Categories > Cartoons > Avatar: The Last Airbender > The First Cut
Chapter Five
"His /what/?!"
Of all the ways Iroh had hoped to use his tentative closeness with the Waterbender, convincing her to act the part of his nephew's concubine was not one of them.
"Admiral Zhao is, technically, heading the search for the Avatar," he explains, reaching for the tea pot with one hand and her cup with the other. She'd spat most of the tea against the wall of her cell some seconds before and handed over the now-empty cup with wide, insulted eyes. "It is our duty to give him any information or hostages we have concerning the Avatar. However, he cannot touch royal property, no matter what his mission is."
It was, Iroh thought, not the best place or time for this conversation. Officer Zheng's untimely appearance in the hallway had been triggered by the girl finishing her rice, the first food she'd had in four days, and coming up to request more for her. While Iroh brought it down, along with tea, and Katara looked at least livelier for having eaten, she was still pale for a girl of her tribe and seemed fatigued.
Of course, any and all thoughts of sleep leave as soon as Iroh says "consort."
Part of the general was happy that she seemed more like herself, like the girl they'd originally brought to the brig, all stubbornness and pride with a will to survive that shone in her eyes and in her words. The other part keeps the sigh internal as she scowls at him like a petulant child. "Property," she repeats, spitting the word out as if it were acid on her tongue. "You mean a /slave/."
"I mean a consort," Iroh corrects, his words gentle. "A concubine, if you will."
"Oh, a sex slave."
The part keeping the sigh internal loses and Iroh's deep exhale is full of patience - the kind only kept by those who deal often with teenagers. "A favored woman of a man of status - in this case, a prince - who, yes, would generally be counted on for sexual services. However," he draws out the word, hoping to curb the glare she's giving him, "I am not asking you to be his consort, his concubine or his," his nose wrinkles slightly, disliking the term, "sex slave. I am asking you to play the part. It is for your own good, Katara."
"Says the man helping his nephew capture the world's only hope from your people!" she exclaims and doesn't take the tea when he offers it back. Rather, the girl glares at him, crossing her legs beneath her, arms folded across her chest, and Iroh is reminded of his own children at a younger age when they refused to eat their vegetables. "It isn't for my own good, it's for Zuko's! Why should I care about him if I'm going to be a prisoner either way?! He's chased us for so long, maybe I should just give myself up to this other guy just to spite him!"
This time, Iroh doesn't bother to sigh, imagining the girl after four days in Zhao's hands, and letting his displeasure for the idea lie clear in his face. "That would not be wise, Katara. You may not care for my nephew, and he has given you no reason to do so, but putting yourself in Zhao's hands is a very foolish thing to do."
She doesn't back down but she doesn't add any more heat to her words either, too affected by his to challenge them and yet too proud to retreat. "It's all the same in the end, isn't it? They're both looking to capture Aang, so what does it matter which one has me? I'm bait either way!"
He could tell her things. Tell her of Zhao's first battle, the bloodlust he carried then and now; the absence of control in his 'bending; the absence of control in his heart; the fact that Katara is actually a prisoner of war and, whether she likes it or not, could lawfully be forced into the role of concubine if her captor wished it; that Zuko would never wish it and it would be a minor miracle if Zhao /didn't/; that the raid on the Southern Water Tribe years ago, claiming more than half her Tribe, had been the setting of then-Officer Zhao's first promotion...
The Dragon of the West says nothing and wonders if he will regret his silence later.
She watches him for a long moment, narrow blue eyes angry and, though she tries to hide it, scared. Scared and she's only been here four days, only experienced food deprivation that would have stopped today anyway.
Iroh swallows his sigh and calms his expression, letting his shoulders roll forward slightly; a gentle old man who sets the tea aside. "...Who would the Avatar trust?"
She wasn't expecting that and he knew it, watches her blink stunned eyes and rock back slightly. But he expects her silence.
"When you know the answer," he says quietly, tone warm as he resettles the tea on the tray and begins to stand with it, "call for me."
Barely four steps are taken before she calls the general back.
+8+8+
When they had left the Fire Nation, Prince Zuko ordered that only the essentials be packed, and while Iroh had bent that rule more than once on trips to the market, there were still things the ship lacked. Large baths, for instance, and lavender soaps; perfumes and jewelry, decadent silks. That is to say, it lacked the necessities due a royal consort.
Some improvising is done, but in the end, Iroh congratulates himself on the end product. The girl is clean, her hair up in a chignon, her clothes unwrinkled...
Granted, she smells like the harsh soap the sailors use, her hairstyle is messy and limp, and the robes are actually Zuko's old ones, but Iroh found a red sash and ties it about her waist in the proper style of a consort. Soap, pins, and silk could be bought at the next market.
"And shoes," the girl reminds him as he writes his list across from her. He lifts his hand, glancing over in time to see her poke a bare foot out from under the too-large robes and frown.
He has to drop his gaze to hide his smile, adding another line to the list. "And shoes." Faded gold eyes rake the paper's contents before he straightens and looks to her again. "Anything else?"
He follows her eyes to the mirror and wonders what it must be like, to be a Water Tribe girl wrapped in Fire Nation clothes, agreeing to play the part of property to save her own skin, unable to get back to her friends and making up a shopping list of useless finery with the uncle of the boy that seeks to destroy her hope for a better world.
The lack of light in her eyes, dark and dead, tells him what he needs to know, even without the lifeless whisper of, "No," she adds to it.
"His /what/?!"
Of all the ways Iroh had hoped to use his tentative closeness with the Waterbender, convincing her to act the part of his nephew's concubine was not one of them.
"Admiral Zhao is, technically, heading the search for the Avatar," he explains, reaching for the tea pot with one hand and her cup with the other. She'd spat most of the tea against the wall of her cell some seconds before and handed over the now-empty cup with wide, insulted eyes. "It is our duty to give him any information or hostages we have concerning the Avatar. However, he cannot touch royal property, no matter what his mission is."
It was, Iroh thought, not the best place or time for this conversation. Officer Zheng's untimely appearance in the hallway had been triggered by the girl finishing her rice, the first food she'd had in four days, and coming up to request more for her. While Iroh brought it down, along with tea, and Katara looked at least livelier for having eaten, she was still pale for a girl of her tribe and seemed fatigued.
Of course, any and all thoughts of sleep leave as soon as Iroh says "consort."
Part of the general was happy that she seemed more like herself, like the girl they'd originally brought to the brig, all stubbornness and pride with a will to survive that shone in her eyes and in her words. The other part keeps the sigh internal as she scowls at him like a petulant child. "Property," she repeats, spitting the word out as if it were acid on her tongue. "You mean a /slave/."
"I mean a consort," Iroh corrects, his words gentle. "A concubine, if you will."
"Oh, a sex slave."
The part keeping the sigh internal loses and Iroh's deep exhale is full of patience - the kind only kept by those who deal often with teenagers. "A favored woman of a man of status - in this case, a prince - who, yes, would generally be counted on for sexual services. However," he draws out the word, hoping to curb the glare she's giving him, "I am not asking you to be his consort, his concubine or his," his nose wrinkles slightly, disliking the term, "sex slave. I am asking you to play the part. It is for your own good, Katara."
"Says the man helping his nephew capture the world's only hope from your people!" she exclaims and doesn't take the tea when he offers it back. Rather, the girl glares at him, crossing her legs beneath her, arms folded across her chest, and Iroh is reminded of his own children at a younger age when they refused to eat their vegetables. "It isn't for my own good, it's for Zuko's! Why should I care about him if I'm going to be a prisoner either way?! He's chased us for so long, maybe I should just give myself up to this other guy just to spite him!"
This time, Iroh doesn't bother to sigh, imagining the girl after four days in Zhao's hands, and letting his displeasure for the idea lie clear in his face. "That would not be wise, Katara. You may not care for my nephew, and he has given you no reason to do so, but putting yourself in Zhao's hands is a very foolish thing to do."
She doesn't back down but she doesn't add any more heat to her words either, too affected by his to challenge them and yet too proud to retreat. "It's all the same in the end, isn't it? They're both looking to capture Aang, so what does it matter which one has me? I'm bait either way!"
He could tell her things. Tell her of Zhao's first battle, the bloodlust he carried then and now; the absence of control in his 'bending; the absence of control in his heart; the fact that Katara is actually a prisoner of war and, whether she likes it or not, could lawfully be forced into the role of concubine if her captor wished it; that Zuko would never wish it and it would be a minor miracle if Zhao /didn't/; that the raid on the Southern Water Tribe years ago, claiming more than half her Tribe, had been the setting of then-Officer Zhao's first promotion...
The Dragon of the West says nothing and wonders if he will regret his silence later.
She watches him for a long moment, narrow blue eyes angry and, though she tries to hide it, scared. Scared and she's only been here four days, only experienced food deprivation that would have stopped today anyway.
Iroh swallows his sigh and calms his expression, letting his shoulders roll forward slightly; a gentle old man who sets the tea aside. "...Who would the Avatar trust?"
She wasn't expecting that and he knew it, watches her blink stunned eyes and rock back slightly. But he expects her silence.
"When you know the answer," he says quietly, tone warm as he resettles the tea on the tray and begins to stand with it, "call for me."
Barely four steps are taken before she calls the general back.
+8+8+
When they had left the Fire Nation, Prince Zuko ordered that only the essentials be packed, and while Iroh had bent that rule more than once on trips to the market, there were still things the ship lacked. Large baths, for instance, and lavender soaps; perfumes and jewelry, decadent silks. That is to say, it lacked the necessities due a royal consort.
Some improvising is done, but in the end, Iroh congratulates himself on the end product. The girl is clean, her hair up in a chignon, her clothes unwrinkled...
Granted, she smells like the harsh soap the sailors use, her hairstyle is messy and limp, and the robes are actually Zuko's old ones, but Iroh found a red sash and ties it about her waist in the proper style of a consort. Soap, pins, and silk could be bought at the next market.
"And shoes," the girl reminds him as he writes his list across from her. He lifts his hand, glancing over in time to see her poke a bare foot out from under the too-large robes and frown.
He has to drop his gaze to hide his smile, adding another line to the list. "And shoes." Faded gold eyes rake the paper's contents before he straightens and looks to her again. "Anything else?"
He follows her eyes to the mirror and wonders what it must be like, to be a Water Tribe girl wrapped in Fire Nation clothes, agreeing to play the part of property to save her own skin, unable to get back to her friends and making up a shopping list of useless finery with the uncle of the boy that seeks to destroy her hope for a better world.
The lack of light in her eyes, dark and dead, tells him what he needs to know, even without the lifeless whisper of, "No," she adds to it.
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