...the Southern Water Tribe itself, conversely, believes that the destruction of its traditional culture would have been far more comprehensive without the mixing of blood that produced the famous—perhaps infamous—southern serpents…

- Spilled Fire Still Burns: an Anthropological Study of Fire Nation Ancestry in the Four Nations. Professor Zei, Ba Sing Se University Press, 97 AG.

%%%

Sokka had been hearing about the feral prince for three trading seasons and, to be honest, he was over the guy by about day five of the first. Actually meeting the feral? Somewhere below sticking his head in a lion-walrus' mouth on the ol' bucket list. Seeing the guy's dinky little ship limp over the horizon? Something he would have gladly, gratefully ignored if it'd had the decency and basic survival instincts to turn right on back around and head north again. Which was what it very stubbornly wasn't doing, despite the five Water Tribe ships very clearly blocading this route south.

Sokka lowered the spyglass that Bato had handed him. And did not, did not look over at him. The man's grin was implied. To look at it would be to encourage it, and Dad's very first advice for working under this particular Captain had been to never encourage him. Which said a lot, coming from the man who'd invented the stink-'n'-sink. Speaking of.

"Sink them?" Sokka asked, with all due hope.

Bato's smirk continued to exist. "Technically, they're a civilian vessel. And they haven't crossed our border yet."

"And they can keep on not crossing our border at the bottom of the ocean." Sokka considered this to be a well-reasoned argument. On the matter of a naval ship containing the Dragon of the West and Ozai's eldest child being classified as a civilian vessel, Sokka referred to the doctrine of haha yeah right. Especially with the stunts that ship tended to pull. Or that were pulled in its general vicinity with no clear proof available but com'on, who were they trying to fool. If the Fire Princes thought they could Earth-Kingdom-rules-lawyer the definition of 'civilian vessel' they should have stayed in Earth Kingdom waters.

"Someone has a grudge." Bato leaned his non-bandaged arm against the rail, putting his grin directly in Sokka's peripheral vision.

"I do not have a grudge!" Gesticulating was called for, and gesticulating was done. "Fire Nation vessel. Water Tribe seas. One plus one means one more reason than required to sink the stupid molt-happy dragon and end his market devaluing existence."

Bato. Continued to smirk. "We've never had report of them attacking unprovoked. Or willingly coming this close to our ships, for that matter. We'll see what they have to say. "

"That was the imperial 'we', right?" Sokka asked. "Right?"

The smirk. Got an accompanying wink. "You know how much these nobles respect speaking with other royalty."

Sort-of-a-Prince Sokka of the Fox-Seal Tribe, son of Hakoda, Chief of the Southern League and Approximate-King-Equivalent-Because-All-These-Monarchies-Couldn't-Wrap-Their-Heads-Around-Elections, wilted against the wooden rail. And raised the spy glass again. And trusted in his glare to span the rapidly closing nautical distance.

%%%

Zuko rubbed between his shoulderblades. The spot kept itching, like he was being watched. Uncle gave him a knowing smile.

"I am not molting again," he snapped.

"Of course not, Prince Zuko."

"And I'm not going to shout at them! There is no reason for you to come!"

"Your manners will be as impeccable as always, I am sure. But perhaps you should remain behind, in case two princes makes too tempting a target. Lieutenant Jee can serve as my flame—"

"You stay," he snapped. "I'll take Jee. Or better yet, I'll go alone."

"Ah. So we will both be going, then," Uncle agreed serenely.

Zuko scratched between his shoulders, and turned to glare at the Southern League ships. The Wani had cut its engines a half hour ago, and was near dead in the water. The tribe ships remained sprawled in their shoddy approximation of a blockade, none of them even making an attempt to come close enough for boarding. He narrowed his eyes. "What do they want us to do, row over?"

%%%

"Bets on how long it takes them to swallow their pride and row over?" Sokka asked.

Bets were made. Harluk won: half a finger had melted on the shift-candle before Prince Paces-the-Deck shouted for a boat to be readied. They could hear him from here. Pretty impressive for a guy still in his human skin. Once the decision was made, he wasted no time (but a lot more air) on getting the boat in the water and rowing himself and Prince Fat-Jolly-And-Fooling-No-One over. Which was… interesting. It really was just him and his Uncle. No lower crewman to do the physical labor for him. And judging by the additional shouting before they'd left the deck, he'd have rather come alone.

"He hoards people," Bato observed, coming to the same conclusion Sokka had.

"And recognizes us as a threat," Sokka said. Which warranted a little bit of chest-poofing-out, and Bato's chuckle was completely unwarranted.

"Bets on how long it takes them to ask for a ladder?" Sokka asked, as the little boat drew closer.

Bets were made. Sokka would win; the bookie always did.

%%%

The water tribesmen were staring down at them. Zuko narrowed his eyes, and stared back. Uncle waved cheerfully. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! What a pleasant day it is."

The tribesmen didn't reply. They just stood there, backlit by the sun and unnaturally dark, like their very skin refused to share in Agni's light. Eyes of blue, brown, and gold watched them. There were fires lit at regular intervals over the deck; they had dragons on their crew, then, or wanted to seem like they did. No way of telling which, or who—the Southern League hid theirs.

They also were very pointedly not lowering the rope ladder the scrawny cabin boy held.

"We wish to discuss the possibility of entering your territory," Uncle continued, diplomatically. "May we come aboard?"

"You may," a man with bandages up one arm spoke. He didn't give the boy any orders. The boy kept hold of the ladder, his lips tugging into a smug grin.

The barbarians had already made them row over instead of boarding directly like equals; now they wanted them to beg for the ladder?

"Prince Zuko," Uncle said under his breath, his smile still radiant for their audience. "Be polite to our hosts." He wasn't asking for the ladder, either.

Zuko realized he'd been growling. He stopped, and started smirking instead.

"Zuko—"

A step back to the gunwale, as much space as he could get. Two steps to cross the boat and five straight up and don't think if you'll make it just reach and grab—

Zuko pulled himself up on the rail of the naval ship, crouching as the men reflexively cleared space in the half-circle in front of him. Except for the cabin boy, who was clutching the ladder to his chest and looking at him with wide blue eyes.

"Thank you so much for allowing us on board," Zuko said, still balanced on his perch. "Would you please be so kind as to lower your ladder? My esteemed Uncle is not as spry as he once was, and may require some minor assistance in following me."

"Did you just—" the scrawny boy sputtered. "That was, like, six vertical meters! You are not allowed to be a wall-running ninja on top of being a dragon and a firebreather and a prince and a one-teenager source of over-priced dragon-skin boots!"

Zuko… was not entirely certain how to respond to that. Except for turning a little red, and hoping the tribesmen thought it was with anger. People usually did. The scar had that effect.

"Sokka, lower the ladder," the bandaged man said, his brown-gold eyes on Zuko. "You are welcome to join us in my office, once your esteemed uncle is aboard."

Uncle climbed. Zuko stayed on the railing, making very certain no one interfered with either his ascent or the ladder. And he checked the knots the men used to tie up their boat himself, and glared individually at each crewman before joining his Uncle in following the bandaged man.

Uncle wasn't saying anything.

"What? I was polite," Zuko whisper-hissed.

Uncle refrained from sighing with so many other eyes on them. But it was implied, in the space between his measured breaths.

The office was small but well-organized. Weapons and maps and scrolls, all carefully tucked in their place. The bandaged man stood behind his desk, pointedly refraining from sitting down so that they would have to remain standing as well. They were guests, but not welcome. A small oil lamp sat near his hand, where his palm could brush over the flame in an instant.

Dragon. Or wanted them to think he was, to keep the threat hanging over this conversation.

Coward. Too afraid of the dragon slayers to make himself known, to fight in the open, to draw attention away from the rest of his people and keep them safe under his protection.

The tribesman looked to be forty, fifty at the oldest. And this was a small cabin. He probably wasn't a dragon at all; it was too dangerous to shift in a place this cramped. Bones were easily broken by walls that didn't care to move.

The cabin boy had followed them in, and went to stand at his elder's shoulder. Zuko frowned at him, on principle.

"I am Captain Bato of the Selkie. This is Prince Sokka."

...Not a cabin boy, then.

%%%

Okay, so his fellow prince kept turning red, and Sokka really wasn't sure what that was about. Rage? Probably rage. His face was made for it. Not the scar part—well yeah, actually, also the scar part, but Sokka was trying to not be an insensitive asshat about the giant facial scar, and seriously how did a firebreather end up with fire damage? Even Bato's recent close call was nearly healed; with how fast the change came, even a non-bending dragon could shift before getting more than the equivalent of a nasty blistery sunburn—not that these creepy frost-skinned ghosts ever got sunburns, much less a healthy tan—but the point was that dragons were highly flame resistant. What did he do, just sit there and take it? Hold onto his human form until the flames bit too hard to stand? The only one he knew that did that—

Well, was their fleet's own resident super mentally healthy feral. So.

But this wasn't about the scar, it was about the rage-face vibe this guy gave off constantly, with his frowny eyebrows—err, eyebrow—and his literal growling and okay maybe Sokka should stop staring now. Who knew a guy with half his face burned off might be sensitive to people staring at him.

"That's me," Sokka said. "Prince Sokka."

"I was not aware the League of Southern Tribes used the rank of prince," General Iroh said, smiling and doing his best to sound like everyone's friendly uncle.

"It's a thing we're trying. Makes it easier to deal with puffed up Earth Kingdom nobles if we can pull rank on them," Sokka shrugged. "The kids of the other Chiefs get it, too. We can pull a lot of rank."

"You can't just decide to be royalty," the smaller, snarly Fire Prince said.

"Can and did. The elders took a vote and everything." Sokka grinned. "Now, Prince Zuko. Prince Iroh. How can I, your fellow prince, assist you in leaving our waters this fine day?"

"Actually," the most dangerous man within a hundred miles smiled, "we would like to visit your fine port town! I have heard much of its cliffside beauty, and unique charms. Perhaps we would even be permitted to stretch our wings on a hunt for one of your elephant-walruses."

Sokka and Bato exchanged a Look. It was very uppercase in its lookitude. Somehow, Prince Zuko's elaborate eye-roll became a part of this Look and all three of them were sharing a Look and realizing it at about the same time, which was intensely uncomfortable for all parties involved.

"So you risked running our blockade," Bato summarized. "To… sightsee."

"Yes," the elder prince beamed.

"No," the younger growled. In a less literal manner than previously mentioned growls. He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, and proceeded to unroll a map on Bato's desk and just casually grab Bato's desky-thingies to weigh down the edges. Bato blinked, and Sokka blinked, and they shared a lowercase look. The prince did not, Sokka noted, put his hand anywhere near the lamp flame. Or within accidental touch range of the lamp flame. There was a pretty clear lamp flame radius he completely avoided, which Sokka found both reassuring and deeply alarming, because was he so bad off he couldn't even control his shifting? There was being feral, and there was having the self-control of an upset toddler. "We've been tracking pirates. They've been striking at colony ships along the coast, making their way south. A ship was lost near Yu Dao, Jushing, Xe Han—" He traced the map as he went.

"I'm just going to cut in with a 'what does this have to do with us'," Sokka interrupted, when it looked like the guy was going to give them an extensive briefing.

There was much scowling. "We suspect they crossed your border around three weeks ago to hide from the fleet. We think they have two ships, an Earth Kingdom cutter and a captured Fire Navy cruiser that they've been using to lure—"

"You think?"

"They don't intentionally leave witnesses alive," Zuko scowled. "We only have two confirmed accounts. But the pattern of attacks and peripheral sightings support these being the same—" And he was reaching into his bag and pulling out log books and scrolls of eyewitness testimony like all he had to do to get their approval was prove to them that the big bad pirates existed.

Of course they existed. Sokka had watched them sail past three weeks ago, after a few explanations on the whole giant Fire Navy battleship thing and some proof of its non-Firey-status in the form of its earth and waterbending crew, plus a few firebending prisoners they kept around for the whole 'helping to lure other Fire Nation victims on board' thing.

"Several Earth Kings sell privateer licenses," Bato stated. "As allies of the Earth Kingdom, we recognize these as valid. While I personally find their actions distasteful, any such ships would have done no wrong under League law, and sanctuary would be granted if they asked."

"These are civilians they're attacking," the younger prince said. "Families. They're not part of the war."

"Except for crossing the ocean from their perfectly habitable islands to settle on and help fortify conquered territories," Sokka said.

And spirits, if he thought he'd heard the guy growl before, he had been completely wrong. That had been humming a tickle out of his throat; this was growling.

"Nephew," his Uncle said. "We will require the goodwill of these men to help your people. It is important that we convince them with words."

"We could take them," Zuko said, like Bato and Sokka weren't even in the room. No: like it didn't matter what they heard.

"How many of the crew would be injured in doing so? Your crew, nephew. Your people." General Iroh spoke calmly and rationally, and maintained intense eye contact with Bato as he talked his nephew down. Bato, in turn, did not draw his weapon. Or reach for the flame.

Bato was still small enough to shift in this room. That was the kind of thing they checked, after every molt. The General definitely wouldn't fit; as long as he was in here, he was trapped in his smaller, squishier skin. And Nephew Growly was too young to be much of a problem, if they could get his protector taken down first.

"Nephew," the General said again.

His nephew huffed a tongue of flame, and turned his head sharply to the side. Then he started scratching between his shoulders like it was his human skin that molted. That. Was going to leave a mark. "The colonists are my people, too."

"Captain Bato. Prince Sokka. Would it be permissible for us to wait outside your waters for these pirates to emerge again? We understand giving aid to an ally. But if you find their actions distasteful as well, perhaps you could simply... fail to relay our location to them."

The prince snapped his head back to his Uncle, looking almost betrayed. "We don't know how long that would take. We can't just sit here—"

"If you try to enter our waters, we will have no choice but to attack," Bato said.

And the prince whined. And growled. And whine-growled. It was a kind of confusing noise, like he wasn't sure whether to tear them apart or get on his knees and beg. "Please. There's been—they've been selling molts at the free ports. Too many, and too small—"

And for some reason it was Sokka's eyes he'd found. And for some reason Sokka felt the tug to answer him. "You think they took children."

Which was… really sick, if it was true. Kids molted all the time, all you had to do was give them food and water and probably a dark cell with a teenie-tiny candle so they could change when the itching got too bad. If they weren't firebreathers, they wouldn't even be that much trouble to keep contained at that size. Molts were valuable, not just for fashion but because they were practically fireproof. People in the Earth Kingdom paid good money to send their kids off to the front with that kind of protection sewn into their uniforms. In the Southern League, their own dragons donated molts to the cause. The Earth Kingdom wasn't known for keeping its dragons around long enough to donate. Didn't stop new molts from hitting the market.

Better molts than skins.

"We have goods to gift you, in exchange for our safe passage," the elder prince said. "Steel beams and sheets for construction. Medicinal plants from the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom—"

And he kept listing things that they could really use. Things the merchants charged ridiculous prices for, because they knew they could. The Southern League didn't have much to trade beyond fish and furs.

Fish and furs and the scales of their black dragon. And if the dragon hunters ever figured out who that was, this little blockade wouldn't stop them from coming. Prince Zuko was banished, and feral, but his own black scales were unique. The Fire Nation didn't like that there was a Water Tribe knockoff flying around. A point of pride in a country that lived on pride.

"You're welcome to wait," Bato said. "Outside our waters."

The younger prince held Sokka's gaze, and he dropped the frown lines enough to just look desperate. And not that much older than Sokka. Sokka didn't know what he was asking for—which was a lie, he knew exactly what he was asking for—but he didn't, couldn't respond. This wasn't the Fire Nation; prince didn't outrank captain. Sokka just crossed his arms like Bato until his fellow teenager's face reddened again. It was definitely rage, this time.

%%%

Bato leaned against the rail next to Sokka as they watched the rusty little decommissioned ship chugging a safe distance away from their fleet.

"He's not just hoarding his own people, is he?" Sokka asked. "He's hoarding his people. The entire nation."

No wonder the poor bastard had driven himself insane.