Title: Distances
Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender and all associated articles are the sole property of Nickelodeon.
Summary: Mai comes home, Zuko lives, and Iroh makes up for lost time. Post-Canon AU, sequel to Failures and Shells
Pairings: Mai/Zuko, Katara/Aang, Sokka/Suki
Notes: Non-graphic mentions of infant death
The Boulevard
Mai is always conscious of the eyes of others.
She had been hopeful that the lack of procession might conceal her—keeping the ship outside the gates until they could blend with the returning fleet, allowing the cargo to unload while the attendant tidied the cabin, waiting quietly below-decks for the fishmongers and their well-packed carts to wander away from the marina. The dock is entirely empty before she can accept the coachman's hand and step into the carriage.
But her hopes are never to be so: already she can hear the welling of whispers lapping against the wheels, a gentle tide of curiosity and concern which will overtake the carriage and consume her. There are no funerary veils to conceal her now.
The attendant arranges the driving blanket over Mai's lap—there is still the slightest hint of winter's chill in the sunset, but the trees are bright with green and swaying in the gentle breeze. Beneath their branches gather men and women laden with market baskets, babies slung across backs and tiny children swinging between arms, all smiling and waving as the carriage rolls past.
Mai returns the waves through the uncovered window, her face composed to a smooth mask. It had been almost too easy to win over the citizens—they'd arrived in droves to witness the wedding, and smile now with perfect sincerity, pleased to welcome her home.
In review, perhaps, it is less surprising: the palace had lacked a Fire Lady for years before Mai's ascension, and all those associated pleasantries and obligations had been ignored. No charity, no patronage, and the only permitted festivals were always, invariably a celebration of war and military might.
Mai had restored the old traditions slowly, as time and money permitted. Reparations to the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes were by no means modest, but it would not do to flaunt the wealth Ozai's crippling wartime taxes had created for the palace.
Certainly there was comfort for the people in her familiarity. Mai had been fixture in the royal court since infancy, and had kept visible enough, through little effort of her own. Her father saw to that, of course.
"You were missed, my lady," the attendant says, offering a small smile.
"Yes," Mai says.
The marketplace melts into the dim horizon, and she is momentarily released, able to sink back into the cushions once the carriage has begun its ascent. The inner city is open to the masses, but the road remains an effective barrier. In the few moments before the carriage crests the crater's edge, Mai commits to memory the brief sensation of calm.
The boulevard stretches out before her, the palace its unavoidable terminus. Someone will see the carriage and carry the message up.
It's evening: the ministers will be deep in conference around the throne, planning out the following day's tasks. Spring means growth, means overtures from farmers' unions and frustrated industry captains. Drought has plagued the nation these last three years, and with the endless problems of the Earth Kingdom colonies, food shortages are becoming more common. Starving workers are useless workers, after all, but it's difficult to make the rich see much past their own plates.
And other concerns will soon bubble over: the academies will be preparing to reopen for the season. The national education reform is nearly two years old, and its results are uncertain. Mai had led the campaign for its passage herself, and its failure will reflect upon her.
The cultural minister will want attention, as well. The nation's recent spiritual revival means greater involvement from the Fire Sages—there will be feasts and festivals to plan, sacrifices to arrange, rituals to study and perform.
The summer will be upon them quite quickly, and plans must be made, before any well-meaning intervention. A review, perhaps, or a grand memorial and remembrance must be publicly considered and then privately, politely dismissed.
The carriage pulls level with the inner city's gate, and Mai holds her breath as they pass beneath its red arch.
To the left is the public temple, where she was made Fire Lady in great ceremony, less than a year after the end of the war. The wedding itself had been held inside the palace, opened for the first time to all Fire Nation citizens. There had been only one assassination attempt, that she was aware of, circumvented by the Avatar and the rest of his motley band.
The marriage had been overall an intelligent move, if somewhat alienating to their allies. King Bumi sent only half an envoy, no doubt in protest over Mai's connection to the overthrow of Omashu during the war. The Earth Kingdom delegates were lukewarm to her ascension at best, but the marriage had been a necessary balm to placate the local nobility's stung pride.
The people had been directionless and reluctant to move on from the lost war, and those first swift reforms had thrown the royal court into disarray. Most of Ozai's inner circle joined him in prison or happily faced the executioner, but his lower-level functionaries—the mindless cogs like Tomiko—were willing to trade even the last vestiges of their dignity simply to assure their continued existence.
It would have been more prudent, perhaps, for the new Fire Lady to be an Earth Kingdom woman. Had Bumi an eligible heir, or that earthbender girl, Toph Beifong, been a bit older, Mai would have suggested the match herself. But the Avatar would certainly have fought such a move, with all his harping on about keeping the nations separate.
Separation itself has been the root of all their ills, to Mai's eyes.
The carriage jolts over a crack in the paving stones, and the attendant is quick to adjust the dislodged blanket.
Nobility never responds to change with much enthusiasm or interest, so Mai had been careful. It was tradition for the Fire Lord to spend a few years finishing his youthful affairs before providing the nation an heir: time allowed for adjustment, and if necessary, a quick and bloodless coup. Ozai had been the obvious exception, with both children born so soon into the marriage—but his ascension had not been assumed.
So Mai had employed the arts imparted from midwife to mother to daughter, had kept a careful balance in the court of new blood and old money, had substituted for knives with quiet smiles and withering little glares.
For most of the carriage's journey, she has kept her eyes fixed forward but now spares a swift glance from side to side. The upper streets are more empty than she expected. A few small groups, of women gathered beneath wide parasols and of solemn-faced men with arms clasped behind their backs, move languorously between the villas. The attendant faces away, smiling.
She will have some immediate concerns, of course: the ladies-in-waiting, the courtiers, the artists seeking patronage. Mai will have to hold some sort of party—low-key, quiet, a few hundred gathered to the palace. Not a celebration, exactly, but a muted gallery. A play, perhaps, if the Ember Island Players can be summoned before the end of the season.
She will have to bank on favors, on pity, on the good will of women who would sooner see her suffer and die than return. The colonies' rebellion will have no doubt soured some, and there will be yet another task, another plate to keep spinning above her head.
The plans themselves are exhausting—thoughts alone enough to tighten her chest, to pull down her heavy eyelids—but necessary, if only for the distraction.
She will not think of Zuko.
Or rather, she will refuse to wonder at his silence, to imagine over and over the look on his face when she steps into the throne room. She will not think of the cold trapped in their bed, of the feel of him against her, inside, between her hands and wrapped in her arms.
She was deliberate in sending no notice. Rejection cannot come to those who refuse even to ask.
Mai is powerless against herself, however, flooded suddenly with memory of her last return: the quiet march from the cemetery, all those long months ago.
She kept three paces behind Zuko, a tradition they had never before observed, flanked by the solemn-faced attendants. The people formed a solid-walled corridor along both sides of the boulevard, blindingly white, almost glowing beneath the midday sun. Zuko moved slowly, each hollow footfall echoing between the silent buildings, shoulders back, eyes ahead. He ascended the palace steps quickly and disappeared into the shadows gathered beneath the main doors. He did not look back.
Mai stares down the approaching palace and attempts to still her shaking hands. The attendant hasn't noticed, mindlessly gazing out the window.
There is no way to predict Zuko's mood, and no way to avoid the attempt. He could be furious, remorseful, elated, concerned—worst of all, indifferent. He could look at her with those sweetly empty eyes, welcome her return with a few pointless words, and return to his duties. Silence would be more welcome—if he is making the effort to not speak to her, then at least she is worth the effort at all.
And now the meeting itself consumes her thoughts: in refusing to think of it, she lacks plans or preparations. They will not be allowed the privacy of a quiet bedroom reunion—he will be mid-meeting, perhaps, but either way the throne room will be full of ministers and lower-level functionaries. Courtiers lolling about the terraces and corridors will be drawn in, eager to consume the approaching gossip, perhaps even furious, languishing at their lack of recent attention.
She must appear both humbled and aloof, conciliatory for her absence and disaffected by its length. Her attire is appropriate, at least, muted and demure, lacking any ornamentation but the traditional topknot piece. She will move with an unpracticed slowness, hands clasped before her and concealed beneath her sleeves.
If she is successful, it might encourage a wave of extended vacations among the less creative sycophants, who are always happy to jump on a trend.
Something like a smile flits across her mouth. Zuko has no patience for these maneuvers—he was lucky she had been released from prison so quickly, or his coronation might as well have served for a memorial.
He will have neglected all of it, certainly. Years of her efforts, shoring up support, weaving alliances and interests into the tapestry of functional government—Zuko was only ever a soldier and remains trapped in the routine of attack-push-retreat. Governing is hardly a zero-sum game.
"My lady," the attendant says, with the pointed air of one repeatedly ignored, "we have arrived."
And so they have: the attendant folds away the blanket, and a pair of coachmen wait to offer their helping hands. Mai pauses at the bottom step, allowing the attendant to arrange the trailing cloak and then assume her silent place behind.
The murmurs follow her up, along with a wave of bows and curtsies—a tide of enforced politeness delivering Mai to her husband's doorstep.
The carriage has chased sunset through the streets, and now the sun roosts at the roof's apex, washing the grey palace in oranges and reds. Her every step is careful, pulling up one foot, planting it, pulling up the next, avoiding the folds of fabric rolling over her shaking legs.
Mai chances a brief glance, when she has reached the half-mark, and quickly covers the falter in her gait. A silhouetted figure awaits her, arms crossed. The profile is all wrong, though, but her heart can't seem to decide whether it wishes to stop or burst from her chest.
"General Iroh," she says, mounting the last step and bowing low. "The palace is honored by your presence."
"Dear Mai," he replies, gently pulling her upright for a hug. "How many times must I ask? Call me Uncle."
He takes her arm, folding her hand between both of his and turning them to face the palace.
She draws in a careful breath, eyes ahead, face composed.
"Is he waiting?"
"To welcome you home," Iroh says, smiling. Mai nods, feeling the weight of his arm against hers, and they step inside together.