It was not the first time the prince had been on a ship. He had been a passenger on many majestic vessels, made of the finest woods, stained handsomely and darkly, with ample room for him, and his entire family; ships with large, white sails proudly baring the emblem of the Fire Nation, and led by master sailors and staffed by a loyal crew. They ate well, three times a day, whether they wanted beef, chicken, or fruits, and were even able to bathe on board.

This was no such ship.

The ship Zuko currently found himself on was made of cold, rusted metal, held together with loose bolts and nails. This was not a luxury ship for sailing their waters, but a canning ship, for catching, and packaging fish to sell to the mainland. Neither Zuko, nor the rest of the crew had showered since they set sail ten days ago.

The first day wasn't terrible. Zuko knew what came with abdicating the throne. He'd been contemplating it since he was a child, since the day his father scarred his face as a punishment. His reflection asked him daily if being a king was worth it, and the entire left side of his face would burn. Even now, on this cold, metal ship, the skin was unnaturally warm to the touch. The heat assured him that he made the right choice.

The second day, however, Zuko felt betrayed. He had spent sixteen years of his life a prince, and realities outside of the palace were jolting to him. The air was cold, and smelt like dying fish. Men were calloused, and brute. Food was tasteless. Everything was unwelcoming to say the least. While his life had been far from perfect, but he was a prince, and never denied comforts, or even basic grooming necessities. He missed teas, and roast duck, and bed sheets.

The third day, he contemplated returning. He thought of all plausible excuses to give to his father to explain his absence, and even thought of having the other half of his face burnt.

He would tell his father that he was sent on a secret scouting mission, that he gave into his instincts and needed to follow a hint that would tell them about spies their kingdom — no, spies in their castle. He thought of plausible candidates for spies, ways he could pay them off, and even which ones it would be better to just have killed.

On the fourth day, Zuko thought about returning, and challenging his father to an Agni Kai. He'd either die, or kill his father.

The fourth day, Zuko was confident. He'd spent four days working in the least royal conditions he could imagine. If he'd survived this, Agni Kai was nothing. Then, he would become king, and in order, he would free the colonies, exile his sister, and use whatever remained of the royal army to find his mother.

The fifth day, he cut open his palm while canning. He saw his muscles twitch underneath the blood running down his wrist to his elbow. As he bled helplessly on deck, he thought about how many people in Earth Kingdom would love to know that the Fire Lord's son was bleeding profusely on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and no one came to help him. As cautiously as possible, Zuko held his hands together, and let out a gentle, controlled stream of fire from his uninjured hand. He winced, but the pain was bearable. He cauterized the cut, and returned to his work. Even as the King's least loved child, Zuko still received treatment for every ailment he could imagine. He didn't have so much as a cough go unattended. A cut left untreated could get infected, and the limb would need to be removed. A scarred king is one thing, but a limbless king is out of the question, so every wound was treated.

On the sixth day, an infected cut didn't seem like the worst thing in the world.

On the seventh day, loosing in an Agni Kai seemed like an honorable way to go out.

On the eighth day, Zuko vaguely considered jumping overboard.

And on the ninth day, he really only thought about how badly he wanted to shower.

On the tenth day, they docked on the rocky shore of Full Moon Bay, unforgiving as the rest of the trip. The ship couldn't find a port big enough for their ship, then they couldn't find enough space to unload their cargo. It was midday, and the ship smelt like it was cooking the fish, and then rotting them. After unloading the reeking cargo, Zuko returned to his room to gather his things. Many crew members shook hands, and exchanged addresses; Zuko put his backpack over his shoulder, and walked with his head down, avoiding all possible eye contact.

His feet found solid ground, and he found a bollard and sat up against it. As a runaway, he didn't need to bring much. A change of clothes, a canteen, a knife given to him as a present by his uncle from the city he now found himself in, and a letter from the same uncle.

The letter had been sent from a nameless post, often used by soldiers and commanders in the army, not wanting to expose their location. His uncle had once held both those titles, but had chosen to give them up, and everything that came with them.

It had been four years since the war ended, and Zuko was beginning to wonder if wars ever ended. Men on the ship still talked about it, like old battles were like new wounds, still open and gaping. Flags that didn't belong to their ancestors flew above a city they lived for generations, and people looked upon the cloth with contempt.

On the year he turned twelve, the emperor of Ba Sing Se surrendered to Fire Lord Ozai. Instead of cherishing the ancient city, he demanded it be destroyed, and so for almost an entire month, the city burned. It was named New Azulon, for his sister, for his grandfather, for prodigies, and monsters, both looking to be Gods. No where, in all the colonies or original land, was a city, a building, a mountain, a lake, or a desert named after Zuko. Not even ones conquered on his birthday.

His uncle had been the one to light the flames that had destroyed the city four years ago, and as repentance, he returned. Not as a commander, not as a solider, but as a laborer. He abdicated his position, his title, his power, his claim to the throne, his claim to land, and for that, became Zuko's hero. As the man who was more genetically similar to his father than anyone on earth, Zuko adored his uncle in ways his own father could never comprehend.

My Dearest Nephew,

Uncle's letters always started the same.

I appreciate your letters, and have received all of them. I am so glad to hear you enjoyed your vacation to the Ember Islands, even with my brother's temper, and your sister's moods. How I wish I could have joined you.

I've enjoyed the last few months in the city more than any I had lived in the capital. My shop is running quiet successfully. You'll find a map of the city attached. I know your father is planning a trip here, and I hope you'll join him, and then leave him behind when you visit me.

Most Sincerely,

Uncle

Father had indeed planned to visit New Azulon later in the month, but fully believed his brother had died. A traitor to the nation, there was a high bounty on him, however, after a thorough search of his room, a suicide note was found, saying he had drown himself in the Red Sea.

"A dishonor even in death," His father had said.

Zuko had always known the truth, though; about the note, about the tea shop in New Azulon, and about how father had planned to visit. He doubted he would stay, or even come at all. Father had been busy with reconstruction of the capital, attending Azula's fire bending demonstrations with Lo and Li, and frequent bouts of resting, followed by bouts of restlessness. Even if father did visit New Azulon, he never cared for tea.

The map attached was similar to one Zuko had studied in school, however in attempting to find a starting point for himself, he found himself confused. He couldn't even find the Full Moon Bay, let alone a way to get from the dock to the tea shop, which was a good few miles away. He could make it by sundown, but only if he started soon, and only then if he found a place to even start with. As he examined the map, holding it at different angles and pushing it further away from him before drawing it back again closer, a shadow was cast upon him.

"What happened to your eye?"

Gold eyes turned to meet a brown ones and a boy no older, and probably no younger than him, smoking, and staring down directly at him.

Zuko contorted his face. "That's a really… personal question." Small talk wasn't an art taught at the Royal Fire Nation Academy. In fact, it was generally avoided at the palace, and most other social situations he found himself in, so the question only led to a deep discomfort in Zuko's belly, not aided by hunger.

"Yeah, you're right." He exhaled, and quite politely blew his smoke in the other direction. "I'm Jet."

He was alone, which made Zuko feel a little more at ease, until he introduced himself. Zuko had used a fake name on the ship and hadn't decided on a name to use here. "Nice to meet you, Jet," Zuko began. "But I've really got to be going." He stood up, and decided to start following the sun, and walking westward.

"Pressing appointment?" Jet put out his cigarette, throwing it into the bay, which was again, sort of a polite gesture, and began walking along side him.

"You could say," Zuko said, quickly. "Do you need something?" He turned harshly to face him.

Jet walked in front of him, and blocked his path. Zuko raised an eyebrow, and arranged his legs in a fighting stance, just in case. "I was wondering if you needed a job?" Jet asked, nonchalantly.

Zuko looked nonplussed, unsure of how to answer.

"A lot of refugees come from the Fire Nation on canning ships, and most of them need jobs. You looked strong."

Zuko felt immense relief. As a prince with a most distinguishable feature, his most pressing fear abdicating was being recognized. While his pride was a little hurt that he wasn't a nation symbol - technically, he was the prince of New Azulon, formerly Ba Sing Se, and all the other Earth Kingdom colonies - he could live with that more easily than being a hated king's son.

"And it looks like you survived something pretty rough," Jet continued, pressing his fingers underneath his own eye. It was the wrong side; Zuko's scar was on his left side, but he got what he was saying.

Zuko still wasn't sure how to answer, and his face clearly showed it.

"Are you interested?"

"Not particularly."

"You already have a job here in Ba Sing Se?"

Do they still call it Ba Sing Se, Zuko thought, and then thought it better not to ask. "Yes," He nodded. He had assumed he could work at his uncle's tea shop, but had never really asked him. If worse came to worse he could always… Zuko frowned at his lack of professional experience, or even knowledge of different jobs he could potentially have. Either way, he'd figure it all out when he found Uncle.

"It doesn't look like you're too happy with your job." Jet commented on the frown.

"It's not that," Zuko shook his head. "I just have to get going." He pushed passed him, moving Jet to the side with his arm. He was heavier than Zuko had thought, or at least sturdier, but no real struggle to move.

Zuko began walking forward, briefly turning around to see if he was being followed. Jet stayed in the place he had been pushed to, and lit another cigarette. He headed back towards the docks before calling out, "let me know if you change your mind!"

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose, as he walked away quicker.

He proceeded to wonder through New- Ba Sing Se, as it was still called, for about three hours, until the street lamps lightly flickered on. When he finally found the Jade Dragon, the lights inside were still on. He pushed the door open unceremoniously, and shifted his eyes around the room. He was approached swiftly by a young girl, with her hair pulled up in a tight bun. "Good evening sir, may I seat you?"

"No, thanks," He said, adding the last word on quickly. "I'm looking for the owner."

"May I ask who wants to see him?"

"Uh, his nephew?" Zuko said, unsure if he said too much. She nodded, and went to the back of the restaurant. Zuko wasn't sure whether he should find a seat, or walk up to the counter, so he just stood where he was, awkwardly but not drawing much attention from the customers.

His uncle beamed the moment he saw him, with a happiness like Zuko hadn't seen in years. "My nephew!" He cried, and instantly, Zuko ran to him. They embraced and the crowd at the tea shop all turned their eyes to them. "Customers," He announced, elated, "this is my nephew, finally coming to visit his old uncle! All of your drinks are on me tonight, in celebration of this joyful occasion!"

There were cries of "finally we meet him," and "what a handsome young man," and "you should visit more often!" The crowd was jovial, and almost as happy as uncle was to see him. Never in his life had anyone be so happy to see him; even his mother had never been so open with her happiness.

"Actually, Uncle…" Zuko began nervously, not sure of how to put it. "I may be staying for longer than a visit."

Uncle's eyes widened, and Zuko felt his stomach drop onto the cold, earthen floor.

"This is a happier day than I could have ever imagined!" Uncle exclaimed, and the whole crowd joined in. "My nephew, it would be an honor if you stayed with me. You can work here, and I have plenty of room for you upstairs with me, and there will be no man happier than me in all of Ba Sing Se."

A celebration ensued, one with fewer people than Zuko's name day celebration, but with infinitely more jubilation. There was tea bought for him by almost everyone (and some laced with rums), he was embraced by strangers like he was a neighbor, and everyone called him either nephew, or son, and one older lady called him handsome.

"Uncle, are you su-" He began asking, in a brief moment where he was able to pull him aside, but just as quickly as the moment would end, he was cut off.

"Nephew, the circumstances that you come to me under are not conversation for now. Whatever sorrow you bring to the Jade Dragon, whatever pain you bring with you here, let it go into the night wind. We can talk later." He said, patting him on the back, and giving him another tea.

Songs were sung, and dances danced, and the festivities lasted long into the night. As exhausted as Zuko was, the crowd energized him. He had never felt more like a prince in his life.

Azula was never one to cry, at least not for death, but she felt a thick lump in her throat. Her chest felt dense, and she was unable to find any word to say.

Ty Lee and Mai stood on either side of her, wanting to both comfort the princess, and keep their distance.

"Azula, do you need anything?" Mai asked.

"You know we'd do anything for you." Ty Lee added.

But the words wouldn't come to her. She wanted to tell them to leave, and shoot blue fire from everywhere she could, and scream until the earth collapsed beneath them, but she just stood with her back to them, swallowing as hard as she could.

They were in her father's wing, which included a library, a courtyard, practice area, a room dedicated to Fire Nation war victories through out all of history, and his sleeping chamber. Normally, no one other than family would be allowed entrance, and even then, many rooms were restricted, particularly the one Azula, Ty Lee and Mai found themselves currently in.

Her father's bed was bigger than many commoners' homes, with great flame lanterns burning on either side, illuminating a grand portrait of the Fire Lord which hung proudly between over the bed. They had just been relit.

It began with a fever, and Fire Lord Ozai claimed there was too much fire in the palace. He demanded all the lanterns, candles, and lamps be extinguished immediately. The sun had set hours ago, and the whole castle waited in darkness, when the screaming began.

Azula entered the room when they were bathing him with cold cloths. "Father, father, what's wrong?"

"Princess, he's burning up. His fever is getting worse."

"Why? What's wrong? What happened? He was fine hours ago!" She grew more enraged as she spoke, pushing aside everyone in her way to get closer.

"Stay away!" Her father had bellowed. "I don't want her to see."

"Princess," Two guards approached her on either side, taking one arm in their hands. "We must escort you out."

"Get your filthy miscreant hands off me." She demanded, lifting both her arms swiftly to hit the men in their faces. They backed away, and she spun around in a traditional bending stance. "I dare one of you would try to separate me from my father again. I dare you."

They left, swiftly.

"Father, what can I do to help?" She ran back to his bedside. "There has to be something I can do."

His body began to convulse violently from under the cloths, and his mouth opened like he wanted to cry out, but only sputtering sounds and foamy saliva came out.

This wasn't the first person Azula had seen die. In fact, for a woman of barely fourteen, she had been soldiers, servants, and civilians all fall into death's cold emptiness. She had accepted this as part of life, and when that time came for certain individuals, she even reveled in it. Like her Uncle; life was for those willing to take command and live it, not for those who mourned for the past, regretted, and drank tea. She celebrated deaths and never was afraid of what it held. "There has to be something I can do!" She cried, over, and over.

While her father's body was still pliable, she moved his arms down by his side, covered his body respectfully, and finally shut his eyes. The room felt heavy, and humid, and the air pushed down harshly on her body. The familiar sensation of watching a soul transfer worlds felt new and unnerving.

A doctor had confirmed what she already knew. "Your majesty, the king is dead."