"This is the final list?"

"Near as we can tell, sir."

"What are the numbers?"

The reedy Archivist shuffled through his papers for less than five seconds before giving the answer. "Nine dead, eighty-one wounded."

He nodded. "Not bad."

"No, sir."

"All are identified?"

"As of last night, sir."

"Since the numbers are small enough, I'll do letters. How soon can you have them ready?"

"By this afternoon. There is a...standard format, for such things, sir. We can write out enough copies in about six hours."

He nodded again. "Bring them here. I'll look them over and sign them tonight."

"Yessir."

"That will be all."

"Yessir."

The Archivist quietly let himself out of the Firelord's study, leaving the younger man to less grim business.

~    ~    ~

Ozai poured himself a generous measure of sake before turning to the lists and accompanying neat stacks of letters. He'd chosen to deal with this particular unpleasantness in his room, rather than his study. It was more private; the list of permissible reasons to bother him in here was far shorter.

He didn't want to be bothered while doing this.

The numbers on these lists had gone up and down over the last two weeks, as people were found and injuries were deemed more or less serious than originally thought, leading to names being added to or removed from the second, longer list...but that list could wait. He picked up the shorter one, tracing the nine names with a finger. Quickly, he finished his drink and signed those nine letters, then set them aside and pouring another.

The longer list provided a little more detail--the years they'd worked together had given the Archivist a good idea of how much--or how little--he would want to know about the men and women on this list (the other had contained solely name and rank; he had no desire to know more about the dead). It listed each soldier's name and rank, where they had been found, and, on a scale of one to five--one being most critical--how close they were to migrating to the other list.

Forty of these names were marked with a five. Ozai let out a long, slow breath. Nearly half, that was good. Seventeen were fours, twenty-two were threes, nine were twos, and a single name was marked with a one.

He examined that name. Lt. Mentari, Pilot; shot down between the capital and the beach; balloon proper sliced in half. 1. Critical. A pilot. Of course.

The air corps he'd had carefully trained in secret included pilots and gunners. None were over twenty-five, with the pilot being typically a year or two younger, moderately-powered firebenders all. All of the twos on the list were pilots or gunners, as well, as were five of the dead. Dangerous work, for boys and girls not much older than his own children.

He snarled at that thought. Zuko had escaped unharmed, of course, vanishing without a trace in the confusion of the last minutes of the fight. Yet this pilot, who had remained loyal...

When the comet came, not long now, as soon as more pressing, global business was attended to, he would be sure to redress that imbalance. Even if the pilot's number didn't change. Perhaps especially then. The unwavering, loyal boy would be redeemed, and the other punished.

Ozai swore under his breath, and signed the last letter.