This is mostly a medieval European AU, but with a few Avatar and Asian influences thrown in for good measure. Please take it in the lighthearted and poorly researched spirit in which it was written. I mostly wanted to write a cute, fluffy one-shot where Asami kicks a bunch of guy's asses, and this is what came out.

"Iroh, be serious," said Izumi next to him. "Everyone is watching."

Iroh slapped a hand to his face to stifle his yawn. Spirits, his mother didn't miss much. He shouldn't be surprised though. Neither did he. But what did it matter if everyone was watching them? It was hot, and nothing was happening. Yawning made royalty relatable. He couldn't be the only one bored out of his mind, wishing he were anywhere else.

Or maybe somewhere else in particular.

He scanned the empty field below, then let his eyes drift over to the settlements on either side. Already Iroh could hear the distant cries of the knights as they paraded around, riling each other up and having exactly the kind of fun and camaraderie that he himself was forbidden to have. He was ashamed at how he'd begged her in the end. It's not fit for a prince, his mother had said. What if you hurt yourself? Think of your country. Then she'd softened. I can't watch you get hurt, Iroh. I can't possibly be impartial when it's my only son on the field. Ultimately, that's what had done it. Iroh loved his mother, and with his father long gone, she needed him. Surely that trumped what amounted to a selfish desire for honor and glory. Or it should.

Iroh turned his attention glumly back to the vacant field. No use dreaming. Besides, he knew he could fight. He'd had the best masters since he was a child, and was as accomplished with the dao and the gong as he was with strategy and battlefield tactics. When his time came, and it would come soon enough, he would take his place in command of the Fire Nation army. There would be plenty of opportunity to distinguish himself in the defense of his country. In the meantime, he could sit here in the stifling heat and tell himself he had nothing to prove.

A sharp elbow nudge at his side jolted him out of his thoughts. "So, see anyone you like?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if there was anyone here you wanted to get to know a little better," his mother said. "You're twenty-five, Iroh, you'll have to be betrothed eventually. Nearly everyone worth doing so with is at the Solstice Tournament today. It's a perfect opportunity to get you settled." She pointed to a cluster of people he vaguely recognized. "Look, there's Lord Beifong's daughter in the green. She's very nice."

Iroh made a noncommittal sort of noise. He was most decidedly not in the mood for this.

"Hmm. Oh, Lord Tenzin's oldest is here as well. She's too young right now, but she seems bright, and in a few years it would hardly matter. After all, Lord Tenzin and Lady Pema are fifteen years apart themselves."

Iroh squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Mother, please."

"There's Lady Kuvira, I suppose, the Beifong's ward, but it's fairly obvious she's taken." Izumi nodded in the direction of the flinty Kuvira, who was deep in conversation with the short-haired, bespectacled woman seated next to her. "Lady P'Li is a bit on the old side, and to be honest she scares me a little, but her intensity might suit you. Though I'd hope you'd find someone to lighten you up, so perhaps not. Oh, how about her?"

Iroh followed his mother's gaze to a pretty girl in blue seated between Lord Tonraq and Lady Senna.

"Definitely not."

"Fine!" the Firelord said, holding up her hands in mock defense. "I was only suggesting. It wouldn't kill you to keep an open mind though."

"I know," he grumbled. "And I promise I will. But I know Lady Korra already. She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you—"

"She called me a 'boring book wanker' at the Winter Ball when I said I wasn't comfortable sneaking out to go ice dodging on the frozen river. It was four degrees out, and pitch dark besides. It was also technically my ball. I couldn't just leave. I'm all for adventure, but Lady Korra is a level of impulsive I believe is beyond me." Izumi threw him a sudden glare. "N-not that I even considered it," Iroh stammered. He had, in fact, been more tempted than he wanted to admit. He so rarely got out of the palace. "Ice dodging would be too dangerous for the Crown Prince in any weather."

"That's what I like to hear." Izumi hummed. "What about Lady Asami?" She scanned the crowd. "I don't see her, but she's about the right age and I believe still unattached. I want you to be happy more than anything, but an alliance with Lord Sato wouldn't hurt, either."

Iroh grimaced. He hadn't seen Lady Asami in six months, and was in truth grateful that she wasn't here. She was the exact opposite of what he wanted. She was too perfect. Gorgeous, rich, educated, immaculate, unfailingly polite. Dressed in the latest fashions, dripping in her late mother's jewels, she never had so much as a thread out of place. Word was she ran her father's household like a well-oiled machine, too. He'd never once heard her laugh. If Iroh was a boring book wanker—a title he resented but couldn't quite deny—then Lady Asami was a stone statue. All he wanted to do when he looked at her was unpin her dark hair and mess it all up, or tickle her or something, just to see what would happen. Probably nothing. She'd be as calm and composed as ever. Iroh glanced aside at his mother. No, he had enough stern women in his life already. Lady Asami probably wouldn't have let him fight in the tournament either.

A single tsungi horn played a long, low note. A cheer went up from the stands, and Iroh joined them. At least now there would be something to do besides listen to his mother's matchmaking. He stood, scanning the press of knights that galloped in from the settlements on either side of the field. Each knight wore their own brightly-colored plate, as well as one of the two colors of the Firelord: red on one side, gold on the other. Assignments were random, in keeping with an old tradition designed to minimize the use of tournament melees for settling scores. Any knight from any lord could enter, too, provided they arrived with their own armor, ostrich horse, and blunted mao. It was a recent change designed to make the tournament more competitive, and therefore more exciting.

The result was spectacular. Nearly two hundred knights in every conceivable hue clustered at either end of the field, their armor glittering in the bright summer sun. Red and blue, green and gold, iron gray and deepest black. Iroh's eyes raked greedily over the beautiful metalwork and long straight weapons, his stomach a burning knot of jealousy. He could so easily picture himself down there in his own crimson and white plate, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline as he hefted his own perfectly balanced spear, Ling shuffling and snorting impatiently beneath him.

Iroh rubbed at his face. It was so unfair. Barely anyone died in tournaments these days.

The knights began to line up on either side of the field. There might be as many as a dozen passes in the melee before it degenerated into close quarters combat. As they did, he noticed one knight who looked smaller than the rest. He was on the end closest to the royal gallery, wearing gleaming purple armor wrapped in red ribbons astride an equally small smokey gray ostrich horse. Unlike the others, the purple knight wore no prajiad around his bicep. Interesting. The colored favors were routinely supplied by lovers and mothers both, which meant the little knight probably had neither. Iroh's heart went out to the guy. He looked like he was going to need all the luck he could get.

"Have a favorite?" his mother whispered. While both of them were allowed to bestow royal favors on the victors, it was a bit unseemly to be overheard betting on the outcome.

"Purple one, red team," Iroh said, almost without thinking. "The little guy is going to get his ass kicked, but I admire that he's out there. That takes guts. I like it."

Izumi raised an eyebrow. "That's certainly an approach."

"And you?"

She pretended to weigh her choices while Iroh watched her face. He wasn't the least bit surprised when she named a tall, barrel-chested knight with gold ribbons in red and white armor very close to Iroh's own. Though none of the knights removed their helms, it was obviously Sir Bumi, the captain of the Firelord's personal guard. By this point Iroh knew many of the knights' armor on sight. It was a good bet, too. Bumi was both skilled and fearless, and though getting on in years had done well in the melee in the past. His mother almost always bet on him, too. The man probably had a whole closet full of her favors.

The tsungi horn abruptly changed its tune. A quick four beats, and they were off. The Firelord always saved her speech for the end.

"Yaaaaaaaah!" yelled Sir Bumi as he charged. Iroh suppressed a laugh. But it quickly turned to an "o" of surprise as he saw the little purple knight deftly unhorse the black-clad man in gold ribbons who'd rushed him. It happened so fast. It reminded Iroh more than anything of watching Hema shuck oyster shrimp in the kitchens when he was a child, her tiny knife flinging the soft bodies into a bowl one by one with swift efficiency. He found himself smiling. Perhaps the purple knight wasn't so helpless after all.

Sir Bumi had also survived his charge, as had the majority of the knights. Those who had lost their mounts trudged dejectedly off the field. Ground combat wasn't allowed until there were less than ten men remaining. Back in Sozin's time it had been all-out chaos, each knight trying to beat the others unconscious until only a single bloody victor remained. The tournaments had often gone on for days. Thankfully things were both shorter and much more civilized now.

The mounted knights wheeled and set up for the second charge, then they were off. Iroh saw Lord Beifong's oldest son go down, as well as his opponent, blue-clad Sir Varrick—they seemed to have run straight into one another. Lord Raiko, Sir Varrick's patron, cursed loudly from the stands.

Yet again the purple knight unseated his opponent with apparent ease. It didn't seem possible. He was short for a man, but more than that he was thin. He looked like he simply didn't have the mass. Iroh started watching him more closely. It took until the fourth run before he finally figured out what the purple knight was doing.

Instead of hitting his opponent center mass, as was common, the smaller knight was aiming low, connecting his mao in the tender area between the torso and the upper leg. This not only probably hurt like hell—it wasn't nearly as heavily armored as a breastplate—it had the added effect of concentrating all of the force on only one side of the opponent. The purple knight didn't need to have the strength to knock them backwards. Instead, he was twisting them off their ostrich horses like bottle caps. It was an incredible feat, not in the least because it required the purple knight hit their opponent inside a roughly two-inch square between the tasset and the cuisse at full gallop. It was also incredibly smart. Clearly the little knight had known what he was up against, and devised maybe one of the only strategies that could have worked against the men twice his weight. Meanwhile, his smaller size had become an advantage. Not one knight managed to land a hit on the slender man.

The next time the purple knight took a target, Iroh cheered. He'd been more or less joking earlier about placing his bets, but now he was dead serious. He wanted that purple knight to win.

"It seems you have an eye for talent," Izumi muttered after the eighth round. Iroh were now perhaps two dozen knights left on the field, including both the purple knight and Sir Bumi. He liked his odds though. "If only you'd use your good taste to pick a wife," she sighed. "I wouldn't have to try so hard."

Iroh's smile vanished. He'd hoped they'd moved past that topic for today.

The melee continued. An unfamiliar orange knight in gold ribbons took down one in brown and silver, for some reason eliciting loud cheers from Lady Korra. Lord Beifong's twins wound up brawling with one another and were quickly disqualified. Bumi unseated Lord Tonraq's nephew, followed by his tall, taciturn father, before taking a hard blow to the shoulder from a young man in deep forest green. He somehow stayed up though.

Through it all, the purple knight moved like a shadow. His smoke-colored horse, small and agile like himself, fairly danced between the lines, as unhit and unhurt as his master. Iroh watched them, fascinated. There was something so elegant about the style, so beautiful he could hardly tear his eyes away.

Sir Tarrlok hit the ground with a thump, and then only ten knights remained. All bets were off now. In the final stretch of the melee, the only way off the field was to yield or die.

The purple knight immediately leapt off his ostrich horse. Iroh blinked. That was so stupid. The riders had the clear advantage, being both faster and able to attack from a height. Then he saw it. The orange knight with the gold ribbons charged, clearly thinking the same thing as Iroh. At the last second the purple knight danced aside, then quickly jammed the butt of his mao into the space in between the ostrich horse's head and the orange knight's chest. He slammed into the shaft and was swept off his mount as neatly as if he'd been cut. The purple knight had used his own speed against him.

Iroh jumped up and whooped. Izumi glared at him and he quickly sat back down. After all, he was still the Crown Prince. It was his job to act at least somewhat impartial. But really, this was the most exciting tournament he'd seen in years. His jealousy flared as he watched the purple knight deftly fling enormous Sir Zolt to the ground. Oh, how he wanted to test himself against him! It wouldn't just be a battle of strength, but of strategy, of wits. Iroh was bigger by far, and fast, but he had no doubt they'd be at best evenly matched. In all likelihood he'd get his ass handed to him. But spirits, it looked fun.

Finally, unbelievably, the contest was down to two. For the gold team, red armor shining, stood the gallant Sir Bumi. He circled around, short blunted dao drawn, his back kept carefully to the perimeter. And opposite him in deep, gleaming purple, was the little knight. Unlike Bumi he'd kept his mao, and was using it to keep the other man at a safe distance.

"It seems we're both good judges of talent, mother," Iroh said quietly as an idea came to mind. "Care to make a real wager?"

Izumi tilted her head. "What did you have in mind?"

"If your crimson knight wins, I drop all aspirations to join any tournament for a full year. You won't hear so much as a peep from me. On my honor."

The corner of the Firelord's mouth twitched slightly. "Wouldn't that be a relief. And if the small eggplant man is the victor?"

"You let me face him."

Izumi started. "No, Iroh. Absolutely not."

He sighed. "You must not think very much of your champion, mother."

"That's not it at all," she snapped. "Sir Bumi is very brave, and skilled besides. I'm only thinking of your safety."

"And what's safer than my fighting an exhausted man half a head shorter and probably eighty pounds lighter than me? What kind of Firelord will I be, what kind of commander will I be, if you won't even let me face as small a threat as that?"

Izumi bit her lip. "I don't know."

Iroh put on his best pout. "So little faith in me."

"Fine! But if he hurts one hair on your head I'll—"

"Not have to worry about a thing, I'll be fine!" Iroh jumped up, waving to his valet. "Prep my armor," he snapped as the man hurried over. "Tell no one. And be quick!" Izumi's frown deepened, but she didn't contradict him. Iroh fairly wiggled with joy. Finally! Now all he needed was for that little knight to beat one more man.

He watched with bated breath as the purple knight and Sir Bumi circled one another. Neither seemed inclined to make the first move. Every once in a while the purple knight made a jab with his mao, but it looked to Iroh more like testing the waters than a serious attack. It went on like this for a full ten minutes; so long he started to hear mutters from the crowd. Nobody wanted a tie.

All of a sudden, Bumi charged. He leapt forward with a yell, bringing his dao down in one long swoop. The purple knight feinted right, then dropped into a forward roll that brought him up just inside the circle of the other man's arms. In one smooth motion he jammed the shaft of the mao up sideways into the space between Sir Bumi's helmet and gorget, throwing what looked like all of his weight behind the blow. The pair toppled backwards, the purple knight now pinning Bumi to the ground by the neck. A few moments passed, then Sir Bumi's right hand pounded the dirt. One, two, three. It was over.

Iroh rocketed to his feet. "Bye, mom!" he called over his shoulder as he raced down the stands and into the back. His valet was waiting with his weapons and armor, along with three squires in various colors who seemed to have been pressed into service. Apparently he'd gotten the message that Iroh needed to dress fast. Iroh dug in his pocket and emptied the entirety of his coin purse into the astonished man's hands, then turned around and started strapping in. It never hurt to be grateful.

The Firelord's voice carried over the din of the crowd. Iroh couldn't hear her exact words, but his best guess was that she was both rewarding and offering the challenge of a final champion to the purple knight. He had no doubt the man would accept. Even though Iroh was keeping his identity a secret, who would turn down the chance to fight the Firelord's own champion?

Between the four men the armor was fastened in minutes. Iroh thought of everything he'd seen, then selected the four-foot weighted chain from his armory. The manriki-kusari wasn't a common tournament weapon, but he wanted something with as much versatility as possible. The little knight was fast. Iroh would have to be faster.

All of a sudden the crowd roared. Two guards at the side gate nodded in their direction. Iroh figured that was his cue. He strode forwards, rolling his arms and hips as he went to try to get used to the armor and his reduced field of vision. It was going to be a challenge without any kind of warmup. He wrapped the manriki-kusari around his right arm as he walked, hoping to make it look smaller than it was. He'd only have one shot at surprise.

The pungent scent of trampled grass filled his nose as Iroh walked onto the field. It looked so much bigger from down here. The stands looked high, too, and crowded with faces. For the first time, he was nervous. It was one thing to lose a fight in the training yards. It was quite another to make an utter fool of yourself in front of most of the people you hoped to govern one day. And here he'd given Lady Korra such a hard time about being impulsive. Meanwhile here he was, challenging an arena champion to a duel on a whim. Spirits, he hadn't even stretched.

The purple knight turned to face him, then bowed deeply. Iroh returned the gesture. No going back now.

The tsungi horn blew a single long note, and it began.

Iroh circled to the right, trying to get a sense of exactly how tired his opponent was. He had a good eye, and spotted immediately that the other man was slightly favoring his left leg. Good to know. He wouldn't make the same mistake as Bumi though. Iroh's biggest advantage now was that the purple knight was tired. The longer he waited, the longer he had to catch his breath.

Iroh attacked. He ducked quickly to the right, coming in low with the chain on what seemed to be his opponent's weaker side. The purple knight jabbed the mao, quick as lightning, catching him high on the shoulder. But not before Iroh saw it. The purple knight's leg had buckled slightly on the turn. He pressed back in, repeating the attack and earning another hit. And again. Each time the purple knight's dodge was a little slower, his rebound a tad more unsteady. Good.

His advantage didn't last though. The next time Iroh tried the move the knight rushed forward, catching the manriki-kusari with one gauntleted forearm. He yanked on it hard, pulling Iroh completely off balance. He stumbled and felt a kick to his thigh. The armor caught the worst of it, but it was enough to send Iroh tumbling sideways into the grass.

The purple knight was on him in a flash. He'd dropped his mao entirely, instead pressing Iroh's own chain across his neck. Iroh sputtered, suddenly faced with the choice of losing his weapon or choking to death. In a flash of inspiration he rolled instead, using his larger size to pin the purple knight flat against the ground. The manriki-kusari was still against his neck, but now there was nothing to push against.

"Yield," he growled through his helmet.

"You wish." The purple knight drove his armored knee into Iroh's crotch. Even through the padding it hurt worse than he could imagine. Iroh swore, then rammed his helmet into the other knight's face. He tasted blood, but he didn't care. If the little bastard wanted to fight dirty, so would he.

The purple knight yanked on his end of the manriki-kusari again. Iroh didn't let go. As a result, his own closed metal fist crashed into his face with a clang.

"Take that," the purple knight spat. Then he twisted, throwing a dazed Iroh off into the trampled earth. A moment later he was straddling him, this time with his forearm to held fast to Iroh's neck. "Yield!" he hissed.

"No!" Iroh ignored his breath and punched the purple knight in the face. The man flew backwards, landing several feet away in a heap. Iroh pulled in a few burning breaths, then glanced around and grabbed the purple knight's discarded mao. He swung it in a wide arc, connecting hard with the purple knight's injured left leg just as he struggled to his feet. The man dropped to his knees with a curse. Iroh swung again, this time hitting the purple knight in the side of his helmet. He fell to the side, and was still.

Iroh stumbled over, panting, sweat running in rivers down his face. The purple knight didn't move. Spirits, he'd done it! Iroh dropped the mao to the ground as the crowd roared, more stunned than anything else. A champion, him. He'd actually—

The purple knight jackknifed in the grass, grabbing the mao from where Iroh had so carelessly discarded it. A split second later the tip rammed into his stomach. Iroh flew backwards, thumping his head hard against the ground. Then he felt the blunted tip of the spear against his crotch.

"Yield, you stubborn git," the purple knight gasped. "I'm tired."

Iroh hesitated. The spear pressed ever so slightly into his balls.

"Yield," he said quickly. "I yield."

The purple knight relaxed. He straightened, then leaned forward and held out a hand to pull Iroh to his feet. The crowd went wild.

Iroh faced the stands and bowed. Then he looked at the smaller man, a wide smile on his unseen face. He was surprised to find that he wasn't the least bit disappointed in having lost. Spirits, this was the most fun he'd had in months, and anyway he'd held his own. It was a fight to be proud of. Perhaps he could even have the other man teach him a few things in the training yard.

Iroh bowed to the purple knight as low as he dared given his station. Then he removed his helmet. The warm summer breeze felt wonderful.

The stunned silence of the crowd lasted just long enough for him to hear the purple knight gasp. Then the stands exploded. Iroh let it go for a bit before raising his hand, signaling for quiet.

"You have fought well today," he said, making sure his voice carried. "You have beaten not only your peers, but your future Firelord. It has been an honor to test myself against you."

"My prince," the purple knight whispered beneath the din. His voice was high and breathy. Spirits, he must be no more than a boy. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea!"

"Good. I'd hate to think you went easy on me. It would hurt my pride." Iroh raised an eyebrow. "Who are you, anyway? I'd like to at least know to whom I owe the pleasure."

"Even after I called you a stubborn git?"

He chuckled. "Especially because you called me a stubborn git. I find the honesty refreshing."

The purple knight took a hesitant step back. "I'd really rather not."

"Please!" He had to know now. Even if the other man wouldn't train him, he was too curious. "I'll not command it, but it's little enough that I ask for."

The purple knight's shoulders slumped. "I suppose I can't deny a request from you."

Iroh frowned. He didn't understand the hesitation. Who wouldn't be proud of such a victory? Then again, he was himself rather shy at times. Iroh had far more courage on the field than he ever did at social events. Perhaps the purple knight was the opposite?

"What if you turn your back to the stands, and face me alone?" he suggested. "No one else will be any the wiser. And you have my word that I'll keep your secret."

The purple knight hesitated, then nodded. "Very well, my lord. But you'll be disappointed." He turned so that his back faced the crowd, and Iroh moved with him. Then, slowly, the purple knight reached up and lifted his helmet.

Or rather, hers.

Pale green eyes stared up at him from a porcelain face flushed with exercise. She wore none of her usual face paint, but to Iroh she only looked more beautiful for the natural blush. Her long black hair had been expertly tied back in a stiff braid that had done nothing to contain the wavy strands that hung sweaty and curled around her face. A cut on the bridge of her nose was bleeding.

Lady Asami.

"You?" Iroh gasped. His mind whirled. Lady Asami. Lady Asami, of all people, who he'd have sworn had never done anything in her life that wasn't strictly proper, had just beaten two-hundred men on the field, sworn at him, kicked him in the nuts, and now stood sweating and bleeding before him in armor that he now realized showed an awful lot of her long, strong legs.

Asami nodded shyly. "I'm sorry if I deceived you, or the Firelord. Even if women were allowed in the lists, my father would never let me enter. I do so much for him. I run his manor, I entertain his guests, I manage his money. I make all the right social connections, and behave just as I ought. I keep my training a secret. Self-defense, he calls it, and I let him. All I wanted was a little freedom, a chance to test myself and see what I could do. Just once."

Iroh's heart gave a little pang at that. It was exactly what he'd said that morning. This was perfect Lady Asami? They were so much more alike than he'd ever realized.

"You can put your helmet on," he said. "I hate that you have to hide, but I gave you my word."

Asami nodded, then re-donned the helm. Something in her posture changed at that. A sense of relief, perhaps, that she wouldn't be found out. The idea made Iroh suddenly angry. Lady Asami was the best fighter on the field. Why did it matter who she was? He infinitely preferred the battered, blushing woman in front of him to the cold and distant ghost of herself he'd seen at balls and dinners.

With that, Iroh dug in his pocket and removed a single red and white ribbon. The colors of the Crown Prince. He held it out. "Please accept this as a mark of my favor."

"You should give that to Sir Bumi," she said carefully. "I assume I'm disqualified."

"Bullshit," Iroh said. "Am I the Crown Prince, or aren't I? I choose you. You're the best. Nothing else matters to me."

The purple knight slowly reached out and took the ribbon to sudden roaring applause. She seemed to stare at it, unbelieving, before removing her gauntlets and tying it in a bow on the end of her braid.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Iroh looked long and hard at his ribbon. He quite liked the way it looked there.

"Will you do me a favor?" he asked suddenly. "As my champion. And only if you want to."

Asami looked up. "Yes?"

"Dance with me," he blurted, before he could lose his nerve. "Later. At the feast. I'm not the best at it, but it's expected of me." He flashed her an awkward smile. "I'd feel better knowing I had a partner with an injured leg."

Asami tilted her head, then burst out laughing. It was a beautiful sound, full and rich. Suddenly Iroh felt as if he could listen to Lady Asami laugh for the rest of his life.

"Of course," she said. Then she reached up and fingered the ribbon in her hair. His ribbon. His. "May I wear this?"

Iroh gave her another bow, his heart pounding. "I can think of no higher honor."

Epilogue

Iroh helped Lady Asami back into to her seat, the obligatory dancing done. Conveniently, it was located next to his own. He'd pulled some strings with the Firelord's steward a few hours before the feast. There were perks to being the prince.

Asami sank down with a grateful smile, and he reluctantly released her hand. "Thank you," she said. "I usually like dancing, but I'm a little tired." Her beautiful green eyes met his. "Don't let me keep you though. You can keep dancing."

Iroh sat in his own chair and poured her a cup of wine. "Not at all. It turns out my enjoyment is portable, and I've brought it back to the table with me." He scanned the spread, then picked up Asami's plate and started piling it with whatever delicacies looked the best.

"Prince Iroh, you don't have to-"

"Please." He cut her off, then handed her the plate. "I punched you in the face today. It's the least I could do."

Asami laughed and accepted the food. As she did, he just caught sight of the red and white ribbon she'd woven into her hair. His heart sped up a bit.

"Lady Asami!" Iroh turned to see his mother behind him, her eyes wide. "Spirits, child, what did you do to your face?"

Asami colored slightly. The area around the cut on the bridge of her nose had deepened into an angry purple bruise. Even with powder, it was obvious.

"Prince Iroh punched me in the face," she deadpanned.

Izumi blinked at her, then barked out a laugh. Iroh laughed nervously along with her.

"Clever," the Firelord said. She gave Iroh a pointed look. "I like this one. She's funny."