Chapter Four

Normally, Sokka would eat anything. And by anything, he meant anything. The four-year-old had been known to find snacks in the most disgusting – though admittedly creative – places: soap scum from the sponge bath bucket, soot mixed with snow at the bottom of the fire pit, and the occasional frozen worm found in his daily mud-and-snow-frolicking topped the list. Still, he eyed this particular cup of water with unease.

Sokka knew for a fact that he had used this very cup to shovel a hole in the mud the day before. Yet his father had merely filled it with water and served it to Sokka without washing at all, or checking to see if it had been washed. He suspected it had to do with the blank spaces. Sokka had noticed them, too.

The first blank space he perceived had been at his bedside, right where his mama usually leaned over to kiss him goodnight. The child had to pull his blanket closer by himself. He closed his eyes and pretended the slight breeze on his cheek felt like her lips.

The second he'd found one night about a week later. When a crash of thunder frightened him, Sokka had come crying to his parents' bedroom and climbed into bed. While his dad's strong arms and words of comfort had calmed him enough, he couldn't help but feel the absence of a softer voice, and another warm body at his back.

And he always felt a blank space to his side, or behind him, or somewhere in the next room. A smaller one, but a constant one.

There were others, too. Sokka saw them at his Gran-Gran's hut, or over the pot of sea prunes, or on the floor when he played with his toys. Last of all, Sokka saw the blank spaces in his daddy's eyes.

They were less substantial – not like something had physically got up and left them – but they changed a lot of things. Like the way Hakoda acted. The way playing in the same room as him had lost its fun. And things like this, where dirt could float in a cup of water and no one would notice or care.

Grimacing, Sokka finally let his pouting lips rest tentatively on the stone rim. He tipped the cup back and tried to strain the drink through his teeth.

"Blech!" he coughed, and threw the cup to the floor in disgust. His dad finally turned around from the table where he'd been slicing strips of seal meat.

"What's going on?"

Sokka grimaced, but just turned away. He didn't think his dad would understand about the blank spaces. These days, it seemed like he had become one of them.


The white-yellow glow of sunrise filtered through sheer scarlet curtains in Katara's room. The light glinted off her furniture's dark wood and sharp corners, and appeared to puddle in the folds of the silk coverlet.

The little girl sat atop the covers. Everyone had said it was such a cold time of year, but she nearly sweated her bed into a swamp before escaping the layers of blankets almost every night.

The first few days, waking up in this room had put Katara off. So much was simply alien to her – everything made out of wood and stone, and all shined up and smooth. Where was the snow, and the ice, and the thick sleeping blankets that cocooned you in a warm embrace?

That feeling of unfamiliarity had brought out an unusual shyness in her. For once, she had felt hesitant to touch anything, or even to move. That timidity had eclipsed her usual curiosity and strong personality, at least for a while.

Not anymore, though. Katara slid off the child-sized bed, used to the routine. She went to over to the brand new cabinet her Liang had got her and pulled out one of her favourite new dolls, the one with the painted face. True, it didn't quite fit into her chubby palm the way her old soapstone one had. But these dolls - they had bright red lips, and painted brown eyes, and arms that would move! Even better, they had dresses. Nothing delighted Katara more than to clumsily slip on and off tiny replicas of the latest Fire Nation fashions as she waited for the Maylin Lady to come dress her. She grabbed a minuscule satin robe now, screwing up her eyes in concentration as her plump, stubby fingers ran carefully over the delicate bows and beads.

Liang watched his surrogate daughter through the sliver of her barely open doorway. She always needed it open, just a little bit, or else the screaming would start. The second night home, he had made that mistake. Katara's shrieks of fright brought both him and Maylin running. They found her pressing herself to the headboard, whispering hysterically about "the water, the water." Liang remembered all to clearly the day when he had burst into his quarters to find her in this same position, with the waters of the sinking ship threatening and ever higher. It had taken hours of close holding and soft words from himself and his wife to calm her down. Never mind how much longer it took to calm her after a dream about the "monsters." Liang knew by now that she only referred to what he himself had always been.

But in the past few days, Katara had truly begun to settle into the rhythm of her new life. Only once in the past week had walked in to find her eyes red and breath shuddering. She loved her toys and fancy outfits. The various shades of crimson and burgundy complimented her darker skin strikingly. To Liang's relief, once dressed properly, Katara blended in well with the Fire Nation citizens, whose skin tones varied more than he had recalled. She no longer looked lost amidst the sheer space their three-bedroom home offered. The girl seemed to thrive on the relative freedom of life in the Fire Nation.

"It can't last like this," Lin whispered behind him. Liang turned with a start, but his wife's calming hand touched his arm reassuringly.

"Liang, I don't know a lot about our nation's military practices, but I doubt Fire Lord Azulon will be happy about your resigning, without proper notice, just after losing him a ship to the Water Tribes."

Liang stepped away from the door. He didn't want to disturb this quiet time of Katara's before Maylin went to help her dress. "It will be fine," he said brusquely as Lin moved closer to him. "General Iroh is a just man." He grabbed the hand she'd laid on his chest and continued, but with less certainty. "I'm sure he'll grant me a release."

"But what if they don't?" Liang could feel the tension in her body, even in her fingers. "What if he discharges you – but with dishonour? Or – or what if 'justice' demands that he hold you responsible for what has happened?"

A part of Liang frowned at her tone. He knew she was right, but something in the disparaging way she had said it disturbed him.

"Be careful, Maylin. Iroh is the Crowned Prince; to doubt his judgment is to doubt the Fire Lord."

His wife shrunk back, less than a centimeter. She'd never quite felt such devotion to the Fire Nation as he had. Often, he'd wondered where this streak of rebellion within her had come from.

"If…if I am held responsible, I'll be killed." He had known it all along. Still, something about the way color drained from even Lin's lips made his throat go dry. But what could they expect? If the Fire Lord learned that he'd brought an enemy into this country – not just that, but the Palace City itself, where the Royal Family would be at its most vulnerable. Liang knew the consequences. Their secret could never be discovered.


The sun shone brightly today. Zuko shivered anyway. He didn't like winter, and he didn't understand why his parents thought it amusing to sit outside in it. "We just want to enjoy the sun before the rain comes," his mother had told him as she tied the various silk straps of his jacket. "It will be fun, and you and your sister can play."

"Hey, Zuzu!" Zuko looked up from his toys – these two particular water and fire nation soldiers he liked to bring almost everywhere – and grinned as he caught sight of his younger sister pumping her short legs as she ran toward him.

"Hi, Zulu!" he responded cheerfully. Azula collapsed in a heap, out of breath from her run across the courtyard. Zuko laughed and dropped his soldiers. Seizing his chance, he reached around the three-year-old girl to tickle beneath her arms.

"Stop it, stop it!" she shrieked, giggling uncontrollably. Azula tried to get up and run, but her brother held her too tightly. He moved now to get her stomach, and her screams of mirth echoed across the tile.

"Zuzu –" she puffed for breath now. "Stop, stop! I want to tell you somefing!" Azula frowned at herself. She blew a quick raspberry and tried again, this time shaping her tongue and full lips more carefully. "Something."

Still giggling, Zuko finally released his prisoner. He sat up and crossed his legs, then rested his chin on his fist attentively. "I'm listening," he said, with a slightly mocking tone. He had to duck when Azula threw a playful punch.

"Lu Ten just showed me!" She pointed in the direction of the shaded dais where their parents sat with drinks, silently watching. Their uncle and cousin stood nearby. "See this?" She opened her dripping fist to reveal a mostly melted ice cube.

"Yeah…"

"Lu Ten, he said that at the North Pole, the whole city's made of ice, like this!"

"Rully?" Zuko felt intrigued. A whole city of ice? How could that work? "But, nuh uh, Zulu. How would they keep it from melting?"

"Lu Ten said it's always cold there. And they're wa-ter-ben-ders, dum-dum." Azula had to slow down for a moment in order to pronounce such a long word. But then she shrugged and picked up the dialogue again. "They make ice with their hands!"

Zuko shuddered. Waterbenders sounded weird. They liked cold enough to make even more ice than they already had? Why? He remembered what his uncle had said before, about their fighting.

"I heard about some waterbenders," the five-year-old said solemnly. "They sank a ship." He imagined for a moment what it would feel like to be entirely encased in ice, cold and stuck and unable to move, with a pair of hateful blue eyes staring at you.

"They sink ships all th'time, Zuzu," Azula said scornfully. "That's what they do." She folded her arms. "Stop being a dum-dum."

"Shut up," he said, stung by her words, and upset at the thought of so many people dying that horrific way. "You dunno what you're talking about." Cold faces, angry faces, circled around in his mind. The waterbenders frightened him. But somewhere amidst the pool of fear in his stomach, he felt a hot spark, as well.

"Yeah huh!" Azula said, standing abruptly. "I know 's much as you! I know more! You're – you're just as stupid as they are!"

"I – am – not!" he yelled, and the hot pinch in his stomach flared to fill his entire body. Zuko threw a blind punch – and felt a searing heat pour from his clenched fingers.

Azula dodged reflexively, her eyes widening in the glow of the flame. She screamed as she hit the ground. Brother and sister heard shouts from the dais.

"Zuko! Azula!"

The five-year-old heard his mother's voice, and vaguely recognized that she and the other adults had come tearing towards him, but it didn't really register. All Zuko could really feel was the surge in his body, and the heat in his hand. He looked down at Azula, and their wide eyes locked. He saw surprise there, even shock. He knew that her expression must be a mirror of her own. Together, they turned to the source of a crackling sound near their feet, just as their parents arrived. There, Zuko's waterbender lay burning, casting its own flickering, orange light on the children's eyes.

"Zuko." This time he heard his father's voice. Not panicked, nor worried, as Ursa's had been. Rather, it sounded…pleased.

"So youcan firebend." Ozai put his hand on his son's shoulder, though the five-year-old continued to watch the toy soldier burn. A part of his mind registered his mother fussing over Azula, despite her lisped protests that she felt fine. His uncle and older cousin hung in the background, slightly distanced observers on this scene. Ozai's hold on Zuko's shoulder tightened imperceptibly. "I am proud of you, my son."

Zuko felt his chest swell with a different type of heat: a searing swoop that somehow still left a part of him feeling wary. Father's proud of me, he thought.

He did not notice the flash in his uncle's expression, nor the shadow that passed over Azula's eyes.


"Here," Maylin said, pointing to a chart and a few written characters. Katara sat on the floor, obviously attempting to pay attention, though she was more interested by the thread patterns on her new dress than her schooling. "This writing stands for today's date. Do you know what today is?"

Katara looked up long enough to shrug before picking at the bright scarlet thread again. Maylin sighed, but determined that she wouldfinish this lesson.

"It's the third day of Shiyue. Shiyue third, can you remember that?"

"It's my free," Katara responded unconcernedly. Her makeshift teacher frowned, confused.

"Your what, honey? I didn't understand."

"My free, my free!" She thumped the floor impatiently. "After my two, I get my free."

"Oh…" Realization dawned on Maylin. "You're three? Is today your birthday?"

"Yes," the toddler said, obviously gratified that her new pupil had picked up on it so quickly. "My birfday means I get my free today."

Katara frowned, trying to remember how she knew that. Didn't someone sit down with her a long time ago, drilling that into her head over and over? Yeah, she thought. Her Sokka-brother had been so excited…about something…And now I'm four, K'tara, and on Shiyue third you'll get your three, just like I did a year ago! Shiyue third, remember, okay? 'Cause your birthday - he stood up straight and put his hands on his hips - is your most important day. Mine's today, and yours is Shiyue third, got it? But you won't catch up to me. I'll always be ahead of you. And he had stuck out his tongue.

I will too catch up, she thought vaguely. But already, his face seemed a little blurry, as if the warm sun here had begun to melt them away. Did she need to remember? Was she supposed to try?


"Happy birthday, nuka, nuka, happy birthday, sister mine…."

A light wind picked up Sokka's hoarse, tuneless singing before it could reach his own ears. He thought for a second that he could imagine the song flying through the swirling snow to find its way to wherever Katara might be. But he shook it off, and stomped his feet and jumped up and down for good measure. He hated when his thoughts soundedpretty. It was stupid.

Still, he hummed the familiar melody on his way to the watchtower for his daily sunset vigil. Upon entering the structure and actually hearing his own voice, he pulled a wrinkled-nosed face. The sound disturbed him more than anything else. He sounded like a weak baby turtle-seal.

The four-year-old brought forward the small item cradled carefully in his left hand. It was a snowball, as perfectly round as Sokka's gloved and stubby fingers could craft it. The barrier of snow carried within it a small soapstone bead, one his dad had helped him carve in anticipation of Katara's third birthday. Sokka had finished it not long before she had been taken away.

He held the snowball tenderly for a moment, brushing off a bit of soot that had probably come from his own somewhat dirty gloves. Finally, he stared out to where the sunset would be, had thick flurries and an overcast sky not blocked the view. Heaving with all his might, the big brother threw the ball as far out the window as he could. He watched it disappear, somewhere out to the west.

Happy birthday, nuka, nuka. Happy birthday, sister mine.

Sokka wouldn't linger at the window today. It was Katara's birthday, which was nice, he guessed, but he didn't want his dad to have to spend too much of it alone. The empty space was still trying to get him, and this warrior-boy was the only one who could see it well enough to stop it.

Nch. Nch. Nch. He heard his dad's boot steps in the snow before he saw the man's wearied face. Sokka didn't wait to hear his name called to bound energetically down his ice-packed stairs.

"Hi, Dad!" he shouted.

"Sokka!" Hakoda called over the wind. The boy poked his head out of the watchtower entrance. Beaming, he bounded over to his father and grabbed his hand. "What were you doing, son?"

"Just coming to get you," he said. He smiled as widely as he could and tugged on the gloved hand he held. "Wanna see what I made?" It was a miniature catapult for snowballs. Dad'd like that.

A bit of the spark must've reached Hakoda somehow, because he wore a corner of a smile. "All right, let's go see."

Sokka felt satisfied. Maybe making Dad happy was kind of a present to Katara, too. And it helped keep the empty spaces away.


One of the Fire Lord's officials sighed with slight impatience, though he tried to screen it with a conciliatory expression.

"Captain Lu Ten, I apologize that none of the messages to Captain Shi have cleared the postal system. I'm afraid your father simply must speak to the Fire Lord about the situation before any official decision can be made."

Lu Ten sighed as well, atypically , he felt that his grandfather had placed implicit trust in Iroh's decision-making skills by making him general.

"Fine," he said, a little snappily, scowling pointedly. As the official bowed and moved away, Lu Ten felt a large, heavy hand rest on his shoulder.

"My son, what has you so tightly wound this afternoon?"

Since his childhood, he had been trying to place exactly the way Iroh's voice sounded – like rough-grained sandpaper, perhaps, or crushed pebbles falling into a vase. It always had a way of calming Lu Ten, even against his will. Sometimes it annoyed him, but today the young captain just sighed.

"This whole mess with Captain Shi," he said. He turned around to face the general. Iroh always appeared to have gone somewhat to seed. Where he once carried so much bulk in his shoulders, most of it had moved to his stomach, now. But his father always laughed that off. I just grow in a different direction now.But Lu Ten knew better than to underestimate his father's prowess – he'd lost embarrassingly to the old man in a practice duel just the day before.

Lu Ten focused again. "It's just foolish to make this man wait for so long, with no idea about his fate. Why should the decision be in grandfather's hands instead of yours?"

"This loss is more than simple tragedy, Lu Ten. It is political." The young man frowned, but his father elaborated. "Captain Shi returned alone, having lost his men and his ship. To some, it makes no sense for us to honor him, as I had intended to." Lu Ten nodded. He had heard a few people comment discreetly already.

"My young brother and I will both speak to the Fire Lord soon," Iroh continued. "Ozai hopes our father will allow for Zuko's firebending commemoration to be included in the Sozin's Comet celebration. I hope Shi Liang can be honored at that time, as well." His eyes' focus went somewhere to Lu Ten's left, while his voice dropped to a low, self-directed rumble . "I must explain to my father – Captain Shi is a hero. The Fire Nation needs a hero right now." He smiled a wry smile. "If we can emphasize the right aspects of Shi's honor and loyalty, it would have perfect political timing."

He met his son's eyes once more. "Not everyone understands the intrinsic value of such a man, Lu Ten."

The captain felt this way often – as if his father had just said something so profound that it might change the world, if only he could fully grasp it.

"General Iroh." A man of about twenty-five approached. His smooth, long hair and goatee glinted in the torchlight. "Captain," Ozai added, bowing to his nephew.

Iroh and Lu Ten bowed together to the prince, though Iroh's bow was notably less deep. As both Crowned Prince and general, Iroh outranked his brother significantly.

"Shall we, then?" Iroh boomed, then clapped his younger brother on the back. Ozai's lip twitched icily in a formal smile.

"Excuse us nephew," he said with an air of dismissal. He turned away from Lu Ten and began to walk with his brother to the throne room. "The General and I have an appointment with the Fire Lord."

Lu Ten bowed to their retreating backs, bristling a little. What was wrong with him today? His pointed boots slapped tile, echoing his irritation. Sometimes his uncle's manner agitated him, and nothing could do anything to change it. They only had about five years' difference between them, but somehow Ozai always managed to make the disparity seem greater. Really, though, even Captain Shi had three years' seniority over the Prince, but had always treated Lu Ten with respect.

He slowed his step, disturbed at the comparison between the Uncle who irked him so, and the former captain he'd admired for so long. What, really, was the difference between them? Lu Ten recalled the intensity Captain Shi's face held during their training sessions. He had always studied that look – the one that burned and cut like hot glass. The one that, now, seemed to reflect something in Prince Ozai's eyes as well.

His breath caught in his throat. Suddenly, he didn't know if there was so much of a difference between the two, after all.


"Hyah!"

A punch, and a raging inferno split the afternoon sky. Liang side-swiped some imaginary foe that balanced near the border of his rock garden, and sent flames into its invisible heart. With a whirling, low-to-the-ground kick, his foot spurted a wheel of fire that rose into a blazing cylinder around him. He jerked his shining arms to create bending daggers, which appeared as if drawn from indiscernible sheaths of air, and stood silent at last.

The blood in his veins had thickened during his year down south, and the heat affected him more easily. Still, after three hours drilling old routines and training himself, it pumped just as furiously as it had that fateful day one month ago, at his final raid. But then he had been doing something, at least.

Liang hated this. He hated sitting and waiting, hiding in his own backyard. He could feel the cowardice crawling on his skin, mingling with the sweat. But he could not, for the girls' sakes, risk too much normal life outside his home until he had word from someone about his fate. It would kill Maylin if he disappeared from the streets, without even a notice or goodbye. No, he had to stay here. Stay here like a skulker and hide.

"Liang!" Even with the distance between their front room and courtyard, he could discern the panic in his wife's voice. He ran.

The noise of a heavy pounding scuttled across the walls and ceilings, carrying a tremulous fear with it. Liang found Lin huddled over Katara, afraid to even approach their metal-wrought door.

"I have it," he whispered furiously, waving her back with his still-warm arm. "Stay in the back room!" Obediently, his wife and child darted to the rear of the house.

Adrenaline rushed through him. He pulled the latch, and their door swung ponderously open. Every muscle in his body tingled.

"Good afternoon – Shi Liang?"

A scarlet-clothed official bearing a thin roll of paper bowed, then stood still on his doorstep, watching him expectantly. Liang nodded tersely, and the man held out the scroll.

"No!" Maylin hissed in panic. Suddenly, Liang felt a pressure against his leg. He reached his hand down to brush Katara's head out of instinct as she twined her fingers tightly around his knee. He looked back at the messenger, trying to shade the fear in his eyes.

"Is this your daughter?" The official smiled indulgently.

"Yes," Liang said hesitantly, not sure how widely the story of his dead child had spread. Does he know? He took the scroll, and willed the man to leave.

"How old is she?"

"She just turned three." He could feel Maylin approaching carefully behind him, and reached his hand out to her. She took it, pressing her sweaty palm to his and placing her other hand on Katara's shoulder.

"Oh yes," the voluble messenger said, with an air of recognition. "I remember the pregnancy. A difficult one, wasn't it?" He looked to Maylin.

She nodded in silence. Liang doubted she could trust herself to speak.

"Well, she's a pretty little girl," the official said, bowing in departure.

"Yeh," Liang said inarticulately. He gathered his wits enough to give a short bow before closing the door. The parchment in his hand had gone sticky with his sweat. He cleared his throat.

"Come on," he said to Lin, who had gone still as a statue. He guided his wife and daughter to a nearby sofa, where the two adults slowly sat. Katara watched them, feeling their fear press into her pores.

Liang opened the note and perused it quickly.

Former Captain Shi Liang,

Your presence and that of your family are requested at Fire Lord Azulon's palace one week hence. The Fire Lord intends to honor you for your courage at the Royal Celebration of that glorious day in history, the Day of Sozin's Comet. The Fire Lord will thank you personally; please dress accordingly. Respond promptly to confirm receipt.

Prince-General Iroh,

Dragon of the West

A long, slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding let out of Liang like water through a cracked dam.

"Liang?" The worry in her voice was palpable.

"They want to honor us," he said haltingly. "Lin," he took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly, "the Fire Lord is going to honor us, personally, at the Comet celebration!"

She looked completely dumbfounded, but Liang could not withhold his relief any longer. He stood and picked Katara up with a flourish. "We're going to a party, 'tara!"

"Pawty?" she asked, then giggled as he spun her around the room.

We're safe, he thought. As long as the Fire Lord accepts us, we'll be safe.

Everything rested, then, on this celebration, one week from today. Everything would be all right, then. So overcome was Liang that he didn't even recognize the fear that still haunted the shadows of Maylin's face.


Edit: I usually respond to almost all reviews, but tendinitis is striking again. I will now devote all typing time to Foreigner and beta-ing; I'm sorry if your review goes unanswered for the next few weeks!

Here we are, after the longest break in Foreigner history! I'm very sorry for the wait - between my creative dry spell, school, and beta-ing for Callisto Hime the most intensely I ever have before (working together for over 80 hours in the last two weeks, never mind the month before that), it was very difficult. But AtA chapter 14 went up Sunday night, and suddenly Foreigner told me why I had writer's block! It took rereading chs 1-4 to do it, but do it it did.

Meanwhile...wow, up to 3316 hits and 70 reviews. O.O Thank you all, so much.

Notes: "nuka" is an Inuit word for "sister." Generally I avoid using other languages in the Avatar world, since they all speak English in the show, but I browsed it just for fun...and suddenly couldn't get it out of my head. So there you go, Inuit culture! -nod-

Also, "Shiyue" is a month in the Chinese calendar that corresponds the the last week of November and the first three weeks of December.

And many thanks to my two new, marvelous betas, Dailenna and Zapatorf! Your willingness to help and support me are invaluable.

Thanks again to Callisto Hime, who has been with me every step of the way with Foreigner - reading segments by IM, encouraging, and being all-around the most wonderful girl EVER.

My DA page: wishiwould . deviantart . com