She Walks in Beauty

A novel of the nineteenth century

"Multa fernut anni venientes commoda secum, Multa recendentes adimiunt."

Chapter Four:
Water Wings (and Other Pool Side Fashion Faux Pau)

The cup up tea sat untouched in front of Zuko, steam swirling out of it, a steady gray in the room of color. It billowed and twirled through the air, distorting Uncle's soft, round facial features. The old man sighed, his hand rubbing his whiskers thoughtfully. Iroh's own teacup was full and still, a bewildering fact to Zuko. Nothing before had made Uncle so preoccupied he could not enjoy a cup of tea.

Lowering his shaking hand slowly from his grey beard, Iroh spoke, "Zuko," his voice was strained, "Have you been to visit my brother in the institution recently?" The young man shook his head no and he went on. "That is good. Ozai, you see, is unwell, but not in the way you have past thought."

Iroh caught the confusion in Zuko's eyes and explained, "Ozai Sozin is a very, very sick man. He has had no nervous break down or panic attack to have caused your mother's death." Here Iroh shook his head slowly and solemnly, "A very sick man."

"Uncle, father snapped because he couldn't handle the stress of the company." Zuko said, a bit irritated that he was having to defend his father's honor. He knew he was sick. Everyone knew he was sick. Mentally sick.

Iroh reached across the small table and laid a withered hand on his nephew's. His skin was a pale gray and was spider-webbed with purple veins and dotted with leather spots. The hand was leather against Zuko's own soft, young hand.

"Is that the cockenhanny bull malarkey they have been telling you?" Iroh laughed joyously then went back to seriousness, "My nephew–lies. Your father's business was the best it had been in a while."

Zuko's eyebrows furrowed and he tensed under his Uncle's words, "Then why would he…?" The question was left unasked, but not unanswered. "He did not. Your father was a very bad man."

The young man felt his insides twist and he pulled away from Iroh's hand, he placed his palms on his thighs and kept his head bowed. "So, my mother…?" Iroh let out a shaky breath and a sickly cough before continuing,

"Your father killed your mother out of pure rage."

Zuko sneered. "You lying, old bastard. My father was a good man who couldn't handle pressure."

Iroh took no notice of the name calling. "No good man kills his wife." Then as an afterthought, "and her child."

Zuko's scowl was wiped off his face and his mouth opened in disbelief, "You mean to tell me, Mother was…with child?" The thoughts in Zuko's mind ran wildly, racing quickly and rambled in his brain. Mother was pregnant. Mother was going to have a child. Another one. And his father killed her.

"Yes, nephew. Not very far along, but she was. And Ozai murdered both of them." Iroh exhaled slowly and wrapped his crooked fingers around his now cold cup of tea. He sipped it carefully and placed it back down before speaking. "You see, nephew, the child was not Ozai's."

"Not Ozai's? Then who's would it be, Uncle?"

Iroh drank his tea silently, deliberately avoiding the question. "Nephew, I need you to find her." Zuko narrowed his eyes. "Find who? Who, Uncle?" Iroh lifted his eyes to Zuko's.

"Your mother."

"Aye, what do you's think they doin' in there?" Katara's ear was placed against the wooden door and her skirts were gathered in one hand. She strained her neck to get closer but to no avail, she could still not hear a word that was uttered.

Sokka was pacing nervously, ranting about how they would get caught and then Katara would get a beating from him. "'Tara! Get away from the door, it'll open and your head'll be bleedin' and then you's be sorry." He crossed his arms and gave her a smug look.

Katara growled, and rolled her eyes but leaned away from the door nonetheless. "Sokka, you's such a baby. Ain't nothin' wrong with wanting to know all that a girl can."

Sokka nodded, agreeing until he thought her words over. "Now that doesn't make a lick of sense, girl! Get back over here and mind your own business."

She ignored him and pressed her cheek back to the cold barrier between her and what she wanted to know. They had been back there for a while now and Iroh never closed up shop early. Never. So it was very strange indeed and all she wanted was to just understand why. There was no sense in getting your knickers in a twist. She told Sokka so.

Sokka didn't take that kindly. "Katara! Don't speak that way, you are a lady, and ladies are to talk with class and dignity." She snorted.

"Dignity! If something ever called for a mocking, that 'tis it!" Sokka groaned and stopped walking back and forth in front of her.

He placed his hands on his hips. "Curiosity killed the cat, Kat." Katara growled and stood up o her full height. Which wasn't very tall or intimidating, but she shoved her finger in her older brother's chest and she snarled and barked at him.

"I may very well do as I please, Sir Sokka, you ain't gonna do a thing about it!" He raised his hands in surrender and backed away from the steaming girl slowly.

"Oi, Katara, at least you's learned something from that lad, Jet."

There were some people who called Sokka stupid. It was a mean and cruel thing to say, no matter how smart he was. But Sokka wasn't stupid, not really. He was a genius at checkers and swords and he could throw a mean punch and knew more about the King and Queen than Iroh Sozin did, and Iroh knew everything.

But the people–those who said those spiteless words about the Kuruk man–weren't completely in the wrong. Because, despite the fact that Sokka was school smart and street smart, he never understood when to keep his mouth shut. And to some, actually to most, that was the most stupid thing in the world.

Katara whirled around to Sokka again, he face twisted, he fists clenched and her bright blue eyes the meanest he had ever seen 'em. "What did you say?" She growled, her voice was dangerously low and he knew he was in deep shit.

"Err, uh…" he stuttered, pulling at the collar of his shirt and looking away from his sister. "I just meant that, uh.."

Katara grabbed his shirt, her fingers gripping it so tightly he could feel her bones grind against his chest. It was a very unpleasant feeling. "Did you know what Jet did tonight, brother?" Sokka shook his head vigorously and swallowed a dry lump.

"He tried to violate me, so I would really 'preciate it if you's would stop talking about him as if I didn't know what a lying, dirty, scum bag he was. Because, guess what? Oh! I do." She let go of his shirt and Sokka stumbled backward, trying to regain his composure. His brain processed all the information quickly enough and just as Katara had picked up her shrug and was out the door, Sokka muttered below his breath,

"I. Will. Kill. Him."

Zuko let out a bitter, forced laugh that sounded like he was choking. "My mother? She's dead, Iroh. You just said so yourself. I saw her blood."

Iroh pushed away his tea cup and grabbed both of Zuko's hands, gripping them tightly. "No, Nephew. Her child is dead, Ursa is not. It has been five years since your father discovered…he will break out of the instituition tomorrow."

Zuko pulled his hands away from Iroh but he would not let go. "Stop it, you old man. My mother is dead and my father is crazy. Stop lying to me!" He shouted, his words gaining strength and volume with each syllable. He stood up and his chair scraped across the wooden floor noisily. Iroh stood up to and his usually happy stance was hunched over and for once, he actually looked his age.

"Nephew," he spoke quietly, "Stop lying to yourself."

A/N: Uhm. Nothing to say...