Disclaimer: ATLA and LOK and all characters therein are not mine.
A Change in the Wind
IV. Wounds, Shallow and Deep
Despite their arrival occurring in the dead of night, the entire village roused to celebrate their unexpected return after their equally inexplicable departure. Korra gladly let Sokka have all the glory, and as he astounded the villagers with their tale of derring-do, she and Katara retired to the family tent, both of them exhausted from the night's trials.
Kana came with them, and after Katara removed her powder-blue parka, the old woman carefully examined the girl's bruised neck. "Those Fire Nation dogs," she growled, shaking her head.
"Gran-Gran," Katara said, shocked to hear such unadulterated wrath coming from the warm and kind matriarch.
She squinted at her granddaughter for a second before she headed back to the tent flap. "Sometimes I think your heart is too good, child; some people really are little more than dogs. You're lucky Sokka and Korra found you in time," she said, and then she softened somewhat, tired from a lifetime of hardship. "We saved some dinner for you, so I'll go warm that up on the fire."
"I'll help," Katara offered, tugging her parka back on. "I'm just tired from bending—nothing too serious."
Kana looked like she really doubted that, but she permitted her young relative to accompany her outside to the central fire-pit, which had been revived as the village listened avidly to Sokka's rather exaggerated story. Katara found herself grinning as she paid half her attention to her brother; he was quite entertaining when he wasn't being a total pain.
"Here, you take this back to Korra," Kana said, spooning the reheated mixture of rice, fish, and sea prunes into two bowls. "Whatever bravado you might have, she has ten times more. I'm surprised that girl was standing when she got back here; I've never seen anyone look that exhausted."
"Yeah, we were so far out to sea," she agreed as she accepted the bowls. "I have no idea how she made it there that fast." With nodded thanks at her grandmother, Katara returned to the tent, backing through the flap so as not to spill their meals, and when she turned around, she felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she encountered a rather unexpected sight. "I-I didn't know you wanted privacy…" she tried to explain weakly.
Korra had stripped off her indigo parka and gray-blue tunic—likely with some difficulty, given her injuries—and now sat cross-legged, her chest bindings her only concession to decency. Her neck was twisted as she tried to look at her own back, and she either hadn't heard Katara speak or didn't feel like an apology had been necessary, as she just sighed tersely and said, "Can you check out my back? Because if it looks even half as bad as it feels, boy, will I be seven shades of purple."
Katara set the bowls down and walked around to consider the Avatar's wound in the flickering light of a lantern, which was suspended from the tent's central support. As she approached, she tried not to stare outright, as that was hardly polite and would be potentially quite mortifying if she were caught in the act, but she couldn't help but admire the Avatar's obvious fitness. Korra looked strong when she was fully dressed—something with the breadth of her shoulders, Katara mused—and she looked infinitely more so when the light and shadow so sharply defined the muscles. The Southerner privately lamented that she herself appeared much less intimidating, since appearing as powerful as Korra likely would have given Zuko pause and perhaps would have even deterred that one soldier from assaulting her.
People, after all, were inherently survivalists, preferring only to attack easy prey.
Shaking that tangent from her mind and focusing on her actual task, Katara inhaled a sharp breath through her teeth as she caught sight of the mess of bruises.
Korra chuckled. "So it is that bad, eh?"
The Southerner nodded. "Yeah, it's seven shades of purple, alright. I'm…I'm going to get some snow to help with the swelling, okay? I'll be right back."
The Avatar nodded absently and claimed one of the steaming bowls of stew. "Oo, sea prunes…"
Katara crouched at the tent flap and scooped up a sizable snowball, and she approached her friend. As she knelt down to apply it, she hesitated and just patted it awkwardly. "Um, Korra?"
"Mm?" the Northerner hummed as she gobbled her meal at an alarming rate, and when the other girl didn't resume speaking right away, she sensed the serious undercurrent and twisted at the waist. Swallowing, she prompted, "What is it? You almost look like you're gonna cry."
"I'm not going to cry," Katara said, a defensive flash that was there and gone. "It's just…I mean, look at you. You're so hurt, and all because you came to rescue me, even though you hardly know me. I just wanted to…to thank you."
Korra smiled halfway and clapped a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "There's no need to thank me. What kind of Avatar would I be if I just let the Fire Nation whisk waterbenders away while my back was turned? And besides," she concluded with a shrug, "I knew you enough."
Katara rolled the massive snowball from mitten to mitten, still preoccupied, and when she spoke, her voice was very quiet. "I understand how my mother could protect me, and Sokka, too; I just wouldn't have expected you to risk your life for mine."
The Avatar grinned a little more. "Wow, you must have a pretty poor opinion of me if this surprises you," she teased. "Now, are you going sculpt something with that snow, or what? Because I have some serious pain tolerance, and this hurts like hell."
"Oh, right, sorry," the Southerner hastily apologized. "If you could just lie flat…"
Korra obeyed, stretching out with several well-disguised winces on the furs lining the tent floor, and Katara carefully spread the snow on her back. As she gently packed it down, she became cognizant of a strange sensation, a sudden awareness of the water inherent in snow—and it seemed such a stupid thought, because of course there was water in snow—but for the first time, Katara was convinced that she could do something with it…
Tentatively at first but with growing confidence, she pushed and pulled at that water, swirling it over and through the damaged muscle fibers, plying them with a hand guided by instinct.
Korra let out a content breath and remarked, "Spirits, you guys have fantastic snow here in the South Pole. It doesn't hurt at all anymore."
Still not certain what to expect, Katara brushed the steadily melting clumps from the Avatar's skin, and she stared at the flesh which was now discolored only due to the cold. Her voice seeming to come from far away, she ventured, "I don't think we have special snow here. I…I think I healed you."
"Are you kidding me?" the older girl exclaimed, and she awkwardly prodded the area with a curious thumb. "Whoa, you must've! That didn't even twinge!" She rolled onto her side and grinned up at Katara. "D'you know what this means? If you can heal with waterbending, then you're inherently a very powerful bender, and you could do it without even being taught. This is fantastic! You'll be a master in no time!"
Katara studied her hands as if she'd never seen them before. "Really? You…you really think so?"
"Of course," Korra flippantly confirmed, and she sat up and reclaimed her half-eaten dinner. "Plus, if you attend Yugoda's healing classes in the North Pole, no one will be able to measure up. You'll be the best healer in the Four Lands, I'd bet my reputation as Avatar on it."
Katara laughed softly. "That's kind of you to say and all, but that does require me being able to get to the North Pole sometime, and I don't see that happening in the near future."
"Why not?" the other girl asked mid-chew. "If you're willing to tag along while I do my Avatar stuff, I'll take you to the North Pole right after."
Feeling gratitude and emotion rising thickly in her throat, Katara did her level best not to cry. "You mean that you'll…that I can come with you?"
Korra grinned again. "Damn straight. 'Course, we'll have some time here first because I still need to fix my ship, so at least I'll be able to continue teaching you regular waterbending. But then we're off to the Southern Air Temple, and hopefully, there will be fewer storms this time around. Now, eat your dinner before I'm tempted to steal it from you."
Katara reclaimed her bowl, and she had lifted the spoon halfway to her mouth before she paused and smiled.
She was going to become a waterbending master and a healer, see the world, and travel with the Avatar…it was almost too much to believe, and she almost thought she was dreaming, but she never had had a dream which included sea prunes before.
She glanced at Korra as the other girl scraped every last vestige of food off the inside of her bowl—clearly, the Avatar had such prune-centric dreams on a regular basis—and they both glanced aside as Sokka swaggered through the tent flap, flushed with triumph from his wild success as a storyteller. He took in the scene, and then he was flushed for another reason, and he clapped his hand over his eyes and barked, "Korra! For the spirits' sakes, decency!"
Not possessing the luxury of a waterbending healer, Zuko had to make do with natural ice and bandages. He sat cross-legged in his cabin as he listened to his captain's report, and he really wished that the chamomile tea Iroh had prepared would take the edge off his anger and anxiety; as of yet, its purported soothing properties had not worked any wonders on his nerves.
"We managed to revive the engineer, and he nearly blacked out again when he saw the mess that'd been made of his engine," Captain Jin related glumly. "He said that if he had a week—"
"—He'd be able to fix it?" Zuko interjected hopefully.
The captain's eyes shifted aside. "Er, no, sire," he apologized. "He said that if he had a week, he'd be able to enumerate all that was wrong with it."
The prince resisted the sudden urge to blast fire at the ceiling; he settled for screwing his eyes shut, tightening his jaw until his teeth ached, and repeating his meditation mantra over and over in his head. Breathe, breathe, breathe; in and out, in and out, in and out…
Sipping his tea, Iroh sensed his nephew was nearing the boiling point of his admittedly short temper, and he offered to the captain, "Thank you for the report. We will discuss our options."
Jin bowed respectfully, although he added, "We don't have any options. We have to be towed."
Zuko's hands tensed at that declaration, and the fragile china cup nearly shattered from the force. As the captain hastily made his exit, the young firebender exhaled sharply through his nose and glared at something across the room. "Towed, Uncle?" he growled. "We must be towed?"
Iroh shrugged, not nearly as ruffled. "It seems that the engine is littering the floor of the engine room, so unless we all want to become members of the Southern Water Tribe, we have little choice but to send for aid. But do not worry, Prince Zuko; there is a Fire Navy outpost several days' voyage from here at top speed. Help could be here within a week if we send a falcon now."
The prince bowed his head, his shoulders nearly trembling from the strain of his fury. "I know that there's an outpost there," he said, snapping off each syllable. "I also happen to know that Captain Zhao's promotion made him commander of it. And Uncle, I hate Zhao."
The former general stroked his short, pointed beard. "Zhao is…a capable commander, but a ruthless one. He has found much favor with your father as of late."
"Yeah, because he's ruthless," Zuko spat. "Zhao is the kind of man who would happily sacrifice an entire battalion of recruits for the sake of strategy; hell, he would probably happily roast all the recruits by himself! And why stop with new recruits? Slaughter all the veterans, too! If Zhao had his way, every last person in the Four Lands would be bleeding out beneath his boots. It's no wonder that he's my father's favorite pet."
Delicately, Iroh extracted the cup from Zuko's bloodless fingers, and when Zuko stared at him, he offered, "This is my favorite tea set."
The young firebender blew a gusty sigh and slumped back, his anger cooling into something resigned and sullen. "I am already disgraced in Zhao's eyes, Uncle: the foolish, naïve princeling who dared defy his father. If I have to come crawling to him, tail between my legs, begging for help…oh, Agni, he will never let me live it down. I will be the mockery of the Fire Navy, more so than I already am."
Iroh stood up and placed a paternal hand on the top of Zuko's mostly-shaved head. "I regret to say that this is most likely true, nephew. But your crew is depending upon you, and you cannot forsake them to save face."
Hollowly, he replied, "I know, Uncle."
The older firebender accepted that with a nod and moved with his curious, characteristic grace to the cabin door. Before he reached the iron portal, though, he was stopped by the prince's voice.
"Tell the captain to send a falcon to Zhao's outpost," Zuko said, his tone oddly flat. "Also, I understand that the ship's furnace is part of the engine, and that it will become colder and colder the longer we are marooned out here. So…if you would also tell the captain to assemble the crew in the central cabin on the middle deck, we will use what firebenders we have to warm that area."
Iroh hid a smile, even though his nephew wasn't looking to see. He always knew the boy would pull through in a pinch. "Anything else, Prince Zuko?"
He studied his hands where they rested in his lap. "I know it is precious to you, Uncle, but if you would be willing to distribute your tea amongst the crew…"
The former general indulged in a wide smile now, his eyes curving back into their happy little crescents. "It is no imposition! Tea is always best when shared."
Something like a smile also flickered across Zuko's lips, but it faded away once his uncle departed, as his thoughts weighed heavily on him; he was uncomfortable with the stark truths they offered, namely that, despite his misgivings, he had decided to bring that girl to his father—only if he had managed to prove she was Avatar, yes, but even so…
Ozai would've killed her.
And knowing that, he had sought to deliver the same fate to the true Avatar. Would he really have granted amnesty to one person and condemned another, even though neither of them had committed any actual crimes? Was being Avatar reason enough for execution? He supposed the Avatar represented a threat to the Fire Nation's domination, but to die for just being born seemed a ludicrously harsh punishment, and Zuko knew that his father would've killed whomever he brought home, regardless of justice or truth.
The prince stared off into the shadows of his cabin, his brow creasing deeply as he raised a slow hand to his scar. Once, he had championed the preservation of the innocent…had Ozai awoken in him such primal fear that he had lost sight of that? Had he been cowed into unwilling compliance, desperate to avoid punishment to the point that he abandoned his principles?
Sharply, the wicked burn's pain came back to him—the days and weeks of agony, of not being able to sleep because he just wanted to scream, of fearing that he would never be able to see out of his left eye again…of crying bitter tears out of his right eye, convinced that when his mother returned, she would not be able to recognize him.
He still couldn't cry out of his left eye.
He shifted his hand over, darkening half his vision. Yes, the pain had been persuasion enough. And even though he had not lost his sight, he had lost sight of something, something that was intrinsically important.
Distressed, Zuko twisted around, reaching across his bed to the shelf where he kept his tray of candles.
He needed to meditate.
Small sounds filtered into Korra's ears and gradually disrupted her slumber, poking and prodding at her sleeping mind until she awoke with a start, her eyes snapping open and the breath hissing through her teeth. She found herself staring at the stitched leather hide that formed the tent wall, and she frowned at it in the dim, ambient daylight. Groggy and perplexed and with the adrenaline still spiking her heartbeat, she rolled onto her back and shuffled enough out of her sleeping bag so that she could prop herself up on her elbows and scan the tent's interior.
But nothing appeared amiss. Only Katara remained, curled up in her own bag beside the Avatar; Sokka and Kana were absent, but Korra supposed that since the sun was up, the warrior and matriarch must be performing their daily duties out in the village. Duties which would usually involve Katara, she further surmised, but not in light of last night's exhausting ordeal.
Chalking up her abrupt awakening to a subconscious fluke, Korra straightened her parka's hood and prepared to return to blissful darkness when the sounds came again, and they came from Katara.
The younger girl shifted in her sleeping bag, twisting and writhing as if she were trying to escape its confines, and her expression contorted, although her eyes remained shut. She groaned something unintelligible, and then she thrashed more violently and her incoherent mumbling coalesced into one word, echoed over and over: "No, no, no…"
Korra dragged herself half out of her bag and gently shook her friend's shoulders. "Katara, wake up," she said, but when that failed to rouse her, she shook harder and raised her voice. "Katara! Wake up already! Geez, how heavy of a sleeper are you? Get up!"
Coming to with an abruptness that stole the breath from her lungs, Katara stared blindly up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly for a disorientated instant until she saw the Avatar hovering over her and wearing an expression that was both wary and concerned.
"Are you okay—?" Korra began to ask, but the words caught in her chest as the waterbender bowled into her in a fierce, frightened embrace; if Korra hadn't gotten an arm behind her as a support, Katara would've tackled her all the way to the floor. "I'll take that as a 'no'," she concluded.
"Oh, it was terrible!" Katara half-sobbed, half-gasped into Korra's collar. "It was…oh, spirits…"
The Avatar clumsily patted the other girl's back, although she wasn't certain that the gesture would translate well through her thick glove and Katara's even thicker coat. "That bad of a nightmare, eh?" she guessed.
The Southerner nodded, and her grip tightened on Korra's parka, drawing the layered material uncomfortably taut across the older girl's back and sides, but Korra didn't complain, and Katara still didn't raise her head. "I was—I was back on the ship," she hiccupped. "And…and the soldier…he attacked me again, except this time, Sokka wasn't there to stop him…"
Anger flared in the Avatar's eyes. "Is that where those bruises came from?" she exclaimed. "Whatever beating Sokka gave him, I'll give him ten times worse!"
Katara didn't appear to be listening, as she continued as if the Northerner had never interrupted. "But then I wasn't in my cell anymore; I was on the deck, and you…and you…" She managed to rally, and she whispered, "You were dead, Korra. You were just lying there on your back, and the way you were staring at the sky…oh, spirits, it was exactly the way my…my mother did when she was…when she…"
Cold settled in the pit of the older girl's stomach, and she wished she were better at this sort of thing as she just patted Katara's back again and mumbled, "Shh, calm down, it's okay. I'm fine."
Clearly needing to get the horrible imagery off her chest and out into the open, Katara croaked, "And Prince Zuko was standing over you, but then…but then you both changed, and it wasn't you anymore, lying there dead…it was my mother, and she just kept staring up, and…and Zuko was Ozai, just this huge shadow with hands made out of fire, and he just…laughed, laughed like it was all funny somehow, and then you…that's when you woke me up, I think."
Korra swallowed as she tried to think of something to say. "Well, you…don't have to worry about the first two parts. Sokka and I will always be around to protect you, and I already kicked Prince Zuko's sorry ass; he definitely won't get the upper hand on me, no sir."
Katara exhaled something that wasn't quite a laugh, but it wasn't a sob, either, which the Avatar interpreted as a good sign. Her expression turned grim and her eyes distant, though, as she resumed speaking, albeit now with rather more difficulty.
"As to the last part…" Korra shook her head, a tight, controlled movement. "Your grandmother told me what happened to your mother, and I'm sorry for that. Losing a parent is a terrible thing."
The waterbender drew back slightly and wiped at her eyes. "You did mention that you were orphaned, so…you know what it's like."
Korra's countenance darkened, some essential light dying in the backs of her sky-blue eyes, as if a cloud had just overshadowed the sun. A muscle pulsed in her jaw as she stared at nothing, and Katara wished that she hadn't spoken when, to her great surprise, Korra did.
"I don't…really remember them," she said quietly, the words coming to her from far away. "Uncle—well, Chief Arnook—found me when I was three. There had been a blizzard, the worst in a century, and it…it obliterated several villages, just wiped them off the face of the ice. Mine was amongst them, apparently." She faltered to a stop, her brow pinching, and her hands twisted together in an impotent gesture. "Uncle and a bunch of waterbenders from the city were out combing the snow plain for survivors, and the way Uncle tells it, one of his men almost attacked me by accident; he just saw the fire, and he assumed firebender. And he assumed rightly, as it were, because I was firebending. It wasn't much, but it had kept me alive."
"That must be how they knew you were the Avatar," Katara remarked, less to make a helpful observation and more to fill the sorrowful silence. She wanted to offer something more, but she knew from her own tragic experience that all comforts just felt hollow, unable to really address the root of the pain. And it was strange, too, to see Korra—strong, confident Korra—looking so utterly lost, but Katara couldn't help appreciating the opportunity born of this undesirable situation.
There was a bond forging here, and even in its infancy, she knew its ties were unbreakable.
Korra nodded dully to Katara's statement. "What I do remember—really the only thing I remember—is…that I was trying to warm them, my parents, I mean. They were so cold; they'd been buried in the snow; but I'd dug in, whether through firebending or waterbending, I don't recall which, and I kept trying to warm them. They were dead, though, frozen, so cold they were blue…I…I remember so clearly that they were cold, that no matter how long I held the fire near them, they were never warm again…" She trailed off, her voice thinning into nothingness, and tears she hadn't even felt gather snuck down her cheeks. It wasn't until the drying streaks began to itch that she noticed their presence, and then she scrubbed them away and inhaled a buoying breath.
"But Uncle, he raised me like I was his own," Korra added. "He and his wife already had a daughter—Yue was a year younger than me—but…they took me in anyway. It must've been so hard for them: I cried constantly, and I'd wake up in the night, yelling for my parents, and when Uncle came to soothe me, I'd lash out at him and demand my real parents. I think that went on for over a year; I just didn't understand that they were never coming back. But he never gave up on me, even so." She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "And I repaid his kindness with defiance and a hard head and more than a few opinions about my independence. Yue was always so much more docile than me; she really was the yin to my yang."
Digging about in her sleeping bag, Korra retrieved the white stuffed koi and absently pet its soft, worn exterior. "She snuck this into my supplies, you know, when I was leaving in the dead of night. I'd been planning on not saying goodbye to anyone, but I'm glad she caught me in the act. I wish Uncle had; then maybe I could've explained myself."
"It sounds like your uncle loves you dearly," Katara offered, and she reached out to touch the koi as well, perceiving in it—and rightly so—the wealth of Korra's vulnerabilities. "When we arrive in the North Pole, I'm sure he will welcome you with open arms."
One corner of her lips curved. "Yeah, you may be right."
They sat in comfortable, poignant silence for uncounted and unnoticed seconds, and the warm sense of solidifying friendship was only dispelled when Kana ducked into the tent.
"Oh, good," she said. "You're awake just in time for lunch."
"Lunch?" Katara echoed, astonished, and Korra laughed, the rich vitality back in her tone.
"Wow, we really were tired!" she declared, and she grinned hopefully. "So, what's for lunch? More sea prunes?"
Kana arched a weary white brow and gave her granddaughter a meaningful look. "Excellent," she remarked, "it seems we have a second walking stomach amongst us."
Katara giggled. "As if Sokka wasn't bad enough!"
Huddled in the only heated cabin in the ship, the Fire Navy crew whiled away the days with conversation, songs, and minor competitions, which usually involved small feats of strength like arm-wrestling or more mental exercises, like dice and pai sho games. Unable to see the surrounding ocean from this windowless room, one man always stood watch up in the tower's highest chamber, and due to the obvious dangers of hypothermia, that man was always a firebender. Democratically, Zuko and Iroh shared that load, keeping long watches whenever the burden cycled back around to them.
At the moment, it was the prince's turn, and he had departed the warm cabin an hour or so earlier in his recently-acquired heavy silence; he had never been the model of sociability, but ever since they had been marooned, he had all but ceased speaking, seeming eternally preoccupied.
Captain Jin shifted a tile on the pai sho board. "If I defeat you, general, then I would claim permission to speak freely as my prize."
Iroh chuckled and made his own move, which caused Jin to groan inside. "You will not defeat me, captain, but regardless, you may speak freely. We have all been in close quarters for much too long to worry about stepping on anyone's toes."
Jin glanced aside at the crew, but they were all cheering on the impromptu sparring match that had broken out within their ranks; even so, he lowered his voice. "Very well, then. I feel as if I have to say…that none of us wanted this posting, sir. Prince Zuko had been disgraced and exiled, and being appointed to his crew was tantamount to being banished ourselves, and it came with the guise of dishonor, even if it were not officially declared."
The old firebender sipped at his tea, and then he idly relocated a tile. "I see," he murmured.
The captain fixated on that move and forced his expression not to crumple in dismay as his fate was sealed. A blustery sigh escaped him, and he slumped back in his chair. "The victory is yours, general."
Iroh smiled in modest acceptance and began replacing the tiles. "Again, captain?"
Jin smirked crookedly. "Well, I have nothing else to do," he remarked; "I might as well try to hang on longer this time." He reached for the first tile, but when he picked it up, he just held onto it. "But as I was saying, sir…Prince Zuko has been a…trying commander, shall we say—he has the shortest fuse I've ever seen, and sometimes, he can be as intractable as an earthbender. He had not endeared himself to the crew at all; he had not gained respect through either love or fear."
"Had not?" Iroh queried softly, noting the change in tense. "This has changed?"
The captain toyed with the tile so he didn't have to meet the general's eyes. "Ever since we encountered the Avatar, Prince Zuko has been…kind, and fair, and…for the first time, he truly acted like our leader, and because of that, the men responded to him as such. He has reacted admirably to our current straits, demonstrating clear concern for his crew's comfort and well-being, and…and I, at least, understand how our cry for help will be perceived within the navy. Prince Zuko, humiliated in battle by the teenaged Avatar and left at the mercy of the waves…" He trailed off and shook his head. "He will be ridiculed relentlessly."
"He was aware," Iroh pointed out.
"Yes, I guessed that," Jin agreed quietly. "And while the crew might not see that so clearly, on some level they understand as well that he has sacrificed his remaining respect as Crown Prince in order to deliver us from this watery grave. He could have kept his pride and let us all starve or freeze, but he did not, and that has planted a seed of loyalty and engendered great respect. If Prince Zuko seeks to acquire another ship in the future, you may be assured, general, that we will all volunteer to the posting."
Iroh bravely held back the tears that threatened to sear his eyes upon hearing such praise for his beloved nephew. "We would be honored to have you, captain," he replied gruffly.
Jin smiled, and he began to place the tile when he paused again, his attention now distracted by the arrival of the prince himself. "Sire, is your watch up already?" he wondered, confused.
Zuko glanced at him, and then he cast his gaze around the entire crew. "If I could have your attention," he said. "You are all fine men, and you have served me and my uncle well the entirety of our travels together. Therefore, I am happy to say that you will all be rewarded for your troubles—the rescue ship has been sighted! Hot meals and warm beds await us!"
The crew cheered, some of them punching their fists in the air, others performing quick little dances.
It almost appeared as if Zuko smiled. "I will resume watch and let you know when the ship has arrived and is ready to board us. Until then, you should all stay here in the warmth." And he hauled open the portal again and stepped back into the freezing corridor without, his breath fogging instantly.
Jin exchanged a look with Iroh. "Well, this is easily the best news I've heard all day," he joked.
But the general disagreed. "Forgive me, captain, but it is not the best news I have heard," he imparted with sincere gratitude for Jin's earlier commendation of Zuko.
The captain finally placed his tile. "Does that mean you'll let me win, general?"
Iroh tugged on his beard. "Hm…that, I do not know…"
