Zuko leaned on the railing and failed not to think.
The sea slid by under the cruiser's hull in long, grey-green bands, the surface choppy but not truly rough. Mist clung low and thick on the water ahead, turning the horizon into a white wall. Somewhere beyond that fog was Kyoshi Island – Iroh had said so, tracing a calloused finger over the chart – but from there it was like sailing toward nothing.
Waves slapped the metal in a steady rhythm. Steam hissed quietly from vents belowdecks. Behind him, his crew went about their duties with the subdued focus of men who knew better than to interrupt their prince when he was brooding.
He wasn't. He was doing something between daydreaming and remembering.
"You will treat Lady Raven Arza with the utmost respect."
Ozai's voice, calm and heavy as molten iron, rolled through his memory first. Zuko knew he must have been about ten, kneeling on the cold stone of the throne room, trying not to fidget in new clothes that pinched under the arms and made his neck itch. His father stood above him, flame-lit and distant, watching like discomfort itself was a test.
"It is important to the Fire Nation that you never wrong her," Ozai had gone on, eyes like a hawk's. Zuko's slightest dare to glance briefly upwards caused Ozai to instantly say, "you are too young to understand our nation's politics, just do as I command. Do you understand?" as if he already knew what question Zuko was going to waste his time with.
Zuko had swallowed, not at all understanding why this warranted a personal warning from the Fire Lord. "Yes, Father."
Later, Mother had explained.
She'd found him in the garden by the turtle-duck pond, kicking pebbles into the water hard enough to startle the birds into circling away, then right back again for the bread crumbs.
"It's already been decided," mother had said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead with that soft, worried touch he'd never admit he missed. "Your father and Lord Arza have agreed. When you're both older, you and Raven will be married."
He'd stared at her. "What? I-I'm betrothed?! To that crybaby?!" And he deflated instantly like he was under the weight of suffocating decades long marriage already.
Raven had been there a week. She'd cried—actually cried—because one of the palace guest beds was "worse than the floor," and had refused to stop until servants went across town to get a mattress she woud tolerate. Ty Lee had laughed and rolled around on both, always delighted at everyone's disbelief over how picky Raven could be. Raven then possessively hogged the entire couch—fit for four their size and with less than that present—less than an hour later when they were watching some important ritual function that Lord Arza and his father were taking very seriously. He wanted to take it seriously too, but Raven and Ty Lee wouldn't stop whispering and giggling like idiots right behind him, and his own father chastised him just for being annoyed by it.
"She's such a brat!" Zuko had said then, outraged. "She's loud and she talks too much and she and Ty Lee never stop giggling and Azula only acts like she likes her when they're bullying someone else together—"
"I know," Mother had said, and the faintest smile had tugged at her mouth. "She's also very loyal, and she's not trying to upset you." Her eyes had gone distant, something tight and sad in them. "I recommended against this, at least not so suddenly, but... Jinai commands many soldiers who answer to him before the Fire Lord."
"Who?"
His mother softly smiled, he remembered she never judged him even slighty. Never made him feel bad, except when he had it coming. "Lord Arza," she clarified as she squeezed his wrist. He remembered that very clearly for some reason, the way she said "it's okay, you're good enough" with every breath and movement. That feeling of elation quickly soured.
"This is… politically important, Zuko," his mother insisted. "Your father might not think it's important to tell you these things, but I do. It's important because, well, there's a real chance Lord Arza will rebel if we don't unite our families."
Zuko had been so full of frustration then, but it didn't really stay that way for long, he wistfully thought as he took a deep breath of the salty, languidly hanging air. He wondered if Lord Arza still wanted to declare war on his father, or if something drastically changed. Well, something clearly had drastically changed either way. It was obvious his father's forces under Zhao and Lord Arza's wanted nothing to do with each other.
A gust of salt wind tugged at his topknot, snapping him back to the present. The mist had crept closer; from here it was a solid sheet, beading quietly on the rail under his hands. The hull groaned as a low wave hit from the side, like wake with no vessel.
Behind him, boots scuffed lightly on the deck.
"If it were a clearer day," Iroh said, genial as ever, "we would be able to see Kyoshi Island by now. Its cliffs are quite dramatic. Ah, but fog has its uses too. The element of surprise is not to be underestimated." He came to stand beside Zuko, resting his forearms on the rail. "What troubles you, Prince Zuko?"
"Nothing," Zuko said automatically.
Iroh waited.
"…Raven," Zuko admitted, jaw tightening. "I don't—" He broke off, irritated with himself. "I shouldn't be thinking about it. It's a distraction."
"Mm." Iroh watched the mist for a moment. "Do you have any idea why she and Lord Arza are so angry with you?" he asked gently. "There was… no chance to ask, before tempers flared."
Zuko snorted. "I don't care," he lied. "I just need to capture the Avatar. Then I can worry about why Raven's crazier than usual. I'm not going easy on her next time." He gritted his teeth and rubbed the bruise he still had on his chest.
"I see," Iroh said mildly.
"I mean—" Zuko scrubbed a hand over his scarred cheek, scowling at the fog. "She's always been like that. When we were kids, she literally cried because the beds in the guest wing weren't perfect like the special one her asshole dad got her." The memory slipped out before he could stop it. "Like, bawled her stupid eyes out. Wouldn't shut up about it till they got her one."
Iroh's eyes crinkled. "Ah, yes. My brother was on a mission to make everyone in the palace less comfortable. I remember. The mattresses were very firm. Actually did my back some good, though." He chuckled. "You were all very young then. I am certain she is more mature now."
Zuko snorted again, softer. "She stopped crying and started yelling and hitting when we were older. That's not the same as mature." He shoved off the rail. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. She's somebody else's problem right now."
—
Raven was discovering Kyoshi Island did, in fact, have beds worse than the Fire Lord's guest wing.
"This is a bench," she said flatly, and narrowed her eyes at the already exhausted with her Kyoshi warriors that had to escort her and keep her out of trouble. "Are you trying to sabotage me?"
The village elder's wife—a small, stooped woman with kind eyes and more wrinkles than teeth—smiled apologetically and gestured with both hands at the long, low slab of polished wood along the wall. "We already offered you the nicest bed—" she said.
"Don't call it that." Raven grumbled.
"Call what?" The least fortunate Kyoshi warrior breathed.
"That was a nest for creatures before you dragged it here, I won't hear it," Raven confidently stated.
"We don't have noble accomodations, Lady Arza. We are… doing our best, and only at the Avatar's request, mind you."
"Was that a threat?" Raven sneered.
"No, of course not!" the frustrated warrior shrilled.
The room smelled faintly of smoke and seawater and frying oil from the food stalls outside. Light filtered through paper windows in soft squares. The piece of furntiture in question was indeed quite hard and made of wood, usable as a bench, but functional as a bed, and the reed mats atop it were scarcely softer than the wood itself.
Raven stared at it like it had personally insulted her.
"I said," she enunciated, "that I was aching from your leader's entirely unnecessary assault on me, and that I needed to rest. How shall this arrangement of timber and weeds provide me rest, precisely?"
Two Kyoshi warriors stood at the door, impassive behind their painted faces and fans. They did not relax. Ever since Suki had agreed—grudgingly—to let Raven stay, the warriors had escorted her everywhere like she was a bomb with a hair trigger.
From across the street, through the open window, Sokka, Katara, and Suki could hear every word.
Suki pinched the bridge of her nose under her headdress. "I think," she said very quietly, "that I hate her on a deeply personal level."