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31_days2006-11-28 10:46 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-28 10:46 pm
[Nov. 28] [Avatar] Put away childish things
Title: Put away childish things
Day/Theme: November 28 - father figure
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Gyatso
Rating: PG
After Aang left them and the searches had finally been called off, Gyatso would often go to the archives at the end of the day, when there was nothing to do but wait and think. Once there, he would go to a place at the rear of the archive, a corner room where everything was utterly still except for the dust motes swirling in the late afternoon sunlight. The old oaken cabinet that took up the south wall of the room always looked as if it hadn't been disturbed in years even though Gyatso had been there every day since Aang had left. After making sure he was alone, he would unlock the cabinet and pull out something that looked like a scroll, but that was noticeably larger and puffier than most scrolls.
He would then take the rolled up pad to the long table in the center of the room, and he would pause for a moment, all but overcome by the ache in his heart, wondering what he was doing here and why he was doing this.
Was it penance for being too slow to go to Aang's room, or for not being able to track him down in the storm? Or was it to remind himself that since the Avatar light had not shone in the four temples of the four countries, Aang was still alive somewhere.
Or maybe the answer was simply that he missed the boy who was like a son or a grandson to him, and this was better than standing on one of the parapets and staring out into the sky in false hope of a return that he no longer expected to see.
Eventually, he would quiet his restless thoughts and unroll the quilted pad until one by one, four very small, very old toys were revealed, turning to gold in the light of the setting sun. Gyatso knew full well these were not the very first Avatars' original toys. Those had no doubt been loved into oblivion by Avatars past, but the ones before him were more or less faithful replicas. Perhaps the hogmonkey was a bit smaller once, and the drum may once have had a ribbon tassel attached to the handle. He suspects that the turtle was once a painted stone, and the propeller was a pair of feathers bound at their tips with twine and beads.
Even though they were replicas, the toys were still some of the oldest things in the Temple, and they had been played with by so many young Avatars over the century that they were still burned deep into Aang's memory. The stuffed turtle was looking rather deflated around the middle from too much hugging, and the string pull on the propeller was frayed in several places.
Gyatso picked up the propeller, and pulled the string, gently, slowly, so that it would not send the propeller whirling into the air and clattering into the ceiling. It was only natural that Aang would have played with this toy more than the others (although it was years before he could sleep without the turtle squashed tightly to his chest), and much of the fraying was no doubt due to his enthusiastic playing.
Why toys? he wondered, and not for the first time.
He put down the propeller and picked up the drum. It took a several tries, a few desultory thumps and a near tangle, but eventually he was able to roll the handle back and forth in just the right rhythm to get the two beads swinging and beating the drum at a brisk, even pace. Odd, to think that the Fire Nation soldiers who were even now laying waste to the eastern Earth Kingdom had once been innocent children who had played with toys such as this. Gyatso had supervised enough novices to know that children were by no means inherently good, but that same experience had also taught him that neither were they inherently evil.
The last Avatar had been from the Fire Nation and had been a good man. Gyatso had met him a few times over the years, and every time he'd been awestruck by the stern serenity that radiated from him. Gyatso abruptly stopped twirling the drum and put it back on the pad. It was hard--impossible--to imagine that dignified ancient playing with a red and yellow drum or a wooden hogmonkey. Speaking of hogmonkeys...
"Tch. Look at you," he said affectionately, picking up the hogmonkey. It was the least favorite of the four toys (no surprise, given that it represented Aang's opposite element), but it was still a favorite. In fact, Gyatso finally noticed, it had been played with so much that the dots of paint that served as eyes had all but been worn away. Well-loved, indeed.
One day, when Aang was old, older than Gyatso was now, oh, please, that such a thing may come to pass, would someone, some novice archivist, look at these toys and try to imagine the wise old Avatar ever being young enough to play with such things.
All the pranks, the light-hearted cheating at Pai Sho, the cakes--maybe Gyatso had been foolish to spend so much time on such things. Maybe the abbot was right in saying he had let his affection for the boy cloud his judgment. But it seemed wrong, somehow, that Aang might someday be seen as stern as Roku was, or as fearsome as Kiyoshi had apparently been.
And these toys had once been theirs. They had once picked them out from among thousands of other toys, drawn to them by a sense of familiarity they could not explain.
Again, he wondered, why toys?
Why not Roku's cloak? Why not Kiyoshi's fans? Gyatso thought (with a forgivable lack of charity) that some of his fellow monks would have preferred to present the Avatar candidates with items such as these rather than the more humble items that had been the test for dozens of previous Avatars.
A battered propeller that had been propelled into lakes a few too many times. A threadbare turtle. A drum whose bright paint was scarred from beating. A wooden hogmonkey with a worn-off face.
Well-loved, he reminded himself, once again thinking of Aang sleeping with the old turtle clutched tightly to him. Well-loved.
As he put the hogmonkey carefully back in its place, Gyatso found himself hoping that Roku and Kiyoshi had been lucky enough to have mentors whose judgment had been clouded by their affection. And as he rolled the quilt back up one more time and put the toys back in their cabinet, he gave thanks for the tacit permission Aang's predecessors had given him, the reminder that in addition to being the Avatar, he was also a child.
Well-loved, he thought once more, locking the cabinet and heading out to evening prayer.
Day/Theme: November 28 - father figure
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Gyatso
Rating: PG
After Aang left them and the searches had finally been called off, Gyatso would often go to the archives at the end of the day, when there was nothing to do but wait and think. Once there, he would go to a place at the rear of the archive, a corner room where everything was utterly still except for the dust motes swirling in the late afternoon sunlight. The old oaken cabinet that took up the south wall of the room always looked as if it hadn't been disturbed in years even though Gyatso had been there every day since Aang had left. After making sure he was alone, he would unlock the cabinet and pull out something that looked like a scroll, but that was noticeably larger and puffier than most scrolls.
He would then take the rolled up pad to the long table in the center of the room, and he would pause for a moment, all but overcome by the ache in his heart, wondering what he was doing here and why he was doing this.
Was it penance for being too slow to go to Aang's room, or for not being able to track him down in the storm? Or was it to remind himself that since the Avatar light had not shone in the four temples of the four countries, Aang was still alive somewhere.
Or maybe the answer was simply that he missed the boy who was like a son or a grandson to him, and this was better than standing on one of the parapets and staring out into the sky in false hope of a return that he no longer expected to see.
Eventually, he would quiet his restless thoughts and unroll the quilted pad until one by one, four very small, very old toys were revealed, turning to gold in the light of the setting sun. Gyatso knew full well these were not the very first Avatars' original toys. Those had no doubt been loved into oblivion by Avatars past, but the ones before him were more or less faithful replicas. Perhaps the hogmonkey was a bit smaller once, and the drum may once have had a ribbon tassel attached to the handle. He suspects that the turtle was once a painted stone, and the propeller was a pair of feathers bound at their tips with twine and beads.
Even though they were replicas, the toys were still some of the oldest things in the Temple, and they had been played with by so many young Avatars over the century that they were still burned deep into Aang's memory. The stuffed turtle was looking rather deflated around the middle from too much hugging, and the string pull on the propeller was frayed in several places.
Gyatso picked up the propeller, and pulled the string, gently, slowly, so that it would not send the propeller whirling into the air and clattering into the ceiling. It was only natural that Aang would have played with this toy more than the others (although it was years before he could sleep without the turtle squashed tightly to his chest), and much of the fraying was no doubt due to his enthusiastic playing.
Why toys? he wondered, and not for the first time.
He put down the propeller and picked up the drum. It took a several tries, a few desultory thumps and a near tangle, but eventually he was able to roll the handle back and forth in just the right rhythm to get the two beads swinging and beating the drum at a brisk, even pace. Odd, to think that the Fire Nation soldiers who were even now laying waste to the eastern Earth Kingdom had once been innocent children who had played with toys such as this. Gyatso had supervised enough novices to know that children were by no means inherently good, but that same experience had also taught him that neither were they inherently evil.
The last Avatar had been from the Fire Nation and had been a good man. Gyatso had met him a few times over the years, and every time he'd been awestruck by the stern serenity that radiated from him. Gyatso abruptly stopped twirling the drum and put it back on the pad. It was hard--impossible--to imagine that dignified ancient playing with a red and yellow drum or a wooden hogmonkey. Speaking of hogmonkeys...
"Tch. Look at you," he said affectionately, picking up the hogmonkey. It was the least favorite of the four toys (no surprise, given that it represented Aang's opposite element), but it was still a favorite. In fact, Gyatso finally noticed, it had been played with so much that the dots of paint that served as eyes had all but been worn away. Well-loved, indeed.
One day, when Aang was old, older than Gyatso was now, oh, please, that such a thing may come to pass, would someone, some novice archivist, look at these toys and try to imagine the wise old Avatar ever being young enough to play with such things.
All the pranks, the light-hearted cheating at Pai Sho, the cakes--maybe Gyatso had been foolish to spend so much time on such things. Maybe the abbot was right in saying he had let his affection for the boy cloud his judgment. But it seemed wrong, somehow, that Aang might someday be seen as stern as Roku was, or as fearsome as Kiyoshi had apparently been.
And these toys had once been theirs. They had once picked them out from among thousands of other toys, drawn to them by a sense of familiarity they could not explain.
Again, he wondered, why toys?
Why not Roku's cloak? Why not Kiyoshi's fans? Gyatso thought (with a forgivable lack of charity) that some of his fellow monks would have preferred to present the Avatar candidates with items such as these rather than the more humble items that had been the test for dozens of previous Avatars.
A battered propeller that had been propelled into lakes a few too many times. A threadbare turtle. A drum whose bright paint was scarred from beating. A wooden hogmonkey with a worn-off face.
Well-loved, he reminded himself, once again thinking of Aang sleeping with the old turtle clutched tightly to him. Well-loved.
As he put the hogmonkey carefully back in its place, Gyatso found himself hoping that Roku and Kiyoshi had been lucky enough to have mentors whose judgment had been clouded by their affection. And as he rolled the quilt back up one more time and put the toys back in their cabinet, he gave thanks for the tacit permission Aang's predecessors had given him, the reminder that in addition to being the Avatar, he was also a child.
Well-loved, he thought once more, locking the cabinet and heading out to evening prayer.