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Visiting Azula is always weird, Ty Lee thinks. The Palace is like a maze with its winding corridors.
Once, she loses Azula in them, and—running through the grounds, desperate to find her—nearly collides with a man sitting and pouring tea into a porcelain cup.
She spots him just in time, leans forward into a cartwheel, projects herself over his head and into a nearby bush.
When she sits up, she expects a scolding, for the man to call the guards and have her expelled from the Palace, but he merely chuckles. “That was most impressive! May I show you my special skill, beyond brewing tea of course?” Then, he wiggles his eyebrows until Ty Lee laughs.
“There you are!” Azula reappears beside her, grabbing her hand and pulling her away. “Come on!”
“Who was that, Zula? That man?”
“Oh, that’s just my Uncle Iroh.”
“That’s Crown Prince Iroh?!”
“I know, he’s weird, isn’t he? My father would be a much better Fire Lord…” Azula’s eyes shift, fiery, cold. “But don’t tell anyone I said so.”
“Of course I won’t, Azula.” Ty Lee smiles. Weird is one word for it, she thinks. But so is funny. So is kind.