Chapter Text
It started with a scream.
A gut-wrenching scream that pierced through the courtyard and into the draped corridors of the palace. Every guard, servant, and attendant was at high alert as they located the scream coming from a child.
General Mak was on his way to discharge for the day when the child’s scream echoed. He called up his unit in the palace, fearing the worst had happened to the young Princess. They patrolled at high alerts and found the situation gathered around the courtyard fountain. Yet no Princess Izumi. Who they did find was the Avatar’s son, drenched from head to toe.
Bumi was crying.
Not the dignified cries of a child trying to be brave, but wailings of a child who felt the whole world had wronged him personally. And a red bump was forming on top of his forehead; the guards knew how to act quickly.
The general’s men pulled him up from the fountain and nearby stood the princess.
Dry, calm, but with trembling knees, she triedher best to hide by mimicking the stoicism of her mother. She did not look fazed, but when General Mak stood close by she knew she was to be called to answer to her parents.
Bumi insisted that Izumi had pushed him, or at least was the reason he ended up bruised and drenched in the fountain. His cries almost suffocated him, and the general managed to calm the boy down. Izumi stood by, staring down her boots and kicking the grass, maintaining her innocence. It was just a game, she said. Pleaded, almost.
The general felt torn. Before he was discharged to go home to his own rambunctious children, he had to surrender the children to their parents. He sighed in relief for not being part of the trial between the Fire Lord’s daughter and the Avatar’s son.
When Katara saw the condition Bumi was in, her heart dropped. The bump was now discolored and he himself was wrapped in a towel when he was given back to her. She cradled her son in her arms and comforted him as he whimpered like a wounded turtleduck.
Izumi didn’t say anything. She looked over at Bumi being embraced by his parents and moved closer to her mother’s side.
“It’s alright, Bumi,” Katara kissed the top of his head. She used her fingers to comb back his hair as the boy cried into her chest.
The setting room felt heavy for the young princess. She wanted to disappear in her mother’s robes and close her eyes with such intensity with hopes that when she opened them, a new day would surround her.
But nothing, she was still in the room when she opened them.
“Izumi,” Zuko gathered his daughter’s attention. “Tell me, what happened?”
Izumi quickly glanced over to her mother who gave her nod of approval to go ahead. The young girl clenched her lips together before she replied.
“We were just playing,” Izumi said, holding onto Mai.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. Accidents happen,” Katara said, through Bumi’s muffled cries.
Izumi did not like the sound of that, what did Aunt Katara mean by accident? She did not do anything on accident, frankly she did not think she did anything wrong. Yet that was nothing she would publicly admit in front of Uncle Aang and Aunt Katara.
The grand setting room of the Fire Lord suddenly felt smaller and the air tighter. At every moment she wished Druk would come flying in and ease the tension and remove the attention from her. Perhaps, to ease Bumi’s cries too.
Everyone’s eyes were on Izumi to apologize, but every inch of her body was refusing. She could not bring herself to say the words and Zuko seemed to grow impatient with her stubbornness.
“Izumi, did you hurt Bumi? Yes or no.”
“No, I did not,” Izumi said, and it felt good saying it too.
Bumi’s ears twitched. The boy seemed to gather strength from his mother’s embrace and quickly refuted Izumi’s claims.
“She’s lying!” He cried out as his sadness took an accusatory turn to anger, with such intensity that even Izumi was bound to react.
“No, you’re a liar, you stupid jerk!”
Before she could finish the sentence,
both Katara and Mai stepped between their children who seemed to want to tear each other apart. They were quickly separated as the audible gasps from their parents echoed in the chamber.
“Hey kids,” Aang got on a knee between them. “Violence and name-calling isn’t the answer, let’s fix this by talking with our inside voices,” he reasoned, but it seemed as if the children were too much in their feelings to hear him out.
“You’re a stupid liar! You pushed me!” Bumi yelled.
“Bumi!” Katara was stunned by her son’s anger but was it justified? He was after all the one with a noticeable injury and drenched clothes.
“I didn’t even touch you…”
“Izumi, if you hurt your friend, even by accident, the most decent thing is to apologize,” Mai’s voice cut through the tensity and gathered the children’s attention but Izumi did not yield. She outright refused to.
“I did not do anything,” Izumi looked at her mother with teary eyes.
Zuko and Mai looked at each other, puzzled on how to deal with Izumi’s outburst and outright refusal to admit to anything. To Zuko it seemed plausible enough. Children fell, children cried, and children often blamed each other for things that were nobody’s fault.
Katara, however, looked unconvinced. She was not going to point any fingers regarding a child’s play gone wrong; however, she wasn’t going to let Bumi’s hurt be brushed aside either.
“Bumi,” Katara said gently. “Did Izumi push you?”
“Yes!”
“I did not!” Izumi said and felt a pull from her mother.
“Bumi,” Aang’s voice carried a solid calm. “Did you actually feel her push you?”
For the first time, uncertainty crossed the boy’s face.
“I, uh…”
“See!” Izumi felt a tiny bit of vindication but was quickly shot down.
“That doesn’t mean you’re innocent…” Mai whispered to her as a warning, leaving Izumi in disbelief.
“But I didn’t do anything,” Izumi whispered back.
Nobody had an answer, because in a way that was the problem at hand. Izumi had attached herself to that single fact and refused to let go of it. Bumi was adamant that Izumi was the root of his injury.
Katara stood from her seat.
“Izumi, sweetie. Tell me why Bumi thinks you’re responsible.”
Her voice was sweet and calm but still carried a tone that recalled the seriousness of the incident at hand.
Izumi was adamant. She had done nothing wrong to Bumi, but her voice faltered still.
“I… I don’t know…”
“Well, you must know something.”
Izumi lowered her head. Suddenly, the room felt warmer than before, and she knew something. She knew Bumi was hurt, but a struggle ensued inside of her, she wouldn’t and she couldn’t say anything else The worst part was the feeling that Aunt Katara was judging her and looking at her as a culprit rather than an innocent bystander.
Before Katara could question her further, Zuko stepped in.
“I think that’s enough,” Zuko said and the room fell quiet.
Katara looked up at him. Mai looked over at her husband. In quiet disbelief.
“Zuko—” they said in unison.
“She has answered us three times already,” Zuko said gently.
And for the first time that evening, Izumi felt as if someone was on her side. She leaned towards her father as a sense of protection.
“She says she did not push him,” Zuko continued. “And I’m inclined to believe her innocence until further notice.”
Katara’s expression tightened.
“Zuko, Bumi is hurt.”
“I can see that.”
“Then surely you understand we are all simply trying to figure out what has happened.”
“And we will,” Zuko replied. “I don’t see how we will figure it out by pressuring my daughter into confessing to something she insists she did not do.”
Izumi’s fingers tightened around Mai’s robe. Mai stood silent as she analyzed her husband. She knew they were treading on thin ice, the way he emphasized my daughter she knew his tone was becoming increasingly territorial.
Frustrated by the situation, frustrated that his own beloved Uncle Zuko seemed to imply that he was a liar, or so Bumi felt.
“But she did do it!”
“Bumi,” Aang laid his hands on his son’s shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“No! Nobody believes me,” Bumi’s voice cracked and he cried into his mother’s arms.
Katara stroked his head and back.
“I believe you, darling,” Katara whispered as she and Aang comforted their son.
Zuko looked between the two children. One was injured and the other one looked like she was about to cry at any moment herself.
Neither one of them looked dishonest, and that troubled him because children could lie. He knew that from his own childhood experiences.
But they could also believe completely different versions of the same event.