The Art of Tea

The palace staff bowed to Iroh and his newest tea companion as he made his through the busy hallways toward the kitchens where he kept all of his tea supplies. There were few things in life Iroh was more passionate about than tea, though on several occasions, he'd been accused of valuing the pursuit of the perfect blend of tea more than his own personal safety. Maybe he'd made a few risky journeys for a few leaves from the top of a mountain, but he'd never regretted his decision.

"You can tell a lot about a man by the way he brews his tea," Iroh explained as they entered the kitchen. "You can tell a lot about a man by the flavors he chooses and the way he drinks it. I once believed in the reading of tea leaves, but long ago decided to stop looking for the spirits to determine my path in life. Ah, but that's a different story for a different time."

Iroh stood before the cabinets, pleasantly humming to himself as he studied the tins of tea, stacked almost to the ceiling. He was very proud of his collection; it had taken him many years and many trips to many different places in the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. But he was supremely satisfied. He could blend a tea so fine, so light and delicate, it was suitable for a newborn. He could blend a tea for every personality, could find just the right notes to make anyone sit back and sigh in contentment. Privately, he kept a list of his most satisfying converts, people who'd said repeatedly that they hated tea and would never drink it, but after one cup from him, admitted that there was more to tea than they thought.

He was also given to a bit of hubris from time to time.

"Now, despite what many people think," Iroh said, reaching for the tea sets, "brewing the perfect cup of doesn't start with the leaves. No, it must start with your instruments. How is your teapot? Are you looking to craft a pure tea, true to the flavors of its leaf? Or a blend? A medley of flavors, one layered on top of the other, great parts brought together to create a greater whole?"

Carefully, Iroh brought over the step stool and chose a black porcelain teapot, a dragon delicately drawn in thin gold lines, its great mouth engulfing the spout. Gently, he ran his thumb over the dragon's scales and claws, fondly remembering the day it was gifted to him, the way it had been his most prized possession for more than half of his life, the very few, very special occasions he'd used it. This would mark only the sixth time that he'd ever brewed anything in it, though it appeared that its seventh use wouldn't be far off. He gently placed it on the counter and went back for two cups. His companion watched him raptly and quietly, perhaps understanding the importance of this moment.

"Next, is the water," Iroh continued, smiling warmly. "The Fire Nation has excellent water. Clear and crisp. Very refreshing. Pure. Though, once, I called for the waters of a spring rain on the island of Shu Jing. Perhaps, it was all in my mind, but I remember days there as a young boy, and a kind man offered me a drink from his rain catch. Its flavor was hard to describe, but it was far different from the water in the capitol. Richer, fuller. It had more character."

Iroh closed his eyes and relieved that moment. The subtle tones were hard to form into words, but he'd felt more than refreshed after that drink. He'd felt invigorated.

"In any event," Iroh continued, placing his hand gently on his friend's head, "we shall be using the perfectly fine water that you are used to, and see what magnificent thing we can transform it into. Which, of course, brings us to the tea. And here is where you learn the measure of a man. Picking the right tea for the right person is an art itself, a valuable skill that will serve you well in every aspect of life. It has far less to do with the tea itself than the understanding of the person. The more you know of a person, the easier it is to craft a tea for them. Some people will reveal their true nature almost immediately, and for others, it takes years to truly know them and be able to craft something that speaks directly to their core. It involves lots of watching—not just looking, but watching—and listening."

From the cabinet he pulled six white teas, two oolongs, a jasmine and a chamomile. He laid these out on the counter and watched with a wide smile as his companion touched several of the tins, turning them around and around before sniffing one, then sneezing. This was a perfect day for a tea lesson, and once their cups were brewed perfectly, they would be able to enjoy it outside in the garden, maybe followed by a nap in the warm sun.

"The first time tea was introduced to me, I was sixteen and headstrong, arrogant and ready to force the world to do whatever I wanted. Bear in mind, this wasn't the first time I'd had tea, no, tea had always been a staple in the palace. But there was a festival, and my father invited a famous craftsman to serve us. His forms of pouring were artful, and he showed us all the blends he'd curated over the years, but it wasn't until he presented us with cups, blended individually to suit our personalities that things changed for me. The craftsman promised that we would love our individual teas, that they would speak to us and perfectly embody who we were."

Iroh recounted that day for his companion, of sitting on the dias with his mother and father, young Ozai beside him itching to be done with the tea display and move on to the sweets. But the craftsman had been patient, his manner deliberate, his golden eyes constantly seeking and searching. For a fleeting moment when he'd locked eyes with Iroh, he'd felt as if the man saw him in a way that no one else did. As if he saw straight through to the core of everything that was the Fire Nation's crowned prince. He'd watched as the old man set out four different tea pots in four different styles and colors and said that each would be his gift to them, along with their special blend of tea, should they find that his words rang true..

He started at Azulon, taking scoops from several different tins, and placing them into the pot. He spoke of their reputations among the Fire Nation and the colonies, but said that though true and flattering, this was not the truth of the person he was reaching towards; no, he wanted to reach to the core of them, and to that end, he'd been observing them. Listening for tone of voice and watching mannerisms. Noting the way they moved and interacted not only with each other, but those around them as well. For Azulon, a green tea, simple on the surface, but underneath, a deep woody flavor, a tea that had a strong, mildly bitter finish. After a few sips, Azulon had smiled, and that smile grew until it became a full on laugh, and he raised his cup to the craftsman, an acknowledgment of its truth and his skill. For his mother, Illah, a green blast powder tea that had to be strained three times mixed with a wuyi. A compliment almost to Azulon's tea, but without the cover of a light green. Bitter start and bitter finish, very upfront about its flavor. Illah had smiled in a way Iroh had never seen his mother smile before as she smelled the tea. His mother was a of fire and steel. Her praise was hard earned, but her scorn freely given. She had him brew her a second cup.

The craftsman skipped Iroh, promising something special for him, and moved on to Ozai. For the youngest prince, he brewed a tea almost as golden as his eyes, with a smoky aroma and bitter middle tones that followed closely on the smoky start. It was no secret that Ozai was impatient and brash, but he was also very young, and most people blamed it on his youth. Ozai was also known to call tea "hot leaf juice" and refuse it, but the moment the spice hit his tongue, his eyes lit up, and he looked eagerly at his parents. There was an intense fire in the young prince, the craftsman had said, and it would be large and burn brightly. Amber ambition would fuel it.

"Finally he came to me," Iroh said as he decided on the blend that would be best for his companion. "He took one look at me and said that my fire will not burn as brightly, but it will burn twice as long. Mine was the slow burn, a mix of many different elements that would allow me to change and grow as needed, a sustaining burn that would carry me through several lifetimes. Mine was a blend of white teas, most notably a bai mudan tea made from the peony flowers from his own garden, with hints of jasmine and a cloud tea from the tops of the mountains."

Iroh paused and furrowed his brow, holding a flame at his fingertip. The tea had a steady undercurrent that stayed even when the surface notes changed, and by the time he'd finished the cup, the flavor had mutated completely. It was as if the craftsman had seen through to Iroh's future and known all the pain that would be waiting for him. It was as if he'd known there would be a constant bittersweet through his life. Iroh still vividly remembered the way the last drop finished on his tongue, supremely sweet and honeyed. Innumerable years later, there were still days where Iroh couldn't believe how right the old man had been. Even when he was a headstrong and foolhardy teenager, he'd seen the strength and benefit of being able to read someone so perfectly, of being able to craft something so divine. He'd sworn to master this art, and he had.

"For you, we must find something equally as perfect," he told his companion. "You are young, so we must pull from your heritage. Already, I can see elements of your mother's kindness and compassion. You also have your father's passion. Your love fiercely and openly, but it wouldn't surprise me if you developed a bit of a temper as you get older."

Chuckling, Iroh poured the tea into the two cups, pushing one toward his companion, gently moving their hands away when they went for the hot liquid.

"Patience," he said, "is also not something native to your parents. They both had to learn it." He blew on the tea and came to the other side of the table. "Now, let's see if this is cool enough for you."

"Uncle, what are you doing? Don't give her tea!"

Iroh looked up to see his nephew standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He smiled fondly at Zuko and beckoned him over.

"When you were her age, we did the same thing, nephew."

"So mom told me. I think she also told you not to give a six year old hot tea."

His little tea companion reached for her father, and Iroh smiled at them, feeling a fullness in his heart. Little Kya giggled as her father squeezed her, then asked if he was going to have some tea, too. Iroh promised he didn't get teary eyed as Zuko explained that this was a special tea just for her, that she didn't have to share with anyone. He wondered if Zuko still kept the blend they made when he was Kya's age.

"I wanna taste!" Kya said, reaching out for her cup.

Iroh handed her the cup, and Zuko helped her drink it. The greatest reward was watching her little blue eyes light up as the sweetness hit, and Zuko chuckled as he had to make her slow down or she'd burn her tongue. The craftsman's smile came to mind, and Iroh wondered if Zuko had been puzzled by the sweet, flowery tea without a hint of the fire Iroh had given him. Truthfully, Iroh wasn't able to completely explain it himself, but he was still supremely proud that he'd been able give his nephew hope for the sweetness his life would have.

"By the way, nephew, you wouldn't still happen to have the blend I made for you, would you?"

"Of course I do," Zuko said, almost as if it was an absurd idea that he would get rid of it.

Fewer things could have made him happier. Just as it seemed the moment couldn't get any better, Zuko noticed the teapot, and it was as if the golden dragon took him back through the years as Kya begged for more of her tea and made Iroh promise that this was just for her and it was her special tea, and she wouldn't have to share with her cousins or the new baby when it finally came. And when he gave her a tiny pouch of it, she ran off to show her mother, leaving Iroh and Zuko in the silence of the empty kitchen, sunlight streaming through the open windows.

"You know," Zuko whispered, "this is probably one of my fondest memories."

"Mine, too, nephew."

The two men sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company, privately reliving a shared memory. Creating a new one.

"Let me brew us a cup, Uncle."

Tea had brought him many wonderful things in life. He hoped it would do the same for his nephew.