Passages, Chapter 23
Damn. I've totally lost all interest in any character except Iroh and Sokka, as this chapter makes abundantly clear. Sorry, Zuko, you're still cute, but psychologically that big "L" on your forehead has kind of dropped you off my radar. I swear I'll try to give you "some" attention here-out....
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Chapter 23
“He’s actually better when he needs to be,” Sokka muttered thoughtfully. “When he’s got some purpose besides the fighting itself. Huh. Guess that’s probably true for all of us, but man, most of us don’t have to go so far to pull our heads out of our asses.”
So how come he managed to make you look like such a wuss all those months ago? And how about how neatly he put paid to that salvage scum? Sokka asked himself.
Well, I managed to make the other salvage idiot look like an amateur, and that’s exactly what I am compared to Zuko. So duh!
He was harder on himself than was strictly accurate. Suki’s lessons in close combat had been reinforced by Sokka’s own diligent workouts, careful observation, and training under others at every opportunity, from the Northern Water Tribe warriors to the Earth Kingdom and even sparring with Aang and Toph. He could be a dangerous person to mess with and he knew it, not least because he was perfectly prepared to fight dirty if he had to.
Zuko, on the other hand, was all about power and elegant moves. He’d never aim a kick at another guy’s balls. Sokka grimaced as he stroked his chin in thought. That kind of restraint could get a guy killed.
Jeong-Jeong was much harder to assess. The man’s economy of motion was incredible. His stance was low and Sokka could sense the tension along the man’s leg muscles as his own thighs started to cramp just from watching. Deliberately he straightened his own spine, shifting his weight over on one hip as he shook out the muscles of the other leg. Sometimes his focus got a little carried away.
Sokka remembered Iroh moving so quickly, with short, powerful thrusts against the tight circle of fire-benders there at the North Pole oasis; that the fire itself seemed merely an extension of his arms and legs, instantly ignited and just as quickly contained. Jeong-Jeong’s moves were similar, although there was a grace to them, a showiness, that Sokka hadn’t remembered from either Iroh’s brief scuffle or, for that matter, even Zuko’s many encounters. As he watched, it occurred to Sokka that Zuko’s style, while clearly influenced by the man who had trained him while in exile, also obviously owed a lot to another school of fire-bending, one more closely aligned to Jeong-Jeong’s athleticism. Interesting.
It was apparent to Sokka that Jeong-Jeong was pretty much playing with Zuko at this point.
Sokka grinned. He fully appreciated how often he’d been in a position to watch others fight - obviously often enough to develop an eye for distinctions not just between ‘bending styles but even within them. The question remained, could he use what he observed to help his own efforts? Again, it all depended on the situation, didn’t it? As to which approach would be most effective. Like using the right tool for the job. Of course, sometimes you just had to make do with what you got.
He noticed that Zuko was breathing heavily. Idiot. He was also now blatantly favoring his previously injured shoulder, and Sokka began to curse himself for allowing this display to go on as long as it had. He’d assumed Jeong-Jeong would end it once he’d realized what poor shape Zuko was actually in. Then again, maybe Jeong-Jeong simply didn’t realize it, clear as it was to Sokka’s eye. Or maybe this was some stupid element of Fire Nation pride at work. Damn. That was probably it.
He looked around, noticing that the supposedly casual sparring session had drawn more than a few observers, none of which seemed disposed to intervene. Sokka sighed heavily. Time to use his dumb tool-in-the-toolbox analogy and pull some kind of resolution to this match out of his butt before it became too apparent that Zuko was getting his head handed to him on a platter. He could feel Zuko’s anger starting to seethe.
He still stood on the stream-bank, one leg balanced on a large boulder embedded in the bank while the other rested easily on a smaller one. The eyes of an engineer recognized this part of the bank as some forgotten farmer’s attempt to bolster the sides of the stream against the water’s constant erosive pull, piling rocks upon rocks to block the inexorable pull on the sediment from the flow. Dumb, he thought, even as he considered his options. If you’re gonna do it, you gotta do it right. They didn’t fill the gaps between the rocks, and the whole thing’s gonna give one of these days. Just one good flood…
Sokka kicked at the boulder next to the one he stood on. Yep. Pretty unsteady. He gauged the slope of the land as it followed the downstream curve, making unconscious calculations regarding probabilities that he wished he had the math to back up. Then there was the likelihood of his ability to dodge out of the way to consider; he had no intention of getting hurt himself. He looked again at the combatants. Nope, still no sign of quitting. Stupid. He sighed again.
See? Now this was when you wanted to have an earth-bender to pull out of your pocket. With a chortle as he pictured diminutive Toph leaping out of the folds of his tunic. Sokka leapt three boulders down, turning to shove hard with his legs against the next largest downstream rock, yelling at the same time…
“Avalanche!”
Having leapt back to the safety of the upper bank, he happily watched the stream-bank give way, tumbling down across the bed in an effective dam, thus blocking the flow of water and consequently causing the water level to rise against the remaining banks. Exactly as he’d hoped and expected.
On the other hand, Sokka noticed a remarkable hesitancy on the part of either the combatants or their observers to act in response to either his yell or the events playing out before them.
Dumbass Fire Nation! So caught up in the spectacle of a bit of fire-play before them they couldn’t recognize real danger and act upon it? Shit! These were the people taking over the world? And nobody could stop them? Sokka slapped his forehead hard in frustration.
Some days it didn’t pay to be alive.
-----------------------------
Zuko had started the match in a fit of exhilaration. Jeong-Jeong was one of the heroes of the Fire Nation, not just for his exploits in furthering the War of Conquest but also for his advances in the art of fire-bending. He knew even Uncle Iroh had admired the beauty of Jeong-Jeong’s form, the power that carried through the leaps, kicks, and elegant punches.
It was the form Zuko had initially been trained within, and it had been hard to mask his disappointment when, upon his exile, his uncle had agreed to continue training him, but had fallen back upon the older form from his own youth. Zuko had fretted, feeling like he’d lost years in Iroh’s insistence that he master basic forms from the older style before he allowed him to progress to the higher, more complex forms that appeared to be more a blending of the two styles, not so dependent on either.
Still, Uncle Iroh’s hard, power-filled strokes had largely served him well, although they’d not been sufficient to dispatch the Avatar. There was a rootedness that gave him strength and stamina to draw upon, something the newer form didn’t quite manage.
But Azula had mastered it, had found it perfect to build upon, and this was a constant burr beneath Zuko’s skin, driving him to impatience with his uncle and his own apparent lack of progress in fire-bending. Still, he had bested Zhao, not just in the Agni Kai but also in that impromptu fight at the North Pole. He knew it. He’d just never gotten Zhao to acknowledge it - was that what had driven the man to choose death at the hands of the Ocean Spirit over life at his hands? He’d never know.
But sparring with Jeong-Jeong was nothing like fighting against Zhao. Or, for that matter, like any other opponent Zuko had ever met. He remembered the fury and speed of the Earth Kingdom terrorist he’d met with Sokka, and how that young man’s passion and skill had challenged him at first, before he’d called upon his own will to win and, yes, to kill. He still questioned the wisdom of his bowing to Sokka’s determination to let the terrorist live. They’d both rationalized it as the lynchpin in the giant’s willingness to let them sail away without further duress, but Zuko knew in his heart that would have happened anyway, that the only reason he hadn’t killed Jet was his own reluctance to kill anyway, compounded by the water boy’s equally weak stomach when it came to death.
Sokka had killed Fire Nation soldiers. That had been made clear during their incarceration together in the Fire Nation prison, and it explained why it took so long for their guards to fall prey to his smooth tongue and laughing charm. And why they’d bothered to pay attention to him at all in the first place. Perhaps it had also colored the way he’d listened to the annoying Tribesman’s prattle. Perhaps.
Zuko himself had wielded death reluctantly. He still remembered throwing up afterwards in that altercation with pirates not long after they’d first left Fire Nation seas, his opponent’s blood staining the crimson of his armor a deeper red, edging into dull black. He hadn’t exactly regretted Sokka’s interference in that battle with Jet.
As he sparred against Jeong-Jeong he’d felt the moves falling upon him as naturally as if he’d been born to them. At first he’d assumed it was a call upon old memory. Perhaps two leaps later he’d realized that Jeong-Jeong’s “new” form was merely built upon the core of the older form, and that having mastered the first the later style just required a shifting of attitude, of… what, presence of mind? As he contemplated the difference Jeong-Jeong flattened him.
With a growl Zuko came to his feet, determined to show the old master how well he’d mastered the old form, if he couldn’t beat him at his own. He struggled to keep his mind on the task at hand.
As he fought, Zuko attempted to incorporate his uncle’s teachings. Learn from your opponent, learn how he fights - not just to determine how to beat him but also to gain wisdom in fighting to build upon your own. There is no such thing as mastery of any particular style - the art of winning is all about the art of learning.
Zuko exhibited fine footwork and potent fire-bending technique. He never forgot that this was a mere sparring match, but he also threw everything he had into it. He did not want to excuse any failures on the privations of his time in prison at his father’s hand. He could not confess the failure of falling prey to a Water Tribe spear.
Jeong-Jeong was not human.
In comparison, Zhao had been easy. He’d been a fool, totally prey to his own ambition and temper, and Zuko had learned early in the Agni Kai to draw the man’s temper out, teasing him in a display of fire-bending that appeared to exhaust him in a flash and advanced moves he knew in his heart he’d barely mastered.
It had been easy to crush Zhao by keeping his focus on the root of fire-bending - Zhao was so obviously caught up in the flash and heat of fire-bending’s potential.
But it was stupid to assume that Jeong-Jeong, just because he was Zhao’s teacher and the leader of the “new” form, was ignorant of the true root and power of fire-bending.
And Zuko had been stupid. Damnit. Sokka was so much better at reading this shit than he was. Why was it having spent well over a month in the Tribesman’s company he hadn’t learned enough of his thinking to apply it when he needed to? What the fuck was the good of recognizing ability or worth in a person if you couldn’t use it when you needed it? He took another hard fall, noting as an aside an appraising look on the face of the tribesman at the bank’s edge.
He stood up, punching hard with his left arm in a focused blaze against the old bending master, feeling more and more stupid.
---------------------------
Being blind was, largely, more annoying in the matter of communication than anything else. She’d known this innately as an infant, only to find some minute comfort in being able to bring words to articulate her frustration as time went on.
She’d flown enough with Aang’s coterie to know that her comrades were sufficiently oblivious to her failings as to require her to voice her concerns. Since this was exactly the way she liked it she took it upon herself to point out the occasionally obviously failings her limitations forced upon her. On the whole, it was a pleasure.
“Sorry, Toph, I know I should know better than to forget you don’t know what kind of environment we’re setting down into, but I keep forgetting…” Katara said regretfully as she helped - not Toph, but Iroh - down Appa’s back into the wide village square.
Iroh chuckled quietly, noting the earth-bender’s caustic comments as to the water-bender’s perceptions even as she easily walked up the quay towards the most prosperous-appearing establishment. It was an interesting balance this girl chose to walk.
Toph was feeling torn. And she didn’t like it.
Her conflicted feelings regarding the old fire-bender had required major upheaval of her loyalties and natural allegiances. And yet, this was the man who had accepted her sight unseen - a code for the blind with extraordinary meaning.
It had not escaped her perception that the old fire-bender withheld ultimate judgment of them all. It couldn’t, of course, and she suspected that he was aware of her misgivings and didn’t care. She’d have voiced as much if it weren’t for the imperative that Aang learn fire-bending.
She was reasonably confident that Aang had learned fire-bending far beyond the old general’s expectations.
And this realization soothed her even as she recognized her need to trust the man. She’d never trusted her earth-bending father the way her soul bent to embrace this man from an alien culture.
Toph being Toph, she suspected that where her father was perfectly content to betray the world for his own ends, the old fire-bender would only betray the world if he believed his ends would make the world a better place for all. Iroh’s means may be wrong but his ends were not. She was a child, she knew, but even a child knew right from wrong when it came to end goals. Maturity was in gauging how to get there. Did she really believe she was any better in second-guessing her friends as to their direction? Of course not. That was the real point in rescuing Sokka, wasn’t it? Granted the guy couldn’t bend worth shit, he somehow knew better than any of them what they needed to do win in the end.
Right?
Right?
Katara appraised the landscape below them with the eyes of a Tribesman, well-honed by her own personal experience and homilies droned into her psyche by her father and brother.
There, in a deep fold of the bay lay the village, from the air obviously swollen with trade irregardless of which side of the line it lay. From the maps it was clear that An Dui had found itself on either side of the line many a time. Iroh had suggested the village would take a pragmatic tone, and as they flew lower no one was particularly surprised to see the flag of the Earth Kingdom bobbing from the top of the watch tower.
After all, their maps had shown a clear retreat on the part of the Fire Nation to the north, nearly a month now in retreat.
It should have been enough in itself to give Aang a boost of self confidence. Except that Iroh had blandly reminded him that a retreat here might merely indicate an advance elsewhere. Iroh’s amber eyes had fixed Aang’s pale gray with an unusual fierceness.
“Count the losses, Aang, and the gains. That’s what the rulers do. Does it matter to you what the people think? Remember, what does it matter to them whom they serve? To their masters they are marks upon the game board, worth this or that. Weigh the marks, Aang. What weighs the most?”
Katara hated Iroh for trying to remind Aang of the bigger picture. She’d seen it before, and while she had no argument against it, her heart protested wordlessly. It didn’t help that the old man seemed to read her heart and did not attempt to change her mind. These were the times she missed Sokka most. She somehow believed her brother could articulate her objections to this calculus by the numbers, even as she knew her hard-headed brother trusted more in science than in values of the heart.
Aang felt some sense of relief as the attenuated connection between him and Sokka suffered a certain abbreviation as he approached the port town. It did not, unfortunately, eliminate all concern as he realized Sokka was not, after all, in An Dui itself, and hadn’t been for some hours now. The connection remained, stronger than ever, but not so clearly defined.
But they weren’t far off. Aang indicated to Appa to descend to the town center. It was on the right side of the war front, right? Why shouldn’t they ask the townsfolk if they’d seen any sign of a wandering Water-tribesman?
Why not?
Iroh, the retired general, the master strategist, explained why not. To ask about a friend of the Avatar was to link the Avatar to that site, and to do so was to draw the Fire Nation’s attention there. Iroh really didn’t need to say anything more. Katara had the images of Kyoshi Island burned upon her eyelids. Toph thrilled upon the idea of drawing the enemy anywhere, but grimaced at the idea of running beforehand. A necessary adjunct to the task at hand. It was, after all, all about rescuing Sokka.
It was enough for Aang to insist that Katara and Toph go out alone to gather information. He wouldn’t risk the village with even the sight of him. At twelve-going-on-one-hundred-thirteen, Aang questioned his own motivations, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he and Iroh shopped the miscellaneous carts aligned along the town’s center.
When Iroh disappeared inside a tea-shop he felt disinclined to follow. Iroh was a sponge for tea - they all knew it - and was perfectly inclined to indoctrinate any random companions to the intricacies of flavor and balance. Spirits knew they’d heard him expound on such virtually everywhere they went. Now and then he’d find some kindred spirit, who seemed equally inclined to the joys of pai show. Between the two infatuations, Iroh was adamant. There was no tearing him away.
Aang had been the first to note the likelihood of a taste between the two interests. He enjoyed a good game of pai show himself, and the integrity - and cleverness - of his play had been the first thing that had brought him to trust the elderly fire-bender. As for tea, well, he and Toph were both accustomed to the taste; it had taken little to draw Katara into a common interest, if not addiction, to the soothing hot beverage.
They’d all agreed, had Sokka been there his protests would have denied them all any recourse to the herb, as stimulant or otherwise. It was the one case in which they all tacitly agreed that they’d be idiots to heed his warnings.
It may well have seeded a willingness to disregard Sokka’s warnings in general. No one cared to consider the possibility.
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Chapter 23
“He’s actually better when he needs to be,” Sokka muttered thoughtfully. “When he’s got some purpose besides the fighting itself. Huh. Guess that’s probably true for all of us, but man, most of us don’t have to go so far to pull our heads out of our asses.”
So how come he managed to make you look like such a wuss all those months ago? And how about how neatly he put paid to that salvage scum? Sokka asked himself.
Well, I managed to make the other salvage idiot look like an amateur, and that’s exactly what I am compared to Zuko. So duh!
He was harder on himself than was strictly accurate. Suki’s lessons in close combat had been reinforced by Sokka’s own diligent workouts, careful observation, and training under others at every opportunity, from the Northern Water Tribe warriors to the Earth Kingdom and even sparring with Aang and Toph. He could be a dangerous person to mess with and he knew it, not least because he was perfectly prepared to fight dirty if he had to.
Zuko, on the other hand, was all about power and elegant moves. He’d never aim a kick at another guy’s balls. Sokka grimaced as he stroked his chin in thought. That kind of restraint could get a guy killed.
Jeong-Jeong was much harder to assess. The man’s economy of motion was incredible. His stance was low and Sokka could sense the tension along the man’s leg muscles as his own thighs started to cramp just from watching. Deliberately he straightened his own spine, shifting his weight over on one hip as he shook out the muscles of the other leg. Sometimes his focus got a little carried away.
Sokka remembered Iroh moving so quickly, with short, powerful thrusts against the tight circle of fire-benders there at the North Pole oasis; that the fire itself seemed merely an extension of his arms and legs, instantly ignited and just as quickly contained. Jeong-Jeong’s moves were similar, although there was a grace to them, a showiness, that Sokka hadn’t remembered from either Iroh’s brief scuffle or, for that matter, even Zuko’s many encounters. As he watched, it occurred to Sokka that Zuko’s style, while clearly influenced by the man who had trained him while in exile, also obviously owed a lot to another school of fire-bending, one more closely aligned to Jeong-Jeong’s athleticism. Interesting.
It was apparent to Sokka that Jeong-Jeong was pretty much playing with Zuko at this point.
Sokka grinned. He fully appreciated how often he’d been in a position to watch others fight - obviously often enough to develop an eye for distinctions not just between ‘bending styles but even within them. The question remained, could he use what he observed to help his own efforts? Again, it all depended on the situation, didn’t it? As to which approach would be most effective. Like using the right tool for the job. Of course, sometimes you just had to make do with what you got.
He noticed that Zuko was breathing heavily. Idiot. He was also now blatantly favoring his previously injured shoulder, and Sokka began to curse himself for allowing this display to go on as long as it had. He’d assumed Jeong-Jeong would end it once he’d realized what poor shape Zuko was actually in. Then again, maybe Jeong-Jeong simply didn’t realize it, clear as it was to Sokka’s eye. Or maybe this was some stupid element of Fire Nation pride at work. Damn. That was probably it.
He looked around, noticing that the supposedly casual sparring session had drawn more than a few observers, none of which seemed disposed to intervene. Sokka sighed heavily. Time to use his dumb tool-in-the-toolbox analogy and pull some kind of resolution to this match out of his butt before it became too apparent that Zuko was getting his head handed to him on a platter. He could feel Zuko’s anger starting to seethe.
He still stood on the stream-bank, one leg balanced on a large boulder embedded in the bank while the other rested easily on a smaller one. The eyes of an engineer recognized this part of the bank as some forgotten farmer’s attempt to bolster the sides of the stream against the water’s constant erosive pull, piling rocks upon rocks to block the inexorable pull on the sediment from the flow. Dumb, he thought, even as he considered his options. If you’re gonna do it, you gotta do it right. They didn’t fill the gaps between the rocks, and the whole thing’s gonna give one of these days. Just one good flood…
Sokka kicked at the boulder next to the one he stood on. Yep. Pretty unsteady. He gauged the slope of the land as it followed the downstream curve, making unconscious calculations regarding probabilities that he wished he had the math to back up. Then there was the likelihood of his ability to dodge out of the way to consider; he had no intention of getting hurt himself. He looked again at the combatants. Nope, still no sign of quitting. Stupid. He sighed again.
See? Now this was when you wanted to have an earth-bender to pull out of your pocket. With a chortle as he pictured diminutive Toph leaping out of the folds of his tunic. Sokka leapt three boulders down, turning to shove hard with his legs against the next largest downstream rock, yelling at the same time…
“Avalanche!”
Having leapt back to the safety of the upper bank, he happily watched the stream-bank give way, tumbling down across the bed in an effective dam, thus blocking the flow of water and consequently causing the water level to rise against the remaining banks. Exactly as he’d hoped and expected.
On the other hand, Sokka noticed a remarkable hesitancy on the part of either the combatants or their observers to act in response to either his yell or the events playing out before them.
Dumbass Fire Nation! So caught up in the spectacle of a bit of fire-play before them they couldn’t recognize real danger and act upon it? Shit! These were the people taking over the world? And nobody could stop them? Sokka slapped his forehead hard in frustration.
Some days it didn’t pay to be alive.
-----------------------------
Zuko had started the match in a fit of exhilaration. Jeong-Jeong was one of the heroes of the Fire Nation, not just for his exploits in furthering the War of Conquest but also for his advances in the art of fire-bending. He knew even Uncle Iroh had admired the beauty of Jeong-Jeong’s form, the power that carried through the leaps, kicks, and elegant punches.
It was the form Zuko had initially been trained within, and it had been hard to mask his disappointment when, upon his exile, his uncle had agreed to continue training him, but had fallen back upon the older form from his own youth. Zuko had fretted, feeling like he’d lost years in Iroh’s insistence that he master basic forms from the older style before he allowed him to progress to the higher, more complex forms that appeared to be more a blending of the two styles, not so dependent on either.
Still, Uncle Iroh’s hard, power-filled strokes had largely served him well, although they’d not been sufficient to dispatch the Avatar. There was a rootedness that gave him strength and stamina to draw upon, something the newer form didn’t quite manage.
But Azula had mastered it, had found it perfect to build upon, and this was a constant burr beneath Zuko’s skin, driving him to impatience with his uncle and his own apparent lack of progress in fire-bending. Still, he had bested Zhao, not just in the Agni Kai but also in that impromptu fight at the North Pole. He knew it. He’d just never gotten Zhao to acknowledge it - was that what had driven the man to choose death at the hands of the Ocean Spirit over life at his hands? He’d never know.
But sparring with Jeong-Jeong was nothing like fighting against Zhao. Or, for that matter, like any other opponent Zuko had ever met. He remembered the fury and speed of the Earth Kingdom terrorist he’d met with Sokka, and how that young man’s passion and skill had challenged him at first, before he’d called upon his own will to win and, yes, to kill. He still questioned the wisdom of his bowing to Sokka’s determination to let the terrorist live. They’d both rationalized it as the lynchpin in the giant’s willingness to let them sail away without further duress, but Zuko knew in his heart that would have happened anyway, that the only reason he hadn’t killed Jet was his own reluctance to kill anyway, compounded by the water boy’s equally weak stomach when it came to death.
Sokka had killed Fire Nation soldiers. That had been made clear during their incarceration together in the Fire Nation prison, and it explained why it took so long for their guards to fall prey to his smooth tongue and laughing charm. And why they’d bothered to pay attention to him at all in the first place. Perhaps it had also colored the way he’d listened to the annoying Tribesman’s prattle. Perhaps.
Zuko himself had wielded death reluctantly. He still remembered throwing up afterwards in that altercation with pirates not long after they’d first left Fire Nation seas, his opponent’s blood staining the crimson of his armor a deeper red, edging into dull black. He hadn’t exactly regretted Sokka’s interference in that battle with Jet.
As he sparred against Jeong-Jeong he’d felt the moves falling upon him as naturally as if he’d been born to them. At first he’d assumed it was a call upon old memory. Perhaps two leaps later he’d realized that Jeong-Jeong’s “new” form was merely built upon the core of the older form, and that having mastered the first the later style just required a shifting of attitude, of… what, presence of mind? As he contemplated the difference Jeong-Jeong flattened him.
With a growl Zuko came to his feet, determined to show the old master how well he’d mastered the old form, if he couldn’t beat him at his own. He struggled to keep his mind on the task at hand.
As he fought, Zuko attempted to incorporate his uncle’s teachings. Learn from your opponent, learn how he fights - not just to determine how to beat him but also to gain wisdom in fighting to build upon your own. There is no such thing as mastery of any particular style - the art of winning is all about the art of learning.
Zuko exhibited fine footwork and potent fire-bending technique. He never forgot that this was a mere sparring match, but he also threw everything he had into it. He did not want to excuse any failures on the privations of his time in prison at his father’s hand. He could not confess the failure of falling prey to a Water Tribe spear.
Jeong-Jeong was not human.
In comparison, Zhao had been easy. He’d been a fool, totally prey to his own ambition and temper, and Zuko had learned early in the Agni Kai to draw the man’s temper out, teasing him in a display of fire-bending that appeared to exhaust him in a flash and advanced moves he knew in his heart he’d barely mastered.
It had been easy to crush Zhao by keeping his focus on the root of fire-bending - Zhao was so obviously caught up in the flash and heat of fire-bending’s potential.
But it was stupid to assume that Jeong-Jeong, just because he was Zhao’s teacher and the leader of the “new” form, was ignorant of the true root and power of fire-bending.
And Zuko had been stupid. Damnit. Sokka was so much better at reading this shit than he was. Why was it having spent well over a month in the Tribesman’s company he hadn’t learned enough of his thinking to apply it when he needed to? What the fuck was the good of recognizing ability or worth in a person if you couldn’t use it when you needed it? He took another hard fall, noting as an aside an appraising look on the face of the tribesman at the bank’s edge.
He stood up, punching hard with his left arm in a focused blaze against the old bending master, feeling more and more stupid.
---------------------------
Being blind was, largely, more annoying in the matter of communication than anything else. She’d known this innately as an infant, only to find some minute comfort in being able to bring words to articulate her frustration as time went on.
She’d flown enough with Aang’s coterie to know that her comrades were sufficiently oblivious to her failings as to require her to voice her concerns. Since this was exactly the way she liked it she took it upon herself to point out the occasionally obviously failings her limitations forced upon her. On the whole, it was a pleasure.
“Sorry, Toph, I know I should know better than to forget you don’t know what kind of environment we’re setting down into, but I keep forgetting…” Katara said regretfully as she helped - not Toph, but Iroh - down Appa’s back into the wide village square.
Iroh chuckled quietly, noting the earth-bender’s caustic comments as to the water-bender’s perceptions even as she easily walked up the quay towards the most prosperous-appearing establishment. It was an interesting balance this girl chose to walk.
Toph was feeling torn. And she didn’t like it.
Her conflicted feelings regarding the old fire-bender had required major upheaval of her loyalties and natural allegiances. And yet, this was the man who had accepted her sight unseen - a code for the blind with extraordinary meaning.
It had not escaped her perception that the old fire-bender withheld ultimate judgment of them all. It couldn’t, of course, and she suspected that he was aware of her misgivings and didn’t care. She’d have voiced as much if it weren’t for the imperative that Aang learn fire-bending.
She was reasonably confident that Aang had learned fire-bending far beyond the old general’s expectations.
And this realization soothed her even as she recognized her need to trust the man. She’d never trusted her earth-bending father the way her soul bent to embrace this man from an alien culture.
Toph being Toph, she suspected that where her father was perfectly content to betray the world for his own ends, the old fire-bender would only betray the world if he believed his ends would make the world a better place for all. Iroh’s means may be wrong but his ends were not. She was a child, she knew, but even a child knew right from wrong when it came to end goals. Maturity was in gauging how to get there. Did she really believe she was any better in second-guessing her friends as to their direction? Of course not. That was the real point in rescuing Sokka, wasn’t it? Granted the guy couldn’t bend worth shit, he somehow knew better than any of them what they needed to do win in the end.
Right?
Right?
Katara appraised the landscape below them with the eyes of a Tribesman, well-honed by her own personal experience and homilies droned into her psyche by her father and brother.
There, in a deep fold of the bay lay the village, from the air obviously swollen with trade irregardless of which side of the line it lay. From the maps it was clear that An Dui had found itself on either side of the line many a time. Iroh had suggested the village would take a pragmatic tone, and as they flew lower no one was particularly surprised to see the flag of the Earth Kingdom bobbing from the top of the watch tower.
After all, their maps had shown a clear retreat on the part of the Fire Nation to the north, nearly a month now in retreat.
It should have been enough in itself to give Aang a boost of self confidence. Except that Iroh had blandly reminded him that a retreat here might merely indicate an advance elsewhere. Iroh’s amber eyes had fixed Aang’s pale gray with an unusual fierceness.
“Count the losses, Aang, and the gains. That’s what the rulers do. Does it matter to you what the people think? Remember, what does it matter to them whom they serve? To their masters they are marks upon the game board, worth this or that. Weigh the marks, Aang. What weighs the most?”
Katara hated Iroh for trying to remind Aang of the bigger picture. She’d seen it before, and while she had no argument against it, her heart protested wordlessly. It didn’t help that the old man seemed to read her heart and did not attempt to change her mind. These were the times she missed Sokka most. She somehow believed her brother could articulate her objections to this calculus by the numbers, even as she knew her hard-headed brother trusted more in science than in values of the heart.
Aang felt some sense of relief as the attenuated connection between him and Sokka suffered a certain abbreviation as he approached the port town. It did not, unfortunately, eliminate all concern as he realized Sokka was not, after all, in An Dui itself, and hadn’t been for some hours now. The connection remained, stronger than ever, but not so clearly defined.
But they weren’t far off. Aang indicated to Appa to descend to the town center. It was on the right side of the war front, right? Why shouldn’t they ask the townsfolk if they’d seen any sign of a wandering Water-tribesman?
Why not?
Iroh, the retired general, the master strategist, explained why not. To ask about a friend of the Avatar was to link the Avatar to that site, and to do so was to draw the Fire Nation’s attention there. Iroh really didn’t need to say anything more. Katara had the images of Kyoshi Island burned upon her eyelids. Toph thrilled upon the idea of drawing the enemy anywhere, but grimaced at the idea of running beforehand. A necessary adjunct to the task at hand. It was, after all, all about rescuing Sokka.
It was enough for Aang to insist that Katara and Toph go out alone to gather information. He wouldn’t risk the village with even the sight of him. At twelve-going-on-one-hundred-thirteen, Aang questioned his own motivations, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he and Iroh shopped the miscellaneous carts aligned along the town’s center.
When Iroh disappeared inside a tea-shop he felt disinclined to follow. Iroh was a sponge for tea - they all knew it - and was perfectly inclined to indoctrinate any random companions to the intricacies of flavor and balance. Spirits knew they’d heard him expound on such virtually everywhere they went. Now and then he’d find some kindred spirit, who seemed equally inclined to the joys of pai show. Between the two infatuations, Iroh was adamant. There was no tearing him away.
Aang had been the first to note the likelihood of a taste between the two interests. He enjoyed a good game of pai show himself, and the integrity - and cleverness - of his play had been the first thing that had brought him to trust the elderly fire-bender. As for tea, well, he and Toph were both accustomed to the taste; it had taken little to draw Katara into a common interest, if not addiction, to the soothing hot beverage.
They’d all agreed, had Sokka been there his protests would have denied them all any recourse to the herb, as stimulant or otherwise. It was the one case in which they all tacitly agreed that they’d be idiots to heed his warnings.
It may well have seeded a willingness to disregard Sokka’s warnings in general. No one cared to consider the possibility.