And On That Bombshell

.\:/.

It's the Day of Black Sun, and the Capital of the Fire Nation is empty.

The streets are silent and the fortifications lie still; nothing moves or makes a sound. The invading forces are alone and afraid - the Fire Nation never backs down from a fight. Never. Even if it means the mass slaughter of their own, it seems.

And then there's movement, just through the gates, and a hundred weapons are drawn. A young man - a boy, nearly - dressed not in armour but in everyday robes strides forth, one pale hand gripping a white flag as if his life depends on it. He stops fifty paces away, unrolls with shaking hands a scroll from his belt and stutters, "T-the Fire Lord would like to formally welcome the Avatar and the Avatar's c-companions to the Fire Nation, and invites them to the Palace to discuss the s-status of the war." The boy bows so sharply his topknot nearly comes undone, and marches stiffly away, visibly terrified of turning his back on so many armed insurgents.

The invaders stare after him, and then at each other. The invitation is obviously a trap, but nevertheless this isn't anything like what they had planned and nobody is entirely sure what to do. Time is wasting and the eclipse is approaching, but there's not a single firebender to fight anywhere but the Palace. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from under them - since when did the Fire Nation care about its citizens?

There's a brief argument among the assembled warriors - it is readily agreed that there's no way in the Four Nations that this isn't a trick, but beyond that accord is minimal. The Avatar, still so troubled by the concept of defeating the Fire Lord so permanently, is looking almost ecstatic at the prospect of talking it out rather than battling, but nobody else is even close to sharing his opinion. Katara is the most vocal about just getting out while they still can and trying again another day, but Sokka refuses to just leave - damnit, he's spent months refining and perfecting this most marvellous of plans, and the mere thought of abandoning it rankles.

The dispute continues until someone - someone short but definitely not sweet, and down-to-earth in more than one way - points out that the eclipse is in like fifteen minutes guys, just make a decision already! The decision is put to a vote, and when it comes out a perfect tie Toph rolls her sightless eyes and marches towards the gate the Fire Nation messenger had come from, and that is that.

The earthbender is quickly scooped up onto Appa's back - if they're going to make the Palace before the eclipse, they've got to move fast.

From above the city they are granted a better view of the streets, and still there is not the slightest whisper of motion. The entire city has been evacuated, and the four invitees have to wonder exactly how long the Fire Nation has known about the Plan - you can't pack up an entire city overnight, and even a week or two would be pushing it.

They touch down directly in front of the palace, and they can't help but marvel at it; for all that the Fire Nation is evil, they sure are good at architecture. The four of them are greeted by another nervous, plainly-clothed citizen who leads them through the echoing halls to the throne room. Sokka inquires about the whereabouts of, well, the whole city, but gets only a terse "Gone." for his trouble. It's understandable; the poor woman can't know for sure that the invaders are here only to give the Fire Lord the boot. Katara asks a somewhat less treasonous and more personal question and the woman replies, "I volunteered." The waterbender would have asked her to explain further, but she pushes open a door more grandiose than any they've seen so far, and finally the throne room is revealed.

The floor is tiled with black, and huge obsidian pillars stretch towards a distant ceiling. The pillars' bases are shrouded with thick red fabric, but on some the cloth has drooped enough to reveal glimmering gold carvings and clearly nobody was brave enough to try obscuring the equally elaborate tops. The room is well-lit; the potted fires perfectly equidistant, their dancing flames reflecting in the polished black marble. The far wall, like the pillars, is draped in varying shades of red; this room is so wide and the ceiling so high that they've had to sew together all manner of fabrics just to cover it, and despite their best efforts flashes of gold still peek through the gaps. It seems almost spartan when compared to the corridors they have just passed, and against this relatively drab backdrop the opulence of the throne stands out like a canyon crawler at a coronation.

There's no mistaking the figure lounging there, and three of the four guests pale at the sight while the fourth looks - well, senses - on in confusion. Long dark hair, pale skin, golden eyes glinting in the light - the burn scar as livid as it had ever been, and the five-pronged crown resting in his immaculate topknot.

"Hello," says the Fire Lord, "Zuko here."

A/N: I promise that this will, one day, become a twoshot. For now, though, I will mark it as complete.