In the end, Kouji had chosen to remain in the palace rather than return to his home. It took him a little to recover from the wounded feelings, but his conversation with Iroh had gone a long way towards soothing that emotional wound. He had all but recovered from being caught up in the riot — now the only visible marking left on him was the cast on his right arm, which drove him mad with itching.

It was not, however, the itching that woke him that morning, but a deep, dull ache. Thus, on waking, he said some words he’d certainly not learned at home and completely missed the new addition to his room until he slammed his hip into a corner of it.

It was a desk — an old one, brought up from storage at some point while he was asleep.

He cursed at it, too, then took a closer look at it. There were already some papers on it.

Most of the papers were familiar to him — copies of the insane schedules Zuko’s aides had put together, ready for him to cut down. There was also a very official-looking packet, that he’d never seen before.

Curious, he opened it and looked inside.

Amidst the legal jargon and overly-formal language, the purpose of the papers was clear: patents of nobility. With his name on them.

Kouji’s jaw dropped open, and he sank heavily into the chair that had been provided. “No way…”

The papers were, in fact, real, given that they didn’t disappear when he blinked.

He stared at them for a long moment, then, without bothering to change out of his pyjamas or comb his hair, went off looking for Zuko. Unfortunately for Kouji and his curiosity, Zuko was in the middle of a meeting, that looked like it was going to last several more hours.

Sighing, the boy instead headed for the infirmary to get the arm checked out — the ache hadn’t subsided.

Chang told him that the arm would probably ache off and on for as long as it took to heal. Kouji asked with a sigh, “Is there anything that will dull the ache but keep my mind clear?”

“Nothing that would be very effective, unfortunately.”

The boy groaned.

“Sorry,” the doctor said.

“It’s all right. How is Shang?”

“Doing fairly well. He still doesn’t remember, but he might never. Other than that…”

Kouji nodded. “I remember someone telling me once that trauma like that can affect the memory.”

“Any great trauma can,” Chang agreed.

“Any idea when he’ll be back to full combat capacity?”

“That depends. If he continues behaving himself, in another week or so. If he decides to take a leaf out of His Lordship’s book…” The doctor shrugged.

Kouji winced. “I think by now the entire palace knows better than that.”

“Could someone explain it to him?”

“I’ve been trying,” Kouji said dryly, pushing his overlong bangs out of his eyes.

Chang sighed. “I know. …you should get your hair trimmed, it’s growing out unevenly.”

“…is it?” Kouji fingered some of it. “I’ll look into it.”

The doctor smiled slightly. “You do that.”

He bade Doctor Chang farewell and headed back to his room to start on the schedules. The question of sudden unexpected nobility had completely slipped his mind by that point. The papers, however, were still on his desk, a crisp and very official-looking reminder. Steadfastly he ignored them; Zuko wasn’t the only one who used his work to escape.

It was after sunset before Zuko’s meeting managed to come to a close.

By then, Kouji was outside the meeting room again, the revised schedule in his good hand. He’d also remembered to dress and comb his hair at some point during the day. “Evening,” the Firelord said, with a decent attempt at a smile. “How’s your day been?”

“Long,” Kouji replied. “Here, I have your new schedule.”

“Thanks,” he said, and skimmed it. As usual, it was less crowded than he felt it should be, which meant it was about the limit of what he could safely handle.

Kouji grinned at him. “It’s what I do.”

He folded the schedule and slid it into a pocket. “Did you get the desk? I can’t believe I didn’t think to give you one earlier, I’m sorry.”

“…yeah, I did.” Kouji winced and rubbed his hip. “I wasn’t expecting one there.”

“Oh, sorry… well, you can always move it if you don’t like where they left it?”

“It’s fine where it is. I just wasn’t awake enough to notice.”

Zuko nodded. “Right, then.”

Then Kouji finally remembered what had driven him to Zuko’s rooms that morning. He peeked up at the Firelord. “Nobility?”

“…well, yes,” Zuko said, blinking a little. “You’ve more than earned it. Besides, it’ll help you get them to take you seriously.” He gestured wearily at his aides.

“…oh,” the boy said, after a moment’s thought. “So it might counter that whole eleven years old thing?”

“It’ll help, at least.”

He nodded. “That’d be nice.”

“Yeah.”

“…I talked to Doctor Chang today.”

“Oh? What did he say?” Zuko asked, curious. “Any hint about when you’ll get your cast off?”

“No, I didn’t ask about that. But he did say that Shang should be back to full combat capacity in a week, and that other than memory loss, he’ll recover completely.”

“That’s good!” he said, relieved.

Kouji nodded. “He also said Shang may never remember what happened that evening, but that the memory loss is common for trauma like that.”

Zuko frowned. “…maybe it’s for the best,” he said, quietly, after a moment.

“Why?” Kouji asked.

“…Better not to remember something like that.”

Kouji remembered that night, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” Impulsively, he hugged Zuko.

Startled, he didn’t respond. After a very awkward few seconds, he hastily tried to cover himself with, “Have you gotten taller?”

“…I have?” Kouji pulled back and examined his arms; his wrists were peeking out from his shirtsleeves. “…I thought my shirt shrank,” he admitted.

Zuko shook his head, almost smiling. “No, you’re a few inches taller, too.”

“…when did that happen?”

“Over the last few months, I suppose. Sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“I didn’t notice either,” Kouji pointed out.

“I suppose not. Still.”

Sighing, Kouji tugged at his sleeves. “I’m gonna need some new clothes.”

“Yes, you are,” the young monarch said, quietly. “I’ll see to it, don’t worry.” Something else to use as an excuse to put that off.

“Could you get ‘em big, then? I’ve never grown this fast before.”

Zuko nodded. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” The boy grinned at him.

“No problem,” he replied, smiling faintly in return.

“So, now what?”

“Ummm…” Zuko pulled the schedule out again to check.

Kouji peeped over his shoulder, brushing his bangs from his face again. Damn it, Doctor Chang was right.

There wasn’t anything officially scheduled for the night. “…I’m going to go blow up statues for a couple hours, then catch up on paperwork, I think.”

“…blow up statues?”

“Well, set them on fire and see if they explode. It’s been a while since I got any practice in.”

“Oh. Can I watch?”

“…if you want.”

Kouji lit up and followed him.

As the session produced, Zuko seemed to get more and more aggravated, rather than pounding it out, as might be expected. Four hours went by, and he hadn’t stopped, hadn’t toned down.

Kouji started to get worried. “Zuko?”

“What?” the older boy snapped.

“…are you okay?” Kouji asked hesitantly. He hadn’t been expecting to be barked at.

“I’m sloppy is what I am. Slow, sloppy, making stupid mistakes I haven’t made in years.”

“…oh.”

Zuko slammed his fist into one of the unburnt statues and glared at it. “I’ll just have to make time to practice,” he muttered to himself, hoping Kouji didn’t hear — his plan was to practice at night, when no one could see his stupid mistakes. Firelords didn’t make stupid mistakes. War heroes didn’t make stupid mistakes.

Kouji had been training with Toph. “When?”

“…I’ll find the time. Don’t change the schedule. I’ll work it in on my own.”

“Zuko…”

“What?”

Kouji hesitated, then said, “Never mind.”

“…I should go catch up on paperwork. You should probably head for bed, it’s late.”

“…all right.” Kouji got to his feet — from the looks of things, Zuko hadn’t been the only one practising — and headed off.

Zuko went back to his room to work, staring at the execution warrant he’d written up and couldn’t bring himself to sign.

Finally, just before dawn, Zuko gave into the inevitable and signed.

A few hours later, Kouji was by with another schedule.

Zuko took it, skimmed it, then nodded. “This will do. Here, I need you to take this down to the prison for me,” he said, handing the boy the warrant.

“Sure,” he said. He looked at Zuko, opened his mouth, closed it, and went off.

Zuko put his head in his hands and rubbed at his temples willing the dull headache to go away. When it refused to listen, he got up and got ready for his day regardless.

Kouji didn’t much go down to the prisons, which totally had nothing to do with his fear of Azula. However, they were easy enough to locate.

The warden was sitting, feet propped on his desk, watching Azula — currently his sole charge — through the window.

She was busy. Very busy. Minami was with her, and there was nothing — literally nothing — but bars between them. Azula had almost gently wrapped her belt around the older woman’s neck, and was murmuring something to her. Minami was crying.

Kouji’s jaw dropped open as he took in the scene, his mind crashing to a halt as he stared. The warrant fell from his hand unnoticed.

The warden looked up. “Lord Kouji!” he said, surprised, and hastily closed the blinds on the window. “What can I do for you?”

The boy didn’t respond, his grey eyes still wide.

“…here, sit down,” the warden said, pushing him into the chair. He opened a locked drawer on his desk and pressed a cup into the boy’s hand. “Here, drink this.”

Kouji obediently took a swig, and started coughing as the liquid burned its way down his throat.

“Are you all right?”

“What— what is that?” he asked, voice higher than normal.

“Very cheap, very strong liquor.”

He coughed some more, positive that his throat was on fire.

“…you’ve never had a drink before, have you,” the warden said.

Kouji shook his head. “I’m eleven.”

“Oh, hell…”

Trying to take his mind off what he’d seen — his face was turning bright red regardless — Kouji quickly grabbed the warrant off the floor and handed it to the warden.

“…So he finally signed it,” the man sighed, after skimming it.

“What is it?”

“Execution warrant.”

“…oh.”

“Was there anything else you wanted, sir?”

Kouji shook his head. “No. No, that’s all.”

“All right.” The warden saluted him, then sat back at his desk, choosing not to open the blinds again until the boy was gone.

Kouji fled the room, still bright red.

It was an unusually cold morning for that part of the world, with a thin, persistent rain. Minami, haven’t spent Azula’s last night with her, stumbled back to her room, torn — Azula had been permitted some of her toys for this, her final liason.

Against all advice, Firelord Zuko had declared his intention to perform the execution himself. He didn’t answer when people asked him why — though, of course he had a reason. He had several. He wouldn’t believe it, otherwise. To order another felt cowardly. Killing her in cold blood was bad enough — forcing someone else to do it was something he would not do.

She was brought out, bound, shackled, with everything they could think of to keep her from lashing out.

She didn’t.

“Can you really do it, brother?” she murmured, almost laughing. “Can you look me in the eye and cut me down?”

He didn’t answer. He just did it.

When the deed was done, he left the room, and promptly lost the entire contents of his stomach.

Kouji had not been in the room as witness, but he had been outside the door. Silently, he knelt beside Zuko and gently rubbed the Firelord’s back.

Zuko said nothing, just knelt there for a few minutes, shaking. Then he threw up again.

The boy stayed with him, doing what he could.

After another ten minutes, when he was reasonably sure there wouldn’t be another repeat performance, the Firelord pushed himself to his feet. “I should get to work, then.”

“…maybe you should take the day off?” asked the worried Kouji.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to develop bad habits.”

“…okay.”

“…I forgot my schedule… what am I doing today?”

Quietly, Kouji handed Zuko his copy of the schedule, clearly intending to stick by Zuko’s side as much as he could that day. He glanced over it, nodded, then headed off for his first meeting.

The day passed, and somehow he survived it, though he threw up a few more times.

Every time he came out of a meeting, Kouji was there waiting, either with bland food, water, and once just a quick hug before directing Zuko to the next meeting.

Minami wasn’t faring much better — she spent most of the day in tears. Whatever she felt for Azula, and however much she hated the games they’d played, she maintained that the princess had loved her, in her own twisted, violent way.

Silently, Leilani stuck by the albino girl through the day as well, healing her wounds and holding her when she cried.

After that first day, things regained relative normality — Zuko didn’t throw up the next day, and Minami returned to her work in the academy. All was well, for nearly a month.

And then the storm hit.