FicWad

Chapter Four

In the Fire Nation, the worst insult was to be told that your blood ran cold. Cold made the body sluggish and slow, froze it and made it weak. Cold was the most obvious distinction of the peoples unable to fight back against the Fire Nation.

Though there was no physical temperature to call him on, Zuko always, even before he heard the man speak a single word, thought of Admiral Zhao as cold.

The Admiral is not impressively tall, but he is taller than the prince; this fact gives him the excuse he desires to look down his nose at the boy. His smile is easily confused with a smirk; Zuko has long since decided Zhao equates them, smile and smirk, and is immune to his own arrogance. And somehow, though his spine is straight and his shoulders are back, his eyes respectfully on the floor, Zhao's bow of respect never seems to be anything other than mocking.

Even his greeting, "Prince Zuko," mocks him, singeing his ears with propriety and protocol, and he has never liked the way Zhao's eyes rest on his uncle, "General Iroh," like a lone lion, searching for the best time to take out the older leader of a new pack, "such an honor to be meeting up with you again."

It takes two coughs and a slight kick to his ankle from his uncle before Zuko responds, jaw tight and words strained. "Admiral Zhao. What," the hell are you doing here, "brings you to my ship?"

The curl of lips, the simpering smile, Zuko wonders if setting the man's sideburns aflame could ever rid him of that smirk. "There were reports of the Avatar in this area - a village just a few days South of this point. It was said he headed North and... lo and behold, so are you." Zuko can't see, but he knows Zhao's hands are clasped loosely behind his back and this is challenge and mockery both: Zhao knows he could not defend an attack quickly enough in close-range with his hands like that, and also knows Zuko would never try.

The smile/smirk returns and when Zhao leans close Zuko keeps still, posture straight and eyes narrow, feeling both hot and cold radiating from the admiral. "You are often included in these reports, Prince Zuko. Must you be reminded that I am now in charge of the search for the Avatar?"

"No," Zuko replies, low and surly, the words dragged from an unresponsive throat.
"I have nothing new to report to you, Admiral Zhao."

"And your... /constant/... proximity to the Avatar?" His voice wheedles, picks, a knife against his ear that searches for cracks to widen and break apart.

There are no cracks, no flaws, least of all in the golden eyes that flash on the admiral. "Coincidence."

"I see."

It is at this moment Officer Zheng, mistaking himself as being in Zuko's good graces, makes his appearance, stepping into the hall to salute Iroh, glance at Zuko and completely miss the admiral further down the corridor. "General, the Waterbender has--"

"Waterbender?"

If looks were capable of assassination, Officer Zheng would have found himself twice dead by the glances of both general and prince, saluting once more before retreating back down to the brig. And though the temptation is present to follow and berate the man, Zuko is far more concerned with the curl of Admiral Zhao's lips.

He can feel the cold radiating outward like a living thing.

"You know, Prince Zuko, your father, the Fire Lord himself, gave me this mission," the admirals says, casual, his voice smooth. Almost coaxing if not for the way his words jab and twist at old scars in Zuko, the way Zhao means for them to. "You are obliged, as both a prince and a member of the Fire Nation, as an /honorable/, patriotic citizen..."

"I would not talk to my nephew about honor, were I you, Admiral." It is the first time Iroh has spoken, the first time Zuko has relaxed, however minutely, since Ji had announced a second ship. His uncle speaks softly but firm, his tone unwavering, his emotion hidden well.

Zuko hopes one day to be so enigmatic with his words.

Though the prince was willing to let words lie for a moment, if only to see how Zhao would react to such a chide, his uncle continues soon enough, arms folded before him, a pleasant smile his favorite mask in front of men and women of power. "But you are right, nonetheless. It is our duty, as honorable men of the Fire Nation, to hand over all hostages pertaining to the Avatar to Admiral Zhao."

It is these words, more than Zhao's smirk, that drop Zuko's jaw, rounding on the general, too surprised to hold back the hint of pleading in his tone. "Uncle!"

"Unfortunately," Iroh adds, eyes forward and stance steady, as if there had been no outburst at all, "the girl is not a hostage any longer. I'm afraid we cannot deliver her to you, Admiral."

When he was young, a small child still learning the principles before the practice of Firebending, Zuko's uncle had taken him aside. "Sometimes," he had said, drawing the boy close as he demonstrated how to properly skip stones across the pond in front of the palace, "a prince's duty is to act, bold and rash to inspire and lead his people. And sometimes, his duty is to wait and listen for his cue."

Zuko tries to remember how many times the stone had skipped, waiting for his cue in the words of general and admiral.

Zhao has raised a brow, elegantly shaped and widely known to be as 'natural' as the points of his sideburns. "Is that so? Then what, may I ask, is she still doing on this ship, if she is not a hostage?"

In the quiet that follows, the prince remembers that the stone had skipped six times before sinking to the bottom, and decides that though his uncle falters in his search for an answer, his cue has not yet been called.

If the old man wanted to throw out lies, he shouldn't rely on a short-tempered prince to be able to pull him back in immediately.

"Because." For a moment, it seems as though that is the entirety of Iroh's answer and Zuko's blood heats, a surge of adrenaline as the cold pours from the admiral across from him.

"She was... made a... consort."

Twin expressions on very different faces meet that statement, raised brows and three widened eyes, but it's Zhao that speaks first, voice halting with amusement. "She is... your consort, General? Isn't she a bit... young?"

"Oh, no, no, not mine." His uncle chortles at the thought, but Zuko is still boggling at his uncle's words. "I admit, she is a sight for these old eyes, but I have not claimed her as my own.

"No, that honor belongs to my nephew."

And just as Zuko began to relax, his uncle threw the stone and skipped more times than he could count.

"Is that so?" The wheedling at his ear, the cold he could feel raising the hairs on the back of his neck, pulled Zuko back into the conversation, his eyes settling on Zhao's.

And that /smirk/.

"Well," Zhao was saying, his gaze unwavering from the prince, "I look forward to seeing the first girl to have captured the prince's fancy at dinner."

He can feel his face twist into a scowl without thought and Zuko's remaining brow rises in challenge. "...Dinner?"

"You don't mind, do you?" Zhao asks, words filled with challenge, brows furrowed, smirk set in stone. "After all, we're following the same trail and we are on the same side..."

The way two hawks are on the same side, fighting for territory, for prey, diving in the air with beaks and talons that rip and tear.

But Zuko merely scowls and tries to be cold himself. "...No, I don't mind." His blood runs too hot, melting the words, their sharpness ineffective on the admiral.

One day, Zuko will not hesitate or redirect his last blow. And he will take great pleasure in erasing the smirk from Zhao's lips. "Excellent."

"Uncle." Iroh turns to look at his nephew, though the prince's gaze never wavers from the admiral's. "Go and tell... my... /consort/," the word sounds vile on his tongue, but he forces it out if only to quiet Zhao, "to prepare. For dinner."

With a nod, his uncle smiles and starts to turn away, leaving the hawks to themselves. "Of course."

Zuko tries to remember how to hold a stone correctly to make it skip across the water.