Operation Avatar

“So… Being a prince must be pretty cool.”

They were sitting at a noodle stand, waiting for their meals. It had been a half an hour since Azora confronted the prince and she had been unable to coax more than a few words out of him.

“I guess.”

Azora rolled her eyes at his flippant response. I should have just left him on the ship.

“What’s it like living in a palace?” Azora asked.

A flash of anger passed through Zuko’s eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

This confused Azora, but she let the conversation drop. Thankfully their noodles were done. Azora anxiously rubbed her chopsticks together and eagerly dove into the bowl. The noodles were everything she wanted. Hot and comforting and just plain delicious.

Zuko, however, didn’t seem to approve. He pulled a small pouch from one of his pockets and dumped a small pile of red flakes into the bowl before mixing it into the soup with his chopsticks.

“What was that?” Azora asked.

For the first time, Zuko actually held up his end of the conversation. “Spices from the Fire Nation. Earth Kingdom food is too bland. No heat.”

Azora marveled at how the broth turned a vivid orange as the flakes dissolved. “Can I try some of it?”

Zuko looked at Azora as if she sprouted a third eye. “That’s not a good idea. It’s too strong for most not from the Fire Nation.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Without asking, Azora reached for the pouch and pulled out a pinch of flakes. She hastily stirred it into her noodles. The spicy aroma quickly filled her senses and made her nose itch and her eyes water.

Zuko watched with mild pleasure when Azora took a bite of her noodles. She coughed. The back of her throat burned and her she could feel her face was bright red. But, after she swallowed and took a drink of water, she felt oddly rejuvenated.

“That was good.”

Zuko just shook his head and ate in silence. Azora, too stubborn to admit her mouth felt like it was on fire, ate the rest of her noodles. By the time their meal was finished she polished off five glasses of water.

After they finished lunch they were back on the streets, this time wandering through the marketplace at a leisurely pace. Zuko, of course, was uninterested by the various stalls, and hung back in the street whenever Azora saw a hairpin or a necklace that caught her eye.

Eventually, Azora began to understood why Zuko disliked being out in public so much. He was obviously from the Fire Nation, so people looked at him in fear. People on the streets parted so they wouldn’t get in his way. The poor villagers were obviously afraid of Zuko.

Azora also noticed that whenever someone did have the nerve to look at the Fire Prince, their eyes always seemed to linger a little too long on the birthmark across his left eye. Judging from the way he periodically clenched his fists and cleared his throat, Zuko noticed the staring too.

“Do you mind if we stop in here?” Azora asked when they passed a tailor. She felt guilty about forcing Zuko out into public and thought it was best they hide away indoors for a while. She also figured she might as well purchase some new clothes while they were at it. Two birds with one stone.

Zuko said nothing, just gave a curt nod of his head, and they walked into the shop.

It was small and dimly lit, but there were bolts of fabrics of exotic colors hanging everywhere, and a couple of mannequins with half-finished outfits.

“Can I help you?” A tall, thin man walked to Azora. He eyed Zuko with interest, not because of the birthmark, but because he was from the Fire Nation, and to a merchant, the Fire Nation meant money.

“I would like to buy clothes,” Azora answered and the tailor quickly shifted his attention to her. She felt like he was judging her, looking at the baggy shirt and rolled-up pants and assuming she was a beggar of some sort. Azora crossed her arms. “I have money.”

“Well of course you do. Now tell me, what would you like me to make?”

Azora told him she wanted something practical. Pants, not a skirt. They had to be comfortable and durable. Azora looked at the bandages that covered her arms. The bandages wouldn’t stay on for much longer. One of these days they were coming off. She thought of the ugly burns that snaked around her arms, thought of how the people would stare if they saw the scars. “And long sleeves,” she added in a soft voice.

The tailor, however, didn’t seem to agree. “Now that doesn’t seem proper for a young woman like yourself. How about we make you a nice silk gown? We have beautiful fabrics imported from Ba Sing Se” The tailor gestured towards a large piece of green silk that hung from the ceiling. “We could start your dowry. How does that sound? A girl your age surely must be getting married soon.”

The tailor could not have said something worse if he tried. Instant anger and hurt flared their Azora’s veins. She was shaking in fury. “If I said I wanted a gown, I would have asked for a gown!” The floor – made of packed-dirt – quaked gentle for a moment as Azora yelled. Azora noticed Zuko tilted his head to the side, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“Of course. Whatever you say.” The tailor, obviously nervous, dabbed at his forehead with a cloth. He snapped and an assistant, a young girl about twelve years old, came rushing. “Leah, if you could please take our customer’s measurements so we can start sewing.”

The young girl nodded and led Azora to the back room. Azora stripped down to her underclothes and the young girl started to take measurements while talking a mile a minute.

“Who is that boy you were with? He’s really cute! Is he your boyfriend?”

“What? N-no!” Azora stuttered and her face flushed. “He’s a… A nephew of one of my friends.”

“Well, then why is he helping you buy clothes?”

Azora sighed. “It’s complicated.”

The young girl slowly nodded as she wrote down some numbers and put the measuring tape back against Azora’s body. “Matters of the heart usually are.”

How would she know? She’s twelve! “There is no matter of the—Hey! What are you doing?”

While Azora had been flustered, the young girl was tearing at the tops of the bandages of her arms. “I need to measure the width of your arms. Man, these sleeves are weird,” the girl said as she tore the bindings loose.

“No. They’re not sleeves, they’re—Stop!”

Everything went into slow motion. The bandages unraveled from each of her arms and slowly danced their way to the ground. Leah’s eyes stayed transfixed on Azora’s arms, her mouth set in a silent scream that wasn’t silent for much longer.

“Firebender! Papa! Firebender!”

Leah went running from the backroom and Azora was left frantically trying to cover up her arms. Her vision blurred as hot tears filled her eyes out of humiliation. Her scars had scared a young girl away.

Without warning the tailor burst into the room. He was wielding a pair of scissors, which he brandished against Azora like she was some sort of monster. “Get out, you demon! You will not set my home on fire!”

By this point Azora had managed to pull her pants and shirt on, but her arms were still exposed. The bandages lay in tatters on the ground. There was nothing to cover her arms with. Instead, she hugged her arms to her chest.

“I said get out!” the tailor shouted again. Helpless, Azora sunk to the ground, unable to say anything. She wanted to get away. She wanted to disappear.

“Enough.” A sudden blanket of warmth fell over her shoulders and Azora, after blinking away tears, looked up. Zuko was standing in front of her, acting as a barrier between her and the tailor. His arms were bare. He had thrown his jacket over her. Azora hugged the material over her body and slipped her arms in the sleeves. It smelt of ash and fresh cinnamon, an oddly soothing combination.

“What is this all about?” Zuko demanded. There was hot fury in his voice. Azora found herself looking at the ground.

“That Firebender,” the tailor said the word like it was a curse, “was getting ready to unleash her powers and burn down my shop! Well I won’t have it. There’s a reason I don’t cater to Firebenders. You and your friend are going to have to leave.”

Zuko said nothing for a moment, then let out a single harsh chuckle. “It is unfortunate that you say these things, because it just so happens I too am a Firebender. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am Prince Zuko, son of the Firelord.”

“F-f-firelord? P-prince?” the tailor stuttered. Azora could only imagine the old man’s face pale and his lips tremble in fear.

A hand grabbed the back of jacket and Azora was pulled to her feet. Zuko kept a hold of the jacket as he, rather forcefully, pushed Azora past the tailor and out of the fitting room. They had just reached the door when Zuko paused and, with a flourish of his hand, ignited the same green silk the tailor had offered earlier. The fabric caught flame and, in an instant, the fire was reaching to the ceiling.

“My clothes! No! Leah, fetch the bucket of water!” The tailor’s cries faded as Zuko led Azora out of the shop and in the busy market once again. They didn’t say anything for a long while. It wasn’t until they were back at the ship when Zuko let go of the jacket and Azora was able to walk at her own pace.

Zuko was already walking up the gangplank to the ship. Azora kept her feet planted and she watched his retreating back. She bit on her lip, wanting to say something but not exactly sure what. “Zuko…”

Much to her surprise, Zuko turned around and looked at her with a blank face.

“Uh… Thanks.”

Zuko said nothing and turned around. Azora felt her heart sink and her cheeks burn in embarrassment. But then, Zuko spoke.

“Don’t worry about the fabrics. They were imitation silk. Completely worthless.” And with that Zuko boarded the ship.