Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ Tempestuous ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: I do not own any of “Avatar: The Last Air Bender's” characters, etc. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

TEMPESTUOUS

Summary: Ten years have passed since Sozin’s war ended. Alliances must be forged between embittered nations, and Katara must marry to keep stable the peace. But can she ever find love in the arms of an old enemy? (Zutara)

A/N: Okay, so that last cliffy was a dirty trick and a rather typical ploy. But it came to me suddenly, that chapter was supposed to be something completely different, but isn’t it typical of characters to run with a story and leave the poor author staring at the screen in bewilderment? Damn characters. 8P I also apologize for the long wait, my muse went on vacation, but I have captured her again and finally tapped this chapter out. (Fate)

Chapter Eight

I ignored the guards who stood just outside the opened door, darting past them just in time to see Zuko disappear around the corner. They followed me, as was their duty, though I paid them scant attention, only aware of the burning need to confront my lord and explain what had just occurred. He led me a merry chase, his long stride making me run to keep him barely in sight. The ship was not so big that I was lost within it, but my mind was so troubled that I could not spare any thought but in catching up with him.

There was a crowd, always a crowd, especially on the open deck, which is where he went. He knew I followed; he was not so ignorant of me not to expect that. He stalked to the back of the ship, his sharp wave dismissing the various soldiers who lingered there. They went quickly, his chilling expression driving their haste. He stopped at the rail’s edge, his arms crossed as he stared out at the churning waves of our passage. The other ships flagged ours on either side, both fore and aft, in a roughly diamond-shaped pattern. The last of the uninhabited Southern Islands was already slipping out of sight as the engines chugged determinedly on in a northwesterly direction. The wind, sharp with the smell of the sea, tugged at the sleeves just below his armor and the breeches tucked into his boots, flattening the red fabric against his muscular frame one moment and then belling it out the next. I felt wisps of my hair work free, the end of my long blue robe dancing on the right and wrapping itself to me on my left.

Tucking a loose strand behind my ear, I turned to glance significantly at the pair of guards who trailed after me. It was Li and Jie, both with carefully blank expressions on their faces. They would not meet my eyes, but kept staring straight ahead and out to sea.

“Please leave us alone,” I said tightly, the strain in my voice caused by the tension that wrapped itself over me, stiffening my back and shoulders with stung pride. It was hard for me to ask that.

They didn’t budge. My fists clenched on either side of me, my lips tightening. This was humiliating enough---they had probably heard every word from the opened doorway, and I did not want an audience for this confrontation, too.

“Go.” The Fire Lord’s voice was flat, expressionless. He did not turn around as they both bowed as one and went as ordered. I felt humiliated by that as well, that only he was to be obeyed. I felt like a child, an errant child held prisoner by nursemaids. Pride stung, I felt the ever-ready anger nipping up inside of me. I fought it, angry that I had to but feeling that if I did not it would cost me more than ever before.

I stepped towards him, wishing he would turn around. “Zuko, I---”

“Do you love him?” His words snapped out like a lash, sharp as any waterwhip.

“You can seriously ask me that?” What a stupid question, of course he could ask me that! Had he not just seen Suni assume that very thing? My pride was stung, though, that he would believe it. Damn my pride---it may well cost me everything in the end.

He said nothing, not needing to. His silence spoke volumes.

“Aang is my friend, has always been my friend.” I chose my words carefully, conscious of the tightness in his shoulders and back, as if he stood against the world and all that it could throw at him.

“Is he more to you?” he all but snarled, turning around to confront me with such an angry look that my eyes widened.

“No.” I put all the fervency of my own anger into that true denial.

He didn’t look too convinced. In fact, his expression hardened and he even spat, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” I challenged him. “It’s the truth. Whatever you think you might have heard back there wasn’t. Suni made an assumption---a wrong one.”

“Then why were you crying? Why the hell did you admit that you love him?” His voice was low but so angry and bitter he might have been shouting it out at the top of his lungs.

“Because I do!” I shouted back, uncaring now who the hell heard me. The wind gusted, pulling the pins from my loosely coiled braid until it slithered free to dance wildly on the strong breeze as my robe snapped about my legs. Loose brown strands whipped across my hot face, the tears burning un-fallen in my eyes as I stared up at him, my fists balled at my sides.

His eyes narrowed, the gold of them turning frigid, if lava could freeze as yellow fire and not black rock. His fists were clenched as well, his knuckles white.

“I was speaking about my father, you idiot!” I shouted up at him, shaking a fist right in his surprised face. “My father! Hakoda! He’s dead, remember? I miss him, damn you! Okay? I miss him, he’s gone and he will never come back! Just like my mother and just like my grandmother and just like everyone else I love, he wasn’t at my wedding, damn it, and he should have been! Just like my mother should have been and just like my grandmother should have been and just like my brother should have been. Maybe I’m just feeling a little selfish and sorry for myself right now but damn it, I do!”

The deck trembled under our feet, water surging ominously around the metal hull with the fitful, splashing waves summoned by my raw emotions. Tightening my control, I fought my own rage down to a simmering boil. I still seethed with it, the waves echoing my inner resentment with slapping agitation against the ship’s iron sides. Sea spray stung the shallow cut on my cheek, but I ignored it, knowing I could easily heal it later. I glared at the oaf I had just married, angry at him for making me so angry and angry at myself for letting him.


Zuko could only stare at her. Did she even realize how beautiful she was, standing there shouting at him, her small fist in his face? The fire in her---the raging tempest---damn she was beautiful with those blue eyes sparkling like sapphires ripped right out of the sky, her cheeks flushed and her breast heaving. Wisps of her thick brown hair whipped around her head, the coiled snake of her long braid twisting on the wind as her deep blue robe molded itself enticingly to her skin one moment and then flared out beyond her the next.

He wanted to grab her, kiss her, taste that burning passion that flared in her angry eyes and pull that defiance to him like a moth to a flame. But that very anger denied him, taunting him with the knowledge that she would not welcome his abrupt embrace. She would fight him, and he didn’t want that. Never that.

He was sensitive enough to know she wouldn’t welcome that type of intrusion right now, much as he would like to take her into his arms and hang on to her fiery passion as a dying man to life. A child raised as he was in a house filled with tension, used to the walking on eggshells in the shadows lest he ignite a hyper-sensitive father’s ever-ready wrath grew intuitive enough to know when not to press or push. It was a survival instinct, born of a child’s self-preservation, and the long habit of judging the mood of others around him took hold as easily and as familiarly as the dao swords to his calloused palm.

“Katara…” He didn’t know what to say. Sympathy seemed a shallow thing, apology even more. Part of him still wondered if it was true. He didn’t trust her, couldn’t yet because he didn’t know her. He never had, really. The thought had never occurred to him to try.

He wanted to tell her that he understood. He missed his mother still to this day. It was like a dull ache that flared from time to time at odd moments to catch him unawares at his most vulnerable or inconvenient. There was a part of him that still even missed his father and his sister---though it was for the wistful dream of what he had never had from either, yet had caught fleeting glimpses of now and again, just often enough to leave him hungry for more of their better than their worst.

He couldn’t say that, though, couldn’t share that he understood her pain and the poignancy of it. He had done that once, back in the crystal catacombs of Ba Sing Se, and she wouldn’t believe him, couldn’t probably, after his betrayal of her trust right after that.

So he stood there like the idiot she had just called him, feeling the inner doubt and uncertainty of just what to do or say creeping back up his spine in a familiarly horrible way. He hadn’t felt this stupid or indecisive in years past counting. The habit of pretending to a more commanding nature had come to be his shield in keeping those inner doubts at bay, until act and pretense had become fact. He hated the uncertain ground he now found himself on, and almost welcomed the cleansing anger at himself that came with it.

He felt the strong desire to lash out at her, to hurt her as she had unwittingly hurt him, but he was no longer the bitter boy who had once flared out at anyone and everyone, angry at the turns life had dealt him. He was a man, not a child, and he knew more fully than anyone how hot uncontrolled fire could burn. He would never do that to her, she didn’t deserve it. What she did deserve was better from him, and it was not her fault that he was so flawed a vessel.

Flawed he might be, and yet he knew his strengths and knew how to hide his weaknesses behind that strength. Turning an impassive face to the uncaring world was as simple as gathering up his lost control and ignoring the pain. He slipped back into it with the ease of long familiarity, but she managed to snatch it from him with two simple words.

“I’m sorry.” Her whisper was so faint he might not have heard it.

“What?” He was startled she had said it, for she had no real reason to apologize to him. He was the fool jumping to conclusions, not her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, tone sour as if she hated saying it.

Maybe she only hated saying it to him.

He stiffened, bitter at the thought.

“Don’t,” he commanded, angry that she might feel the need to.

“Don’t?” She turned incredulous eyes on him, eyes so blue it was like staring into the sky on a cloudless summer day.

He remained silent, impassive. He did not need to explain himself to anyone.

“You are so…argh!” She balled her fists, her eyes snapping blue lightning as she turned to stare back out on the churning sea. The ship shuddered a bit under the rising slap of the waves against its hull, and he saw the ships further out angling to avoid the rising agitation of the waves that boiled behind them.

It was his turn to say it. It was awkward, though, and came out stilted. “I’m---sorry.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “We don’t know that much about each other, do we?”

Her voice was soft, her words almost lost on the gusting breeze. Her long braid blew over her right shoulder, the escaped wisps feathering along her bowed cheek.

He lightly touched her shoulder, seeking to show her his understanding as he could not with words, uncomfortable as he was with them.

She turned her head to look back at him, her thick braid snaking down along the curve of her stubborn jaw. The feathers of her hair lifted from her other cheek, exposing a light scratch along the supple brown skin. Blood had dried and crusted along the shallow cut, and he touched it lightly in some concern, tracing the jagged line with a gentle fingertip.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” she demurred, her hand reaching up to brush his aside. He caught it instead, staring down at the myriad cuts and abrasions that decorated her palm.

“What happened?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing over those as well.

Her small hand trembled in his. “I…uh…it was an accident.”

“An accident.” He couldn’t quite keep the skepticism from his voice, or the anger that she would deny telling him what had really happened.

“Yes, an accident.” Her words were clipped, angry that he would question her. She snatched her hand back, hiding it behind her like a child. “You don’t have to worry so much. I can easily heal them. I am a master waterbender.”

“Yes, you are.” He stepped back, nodding curtly to acknowledge her protest.

“That came out wrong,” she said, clearly disgruntled. Folding her arms about her, she stepped closer to the rail to stare down at the churning spindrift of their passage.

“Are you cold?” He asked, noticing her slight shiver.

“No,” she said.

He stood there, not knowing what else to say. Neither did she, apparently. The silence stretched out between them, uncomfortable and all too eerily familiar. The waves, now quiescent, still foamed behind the large iron ship that split them, their salty tang giving the air a chilly dampness that had not been present on the high mountains of the Southern Air Temple.

His was a nation of fire, but their acrid islands had always been surrounded by the sea, and it was as much a part of his blood as it was hers. He had spent almost three years of his life aboard ship, and there was a certain soothing calm to the uncaring ocean that allowed him to surrender the boil of emotions inside of him as he stared down at it beside her.

Perhaps it was enough for now.



It was hardly enough. By Agni, his nephew could be a real idiot at times!

Shaking his gray head, Iroh folded his arms in his wide sleeves and stared broodingly down on the scene laid out below him. He had a key spot to spy on the pair---not that they had made that much effort to hide their little spat. The two figures, one tall and armored, the other smaller yet standing just as proud and hurt, stood separated by more than just the few feet between them. Both stared down into the water as if they could find answers there in the restless depths, when they could---and should---be looking to one another for them.

*Was I this foolish when I was young?*

Probably.

A grin pierced the brooding general’s dark clouds at the fond memories of his misspent youth. *Ah, those were some wild times. And good ones.*

It was his wife, may the spirits keep her as beloved as he, who had finally tamed him. That, and a dragon or two.

For a moment he wandered in memories of times long past, when he had skirted the crumbling temples of the Sun Warriors and found his way to the ultimate truth of the fire in his blood. Ran and Sha had been able teachers for the impetuous then-heir to the throne.

How different his life had changed after that. How heavier his burdens, for he knew the truth under the lies his father, Fire Lord Azulon, had always fed him. That was when he had discovered in himself the desire to know more, the driving need to understand more than just the surface of a thing. That was when he had grasped the ultimate truth that there was no truth---only many sides to the same clear-cut diamond.

Ah, well, even coal eventually turned into adamant. Just give it time.

He would have to take his own sage advice, and just give them time. Too bad, really---he had hoped that they would get to that gaggle of grandchildren he wanted sooner rather than later. Well, there was still hope for that. Such passionate natures---and come to think of it, Zuko’s jealousy back at the Southern Air Temple had been quite the spectacle. More than the boy---er, man---was ever willing to let show. That little scene up on the mountain had been quite encouraging, actually. Normally, the stony Fire Lord let little stir him up like that, thinking emotion could only weaken him, as it had his father.

Poor boy. He’d understand in time.

Therein laid the problem. Time.

*And here I thought I was a patient man. One is always discovering one’s own faults---I think a Fire Sage once told me that. I thought he was a sour old fart at the time.*

A smile played around the old general’s mouth at the memory. Agni help him, he was glad he had never become a sour old fart. He was much too young at heart for that, and was oft-times surprised when his aging body betrayed him with creaks and pains that should not, by rights, be there.

*Ah, well, with the wisdom of age comes---age.*

How depressing. Really, he was sitting here thinking too much, reminiscing over the past and worrying over the future. There was a time for thought and then there was a time for action. Perhaps it was time he took action---past time.

Zuko had had his moment to reach across the emptiness and take hold her hand, and by not doing so, he had lost it.

This time.

Perhaps it was time, he, Iroh, reached across for both of them and held those hands together in his.

Now, what to do? This would take careful planning. Should he feign an illness? Zuko loved him enough that he would be anxious and vulnerable, and when Katara “healed” him, he would be truly grateful to her.

No, that wouldn’t work. Katara was too skilled a healer for him to fake an illness and get away with it. Damn.

Scratch that idea.

Should he come up with some way to get their passions up? Start a fight, maybe? No, that wouldn’t work. Look what had just happened. That fight had been a good one, and still they hadn’t found any common ground to stand upon and reach some kind of mutual understanding. They didn’t trust each other enough to open themselves up like that, and they didn’t know each other enough to even start…

They didn’t! Know each other, that is. Know enough about and of each other, all the little and big things that could bring forth parallels and bridge the gap between them to allow understanding and sympathy to creep in. You couldn’t sympathize with a stranger when you didn’t know their plight. You couldn’t understand and forgive a stranger when you didn’t know where they were coming from. And you definitely couldn’t have love---true, strong, committed, grow-old-together and take-it-for-granted love---without building that foundation of what molded your past and would help forge your future, by willing or unwilling consent, for it shaped you, and made you what you were and are and would be.

And how did one achieve that? Through the simple, delightful art of communication, of telling of past and speaking of future, the sharing of dreams and wistful hopes and bitter sadness and the fears you hid deep in your heart. How else could you build trust and understanding except by exploring one another in that wonderfully simple way?

Very well. It was time he had a talk with Zuko, and more than time Zuko and Katara had a talk together. All was not lost, not really, this was only the first day of the rest of their lives. There was plenty of time. They just needed to get busy living it.

Whistling, Iroh went to go lay a trap for his nephew in his study. Knowing the broody boy, he would eventually go there to be alone, and Iroh would be there waiting for him.


He left before I, not saying anything as he silently turned away. Glancing over my left shoulder, I watched him leave, his steps firm and head up. He did not look back to see if I noticed, and that stung. I quickly turned back around, the feeling of salt sharp in my closed eyes.

It was not the salt of the sea.

Wiping furtively at my eyes, I glanced quickly about to see if anyone had seen my foolishness. I was alone---utterly alone. I should have felt grateful for that fact, but didn’t. Instead, I felt oddly forlorn and abandoned. Stupid, I know, and rather silly, but my emotions were raw and confusing. I felt drained, and somehow dead inside.

The sea could not comfort me. It was too indifferent, as was he.

I sighed, wondering why I was so sensitive to that. It wasn’t as if I could expect that kind of emotional support from him. We were as yet complete strangers, and I was putting too much expectation on someone I had known in the past to be rather selfishly insular.

To be starkly honest, I was also being rather childish. I had blown old pain and old anger all out of proportion to what they truly were. My anger at Suni’s criticism, my own knowledge that I had acted somewhat pettily back at the Air Temple in front of strangers, no less, and done wrong by Zuko in not giving him the benefit of the doubt as to why we had left so suddenly---I had buried that self-reproach in anger that I could let myself feel---anger at the fate now given me and anger at myself for all the past regrets I had always burdened myself with.

It was a sudden moment of inner clarity, and I felt rather ashamed at the sudden glimpse it gave me into my own heart. I was always so ready to lash out on others---when I was really only lashing out at myself.

The burden of that weighed heavily on my shoulders as I turned away from the railing. I wearily traced my steps back to the state-room, barely acknowledging the return of my silent, two-man escort once I cleared the rear deck. I met an anxious Suni in the narrow hallway just outside my room, her manner somewhat subdued as she clucked over my rumpled appearance.

I was quiet, going inside to pick up my water bending flask, which was kept ever near and within reach. Opening the cork, I coaxed a trickle of water out into my palm. Using my other hand, I bent the water over my fingers and palm like a glove, adding my will until it glowed with a softly luminescent light. The scratches itched as they healed, the dried blood dissolving into the soothing liquid that I then applied to my breastbone and cheek, where other flying shards of my shattered tea cup had cut across my brown skin.

Suni, having closed the iron door firmly behind us, went and knelt on a cushion across the room from me. She watched me, her black eyes following my every motion.

“You are beautiful when you do that, my lady,” she said, oddly subdued for one usually so vocal.

I didn’t say anything, just bent the water back into the flask before firmly twisting the stopper closed and setting it back down on the small trunk beside the low bed that took up half the room.

I sat down on the bed, curling my legs under me and staring down at my hands, flexing my fingers to rid themselves of the faint numbness that came with such close work. Healing myself was often harder than healing others, as it required more intricate concentration to bend the water around myself than around another I was seperate from.

Suni cleared her throat. I glanced at her, and she looked rather uncomfortable. “I must apologize, my lady, for my hasty assumption---”

“Suni---don’t,” I said, short with her. I was still too uncomforted to want to give comfort. Petty of me, yes, but I just felt so tired and drained. I didn’t want to speak of it, or about it, not even to allay the old woman’s fears.

I felt a stab of consciousness at that selfishly childish thought, and sighed. “Suni, please don’t fret yourself. I explained---”

“So I heard,” Suni sniffed, her manner turning somewhat wry.

I stiffened, a flush creeping up my cheeks. Was there to be no privacy for me anywhere?

“Everyone could---you did not attempt to quite hide your anger.”

Apparently not.

“I wasn’t really thinking about hiding it at the time,” I snapped, somewhat shrewish.

“Probably not.” Suni grinned.

I could only stare at her in disbelief. The old woman was completely batty.

Getting briskly to her feet, Suni said, “That is neither here nor there. I did wrong by you, and I am sorry for it. You will accept my apology, for I have given it, and that is all that will be said on the matter. Now, for another, your hair has become all tangled and windblown. I must see to it, and then I shall retire, if you will, to see to my own quarters. I am an old woman, and need my rest more than I should at my young age. One would think I was getting old.”

I stared at her, not quite believing her abrupt change of topics. She nattered on about some nonsense or other as she directed me to a low cushion facing a trunk against the wall whose lid opened up to reveal a mirror and various bottles and cosmetics so that she could see to my loosened braid. Her brushstrokes were gentle and somehow soothing, the rhythm of them almost putting me to sleep.

“I think I shall leave your hair loose. It has a good length, and I am tired, my lady. I will retire to my room, if that is all right. Can you manage tonight without me?”

I snorted back a laugh. I had managed all my life till now. It would not be a challenge.

Suni sniffed. “Well, I see you have regained your humor. Good.”

I turned around to look at her, puzzled.

Suni’s black eyes softened. She cupped a wrinkled hand to my cheek. “He is overly proud, you know, but he means well.”

I stiffened.

“As are you. You just need to bend a little.”

Probably, but that didn’t sit so well with me.

Suni sighed at my sour expression. “You need to listen, and hear,” she tenderly tucked my hair behind one ear, “and understand.”

I didn’t, and she shook her head. “Try understanding where he is coming from, Master Katara, and then you might understand where you are with him.”

I blinked, still unsure of what she was trying to say.

Suni shook her head, muttering something about the foolishness of youth, and took her leave. I watched her go, and then turned back to the small mirror that lined the truck’s inner lid, a clever vanity of the square cosmetics case. I looked like a child, my eyes tired and my hair hanging wild and free around my face and shoulders. I did not look like what I thought a Fire Lady should, and so was about to close the lid when a sharp knock on the door had me turn as it opened to reveal my lord husband, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Hi,” he said, his glance quickly going around the room before resting back on me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, quickly closing the lid and coming to my feet. He looked almost uncertain, his normally air of cool command gone.

“Nothing, that is, will you---dinner?” He was clearly uncomfortable, shifting his wide shoulders as if his armor sat too heavily upon him.

“Dinner?” I asked, not sure if he were asking if I would dine with him.

“Yes. We will eat, and we will talk.” He seemed to take confidence in that rather abrupt command, assuming the mantle of the Fire Lord as if it fit more easily than any other.

My look must have conveyed too much of my irritation, for he stiffened.

“That is, if you will?” It was a grudging concession at best, but there was something in his stiff manner that had me thinking this was hard for him, to ask when he was used to demanding. There was something in the intensity of his gaze, a plea almost, though I could but be imagining it. It softened my own ire, and I nodded.

“Yes. That would be---nice,” I said, carefully trying to keep my tone even.

He seemed to take encouragement from that, even unbending enough to smile slightly. He stared at me for a long moment, until I stirred uneasily at the length of his gaze. Shaking himself, he abruptly came back to life. Leaning back out the door, he waved someone forward before stepping back inside to make way for them. His tall, awkward presence made the room seem much smaller than before.

A single servant, dressed in dark maroon, bowed his way inside to set down a tray on the trestle table where Suni and I had taken our tea earlier. Another, and yet another, followed with a veritable feast, steam rising from the dishes they carefully laid out across the small table in a pretty display before bowing themselves out.

I stared at the doorway, surprised as I was to see Iroh briefly lean inside to give me an encouraging wink and a grin. I waved, slightly uncertain as Zuko spun about to confront the old Dragon with a scowl. Iroh gave him an innocent look before pulling the metal door closed with a heavy clang.

“What was that all about?” I asked, curious.

“Nothing,” Zuko said irritably as he moved to one corner of the room, unbuckling his heavy breastplate before tugging at the shoulders to remove it. I stood watching him, uncertain if I should take a seat or offer my assistance. The fluted black armor looked heavy, but he lifted it off easily enough, setting it on the empty stand in the corner under a pair of familiar curved swords hanging on the wall.

“Please, sit,” he said, tugging at the vambraces on his lower arms and kneeling down to remove his heavy boots and shin guards. It was somewhat too intimate an action for me, though such a simple one. It underlined the fact that this room was one we shared, not one that was mine alone. Blushing, I turned away to seat myself on the low cushion I had used earlier, and pretended not to watch him out of the corner of my eye as he stretched lightly in his long-sleeved under-tunic and breeches. Opening a trunk, he fished out a sleeveless over-tunic, also black, and belted it around his waist, casually slipping a dagger into the sheath at his side.

Steam wafted from the dishes in front of me, and although they smelled delicious, I was not that hungry. Biting my lip, I waited pensively for him to join me, uncertain how to proceed. I looked up as he sighed, running a hand through his topknot as he walked back across the room. Kneeling across from me, he seemed to hesitate before picking up his chopsticks. “Please, serve yourself.”

I nodded, picking up my own chopsticks to hover indecisively over the various offerings.

“The fish is good.”

Startled by his voice in the awkward silence, I looked up at him. He shrugged. “The seaweed rolls are good, too. Master Sheng is one of the best.”

“Master Sheng?” I asked, selecting the tender white meat as he suggested.

“The cook. He’s good. One of Iroh’s favorite.” Zuko made quick work of piling various selections on his plate. Our chopsticks clicked together, going after the same seaweed roll, and I blushed, making a motion for him to take it.

“No, go ahead. I have plenty,” he said, spearing a mouthful as if to demonstrate the fact.

“No, that’s all right---” He cut me off by neatly picking up the roll and dropping it on my plate. I sat back, ill at ease. “Er---thank you.”

He nodded, mouth busy chewing.

I played with my food, worrying a bit of fish away from the larger portion and trying it. The silence drew out between us as Zuko busied himself eating and I fiddled with my food. I put my plate and chopsticks down to pick up my tea, which had grown tepid since first being poured by the servants.

“Want me to heat that up for you?” Zuko abruptly asked, staring at the cup in my hands.

“Ah…no…thank you,” I said, ill at ease with the offer. He was quick to nod understanding, but his manner went all stiff again, and I felt like an ass.

“Actually, ah…yes, that would be nice.” I hastened to mend my answer.

“What?” He stared up at me, attention taken from the fried chicken-pork rolls he was picking at.

I blushed. “Um, my tea. It would be nice if you heated it up for me. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He put down his plate and extended his palm. I gently placed the cup in his broad hand, my fingers brushing his at the exchange. Wrapping both hands around the wafer-thin china, which looked ridiculously small in his big palms, he concentrated for a moment, his hands glowing as the tea started to bubble and steam.

I watched in fascination, struck anew by the easiness of the action. I could have heated the tea myself, blowing on it and willing the heat from my damp breath into the golden liquid, but it was not so easily done as it was for him.

He extended it back to me, and I winced and sucked in my breath as my fingers touched the hot surface of the porous china.

“Sorry,” he said, chagrined. I shook my head with a weak smile of dismissal, picking up a cloth napkin to take the cup and hold it while it cooled to a temperature I could better stand to sip.

Zuko seemed to stiffen up, the long silence descending between us once more as we each avoided looking at the other. Setting my cup back down, I worried another piece of fish from my plate, savoring the tenderness of it as I studiously tried to pretend that this was not the most awkward meal I had ever attended.

“He would know.”

“What?” I asked, looking up at my lord, who cleared his throat.

“Ah, um, Iroh. My uncle. He would know a fine cook---like Master Sheng---if ever one was.”

“Oh, yes. I can see that,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I blushed, thinking that sounded like an insult. “I mean, uh, that General Iroh seems to know a great many things.”

“Yes.”

The silence was unbearable. I feathered my chopsticks through my rice, mixing the various vegetables and meat together with no real reason besides keeping my hand busy and my eyes on my plate.

“He likes to eat.”

“Who?” I blurted without thinking.

“Iroh.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my plate again, finally abandoning any pretense of trying to eat. Laying my chopsticks down, I sat back and folded my hands in my lap.

“You’ve had enough?” There was caution in his voice, as if he didn’t know how to take that fact.

“Um, yes. I’m not that hungry,” I demurred.

He stiffened up again, a faint frown turning down the edges of his mouth.

“I ate a lot earlier,” I offered lamely.

“Oh.” He speared a few more pieces onto his plate before sitting back to stare at me. I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. Feeling like a coward, and berating myself for it, I glanced back up, to see him staring at some point over my right shoulder. I turned to look behind me at what he was looking at, and his eyes abruptly focused back on mine. The idle thought crossed my bemused mind that his eyes were a rather rich color, the color of golden honey, perhaps, or maybe more of a clear amber.

Whatever it was, it was intense, and I shivered slightly. He shifted his shoulders, full of tension, and said suddenly, “I like turtle ducks.”