AN: Firstly, thank you again for even caring about this story to come back to it after such a long time of no updates. I hope that everything is understandable, and if not, please let me know. As I really like writing the main arcs, I tend to forget about the characters and how they're feeling, so I'm slowing this chapter down, which should help with the pacing. Thanks to everyone that brought that point up. As always, let me know what you think, positive or negative.

She sat at the low table, blowing weakly on her tea, her hands clutching the cup. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, the bandage on her arm itching. She snuggled closer into the blanket and shook her hair out to cover her ears. The small beads hit her cheeks lightly as they settled into place along with the rest of her hair. Breathing deeply, she set the cup on the table and closed her eyes briefly, opened them slowly, and turned her head to look out the window.

Clouds clung to the low mountains, grey and heavy. Raindrops drizzled from them slowly, deliberately. The ground seemed to take it in instantly, cold and thirsty, nourishing the dormant fruit trees. They would begin to grow again in a few weeks, Iroh said. The climate wasn't cold enough to keep the flowers from coming and the sun from returning.

He sat adjacent from her at the table, sipping his tea. Often, he would close his eyes and breathe deeply, steam rolling from his nostrils. Each time, she thought about the ancient dragons, wondered if they had really existed. Maybe he was a dragon in disguise as a human. But then she wasn't sure if that agreed with Fire Nation folklore. She hadn't learned much about it, as she stayed away from anyone that wasn't Iza or Iroh. The prince was probably only there because his uncle wanted him to be, to see, to remember what it was like to have nothing and no one but those that had pity on you.

Prince Zuko was sitting hunched over at a desk, writing. Maybe to his father, she thought with distaste. His time with his uncle seemed to soften him. The princess' time with her father seemed to harden her. Still, she understood what it meant to have family, to have someone to look up to had hope to please. But pleasing the Fire Lord wasn't something she thought she could ever do, unless she died.

The cup in her hands again, she drank it all in one go, slowly enough to taste it, though she didn't want to. It was supposed to help her cycle return, which had disappeared for the last few months. The doctor that had seen to her was worried over this, and supplied her with a large package of tea leaves to promote its return. She breathed deeply again as she set the cup back on the table. Eyes closed, she felt the warmth spread through her insides. She felt sleepy, drowsy, ready to take a nap, although they been up for a few hours now. Disregarding decorum, she put her arms on the table and laid her head down on them, sighing quietly. She turned her head to look out the window again, the view slightly enough like home that she felt at ease. Her heart grew warm and heavy in her chest, and her eyelids closed.

When she awoke, the rain was coming down harder, a few thunderclaps sounding in the distance, the lightning too far away to see. Iroh was sitting where he had been, his own eyes closed, not in sleep, but thought or meditation. His breath was light and measured. She watched him for a moment, the wrinkles on his face soft, the line of his mouth somewhat downturned. His hands rested in his lap. He seemed to have no tension in his body; he was a rag doll with a strong spine. She marveled at his control of emotion, movement.

Looking back to the window, she saw the prince standing, peering out at the rain. He stood with his weight on his left leg, his head square, arms crossed against his chest. Except for the leaning, he looked like a soldier, a contemplative one. He uncrossed his arms and stretched them out wide at his sides, shoulder level, fists clenched tight. No noise escaped him. Then he cracked his neck side to side, saw that she was looking at him, and turned around to face her.

"Did you sleep well, Lady Kanna?"

She looked to the man. "Yes, thank you. I didn't mean to fall asleep again."

He shook his head. "It's good that you did. You need all the rest you can get," he said with a smile. It seemed he smiled whenever he spoke to her. He was probably trying to be encouraging and gentle.

The girl stood up and stretched high, letting out a small sound, then folded over to touch her toes. She rubbed her face with both hands and looked back to him.

Iroh let out a laugh.

"What?"

"I was just thinking, have you ever played Pai Sho?"

She said "Hmmm?" the same time the prince groaned quietly.

They played for hours, and although he was kind in playing, he was ruthless and never once let her win. Her brow furrowed and she clenched her jaw as she played, sitting forward on her knees, thinking hard before every move. Every move was a poor one, and at the end of all her moves, she was defeated. She did not quit, and played until Iroh became bored-though he never said so, of course. Finally he had the prince sit down with her.

He sat cross legged, his back as straight as Iroh's had been. His turns took a bit less time than hers, but not by much. They were not much better either. She figured if she kept practicing, she could beat him in a few weeks. To beat Iroh would take decades.

After three games, the prince didn't want to play anymore. He hadn't wanted to play in the first place, and sat down with a sigh, his eyes bored, face resting on a fist. Halfway through the first game, he'd become more serious, and looked up at her when she was thinking about where to place her next tile.

They had taken her to the royal side of the palace a week earlier, right after she had fainted. Iza was concerned, but Iroh told her that she would be well taken care of. When anyone asked about Kanna, Iza was to tell them that she was ill, and recovering under the care of Former General Iroh.

She'd spent her time sleeping and drinking medicinal tea, walking in the royal garden with the two men, and having meals with more vegetables than she was used to. Iroh would give her half of the meat on his plate, saying she needed it more than he did, at which he would point to his large belly.

The rain the past two days didn't allow them to go outside. The two men could have gone, but they stayed with her, out of courtesy. They were afraid her health would weaken more if she was in the winter rains. Iroh spent more time with her than the prince, who often went to see Lady Mai. After spending some hours with her, he would come back more thoughtful than before, and say even less. He sat on his own most of the time, and the girl thought of him like the Fire Nation's tamed cats, who they kept as pets, but were aloof and showed affection only to those they had known for a long time. Maybe he was trying to let her forget that she'd cried in his arms.

Every time she remembered that, she became angry with herself and blushed furiously, and in order to hide the blush, she tried to look as angry as possible. This became a problem early on, and she had to think up reasons for why she was angry. None of them were false, but none of them were the real reason.

She looked up at him now, as he was putting the tiles away, and felt the anger rise up. He was just turning to look back at her when she suddenly stood up and turned away, staring out the window, her arms crossed tightly. She uncrossed her arms almost instantly, holding her arms out at her sides and freezing the rain in place. Her arms shook with concentration, her breath caught in her lungs. With a heavy sigh, she swung her arms down and let the rain fall fast. Her fingernails dug into the skin of her palms.

The room was silent.

"The doctor said you are supposed to be avoiding stress, not creating it, Lady Kanna."

She didn't speak.

"With all your health concerns, I thought it would be best if you were surrounded by confidantes in a quiet setting, so you could heal."

The girl noticed the word he chose carefully. Not friends, because they weren't, but confidantes. Her anger held level. She'd confided in enemies, as the Fire Nation assumed she would. Better to have enemies close by and eating from their hands than biting at them in cages. They allowed her humanity at a price she didn't want to pay, but her desolation had forced her hand, and now she was caught.

Iroh didn't seem to be a bad sort, but she couldn't be sure. The rest of the family was either bad at acting or had no desire to pretend. Following that logic, he should be what he seemed. From his words and actions, it appeared he cared for her, wanted her to feel safe and comfortable. She'd been here for months and still couldn't determine his character. Everything he'd done leading up to now left her feeling safe and comfortable, but she couldn't shake her disdain and fear of anyone Fire Nation.

She didn't even bother to think about the prince. He was an enigma if she'd ever seen one.

"When I was about Prince Zuko's age, I visited the Southern Water Tribe."

Her posture straightened and her ears perked up. She turned to face him; she was a sucker for anything related to home. She didn't care. Instead of asking if he'd seen her grandparents as she had been about to do, she asked, "What did you think of it?"

The old man shook his head slowly. "It was the most forsaken, desolate place I'd ever seen."

She felt her heart fall a bit, but still held his gaze.

"Then, I met the people. I still think that they were the warmest, most inviting and friendly people I've ever met. We shared stories and food, but mostly drinks. One man, I forget his name, drank more Fire Nation wine in one sitting than any town drunk, but he never seemed to be affected by it."

He scratched his chin, thinking, held up a finger. "Actually, I happen to have a bottle from those years ago, a gift from the tribe. Would you like to have some?"

She didn't, but she did. Her desire to taste home was stronger than her anger. The girl nodded, "Yes, please."

Iroh stood and headed to the door, muttering to himself that he would regret drinking the next day. "But if I only have a little I should be okay..."

She looked to the prince, still at the Pai Sho table. He stood up fully now, looking at her as well. They said nothing for a few moments, and he began to pack up the tiles.

"Have you ever been to the Southern Water Tribe?"

"A few times," he said. The tiles clinked as they touched each other in the purse, a dull, wood sound.

He elaborated no more, and didn't ask her any questions. Attempts at conversation with him appeared fruitless every time.

She walked slowly around the room, touching her fingertips lightly on the furniture as she went. A shudder ran down her body, and she pulled the blanket closer around her body. It was probably the slight chill, but she was too proud to admit it to herself. She'd been through much colder, but even a draft could cause illness, and she knew it.

The sound of the bag of tiles being rested on the table alerted her to the prince again. When she turned, she saw him looking out the window, his eyes glazed over, as if not really seeing what was on the other side of it.

"How did you meet Lady Mai?"

He broke from his stupor and moved to the couch. "She's been friends with my sister since we were children." Still, he looked out the window, watching the slow rain.

She sat at the table again. "Why do you like her?"

The prince started and looked down at her. His one eyebrow was raised, and even his damaged eye was opened decently wide.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"That's personal," he said.

The girl shrugged. "That's why I'm asking. What about your sister then, is that too personal?" She might not like him, but he was company, and she should at least know something about him other than his scar, his honor, and his bending.

He turned to look at the door. "We're not close."

"Iroh, then?" She was baiting him with the only subject she knew he would talk about with her. The only other person they'd spent time around was Iza, and the both of them were willing to forget the entire occurrence.

The prince seemed to resigned to it. "He looked after me during my banishment, took care of me like I was his own child. I guess he still does."

She nodded, encouraged that he'd said more than one phrase.

But he said no more.

Tilting her head to the side, she asked, "Are you generally quiet, or do you dislike me?"

He looked confused. "I don't dislike you, I just don't know you. Your customs and mannerisms, I don't understand them."

She nodded solemnly, her eyes downcast, then she looked directly at him. "You know, you need to talk to someone to know them."

He leaned back, looking at her with more focus.

"I've always thought my nephew was too quiet, especially with such pretty ladies as yourself." Iroh came into the room with a bottle in his hand. It looked new, no dust or scratches on it.

The prince rolled his eyes and fell back against the couch.

"His Highness has Lady Mai."

The face of the man in question was red and looking anywhere but at the two of them.

Moving his hand in a way as if to sweep aside the comment, he said, "That doesn't mean he can't appreciate your beauty, or that of other women."

"I'm the crown prince of the Fire Nation, and you two are talking about me as though I'm not here, and-and about subjects I don't want to- agh, I'm leaving." The prince was up and gone in seconds.

Iroh laughed quietly and whispered, "He's very sensitive, you know. He acts like his father sometimes, but he has a heart softer than a turtleduckling's feathers."

She grinned at him and looked to the door. The prince was gone.

He poured the drink into two cups. The liquid was clear, and bubbled as it swirled to settle in the glass. She took one from him, and they raised them in a small sort of celebration. "Dakalu sukna," he said with a wide smile. The old language.

The girl's grin grew larger. "Tuli dakalu sukna."

They drank together and told stories. It felt the way her grandmother had explained it: peoples from different places, sharing what they had willingly and happily. Her insides felt warm again, but she wasn't sure if it was from the overall experience or just the alcohol. Iroh tried to recite an old legend of her tribe, stumbling over the middle half, saying that the warrior had been impaled by an icicle, when the warrior had impaled a turtleseal with an icicle. She laughed and got it straight for him, and when he asked her to tell it in the old language, she did.

Her words came slower, as she carefully chose the most precise words. The fire crackled, the blanket was around her shoulders. This felt like the right time and way to tell the story, or any story of her people. She bent small icicles to help tell it, and sent one into the pillow beside her, the turtleseal.

When she had finished, she watched him, to see how he would react to it. He didn't speak at first, so she removed the water and ice from the pillow, then looked to him expectantly.

He looked down at the floor. "That was...the most beautiful storytelling I've ever heard."

The girl beamed at him.

"However...I sadly don't know the language fluently, so your embellishments and intricacies were lost on me."

She looked at him in confusion. "I thought you knew it, and that's why you asked."

Iroh shook his head. "Stories, whether they are real or made up, help us remember, discover who we are. Our language, our tales, they make up a part of us that can never be erased. It's your duty to remember your language and heritage, to pass it on to your future children. That is how those we've lost live on."

The rest of the afternoon, when Iroh had gone, she told the stories to herself in the old language under her breath. Use and purpose were important to her. They would save her, and remembering these stories, if only for herself, might help her grieve, accept.

No tears came that day, but she spoke until nightfall, then laid down to sleep, and prayed. She hadn't done so since halfway through the voyage. Tui and La, she hoped, would listen to her. At first she only prayed the standard prayers, but then spoke freely. She spoke of her guilt and pain that she hadn't been able to save her mother, her fears for her grandmother, father, and brother. Her grandmother might have been killed along with the others during the massacre, or she might be cold and starving. Brother and father, there was no knowing. They could be together and still fighting, separate and lost, enslaved, dead. She prayed for them the most, not that she meant to. But they were the ones with the least certainty, and she needed to do it for herself, so that tonight, she might sleep and not see her mother on fire.

She laid on her mattress and stared at the ceiling in the darkness, silent. A while later, she was still unable to sleep. With a small chuckle, she rolled over and began to quietly sing a lullaby.

Kinshei hua,

Banyukana danapei,

Dunkar pili udah hanaei.

It was what her mother sang to her brother and herself when they were young and frightened of the darkness, of the colorful lights, of the howling, and the reflection of the snow. However scared they said the felt, was how many times she repeated the verse.

The girl sang it until she fell asleep, not keeping track.