#Bosco: vomits up a stomach full of half-digested fish in front of Shaw

[muffinlance]

Shaw reeeeally want to eat the earth kings bear. It’s so exotic and he’s never tried one before. Just a nibble, maybe a haunch, then he’ll know if it tastes like orca-bear or weasel-bear.

(Continued from parts one and two.)

Kuei is, in the understated words of one of his earliest tutors, feeling mildly out of his geological stratum. 

There was a war. There was a war for his entire life, for his father’s and his grandfather’s. He is only learning of it now, because it is over, and his signature is required on the official documents. 

(At least they didn’t just take his royal seal and stamp it themselves.)

The young king has many questions. Mostly about his own court, and which of his advisors are truly trustworthy.

(And which would find for him a less pleasant oubliette, if he tried to rattle his palace’s bars.)

“The Fire Lord will enter through the eastern doors,” an etiquette tutor he’s never seen before instructs him. “You will stand for him, but not bow. His dragons have been instructed to enter behind him, but in practice, will do as they please. Or as he has ordered them. They are an intimidation tactic; do not acknowledge them. The terms have already been agreed upon. Place your stamp where indicated. If he inclines his head, you may return the gesture…”

It would be a significant amount of information to remember, had it not sifted down to “your presence was not required before, and is only ceremonial now.”

Kuei stands when the Fire Lord enters. His fellow monarch is young, but so is Kuei. The boy comes flanked with his own cadre of old men. Perhaps this is just what it’s like, being a king. 

And then the dragons enter, which rather puts into perspective why this meeting is occuring in the grand ballroom, rather than a more usual diplomatic location. They are… very impressive specimens. The old men behind Kuei stiffen at the sight of them. The ones near the Fire Lord have to actively dodge, with a rumpling of robes and dignity alike, as the great serpents claim their place at the boy’s sides. 

And then they keep coming forward, coils of them thick around as particularly rotund badgermoles, and Kuei’s advisors follow the example set by their peers. Which is to say: Kuei is suddenly rather alone at the table, with two great heads crossing paths behind him. They pause like that, for a moment, before moving on. There is enough of them to wrap back around to their Fire Lord’s side, even as they remain looped behind Kuei. 

Yes. Yes, he could see why this would be an effective intimidation tactic.

The Fire Lord looks at the chair he’s been provided. Then down the length of the great table, to where Kuei would sit. There would have been servants to carry the papers between them, but… well. They are probably not going to risk scaling the dragon’s sides. The Fire Lord huffs, and walks to the chair to the left of Kuei’s, before setting down a pile of scrolls.

They let him carry important documents himself. That must be nice. 

“Have you had time to read the final draft?” the Fire Lord asks, his chair scraping against stone as he pulls it out. He sits, and looks to Kuei expectantly.

Do not speak to him, says the voice of the tutor in Kuei’s memory. He is the violent offspring of an upstart island; you are the rightful inheritor of a continent. You bow to him on paper only.

“I… have not,” Kuei admits, and takes his own seat. 

“Neither have I,” says the boy. “We should probably make sure the copies match, too. My advisors kept telling me not to worry about it, which is probably a reason to worry about it.”

So they unroll two copies of the finest calligraphy, and push their chairs close, and get down to reading. It is not an exaggeration to say that Kuei has spent his whole life practicing for this.

“This map cannot be accurate,” Kuei says.

“It… looks okay to me?”

“This is nearly two-thirds of our western fishing ports, nevermind the river transport routes, whose ‘tax rates and availability to outside use shall be at the discretion of the Fire Lord’?”

“That’s where my people live.”

“Then where did my people go?”

“Uh,” says the Fire Lord. Who is actually quite significantly younger than Kuei.

“...Did your advisors hand you papers to sign, too?”

“They said you’d already agreed.”

Kuei’s own advisors had implied they’d all be eaten by dragons should he refuse to sign, so. That was certainly a form of agreement. 

One of the Fire Lord’s very intimidating serpents has laid its great head down across most of their table, and appears to have fallen asleep. The other is… scenting the air? Well. That's mildly alarming. It coils its neck back, to the limit the high ceiling allows, and stares down at something outside its coils. 

Which is the point Kuei hears the whuffing of his bear cub. Which his advisors had very firmly told him could not be at this meeting, so little Bosco had been left in a garden with servants for attendants, but so many people are as afraid of a simple bear cub as they are of these great beasts of dragons, so it was no surprise he’d escaped to find the one person who really cared—

“Spit it out!” shouts the Fire Lord. “Spit it out!”

Kuei is not entirely certain how he ends up with his arms inside a dragon’s maw, his formal hairpiece being dripped upon by hot saliva fresh from a fang. But at least he's not the only monarch to be in such a state. 

The dragon’s great size is, in retrospect, a blessing: a little morsel like Bosco had not required chewing. The bear shakes in his arms, but Kuei’s combing through wet fur had not turned up a scratch upon him. 

“That is,” says the Fire Lord, looking up. And up further. Until he finds Bosco’s trembling muzzle, pressed against the top of Kuei’s head, “a really big… bear-otter?”

“He’s just a bear,” sniffles Kuei, hugging his poor baby back, if not quite so heartily as Bosco is hugging him. “A little cub. How could your dragon do such a thing?”

“Uh,” says the Fire Lord. “Shaw… apologizes?”

The dragon does not look at all apologetic. It's nuzzling the Fire Lord’s back, in a way Kuei himself recognizes from a hundred objects pulled from a baby bear’s inquisitive mouth. But father, can’t I eat it? Please?

“We,” Kuei says, his chin lifted haughtily, “are going to refresh ourselves in the royal chambers. You are welcome to the guest baths. And then we are going to sit down with a real map.” 

Not whatever fanciful one the Fire Lord’s advisors have concocted. 

“Fine,” the boy snaps back. 

When they meet again, an hour later, both are free of the sulfurous stench of dragon spit. And both have brought their own maps, of the Fire Nation’s current military occupation.

Kuei does not sign until his people have free access to their own resources again. If slightly less land than they began with. As he is not eaten by a dragon for his troubles, he sets his sights upon his advisors, next.

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