Iroh squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden light and tried to get his bearings. He knew he'd been grappled and half-walked, half carried a short distance from where he'd fallen, but he'd been blinded and the last few minutes had been a little fuzzy. The first thing he noticed was that he was wet and very cold. The second was that nearly every part of him hurt. The third was that he was handcuffed to a pole.
Iroh slowly opened his eyes and saw that he was on the inside of what he assumed to be one of the larger tents in the Northern Water Tribe encampment. It was arranged, tipi-style, around the central pole to which he was attached. He was kneeling, the pole at his back, his hands fastened behind him with what felt like metal cuffs. His arms ached and his right shin burned.
Two men and a woman stood opposite him. The men wore the uniforms of the Northern Water Tribe and had the coffee skin and blue eyes typical of their people. The shorter of the two wore his auburn hair cropped close in front, with two long braids down his back like the tail of a swallow. He moved his hands slowly back and forth as he balanced a large bubble of water in mid-air. Iroh guessed he had been using the cold water to hold him still; that would explain why he was wet. The woman, in turn, was small and thin, and was dressed in some kind of close-fitting gray armor. In her hand she held a sack of some dark, rough cloth that must have been over his head. Her skin was a light olive, and she had the distinctive green eyes of the Earth Kingdom. A metalbender? That was interesting. Iroh hadn't been aware that any mercenaries were involved in the war.
Standing between the waterbender and the metalbender, frowning down at him, was Chief Unalaq. Tall and spare, he wore his graying hair in three long braids and had a face like carved granite. His bright blue eyes were cold and hard.
"Good," said Unalaq. "You're awake. I've been wanting to talk to you." Unalaq nodded at the waterbender next to him. "Aunroch says you fell pretty hard when he tripped you." Iroh said nothing. He'd been trained for just such an eventuality and knew that even the smallest thing he did or said could give away valuable information.
"So, let us cut to the chase. There's no point in lying. I know who you are and why you're here." Iroh's heart sank. That was bad. If he'd been recognized, Unalaq could use him as a bargaining chip with Raiko, trading further cooperation for quietly avoiding an international diplomatic incident. If that happened, he didn't think he'd even live long enough to see a court-martial. He'd simply disappear. Even worse, he could instead be offered in exchange to the Fire Nation, putting the Firelord in the impossible position of choosing between an alliance with Unalaq and the life of her youngest son.
"Obviously, you've failed," continued Unalaq. "I admire the Avatar's confidence in her, er, acquaintance, but the arrogance of sending her pet firebender to assassinate me is almost insulting. You'll forgive me, but she should at least have hired a professional. For Spirits' sake, not only did you burn 36 tents on your way in, violently alerting me to your presence, but you were tripped on the way to my tent. There wasn't even a fight. It's embarrassing."
Wait, what? Iroh couldn't believe his ears. Pet firebender? Did Unalaq… think he was... Mako? Mako, sent by Korra to somehow secretly assassinate him? Spirits, could Unalaq not tell firebenders apart? Iroh thought it was possible, especially if the Chief had had little contact with the Fire Nation and was expecting Korra to try something. He started thinking fast. If Unalaq thought he was with the Avatar, then he had a chance. From what Iroh understood, Unalaq still needed Korra's cooperation in some way. He also didn't seem to realize yet that firing the tents had been the primary objective. That might give him some options.
"Ok," he said. "You got me." What would Mako say? "But, er, you're holding a Republic City police officer in custody! That won't end well for you. Chief Beifong will hear of this."
"Lin Beifong has no jurisdiction here," said Unalaq. "Besides, if you can help me talk some sense into the Avatar, I promise no harm will come to you."
Sure. Wait until you see your mecha tanks.
"I'll go contact the Avatar now," Unalaq said, "and then we'll talk again. Aunroch," He turned to the other man. "See that he stays put until I return. Chelin, stay with him." Aunroch and the metalbender, evidently Chelin, both nodded. Unalaq left.
Iroh weighed his options. It would be hard, if not impossible, to firebend with his arms behind his back. That was why they had restrained him that way. Chelin would make sure that he couldn't get out of the cuffs. That didn't leave much to work with.
Yet one of the biggest weaknesses of most benders is that they started to think everything was about bending. He'd been guilty of that himself more than once. But two weeks on the road with Asami had reminded him of all the other ways to solve problems. So he didn't have firebending. What did he have?
For one, his legs were free. If he wanted, he could move up and down the pole. His shin was agony, but he shifted his weight a little and it didn't seem broken. Good. Also, as in most portable structures, the tent pole was relatively thin, only about a hand span across. He couldn't break it, but it meant that his arms had some slack—a significant improvement over being tied to Bolin the last time this had happened. And if Unalaq didn't know enough about firebenders to be able to tell one from another, chances were that at least Aunroch, and perhaps Chelin as well, were just as ignorant. Finally, benders were benders. Which meant that they would be both arrogant and predictable. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
"May I have some water?" he rasped. He did his best to sound miserable, which, in his current condition, wasn't hard.
"We're not untying you," said Aunroch. Chelin narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
"Please," whispered Iroh. "You can hold the cup, I don't care. I used so much fire. I'm so dry." In truth, firebenders didn't need any more water than anyone else, but he was hoping Aunroch would buy it.
He did. "Fine," said Aunroch. "Then you quit whining." He moved over to a low bureau and bent some of the water he'd been holding into a tumbler. Seeing that he couldn't hold both the tumbler and his bubble of water, he opened the pouch that hung at his side and stowed it. Then he took the glass and walked back to where Iroh was tied. Under the guise of moving towards the cup, Iroh shifted back on his knees and curled his toes under. Then he winced.
"Ow!" he said. "I'm sorry, it's my leg, where you tripped me. Would you mind bringing it down here?" Aunroch grumbled, then squatted in front of Iroh and tipped the cup to his lips. He drank deeply. Then Iroh spit the water back into Aunroch's face.
It happened fast. Aunroch sputtered, reflexively trying to bend the water out of his eyes. At the same time, Iroh dropped his chin and bounced forward on the balls of his feet, slamming the top of his head into the distracted waterbender's face as hard as he could. The pain was excruciating. He saw Aunroch stumble back, eyes unfocused, then fall to the floor.
He heard, rather than saw, Chelin move. Her metal whip zipped towards him in a wide arc. He ducked, and the long chain's momentum caused it to wrap several times around the thin central pole. Before she could free it, Iroh jumped to his feet, twisted, and threw all his weight at the whip. He outweighed the metalbender considerably. The taut line jerked, taking Chelin by surprise and yanking her towards him, off-balance. He kicked her as hard as he could in the chest with his good leg. Her eyes flew open and she made a wheezing noise, then slumped to the floor. The whole thing took less than ten seconds.
Iroh stood, panting. He couldn't believe that had worked. Now there was just the pole. One advantage of being in the United Forces, however, was that he was familiar with equipment from across all four nations. And, at the end of the day, a temporary tent was a temporary tent. Designed for portability and ease of use, they were kept standing mostly by balance. Iroh braced his legs, grimacing at the pain in his shin, and pushed his back against the pole, hard. It wobbled. He took a deep breath, reset his legs, then pushed again with all his might. The pole swayed, tipped, then fell, dragging the entire tent over with it. The pole jerked his arms painfully as it fell and Iroh was pulled over backwards, buried in the heavy canvass.
He heard shouts. Even the sloppiest army wouldn't miss their commander's tent collapsing. As fast as he could he twisted and shimmied down the last few feet of the pole, which was now untethered from the ground. Then he kicked his way free of the canvas and, arms still behind his back, began to run.
Iroh limped up to Katara's doorstep several hours later. It was nearly morning, and he couldn't remember having ever been so tired in his life. He kicked the door softly once, twice, balancing on his good leg. A minute passed, then two. He was about to knock again when the door opened. Katara wore a thick blue robe over what looked like a white nightgown. One gnarled hand carried an old-style oil lantern, its single flame illuminating her lined face.
"Spirits, Iroh!" she whispered. She looked him up and down, taking in his battered appearance. He was still wearing the handcuffs, having been unable to think of a way to remove them without help. "What happened to you?"
"I didn't die," he said.
Katara grinned. "That's my boy," she said. She stepped aside. "Come on in. I made some more cookies."