-sneaks in- Uh, hey guys. Sorry for pretty much dropping off the face of the earth. I promise I haven't forgotten about you or this story. I just got stuck, then went ahead and wrote other stuff. I actually finished this chapter last week, but once again I got caught up in life and school, and I've been sick all this week on top of it. But here it is. Honestly, I'm not happy with it. I think I could have done better, but I'll let you all decide. Karen has her next chapter ready to go, o you should be seeing Prompt 5 sometime in the near future. In the meantime, enjoy.
XOXO,
Marie.
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The morning of the anniversary dawns gray and cold.
Roiling clouds gather on the near horizon, steadily encroaching on Republic City's borders. The air through the open door is frigid and carries a sharp bite to it that cuts through their skin and sinks into the marrow of their bones. Storms in the city are bad, but storms in the winter are nightmarish.
Iroh makes sure that Korra's coat, a stylish white thing gifted to her by Asami, is buttoned up to her neck and that her matching hat is firmly in place before he dons his own jacket and newsboy cap. He plucks the larger umbrella from the coat closet by the door, knowing the rain will fall before they reach their destination. He ushers Korra out ahead of him, locking the door and then tucking her small, shaking hand into the crook of his elbow. His right hand, which does not hold the umbrella, carries a small wicker picnic basket. Iroh wishes its presence was part of a happier outing than this.
Korra glues herself to his side, seeking warmth. Her blue eyes are dull today, weary and opaque. The day has yet to begin and already she is exhausted. She wants to go back to bed; doesn't want to face the sorrow and grief that is waiting for them at the end of the walk. How can a year have gone by so quickly? It seems to Korra that only mere weeks ago they were happy. Recently married and eager to begin their life together. Months of panning and scheming and purchasing and celebrating. All meaningless, all gone to waste in a matter of minutes. Minutes. All it took to tear them apart.
A handful of people recognize them; Narook, putting up the awning to deter the rain; Li Chen, the owner of the clothing boutique two buildings down; other shop owners and patrons who haunt this part of the city. All of them duck their head with murmured condolences. It is nearly more than Korra can take – all of the pity and sympathy from everyone who so much as look at them. It makes her want to scream and cry and rip her hair out, rip their eyes out. In the end, she is too tired to do any of these things. She buries her face in Iroh's shoulder, lets him guide her the rest of the way.
They reach the edge of the city, where the sky is darkest. Their destination is mere yards from the borders, and each of them shiver, not just from the icy winds. As Iroh predicted, the rain begins to falls, shards like glass that pierce them cruelly. Iroh snaps open the umbrella, which is large enough to protect them both. Iroh opens the gate, left unlocked for public use, and they enter the cemetery.
The rows and rows of graves unnerve Korra. She looks at all of the flowers and flags and little gifts that decorate the mounds of earth, the ivy that creeps over each tombstone. Inescapable sadness fills her, and the urge to return to her bed is crippling. Not so crippling, however, as the grave they are there to visit. It is set apart from the masses a bit, underneath a sakura tree. In the heart of winter, the tree is dead with no pink blossoms to soften their grief. The little mound of blessed earth and the tiny headstone, carved of onyx, rests above it. She knows the words of the engraving like she knows her own name.
"Huo.
May he find peace with his fathers among the Spirits.
For he who has hope, has everything."
It is too formal, too stiff. Impersonal. This is the grave of their child, their son, not some noble from a foreign court. But Korra does wish her boy peace, and she has clung to hope every second of every day. She does not know what to hope for, though. Getting Huo back from the Spirits is impossible, and she dares not cross the Bridge to find him. She also knows that there is little chance of Iroh and she conceiving another child; the doctors made that clear enough. All she has is Iroh, the only one who understands acutely her pain and the hope which now hangs by a fragile thread.
They stop in front of the grave. Iroh passes the umbrella to Korra, stepping out from beneath its protection. He is soaked through in seconds, and only his being a firebender will keep him from catching ill. He sets the basket down and reaches inside for its contents. Out he pulls a smaller basket brimming with flowers. Helenium for their grief; cyclamen in their farewell; hawthorn for hope; baby's breath for their eternal love. There are other things, as well: a smooth topaz stone, for the month of his birth; incense which Iroh will burn; a small rattle, crafted by Korra's parents for Huo. Iroh arranges these things at the foot of the stone and lights the incense. He steps back under the umbrella, pulling Korra close to him.
The incense doesn't burn long, with the rain falling so hard, but Korra and Iroh stare at the small grave, melancholy and sorrow and all manner of bleak things pervade their silence. They cling to one another as a drowning man clings to a raft, lost in a sea from which they can barely see the land. Each remembers the way it felt to hold their son, to hear him crying as he was borne into the world. They recall in inconceivable, endless joy and love and happiness and how they basked in them. Their life was so unbelievably perfect in that one moment. But a moment is all it was. Scant hours passed and their joy withered with the news that Huo had passed. His tiny, fragile heart wasn't strong enough, despite the medicine. It simply gave out.
Korra wants to cry, but finds she has no tears to spare. Staring at the grave, having Huo so close to her, knowing his small body is rotting away in the ground, nearly sends her into hysterics. She buries her face in Iroh's chest to hide her erratic breaths and he whispers words of comfort into her hair. How is it possible to go on living, as empty and dysfunctional as they are? It seems like they should also be dead, or something terribly close to it. The entire world is dimmed by shades, there is little joy to be found in anything.
Iroh reflects that is a terrible thing, to outlive one's child. His grandfather's uncle, his own namesake, lost his son, too. Hearing the stories of Lu Ten, Iroh never quite understood the grief and rage and ache that came with the death of one so small, so innocent. He understands now, and he curses all things under Agni that their child was stolen away from them. Gone before they had had a chance to know him, before he could know the world. For all his respect for the Spirits, all of his praise and worship, they are cruel and he hates them viciously for this singularly appalling crime.
Korra is still rasping into him, and he aches all over again to see her so distressed. He wonders if they will ever be okay again, if they will ever heal. It doesn't seem possible just now, looking at the grave of their first born child, likely their only child, with all the world frozen around them. But when he reads the words inscribed there, as detached as they are, he feels a spark of something brighter that he cannot deny. In the face of their grief, they have something. Something that even this dark sorrow cannot wholly dampen. They have hope.
And he who has hope, has everything.
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