Chapter 1

Zuko

I had been in need of lodgings when I first met him within the impenetrable walls of Ba Sing Se. We were introduced by a mutual aquaintance in a tea shop called the Tea Weevil. He was seated at a table on the far left, reclining leisurely in his chair and blowing on his tea to cool it. As my companion and I took our seats, he fixed his eyes on me and said, "Ah. You have been in the Fire Nation, I perceive."

I paused to pick up my jaw from the floor. "Astonishing," I said.

"Not really," the plump old man replied. "You have a military bearing, your clothes smell faintly of smoke, and when you entered the shop you looked over your shoulder in a paranoid manner. The Fire Nation is the only place I can think of for a smoke, paranoid, military man to come from." He paused to take a sip of his tea.

"Also," he continued, "you have a huge burn scar on the side of your face."

Put that way, of course, it was absurdly simple.

"We have come here on business," said my companion, shifting slightly in his chair. "You mentioned that you could not find anyone to split the cost of rooms with you, and this gentleman is very much in need of a place to stay. I thought I'd better bring you two together."

The old man seemed delighted. "I have my eye on a nice place across the street from a bakery. I hope you do not mind the smell of Jasmine tea?" My prospective roommate suddenly seemed anxious.

I shrugged. "It's all the same to me."

"Good enough," he said. "I am nearly incapable of going an hour without a cup of tea and often have friends over for all-night games of Pai Sho. Will that bother you?"

"Humanity bothers me. I'll cope."

"Let me see, what are my other shortcomings? There can't be many!" He laughed heartily and went on. "I get up at all kinds of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy." He took a sip of his tea, grimaced, then firebent hot steam from his nostrils into the cup. "So, what do you have to confess? It is easier to live in harmony if people are honest with each other."

I chuckled in spite of my eternal, blinding rage. "I get down in the dumps at times and don't speak to anyone for days on end. Just leave me alone and I'll be okay. I am obsessed with regaining my honor and often fly into violent rages directed at the people who care about me. I scream things about my father and sister in the night. And I hate loud noises."

The old man blinked, then chuckled nervously. "Well," said he, "if honesty is an indication of harmony, then we should get along quite well!" He grinned and extended his hand. "My name is Iroh."

I accepted the handshake. "Zuko," I said. As we shook hands, a horrified look appeared on Iroh's face.

"You don't include the tsungi horn among your loud noises, do you?"