Oh my goodness! -punishes self- I told myself I wouldn't start another story until I was done with at least ONE of the three I've started! But the plot bunnies took over, and ... well, it resulted in this. (I have a feeling this is going to be a long author's note.)
First of all, I'd like to say that I already have six chapters of this typed up. Yes, I got an idea, and I ran away with it. I'm not sure how many more chapters it will end up being, but I'd like to finish it as soon as possible so it won't interfere too much with the other fics I'm currently writing. Despite having this many chapters already ready, I won't update once everyday. Maybe more like once every three or four days. Maybe even a week. I'd like to try and get as many reviews for each chapter as I can so that I know what you guys think of it.
Secondly, whenever a portion of a chapter starts out with the first letter of the first word bolded and italicized, like this -- Iroh -- that means that it's the beginning of a flashback (or dream, or memory) of Iroh's. I don't really have a way of subtly reminding the reader that the flashback has ended, but it's pretty easily recognized, so I'm not worrying about it.
And finally, this story (at least, the parts that aren't flashbacks) take place 15 years after the current episodes. Since we don't know Iroh's exact age then, I just assumed he was 60 and worked from that.
Note: For now the rating is T. Although I do not think it will ever need to rise to M, be warned that later chapters might be a very strong T. I'll warn you at the beginning if the need arises.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender or any of the characters in the series.
Western Skies - He gently closed his own eyes for a second or two, wondering if his uncle was dreaming about the past, a past that was destined to remain hidden from Zuko within the fading memories of the Dragon of the West.
Chapter One
"Where is he? How is he doing?" Three men walked down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. One of them was dressed in the finest regal clothes, but as fine as his robes were, his expression was that of one who was anxious and worried. His forehead wrinkled with concern, and the sides of his mouth were turned down to form a nervous frown.
One of the other two men, both of whom were dressed in guard's uniforms, answered the first man's question. "He's in the infirmary. He's doing relatively well … a little weak, but he can speak and his wit seems to still be about him."
"That's good," answered the worried one, his voice softening and the expression on his face losing its hard edge ever so slightly. The rest of the walk was completed in silence, save for the echo of three pairs of feet as they hit the cold, stone floor. With every step taken, words seemed to flow through the virtually empty corridors, ringing out phrases of encouragement … okay-okay-okay-he's-going-to-be-okay …
When the three men finally arrived at the door to the infirmary, the two guards slowly opened it to let the first man in. What met his eyes was not very comforting; a doctor was bending over an old man, inspecting his chest while the elder lay still as death.
"Is he … ?" the royally dressed man asked, barely daring to finish the sentence. He could already feel the threat of tears as they began to well up in his golden brown eyes. He willfully suppressed them, though, as he took a few steps closer.
"He's sleeping," the doctor replied, turning around to look the other man in the face. "You can stay in here if you wish … just stay quiet, and don't wake him up. Let him rest."
"Of course," the man said, nodding a little bit. The doctor picked up his bag filled with various instruments and medications, and headed towards the door. He stopped short for a second, turning around again to give some final directions.
"Call me immediately if anything out of the ordinary happens, such as labored breathing, a change in skin tone, or irregular pulse or heartbeat. I'll be back to check in on him in about an hour." With that, the doctor left the infirmary, and the two guards that had previously accompanied the other man to the room left as well. The door was left open a slight crack, so the man stood up to go and close it completely. As the wooden door closed with a click, the old man lying on the infirmary bed moved slightly, then opened his eyes.
"Uncle!" the younger man said, whipping his head around when he heard the old man moving. "Did I wake you up? Go back to sleep," he said almost demandingly as he rushed back to the bedside. Hesitatingly, he put a hand on his uncle's forehead. It felt a little warm, but that was not an unusual circumstance among Firebenders. He pulled his hand back to his side as his uncle started talking.
"Prince Zuko…" the old man spoke quietly. His voice sounded years older than it had but a few days ago. "You came to see me."
"It's Fire Lord Zuko, Uncle," he answered worriedly. His uncle hadn't called him Prince, for he hadn't been so, for many years. "Remember? My father, your brother, died a long time ago. I'm the Fire Lord now."
The old man smiled a distant smile, as if he was remembering a sweet memory from the younger years in his life. "Ah, Ozai. He always was an ambitious one. Cute when he was younger, but … that didn't last too long." His smile turned into a slight frown, and he looked Zuko in the eyes questioningly. "Where is my brother? And Ursa? I think it's their anniversary soon. I need to get them a present."
"You aren't listening to me, Uncle …" The Fire Lord said as calmly as he could without breaking down. "They're dead. Both of them. They've been gone for a very long time." Sighing, Zuko decided to guide the subject onto something more cheerful. "Would you like me to get you some tea?"
The old man's eyes lit up at the mention of tea, and he smiled while replying, "Tea would be wonderful."
"Okay," Zuko said, standing up from his previously kneeling position. "I'll tell the chef to make some Jasmine Tea. I'm coming right back." He started to walk away, but not before pulling up a chair next to his uncle's bed so he would have somewhere to sit when he came back.
"Wait, Prince Zuko," his uncle said, and the Fire Lord stopped in his tracks, not even attempting to correct the old man this time. "Just bring the pot, water, and jasmine. I'll make the tea myself."
"Okay," Zuko said, trying to hide a smile. He should have known that his uncle would only drink the tea if it was made his way. And the Fire Lord couldn't deny that his Uncle's tea was the best he'd ever tasted.
A few minutes later, Fire Lord Zuko returned from his visit with the chef to find his uncle sitting up in his bed, resting on several pillows. He set up a tray on his Uncle's lap and let the old man do the rest. Zuko watched in admiration as his Uncle created a small flame to heat the water with, his hands moving swiftly and steadily, as they should move after doing the process countless times throughout the years.
Neither one of them spoke the entire time, and when his uncle was finished, Zuko gratefully accepted the cup the old man poured for him. Iroh took the other cup he made for himself and started to sip, satisfied with the way it turned out.
"It's a shame your sister Azula doesn't like tea. I think it would do her a world of good," his uncle commented after taking a sip. Zuko cringed at the words, deciding not to try and explain his sister's fate after the Fire Nation lost the war. Clearly his sudden heart failure had also done something to his memory, and the Fire Lord found it useless to try and explain to his uncle that what he thought was the present really happened fifteen years ago.
After finishing their tea, and having a few exchanges in conversation, Iroh set his cup and the other tea related articles on the table beside his bed. Laying down, he closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them back up to say, "I'm getting tired, Prince Zuko. I think I'm going to take a quick nap … you and your hunt for the Avatar has worn me out." He closed his eyes and proceeded to fall asleep.
Zuko stood up and paced the floor, his shoes making a soft scuffling noise with every stride he took. His uncle's memory seemed to be relapsing even more. Zuko had given up his quest for the Avatar even before his father died and the war was lost. If his memory kept fading like this, there was no way he could survive much longer after total degeneration. The Fire Lord stopped his hurried pacing long enough to glance at his uncle as he lay in peaceful sleep. His face crumpled up at the thought of losing him, the man who'd been more like a father to him when his real father seemed incapable of loving. The Fire Lord let a single tear fall from his eye, the eye that had not been damaged by his father's flames in the Agni Kai so many years ago. It hit the floor, making virtually no noise, but left a small wet symbol on the stone right next to Zuko's foot. He took a seat next to the bedside in the chair he had pulled up, thinking quietly to himself until his uncle should wake up again.
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As promised, one hour later the doctor returned to the infirmary, gently knocking on the door before entering. When he heard the Fire Lord's hoarse voice allowing him to come in, he opened the door and walked over to where Iroh still lay sleeping on the bed, setting his bag down on the ground next to him.
"Has he woken up yet?" the doctor asked.
"He did for about fifteen minutes after you left," Zuko replied, not taking his eyes off his uncle's sleeping form. "But he fell back asleep and hasn't woken up since."
"How was he when he was awake?"
"He could still talk … and make tea." Zuko said monotonically, though he fought back a smile.
"He seemed fine, though, right?" the doctor said, starting to pick up his bag and head back out. But Zuko's answer caused him to place the bag back on the floor and stay for a bit longer.
"Actually, his memory seems to be fading. He talked about people who've been dead for a long time …" Fire Lord Zuko's voice quieted considerably as he continued. "… talking about them as if they were still alive. And things that happened a long time ago as if they were happening right now."
The doctor's expression darkened slightly, and he breathed in deeply. "This isn't unusual among patients who've suffered some type of heart failure in one way or another. There's nothing anyone can do about it, really."
"So … what's going to happen to him, then?" Zuko asked, although he had a feeling he already knew what the answer was.
"After memory relapse, the patient usually … passes away after, well, at most, a week." The doctor picked up his bag and made as if to leave the room again, but not before saying, "There isn't much you can do, Fire Lord Zuko, except humor him. Don't confuse him by telling him what he thinks is true really isn't."
"I understand," Zuko answered, not once turning his head to focus his gaze on the doctor. The man lingered for a second longer, and then the echo of his shoes against the stone floor was heard after the click of the door closing behind him.
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The Fire Lord wasn't sure how much time has passed when his uncle finally opened his eyes again. Zuko had fallen asleep a couple times himself, nodding off in the chair, but always waking up a couple minutes later when his alert mind told him he needed to keep an eye on his Uncle Iroh.
"Uncle?" Zuko said after the old man opened his eyes. He stayed silent for a second, not responding to his nephew. When he did speak, Zuko could only stare back in confusion.
"Where is she?" he asked. The Fire Lord didn't know who he was talking about.
"Do you mean … Ursa? Or Azula?" Zuko asked, praying with all his might that Iroh wouldn't ask to see either of them, because he couldn't think of how to tell him there was no way he was going to see his niece or sister-in-law.
"No," Iroh said, shaking his head. He paused, as if trying to remember the girl's name. Zuko could tell he knew who he wanted to see, but her name was evading his mind. "Her," he said, looking for a name. His expression softened. Closing his eyes with contentment, for he had suddenly remembered the name, he spoke softly. "Maylin."
"Maylin?" Zuko questioned. The name seemed familiar, but he couldn't remember who Maylin was. There was no image he could conjure up from his memories that matched the name. "Maylin, Maylin …" he said, turning the name around in his mouth. He started to worry about his own memory, wondering why in the world the name seemed so familiar but there was no one he could think of that went by that name.
"Where is she?" Iroh repeated.
"She's um …" Zuko paused, wondering what to say. He remembered how the doctor advised to humor his uncle; let him think that everyone who was really dead was alive. Let him think that the past was the present. "She's here somewhere," Zuko said, faltering a bit. "She's in the garden, I think." He felt awful lying to his uncle, but it had to be done. He desperately racked his mind, trying to recall who Maylin was. Where had he heard that name?
"I want to see her," his Uncle said, Zuko cringing at the words. "Can you go get for her me, please?" Iroh turned his head and looked longingly out the window that stood to his right.
"Are you tired?" Zuko said, trying to change the subject. "Why don't you go to sleep, and while you are asleep, I'll try to find Maylin for you."
Iroh sighed deeply, turning back to look at Zuko. "Okay. But be quick, Ozai. I want to see her."
The words Zuko was about to speak remained stuck in his throat. He choked back tears as he stood up from his seat. "Okay," he managed to say, turning to quickly walk out of the room. He didn't want his uncle to see him cry. Had his memory faded so much that he even forgot his beloved nephew?
Zuko's steps hastened as he headed toward the archives, exact opposite to the direction the garden lay in. Not even bothering to state his business to the guards that stood in front of the old, oaken door, he walked right in, the guards not having the power to do anything as he was the Fire Lord.
Zuko closed the large door behind him, and his senses filled with the old, musty smell of parchment that had been sitting in the same position for several years. He shivered slightly, noting that the temperature was cooler in here than the rest of the palace, because it helped to preserve the old documents. Heading toward the far end of the room, he picked up the most recent scroll and started reading at the beginning.
Thus was Zuko, son of Ozai, banished from the Fire Nation in the year …
Zuko shuddered and stopped reading. This scroll was too recent. However he didn't discard it right away, glancing at the later entries recorded, which included the defeat of Fire Lord Ozai and the end of the war. Azula's fate was recorded on that scroll as well, but Zuko declined from reading it. Picking up the scroll just before that, he started reading that one as well.
The following is an account of important events having taken place during Fire Lord Azulon's reign. A brief genealogy will prelude the documented events. Azulon, Fire Lord for twenty-three years, married to Ilah. Father of Iroh, married to Maylin. Father of Ozai, married to Ursa. Grandfather of Lu Ten …
Zuko stopped reading. Maylin was Iroh's wife; that's why her name seemed so familiar. She was his aunt. But why, then, did his memories not include a face to match Maylin's name? His eyes scanned over the rest of the scroll, looking for an entry that included Maylin. His gaze rested upon a small paragraph recorded near the middle of the scroll.
Maylin, wife of Iroh, son of Fire Lord Azulon, died on the 3rd of January at thirty-three years of age. She left behind husband Iroh, age thirty-five, son Lu Ten, age two, and brother-in-law Ozai, age twenty.
The next entry was the one that recorded Ozai's wedding to Ursa. So that's why Zuko hadn't known anything about Maylin. She had died before Zuko was even born. He skimmed over the rest of the long scroll, hoping to find an entry that mentioned the cause of Maylin's death, but he found nothing. Placing the old scrolls back in their spots on the shelf, he picked himself up and walked back to the infirmary, wondering what he would tell his uncle as an excuse for his wife's absence.
He was given a chance to think, though, when he arrived back at the infirmary; Iroh was asleep once again. Zuko took his seat next to his uncle's bed and stared wistfully at his sleeping figure.
"If only your memory wasn't fading …" Zuko said, barely daring to speak above a whisper. "I would have liked to hear stories about my Aunt Maylin." Iroh turned over in his sleep, but did not awaken. Zuko sat back in his seat, preparing himself for another hour or two of silent thinking. He gently closed his own eyes for a second or two, wondering if his uncle was dreaming about the past, a past that was destined to remain hidden from Zuko within the fading memories of the Dragon of the West.