Chapter Text
The problem began with Uncle’s suggestion, as problems often began. The Wani was a small, outdated Fire Nation cruiser when the expedition to capture the Avatar began three years ago, and it hadn’t exactly weathered its tenure gracefully. He heard the creak of the metal doors, the occasional pop of something coming off hinges. It was why, when his Uncle recommended they hire a blacksmith, Zuko thought it to be a reasonable suggestion.
There was an unused forge on the lower decks of the ship, and Uncle had written his father to agree to a modest stipend. It wouldn’t pay for an excellent blacksmith, but it would pay for someone who would make sure the rust bucket didn’t capsize. They could repair the old armor and weaponry kept on the ship, should Zuko ever succeed at his impossible task and find the Avatar, and need them for combat. He was absolutely certain he would.
They stopped in a port city on the coast of the Fire Nation, both close enough and far enough from home to needle something in Zuko’s chest. Uncle had found the blacksmith – someone competent, he assured him. Zuko didn’t care, so long as they did their job. He doubted one needed much competence to smash metal back together.
Lieutenant Jee handled the intake at the gangway. Zuko drilled through firebending forms on the top deck, only distantly hearing his debrief.
“You’re the blacksmith?” There was an odd tone that Zuko didn’t like: surprise and an undercurrent of confusion and doubt. Perfect. Uncle had hired some fat, lazy Pai Sho player to keep him company out at sea. Was the man even capable of hefting a hammer?
“The forge is aft… Armor repairs… Two busted pike heads,” he caught parts of Jee’s instructions on the wind. Zuko slowed his forms to look over the railing. Whoever he was, he was dwarfed by Lieutenant Jee, which was also odd, as Jee wasn’t a particularly large man. Jee stepped aside, to reveal a scruffy-haired fire nation boy with a ratty pack slung over his tiny shoulders.
He had an easy grin, and he nodded to the Lieutenant in some pitiful approximation of a bow. He wore a uniform with the sleeves cut off, revealing toned, albeit small, muscles. There was soot on his nose, presumably from previous time in a forge.
“You hired a kid,” Zuko said, turning an accusatory glare towards his Uncle.
“She is nineteen years old,” Uncle protested, which made Zuko’s brain short circuit for a moment before he whipped his head back to stare at the gangway.
“She?” he repeated, feeling anger build in his chest. The blacksmith pushed her dark hair out of her face to reveal bright, emerald green eyes. In all his time in the Fire Nation, he had never seen eyes like that. He hadn’t even seen eyes like that in all of his existence, actually, but he didn’t interrogate that thought. “You hired a girl who appears to be one hundred pounds soaking wet to be a blacksmith for a war ship?”
“She comes with the highest recommendation, nephew,” Iroh said calmly, smiling to himself as he sipped his tea.
He would see about that. Prince Zuko ordinarily considered himself above the onboarding of crew members – he barely knew most of their names even after three years at sea – but he wasn’t about to let this go. Anger had built in his chest the way it always did, wild and out of control, as he stomped down to the lower decks.
“Blacksmith,” Zuko demanded. He wasn’t exactly ready for those arrestingly bright eyes to land on him, which only made him more angry.
She stared at him a few moments, before seemingly realizing that she was supposed to be doing something, and gave him a clumsy bow. He scowled deeper. “Yes.” Then, after a few seconds, she added, “My liege.”
“What did you just say to me?” Zuko asked.
“The word yes,” the blacksmith replied patiently, as though Zuko was a complete oaf.
My liege were words out of a storybook. His crew called him “sir” or “captain” or “your highness.” This girl was doing the poorest imitation of deference he had ever seen. She straightened from her attempt at a bow.
“You will address me as your superior officer,” Zuko informed her stiffly. “Sir or captain should suit.”
She nodded. “Very well, sir.” It still didn’t sound right.
“Do you have any experience as a blacksmith?”
“Six years as an apprentice in the Sui village. It’s got about twenty people so you probably haven’t heard of it, but they needed plenty of things fixed, so I fixed them. A few jobs around the island since then.” The blacksmith surveyed the ship. “I can work with the metal.”
Six years meant she started young, and this was about the weirdest occupation he could imagine for a thirteen year old girl. Still, she held his gaze and did not appear bothered by all of his shouting, which boded well. Why on earth would Uncle have wanted this? She was not the ancient Pai Sho player he originally guessed. She widened her eyes and rocked back on her heels, looking at him expectantly. Zuko had just been glaring at her with the force of a thousand suns for a few minutes, he now realized.
“You’re dismissed.”
She gave him a lazy salute, and headed down to the forge. Zuko stomped back upstairs, having really gained nothing beyond witnessing an embarrassing performance of subservience.
“And?” Uncle asked, as Zuko returned to top deck. There was something odd in his expression, as he looked at him from over his tea. “What did you think?”
“If she can’t do the work, we drop her off at the next port.”
“The green eyes are interesting on a Fire Nation girl,” Uncle said, and it was at that moment, that Zuko realized his Uncle had tried to hire him a friend.