Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar, its characters, designs etc. Those are © Mike and Bryan, and Nickelodeon. Yun Zi, Mistress Choi, and other original characters are © me, Lady Asvin.
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The war charts bored him endlessly. He had fought in the war, and was in the unique position that he knew what had occurred on both sides. I'm going to join the Avatar. And I'm going to help him defeat you. He had been there. The maps swirled before him, and he almost pitched face-first into the navigation table but for a clerk's polite interruption.
"Beg pardon, your highness," said the old man. "A letter, from toushi Hakoda of the Water Tribe." Brushing aside some papers, a silk-robed hand reached for the scroll.
"Thank you," he intoned in his rusty voice. He was rather surprised it still worked; he had been holed up in the study for days with his research. The clerk bowed and disappeared, and the scroll fell open.
Imperial Majesty, began the letter. I have been informed that my daughter now resides in apartments in your palace, and wished to question why that decision was made; a father's concern. Why he writing to me? thought Zuko. Also, you will find enclosed the terms of agreement for trade between the Southern Water Tribe and the Fire Nation. Your attention in a timely fashion will prove beneficial.
Hakoda of the Water Tribe, South Pole
Another, smaller scroll fell out of the first one, but Zuko didn't read it right away. A father's concern. He smiled as he thought of long, silky brown hair, perfumed with some exotic mélange of jasmine and black rose. Blue eyes that never needed makeup; tailored robes, silk – blue and white, silver embroidery. She was a true ambassador for her Tribe. A sudden unwelcome image shoved its way to the forefront of his thoughts: he saw himself flying halfway across the training sand, caught on the wrong end of a water whip. He coughed. Oh, that. She can own me in a fight if I'm not paying attention. Another light knock broke into his reverie; the same clerk, asking if he was ready for the next map. Zuko groaned inwardly and stood.
"Actually, Yun Zi, I'd like a word with the Water Tribe ambassador. Please see if she is available." The man nodded and made his way back out; Zuko sighed. Now where did that other scroll go? He had just placed an onyx paperweight on the table to hold the scroll when a floating jasmine scent pervaded his senses.
"Hi, Zuko." No Imperial Majesty from her. "Your clerk said you needed a word?" He nodded and motioned to a chaise across from the map-covered table.
"Your father has just sent me the revised terms of trade for your Tribe." Katara perked up and ignored the chaise to stand next to him and study the scroll. Zuko cleared his throat. "He also wants to know why you're living in the Palace now, instead of in the city apartments." At that, she frowned.
"I'm not a child anymore," she muttered. "But I'll write to him." A delicate brown finger ran down the list of trade items; dark eyebrows flew up.
"Nanuk? The Fire Nation wants bear meat?" Zuko looked over to where she was pointing.
"Two tons of it a year, by the looks of the agreement," he said dryly. "I had the commerce clerks draw up the initial terms." Katara snorted.
"All right then, Sifu Hotman." She finished looking at the scroll and then rolled it back up. "The terms seem reasonable, and they're not trying to trick you with the products." She nodded firmly. "Send the final drafts to me when they are drawn up. I will sign them as soon as I see them." A call from the outer doors of the study floated to them; Katara wrinkled her nose and made a face so comical, Zuko fought not to smile.
"What?" he asked, struggling to keep his serious expression intact. Katara looked toward the door.
"Are you sure you don't want me for anything else right now?" she asked. Ill-chosen words. I want to see you smile like the day the twins were born, and I want to see that flash of determination on your face when you're facing something that looks impossible."The royal seamstress is nice, but she's been chasing me down all day to stick me with pins and call it dressmaking." Katara sighed. "It's that anniversary party your uncle has planned," she added by way of clarification. Zuko groaned; once Katara was measured, it would be his turn… and Katara was not exaggerating about the pins. She was talking again.
"…and my dance card is filled. Honestly, what kind of a tradition is-"
"Your what? Filled?" Zuko's voice was so incredulous, Katara's skin prickled. The room became uncomfortably hot as her eyes narrowed into chips of ice.
"What?" she asked shrilly. "Was His Majesty the Fire Lord not expecting that?" Her entire posture rapidly turned into a defensive one: step back, arms crossed, glare. Zuko forced down the bubble of questions that threatened to spill from his throat.
"That's – that's not what I meant," he defended himself feebly. "Don't – come on, Katara, you know that didn't come out right," he called, as she began to walk away. She reached the door and turned to look at him.
"Then what did you mean, Your Highness?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and Zuko could detect suppressed rage underneath the flat surface of her demeanor. He attempted to run a hand through his hair; for at least the second time that week, his coronet fell clanging to the ground as his topknot became a hawk's nest of a mess. Terrible habit, he thought. Katara sighed from her position by the door.
"You are inept, did you know that?" She reached for the coronet and rejoined Zuko behind his desk.
"You never miss a chance to tell me," he muttered. Katara disregarded him as she pulled the rest of his hair down and yanked an onyx comb from her obi. Zuko's eyes widened.
"Is that the comb I gave you after my coronation?" Katara nodded, and then realized that his face was covered in jet-black hair.
"Yes. Why?" she asked. "Don't move your head." She picked his hair up carefully, with the skill of a woman who had spent her life running after children younger than her. From behind a hut, about twenty feet to Aang's left, mismatched gold eyes also watched the girl walk away, for all the world like a model of maternal grace with a small child in her arms.
"I don't know," he replied. "I guess I thought you had left it at the South Pole." Katara moved to face him.
"Why would I do that? It's useful." She tucked the comb back into her robes. "There." Zuko nodded his thanks and turned back to the endless maps; outside the door, he could hear Yun Zi and the seamstress, Mistress Choi, discussing the upcoming party. Suddenly, the parchment before his eyes was replaced by an outspread brown hand.
"Not so fast, Sifu Hotman," said Katara. "You still haven't answered my question." His face grew hot and he began to stutter, but Katara was like a shirshiu with a strong scent. Luckily for him, the door opened at that moment to reveal Mistress Choi and a small army of servant girls.
"Your Highness. Ambassador Katara," said the woman, bowing deeply. She brought with her a heavy smell of spices and old silk, and wore enough eye paint to decorate the Kyoshi warriors for a month. "I regret to have interrupted the, ah, important state decisions being made, but General Iroh wishes to learn that your garments are being made." Uncle. Of course, thought Zuko. Katara's mind ran a similar path. Mistress Choi took a deep breath. "I have found it quite impossible to capture a spare moment from either of you, but Yun Zi alerted me that you were both here. Your Majesty," she added by way of apology. Zuko glared at the old clerk, who had made his way to the door and stood, facial muscles twitching, watching the comedy unfold. Katara forced a smile to her lips.
"I am sorry, Mistress Choi," she said prettily. "Would you like me to go to my chambers?" The woman, wary of Katara's many "innocent" escape attempts, shook her head.
"If it pleases Your Majesty, I will have a screen set up here to I can finish both sets of measurements at once." Zuko nodded a tiny, unwilling nod. Mistress Choi's servant girls, prepared, stretched a wooden frame across the center of the study. Unbleached rice paper was draped over the frame, and all of a sudden Mistress Choi was ordering the teenagers to strip.
"I only want the underclothes you intend to be wearing the night of the affair," she said cheerily. "Everything else goes!" Two sets of cheeks very nearly burned holes through either side of the screen. Mistress Choi had just begun to measure Katara when a loud explosion shook the Palace walls.
"Dear gods!" she shrieked, and crouched low to the ground, covered in measuring string. Her servant girls ran confusedly around the room, asking the woman what to do. Another explosion rattled Zuko's desk; on the far side of the study, a ceremonial black steel sword crashed free of its wall mounting. Zuko fought his way into his pants; not bothering with a shirt, he ran out into the hallway until he met with a guard.
"Guard. Report," he commanded tersely, and the woman's expression went sheepish.
"Your Highness," said the soldier, trying not to notice that the Fire Lord was running about the palace shirtless. "Your uncle has commenced testing the fireworks he purchased for the upcoming anniversary feast." Zuko gritted his teeth.
"Thank you, soldier," he said.
"Your humble servant," replied the woman, and resumed her patrol of the Palace halls. The firebender made his way, fuming, back to the study. He met Katara, at the door, struggling to fight her way past Mistress Choi.
"It's not – decent – Ambassador, you are only wearing-"
"It's uncle," said the Fire Lord. Both women turned to look at Zuko.
"What's wrong with General Iroh?" asked Katara. Zuko shook his head.
"Nothing's wrong with him. He's playing with fireworks," said the firebender. To Mistress Choi, he said, "Let's finish this as quickly as possible. I have work to finish." Katara made a noise deep in her throat; Zuko was never that rude with anyone, and she didn't think there was a reason to start now. The Fire Lord pressed his eyes closed and touched his scar. "I am sorry, Mistress Choi," he said, but the woman, scared witless by the explosions, merely nodded dumbly. Katara shot Zuko a look that said, quite clearly, I will talk to you later; grabbing Mistress Choi's arm, she returned to the side of the screen where she had been undressing. Zuko followed, more slowly. He gazed at the table and its piles of maps and charts; I don't even remember what I was doing anymore, he thought, frustrated.
"Your highness? Your Imperial Majesty?" someone was calling for his attention; he turned around and noticed Katara's silhouette on the other side of the screen. She seemed to be dressing; who had been calling him?
"If I may, Your Highness," said Mistress Choi, and promptly attacked with pins and string. He followed orders: arms up, arms down, back straight – right, now for the feast robe. Suddenly, the world around him exploded into fragments of color and sound. The seamstress dove under his map table, her girls scrambling to find some cover. A yelp reached his ears; the heavy wooden frame of the Mistress Choi's screen had crashed down on Katara, burying her under ripped rice paper and the robes she had been putting on. Zuko attempted to pick up the screen and his pants at the same time; his fingers slipped, letting the heavy frame crash back down on Katara. He winced. Another muffled yelp, but this time, he had his pants on so he wouldn't trip.
"Hold on Katara!" Grunting, he picked up the screen and dragged it away from the trembling mass of girl that was Katara. No wonder it took six servants to move this, he thought distractedly, and dropped it heavily on the other side of the study. He turned back, and noticed that Katara was holding her leg – it stuck out at an odd angle from her hips. Hips? Zuko realized then that the girl was wearing only her wraps. His cheeks flooded with heat, but Katara was almost crying; he had to help her. The explosions had stopped for a moment, but he had no sooner thought it than he was flying across the room, smashing his head against a metal chest.
"Thahurt," he slurred, and everything went out of focus. Warm hands tapped his face.
"Zuko? Zuko?" Brown face, blue eyes: why did she look so worried? "Zuko, Yun Zi said one of the boxes of fireworks went out of control," she said. The voice seemed disembodied to him, as though it were coming from a ventriloquist's dummy. "Zuko, come on!" She slapped him, hard. He tried to focus for a moment; Katara, biting her lip against the pain of her leg, was nearly straddling him to get him awake. Another explosion; she was in his lap, now. She smells good, he thought distantly, giddily, but suddenly the world was all too clear.
"I didn't think this was what you meant by work, Zuzu."
Gold eyes slanted toward him. Mai… what do you want from me?
The world went black.