[Nov. 29] [Avatar] A tale of two cities

Title: A tale of two cities
Day/Theme: November 29 - the heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Iroh
Rating: PG


In the end, getting into Ba Sing Se was as simple as handing over a ticket and a forged passport. Instead of six years encamped outside unbreakable gates and a wall that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, he was only required to spend six hours parked on a series of moderately uncomfortable benches, or standing patiently in a line that stretched back through the door and halfway down the steps.

Less than a decade ago, General Iroh had the finest soldiers, men and women who every morning proclaimed themselves to be the truest sons and daughters of the Fire Nation, at his back. He had dozens of siege engines at his command, terrible machines of black and towering iron, their hydraulics ready with fluids that would arc hundreds of yards to stick and burn until everything they covered was burned to white ash. He had supplies and tents lavish enough that he might as well have been in the Fire Lord's palace. He had intelligence reports, estimates and diagrams from sappers and engineers, maps and schedules, so many that he had three lieutenants under his command whose job it was to read them and point him to the things he absolutely had to know.

None of these things did him any good in the end. They couldn't get him into the city and they couldn't bring back his son.

He closed his eyes against the grayness that threatened to overtake him whenever he thought even obliquely about that day, and he told himself that this time, things would be different.

Things were already very different, in more ways than he could count. After all, here he was, standing quietly in line instead of listening to lieutenants' reports, and the only siege he was planning was trying to figure out what honeyed words would smooth their way past the humorless and shovel-faced harridans who manned the various ticket and passport checkpoints that stood between him and Ba Sing Se. Instead of legions of soldiers who'd vowed to spill their blood for their country's sake, he had only a loose network of men and women who were wise enough or broken enough to see national pride for the illusion it was. In the place of tables laden of exquisitely drafted plans, he had only a cloth pouch containing two small passports, expertly forged and aged, by a man who from all appearances was allergic to daylight. Once in the city proper, he would be satisfied with a week-to-week lease on a one-room apartment rather than with seeing the Fire Nation flag flying over the turrets of the Earth King's palace.

There was another difference as well, and it was on this difference that all his hopes and fears were balanced.

He cast a glance out of the corner of his eye. Zuko was only a few feet away, arms wrapped tightly around him and standing stiffly, glaring at anyone who passed within less than a yard of him. Looking at him, one would think that he believed that any human contact would carry some horrible contagion.

Iroh sighed and looked away again. Yes, Zuko was alive, but he was nearly as unreachable as Lu Ten. There was hardly any sign of the bright-spirited and sweetly awkward boy beneath that scarred, scowling mask. There were times when Iroh could hardly recognize him, just as he had hardly recognized Lu Ten, his face pale and drained of all animation and impish humor.

He reached out a hand to Zuko's shoulder, but Zuko shrugged it aside, half-lifting his own hand as if about to bat Iroh's away.

Sometimes, it was as if Ozai's fire had killed Zuko just as surely as an Earth Kingdom arrow had killed Lu Ten. In idle moments, Iroh was amazed that these things had not killed him as well.

When his wife--his adorable, his funny, his darling wife--had died, he had grieved, yes, but that was different. She had been taken by a lingering illness, and as horrible as it was, it had given him time to come to some sort of peace. Besides, he also had a son to raise, a rambunctious two-year-old who did not know enough to understand that the world was supposed to stop when his mother died.

But when Lu Ten had been brought back to his tent, so still, too still, Iroh finally understood why they called it heartbreak. He had stood there, unable to think and unable to react, as some giant hand had coldly reached out and squeezed his chest, burning him with a cold, unquenchable fire that reduced everything within to a fine, white ash.

As they had approached Ba Sing Se, Iroh noted almost in passing that the scorch marks surrounding the giant gates had been covered over with a thin layer of stone. He could still see, however, faint differences in the surface of the wall. Some areas were a little too smooth, almost shiny, like faded scars over old wounds. He knew, though, just how hot the mixture of naphtha, sulfur, and oil had burned, and he knew all too well that scars could cover much deeper damage, the kind that could not be patched or repaired so easily.

Up ahead of them, one of the desk-harridans cut the air with a curt wave, signalling the next group forward. And with that, the Dragon of the West entered the city of Ba Sing Se without a fight.

No, his next fight would have nothing to do with conquering a city, but it would be just as difficult.

He let Zuko brush past him, eager as he was to escape the crowd. As his nephew passed, Iroh again reached out and again was brushed off. Just as it was six years ago, it felt like every advance was countered with an equal and opposite setback.

He had a different kind of siege to plan, he thought, watching as the stiffness of Zuko's back disappeared ahead of him into the train. He only hoped that this time, things would not end in cold fire and fine, white ash.