This is the second part of my ATLA fanfic entitled The Spirit Within. If you have not read part one, The Spirit Within: Part One: The Water Tribe Child, you may want to do that before reading this. It will make things a whole lot easier to understand.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NICKELODEON'S AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER OR ITS CHARACTERS. I just post about as well as Korra drives...

Prologue

"Well, what have you done this time?"

Lan Chi looked up from the documents she was transcribing. "What do you mean?"

Ming Yi tossed a parchment onto the desk. Lan could see the broken royal seal on the edge of the paper.

"The Fire Lord has invited you to the palace." The older woman's eyes narrowed.

Lan Chi put down her brush and looked at the invitation idly. "Must I go?" She pushed it back to her aunt with the tip of one ink-stained finger.

"Oh, yes. You most definitely must go."

Chapter 1

Two Years Earlier

Zuko watched impassively as the girl he loved threw herself fruitlessly against the fence that barred her from reaching him. She was crying; he could see that from this distance – tears streaming down her beautiful face, her face contorted in grief and anger.

He gripped the railing of the ship until his knuckles were white, and, when she called his name, when she pleaded with him to take her with them, he drew a deep breath, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the bowels of the ship.

"They're gone." A man stood between Lan Chi and the sun, and she squinted up at him through her tears. It was a man who, earlier, had refused to open a gate that would have allowed her to reach Zuko's boat. He stood next to the gate, now open, and she had a sudden urge to call up a curtain of sea water to encase him in a block of ice and float him away on the current.

His face was grim. "Go home now."

She looked out over the ocean. "I don't have a home anymore."

He sighed, looked away, and then turned back to her "Well, you can't stay here. There is another ship that must be loaded." He waved a hand dismissively. "Go cry somewhere else."

She got up slowly. What did it matter where she went? She walked back through the port to the ostrich horse she had abandoned, and found it, surprisingly, still tied where she had left it. Some kind person had given the animal water, and she petted the bird's head absently. "Come on, boy." She untied it, and pulled it gently towards the exit.

Once outside the port's gates, she wandered aimlessly through the streets. She did not want to go back to the palace, and she did not want to return to Ember Island, where all her plans and all her hopes lay in tatters. She did not know where to go. She had money in her pocket, a strong ostrich horse, her bow and arrows, most of her knives, and some clothing. She could leave. She could walk right out of the city gates, get on the horse, and be gone into the Fire Nation in minutes. Or she could disappear into the city. It was a vast city. She could lose herself here, with no one the wiser. No one would look for her. Who would look for her, after all? No one cared. The only people who cared were on a ship sailing farther away from her every minute. And did they really care? Uncle Iroh had stood on the deck watching her, not helping her – just giving her a silent wave. And Zuko – she had not even seen him.

Tears came to her eyes again. She had not seen him. He was gone from her life, and she had not even gotten a chance to see him. She had not even gotten a chance to say goodbye.

The tears came in earnest now, blurring her vision. She stumbled into someone, but did not even murmur an apology as she lurched away. She hit her knee on a stone bench, and, swearing indiscriminate words, she collapsed on it and put her head in her hands. She sat there weeping for perhaps ten minutes, heedless of the stares from passersby, indifferent to their looks of pity or distaste.

Finally, the crying trailed off like the end of a summer storm, slow and unsure. She wiped her wet face and streaming nose on her sleeve and looked around her. She was not far from the palace. She could turn for it, or turn away, and try to find a new life. A new life in which no one knew her, and in which she knew no one.

She stood, and pulled the horse after her.

Zuko stomped up the stairs, heading for his chamber. Although the most well-appointed stateroom on the ship, having been the captain's, it was small and sparse, and dark. There was only one window, and it was long and narrow, set high up in a wall, with red glass in it. Red glass! Who put red glass in a window?

There was little furniture in the room. An altar, a small wall table, a bureau, a low table for eating or planning, and a futon, on the floor, on which to sleep. He looked at the mattress with distaste. He had to sleep on the floor. He didn't even get a real bed.

Trunks containing all of his possessions sat in the middle of the room. His entire life, crammed into four wooden boxes. He sighed, walked over to them, and threw one open. Inside, on top, lay the portrait of his mother. He touched it reverently, and brought it out. It belonged on the altar. He placed it there, turned it slightly, and sighed.

"Oh, Mom. I really messed things up."

Her portrait was silent, looking back at him with kind, loving eyes. He tried not to cry, but failed, and wiped the tears away with his sleeve impatiently.

He went back to the trunk, pulled out some books and tossed them on his bed. Beneath was a familiar red cloth. He reached in with shaking hands and touched it. It was his agni kai drape. Someone had packed it.

His face twisted in pain. The only thing that Lan had ever given him. He began to remove it, but realized that it was wound around something. His dao swords. He carried the bundle over to the bureau and unwrapped the swords. He laid them aside and picked up the agni kai cloth. He folded it into a small bundle, opened the lowest drawer in the bureau, and slid it within.

He did not want to get rid of it, but he did not – could not – look at it daily.

Lan approached the palace on leaden feet. It looked the same as it always did - majestic and proud, its main tower thrusting up into the sky. She had always loved it – even after Ozai had usurped the throne, she still thought of it as her home, as the place where her family lived. It was not that now, however. Now it was just an empty shell. A place where no love lived for her.

She stopped and looked at it for a long time. Was it safe to return there? Obviously, Uncle had not thought it safe for her to live there. She took a deep breath and walked to her family entrance. There were a few guards milling about, but no one noticed her or cared. She tied the horse to the hitching post there. It was only a rented horse, after all. It should be returned. She stroked its head absently, and left it there, turning away from her home without a backwards look. She walked along the wall that separated the palace from the city proper, dragging her hand along the rough wall. She stopped as the main gate rolled open, and she noticed that a curious crowd was beginning to gather. She stepped back as the crowd grew.

A contingent of guards came through the gate. Royal Guards! That could only mean one thing – either Azula or Ozai was about to emerge. She darted around the edge of the crowd as the guards fanned out.

"Make way for the Fire Lord!" One of the guards shouted, and held his hands out to urge the people away. They stepped back obediently, and Lan was forced farther back in the crowd. The group of citizens began to grow even larger; after all, the Fire Lord did not emerge from his palace frequently. Lan Chi wondered why he had decided to appear today. Was it to show his nation that, even after the banishment of his son, he remained strong – unaffected? Or was this how he celebrated victory over Iroh? For, surely, he had beaten Iroh – the marriage that Iroh had wanted and that Ozai had despised was not to be, and Iroh was gone, no longer a thorn in Ozai's side.

A large palanquin was carried through the gate, and a roar of approval went up from those gathered there. Lan felt sick to her stomach. How could these people cheer for him – a man who had burned and banished his only son? Didn't they know? Didn't they know what a monster he was? Didn't they care?

The palanquin's drapes were pulled back, and, by jumping, she could see Ozai sitting there, acknowledging the shouts of adoration, a small smile on his face. She grabbed the shoulders of two men in front of her, ignoring their looks of indignation, and used them to propel herself higher. She could see that the Fire Lord's palanquin was turning, as if to go into the city.

Without thinking, she moved along the back of the throng, trying to position herself in front of Ozai's litter. The palanquin was moving slowly, majestically, and she had little trouble getting around before it. There was a tree near what she supposed was his intended route, and she ran to it and hoisted herself into its branches. She climbed until she was far enough up that someone would have to purposely look up to find her.

Almost without conscious thought, she removed the bow from her back, and fit an arrow into it. She found a clear spot amongst the leaves, and she drew the bowstring back, waiting for her prey. An arrow just above the collar, just above the armor. Right into the neck. It would kill him instantly. There would be no pain. And then Zuko would be Fire Lord. Zuko would be Fire Lord, and he would come back, and they would be married. And Ozai would get what he deserved. A just payment for his transgressions. For his cruelty.

It would be so easy.

So easy.

So easy.

Ozai came bumping around the corner on his palanquin, right into her sight. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel her fingers release the nock, could feel the wood of the arrow shiver as it left the bow, could feel the rustle of the leaves as the arrow shot away from her through the tree, and towards Ozai.

She drew a deep breath – a cleansing breath, a breath of power. She had such power. Power to change her life. Power to change Zuko's life. Power to change the world.

She opened her eyes. Ozai was there, below her, a perfect target.

You are not an assassin. Not a murderer. She heard a voice that sounded like Iroh's, or perhaps Jiao Ao's.

It is justice, not murder.

This is not the answer. The voice responded.

It is myanswer.

You would kill another human?

It's a war. She told herself. People die all the time.

Not at your hands.

He would kill me, if he could.

If he wanted you dead, you would be dead.

She closed her eyes for a long moment.

Would Zuko thank you for killing his father? The voice was insistent.

The answer was clear to her. He would hate me. I would hate myself.

She lowered the bow with a shuddering breath. Spirits help her, she could not do it. She was not a murderer; she was not an assassin. She could not kill Zuko's father.

She was weak.

She sat in the tree for a long while – long after he had passed and the crowd had dissipated. She wanted to cry again – for everything that she had lost, for everything that Ozai had cost her. But the tears would not come, and she wondered if she had any left. She sighed heavily. Another thing that she had lost. Luckily, though, she had not lost her judgment completely – she had not gone through with what her mind had been screaming at her to do.

She finally slid down the tree and, once on the ground, she looked around. Time to make a decision – to stay or to go. If she stayed, she would go to her unknown aunt's home. If she left, she would be entirely on her own, and despite her bravado, she knew that she was mostly vulnerable - vulnerable to the elements, vulnerable to men who wished to prey upon her. She had some money, but not a lot. And she was only thirteen – too young to survive on her own.

So, she would journey to her aunt's home and live there, if her aunt would take her; she, a twice orphaned nobody with cursed red hair and cursed luck. She would make a life there. A life without Zuko and Iroh, but a life nonetheless. She would never marry, of course – her heart was, and always would be Zuko's, and, if she could not have him, she would have no other.

The walk back to the palace was quick, and, at her family entrance, she saw that the ostrich horse was still there. She resolved to tell Hua, Iroh's housekeeper and the only mother she had known for years, about it. Spirits only knew how much the poor woman had paid when Lan had made off with the animal.

She walked slowly through the palatial halls back to her home – a home that was a home no more. The courtyard of Iroh's quarters looked shabby somehow, and the blossoms that hung on the cherry tree looked disconsolate and droopy.

She had just put her hand on the knob when it was yanked from her grasp, and the door pulled open. Hua stood there, her face was a mask of shock. "My - my lady!"

Lan Chi, confronted with a familiar, sympathetic face, dropped her bag and her bow, and threw herself into the housekeeper's arms.

"Oh, my lady! Why are you here? Why are you not on Prince Iroh's ship?"

"They left me, Hua. Uncle saw me, but he left me behind." From the depths of Hua's robe, Lan's voice was strangled. "They left me. As if I was nothing. As if I wasn't even worthy of a good-bye."

Hua put Lan away from her. "That is not true, my lady! You know that it is not!"

"I don't know that! They could have stopped! They could have let me see them – one last time, and they did not!" She turned and ran up the stairs to her room.

She stopped when she reached the open door of her chamber. Her room was empty – empty of all her possessions. Only the furniture remained: the bed, stripped to its mattress, her vanity, cleared of all ribbons and accessories, and the bookshelf, bare.

She closed the door behind her, and walked across to the bed, her heels echoing loudly in the emptiness. She sank down on it and looked around. Her life was gone – packed up in a box somewhere. She gave a deep sigh, propped her elbows on her knees, and held her head in her hands. Could this day get any worse? Could her life get any worse?

Careful, Lan. You know it could.

She looked up at a soft knock on the door.

"Go away!" She called, and threw herself on the bed, face to the wall.

She heard the door open, and she tucked herself into a ball.

"My lady?" It was Hua.

"Go away, Hua. I don't want to see anyone right now."

"I know, my lady, but we dare not dally. Prince Iroh felt it imperative that you leave for your aunt Ming's immediately."

She lifted her head. "I know. I know. I'm not safe here. Ozai might do something to me."

"Hush, my lady! You must not say those things so loud."

She sat up and turned to the housekeeper. "Or what? What can he do that is worse that what he has done?"

Hua's face darkened. "Throw you in prison for sedition. Have you executed. Are those worse?"

Lan sighed. "Yes. They're worse." She stood and walked to her vanity, looking at her sad reflection in the mirror there. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes red, her hair a tangled mess. "What a mess I am." She sat on the vanity bench. "Everything's a mess. Everything."

"I know you think that way now, my lady, but –"

Lan interrupted her. "But what? I'll be happy in time?"

"Yes. You will."

"You don't know that."

"I know you. And I know you make your own happiness. And I know that you wouldn't let other people win and destroy that."

She shrugged. "I don't know, Hua. I really don't."

Hua shrugged, as well. "If you want to let him get the best of you..."

Lan looked at Hua shrewdly. "It won't work."

"What?"

"I don't want revenge. I thought that – I did. I almost did something – foolish, Hua. I almost lost control. I can't think of revenge. I might do something that I would – regret."

She looked surprised. "I didn't tell you to get revenge, my lady. Just be happy enough to infuriate him. It would,

wouldn't it?"

She shook her head. "It might. It might not."

"It would. You know that it would."

"Maybe. But I am a long way from happy. I don't even want to be happy right now. I just want to be miserable and feel sorry for myself and – and miss them. And I do. I miss them so much – already." She scuffed at the floor with the toe of her boot.

"I know."

"And I am mad. I'm livid. With Ozai, for being such a – a jerk, and with Uncle, for leaving me behind, and with Zuko, for being stupid enough to get himself involved in this mess in the first place." She put her hands over her face. "And with me, for letting myself get stuck here again."

"You aren't stuck here."

She dropped her hands. "Oh, yes. I'm to go to my Aunt Ming Yi's. Lucky woman, to get saddled with someone no one else wants." She looked straight ahead, willing herself to not cry. "No one else wants me. No one." Hua was quiet, and Lan looked at her. "You know it's true."

"I know no such thing."

She shook her head ruefully. "If Uncle had wanted me, he would have taken me, whatever Ozai said." She shrugged. "He didn't. And if Zuko –" she stopped, trying to gather herself, "If Zuko wanted me, he would have found a way. I know him. When he wants something, he doesn't give up. But he gave up." She expelled a long breath. "He gave me up."

Something in the trash can next to the vanity caught her eye, and she bent to retrieve it. It was the rose that Zuko had given her the night of the genbuku – the Princess Ursa rose that he had tucked into her hair. It seemed so long ago – that night. It seemed like a dream. Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe everything that had happened had been a dream. Maybe Zuko had never been real at all. It certainly felt that way now. As if he had existed only in her mind. But she had the rose. That proved it.

That he was real.

That he had loved her.

And this was all the proof that she needed. And all that she was ever likely to have.

Zuko was sick. He was very, very sick. He had been throwing up almost since they had left the bay – he had thrown up so much that all that he lad left to throw up was his own stomach acid. The vomiting had caused great pain to his eye – for every heave of his stomach, the damaged skin of his face seemed to alight with pain.

So he lay on his thin mattress on the floor of his new cabin, and, for not the first time in the past three days, wished that he were dead. All he felt was pain. His eye hurt. His throat hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Everything hurt.

His uncle sat beside him, holding a cool cloth to his nephew's forehead. He could almost not bear seeing the boy like this. He lay on the futon, one hand flung out, pale and motionless. His one visible eye was closed, and there were dark circles beneath it. The skin on his face was marked with tiny red blotches – blood vessels broken from the force of his vomiting – and he was breathing heavily, as if he had run a long way.

The doctor beside Iroh looked at the young prince.

"I have the draught ready. It will put him to sleep, if he can keep it down."

Iroh gave a weary shrug. "I do not know if he can. But we have little choice. He either remains awake and continues being sick, or he falls asleep, and can at least sleep through the worst of the nausea."

The doctor nodded grimly. "Could you lift him up, please, General?"

Iroh nodded, and gently shook Zuko's shoulder. "Prince Zuko, the doctor has some medicine that may help you. You must try to keep it down."

The young man groaned. His eye flickered open, full of pain, and he focused on his uncle, although it took him a long moment. He nodded and Iroh lifted the boy's torso off the mattress. Zuko opened his mouth obediently, and the doctor poured the liquid down his throat. He shivered as he swallowed it down.

He slid off Iroh's shoulder and back onto the floor, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him, trying consciously to keep the tonic down, but, after a few seconds, it came back up, and he threw up all over the floor in front of him.

Iroh groaned in sympathy, and patted his nephew's shoulder. "It will be all right, Prince Zuko. It will pass soon enough."

The doctor jumped to clean the mess, and Iroh moved Zuko back onto his bed, drawing the sheet over him gently.

The doctor finished his task, and he beckoned Iroh over to him.

"He will not die from this, of course, but I am worried about what the constant vomiting is doing to his wound. It is possible that he is tearing the scab open and therefore disrupting the healing process."

"Is there anything else that can be done?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not really." He looked over at Zuko and sighed. "I have never seen such a severe case. It is very cruel of the spirits to add this to the prince's miseries."

Iroh's mouth compressed. "We cannot lay the blame for Prince Zuko's misfortunes on the spirits. There is only one person responsible for this, and he is back in the capital."

The doctor put a hand to his head. "I feel so useless. I do not even know if there is any worth to me being here."

Iroh shook his head and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Do not say that. I surely do not think it. I thank the spirits that you are here. I know that it is only temporary – that you will only be with us until Zuko's bandages are removed, but I am very grateful. Prince Zuko is very grateful. And you are very much needed."

The other man gave a somber smile. "Thank you, General." He looked at Zuko again. "Perhaps he kept enough down for there to be an effect. We can hope."

Iroh sighed. "Yes. There is always hope." He laid a heavy hand on the doctor's arm. "Perhaps tea will help him. I have some lovely mint tea that always soothes my stomach."

"Mint can settle nausea."

Iroh gave a firm nod, and opened the door – to find Lieutenant Jee standing there, fist raised as if to knock. Iroh, who had met Jee briefly earlier as they pulled out of port, was startled, and took a step back.

The man lowered his hand quickly, and gave a quick bow. "General Iroh, Sir. I am sorry if I surprised you."

"Not at all, Lieutenant. How may I help you?"

"We have been heading due north, as Prince Zuko ordered, but, if we continue on this heading, we will run into –" He paused.

"Into?"

"Land, Sir."

"Oh. Well, that is not good."

"No, Sir. Is – is Prince Zuko well?" He curiously peered over Iroh's shoulder into the room.

Iroh shook his head sadly. "I am afraid he is not in any shape to give orders."

"I see. Could you, perhaps..." he trailed off.

"Yes. Yes. Of course. Avoid the collision with the – land, but continue taking us north. We must leave Fire Nation waters as soon as we can."

Iroh was having trouble sleeping. He should not have been – spirits knew that he was tired enough. He had not slept at all the night before, trying to tie up all his affairs, and, to be frank, his sleep since the disastrous war meeting had been unsettled, to say the least.

He knew why he could not sleep, of course. Besides his worry over Zuko's health, and Zuko's well-being, and Zuko's impossible task, and Zuko's mental state, he was worried almost to distraction over Lan Chi. He had been aghast when he had seen her on the pier, and had wrestled with himself over whether to stop the ship and take her on, Ozai be damned, or whether to leave her. He chose the latter simply by doing nothing, and, since then, he had been very uneasy about her fate. He had not wanted her to return to the capital – he could not shake the feeling that there was danger there for her – and seeing her there had upset him greatly. However, there was nothing that he could do about it now – he had to trust in his employees to see to it that she was protected, and that her departure to her aunt's was safe, and quick.

That did not mean that his guilt had abated. He felt as if he had abandoned her a second time – something that he had never intended, or had ever wanted. Fate was being very unkind to her – and he felt that he was, as well.

And he could do nothing about it. It was out of his hands. He was powerless, and it was a feeling that he did not like. He did not like it at all.

The next morning, Iroh settled down at the low table in his chamber, and smiled at the man who had just sat down across from him.

Although Zuko seemed to be acclimating to the sea, the poor boy was still confined to his bed, so Iroh had volunteered to interview the new crew and report back to Zuko.

"Tea?" Iroh lifted the pot before him. "It is ginseng. My favorite."

Lieutenant Jee looked at him with suspicion, his expression forbidding. He had never been offered tea by a superior, and most certainly never by a prince of the realm. "No, Sir. Thank you – Sir."

Iroh looked disappointed. "Oh. Well, then, do you mind?" He indicated his own empty cup, and Jee shook his head quickly. Iroh smiled again, and poured himself a cup. He set the pot down, took a long sip from his cup, and made a sound of satisfaction. "Delicious." He seemed lost in the taste for a long moment, then shook his head and looked at Jee.

"So, Lieutenant Jee," Iroh pulled the man's order papers off a stack in front of him. "Where were you assigned before this?"

Jee's face became a mask that was, if possible, even more remote and formidable than it had been before. "Prison – Sir."

Iroh's brows shot up, and he looked closely at the top paper of the stack. Not finding the information he sought, he shuffled to the next page. "Oh, er. Yes. I see. Prison. Well." He put the pages down and folded his hands across his belly, his eyes fixed on Jee warily. "How interesting." He nodded. "Yes. Interesting. What – um – why exactly were you in prison?"

Jee had expected this question – and the dismissal that would follow his answer. In fact, he expected to be put off the ship at the next port. He also expected what would follow that – disgrace and poverty. "Fighting, Sir."

"Fighting?" Iroh was surprised. "Fighting is not an imprison-able offense, is it, Lieutenant?"

"The fight was with my commanding officer." Jee's words were clipped.

"Oh. I see. Well. Heh."

Jee decided to admit all. "Over his wife."

Iroh's brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "My." He shuffled the papers in front of him. "Over his – well." He smiled nervously. "Who won?"

"I did – Sir."

Iroh nodded vigorously. "Good. Good. Good man in a fight, then? Excellent!" He straightened the papers with a snap on the surface of the table. "I do not care about your past, Lieutenant. My concern is your conduct going forward – and your fidelity. My nephew needs loyal men – men whom he can trust. Can you be one of those men, Lieutenant?"

Jee was astounded. He was not going to be removed from his post? He was not going to be put off the ship? This general – this prince wanted him, despite his record?

Jee puffed up his chest. "Yes, Sir. I certainly can be."

Iroh gave a long, aggrieved sigh as the last crew member to be interviewed left the room. He spread the men's order papers across the surface of the table, and reviewed the results. The helmsman had been in prison because of insubordination. The engineer for thievery. The cook for public drunkenness. All of the firebenders had been accused of either laziness or drunkenness or both. The entire crew, in fact, had been in prison until two days before. Iroh shook his head. Ozai had populated his own son's entire ship with a mixture of criminals, drunks, idlers, and belligerents.

It would be an interesting journey, that was certain.

The door opened, and Zuko stepped into his uncle's room. He was paler than usual, and seemed shrunken in his armor and uniform, like a boy playing at dress-up. The bandage around his head looked garishly large and white, further heightening his fragile appearance. He put an unsteady hand on the door jamb.

"Zuko!" Iroh rose and rushed over to him. "You should be in bed! You are not well yet."

The young man shrugged off his uncle's hands. "I'm fine! I'm fine! I can't lay in that bed and vomit for the rest of my life. I have to get up. I have to start searching for the avatar!"

Iroh gave a silent sigh. "We've only been at sea for one day, Zuko. You must take time to get recover before we go searching for the avatar."

Zuko drew his one brow down truculently. "We'll start now. Why wait? So I can be sure that I'm blind in one eye?"

"Zuko, the doctors said that there was a very good probability that your sight is unaffected."

"A good probability. Which means there is a possibility that I am blind in that eye. And with my – luck," he spat the word, "I'm probably blind. I'm not going to wait until the bandage comes off. There's no need. I want to start looking for the avatar immediately."

"Zuko..."

"I'm going to the bridge now and tell them to set a course for the Western Air Temple."

"I'll do that, Prince Zuko." Iroh desperately wanted Zuko to sit. He looked about ready to collapse.

"No. I'll go."

Iroh shook his head. "I wanted you to read these men's records anyway. You do that, and I'll go."

The look Zuko sent his uncle was a mixture of anger and relief. "All right. I'll look at them – if you think that I should."

Iroh smiled. "Yes. Sit. I'll be right back."

Zuko gave a brief nod, and sat at the spot his uncle had just vacated. Iroh placed the papers before him, and, with a soft pat on the boy's shoulder, left the room.

Zuko picked up the papers, but could not focus on them. He was so tired, so spent. It had taken all his energy to get dressed and don his armor. He had been able to keep down nothing but tea since leaving the capital city the day before. He felt weak; his eye throbbed, his head hurt, and his chest was killing him from the straining of the vomiting. He was a mess. He was a mess, and he missed his room and he missed his father, and he missed Lan so much that it was a physical pain. He missed touching her and laughing with her and kissing her, and he missed looking forward to seeing her. Every day that he was able to see her had been a little brighter – just knowing that he would spend some of it with her. And now, nothing. He had nothing to look forward to in the immediate future. Nothing but sailing around the world looking for some accursed old man who had been hiding for almost a hundred years. And how would he, Zuko, a thirteen year old with marginal firebending skills, hope to defeat and capture someone who had been bending four elements for nearly a century? Truly, his father might as well have told him to ride a dragon home – that task was surely not as difficult as the one he had been given.

He wanted to cry again, but he was sick of crying. He was turning into a watering pot, and tears wouldn't help him anyway. The only thing that would help him was finding the avatar and bringing him home to his father in chains. That would help him. That would give him back everything he had lost. His throne. His honor. And the only girl he would ever love.

Author's Note: Welcome back, dear readers! I hope that you have been enjoying your summer. Mine has been spent tied to a computer! ; )

This chapter was VERY hard for me to write. I was torn between starting right after Zuko's and Iroh's departure, and jumping ahead several months. Obviously, I chose the former. I also had to do some housekeeping in the story, and set some things up for later.

Now, I will apologize ONE last time for making everyone think that I was posting the first chapter yesterday. It was a mistake on my part for trying to upload the documents so that my betareaders could find them easily. So, please stop posting "I hate you!" reviews. Geez!

Oh, yeah. I have added to my betareader team. Sunflower13 has joined bowow0708, and my thanks go out to both of them.

Next chapter: Lan Chi sets off and Zuko visits an abandoned temple...