Rating: PG, probably; once again, some violent imagery, but nothing especially explicit.
Characters/Pairing: This chapter's about Suki's mother; canonically, we know pretty much nothing, so, fair warning, this one's rife with OCs and pairings thereof.
Summary: Some of the missing and/or dead mothers of Avatar: who they might have been, and things they might have done or never did. Each chapter will be sort of its own five-things fic.
Disclaimer: Places and people you recognize from canon are not mine; additionally, the final line of Thing Two belonged to Oyaji in canon.
Acknowledgements: GIANT THANK-YOU to my sister, for the beautiful art (unfortunately, I can't embed it here!) and the constant nagging. And, of course, to the ladiesbigbang challenge on Dreamwidth, for leading me to actually get off my butt and post fic.
Other Notes: Early post, because the last chapter was so short! \o/ The first four of these tie into canon, some more tightly than others - the connection between Thing Four and the show is especially loose, and if you haven't seen The Southern Raiders and aren't paying attention near the end of the ficlet, it will seem bizarrely unrelated. This is entirely my fault; I knew where it was going from the beginning, but I got kind of wrapped up in the scenario, and I couldn't bear to cut it even though it could probably use cutting. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
(Five people Suki's mother might have been, and one thing each of them never did.)
One:
Tezura reads the letter again, and again, eyes flickering up and down the lines, because she knows that when she sets it down, she will never read it again.
Ryoharu is dead; that is what it says. They have been married less than a year, and six months ago he was called away to the front; and now he is dead, and the baby currently weighing down her stomach will never know its father.
She knows what her mother will say, when Tezura tells her what has happened, and she knows, too, what she will say in response. Some people are lucky enough to have flexible hearts, but Tezura is stubborn in all things. She will not marry again.
Her father would never let her join the army, even if she were able to; but she has heard that in the southern islands, women make their own choices about these things.
So she leaves the letter on the table, puts together a pack she will be able to carry, and goes.
Kyoshi Island is one of the smallest islands in the southern ocean; if her family chooses to look for her, they are very unlikely to look there. The head of the Warriors of Kyoshi on the island is a woman named Chideko, who looks like she was born in her war makeup, and doesn't give Tezura an inch even though her first month of lessons with the iron fans is also the last month of her pregnancy.
When Tezura's daughter is born, it is into a circle of women in green battle robes, and the first thing she touches with her tiny new fingers is an iron fan.
Suki is eight when the pirates come, and Chideko takes a blade to the thigh and doesn't get up again. She recovers, but experiences shooting pains and sudden weaknesses in her leg that will not go away.
Three months later, she comes up to Tezura after a training session and shoves the first's headdress at her chest. "I am still a Warrior of Kyoshi," she says, "but I cannot be the first if I cannot know when my leg may choose to buckle." She snaps her fan warningly at Tezura. "If you try to keep me off the front lines, I'll take that back from you."
"I know you will," Tezura says, and takes it. She has about fifteen years less of training than anyone else, but Chideko is like Tezura: she never likes to do anything the easy way.
When Suki is fifteen, a canoe pulls up on the shore of the bay near the village. Tezura tosses her daughter's fans to her, and when Tezura knocks out the boy with the shaved head, Suki is right next to her, bringing her fan down on the girl dressed in blue.
"Tie them to the statue post," Tezura orders, when all three of them are unconscious. "We'll see what they have to say when they wake."
Two:
Shintsumi is a farmer, the daughter of a family of farmers, the wife of a farmer. So how she has ended up chief of the village, she's not entirely sure.
The Fire Nation attack was particularly brutal; that, she understands. Chief Oyaji was killed; that, she remembers. But the rest is something of a blur - Ashiya tells her she took command, that it was her intervention that saved the rest of the village from destruction, but all she recalls is that she saw what needed doing, and ensured that it was done. It felt like a very small thing, at the time; but the fur around her shoulders and the respect in the other villagers' eyes says otherwise.
She still can't quite understand it. This village is hers; she could not have stood by and let it be burned off the earth. Nothing she did was exceptional - it is only that there was no other path.
She and Yumo move their things into the chief's house, attached to the back of the main gathering hall, and she takes Suki by the hand and leads her through the rooms - three of them, two more than any house Shintsumi has ever lived in before. Showing her daughter their new home gives her a chance to pretend that all of this is normal.
Shintsumi strides down the hill toward her daughter, eyeing the prisoners her daughter has captured with all the haughtiness she can muster. She feels ridiculous, but it seems to work reasonably well; the prisoners look moderately cowed.
"You three have some explaining to do," she says.
Three:
The Fire Nation took Ba Sing Se five years ago, but what was once the Earth Kingdom does not bear a Fire Nation yoke easily; particularly not the southern islands. Kyoshi Island does not seem important, but it is. It is the site of the first true resistance to Chin the Conqueror - it is where Kyoshi turned the tide against his armies. The spirit of rebellion is strong here, and so is the spirit of the Avatar, though the current Avatar himself - an aging man now - lies in chains somewhere in the depths of the Imperial Palace.
This, Ayako knows, is why the Phoenix King has come.
Ostensibly, he is simply touring the territories now under his control, surveying his new lands like a child inspecting a new doll. But the unnatural stillness of the village as the imperial fleet draws closer, the shuttered eyes and tight jaws of everyone on the street, tell a less innocuous story.
The Phoenix King is brought up from the bay on a palanquin, but he chooses to step out of it at the bottom of the main avenue, mere feet from the post that supports the great statue of Kyoshi. A kindness, Ayako might be tempted to think, except she knows better. He's not doing it to put himself on an even footing with them, as a sign that he is not a distant and callous lord; he is doing it so that when he looks at them with disdain, they will be able to see it.
He tours the village circled by advisors and officials - one of them, Ayako sees, is Totsuro, who was once the mayor of the largest island in the chain Kyoshi Island is part of, and who is now one of the Phoenix King's many regional authorities; he is especially blatant in his desire to show the Phoenix King how Kyoshi Island has been tamed. Idiot, Ayako thinks.
The people of Kyoshi Island do not give the group much of a berth. Unintentionally at first, Ayako is fairly certain; they are simply dedicated to their everyday business, and unwilling to let the Phoenix Lord's presence disrupt their usual routines. But soon enough, those who pass by begin brushing arms and elbows as they go, knocking baskets against the knees of governors and generals - horridly disrespectful, and even the apologies the townspeople murmur as they go cannot hide it. Ayako watches the Phoenix King's face grow stormy, and feels only vicious satisfaction.
She has been watching from the shrine, high on the hill. Maintaining it is a duty that fell into her hands several years ago, and one she took up gladly; she has sat there often in the last five years, smoothing Kyoshi's robes and dusting her fans, and drawing a quiet strength from them. Suki has begun helping her, tall enough now to handle a broom, and Ayako encourages her to spend time in the shrine. Though Kyoshi warrior-paint is forbidden now, Ayako has seen her daughter outlining where the patterns would lie on her own face with curious fingers, and felt her heart grow glad.
Suki is there now, carefully brushing the dust from the great painting of Kyoshi on the island, and Ayako moves to help her - Suki is still too short to reach the top half of the painting. So she is busy with work when she realizes a crowd is gathering outside. "Stay back," she tells Suki, and steps toward the door of the shrine.
The Phoenix King is standing outside the shrine, surrounded by a half-moon of fawning officials, with a few of the townspeople pausing curiously on the outskirts; Ayako sees Tenzu, Nanpo, Yumeya and her daughter. The Phoenix King's face has taken on a look of almost vindictive displeasure, and Ayako feels her heart begin to pound.
"I ordered this destroyed," he says.
"You did?" says hapless Totsuro, and then rapidly corrects himself. "You - did. Of course, your imperial majesty - it will be done-"
"I wouldn't want to burden you," the Phoenix King sneers, and then sweeps a hand forward, flames springing whole from his palm.
Ayako doesn't think; she stands in the doorway of Kyoshi's shrine, settles her feet, and punches a boulder up out of the ground. The Phoenix King's handful of fire splashes off the surface with a hiss, and fades.
She lets the rock tumble back into place, and when it has settled again, the Phoenix King is staring at her, mouth twisting with rage. "You dare," he says, almost wonderingly, and assumes a real bending stance.
She meets the whirling cone of fire he bends at her with a wall of rock, and then splits the wall into pieces and sends them all flying at him. The officials scatter; some of them must be benders, Ayako thinks, but afraid to interfere lest the Phoenix King take umbrage. He's the sort to think of accepting a helping hand as a weakness.
He throws a whip of flame next, and she is not quick enough to block it; it sears her ankle with pain, and she falters. His chin lifts in triumph, and he throws a dozen darts of flame at the air around her. She lifts a dozen stones at once, and catches most of them; but one slips through and sets the shrine wall alight.
She sees a flare of blue out of the corner of her eye, and shouts "Suki!"; Suki must know that she means it as a scolding, but she doesn't back away - she just keeps pulling off her outer robe, and then shoves it against the wall, smothering the flames.
Enough, Ayako thinks, and slams her foot into the ground, pressing her fists together end-to-end. Enough of this, and she shoves each fist toward the opposite elbow, and cracks the earth beneath the Phoenix King's feet apart.
Four:
Mikyoza crosses her arms, impatient. "Surely you can see this is the only way we are both going to get through this," she says.
The chief of the village dips his head, neither a nod nor a shake - infinitely frustrating, but, Mikyoza thinks wryly, it will make their negotiations go even more slowly if she cuts off his head. "Yet there are many issues to consider, here," he says. "Issues of safety - issues of trust. You and your band have robbed us many times, have killed our neighbors and friends and families."
Mikyoza shifts a little, and remembers what she was thinking mere moments ago with suddenly acute discomfort. "Not haphazardly," she says. "In self-defense-"
"Because they tried to keep what you would have stolen," the chief says.
Mikyoza frowns. Technically true, but it sounds worse than usual when he says it. "Never children," she says at last. "Never anyone who had not already raised a blade against us."
"I know," the chief says. "That is why we are having this conversation at all."
When Mikyoza steps back outside the village hall, the Warriors of Kyoshi and the bandits are still eyeing each other warily in the village center, the Warriors in a tight knot of green and white with fans flared, and the bandits leaning on fences and walls, pointedly cleaning their swords.
Mikyoza gives the nearest, Nairi, a flat look.
"What?" Nairi says, a little petulant, but she sheathes her sword right after, so Mikyoza knows she knew what she meant.
They linger in the village's lone street long after dark; they have nowhere else to go, really, until the negotiations with Chief Oyaji are complete. It's peculiar, being surrounded by the light of so many hearths shining through the windows; the bandits have camps, of course, eat together and laugh together and watch each other's children, but they do not settle into such houses. Such homes.
And, of course, they have no camp here, no fire. They will sleep on the ground, and perhaps in the morning Oyaji may be convinced to grant them a space to cook some breakfast.
Mikyoza sits, leaning against a convenient wall, and falls asleep thinking these things; she wakes the next morning to find them unnecessary thoughts.
"Excuse me?" the man says again, peering down at her doubtfully.
Mikyoza blinks at him, and then at the bowl cupped in his hands, and tries to arch her sore back without letting on that that's what she's doing. "I'm awake," she says, "thank you."
"No, it wasn't just for - that is-" The man pauses, faintly flustered, and then shoves the bowl in her direction. "Here," he says stiffly.
Mikyoza peers into the bowl: rice porridge, with a small helping of grilled fish on the side. She looks up and sees that there is a small crowd watching her; her own people, trying to look as though they aren't watching, and the townspeople nearby, some with bowls in their own hands, unabashedly staring. Many of the villagers have baleful looks on their faces, and the man who gave the bowl to her is gazing at her warily. Waiting to see what she'll do. This is a test, Mikyoza thinks, glancing up the hill to where Chief Oyaji is standing with arms crossed. A chance to prove that they are able to be kind to one another, if they try - and able to trust, in some small way, if she accepts the porridge without making someone else check it for poison first. She wonders whether the man volunteered, or Oyaji made him do it.
Not a very hard test, Mikyoza thinks, in the end; she is very hungry. She eats it.
The other villagers nearby give out more food - grudgingly, at first, but then Nairi's bowl slips through her fingers, splattering rice porridge down her front. She catches the bowl again, back to her usual deftness, and then stares down her shirt and starts to laugh. The woman who handed the bowl to her blinks, startled, and then cracks half a smile. "At least you saved my bowl," she says, and ushers Nairi into her house to clean the porridge off.
Mikyoza watches the villagers, who themselves are watching the house, like they expect Nairi to burst out any moment covered in blood, sword high. But Nairi emerges wearing Kyoshi Island blue, arguing politely with the woman about her shirt. "I can wash it myself," she is saying; "even bandits know how to do laundry."
The thaw comes rapidly after that; nothing unites people like a common enemy. The bandits may have killed some of the townspeople, but it has been a long time since their last raid, and the Fire Nation has killed far more. Mikyoza's bandits have not gone unscathed either - the Fire Lord does not care for Earth Kingdom citizens who carry swords, whether they are soldiers or criminals.
The man who gave Mikyoza her bowl is named Banji, and he keeps watching her with hostile eyes long after most of the other villagers are willing to smile at her.
"You're the one who brought me food in the first place," Mikyoza points out to him one day, tired of the angry weight of his gaze on her face.
"I did," he agrees, "and I would again; because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted you fed."
This is an utter reversal of the way Mikyoza functions in the world: she does what benefits her without shame, and if she should happen to accomplish something of merit at the same time, all well and good; but she doesn't chase after such things. To hear someone profess to act because what that action means is more important than what it actually does is highly peculiar.
"Huh," Mikyoza says.
The Fire Nation controls a significant portion of the mainland, and the southern islands are undoubtedly becoming a priority; but when the armies of the Fire Lord come again to Kyoshi Island, it is as a fleet heading for the South Pole, limping from a heavy storm over the ocean - a fleet which was evidently planning to stop on Kyoshi Island to make repairs. The soldiers are searching for wood to stoke their fires when they come upon the village.
There is simply not enough time to be divided; Warriors of Kyoshi end up alongside bandits not as part of a grand gesture of acceptance, but because they are taken by surprise and have only a few minutes to form a fighting line. Mikyoza is mere feet from Banji, and the inexplicable terror that grips her when flames flash close in his face means that it takes her a moment to realize she has reacted by charging forward and striking a man's head with the hilt of her sword.
"Yon Rha!" someone else shouts, but they are too late; she slides her blade between the man's ribs with practiced ease, and doesn't regret it at all.
Five:
The first thing Suki does every day when she wakes is leap up, run to the window, and check for Mama. "Do you think she'll be home today, Baba?" she always asks.
And Baba always smiles at her and says, "I'm sure she'll be home soon, Suki."
Some days he doesn't really sound like he believes it; but when he says it, he lets Suki pretend Mama will come home any day now, so Suki figures the least she can do is let Baba pretend he means it when he does.
She does her best to help him; there's so much work to do with Mama gone. But she's only seven, and there are some things she's just not tall enough or big enough or strong enough to do. Yet, Suki promises herself; one day, she'll be strong enough to do anything she wants.
Of course, it wasn't always easy with Mama there, either. Suki doesn't remember Mama very well - mostly just an impression of strong arms and a wide smile, and the way her glaive glinted when she practiced with it on sunny days. But Baba tells her stories all the time. Mama wasn't a farmer at first, not like Baba; she was a soldier, all the way from Ba Sing Se, and the first year after they were married she'd nearly broken the plow at least a dozen times. Suki knows every tale Baba has to tell her like the back of her hand, by now, but she thinks he likes to tell them nearly as much as she likes to hear them. So he tells stories, and they work, and they wait for Mama to come home.
But at last there comes a day when they head into town and everything looks different - everyone is smiling, laughing, instead of hurrying from house to house with their eyes low. "The war is over!" one of their neighbors, Genzo, cries, when he sees Baba in the street. "The Fire Nation has abandoned their last colony in the north - the war is over!"
Baba laughs even though his face looks like he's about to cry, and he picks Suki up and twirls her around once before squeezing her close. "Now," he says. "Now, Mama will be home any day."
Suki's expecting a sign, something that will mark the day as lucky right from the start, but that's not how it happens. She trips bringing water back to the house from the well, which means she has to go back and haul another bucket andshe's skinned her knees, and Baba cuts himself when he's trying to fit a new tooth into their old rake. He's still sucking on his hand and grumbling when Suki sees the figure coming up the path, and drops the second bucket, too.
"Suki," he says, faintly exasperated, but then he sees it, too; the figure's still too far away for them to see a face, but there's dark hair and Earth Kingdom armor and sunlight glinting off a blade.
Suki always thought she would run to Mama the second she saw her, but it's like her feet have been nailed to the ground; she can't make herself move an inch. What if it's someone else? Or, worse, what if it's Mama, but she doesn't like Suki anymore? It's been so long - how can Suki be sure? So she stays where she is, clutching Baba's uninjured hand, and they wait.
They don't have to wait long; the figure works its way up the slope toward their house, and then looks up, and it is Mama, of course it is. She smiles, just as wide as Suki remembers, and runs the last thirty feet, even though the pack on her back must be heavy. "Tekaro," she says, right before she hits Baba with a thump and knocks him back against the wall of the house.
"Chunyi," Baba says, sounding like he's choking, and wraps his arms tight around her - even the hand he cut. "Commander," he adds, after a moment, and Mama pushes back a step and laughs.
"Shut up," she says, and then dumps the pack from her back, and even lets her glaive fall to the ground. "Suki," she says, and catches Suki up close like Suki is years younger. "Oh, Suki, Suki, my darling girl. You're so big now," and now it's Mama who sounds like she's choking.
"Not that big," Suki says, wrapping her legs around Mama's waist and curling her arms tight around Mama's neck. "I've got plenty of big left to go."
"And I'm not going to miss a bit of it," Mama says firmly, kissing her cheek.