10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] carry our bodies safe to shore (ATLA)

Summary:

KuZu Week 2021: Day 5 - Pirates

Work Text:

Here, something in the air seems to say. Look over here. And Kuei is but a man—a starving man most of these days—and he is not infallible. Sometimes he bends to the whispers on the wind, throws his hands out to catch the flutter of fate's wings. Sometimes he turns, and he holds his hand above his eyes as he squints into the wind. Sometimes he stops on his path, turns away from the road he'd been walking, and changes directions.

Sometimes, Kuei breaks from his self-imposed promise to stay away from the big Earth Kingdom cities, the ones where someone high enough up the ladder might be able to recognize him.

Nobody has so far.

It's a slightly smaller city this time, but still big. It's surrounded by high walls, as most Earth cities are. Kuei has to stand in line for nearly half an hour to get in, showing his pass to the guard at the gate. After the wait, and the hours he's spent on his feet to get here, he heads right for the closest inn when he's inside. He hands the small bits of money he still has to the innkeeper and throws his meager possessions on the bed. Sighing, he heads to the bathroom to wash his face.

He doesn't know what he's doing here. There is nothing for him here; nothing but a golden cage should he be recognized. Long Feng is smart—he would never make the same mistake twice. And it still took years for Kuei to figure out a way to escape, years for his plan to come to fruition. If he's caught... he doesn't think he'll be able to get out again.

But the Avatar has returned to the world and Kuei dare not ignore whispers on the wind. And so he rents a room for a full week. And so he unpacks his things and stays.

A day later, a ship sails into port. There is nothing remarkable about it, except for how utterly _un_remarkable it is. There is a worn-down flag flying high on the mast, a crew of average-looking but strong men anchoring the ship in the harbor. Nobody reacts to the ship; nobody swerves around it, tries to avoid or ignore it. Some people greet the shipmates and some others arrange accommodations for the crew. It's all perfectly normal stuff, if one ignores the fact that the Dragon of the West just stepped ashore.

Kuei has only seen drawings of him, but it's unmistakably the same man. This is Iroh, the older brother of the Fire Lord. This is Iroh, the man who nearly succeeded in conquering Kuei's home. This is Iroh, the man who smiles and laughs and throws his arm around a beautiful young man's shoulders. 

This is Iroh, an omen of disaster.

Kuei swallows his tea and slouches a little further in his chair. He's lucky that the teashop's owner doesn't mind him sitting here for hours, taking advantage of the plentiful light to read scrolls he's picked up here and there. The inn doesn't have light like this and he lost his glasses a while back—they made him too recognizable. But it means he's left squinting down at the pages, his head only a few centimeters from it as he tries to decipher the words. 

He's so busy squinting, in fact, that he misses the new people entering. Instead, Kuei thanks the old man for refilling his tea and shoves his nose closer to the page. The smell of dried ink and old paper meets him. It is not until his chair is knocked into and a sword hits his table that he jerks back and—is face-to-face with a young man.

A very pretty young man. 

And—Kuei is weak. He was weak as a king and he is weak as a wandering scholar. (There is something flawed within him, something that bends instead of straightens.)

The man's long, shining black hair is swept up into a high tail, his left eye covered by a black eyepatch, the skin around it badly burnt. Gold earrings dangle from both ears, matching the gold of his uncovered eye. He's glaring, his eye looking past Kuei's shoulder at a simpering old woman. 

Kuei gulps. He raises his hands and scoots his chair until it bangs against the wall. The pretty man clicks his tongue and moves past him.

"Do you think," pretty man hisses, his voice low and dark, dripping promises of wicked things. Kuei gulps again, his fingers clenching on the scroll. The pretty man continues, "that we'll let you walk all over us?"

The woman's eyes narrow and she squares her shoulders. "I'm your client," she says and Kuei's gaze shoots back to the man with the sword. 

The sword is raised, pointing straight at the woman. He sneers, "Our clients pay us."

She stares. The sword doesn't waver. Her eyes glance at Kuei. Pretty man doesn't so much as twitch. Finally, she gathers herself up and glares at the man. "Fine," she bites out. Huffing, she leaves the teashop with heavy steps. 

Kuei waits a minute, his eyes stuck on that sword, but finally, the man moves again. 

"Sorry, uncle," pretty man says to someone behind Kuei and Kuei turns his head. Glances back over his shoulder. And sees Iroh—the Dragon of the West—smile cheerfully. 

Kuei freezes.

"Not to worry, nephew," Iroh says kindly, eyes twinkling like he isn't a murderer. 

The nephew, the pretty man, prince Zuko, puts away his sword and walks around Kuei's table to flop down on a chair next to Iroh. He spots Kuei; his eye narrows and he spits out, "What?"

Kuei startles. "I—" he looks around, trying to think of something inoffensive and innocuous to say. His mind draws a blank. "You're very pretty," is what comes out. Kuei should just throw himself into the ocean. 

Zuko's mouth snaps shut. Iroh's eyes twinkle; the deadly old man laughing and patting his nephew's shoulder. Kuei's shoulders draw up and he slides deeper into the chair, his scroll making a loud crinkling role from his abuse of it. Zuko's staring right at him, his eye wide, and he's—so pretty. Kuei is weak, and stupid and this is why he's not a good king. This is why he can't protect his country. Because when met with a pretty face and a pretty body and pretty eyes and even pretty hair (how can hair be pretty???) he's lost. There is no battle to be won when one side never reaches the battlefield.

"I'm gonna go get our luggage settled," Iroh says to his nephew, his voice full of mirth. "Why don't you get to know this scholarly gentleman in the meanwhile?"

Zuko eyes his uncle distrustfully, but says, "Don't take too long," thus giving indirect confirmation. 

Kuei gulps. 

Iroh leaves with a jaunty wave and a cheerful tune, and Kuei watches as Zuko turns to him and frowns. Licking his lips, Kuei attempts to smile. Zuko's earrings move again, his gold eye staring at him with suspicion, and the hair slides over another shoulder and—Kuei is so, so lost.

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#Fandom: ATLA #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: AU #Tag: Age Difference #WC: 1000-5000