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The Price of Peace	By : Looneyluna Category: Avatar - The Last Airbender > Het - Male/Female > Katara/Zuko Views: 19166 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Three –

Zuko watched as the various representatives took their seats around the table. The Earth Kingdom delegate, Princess Wan, surrounded herself with advisors, each advisor representing individual provinces. She was older than everybody in the room combined, excluding Uncle Iroh, and had great difficulty hearing the quarterly council meetings. She was just a figurehead with no real decision-making capabilities. The Earth Kingdom royal lines had been so diluted with common blood that their idea of royalty was an actual bastardization of the idea.

Having meditated before the meeting, he felt prepared for her upcoming censure of the Fire Nation’s inability to control Qiang’s rebels.

Two delegates from the Water Tribe sat between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation -- Pakku, the Waterbending master from the Northern Water Tribe and, Hakoda, a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe. Both men were dressed in the traditional blue anorak and trousers. Unlike its sister city-state, the Northern Water Tribe had suffered little damage and was well on the road to recovery. Most of its aid was being diverted to the Southern Water Tribe.

Hakoda and Pakku talked quietly, the older of the two men’s ice-blue eyes occasionally darting toward Zuko.

Iroh cleared his throat and handed Hakoda a scroll. “I sent a delegate to the Southern Air Temple to see if a representative for the Air Nomads would be present. I do not think he will be coming.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. He would never forget the time the Avatar sent his pet lemur in his place. He rarely came to the summits.

“He is helping the people from Mt. Mahaku,” Iroh continued unperturbed by his nephew’s disrespectful expression. “He has been gracious enough to offer them refuge at the Southern Air Temple. Perhaps he will be kind enough to send his pet lemur again…”

Zuko cleared his throat, motioning toward one of his ministers to start the proceedings for it was the Fire Nation’s honor to do so as the host nation. The last thing they needed was to start off on one of his uncle’s tangents.

As his minister drew breath to start the beginning of a long-winded speech, a large wooden door opened and a courier hurried toward his Uncle Iroh. The messenger was covered in dust and obviously had an important message.

With a curt bow, he leaned over and whispered in Iroh’s ear.

Studying his uncle had become an art. He had done it for so long it had become second nature to him. Iroh was no longer charming host. His attention was elsewhere, the look on his face stern and determined.

“It is of the utmost importance that I speak with you, Fire Lord Zuko.” His uncle’s use of his entire title did not go unnoticed. “Princess Wan, please forgive us. A delicate matter has come up. Esteemed members of the Water Tribes. We must delay for a few hours.”

The courier stepped away and positioned himself behind the Water Tribe delegates.

The princess crossed her arms over her generous chest. “Please send a messenger when you are ready,” she replied haughtily.

“Of course,” Zuko stated, growing more confused and concerned by the second and hoping that Qiang had not attacked another defenseless village.

Iroh nodded to Pakku and Hakoda, who stood and left the room, followed closely by the Earth Kingdom delegation and the courier. Only he, his uncle, and the sentries remained.

In his typical way, the old Firebender put his hands up his sleeves and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. This was the posture he dreaded. His uncle was contemplating something – something that was either going to upset him or not particularly please him. He loved his uncle, the only person besides his mother who actually loved him back. But he despised the way his uncle treated him at times. “Well? Am I going to have to read the bad news in a report or are you going to tell me?”

Brown eyes snapped open, but Iroh remained in a relaxed pose. “Your bride has arrived.”

“My what?”

“Your bride.”

There were times in life that were etched in memories for all eternity – memories that no matter how hard one would like to forget, one never could. It had been almost a month since the attack on Mt. Mahaku, almost a month since his uncle had mentioned the need for stability in his nation – a month since Iroh had suggested an advantageous marriage. If he thought his uncle mentally unstable before, he was having serious thoughts of calling the palace physician now. “Have you lost your mind?” Zuko regretted the question as soon as it passed his lips.

“Yes,” replied Iroh solemnly. “Long ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko murmured softly, realizing that the comment was once spread amongst the military.

Iroh sat up in his chair, his warm eyes sparkling with purpose. He was intent on changing the subject. “I had hoped your bride would arrive before the meeting, but they ran into bad weather on the trip.”

Zuko raised the scarred flesh that had once been his left eyebrow, saying nothing.

“I am sure she is as beautiful as I remember.”

His uncle seemed caught in the memory of imagined beauty. He had learned early on never to underestimate Uncle Iroh. When the Fire Nation general wanted something, he usually got it. But Zuko would not be bullied into accepting someone he had never laid eyes on. “It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is, send her back. I won’t marry her.”

“But it is all arranged,” Iroh stated, having the audacity to look offended by his refusal. “Her father has promised a modest dowry. She is respected by all nations. She has refused other offers, you should feel fortunate that she has accepted you.”

Zuko snorted in derision, unwilling to acquiesce.

“She is very beautiful,” Iroh continued, ignoring Zuko’s displeasure. “Her eyes make the bluest sky weep with envy. Her hair is finer than any silk you have touched. She has many other fine qualities…qualities that will make her a fine queen. She can heal with the merest touch. Even her soul is beautiful. ”

Staring at the older man, Zuko listened to the clues as to the woman’s identity. Influential father. Blue eyes. Nice hair. Healer.

His uncle was staring at the door leading to an antechamber – the one Pakku and Hakoda had walked through. “Oh no! No! No! No! No! Not her!”

Iroh grinned, the gleam in his eyes dancing with mirth. So his nephew had finally figured out who was talking about. He needn’t know that her father and former Waterbending master were in the next room trying to convince Katara to accept the proposal.

--

The journey had been long and exhausting, but she wouldn’t change this moment for all the jewels in the world. Her father held her, squeezing her and raining kisses along her forehead.

“My beautiful daughter,” Hakoda murmured against her cheek, running his hands down her arms as if touching her to make certain she was safe and real.

“Let the girl breathe, Hakoda,” Pakku said, a look of veiled disdain for such affection etched in his features. “She should go to her quarters and rest. The journey was long and undoubtedly tiring.”

Somehow she kept from rolling her eyes. Her Waterbending master’s opinion of women had not changed. He still thought of them as the weaker sex. Pulling away from her father with a reassuring pat, she bowed to her former master and grinned. “It is good to see you too, Master Pakku.”

In his usual condescending way, Pakku nodded to the young Water Tribe woman.

Her azure eyes shone wide with concern. She had prepared for the worst and hadn’t expected an escort to the palace. There were so many questions that she didn’t know where to start. “I came as fast as I could. We ran into some bad weather.”

Hakoda grabbed his daughter’s hand and kissed it. “Perhaps you should rest.”

“I’m fine,” she assured her father. “Your letter… Tell me, father. What is it? What is wrong? Is someone ill? Is there a plague?”

Leading her to a bench, Hakoda sighed. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” Katara scowled and looked at Pakku. Her father looked worried, almost afraid.

Warm gray eyes bore into hers. “Several weeks ago, the village at Mt. Mahaku was attacked by Fire Nation soldiers.”

“Oh no!” she gasped, her eyes moist with tears. “Where there any survivors?”

“A few,” her father replied solemnly. “They have relocated to the Southern Air Temple.”

“Is there…a list?” her voice cracked as she closed her eyes and tried to recall names and faces she had met on her journey with Aang. She wanted to weep -- the ugliness of conflict marring the perfection of the reunion with her father.

“An envoy has been dispatched to gather a list of the living.” Her father patted her shoulder reassuringly, saddened to burden someone so young with the ugliness of war. No one should have to live through two wars in one lifetime.

“What else is there, father?” Katara asked the question with conviction in her voice. She could see the sadness in her father’s eyes. The burden of peace haunted the shadowy lines of his face. “There is something else. Something you are afraid to tell me.”

Her father turned away.

Pakku stepped between them, giving his former pupil a stern but wary look. “The reports from Mt. Mahaku said it was Fire Nation soldiers who attacked the village, but we have reason to suspect otherwise. Fire and Earth are so similar, often blinded by their own shortcomings to see what is right in front of them. They compliment one another, just as Air is part Water, Fire molds Earth.”

“I don’t understand.” Katara sat down, feeling as though she was in for one of her former master’s long-winded speeches.

Pakku ran a hand over his face, trying to gather the patience and the right words. “The attackers harnessed the power of the volcano to destroy the village.”

Frowning, Katara tucked one of her legs up under her and wondered when Pakku was going to get to the point.

“Think logically Katara,” he heaved a sigh of frustration. “Firebenders harnessed the power of a volcano to destroy a village.”

She looked to her father for the answer, too tired to comprehend the meaning in Pakku’s speech. He kept his back to her. Firebenders used the lava to destroy the village. She tossed the thought around in her muddled mind, rearranging the puzzle and searching for clues. And then it hit her. “Firebenders can’t move rock!”

Her father turned around and stared at her as if her outburst was something he had not considered.

“If Firebenders didn’t do it, then who did?” she asked herself more than the men in the room. “Why would Earthbenders attack their own village?”

“They are trying to cast doubt upon the Fire Nation,” her father stated. “They are picking at the healing wounds across the lands, dishonoring the Fire Lord and spreading malicious gossip that the soldiers attacked on his order.”

“Zuko would never do such a thing!” She shouted, feeling her blood boil as the unscrupulous plan unfolded before her. Yes, the former prince was an ass, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded murder.

Pakku and Hakoda exchanged a knowing glance.

A muffled “No! No! No! No! Not her!” could be heard from the next chamber.

Hakoda looked panicked. “I am glad to see that you are quick to defend the Fire Lord, Katara.”

Her trip, coupled with lack of sleep and Pakku’s convoluted riddle, had set her on edge. She was happy to see her father. She was even happy to see Pakku, but the urgency in the letter had her thinking the worst on her journey here. She was happy to hear there was no plague, but she was still befuddled as to why her father had requested she come. Had she misunderstood the letter? She could hear a muffled voice in the next room – one that was older and obviously trying to calm the other. It sounded strangely familiar.

Shaking her head, Katara pushed at her braids irritably and tucked them behind her ears. “You’re letter was so cryptic,” she addressed her father. “I don’t understand why I am here.”

Hakoda looked at Pakku pleadingly but the Waterbending master merely studied the fingernails on one hand.

Her father sighed, clutched her upper arms, and looked into her eyes. “My dearest Katara…”

This was not good. The only times her father used that tone with her was when he wanted her to let Sokka have his way. “Yes?”

“I have had a request for your hand in marriage,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Send her back!” echoed from the other room. “I won’t marry her!”

Katara broke free from her father and strode toward the door. With a mean shove, she pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the main council chamber.

--

TBC

A/N -- Insert evil cackle here. I couldn’t resist leaving this chapter here. It was getting a little long and I wanted to make sure that I didn’t rush what was coming up. Thanks for reviews. They are always greatly appreciated.
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The Price of Peace