, and ivory conducted wars in miniature.

“This is stupid, Uncle! How am I supposed to learn how to conduct a siege,” Prince Zuko started, waving his hand over the figurine armies facing off against each other on the constructed battlefield, “If I am on the wrong side?”

“You will not learn anything if you starve to death because I have cut off your supply trains,” Iroh said serenely, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he arranged two cavalry pieces between the besieged city and it’s primary trade route to neighboring settlements. The mountainous terrain made the city easy to defend, but it also meant limited ways in and out.

Zuko stopped at the implied challenge in his Uncle’s words and actually focused on the board. He’d been given a marker to show the level of rations available in the city prior to the siege. An unintended hint of smugness entered his tone, as he informed his Uncle, “Nonsense, I can last out at least another four month based on what’s in my stores.”

Folding his hands across his paunch, the old general smiled as if he had the rest of eternity to spend relaxing right on that spot. “Sieges can last years, Prince Zuko. Perhaps you should start thinking out another strategy.”

Caught between refusing to take part in this useless activity, thereby implying he was too weak to meet Uncle Iroh’s challenge, and fiercely declaring that he didn’t need more than ‘four months’ to win, thereby admitting that there was value to the exercise, Prince Zuko snapped his mouth shut sullenly and assessed the situation. Iroh’s armies had him out numbered and surrounded, camped almost right up against the walls, preventing escape…

A pale hand flashed over the board, as the Prince arranged his spearmen along city wall. The pieces shifted slightly as the ship under them crested a wave, a rolling sensation that Zuko was, as the days turned into weeks, steadily finding more familiar.

“Your armies are in range of my weapons,” he said, adding one of the two Earth Bender pieces to the lineup, “And my bending. The mountain ranges prevent you from having too many in the valley at once or camping further back from the walls. I can cut your forces in half without ever leaving the city.”

Iroh nodded solemnly, approval hinting around the corners of his mouth. “Good, nephew, but not good enough if I can still get reinforcements.”

“It would take two weeks for new troops to travel from the nearest garrison,” Zuko said, chewing reflectively on his thumbnail, golden gaze intense as he mentally weighed his options, “If I was able to wipe out a significant number of soldiers over a continuous period of them, it would become impractical to keep sending more.” A pause, and then he added in a dark tone laced with bitterness, “Fire Nation soldiers.”

Sensing the boy was about to swing back to the tormented broodiness that had become the norm of late, Iroh reminded his nephew, “My armies are not entirely defenseless, Prince Zuko; it will take something large to defeat enough of them too-“

“Uncle, are there caves in these mountains?”

Caught mid-advice, Iroh snapped his mouth shut and raised an eyebrow, sharp mind racing to figure out what Zuko was planning.

“There is the underground waterway,” he said, thick finger hovering over the board as he traced out its flow and various branches, a spider web shaped in liquid and stone, “It irrigates three of the cities in this region.” An idea occurred to him, when he realized that the waterway went directly under the siege line in numerous places.

“Then I will have it collapsed,” Zuko said, confirming what Iroh had suspected and the old general restrained a proud grin, “It will not be easy, but the caverns and the water underneath would make it possible where simple earth bending wouldn’t be strong enough. Getting as many of the enemies soldiers as possible would be the hard part,” he continued, the intensity of expression showing his focus to win this imitated confrontation.

And then all of sudden, that focus shifted. “Uncle, was this waterway natural or manmade?”

Surprised, Iroh cocked his head, pulling up distant memories of obscure knowledge he had collected over the decades. “Hmm, the original river was natural enough, but man shaped and redirected since then. Solid Earthbender work; they should never fear a drought.” There was hint of envy is his voice. Drought was a common and very serious problem in their homeland.

“Uncle, all those benders that were captured as prisoners of war,” Zuko said, meeting Iroh’s eyes seriously, “Why did father never utilize their abilities? Think of what the Earthbenders could have done for the old city sewage systems, the Waterbenders for our aqueducts.”

Iroh lifted both hands, palms facing out, and shook his head. “It sounds so logical talking about it this way. Just like our battle here. War broken into pieces that do not bleed and walls made out of ink. It is impossible for us to know what would actually happen unless it was real and in front of us. In the case of benders, Prince Zuko,” Iroh brought his speech back around to the actual question, seeing that his nephew was getting frustrated with his long-windedness, “It would be too easy for prisoners to turn those abilities against their captors; to destroy our homes rather than improve them.”

“But Fire Nation is the strongest in the world!” Zuko yelled.

He rose sharply, jostling the game board, fists clenched white with anger. Whether he was furious at his father, for not using the tools at his disposal to benefit his people, or at his Uncle, for suggesting that Fire Nation wouldn’t be able to guard its homes against benders of lesser elements, perhaps even the Prince himself did not know.

Either way, Iroh recognized that the exercise was done for the day. Looking away from Zuko’s searing glare, he began carefully returning the figurines to their embroidered silk pouches. “Part of being strong, Prince Zuko, is knowing what your weaknesses are.” A quick pull on braided cord drew the mouth of a pouch closed. “And part of being weak is letting your fear and need to destroy them consume you.”

Silence reined over the room for a moment, broken only by the distant roar of the engine.

“You – that – arrrgh!” Caught unable to find something that properly expressed his frustration and rage, Zuko howled wordlessly and stomped one booted foot against the floor, sending up a flare of fire that threatened the rug he’d been sitting on. “I am going to meditate!”

“Ah, Prince Zuko your temper!” Iroh called uselessly after his nephew’s retreating back.