Chapter Text
As usual, Sokka had tried to do a nice thing, and the universe swiftly and ruthlessly rewarded him for it by massively fucking him over.
Let the record show that he had said to Katara not to go to the market today, but no, his instincts apparently weren’t up to snuff. So naturally, he was now actually, literally drowning.
The cranky old fisherman had been just about to fall off the side of his (admittedly, poorly constructed) boat, battered to bits by this raging tempest, and thus, Sokka’s instincts had propelled him to do a very stupid thing and push the man to the floor of the boat, an act which happened in perfect conjunction with a very strong gust of wind in the opposite direction to send him careening off the side. Sokka flailed for a handhold, for anything, as a wave swept him into the middle of nowhere, the current far too commanding for even the strongest swimmer. Sokka had never longed for Katara’s presence more than he did now. Usually her intervention only got him drenched, but seeing as she could not possibly soak him more than he already was, he had to assume she would at least attempt to save him if she saw him dying.
Salt water slapped his eyes and cheeks and forced its way into his nose and mouth. Had the wind not obscured the shouts and the tide not obscured the decently-sized vessel approaching, he would have clearly heard a yell of, “Uncle, I think there’s a person down there!” As it was, all he heard was whoosh, crash, bang. That was the last he could recall before his skull made contact with the metal hull of a ship.
Sokka awoke, his head blaring, teeth chattering, but somehow not actually cold, in a small but impressively decorated room littered with candles; frankly, it seemed like a fire hazard, jostled as they were by the current storm, but he was in too much pain to bother articulating his concern. There was a vaguely familiar face sitting in the corner, watching him.
Sokka lifted his head, attempting to adjust to his surroundings. Aside from the splitting migraine, he felt surprisingly stable for someone who had nearly surrendered to the whims of the sea. He blinked sluggishly, the hazy light blurring his vision. He attempted to speak to the shadowy figure, but could only cough desperately.
The man rushed to his bedside, lifting a cup of warm water to his lips. Sokka drank gratefully, the water dribbling down his chin as his hands shook. Finally, when Sokka had reached his fill, the man helped him adjust, fluffing the pillows behind him so that Sokka could sit up properly. Sokka gasped a meager thanks and the man nodded with a pleased hum, returning once more to his seat. He swirled a cup of green tea in his hand, before taking a slow, appreciative sip without ever averting his gaze from Sokka.
“Do I know you?” Sokka asked his mysterious benefactor once he had finally regained his voice, hoarse as it was. He could swear he looked eerily familiar, but his head was still throbbing too much for him to process information at its typical speed.
“It is possible,” said the man with an irritatingly cheeky twinkle in his eye, “as I do know my nephew has been quite the pain in your butt.”
Sokka’s jaw dropped, and the pain pulsing through his cranium was quickly replaced with a surge of terrified adrenaline. “No,” he gasped. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He decided on the spot that he would rather have drowned.
“I can tell him you are still asleep, if you would like,” said the sinister old general.
Sokka narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”
“I can grant you safe passage back to shore once the storm ends,” he said, “and you can be on your way without hassle. I don’t like hassle.”
“What do you like, then?” Sokka asked, rolling his eyes. “Murdering babies?”
He seemed to seriously consider this, his eyes dropping to the floor in grave contemplation. “No, I do not like the murder of babies, not at all,” he said, far too somber a response to Sokka’s half-joke. Then, an abrupt pivot: “I like Pai Sho. Do you like Pai Sho?”
“Is that some kind of dumpling?” Sokka asked. He wasn’t familiar with Fire Nation cuisine.
He laughed. “Close. It is a game of strategy and calculation.”
Fine. This may have piqued Sokka’s interest. That said, “I would rather have dumplings.” He hadn’t eaten in seventeen hours. (He had been counting.)
“I am sure that can also be arranged,” he responded. “My name is Iroh, by the way.” Sokka noted the lack of titles, and the overly familiar informality made him wary. What was his game here?
“Sokka,” Sokka grumbled. He figured there was no harm in telling him his name considering he was already captured aboard his ship.
“It is a pleasure to officially meet you, Sokka,” said Iroh with an almost offensively serene and indulgent smile.
He couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you doing this? What do you stand to gain from this whole act? Are you just psyching me out before you burn me alive?” Sokka couldn’t help but ask. He knew with resigned clarity that he might die at any moment, and no amount of tact would save him now.
Iroh merely shrugged. “My nephew insisted upon rescuing you. I am only here to make sure you recuperate.”
“Rescuing me?” Sokka asked, laughing a bit in disbelief. “More like kidnapping me.”
Iroh shook his head. “You are not here by force,” he said, “merely convenience. Had Zuko not pulled you up, you would have drowned.”
“You’re being willfully obtuse,” Sokka said, pointing impertinently at the great Dragon of the West. “He’s not just going to let me go, and you know it.” Iroh sighed, but instead of responding, took another sip of his tea.
As if on cue, the door was kicked open with a concerning amount of force. “All right, I’ve had enough,” said Prince Zuko. “You’re awake, so you’re going to tell me where the Avatar is.”
Sokka stared at him blankly. His vision blurred from the resounding crash of the metal door, which he was honestly grateful for, as it provided him a temporary respite from having to fully regard the hideous prince. “How should I know?” he asked flatly. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m here.”
Prince Ponytail’s ears began to smoke. “Do not play games with me!” he (literally) fumed.
“Ah, nephew, funny you mention it,” Iroh interrupted from the other side of the room. “I was just about to teach the boy how to play Pai Sho. Would you like to play with me, so that he may learn by example?”
“For the last time,” the beponytailed freak snapped, “I am not playing Pai Sho with you!”
“Prince Zuko, remember your manners. It is rude to yell when we have guests. I think maybe you should drink some of this jasmine tea. It will soothe your nerves,” Iroh chided. Sokka held back a snort.
“I don’t want your stupid tea!” the prince yelled. “I want to find the Avatar! The universe has provided me with the perfect opportunity, and you’re– ugh— you’re mucking it all up again!” he whined.
Iroh gasped. “I am doing no such thing!” he exclaimed. Then, turning to Sokka, “Am I?”
“No, of course not,” Sokka assured. He didn’t trust Iroh as far as he could throw him, but he liked his bratty, shiny-headed nephew even less.
The Fire Freak looked about ready to explode. Steam was radiating off his shoulders. “Tell me where the Avatar is now or I’ll– I’ll toss you back into the ocean!”
“Okay,” said Sokka, calling his bluff without hesitation. “I would gladly be left to the devices of the sea than spend another second in your proximity. I don’t know whether whatever you’ve got going on is contagious, but I’m not prepared to find out.”
Delightfully, this sent Zuko into a full rage. He even breathed fire, which would have been outright comical if not for the fact that it was also somewhat terrifying.
He stormed over to where Sokka had casually sprawled on the bed as if he owned the place, just to piss him off. (Sokka’s heart was, of course, pounding frantically, but the Fire Nation royals didn’t need to know that.)
He grabbed Sokka’s arm, almost pathetically, and Sokka couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the weakness behind the gesture. “You listen very carefully,” he commanded as Sokka pretended not to notice him, which he noted with inner glee made the prince seethe even harder. “Tell me where the Avatar is headed, and I will gladly let you go. Do you understand?”
Sokka blinked languidly. “No, that was a bit too complicated for my Water Tribe peasant brain to comprehend. Do you mind repeating it, slower this time, and with smaller words?”
“I bet you think you’re clever,” he spat, “but you won’t feel so smug once I’ve captured the Avatar and ended this war.”
Sokka couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “The Avatar is our only chance at ending the war.” And even then, their chances were slim at best, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
Apparently, this claim was too much for the prince’s puny little rage brain to handle, because he simply stuttered for a moment before breezing past it. “What? No– Tell me where he is.”
“I already told you,” Sokka said, “I. Don’t. Know. I left to go fishing, and he ran off who knows where. You know he can fly?”
His Royal Fire Brat pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well surely you must know where he’s headed,” he said. He sounded exhausted, and Sokka felt great satisfaction that at least some of that fatigue had been engendered by his efforts.
“Eventually, sure,” said Sokka, “the plan is to show up at your daddy’s house and kick his ass.”
His Freakish Majesty scoffed. “It’s like you’re asking to be killed.”
“Most of the time, yeah,” Sokka admitted. “I mean, being dead sure seems nicer than having to talk to you. Props to your crew, by the way. I don’t know how they put up with you.”
“We are not killing anyone,” Iroh gently chided from the other side of the room between two long, slow sips of tea. “Remember what you said, nephew, when you insisted on rescuing the drowning man.”
“Well, that was before I knew he was a war criminal!” the disturbed (perhaps clinically insane) prince exclaimed.
“Hey!” Sokka protested. “I’m not a war criminal! You’re a war criminal. Lest we forget, you literally burned down Suki’s village!”
“I… no! You attacked me!” he defended, poorly.
“It was in self-defense?” Sokka said, eyes bulging at the accusation.
“No it wasn’t!” protested the morally righteous and upstanding, noble prince. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”
“Docking your hideous metal ship right into the side of my home sure sent a message, though, didn’t it? And it wasn’t a peaceful one.” Sokka leveled his gaze against the angry jerk’s.
To Sokka’s simultaneous satisfaction and bafflement, the prince seemed somewhat stunned. “Oh,” he said. “Hm.” Without another word, he stumbled out of the room like a drunkard.
Sokka stared at the jolly warmonger uncle in the corner and raised one eyebrow. “What was that about?” he asked with sincere confusion.
Iroh sighed, and it wasn’t an encouraging sigh, either. It was a “Now you listen to me monologue about the old days, young man, while I long for my youth” type of sigh, and Sokka hated those. “Look,” he said, “I know it is hard to believe, but my nephew is not a bad person. He is merely going through a quite devastating life adjustment that has rendered him a bit of an asshole.”
Sokka snorted. A bit?
Iroh caught it, and smiled ruefully. “Maybe more than a bit. But he is simply confused. He refuses to untangle the web that is his inner turmoil, his conflict with his father. I am telling you this not for you to sympathize, but merely so that you understand where he is coming from. He wants to do good. He just doesn’t know what that is, quite yet.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sokka, “that’s all very deep and complicated, but I’m trying not to get killed here.”
Iroh looked at him with evident judgment, which clearly communicated, You’re not doing a very good job of avoiding his wrath, if that’s your intention.
Sokka shrugged in response. Of course he knew as much, but pissing off the Prince of Hideous Haircuts was just too amusing an opportunity to pass up.
“He won’t kill you,” Iroh said aloud, with the highly unreliable assurance of someone who never actually had to worry about such matters.
“How do you know?” Sokka asked, part accusation, part genuine curiosity. There was, admittedly, something somewhat fascinating to him about the psychology of a person who didn’t consider docking one’s imperial ship into the center of a tiny village an active sign of aggression.
Iroh nodded. “I promise,” he said solemnly, as if Sokka had a single reason to take him at his word.
Sokka stared at him. “Oh, you promise. Well then, it’s all settled now,” he deadpanned.
Iroh’s smile was wistful. “In the meantime, let me teach you Pai Sho.”
Sokka knew he was in no position to refuse, so he merely sighed and grumbled, “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Pai Sho, apparently, was a game that relied on knowing your opponent. So, understandably, Sokka lost the first round.
Occasionally he would make a move that would seem to stump Iroh, but then he would quickly brush it off as a fluke, backtracking with a smug grin so that the old man could collect an easy win. Sokka lost the second round a little differently. After all, he had to seem like he was trying.
All the while, Iroh blathered on about various types of tea. “And ginseng is my favorite, but I always make sure to carry jasmine around, because Zuko likes it most.”
“That’s just great,” Sokka muttered. (Maybe if he could find a way to poison a big old pot of jasmine tea…)
“I win again,” said Iroh, placing his final tile on the board.
“So you do,” noted Sokka. He tried to sound impressed, but he had learned of this game for the first time not an hour ago, and he could already tell that the old man’s strategy was honestly quite weak.
“There is no shame in defeat, Sokka. Only shame in not being able to admit it,” Iroh said sagely.
“I just admitted it!” Sokka yelped. How was he supposed to play a game against a man who was too blind to even acknowledge his moves?
“Ah, well, yes…” Iroh said, stroking his beard. “I am so used to playing against my nephew, you see, that I have forgotten that not everyone needs placating.”
This got Sokka to laugh. Of course the spoiled prince was a sore loser. “Again?” he asked. He was sick of trying to appease this man for no good reason. He was finally ready to really play.
Iroh grinned wide. It seemed he hadn’t had an opponent display such alacrity in quite some time. “Again,” he agreed. He placed his lotus tile on the board.
Sokka faltered a little before placing his. Behind Iroh’s clear instructions was the even clearer subtext: bluff. It was a game played along two axes, at the very least, and Sokka could appreciate that. But Iroh didn’t know Sokka, and he didn’t know that Sokka knew, and maybe, perhaps, despite himself, Sokka was having a little fun.
“You seem confused,” Iroh said. “What is it that troubles you?”
Okay, perhaps his acting had been a bit too good. “Just your implementation of the lotus tile so early in the game,” Sokka improvised. In fact, he thought the move to be a bit obvious. He had opened with it nearly every round so far.
“Well, are you familiar with the history of the lotus tile?” Iroh asked.
Sokka stared at him. “An hour ago, I thought Pai Sho was a dumpling.”
“Then you are not aware of what it symbolizes,” Iroh clarified.
Sokka raised an eyebrow. Symbolism? Really? How many layers to this game even were there? “No,” he said bluntly.
“The lotus represents beauty, peace, truth, and prosperity in tranquility,” Iroh said.
“I thought it represented the facilitation of harmonies,” Sokka said.
“Well, yes, in a way,” Iroh hedged. “You see, I favor this tile because it holds good luck.”
Sokka nodded. “And I favor this tile,” he said, as he demolished the board, “because I just won.”
Iroh’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “Again,” he declared.
Sokka shrugged. “Okay,” he said.
They reset the board.
“So as I was saying, the lotus tile is important to me,” Iroh continued.
“Yeah, yeah, it represents your set of values, somehow,” Sokka said. He didn’t really care about the old man’s delusional ramblings. He’d gotten too invested in the gameplay.
“It does,” agreed Iroh. “Do you not believe me?”
“I want to believe you,” said Sokka, finally looking up from the board due to the old man’s sheer audacity, “but you keep trying to kill my friend, who, may I remind you, is a twelve year old pacifist monk.”
“Oh, I am trying to do no such thing,” Iroh dismissed. “That is Prince Zuko’s mission.”
“Aren’t you helping him, though?” Sokka asked. After spending very little time in Zuko’s presence, he could already tell that he needed assistance to operate this mission, and lots of it.
Iroh shook his head. “I am trying to,” he said wistfully, “but not in the way you think.”
Sokka placed his tile. “Well what does that mean?” he asked. He was sick of the abstract and whimsical vagueness with which the old general spoke. He wanted something concrete, tangible — something he could actually use.
“It means, I do not want Zuko to capture the Avatar,” said Iroh. “I do not want anyone to, for that matter.”
Finally, a real sentence! Sokka could weep. “Well why not?” Sokka asked. “He does pose a threat to the Fire Nation.” And okay, maybe that was a bluff too, but Iroh didn’t have to know that.
“Look, Sokka,” Iroh said, “you’re a very good liar, so I trust you to keep a secret: I am in full support of your efforts to overthrow the Firelord.”
“You want to be Firelord?” Sokka asked. “That’s why you’re doing this?” It actually made a lot of sense. Iroh’s underhanded agenda and penchant for spycraft was finally starting to click into place.
Iroh laughed. He actually had the audacity to laugh. “There was a time when I thought I may come to rule, but that time has long passed. I do not want to be Firelord. I merely want an end to the destruction and violence.”
This, admittedly, stumped Sokka. Iroh spoke with such gravity and sincerity that Sokka felt a pang of sympathy for him against his will. He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I believe you?” he asked.
Iroh beamed, and if that wasn’t genuine, then he was the most devious old man on the planet. “I belong to an ancient, secret society called the Order of the White Lotus,” he said. “We transcend the divisions of the four nations. We promote peace, harmony, and the protection of the Avatar.”
That… explained a lot, actually. “That’s awesome,” Sokka said, and he even somewhat meant it. “Hold on one second.” He hopped over Iroh’s treasured lotus tile. “Doesn’t mean much in this game, though, does it?”
“You have won again,” said Iroh. “Impressive. I have not lost a game in fifteen years.”
“You just lost two,” Sokka pointed out. “Maybe you need better opponents.”
Iroh chuckled. “Perhaps I do.”
“Again?” Sokka asked, partially out of enjoyment for the game, and mostly because he was actually finally getting somewhere with Iroh.
They never got around to the next round, though. It seemed as if Prince Angry Jerk had awoken from his nap, and now he was crankier than ever.
He stormed into the room. “Uncle, leave me alone with him!” he commanded.
Sokka’s eyes widened. He couldn’t be left alone with this raging freak! Iroh clearly served as the temper for his temper. No no no no no—
“You’ll be fine,” Iroh mouthed behind Zuko’s back, but somehow, Sokka doubted it.
“As you wish, nephew,” his uncle deferred, and he collected his tea set as he left the room.
Oh. Okay. Sokka desperately hoped that he and Iroh were on the same page.
“Look, Water Tribe,” the Angry Fire Freak snarled.
Sokka rolled his eyes as best he could with his lingering migraine. “‘Sokka’ is fine, thanks.”
“Okay, Sokka,” said Prince Pain in the Ass. “I have had a really bad day. You will tell me where the Avatar is headed, or there will be consequences.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’ve had a bad day?” Sokka asked. “If you haven’t noticed, my day hasn’t exactly been ideal either.” Not that he could remember the last time he’d actually had a good day, but this one had certainly proved uniquely unfortunate.
“That’s not my problem!” he snapped.
“You wanna play Pai Sho?” Sokka asked, because he had no better response.
“No, I do not want to—“
“Shame,” said Sokka. “I think I prefer your uncle.”
“Of course Uncle would…fraternize with the enemy…” Zuko muttered.
“Well, that’s a leap,” said Sokka. “I would prefer almost anything to you. Being mauled to death by a rabid polardog, for example.”
“You are either very brave, or very stupid,” said the prince.
Sokka snorted. “Both, probably,” he said, “but have you considered the third option?”
“Third option?” He sounded impatient, but his tone betrayed a genuine curiosity.
“That I just don’t find you scary,” Sokka said. “Zhao, well, now that guy’s terrifying. You, on the other hand, you’re incompetent, you’ve got stupid hair; your whole deal, I gotta say, is underwhelming. You’re trying too hard, and it shows.”
“I will set you on fire!” he yelled.
Sokka regarded him. It was like something had clicked into place as he noticed his scar properly. “Go ahead,” he taunted. “Set me on fire.” He held out his arm petulantly. “Just burn me to a crisp.”
Zuko scoffed in disbelief, and immediately alighted his hands. And Sokka suddenly lost all confidence in his bluff as two flurrying towers of flame were swiftly propelled towards his face.