The air turned warm as the escort neared the ledge overlooking the ocean, picking up speed and sending the scent of ash tree blossoms, salt, and grass washing up and across the field. Summer. "Summer never ends in the Fire Nation." So went the mantra of every merchant, sell-sword and diplomat. The South Pole's Winter brought out white, delicate blossoms framed by deep green leaves, and they covered the valleys and mountain slopes like fresh snow. Omashu's Fall gave the trees their brief, faint tinge, but Spring came early and the flowers blossomed with the colors the trees couldn't hold. Summer proper became spring intensified; the heat bloomed in tandem with the buds on the ash trees, and during those few days of first flowers came the Festival of Fire where every bender of repute flaunted their skill before the royal family.

Zuko grew up with the same cyclic pattern of natural and cultural marks dictating his sense of the seasons. Summer started when his uncle allowed him to go on the journey to the lower tip of the Fire Nation and watch the smiths turn their bending to weave steel into its sharpest and strongest incarnation. Dragon's teeth. His uncle told him, in a voice filled with solemn reverence, that no where else could metal be forged in such a way, that only a few fire benders could attempt the craft and fewer still went on to master it and be called upon by the Fire Lord to arm his battalions. Only later did the alignment of his uncle's trip with the equinox cease to be coincidence.

And he knew summer continued when his mother took him to the groves and orchards of ash trees to gather their blossoms, each flower showing like a burning star on its own and like thousands of bleeding hands when in groups against the black bark.

He dismounted, stepping beneath the shadow of the bloody blossoms of a lone, towering tree, the riders behind him stopping near its edge, careful not to let the man they flanked stray any farther. The breeze stayed steady as Zuko met the edge of the cliff, a faint spray of warmth meeting his face as each wave contacted the vertical face below. The sun was still breaching the horizon, a slow, ponderous birth from the water. The fire sages would skewer me and mount my skull like one of their dead dragons for thinking that. He heard the man behind him shift from side to side, the chains clinking as if in protest. Soon the chains will fall and he'll never have to move again. Agni knows. He lowered his head and saw only water, shimmering like molten silver in the growing light. When the sun broke out halfway, the light spilled over the top of the ledge and met his feet. He could feel the warmth straight through the basilisk skin hide, and the feeling rose slowly along the rest of his body, the cloth offering even less impedance to the heat than his boots. He felt as though in a vacuum that was slowly being filled with some weightless fluid. As the light slid up his neck and towards his face, his breath slowed and his face rose in tandem, following the rays, slowly and smoothly until finally his eyes were level with the horizon and filled with a matching gold, and he saw it, careening across the sky before him. Agni's eye.

He exhaled, driving the air out through his mouth before inhaling through his nose, pushing the breath through his chest and down towards his stomach until he was full on the dry heat and his skin tingled and burned, like his limbs danced near a vat of steaming liquid and moved away just as the vapor made contact and condensed, sending bubbles of heat driving into his flesh. Another breath pushed out, and his hands met, palms facing outward, moving forward as his chest worked, a flame igniting in the small cavity. His fingers slowly uncurled as the flame faced its maker, growing brighter and hotter without on its own accord until he turned his palms up and raised them above his head, Agni's offering, the small spark unveiling itself, rising into a glowing beacon, growing and growing until he finally drew his hands apart, extended his arms outward, the last of his breath spent. He inhaled and the heat danced all over his body, the flame dissipating on his skin. This was summer.

He motioned to the men behind him, and they brought the man in chains beneath the shadow of the tree. Once the rattling stopped Zuko turned and looked at him. He hadn't said a word during the entire ride, content to sit restrained and surrounded by those who had condemned him. Was this the face of a traitor, still and solemn? Where was the fear, the shame? The regret? Zuko confessed himself disappointed. At the least he'd prepared himself for indignation, denial, but this...it unnerved him more than he was willing to admit. He looked away and saw his uncle standing beneath a low lying branch, admiring the blossoms. I should speak to him afterward. Still, there was no defiance, just the quiet acceptance. Maybe that was shame burning away into humility.

Another motion and the man knelt at the edge of the cliff, head down, his face hidden from the light and the wind. Father told him that the only way a man under his command would ever respect him is if he knew first the consequences of disobedience and then that his commander was willing and able to enact them. No one fears a toothless beast or a breathless dragon. He drew the sword from the scabbard on his back, the light burning brilliantly along its edge as he swung it past his face. And the colors danced along the metal, here dull and smoky, there sharp and bright. Not a proper headsman's weapon, but faster, lighter and deadlier. The smiths would never hear of anything else. Theirs were not butcher's implements; if they happened to make a weapon that could be swung heavily and without poise, so be it, but their intentions were never other than art. And fire. His thumb and forefinger pressed together and ran along the blade's edge, drawing a line of iridescent blue just above the metal. He swung once, slowly moving the blade to trace out the sun's ordained path before cutting back sharply, the air whistling across the metal as he did so. The line didn't bleed.

The opposite edge rested on the man's shoulder, signaling him to look up. Agni's judgment. Zuko pulled the blade back, keeping level with the line above the shoulder, his eyes fixed. Never look away, his father said. Only a coward shirks away from the sentence he is about to pass. The air whistled and the flesh parted. The head fell to the side, rolling towards the base of the tree, and where blood should have sprayed from the stump and stained the grass, thin tendrils of black smoke twisted upwards.

Li walked forward and brought the head up by its hair, holding it outward as though for display before fire blossomed from the nostrils and eyes, withering the flesh, the skull showing as its mask fell away in black flakes and smoldering clumps. Zuko watched without expression, sheathing his blade and rolling his shoulders. By then the fire had finished its work, Li's grasp relinquished as the last few strands of hair were vaporized. He looked down at his handiwork as though it was something foreign, shrugged, and kicked the scorched husk aside, sending it careening over the edge and into the water. Iroh shook his head.

"The body?" Chu asked, moving slowly forward.

Li shrugged. "Into the water." He placed the heel of his boot on the shoulder, pushing lightly and causing it to turn over. "Let the fish and crabs suck and gnaw at it."

And us gnaw and suck on the crabs and fish. Zuko's thought seemed to be echoed by his uncle.

"You should show more restraint, lieutenant. Traitor or not, the act is done, and there's nothing to be gained from spitting a corpse."

Li's brow twisted at first, before relaxing into concession. He turned to Zuko, smiling. "Your uncle speaks true. A corpse is a corpse. Though I care only about having respect in life rather than death." He turned away in a sharp motion, the body again moving as his foot twisted against it. Li had the body of an archer, tall and lithe, his fingers copies of his body's physique. His hair, hanging long and loose, flanked his face, made him look younger than his twenty two years. Though too young to have been one of Zuko's instructors per se, he had taught the prince the finer points of archery, saying that a versatile warrior was a live one.

Li paused and stared out to the horizon. "Still, dying in Agni's gaze, at the height of summer. A respectable end to a nearly respectable life, wouldn't you say?"

"He died cleanly."

Li laughed. "That he did, though how could he not, with that kind of blade and skill?" His smile waned. "What's the saying? Dragon's teeth are just as dangerous to those who wield them as to those who fight against them?"

Chu snorted. "It's the man that does the fighting. A weapon is only as dangerous as its owner, whether it's a Dragon's tooth or a wood axe." So spoke the mooselion. He came up beside Li, a moving wall of muscle encased in meshed steel. His instruction to Zuko had been official, his lessons grounded in the practical use of a weapon to defend and kill, his wisdom delivered through aching muscles and the cuts of failed parries. Chu's weapon of choice merely solidified the truth of his words, a massive two handed sword that knocked Zuko off balance whenever he tried to swing it. Chu pressed again, "The body still sits by the ledge, and I'm not inclined to let it rot or toss it into the water."

"Really, Chu? Since when do you care for the niceties of the rites of the dead?"

Chu fixed Li with narrowed eyes. "Since I killed or saw die dozens of would-be warriors like you, most of whom didn't have the luxury of their family's name to puff them up and guide them to my training yard."

Li was nonplussed. "Well, unless I'm arrogant as well as blind the fellow without the head was considerably older than all those would-be warriors, so I don't think he's quite as much in need of your pity as they were."

"It's not pity...

"Enough." Zuko's voice cut through the din, silencing both men. Li shrugged looked to the horizon again, while Chu addressed Zuko softly.

"My apologies, Prince Zuko. I forget my restraint."

"Understandable. But you both seem to forget where we are." He garnered two confused faces and one solemn nod. Walking to the body, he grabbed he ankles and began dragging it under the tree.

"Prince Zuko..." Chu protested but was waved off. Even Li paused in his meditation of the sun and looked after the prince. Zuko positioned the body near the base of the tree, laying it parallel to the trunk.

He stood and looked down, taking in the singed stump of a neck, the tattered cloth and the pale hands. Finally he knelt and placed his palm on the body's chest, holding it just long enough for the fire to assume the shape of his hand before morphing into a mass of heat and light. But it didn't spread. Zuko continued kneeling, the fingers of his hand curled slightly, his breath coming in a slow steady stream. The stench of the burning flesh rose almost instantly, but he didn't waver, just felt the heat and wanted to move closer and see the flames reach the heart. Soon the heat began to wane, the flesh turning to ash and waste like a stump of wax being consumed. As the flame flickered and lowered, his palm flew open and he released his breath in a short burst, the flames shooting out from the center of the body, rushing through the network of veins and along the planes of muscle and shafts of bone. He rose and turned away, the fire having already reduced half the body to black waste. Iroh watched, hands folded behind his back, gold reflecting blue. Agni's demand.

As Zuko walked towards his uncle he caught the scent of burnt flesh and cloth coming from his body, and briefly considered taking the path down to shore to wash himself of it, but he had done the deed, so he should bear its mark for the time being. Iroh continued to look at the now smoking remains in silence. Zuko stood beside him without knowing how to intrude on the silence. In the past he'd played spectator to the sight, his father either towering beside him or performing the deed with the precision he'd just duplicated. And whether his father observed or produced the spectacle, Zuko never looked away, because Lord Ozai always watched, and he knew.

Finally Iroh turned away, leaving Zuko to look at the ash and debris. A breeze blew towards him and he turned away, anger seizing him. He'd been marked already.

The company rode out in silence, taking the worn path along the coast, approaching the city from the west. Zuko found himself taking deep long breaths to even out the flow of heat along his skin, his concentration being broken by Iroh's question.

"So how did it feel, enacting the Fire Lord's justice?"

The Fire Nation's justice. That's what father said. He carried it out, sometimes reinterpreted it, but that didn't change what it was.

"Natural. I'll be in father's position one day, and my arbitration will effect more than just one man's life."

"Mmm. Has your experience in the war so quickly acclimated you to the loss of life?"

Zuko frowned. "Fire Lords have always viewed treason in the same way. Didn't Azulon request the same of you?"

"Indeed he did, and I, being an obedient son, carried out his wishes as a young man, though not without knowing the details of the man's crime, nor its circumstances."

"Treason is treason."

"So it is, in the eyes of the Fire Lord. But what would drive a man to betray his home and people?"

"Commander Yen deserted. Then he went over to the Earth Kingdom, gave away the position of two battalions, both of which would have been wiped out if it weren't for the assistance of the Dai Li operative that was stationed with the detachment. One life against hundreds. A fair trade, I think."

Iroh nodded. "So long as you know your reasons and convictions." His uncle sighed, and Zuko spoke quickly.

"And now you'll tell me that the lives of the Earth Kingdom soldiers were forfeit as soon as our side learned their intention and location. Well, as you yourself have said, it's war. If we don't make a distinction between sides, then talking about treason is meaningless to begin with."

Iroh laughed. "Far be it for me to question that, Prince Zuko, but you seem to have misheard my path of thought."

"Yes?"

"Well, you still haven't answered the question of circumstance. Why would a seasoned commander betray his own men?"

"He deserted. Once that was done, the burning sword was already above his neck. As to why he chose to desert to begin with..." Zuko shrugged. "Maybe he was a coward." And maybe I'm a Water tribesman.

"Zuko, you and I both rode out with that man. Before that we escorted him from the Burning Tower where he'd been held for questioning. I needn't tell you what methods of "questioning" were used on him during that period of time."

Zuko grimaced. Commander Jin was said to be rather taken by flaying, though Yen's body hadn't been harmed in such a manner.

Iroh continued. "He never once protested, nor denied, nor pleaded. He requested only that word of his passing be sent to his wife and child and that no service be held for his body. Then when you faced him, did he ever once look away?"

"No." Nor did I.

"And when he knelt before the horizon, before the sun, did his gaze falter?"

"No."

"Are those the acts of a coward, or of a man who planned and who knew the price of his actions if he were discovered?"

Zuko remained silent, and his uncle relented. He heard Li say that his father had sent a rider to meet the. He didn't look up. I didn't look away. No. Agni saw. Agni knew.