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Zuko walks into his chambers to find Iroh standing in the middle of chaos. “Pass up more!” he’s saying, cheerfully. The servants – his chamber hands, bodyservants and, if Zuko’s not mistaken, three of the kitchen staff – start scrambling up the ladders that reach up into the heights of the room. They’re untangling what Zuko thought were big red bales, but turn out to be metres and metres of ropes, and passing up swathes of crimson rope with chains of strings hanging from them.
“Yes, yes! Plenty of it!” Iroh chuckles.
Zuko tips back his head and surveys what’s been done to his ceiling. The rafters are practically dripping in scarlet threads. “Uh… Uncle?”
The servants freeze. Iroh spins around. “Nephew!”
Zuko frowns at all the guilty faces. “What are you doing?”
“Dusting!” Iroh says, cheerfully, in defiance of the fact that not a single person in the room is carrying a duster. “The Fire Festival is an important time to be tidy, Zuko! If the spirits are pleased with your cleanness when they visit, you will have a good year!”
Zuko sighs. “Uncle… Festival isn’t for another three days.” He glances around at the scene: seven people standing around, halfway up ladders, supporting those ladders, carrying bundles… and looking flustered.
“Nephew,” Iroh says reprovingly. “Everyone knows that leaving a little red string out for the spirits helps you to be lucky in love!”
“Uncle!” Zuko yelps, feeling his face flame. “I – I’m not unlucky in love! And – it doesn’t behoove the Fire Lord to give credence to peasant superstitions! Besides,” he says, waving his arms at the reams and reams of ropes with strings hanging from them. “How much luck do you think I need?”
“Ah,” Iroh winks. “So you have a young lady in mind? Good, good. We’ll just go and give the spirits a bit of a hint, then.” He claps his hands, and the servants start scurrying down from ladders and folding them up and generally giving the impression of an anthill that’s been invaded by an aardvark, which is, Zuko supposes, almost exactly what has in fact happened.
Iroh does, Zuko thinks, have a very long nose. He wants to hide – but it won’t do for his servants to see him embarrassed by his uncle. Again. “Uncle – ” Zuko tries.
“Onwards!” Iroh beams, clapping Zuko on the shoulder as he leaves.
“Don’t you want to – stop? For some tea, maybe?” Zuko asks, in a flash of desperate inspiration.
“I’m far too busy for tea,” his uncle scolds, which merely signals to Zuko that the world has indeed gone mad. “But it is generous of you to offer!”
The door clicks shut behind them. Zuko inspects the abundance of red string hanging from the rafters.
It’s lovely and peaceful for five minutes, until he hears someone approach and knock.
Zuko sighs. “Yes?”
Katara pokes her head around the door. “Uh… Zuko? Do you know why your uncle has just thrown me out of my room so that he can decorate it with red…” she trails off, gazing around Zuko’s room. “Huh. He’s been in here, too.”
“Just left,” Zuko confirms, swallowing very hard and trying to keep his calm.
“It reminds me of a fairy tale we used to tell in the south pole…” Katara muses, coming into the room at last. “Hey, Zuko, are you okay? What’s up? You’re blushing.”