A/N: Random drabbles I've written for random prompt weeks over the last few months. They involve lots of different characters.
Daughter of the North
Yue rarely had a moment to herself these days. With her sixteenth birthday approaching along with her wedding to Hahn, her life was an almost endless series of dress fittings, instruction on the actual wedding ceremony and dinners with Hahn and his parents.
If she told herself the truth, even as a child, her time was structured and divided into sections, none of which she had any say in. Free time to just play was rare and a small part of her resented her position as princess of the Northern Water Tribe. But she was a dutiful girl who loved her father and her nation fiercely; so she did what was expected of her without complaint. Still sometimes she wondered what it would be like to let loose and have fun. Wondering didn't hurt anyone. It was all she had.
As she rode along in the gondola and watched the city drift by, the sound of playing children reached her ears. Yue was always amazed by the unfettered joy expressed by the tribe's youngest members. Their carefree shouts and laughter echoed throughout the gorgeous city of ice bringing a wistful smile to her lips.
She looked around with her beautiful blue eyes and spotted a group of boys running along the canal, tossing a ball made of seal hide back and forth. Yue looked on eagerly. The boys felt her gaze and stopped their play. They were in awe of the stunning girl with the white hair, their princess, future leader of the entire tribe.
They whispered amongst themselves and stole admiring glances at her as the gondola continued to glide gracefully through the blue looking water. One boy began running again, keeping up with Yue. He waved at her cheekily and held up the ball. Was he asking what she thought he was asking?
She peered closely at him. He was about ten, a strong looking child with his own set of lovely blue eyes and bits of brown hair peeking out from his hood. He quirked an eyebrow at her and threw the ball. It sailed across the few feet of water and landed right in her lap, on top of her luxurious pale blue coat. Yue giggled and brushed away the dampness. She lifted the ball, heavier than it looked, and threw, trying to judge distance and speed at the same time. The boy had to stretch to catch the orb but he did and began to giggle too. He mouthed 'again' and she responded with her own silent 'yes'. Yue was breathless with childlike joy by the time the gondola reached its destination. She took a quick glance at Hahn's house and a slight frown marred her features. The little boy stood perfectly still on the edge of the walkway. He knew their fun was over and waved goodbye before disappearing down another path of ice.
Lessons Best Ignored
He was the older brother. It should have been him teaching Azula simple things like how to hold her chopsticks properly or how to hide food that she didn't want to eat or how to avoid their father when he was in one of his moods. Almost preternaturally competent in everything, though, she didn't need his help.
It was Azula, two years younger, who taught Zuko. Schooling her brother was never the girl's intention but it happened nonetheless. He learned to keep all things soft and warm to himself for they were things to be mocked. He learned the sting of jealously and the pain of inferiority. He learned that perfection is rewarded while mere effort is not. And he learned that children, despite what adults say about them, are not innocent.
"See, Zuko, you do it like this," Azula said in that special 'talk down to' voice she reserved especially for him.
The six year old held a flame in the palm of her tiny hand. It hovered there, not quite touching the soft skin, looking as though it wanted to take flight. And it did. With a whirling motion of her wrist and hand, the young princess sent the little burst of orange hurtling through the air, changing it into a long sinuous strand of fire that seemed alive.
It was effortless for her, everything was. Eight year old Zuko felt the familiar surge of bitterness and pushed it aside. His hand shook as he concentrated and produced a feeble flame of his own. Azula snickered as she watched her brother struggle. His gold eyes were drawn tight with effort and his entire body was rigid. Try as he might, Zuko couldn't make the flame fly like Azula could.
"Why don't you just give up," she said, sounding every bit like a woman of thirty rather than a young child. "You'll never be any good."
"Shut up," Zuko hissed as he wiped angrily at the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I will be."
"Father says you're incompetent."
Azula said the word slowly, stretching out the syllables, feeling them on her tongue. She wore a sly smirk on her pretty face and watched her brother closely. Neither child was quite sure what the word meant, but both knew it wasn't positive.
Before he heard it from his father's own lips, Azula taught Zuko that the man who had sired him, his mother's husband, had no faith in his firstborn. Azula taught him what pain felt liked. Maybe she was lying. He clung to that hope for years.
Understanding
Smellerbee chose war paint and knives while Longshot chose arrows and silence. Somehow the pair became inseparable. They were part of the Freedom Fighters, the hodgepodge group of children that Jet had pulled together over the years, but also their own private little family of two. They ate together, trained together, slept together.
After being around him only a few months, Smellerbee knew exactly what Longshot was thinking at any given time. Sacrificing speech seemed to give the tall young man's face and body a sort of sublime power. Every movement, every tic meant something. Jet understood him well enough, but Smellerbee 'got' him.
"What are you remembering?" she asked him one day as they walked through the woods near the tree house hideout.
Smellerbee took out the knife that was tucked into her belt and threw it at a tree far down the pathway. It was an accurate throw, of course, and she smirked. Longshot, not to be outdone, drew an arrow and let it fly. It landed directly above her blade.
He stopped abruptly and looked at her and Smellerbee knew instantly.
"It happened around this time of year, didn't it?"
Longshot bowed his head, and his hat hid his supple features.
"I'm sorry, Longshot. Do you want to be alone?"
He reached for her hand and held on to just the fingertips. The knife thrower didn't move, letting Longshot take the lead. He pulled her along gently and she followed, aware that he was taking her somewhere important. After a bit, he veered off the path and into the forest itself. A huge red leaved tree, with branches spreading outward seemingly forever, stood at the center of a small clearing.
Characters were carved into the expansive trunk. Smellerbee peered closely at them, but only recognized a few. The archer traced over each and every character almost reverently and Smellerbee realized what they represented.
"You come here to remember," she stated simply.
Tears came unbidden and she wiped roughly at her eyes, smearing the stripes of paint that adorned her face. Longshot grabbed her hand again, this time pulling her small body into his chest. When he finally let go, red paint coloured the blue of his tunic.
"Time to go home," Smellerbee rasped.
Longshot led the way.
Can You Love This?
Before they were married, but after Ursa and Ozai were promised to each other, they experienced a time of adjustment. Ozai was eager to please his father, Firelord Azulon, and so did his best to find happiness with Ursa. She was a lovely young woman, with long brown hair and soft golden eyes and a face that bespoke of kindness and gentleness.
She wasn't a firebender like he was and had no fighting skills at all. Her mind was sharp, however, and she protected those close to her with an awesome fierceness.
"You realize that I'll probably never be Firelord," he said to her one day as they had lunch together at the palace.
"So?" she asked. "That doesn't matter to me."
"But it does matter to me."
"You can live the life of the Crown Prince and not have the worries of the Firelord. You'll have lots of time for family."
She failed to notice the darkness that passed briefly over Ozai's handsome face.
"Yes, family…" he muttered. "I suppose you would like lots of children?"
"Not lots, but yes, I would like children, wouldn't you?"
"It's important to have heirs," he stated bluntly.
"But children are more than just heirs, they're….children."
"Now you're starting to sound like my brother."
"Is that a bad thing?" Ursa asked.
"He goes too easy on Lu Ten," Ozai said by way of an answer.
Ursa sighed. She reached across the table and placed her small, delicate looking hand over Ozai's. He stiffened slightly at the gentle touch and moved his hand away after a moment.
She wondered to herself, "Can you love this man?"
The Joy of Tea
Of all the relationships in his life, the one Iroh had with tea was the most satisfying. He loved rolling the leaves between his fingers, little traces of their scent left on his skin. He would bring his fingers to his nose and inhale deeply. The varieties and combinations were almost endless. He would never grow tired of tea. Jasmine remained a favorite; he had named his teashop 'The Jasmine Dragon' after all. But the tang of ginseng always revitalized him and the soothing flavor of peppermint always calmed his nerves.
He considered brewing tea an art of sorts. Though he could and had worked with any kind of pot, he preferred porcelain. His collection was vast; one cup sized to almost cauldron sized and everything in between. The designs and colors of the pots provided a feast for the eye as they lined his counter and sat atop various tables.
Making tea was something that should never be rushed was his philosophy. Leaves were measured carefully and the water must be just the right temperature. Steeping took time; all of the flavor must be brought out of the leaves.
When Iroh finished making a pot, or when he came up with a flavor combination of his own, he felt content. The next step was sharing that feeling with others, whether his customers or people close to him. The smiles on their faces as they smelled the brew or took a first taste were priceless. Yes, tea never let him down.
Grief
When his sweet young wife died giving birth to his only child, grief eroded Iroh slowly, like eons of wind and rain eroded even the hardest of stone. He had his son to think about and occupy his time. There was a flurry of wet nurses and nannies and late night cuddling sessions in the creaky old rocking chair that Iroh insisted on keeping. It had belonged to his wife's family and she herself was rocked to sleep in the very same chair. Maybe the child could sense his mother's spirit somehow in the worn willow wood, red paint dull and faded and Fire Nation symbols barely visible now.
When Lu Ten, for that was the name his wife chose for the child before his birth, became one of the Fire Nation's many sacrifices to pointless war, grief didn't erode. It devoured Iroh in one big gulp and only spat him back out after years. Even then, it kept a part of him and wouldn't relinquish it no matter how pitiful the man's pleas.
