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Fire and Rain	By : Keyriethenightbringer Category: Avatar - The Last Airbender > AU/AR - Alternate Universe/Alternate Reality > Het- Male/Female Views: 2035 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: ATLA and its characters do not belong to me. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2
She presided over the makeshift, ratty tent like a queen at court. Iroh and Zuko sat on a deep blue rug across a chipped wooden table from the dancing girl. She poured (did not bend) tea for Zuko first, then Iroh, then herself with the same arch in her back as when she shot Iroh with a water arrow.
            When tasting others’ tea, Iroh always lowered his standards. Even in tea shops, where purported masters practiced what they called the art of tea making, Iroh came at the steaming pot with mild resigned expectation.
            But the dancing girl surprised him.
            It wasn’t the best jasmine tea he’d ever had, but with the paltry array of tea-making paraphernalia she possessed, it could have been a lot worse. She’d brewed the tea with the same plant with which she made the scented oil. The clipped-off blooms of a tremendously healthy jasmine plant in the corner (the only ornament in the tent) keyed him in.
            “This is very good,” he remarked, nudging Zuko, “isn’t it, my nephew?”
            The dancing girl smiled a small, enigmatic smile. “Thank you both,” she said as if Zuko had paid her compliments as well. “It’s difficult to grow and brew one’s own tea when one is a traveler, but one does what one can.” She glanced back at the plant, overrunning the large decorated terra cotta pot in which it lived. “Jasmine has always been a favorite of mine.”
            “Mine as well,” Iroh said, sipping his tea.
            “Forgive me, gentlemen, for not introducing myself sooner. I’m sure you understand the necessity of keeping one’s identity mum.”
            Iroh, piqued with curiosity but keeping diplomatically quiet, nodded. Zuko, also piqued but less patient than his uncle, stared at the dancing girl.
            “My stage name is Rika, but the name on Fire Lord Ozai’s hit list is Kairakea.”
            Iroh rolled the name around in his head. Very pretty.
            “Why is my father hunting you?” Zuko spat.
            “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours. Deal?” Her eyes, deep and still as a glacial lake, rested placidly on Zuko. He met her eyes with his smoldering amber ones. Iroh watched the muscles in his nephew’s jaw flex and bunch. He let Zuko decide on his own whether to unburden himself to this stranger.
            Kairakea rose. “While you decide, I’ll brew another pot of tea. This will probably take a wh--”
            The sound of armor clattering outside the tent cut off her words. Five Fire Nation soldiers stepped into the tent.
            Threat, Iroh’s precision-honed fighting instincts barked. Large threat. He mentally readied his fire but did not let it show.
            “Looks like we hit the jackpot today, men,” the oldest soldier, broad-chested and tall, sneered. “Three fugitives in one tent. Fire Lord Ozai will reward us well.”
            “Gentlemen,” Kairakea said calmly. “We’d be happy to let you arrest us, but may we finish our tea first? You’re welcome to a cup.” The perennial smile remained on her face, but all friendliness had fled her voice. Iroh risked a glance back at her. She’d settled back down at her place, her hands resting in her lap. She had the air of a coiled spring about to snap. And ice in her eyes. Iroh could almost feel the temperature around her drop.
            Zuko had done the same; settled his fire deep in his core where it could build and he could wait. Like Iroh had taught him. Good boy.
            Even if these five were good benders, Iroh felt confident they could escape. The leader of the five growled a laugh. “No chance, girl. You’ve had your last cup of tea.”
            Three things happened at once: the five soldiers started forward, fire in their hands; Kairakea’s temper froze (Iroh did feel a drop in temperature); Zuko let fly with a fireball.
            Iroh understood Zuko’s attack was a diversion; the older man moved with blurring speed despite his age and blasted one of the five out of the tent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kairakea zip out the back of the tent, two soldiers in pursuit.
            Zuko rapid fired from his pumping fists, dodged a return volley then arced a slice of fire from his foot. The leader of the soldiers fell back, literally, bringing part of the tent down on top of him.
            A break! “Zuko!” Iroh shouted. “The tent!”
            Zuko nodded and went for the stakes. Iroh prepared to burn a hole in the tent for himself and Zuko to escape. Then he heard a sharp, strangled cry. The lead soldier’s thrashing silhouette was gone. Zuko burned through the remaining stakes. The tent collapsed on the two soldiers as Zuko and his uncle slipped out.
            Outside, Iroh found the source of the cry. It, or he, floated, still thrashing, five feet above the ground, clutching at an invisible clamp around his throat. Beside him another soldier flailed. Their eyes bugged horribly from their swollen, purpling faces.
            Before Iroh even laid eyes on Kairakea, he knew.
            Kairakea stood below and facing the hanging men in a deep, strong stance. She held her arms above her head, her hands curled into vicious claws. Her muscles bulged and her body trembled with the effort of holding two grown men bodily off the ground, but her face betrayed nothing.
            Before Iroh could keep her from killing, Zuko shouted.
            “Uncle! Behind you!”
            The two soldiers they had trapped in the fallen tent had found their way out. Iroh ducked a fire blast, returned it, knocked the soldier out flat with two sweeping chops. Zuko had engaged with another soldier. He’d help his nephew as soon as he broke Kairakea’s hold on—
            The two soldiers thudded to the ground and lay still. Kairakea turned toward him and Zuko, and the lethal coldness in her eyes sent arrows of ice up and down Iroh’s spine. She stepped toward Zuko and the soldier, raised her hands, planted her feet.
            “No!” Iroh shouted. “Leave him!”
            Kairakea’s eyes flicked to him, drawn by his voice. Such bottomless ice in those eyes. What black, frozen well of rage must be fueling her?
            Zuko dispatched the soldier he’d been fighting with a roundhouse kick to his head. “Uncle! Let’s go!” He sprinted right into an alley. Iroh tore his eyes away from the girl and followed.
            As he ran, Iroh counted: Zuko had knocked out one soldier. He’d knocked out another. Two. Kairakea had held two. Where had the fifth gone? Though he was an exile and a fugitive from his nation, he did not wish any of its citizens dead. He fervently hoped the soldier had escaped.
            How many people had seen the skirmish? Fortunately Kairakea had pitched her tent in a sparse part of the village bordering a small copse of trees, but if the Fire Nation had found them, the village wasn’t safe anyway.
Alleys and huts gave way to trees and trails; Zuko was leading them southeast away from the center of the cluster of villages. That was fine with Iroh. He put the bloodbender Kairakea out of his mind and ran contentedly behind his nephew, looking forward to finding some white jade flowers in this new forest.
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Fire and Rain