It’s one of those rare things that usually only happens in whispered spirit-stories, things that happen to shamans and those who walk between the worlds. Apparently blasphemy will do just as well, although they don’t often mention the goings-on in that particular set of hotsprings with the carving and the offerings that in hindsight, should have been a warning.
No matter, done is done. The usual way the stories go, is the man goes into his home and takes the part of a wife, and no one says otherwise until the baby’s on solids and the man returns, as if from a long voyage. But Hakoda is chief, and there’s so much to do, rebuilding his village, his family, his tribe- and Bato is briefly amused by the idea, but wouldn’t ask that of his leader and lover.
So he wears a heavy parka, and directs the work, and flows around the strange looks and appalled glances from his Northern brothers. They’re on his ice-floe, and they can like it or swim home. Sokka is managing to be equal parts in denial and utterly supportive; Katara is shocked and curious when she’s home from her voyages, and it’s very strange to have his daughter lay glowing hands on him, to reassure him that everything’s alright.
Hakoda keeps up the calm, steady face of a father and a leader, answers or denies questions with a smile, and goes home to his tent every night (the fancy meeting-hall the waterbenders are building is nice, but it’s not the chief’s home yet).
It’s then, with Bato laying warm beside him and his shirt off, that he lets himself look on in surprise. In the terror of a new father who’s sure he’s forgotten all he knows about babies in the last fifteen years. In love, cradling the rich future close and kicking inside of him. In mourning, missing Kya and wondering if this is how she felt carrying their first children, so round in his arms instead of him round in Bato’s.
A fire-scarred hand rests over his belly, and the shock eases, as it always does. In this hour, between the dying embers and the dawn, Hakoda can feel those doubts-
And let them flow away, sure and steady as the tides.
Bato/Hakoda, Because Hakoda is a Stud in the other memes.
No matter, done is done. The usual way the stories go, is the man goes into his home and takes the part of a wife, and no one says otherwise until the baby’s on solids and the man returns, as if from a long voyage. But Hakoda is chief, and there’s so much to do, rebuilding his village, his family, his tribe- and Bato is briefly amused by the idea, but wouldn’t ask that of his leader and lover.
So he wears a heavy parka, and directs the work, and flows around the strange looks and appalled glances from his Northern brothers. They’re on his ice-floe, and they can like it or swim home. Sokka is managing to be equal parts in denial and utterly supportive; Katara is shocked and curious when she’s home from her voyages, and it’s very strange to have his daughter lay glowing hands on him, to reassure him that everything’s alright.
Hakoda keeps up the calm, steady face of a father and a leader, answers or denies questions with a smile, and goes home to his tent every night (the fancy meeting-hall the waterbenders are building is nice, but it’s not the chief’s home yet).
It’s then, with Bato laying warm beside him and his shirt off, that he lets himself look on in surprise. In the terror of a new father who’s sure he’s forgotten all he knows about babies in the last fifteen years. In love, cradling the rich future close and kicking inside of him. In mourning, missing Kya and wondering if this is how she felt carrying their first children, so round in his arms instead of him round in Bato’s.
A fire-scarred hand rests over his belly, and the shock eases, as it always does. In this hour, between the dying embers and the dawn, Hakoda can feel those doubts-
And let them flow away, sure and steady as the tides.