Note: This is a canon-divergent AU that splits from the show mid-season two. It's actually a companion story to a longer series, but it's not necessary to have read that. Cross-posted on AO3 (where a lot of my stuff is). I'm mostly an Irosami writer but I had a lot of fun with this.
Mako had stopped paying attention to what they were saying. These things were all the same anyway. Something something love, something something honor. Occasionally someone tried to slip in something funny, like "I promise to always do your dishes," but General Iroh was too straightlaced to try anything like that. He probably already did the dishes anyway.
Instead, Mako scanned the crowd. Though he knew they'd tried to keep the ceremony small, it seemed like half the Fire Nation had turned out. The chairs to his right were a sea of crimson. He spotted Firelord Izumi next to her wife in the front row, both of them beaming. On her other side sat old Zuko himself, his long white hair styled into a perfect half knot that was so old-fashioned it looked like it belonged on one of Republic City's many statues. As Mako watched, the grizzled former Firelord dabbed one wet eye with a red-and-yellow flowered handkerchief. A diminutive woman who must have been Iroh's grandmother patted his arm affectionately.
The next few rows of chairs were taken up with other members of Iroh's large family: his two brothers, their wives, and a smattering of squirming nieces and nephews; various aunts, uncles, and cousins; and a dark-haired girl in her mid-teens who sat at the end of Izumi's row. Mako had at first been excited to learn that Iroh had a younger sister, but he hadn't realized how much younger. He had made some bad decisions in his life when it came to women, but he liked to think he at least knew better than that. The general might seem like a nice guy, but he had no doubt Iroh would burn him to a cinder if he caught Mako anywhere near his sixteen-year-old sister. As he probably should.
The rest of the rows were filled with what Mako presumed were General Iroh's friends and acquaintances. There were quite a few men and women who, like Iroh, sported the scarlet uniform of the United Forces. Mako spotted Iameh, Iroh's second-in-command who occasionally joined their social circle, her arm around a handsome man with yellow hair. He was also surprised to see Master Katara, Avatar Aang's widow, in the row directly behind Firelord Zuko. It made sense—Katara and Zuko went way back—but given her closeness to Korra it was still odd to see her sitting over there and not with the rest of Team Avatar, a spot of deep blue in a sea of red fabric.
Mako turned to the woman next to him. Korra had done her hair up for the occasion. He thought it made her look older; not in a bad way, but in a way that made him think he could see the shadow of the woman she would become. She wore a pale blue dress of some kind of shimmering material that was long enough to be appropriate, but short enough to be interesting. It was sleeveless, the heart-shaped neckline highlighting her strong shoulders. Though he rarely saw Korra wear jewelry—he wasn't even sure she owned any—she'd borrowed some earrings and a delicate necklace of crystals from Asami. Mako dimly recalled that it was supposed to be the other way around. Something borrowed, something blue?
Asami herself was speaking now. She looked stunning. Her jet black hair was piled high behind her head, and the fading sunlight glinted off the diamonds at her ears and throat. Her dress was the perfect combination of modest and alluring; form-fitting yet flared, with bare shoulders and long lace sleeves. As he watched, Asami took the ring in her hand and placed it on Iroh's waiting finger. Though Mako couldn't see her face well from this angle, he knew she was smiling. Iroh for his part looked slightly stunned, as if a part of him couldn't believe this was really happening. Mako knew how he felt.
"And now," said the old man behind the podium, "you may kiss the bride." General Iroh leaned down. Instead of meeting him, Asami threw her arms around his neck and jumped. Somehow Iroh caught her, swinging her legs around in a swirl of white satin as he hooked one arm under her knees. He laughed; the kind of big, hearty laugh that only comes from people who are blissfully happy, and kissed her. Asami blushed, looking radiant. Iroh beamed at her. He then proceeded to carry her down the aisle, her arms still around his neck, to general applause. The edges of Asami's dress trailed slightly on the grass. Mako caught a flash of one teal pump as they walked by.
The damnedest thing was, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
"Show-off," Mako muttered. He pulled at his collar. Mako hated suits.
He felt a tap on one shoulder and realized that he was blocking the exit for his row of chairs. Korra stood next to him, a wry smile on her face. Behind her he could see Bolin and Opal as well. Bolin looked like he'd been crying. "Time to get shamelessly drunk?" Korra asked.
"And how." Mako offered her his hand. "My lady, after you." She laughed and took it. He was grateful Korra had agreed to be his date to the wedding, just as friends. Their rule was simple; save one another from being Iroh and Asami's only single friends, and be one another's wingman if any of the Fire Nation cousins proved suitably attractive. He wasn't likely to get a much better deal than that.