Passages, Chapter 22
Talk about the fic that ran away with itself! Seriously, I contemplated this as a nice, simple, coming of age fic aided by the two elder characters chronically exposed to each other's foibles. It should be done by now!
Seriously, I'm working my way to the end. I've got one thing I want JJ to do for Zuko, a nice reunion for Iroh and Zuko, and then a parting of the ways to manage - naw, I don't believe the stars have these guys traveling to the Fire Nation together. Aint gonna happen folks!
But anyway, as the writer somewhere said, stuff happens! And so we got shit preventing a bit Sokka's return to the fold. Worry not, my friends, it will happen! Sometime or 'tother...
__________________
Chapter 22
He wanted a cup of tea. Well, he always wanted a cup of tea if one wasn’t already at hand, so maybe the thought really wasn’t worth dwelling upon. Still, the novelty of flight had begun to pall, and the smoothness of the sky bison’s gait combined with the monotony of a slowly changing landscape so far below them, generally obscured by cloud cover, had lulled Iroh’s senses past being satisfied with lapses into memory to the point of near somnambulism, and he felt in need of herbal stimulants.
Iroh turned his face full into the wind of their passing, glad of its sharp coolness. The young earth-bender had allowed herself to lean against his bulk, and by the deep evenness of her breathing he suspected that she may have fallen asleep. Absently he shifted to let her rest more comfortably with her head in his lap, his arm stretched along hers to cover her hand gently with his own. Again he felt himself taken aback by the tremendous role these children had taken upon themselves, to right a world long gone awry. This tiny frame had the power to change the earth itself, and yet as she dozed one errant knuckle found its way to her lips, presenting to his knowing eye an all too recent toddler denied the solace of a sucked thumb.
Perhaps, in the case of this girl lacking the sense of sight, such denial had instilled a firmer root of rebellion than in the average child. Or perhaps that firmness of independence had been there all along, and it was only the eyes of near forgotten fatherhood and grief that sought out more in signs of childishness among the Avatar and his companions.
Damn. He really wanted that cup of tea.
Aang was back on his familiar perch on Appa’s head, one hand curled in the soft wool behind the bison’s ear as he enjoyed the thrum of energy still flowing through his limbs from the indulgence of his flight along the headland cliffs. The thrill of freefall, pulling out just above a wave’s cresting, only to dive yet again in front of and along the breaking wave, had sent a chemical surge through his blood that made him feel more alive than anything he had done in months!
A part of him had recognized how he had held the wave’s crest from breaking just that millisecond longer to allow him to soar his way across its front, something he could never have done merely as an air-bender, and he acknowledged some brief reward for the burden of his unique position as Avatar in the joy he’d experienced with that ride.
Subtle corners of his brain had noted the friability of the western scarp of the cliff-face, hollowed out with birds’ nests yet underlain by a core of denser granite, the layers of stone upthrust in a twisted agony that he suspected even Toph did not fully comprehend.
As he had pulled up from the face of the wave to catch a rising column of air against the cliff Aang had been struck by a cacophony of perceptions that nearly brought him crashing into the surf. The endless pounding of the surf, coupled with windborne grit, pounding and grinding against the seemingly impenetrable surface of the land, which daily yielded, here a few grains and there with a fall of tons of stone.
Doggedly Aang had climbed the air currents, letting the sensory impressions fall unfiltered upon his consciousness, determined to accept whatever his role in this world must be after having run away from it all those years ago. As he gained altitude and adjusted his flight path to rejoin Appa and the others he found himself almost subconsciously reconciling the violence of this clash of the elements with his earlier recognition of how the biological world balanced itself.
The difference, he thought to himself, was that people could make choices where nature could not. Did that not demand a higher standard of behavior in achieving the balance all things needed? Especially since the wrong choices could so easily destroy all balance for everything.
Aang thought deeply, once back in the security offered by his animal guide. He was twelve going on one-hundred-thirteen. He had fought battles, escaped numerous capture attempts, overcome hatred and misunderstanding, and even survived near-death.
He accepted that so much more was expected of him, even as so much more had been given to him, all without his choosing one way or another. Still, some choices were left to him. As the rightness of what he had first thought was mere self-indulgence in his solo flight permeated into his muscle memory and bone structure Aang felt a sense of affirmation that in seeking out Sokka he was doing more than returning a friend to his side.
Something was calling to him beyond friendship. Something that seemed to speak with a definitive voice. For lack of a better term, Aang had begun to call that voice in his own mind the heady name of destiny.
-----------------------------------
Zuko no longer believed destiny had any truck with him, except maybe to make him its bitch. And weeks observing first-hand the pinch of a war-ravaged people, followed by a month in prison as a traitor in the company of the epitome of the Fire Nation ambition’s enemies, had scoured out even that pathetic arrogance.
Zuko had surrendered all sense of entitlement, for good or ill, in the face of what he saw as being wholly discarded, by family and fortune. When he had felt he could sink no lower, he’d seen families devastated by loss of parent or child, sometimes both, as the war whipped by oblivious to personal tragedy. It had been…humbling.
No less humbling had been learning of Sokka’s own loss of his mother to a Fire Nation raid when he was no older than Zuko had been when his mother had disappeared, of the further loss of Sokka’s father with all the other warriors to take the fight away from their village, explaining why Zuko had found the young warrior as its sole defense when the Avatar had made his appearance.
Zuko’s own father had sent him on a hopeless quest, while Sokka’s father had entrusted him with the care of their people. The comparison was made even more painful by Sokka’s lack of training and resources, especially relative to Zuko’s own wealth, even in the face of exile.
For all that it had seemed that fate had taken up the Water Tribe boy in its embrace, tacking him onto the Avatar’s entourage for all those months, even as Zuko had been finally abandoned so too had fate cut off Sokka from any real role in world events by casting him into the Fire Nation prison. It was only a joke on destiny’s part to place them together.
And Zuko tried desperately to believe it was still such a joke that the two of them had escaped together. That despite every opportunity to part ways they still sojourned together, that every day compounded their bonds to one another in ways simply unimaginable given who they were. Fire prince and Water Tribe peasant. When he thought about it, Zuko was inspired to laugh - a fitting joke for destiny, indeed!
It wasn’t what he expected, but meeting up with Jeong-Jeong had given him new hope. He wasn’t sure what he thought might come of it, but even as he had known his Uncle Iroh could never betray the Fire Nation he wanted to follow his heart and believe that Jeong-Jeong also had been misunderstood.
On the other hand, Jeong-Jeong had not attempted to excuse his actions, nor did he appear to look to Zuko to either understand or intercede for him. Of course, this could have been merely the result of practicality; what influence could an exiled prince have in any deserter’s trial?
It was all too much for Zuko to puzzle out, although he would do so, in time. In the meanwhile, was it really so bad to rest in the traditions of his people, the simple distinctions of dress, manner and foodstuffs, honored in this haphazard band of military deserters and colonists gone astray.
What role, if any, did Sokka have in this realignment of Zuko’s role in the Fire Nation?
-----------------------------------
Was this it, then? Or was this some kind of joke?
Had Sokka abandoned his disdain for destiny just to find himself returning the Fire Prince into some haphazard power play with his sister for the role of chief oppressor under their father’s dominion?
Okay, if worse came to worst and that was in fact the truth of the matter Sokka was still prepared to back Zuko over Azula - Zuko was an arrogant jerk but he was unflinchingly honest and did seem to truly respect some universal sense of morality. All those weeks ago his instinct had told him as much, and his experience with the prince confirmed it.
But Sokka had believed there was so much more there, and it was that belief that had guided his hand in pulling the spear from Zuko’s shoulder, that had led him to stand up to his father on Zuko’s behalf, and had pressed his boat’s tiller into the Fire prince’s hesitant hand. That belief had been bolstered by Zuko’s quick defense of Sokka against Jet, his willingness to turn away from that battle without killing the other boy, the lack of killer instinct in dealing with the salvage scum, and yet more so by weeks’ worth of shared ruminations on war, economics, strategy and gamesmanship, poetry, history, music and occasional commentary on family, honor, and even, so recently, love.
They had abused one another verbally, attempted to outsmart and impress each other too often for either to have much left in the way of hidden reserves. Sokka knew this in every bone of his body, knew it such that he had no more hesitation in chastising Zuko than he did with Katara, Aang or even Toph. Without even thinking about it he’d come to trust the other boy. At first he would have merely admitted to trusting Zuko with his own life, judging it a commodity he could afford to bet with.
Now he realized he was fully prepared to trust Zuko with the lives of his friends, with even Aang. And the prospect of Zuko staying with Jeong-Jeong forestalled this option, and Sokka found himself in the odd position of wanting to actually expose his dearest friends to more risk, and he had no real idea on what basis he could justify the risk.
No wonder he felt cranky and irrational.
On its face, for the Fire Prince to find a place with the Deserter was both logical and optimal. Jeong-Jeong had abandoned the Fire Lord’s cause, the Fire Lord had abandoned his son, and Zuko should be both reasonably safe with Jeong-Jeong and unlikely to cause problems for the rest of the world, at least over the near term. It was like finding a nice safe place to house a potential asset during a drawn-out business transaction. Sokka had watched his father negotiate often enough with various suppliers from the Earth Kingdom to recognize the analogy easily enough.
And he’d spent more than enough time with Zuko to know that only an idiot would try to package him as any kind of asset. But then, most people didn’t have the benefit of Sokka’s exposure to Zuko.
Worse. He had a sneaking suspicion that if had occurred to him to consider Zuko as an asset it had probably occurred to someone else as well. And Sokka had never been fully reconciled to the idea of Jeong-Jeong as a purely reclusive deserter. Deserters didn’t need personal armies.
Zuko was no idiot. He’d have figured out as much as well. So the real question remained.
Where did Jeong-Jeong stand?
--------------------------------------------
“My Prince. General Iroh has been responsible for your training these last years, hasn’t he?” Neither boy had noticed the old soldier’s appearance above the stream-bank. Each sought his memory guiltily for disrespectful references to their host, wondering at what point he had first observed their conversation.
Jeong-Jeong didn’t see fit to enlighten them.
“Yes, sir. My training has not been neglected. I beat Admiral Zhao in an Agni Kai last fall,” Zuko wished he could have eaten his own words as he remembered that Jeong-Jeong had been Zhao’s master before the younger man had gained his commander’s rank. Then he straightened his back in pride. “Zhao was a potent fighter, but he was power-hungry and dangerous; he tried to have me killed.”
“Zhao was a monkey-faced maniac. He’s a perfect example of why the Fire Nation’s anathema to the rest of the world!” Sokka hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but he had evoked Yue’s memory too recently to keep silent as he and Zuko climbed the bank to stand before the fire-bending master.
Zuko sighed. They were standing close enough for him to dig an elbow into Sokka’s side. Although Jeong-Jeong did not hear his murmured “Not helping” comment, and had caught only part of the preceding speech by the Tribesman, his own experiences with Zhao were sufficient to fill in the gaps.
“I would not presume to challenge you, my prince. But perhaps you would indulge me with a demonstration of your skills? Shall we spar?”
Zuko dropped into a fire-bending stance. As before, on the beach facing Jet, it did not occur to him to even look for his dual swords. This was all about fire-bending, and being a fire-bender. Sokka stepped quickly aside, deciding that prudence was undoubtedly the better part of valor, especially when it was pretty obvious that no real harm was intended by either party. Easily enough said, when both parties were fire-benders. Something else again when the observers weren’t!
Sokka had had many opportunities to observe Zuko’s fire-bending prowess, he’d seen, if briefly, General Iroh in action, and even faced for a few moments Princess Azula, but he’d never actually seen Jeong-Jeong move, and for the first time he gained an appreciation for the difference between a well-trained and powerful junior like Zuko and a true fire-bending master.
Not that it was a complete surprise. Sokka’s father was a master strategist, and had taught his son well. For all Sokka’s discounting of ‘bending’ during his days at the South Pole, he was a swift learner. While he’d spent hours in the warrior’s hall at the North Pole honing his own skills he’s also sneaked hours to observe the water-benders at their craft. Sokka had been more surprised at the teacher’s swiftness of recognizing his sister’s attainment of master status as a water-bender than he was at her ability to reach that level. Nonetheless, he noted the distinction, recognizing it more as a matter of speed and judgment than pure skill.
Seeing that reflected in fire-bending was, oddly enough, not that much more difficult in learning to observe it in water-bending or martial arts. Sokka made the obvious leap. Mastery in anything is judgment as to when and how to act in any given situation. True mastery is not in the skill, but in the wisdom as to when to exercise it.
In that moment Sokka leapt from being a clever young man to being a master bender of fate.
It was, happily, years before he realized the fact.
----------------------------
Seriously, I'm working my way to the end. I've got one thing I want JJ to do for Zuko, a nice reunion for Iroh and Zuko, and then a parting of the ways to manage - naw, I don't believe the stars have these guys traveling to the Fire Nation together. Aint gonna happen folks!
But anyway, as the writer somewhere said, stuff happens! And so we got shit preventing a bit Sokka's return to the fold. Worry not, my friends, it will happen! Sometime or 'tother...
__________________
Chapter 22
He wanted a cup of tea. Well, he always wanted a cup of tea if one wasn’t already at hand, so maybe the thought really wasn’t worth dwelling upon. Still, the novelty of flight had begun to pall, and the smoothness of the sky bison’s gait combined with the monotony of a slowly changing landscape so far below them, generally obscured by cloud cover, had lulled Iroh’s senses past being satisfied with lapses into memory to the point of near somnambulism, and he felt in need of herbal stimulants.
Iroh turned his face full into the wind of their passing, glad of its sharp coolness. The young earth-bender had allowed herself to lean against his bulk, and by the deep evenness of her breathing he suspected that she may have fallen asleep. Absently he shifted to let her rest more comfortably with her head in his lap, his arm stretched along hers to cover her hand gently with his own. Again he felt himself taken aback by the tremendous role these children had taken upon themselves, to right a world long gone awry. This tiny frame had the power to change the earth itself, and yet as she dozed one errant knuckle found its way to her lips, presenting to his knowing eye an all too recent toddler denied the solace of a sucked thumb.
Perhaps, in the case of this girl lacking the sense of sight, such denial had instilled a firmer root of rebellion than in the average child. Or perhaps that firmness of independence had been there all along, and it was only the eyes of near forgotten fatherhood and grief that sought out more in signs of childishness among the Avatar and his companions.
Damn. He really wanted that cup of tea.
Aang was back on his familiar perch on Appa’s head, one hand curled in the soft wool behind the bison’s ear as he enjoyed the thrum of energy still flowing through his limbs from the indulgence of his flight along the headland cliffs. The thrill of freefall, pulling out just above a wave’s cresting, only to dive yet again in front of and along the breaking wave, had sent a chemical surge through his blood that made him feel more alive than anything he had done in months!
A part of him had recognized how he had held the wave’s crest from breaking just that millisecond longer to allow him to soar his way across its front, something he could never have done merely as an air-bender, and he acknowledged some brief reward for the burden of his unique position as Avatar in the joy he’d experienced with that ride.
Subtle corners of his brain had noted the friability of the western scarp of the cliff-face, hollowed out with birds’ nests yet underlain by a core of denser granite, the layers of stone upthrust in a twisted agony that he suspected even Toph did not fully comprehend.
As he had pulled up from the face of the wave to catch a rising column of air against the cliff Aang had been struck by a cacophony of perceptions that nearly brought him crashing into the surf. The endless pounding of the surf, coupled with windborne grit, pounding and grinding against the seemingly impenetrable surface of the land, which daily yielded, here a few grains and there with a fall of tons of stone.
Doggedly Aang had climbed the air currents, letting the sensory impressions fall unfiltered upon his consciousness, determined to accept whatever his role in this world must be after having run away from it all those years ago. As he gained altitude and adjusted his flight path to rejoin Appa and the others he found himself almost subconsciously reconciling the violence of this clash of the elements with his earlier recognition of how the biological world balanced itself.
The difference, he thought to himself, was that people could make choices where nature could not. Did that not demand a higher standard of behavior in achieving the balance all things needed? Especially since the wrong choices could so easily destroy all balance for everything.
Aang thought deeply, once back in the security offered by his animal guide. He was twelve going on one-hundred-thirteen. He had fought battles, escaped numerous capture attempts, overcome hatred and misunderstanding, and even survived near-death.
He accepted that so much more was expected of him, even as so much more had been given to him, all without his choosing one way or another. Still, some choices were left to him. As the rightness of what he had first thought was mere self-indulgence in his solo flight permeated into his muscle memory and bone structure Aang felt a sense of affirmation that in seeking out Sokka he was doing more than returning a friend to his side.
Something was calling to him beyond friendship. Something that seemed to speak with a definitive voice. For lack of a better term, Aang had begun to call that voice in his own mind the heady name of destiny.
-----------------------------------
Zuko no longer believed destiny had any truck with him, except maybe to make him its bitch. And weeks observing first-hand the pinch of a war-ravaged people, followed by a month in prison as a traitor in the company of the epitome of the Fire Nation ambition’s enemies, had scoured out even that pathetic arrogance.
Zuko had surrendered all sense of entitlement, for good or ill, in the face of what he saw as being wholly discarded, by family and fortune. When he had felt he could sink no lower, he’d seen families devastated by loss of parent or child, sometimes both, as the war whipped by oblivious to personal tragedy. It had been…humbling.
No less humbling had been learning of Sokka’s own loss of his mother to a Fire Nation raid when he was no older than Zuko had been when his mother had disappeared, of the further loss of Sokka’s father with all the other warriors to take the fight away from their village, explaining why Zuko had found the young warrior as its sole defense when the Avatar had made his appearance.
Zuko’s own father had sent him on a hopeless quest, while Sokka’s father had entrusted him with the care of their people. The comparison was made even more painful by Sokka’s lack of training and resources, especially relative to Zuko’s own wealth, even in the face of exile.
For all that it had seemed that fate had taken up the Water Tribe boy in its embrace, tacking him onto the Avatar’s entourage for all those months, even as Zuko had been finally abandoned so too had fate cut off Sokka from any real role in world events by casting him into the Fire Nation prison. It was only a joke on destiny’s part to place them together.
And Zuko tried desperately to believe it was still such a joke that the two of them had escaped together. That despite every opportunity to part ways they still sojourned together, that every day compounded their bonds to one another in ways simply unimaginable given who they were. Fire prince and Water Tribe peasant. When he thought about it, Zuko was inspired to laugh - a fitting joke for destiny, indeed!
It wasn’t what he expected, but meeting up with Jeong-Jeong had given him new hope. He wasn’t sure what he thought might come of it, but even as he had known his Uncle Iroh could never betray the Fire Nation he wanted to follow his heart and believe that Jeong-Jeong also had been misunderstood.
On the other hand, Jeong-Jeong had not attempted to excuse his actions, nor did he appear to look to Zuko to either understand or intercede for him. Of course, this could have been merely the result of practicality; what influence could an exiled prince have in any deserter’s trial?
It was all too much for Zuko to puzzle out, although he would do so, in time. In the meanwhile, was it really so bad to rest in the traditions of his people, the simple distinctions of dress, manner and foodstuffs, honored in this haphazard band of military deserters and colonists gone astray.
What role, if any, did Sokka have in this realignment of Zuko’s role in the Fire Nation?
-----------------------------------
Was this it, then? Or was this some kind of joke?
Had Sokka abandoned his disdain for destiny just to find himself returning the Fire Prince into some haphazard power play with his sister for the role of chief oppressor under their father’s dominion?
Okay, if worse came to worst and that was in fact the truth of the matter Sokka was still prepared to back Zuko over Azula - Zuko was an arrogant jerk but he was unflinchingly honest and did seem to truly respect some universal sense of morality. All those weeks ago his instinct had told him as much, and his experience with the prince confirmed it.
But Sokka had believed there was so much more there, and it was that belief that had guided his hand in pulling the spear from Zuko’s shoulder, that had led him to stand up to his father on Zuko’s behalf, and had pressed his boat’s tiller into the Fire prince’s hesitant hand. That belief had been bolstered by Zuko’s quick defense of Sokka against Jet, his willingness to turn away from that battle without killing the other boy, the lack of killer instinct in dealing with the salvage scum, and yet more so by weeks’ worth of shared ruminations on war, economics, strategy and gamesmanship, poetry, history, music and occasional commentary on family, honor, and even, so recently, love.
They had abused one another verbally, attempted to outsmart and impress each other too often for either to have much left in the way of hidden reserves. Sokka knew this in every bone of his body, knew it such that he had no more hesitation in chastising Zuko than he did with Katara, Aang or even Toph. Without even thinking about it he’d come to trust the other boy. At first he would have merely admitted to trusting Zuko with his own life, judging it a commodity he could afford to bet with.
Now he realized he was fully prepared to trust Zuko with the lives of his friends, with even Aang. And the prospect of Zuko staying with Jeong-Jeong forestalled this option, and Sokka found himself in the odd position of wanting to actually expose his dearest friends to more risk, and he had no real idea on what basis he could justify the risk.
No wonder he felt cranky and irrational.
On its face, for the Fire Prince to find a place with the Deserter was both logical and optimal. Jeong-Jeong had abandoned the Fire Lord’s cause, the Fire Lord had abandoned his son, and Zuko should be both reasonably safe with Jeong-Jeong and unlikely to cause problems for the rest of the world, at least over the near term. It was like finding a nice safe place to house a potential asset during a drawn-out business transaction. Sokka had watched his father negotiate often enough with various suppliers from the Earth Kingdom to recognize the analogy easily enough.
And he’d spent more than enough time with Zuko to know that only an idiot would try to package him as any kind of asset. But then, most people didn’t have the benefit of Sokka’s exposure to Zuko.
Worse. He had a sneaking suspicion that if had occurred to him to consider Zuko as an asset it had probably occurred to someone else as well. And Sokka had never been fully reconciled to the idea of Jeong-Jeong as a purely reclusive deserter. Deserters didn’t need personal armies.
Zuko was no idiot. He’d have figured out as much as well. So the real question remained.
Where did Jeong-Jeong stand?
--------------------------------------------
“My Prince. General Iroh has been responsible for your training these last years, hasn’t he?” Neither boy had noticed the old soldier’s appearance above the stream-bank. Each sought his memory guiltily for disrespectful references to their host, wondering at what point he had first observed their conversation.
Jeong-Jeong didn’t see fit to enlighten them.
“Yes, sir. My training has not been neglected. I beat Admiral Zhao in an Agni Kai last fall,” Zuko wished he could have eaten his own words as he remembered that Jeong-Jeong had been Zhao’s master before the younger man had gained his commander’s rank. Then he straightened his back in pride. “Zhao was a potent fighter, but he was power-hungry and dangerous; he tried to have me killed.”
“Zhao was a monkey-faced maniac. He’s a perfect example of why the Fire Nation’s anathema to the rest of the world!” Sokka hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but he had evoked Yue’s memory too recently to keep silent as he and Zuko climbed the bank to stand before the fire-bending master.
Zuko sighed. They were standing close enough for him to dig an elbow into Sokka’s side. Although Jeong-Jeong did not hear his murmured “Not helping” comment, and had caught only part of the preceding speech by the Tribesman, his own experiences with Zhao were sufficient to fill in the gaps.
“I would not presume to challenge you, my prince. But perhaps you would indulge me with a demonstration of your skills? Shall we spar?”
Zuko dropped into a fire-bending stance. As before, on the beach facing Jet, it did not occur to him to even look for his dual swords. This was all about fire-bending, and being a fire-bender. Sokka stepped quickly aside, deciding that prudence was undoubtedly the better part of valor, especially when it was pretty obvious that no real harm was intended by either party. Easily enough said, when both parties were fire-benders. Something else again when the observers weren’t!
Sokka had had many opportunities to observe Zuko’s fire-bending prowess, he’d seen, if briefly, General Iroh in action, and even faced for a few moments Princess Azula, but he’d never actually seen Jeong-Jeong move, and for the first time he gained an appreciation for the difference between a well-trained and powerful junior like Zuko and a true fire-bending master.
Not that it was a complete surprise. Sokka’s father was a master strategist, and had taught his son well. For all Sokka’s discounting of ‘bending’ during his days at the South Pole, he was a swift learner. While he’d spent hours in the warrior’s hall at the North Pole honing his own skills he’s also sneaked hours to observe the water-benders at their craft. Sokka had been more surprised at the teacher’s swiftness of recognizing his sister’s attainment of master status as a water-bender than he was at her ability to reach that level. Nonetheless, he noted the distinction, recognizing it more as a matter of speed and judgment than pure skill.
Seeing that reflected in fire-bending was, oddly enough, not that much more difficult in learning to observe it in water-bending or martial arts. Sokka made the obvious leap. Mastery in anything is judgment as to when and how to act in any given situation. True mastery is not in the skill, but in the wisdom as to when to exercise it.
In that moment Sokka leapt from being a clever young man to being a master bender of fate.
It was, happily, years before he realized the fact.
----------------------------