"Gossip." How is that renegade prince doing? What is the Fire Lord really like? Not everything you hear is true…

…

It was nine o'clock in the Fire Nation's Capital, much too early for a currier to be about. Herald Kaironin, however, was on special business, and had no choice in the matter.

He hurried quietly out of the Imperial Chambers, heart fluttering in his chest. His unwelcome message had not been received well. Why, he might have been killed! He slid the door shut and leaned against it, tempted to drop where he stood. It must have shown on his face, for a passing maid called out to him:

"Ronin! You look like hell."

He smiled weakly, rubbing the sweat from his cheeks. Cordellia was always so frank with him, when he came to visit. Uninvited criticism seemed her customary greeting; he sometimes wondered if she should be the herald. "Hello, Cordellia," he said, with the excessive courtesy honed by his years as messenger. "It's been a while."

"Sure has!" she exclaimed, shifting the laundry basket on her hip uncomfortably. She continued down the hall, still speaking, expecting him to tag along. He followed, as he always did, trailing behind in her sunflower-scented wake. "You missed some choice gossip while you were away," she continued, "and someone finally knocked up Shuga!"

"Well she was sleeping around—"

"—Oh she's not upset about it. They're getting married!"

"That's wonderful…"

"There's been a real row over who's to be the best mate, silly really, but quite a show."

"Sounds dangerous…"

"There was a spectacular fight in the men's quarters just last night! Kalib broke his nose."

"What were you doing in the—?"

"And speaking of gossip, what brings you here?" She spun neatly on her heel, facing him with an appraising, almost hungry look. "Don't tell me it was just to see the Wonderful Me."

The herald blushed, fumbling. "Ah, no, well, it's a long story…"

"I'm all ears!" As she spoke, she pushed open the entry to the noisy laundry room and sauntered ahead. Ronin sighed. Of all the things that made Cordellia so unique, her listening skills were his least favorite. He followed behind.

"Well!" he began, shouting over the noise, "It began about a week ago, with the avatar sighting!"

"Oh, I heard about that!" she answered in like voice, plunking her load onto a folding table. Herealized too late he hadn't offered to carry it for her. "Right on the east coast, right?" she asked.

"Uh yes… Anyway, the Steeple Chaser got wind of it, and was heading this way!"

Cordellia laughed at the reference. 'Steeple Chaser' was a term she'd coined on Ronin's last visit, her nickname for the notorious Prince Zuko. He'd become an almost comical figure to the Fire Nation's lower classes—though not, certainly, to the wary courtiers—as he was ever failing to capture the avatar. An image of the prince galloping after an elusive, arrow-headed fox made even the stuffy Ronin smirk.

"But how could he?" the maid doubted, "He's banished! I heard they'd kill him if he ever came back."

"That's the idea of it, yes. When the prince was convicted of treason those years ago, His Excellency agreed to suspend the charges so long as Prince Zukoavoided Fire Nation Territory. You know, give him a chance to win back his honor."

"Thus this mad steeple chase," she grinned. She pried a blanket from the basket and began folding it, but her attention was fixed on Ronin. "So he broke the deal?" she asked eagerly, "He's not dead, is he?"

"He may as well be. It's rather a jumble... but this is my impression: Prince Zuko heard of the avatar sighting on the coast, and decided, against all caution, to set sail for our country. What he didn't know was that some high up official—Zhao, I think his name was—had planted spies on his ship. With their information, this fellow was able to predict the prince's course—right by Youkai Point, coincidentally."

"Your station?"

"Yes," he said, with a hint of pride.

"That backwater rock mire?" she asked.

"…Yes." The pride was gone. "Anyway, rumor is that this Zhao character bribed the lighthouse owners into… absentmindedness." He slyly watched Cordellia's smile widen as the scandal unfolded.

"No," she said, "they put out the signal?"

"It would seem so. Zuko's ship crashed on the crags about two this morning." He said it in an offhanded way, knowing full well the reaction it would illicit.

"No!" she exclaimed, not out of any remorse for the prince, but at the sheer magnitude of his claims.

"Yes," he corrected. "He's floating out there as we speak. Now, the lighthouse workers notified Zhao's men immediately. The soldiers returned from his hideaway about three hours later, and came looking for me."

"Aren't you special," Cordellia teased. As they were speaking, she'd found a slight tear in the robe she'd been folding. She stood now with a few pins sticking from her mouth, doing a bit of quick stitching with kit on her belt. Ronin wistfully admired the way her mouth molded to accommodate said pins, but he said nothing. A more Romantic mind might have thought, O, but to be one of those needles! but not the levelheaded herald. He was sensible enough to realize that the life of an inanimate object was quite unpleasant, and besides, he would have no interest in pursuing a woman several thousand times his own weight.

"So what did they want?" she asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

He started—had she noticed he'd been staring? "What? Oh yes. They, they told me to carry this message the king: that the Prince had crashed off point Youkai, in clear violation of parole agreements, and that Zhao would organize a small envoy to… correct the problem. It was a boast, really. I think Zhao imagines he'll win favor with the king in facilitating his son's death… but I doubt he'll succeed. They… they sent me with a copy of the boy's death warrant, for the Emperor to sign."

"Oh…" said Cordellia, her voice touched with sympathy. Suddenly, her big scoop seemed significantly less amusing. The thought of a father turning against his son was enough to touch the heart of the most distant observer. "Well… did he sign it?"

"That's just the thing…" said Ronin, thinking back to his ordeal in the Chambers. "He didn't sign it. His Excellency was furious at first, not at Zhao, I think, but at his son for disrespecting his leniency. But he wouldn't sign it right away."

"So he does care!"

"I don't know… Third Wife was there. She pleaded with him on the Prince's account; I think they must have known each other. Anyway, he decided to delay signing the execution form until the Prince was officially in custody."

"So you mean he has a chance to escape?" she asked, beaming. Ronin could see in her eyes the imagined triumph of fatherly love over hatred, and envied her optimism.

"Theoretically… if he manages to escape the nation without being taken into custody, the old terms will stand. He'll be back to steeple-chasing before another moon sets." But I doubt very much he will escape.

"How dreamy… I hope father and son will be reunited one day…"

"What makes you think the Emperor is so ready to forgive?" the herald burst, shocking himself with his abruptness. "He's terrifying! I was afraid for my life when I delivered that message. If Third Wife hadn't been there, he might have skewered me on my own scroll." He paused, wondering what had gotten into him.

"Oh, don't be so faint-hearted, Ronin," the maid said loftily, unaware of how seriously her words would be taken. "The Fire Lord is nothing to be afraid of."

Ronin gawked, mortified at her implicit blasphemy. "How can you say that?"

She shrugged. "He wears yellow underwear."

"He what?"

Cordellia produced from her basket a pair of briefs, shining brightly in flamboyant yellow. Appalled, the herald turned to his crush with disbelieving eyes.

He was in the presence of the Imperial Underpants.

….

ME: So how did you like it, People?

PEOPLE: (whispering amongst themselves, glancing around suspiciously)

ME: People…? (Feels utterly out of the loop)

I hate gossip…