I've been rewatching Avatar:tLA and re-affirming my love of Zuko's character. And also rediscovering how much Mssrs. DiMartino and Konietzko apparently like to make him suffer. I mean, seriously. But anyway, this is something of a character study of Zuko from Iroh's POV. It focuses on that seminal moment when Zuko was thirteen. Because anyone writing about Zuko is legally obligated to write at least one fic about it.

Burn

General Iroh, Dragon of the West, the first man to break through the outer wall of the great city of Ba Sing Se, master firebender, was no stranger to burns. Training accidents, the fires of war… he'd seen both. He had been in the thick of battle, seen the worst of men fighting and killing other men. He had witnessed firsthand what fire could do to human flesh.

None of that had prepared him for this.

Perhaps it was different because this time it was a child's voice that was screaming in agony so acute and encompassing that his voice cracked and died to a near-soundless rasp of breath. Or perhaps it was because of the injustice of this burn, the betrayal behind it. The cruelty.

I am your loyal son!

The courtyard was silent. Nobody moved, or spoke. Zuko's screams had long since turned voiceless.

It was only when Ozai had turned away, leaving his son crumpled on the flagstones, that the healers went forward to collect their new patient.

Severance

Azula's look was positively gleeful as she sat beside her father as he pronounced to the Council and the Sages his punishment for Zuko's disrespect and cowardice. It seemed she cared not a whit for the pain her brother was in, half his face badly burned, nor the emotional pain he would feel when he was told of his fate.

Prince Zuko, son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai was to be banished forthwith from the Fire Nation. He was not to trespass upon lands or waters controlled by the Firelord, or else be seized and incarcerated. The only conditions under which Firelord Ozai would allow his return would be if the Prince brought his father the Avatar, in chains.

Fury churned in Iroh's gut. He had known his brother to be cruel, but he had not expected such harshness to be levied upon Ozai's own blood. More fool him; he had seen how Ozai treated the boy in the years leading up to this. If ever Ozai had loved his son, that time was long past.

The Councilmembers observed expressionlessly, for the most part. The general Zuko had argued with in the War Room had a glint in his eye that echoed the one in Azula's—sadistic pleasure in Zuko's anticipated suffering. There had been a couple Councilmembers who had looked sickened or upset at the Agni Kai; any disapproval of Ozai's methods had since been wiped from their faces. Zuko had no allies there. It seemed only Iroh would try to beg for leniency in his name.

Broken

The sickroom was dim, warm, and thick with moisture. A brazier sat by the bed, a pan of water over the sheltered flame. The healers had told Iroh what he would find in the room—Ozai had not spared Zuko much more than his life. They had managed to save the eye, barely, but Zuko would forever have decreased vision on the left side, partially from the scarring that would inevitably take place around it, and partially from direct damage done to the eye. His face would be heavily scarred, his left ear disfigured, and his eyebrow and a portion of his hair would never grow back.

They'd debrided the burn and treated it with their potions and herbs, and bound up Zuko's head in gauzy linens. They'd had to wrap his right eye, too, as it had sustained some damage from the proximity of the flames, but it would heal fully, without any lingering effects. Their largest concern was the wound souring. Burns could go bad very quickly, and the resultant fever often carried away those who survived the initial damage. As if the fire had never truly left the victim, and just burned them away from the inside.

Iroh prayed Zuko would be spared that suffering. Ozai had given his son a single week before the conditions of his banishment were enforced; barely enough time for the right eye to heal, let alone the burn. And if Zuko were ill and fevered come the end of that week, the term 'deadline' would become a great deal more literal.

Iroh stood in the doorway some time, looking at his nephew's slight, bandaged figure. He looked so small, lying there. A child. Only a child…

He walked in, and Zuko, hearing his footsteps, turned blindly toward him.

"Father?" the boy's voice was rasping, damaged by the terrible screams that had ripped through his throat as his face had burned. The harshness did nothing to disguise the hope in his tone. Iroh's heart sank. Even now…

I am your loyal son!

"No, Prince Zuko," he said, keeping his anger and sorrow from darkening his voice from sheer force of will. "It is only I."

Had Iroh not already hated his brother, the silence that met his words would have made him start. Wretched, hurt, betrayed silence. The sound of hope dying.

"Uncle," Zuko said finally, trying to sound glad but only managing hollow.

I swear to you, Ozai, if you have ruined this boy, this light for our nation…

"I have brought a story to tell you, to help pass the time," Iroh said, taking a seat nearby. "Would you like to hear it?"

Twisted

"I'm sorry," Zuko said, during one of Iroh's visits.

"For what?" Iroh asked, surprised at the non sequitur.

"I disobeyed you. I should not have spoken out in the War Room."

"Prince Zuko, you do not have to—"

"I do. My father was right. I showed everyone in that room disrespect."

"No, Prince Zuko, what you said about the General's plan was right. To take advantage of our people's patriotism is dishonorable. And your father…"

"My father was right to punish me. I shamed him. First by speaking out of turn, then by being a coward."

Iroh felt sick. He stared at Zuko's bandaged face in horror. Zuko's mouth was pulled down in a grimace.

…He believed what his father had told him. Believed every poisoned word.

Iroh's hands clenched into fists within his sleeves. Oh nephew, Ozai does not deserve you.

Scarred

Zuko did not look back even once as he left the palace, to walk the two miles through the capital city down to the port where the ship that would carry him in his banishment waited.

Ozai had given his son a ship, a crew, and a squad of marines. However, when Iroh had looked at the roster, he had found it full of misfits, troublemakers, and soldiers so close to retirement they never should have been assigned to such a post. What was more, their ship was a small, out-dated destroyer. Combined with the condition for Zuko's return, it was obvious that the Firelord did not intend for his son to ever reclaim his place as heir.

It made sense now why Ozai had agreed to let Iroh accompany Zuko. Not only would he clear the way for his favored child to inherit, he would also be rid of the thorn in his side that was his elder brother.

His and Azula's machinations do nothing more than feed into my own, Iroh reminded himself. Perhaps, away from them, their influence, Zuko would finally be allowed to grow into the greatness Iroh had always seen in him.