Gee, you don't know how many times I rewrote this chapter!! I couldn't seem to get anything right the first time! Anyway, it's still not at its best, but it's the best I could do for now. It seems to drag on forever, I know, but in the next chapter, as was requested, Iruka and Katana do actually get some "alone" time. It might be a while, but it's already getting written up. Happy reading!

A Forgettable Occasion

From what he'd remembered, weddings were joyous occasions where family, friends, and all your other loved ones came to watch you become bound to the one you love for all time. They were times that would be remembered for generations among many, times that meant love and hope for two people desperately in love with one another. Whether it was to escape a family's treachery or to start a new life, there was a new hope and beginning on the day of matrimony that lasted, and sometimes kept two people together.

Or at least that's what he thought. In only three hours, he would be wed to a complete stranger for something he did that unknowingly brought him to this current position. Life was cruel. Life was annoying.

Lying limp on the bed in the quiet condo, he gazed through the ceiling, past the sky and clouds up on into space and past the entire universe. There, he wondered, thought on the occasions of the ensuing day. What was she really like? The only time I really saw her was for about three minutes, and I didn't even speak with her. How do I know I won't be miserable? No, how do I know she won't be miserable with me?

He hadn't slept all night, and though he wanted to waste away to an insignificant nothing on the bed before doing anything else, he knew there were still things he needed to do: go over his grooming routine, run into town to get a decent outfit for the wedding, pack up, clean up, buy an extra boat ticket, and do anything else he may have forgotten.

Today would be a very long day. This life would be excruciatingly long.

At the Masamune building . . .

"You'll look gorgeous, my dear. I'm sure he will be happy to have such a beautiful bride to be his."

Katana sat poised in a chair in front of a vanity, her unruly, dark hair being tended by Hana, a servant and loyal friend. She'd never really done her hair so fancy, and she struggled through every tug and twist and other actions done to it. A moan came inaudibly as she pondered on what would happen later that day. Not only will I be miserable, but he will, too. How ever could this work out? It seems like a disaster, that's all. Father would kill me if I were to run away from it.

"I may be gorgeous this morning, but what is to happen tomorrow? And the next day, and month and year—even father thinks I'm an unbelievably stubborn child and would do anything to be rid of me—" Before she realized that she'd spoken what was actually on her mind, it was said. She put her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes, listened to the speech the servant was about to give her.

"Oh, please don't say that about Hayake-sama, dear. You know, were it not for him, you wouldn't be here today." There was a certain streak of metallic words in her voice, as if she'd practiced them for this particular moment. Katana brought her knees to her chest.

"It was pity that saved me once, so why mustn't it be pity that gives me the man I love?"

Hana grimaced slightly. "He's doing it because he loves you and knows what's best for you. You know he wouldn't want it any other way."

"Hana, that's what you say, but is that what you believe?" Katana turned in her seat to look Hana in the eye, forcing her to ignore the detailed updo she was so concentrated on. "Do you really believe he's doing what's best for me? Do you really think that he would just take me in off the streets out of pity, and then sell me off like this? I do not approve of what he is doing. He may look at me like I'm some stupid little girl, but I am not. I have thought this out and I do not believe he does anything out of pity." Satisfied with the message she'd conveyed, she turned and sat back down. "He says he took me in out of pity. So why is he trying to get rid of me now?"

Hana was at a loss for comforting words. Dumbfounded. Since when did Katana think like this?

"Pity can't save a relationship. That's why this one won't last."

In the lobby . . .

"Iruka, my friend," Hayake boomed, seeing Iruka enter the building, his arms clutching a garment bag and two suitcases, gripping two slips of paper between his teeth. He slightly grinned beneath the heavy load—both figuratively and literally. Hayake looked down with a low chuckle as he waved a hand to two servants to take his things. Relieved, Iruka took his garment bag back and took the papers into his free hand. Only a nod was given to acknowledge Hayake. Irritated, he waved the servants with the suitcases away to follow Iruka to his dressing room—the room where he would end his life, his reputation, his solitary existence.

Iruka was not a fool; he knew that dressing into that formal outfit would mean changing everything forever. Changing his apparel would change his life. It would change his identity. It would change everything, like he was only changing an outfit.

He analyzed himself in the mirror, rethinking the solitary features that created his face and personality. Was he really all he thought himself to be? Was he really all Hayake built him up to be? Would his life be drastically changed forever after the occasion that would take place in—what was it, forty-five minutes? After sitting in his serious array for a good while, he finally capped his thinking with the memory of his silly raccoon tan. A somewhat relieved smile was expressed, which reminded him that life was something that had to be laughed at sometimes. How ridiculous am I going to look today with this stupid sunburn showing on my face?

Sure, everything would be alright today. But that didn't reassure anything in the future.

In Katana's room . . .

Hayake, without the courtesy of a single knock, paraded into Katana's room. "Katana," he called. In the sudden fury and realization of what she might have done to escape the terror of what would occur in only twenty-five minutes, he pushed himself into looking around the room, angrily calling her name whenever he failed to find her. His growing rampage came to an end when he found her quietly contemplating her living on the balcony that peered over into the garden in which she would be wed. Rather than feeling relieved, he angrily stormed out through the flowing, sheer curtains and shouted to her. "Why didn't you answer me?" A pause as he scrambled to mend a slight error of speech. "You . . . had me worried. Why wouldn't you answer?"

The wind tousled her old-style white wedding kimono, played with the loose hair around her face, adorned with simple makeup that really only accented her eyes and brought out her . . . what was it, natural beauty? Was it true? Did she really look beautiful to him? Slowly, she rotated her head atop her body's graceful posture to look at him, see how he felt. It almost pained her to look at him, as it did him to see her face. She looked so much like her . . .

But that was foolish recollection. He shook it off and looked at her for who she really was to him all these years of raising her. Proudly, he pulled his shoulders and arms back, and looked down to the garden where guests were already crowding around the rows of round tables. "You look wonderful."

Katana, amazed at such a compliment from the one she'd called "father," allowed her eyes to water in gratitude. From her trembling lips, she almost uttered the words, "thank you," because she truly was grateful. She truly appreciated him for once.

"Hana does an amazing job with what she has to work with."

What Katana had so highly favored for the past few seconds all suddenly melted away with such a sting. Frustrated once more, she turned her gracefully tended face back to the area of her fleeting concentration—the garden of the Masamune family.

The garden was really the only sign of real life in the urbanization of the village. It was an area she'd hoped to become married to the one she could really call her "true love, best friend" for the symbolism she'd found and treasured in it—a flicker of life and hope among the urbanization she thought of as her father's doings. Now, amidst the congregating villagers, the garden was merely a soft spot of a lost recollection of what she'd hoped for. That hope slipped from her once fond memory, and was crowded out almost completely by what she would have inserted into her memory in only a short while. She was angry, mad, upset all at once, yet resisted the temptation to vent it so. What would complaining do now, so close to the time in which she'd give her life away?

"You're beginning a new life, Katana—a better life." Without realizing the pun he'd inserted that could only mean anything to Katana—a better life, yes, without you, Father—he continued his speech. "I hope you're happy with all I've done for you. I hope you realize the good I'm doing for you and this village. Please accept this humble truth to be the only one you know." He slightly bowed to her, yet she kept her gaze fixed as far from him mentally as possible, but hearing that word "truth" broke her immediate concentration on whatever it was she did to keep her mind so far from him. With heavy mind and heart, she glared her eyes and looked to him.

"Father, I haven't even spoken with him."

"Oh, that," he nervously remembered. "There will be plenty of time for that when you join him on his journey back to his village.

Back to his village? Another surprise? Well, that was nothing new in particular. She'd come to expect that surprises weren't really a surprise anymore, they happened so often. It was only surprising when something that was planned came into occurrence. "You know this is not what I wish. Why are you doing this to me?"

He breathed, flustered. "So I see you have not accepted my truth. How very disappointing."

"I cannot accept a lie, Hayake," she gently hissed. "That's all that I've been living, isn't it? You're not all you say you are. You're just a selfish man, that's all. And I am not a stupid girl like you think me to be. You're the fool."

He clenched his fist. Of course, he wouldn't hit her, would he? Not when she looked so much like her? Her. Kokoro. She was exactly what brought this stupid little girl into his life. He hated them—both of them. They both messed up his ideal life, brought him to this ruin of an existence with the one he called daughter. With a flourish and a heavy force, he brought his angry fist down into the shoulder of an unsuspecting Katana. He didn't care how she laid on the balcony in a limp pile of gorgeous, pure white. She would be just fine in time for the wedding, just in time to get out of his life for good.

Life couldn't get better soon enough.

The ceremony begins . . .

Oh, of course there were plenty of people there, as Iruka observed from the room behind the wedding platform. People from all reaches of a fairly grand radius from the village, important people, people who were related to the Masamune family . . . yes, they were all here—all those Iruka had never seen before the day. Though Iruka floated on a lost hope of a familiar face among the sea of small, round tables, he kept his expectations fairly low, so as not to disappoint himself further. That way, things couldn't possibly get worse than they were presently.

Still, he kept his anger and frustration bottled, hardly thinking of its escape or effects. Nobody had to know how he felt at the moment, and he didn't need to share his misery with anyone else. In fact, he told himself reassuringly, I'll look at her and smile, let her know that nothing's going to go wrong. I'll let her know that I won't harm her or anything—

There was music now. Probably the typical wedding ceremony canon, or whatever it was to be called. And whatever it was, it signaled the beginning of this occasion—a rather forgettable one at that. Who could remember such a disaster?

He stood at the sight of a rising prestige in the room—Hayake, to be precise—and watched as it and the particularly obnoxious aura left the room and approached the platform on which the two strangers were to be wed. An odd ritual; Iruka had never really seen a wedding performed like this before. Nonetheless, he reviewed what he had been told to do and prayed he wouldn't commit an unforgivable blunder. That was the only way anything could get worse. So, keeping his chin high and adjusting his stiff, uncomfortable, almost foreign ensemble, he smiled for the fear ahead. Bring it on.

No words were spoken at the platform yet. What was going on? Hayake only looked around, then back frustratingly at the lost Iruka. Iruka's heart suddenly leapt at the fact that perhaps he'd done something wrong—and indeed, he did. Hayake rudely made a gesture that would bring the fearful foreigner to the platform. A stammered laugh was tied back into Iruka's brain as he made the trip to the platform and to the right side of the village ruler. Anything could cause the delicate balance between the music and inaudibility of the crowd to quiver now. Perfection was crucial. He couldn't make any mistakes for the moment—please wait until after the ceremony.

And now she was coming. She was a stunning show of brilliance and a sort of sophisticated beauty Iruka had not seen in her the night before. Almost floating down the grand stone staircase, she came into an unclear future and fate. Perhaps she was beautiful—but that said nothing about what she held so close to her. What was she really like, if her father wanted to sell her off so quickly?

No matter. I'll treat her like any other self-respecting individual. I'll be good to her—whoever she is. She deserves to have respect.

As she came closer, he noticed she maintained eye-contact with no one in particular, only kept her wide-eyed gaze entangled with another emotion—was it fear?—fixed to the ground. Closer, now, and it was revealed to Iruka that there was something a bit disheveled about her, like she'd just been roughhousing a bit, like she'd just taken a beating or something . . .

And in a thrill of sudden, momentary horror, he realized what had likely happened. Hayake had been alone with her up on the balcony only moments ago. Did he really hit her? Iruka silently investigated the situation and watched as she stepped up onto the platform. She shied away at the open arms of her father, as if it were some place she had been forbidden to go. She did not want to go there, and for whatever reason, he caught her up in a false, fatherly embrace and released her. What was happening here? Was it true what Iruka had suspected? Did she really loathe her father so much at the moment so as to refuse or return a loving ceremonial embrace? What was really happening between these two? What was their history?

Did she really love him as a father? Did he really love her as his daughter?

"Iruka," old Hayake whispered. Snapping out of his trance, Iruka looked up and realized his thoughts had carried him away into some unknown territory where his mind had wandered and taken him away to keep him from realizing his next subtle hint at what to do. Ah, yes—he had to take her hands, now that she was in front of him.

Take her hands? But . . .

Hayake abruptly rested his hand on both of their shoulders, and as his hand came down to Katana, she jolted with a sudden brush of fear. Something was not right, and Iruka was not so stupid as to not realize the incorrectness of the situation.

Hayake then squeezed Iruka's shoulder, making him jump suddenly. He glanced to Hayake through the corner of his eye, just as the old man leaned in to Iruka and whispered, with a cold, harsh, yet silent tone, "Do you want to marry her or what?"

Oh, that. His tone frightened him into taking her hands in his—her frail, delicate hands . . . so fragile between his own. So small, so feminine to his stalwart presence. She was . . . small. Too skinny. Too small, or whatever it was.

Nonetheless, I'll treat her with respect. Such a promise brought him to remember he'd promised so before, promised to tell her with his gaze that everything would be alright. He would not harm her. He would not mistreat her. He would do none of this, even though she may be an entirely different being on the inside. Bravely and with intent, he straightened his back, softened his gaze to look at her with reassurance, but . . . she would not look up and him. She would not raise her head to look at him, only kept her confusion directed toward the ground. He sighed, almost frustratingly, then realized his promise. She deserves respect, because he didn't even know if she'd had any in her entire existence. Yet, because she didn't return his warm expression, he realized that this would not be necessarily easy, either.

"Today," Hayake boomed to the rather large crowd, startling the two shy, frightened strangers, "I give my daughter, Masamune Katana, a new life with the man she has chosen, Umuino Iruka, of the Fire Nation. She has chosen a good man, and I know the life ahead will be a very privilege occasion for both of them."

Applause. For what? The lie he was allowing his daughter and this Iruka to live? With every ensuing word—whatever they were, Iruka hardly cared—Iruka's relationship with this man was quickly deteriorating to reveal a slight loathing. Who was this man, anyway? Again, Iruka looked at her uneasily, persisted in allowing her the safety of his reassurance. Still, she averted her eyes from him. It was so hard to treat her with respect if she wouldn't at least acknowledge the favor. This was going to be rather difficult.

" . . . and for this, I wish them the best. I pray they will be happy with each other and the life they have chosen." Applause filled the air once again. Hayake bowed, remaining for all the attention he could acquire, then stepped from the platform and allowed another man—he was familiar to Iruka—to take his place. Was he some sort of priest or something? Yes—Iruka had seen him only the night before when Inori talked Iruka into this mess.

No, Iruka talked himself into this mess. At least he had the gall to know he'd commit at least a minor mistake instead of heaping all the blame on another person. And this particular indication would mean so much to Katana, if only she'd actually known him for a while. This sweet, caring trait could do so much for them, if only it could be enacted. If only they knew.

No matter. The two only subconsciously listened as this "priest" gave the typical matrimonial speech, performed the marriage. Inside, Iruka began speaking with Katana, tried issuing her a few words that would comfort her and ease her fear. I won't hurt you, Katana. You will be safe with me.

She didn't answer, only kept looking toward the ground. How can I tell her? How can she learn that she will be safe with me?

Katana, he continued. After a moment's contemplation, he gently grasped her hands a bit tighter—ever so gently, it almost could have been a mistake.

She didn't know what to think. She was frightened and had no idea of what he was going to do with her after the ceremony. What would he do?

But, he was gentle with her.

Katana, I promise I will be as much of a husband as I can. I promise to never let another harm you, to keep you safe and make sure you will be happy with me—even though it is only me, and I don't know how you could ever be happy with someone like me, but . . . I will do my best. I will see to it that you will be happy—

"It is finished," the priest said solemnly. "We pray for the happiness in your lives, and we pray you will be at peace."

Silence filled the air, which made Iruka uneasy once more. Had he made a mistake? Oh, now he'd completely forgotten what he was supposed to do. He glanced past Katana to Hayake, who almost angrily was making an odd motion with his arms—the embrace, of course!

The embrace. The embrace that would bring Iruka and Katana together as partners. But . . .

I promised to make her happy, to be the best husband I can. I cannot take that back now. I would be looked down upon with great dishonor, and the people—

No, Katana would be upset. I promised to be a good husband, as good a husband as I am capable.

But this move was so difficult. Why did he find himself dumbfounded with difficulty, writhing for comfort? Why was it so hard to accept her now, when he was almost there?

I promised . . .

He didn't smile, no; but he slowly brought his arms down to fit around the delicate curves of her back, and slowly he tightened his grip around her frail body. I look so stupid giving a one-sided embrace. How idiotic . . .

It took a moment, but she did reach her arms up to conform behind his back and up around his broad shoulders, and rested her head soft against him. More at ease with himself, Iruka held her closer, and . . . he wanted to tell her all he'd rehearsed in his heart, but . . . he found it too difficult. Would she really accept him for who he was? Would she really understand what was happening inside of him that so closely bound her to him already? Truthfully, it was a rather difficult task. It was not easy to speak so lightly and gently to a complete stranger. Rather than tell her with fumbling words, he merely held her a bit closer.

She, unsure of what to expect, began to release her suppressed emotions as a surreal applause, along with a sudden flash of reality, filled the air. With a blurry longing, she wanted to remain there, feeling safety and security, but remembered that life would not be easy just yet.

And then, with her rising emotions, she remembered Kori. Where was he?

With a reluctant release, she exited the embrace and glanced across the flood of people to the garden entrance, hoping to see the one she truly loved standing there, timing his tactics in rescuing her from the life she was falling into.

But he was not there.

All was lost. This realization hit her as the priest showed them off the platform, Iruka allowing her to go before him. Amidst the rising applause and dense feeling of sorrow growing on the wind, she cried.

Katana's last memory of her miserable life . . .

I'm leaving, Katana told herself in the mirror. I'm going for good, and I'm not going with Kori.

She looked at herself one last time, adorned in a simple outfit she'd often worn. Nothing more than a simple blue oriental blouse and a long, conservative skirt. She looked odd to herself, wearing her hair so formally, yet adorning a now casual outfit.

Oh, how would this all work out? How does he see me? Will he even be happy with someone like me—a stubborn, selfish girl my father's always marked me as?

How could he ever be happy with me if my father's been so unhappy with me?

"Katana," whispered a seemingly sullen, yet beautifully adorned Inori. Katana turned to see her beloved sister approaching her in the room where she would spend her last moments in this village as Masamune Katana. She was now Umuino Katana, and all now seemed lost in that name—hopes, dreams, and her precious Kori. Why wasn't he there? Why didn't he save her from the clutches of cruel fate and harm? These regretful imaginings all disappeared in the embrace she suddenly shared with her little sister, the only person she truly loved now. The only way to escape her hate, fear, and sadness.

"I will miss you, Inori," she sniffed. "I will come back to see you, and maybe you could come to see me sometime."

It was a worthless idea. Katana knew it could never happen.

So, sullenly, she picked up her only bag containing all she wanted from this life, and left the room she'd slept in for most of her life. Now things were different. Now she led a new life. With one final goodbye, she left Inori crying in the bedroom. Katana would probably never see the sweet little girl ever again.

And Katana cried as she worked her way to the lobby where she'd probably never set foot again. There, she would meet her husband and go away with him to a foreign land with foreign people and foreign surroundings. Even he was foreign to her. She almost cried harder, yet remembered her promise to be strong and courageous.

No longer could she handle it. She walked down the stairs—she dared not take the elevator, for it would only cut the time of the life she knew shorter. Once on a landing, making sure she was alone, she fell to her knees.

And she cried. He couldn't see her like this, so she had to work it all out of herself now. He could not see her weak. That would only hurt our fragile, young relationship, and that's the last thing we can afford.

A long awaited and dreaded departure . . .

"She should be any minute," Hayake assured. "She's probably just dawdling, that's all. She's always had a habit of doing that."

Whatever. Iruka sighed, allowing one part of him to silently hope that she'd never come down. That would make everything better wouldn't it?

No. I promised her . . .

"Ah, my Katana, dear," Hayake suddenly bellowed. Iruka looked up to see her coming down the marble stairs and into the presence of Hayake and her new husband. When Hayake went to accept her in an embrace, she merely stopped before him, moved aside to get around him. She then reached up and rubbed her shoulder, remembering the beating she'd taken earlier that morning. Hayake mumbled something to himself, turned around with a smile. "I suppose you are ready, now?"

Iruka nodded. "Yes." Fumbling a bit, he stooped down to pick up his two bags. He dreaded the thought of having to walk into the town on the coast with these things bearing him down. Couldn't they have gotten a ride there or something?

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" The old man almost laughed. Katana knew he was only urgent to get rid of her before anything else, so she began walking toward the door.

"Thank you, Master Hayake. For everything." Iruka's comment wasn't necessarily rude, but it wasn't very direct, either. He didn't want to remain in the pompous man's presence any longer than was needed, and seeing no need to remain, he picked up his bags and walked to the door.

The two were rather surprised at the crowd that would see them out of town. Neither of them really knew why such a large group of people would be needed to do so, but neither of them really cared, either. They only walked through the cheering throng, and Iruka almost hated it. Did they really have to have that? Still, the two persisted through and to the edge of the urbanization. Now, they were leaving. Leaving hatred, loathing, and everything else they'd acquired in the city. Katana turned around one last time to see the life she'd be leaving behind. It wasn't much to miss, but . . . she would miss a few attributes of it, nonetheless. She also knew she couldn't go back—she wasn't really wanted there, and she felt it. What good would it do?

So, bag in hand, she gave one last solemn wave, turned to her husband, and followed him down the road into a new life.

Hopefully, a better one. But, then again, how could it be worse than the one she'd been living?

A new, dim hope ahead, she followed her husband—followed Iruka down that road. Reluctantly, yet hopefully.

Okay, I'll try to have another chapter done by next week. Happy Holidays! And thank you so much for reading!