Fire Lord Zuko tried to concentrate on his work that day but couldn't. He didn't have the energy. He fell asleep during his meeting with his financial adviser, and barely wrote a word when trying to respond to a letter from the governor of the southern province. The news sat in his chest like heartburn that wouldn't go away. All day long he felt nauseous.

When he finally retired for the evening, he did not join his wife in bed, but instead sat on his desk nearby wasting the lamp oil. He had to write a letter to his sister, to tell her what he had found out. The words did not come. He just stared at the parchment with his brush in his hand.

Mai tossed and turned, trying to block out the light, annoyed she couldn't enjoy her husband's company at the moment. But she understood him well enough to know that his insomnia was habitual. It meant there was probably something on his mind. "Zuko," she said, "take off your formal robes. Wash your face. Come to bed. Whatever the problem is, you won't solve it by staring down at that paper."

"In a minute," he said, as if he hadn't really heard her.

Mai sat up. She sighed. "You can't do this to me, Zuko. You can't leave me in the dark while I watch you suffer. I know its easier for you to block people out, but... if you can't come to bed, can you at least tell me what's wrong?"

He turned around to face her and took a deep breath. "I did something you've asked me not to do. I went to visit my father."

Mai was silent for a moment. "Why?"

"Because I got a letter from the prison warden asking me to. I won't have many more chances to make it right with him. I want to make the time count."

"What are you talking about. Who said anything about making it right with him? Zuko, you know that probably will never happen."

"But I have to try, Mai," Zuko said. He rubbed his forehead. "He's going to die."

Ozai was not allowed to send letters from the prison. Zuko had laid these rules firmly before Ozai even went to trial. If Ozai were allowed to write freely, he could slip messages to his followers in the form of codes and ciphers. The only people he was allowed to contact were his immediate family and his legal counsel. If he wanted to do that, he needed the prison warden to write the letter for him.

The letter Zuko got was from his father, but in the warden's hand. The warden had very little time to do such things, and his father had very little incentive to contact his son. So for Zuko to get the letter in the first place was a sign something important was going on. The letter had been short, curt, vague. Only a couple sentences asking for an immediate visit.

Zuko and Mai had made an agreement before their marriage, that Zuko would have little to no contact with his father. Zuko had actually visited his father frequently at the beginning of the prison sentence. Zuko didn't really know why he did, it wasn't like he enjoyed his father's company. Sometimes he came asking for advice. Sometimes he came for the chance to speak his mind freely, which he could never do growing up. Sometimes he did it out of a sense of duty; it was his father, the man who had given him life and provided for his physical needs as a child. But Mai had noticed the visits took a toll on Zuko. Not only was his father's advice corrupting and dangerously bad, but Zuko would often destroy himself in anger and self loathing if the visits went poorly. For the sake of the nation he ruled, and for his mental health, Zuko could not see his father.

Because of this, Zuko almost wrote back to the warden to decline. He also considered not writing, and not showing up. He considered speaking to Mai first, but knew she would say no. Curiosity over the reason for the visit request eventually won him over. Why would his father actually ask him for a visit? And why was it important enough the warden agreed to help send the request? So Zuko canceled his afternoon appointments and walked over to the prison in the Capitol city.

Before he arrived, he ran dialogue through his head, preparing himself for what ridiculous thing his father might say, what insults he might throw or what corruption he would try to inflict. It caused Zuko's heart to pound.

Even though Zuko arrived in his Fire Lord's formal robes, the guard gave him no special treatment. Zuko was required to hand over the dagger he kept in his belt, and to sign his name in the log book. The lack of special treatment—for the purpose of security—was another rule Zuko had imposed. They couldn't take the chance of any impostors sneaking in and helping Ozai escape.

The guard led Zuko down the hallway, but instead of turning left, to where Ozai was usually kept, the guard turned right and headed up a flight of stairs.

"Wait, you didn't move Ozai, did you?" Zuko said.

The guard turned to answer. "If you're upset about the move, I can inform the warden. But we thought it was necessary."

"Was he causing trouble with the other inmates?"

"Look, I actually don't know much about what's going on... and if I did... well it might be best if you hear it from Ozai himself." The guard handed Zuko a torch from the wall, and opened a heavy door. "I'll give you two a moment alone."

Zuko looked around for a minute. The new cell was a lot warmer than the other had been, mostly because it was above ground. But Zuko also noticed the area outside the cell had an ash-covered alcove, for a fireplace. The move could hardly be called special treatment, but Zuko had to wonder about the sudden extra care for his father's comfort.

"You brought tea last time." Ozai stirred from the cot in the back corner of the cell. He looked nothing like the virile warrior king who had been thrown into this prison. His hair had turned gray and had retreated farther up his scalp. His rough-spun robes hung off bony shoulders. But he hadn't forgotten what it meant to be royalty. His mannerisms were no less intimidating.

Zuko inhaled and stood up straighter, preparing himself for an argument. "You only asked me to come. You didn't ask me to bring anything. Not that I would have if you had."

"Oh, Heavens," Ozai said. "What did you come here for last time... Something about that girl of yours. Mai. I cannot believe you married Governor Ukano's daughter. Such a homely girl, and not even a fire bender. You could have at least asked me for some suggestions before you got married. And what was going on with Mai when you came...? Yes... that's right... you came because she was pregnant. Azula convinced you that I deserved to know, so you came to tell me. How old is that baby now, Zuko? She's what, three? Four? And you haven't brought her to visit me?"

Zuko was growing impatient. "Izumi is five, and she and Mai are better off not having anything to do with you. I haven't got all day, Ozai. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"You haven't come to see me in five years, and now you're in such a hurry," Ozai said. "For the love of heaven, Zuko. It was bad enough throwing me into this hole in the ground. But to forget I exist is an entirely different cruelty."

"A mercy compared to what you put me through."

"It's not a competition," Ozai said. "I'm simply saying, it would be nice if..." He stopped, interrupted by a cough. It was raspy, loud, and it shook his whole body as if he were being beaten. When the cough ended, the old tyrant had trouble catching his breath. It suddenly made more sense why they had moved him to the more comfortable room. "Whatever," Ozai said, wiping the saliva from the side of his mouth. Zuko thought he saw a tinge of blood on the old man's lip, but only briefly. "If I want someone to bring me tea and talk to me civilly, I can have the warden write Azula."

"What do you want, Ozai!" Zuko said.

"I want to know what on this demon-ridden earth is going on outside these bars. I just asked you about my grandchild."

"Izumi is off limits!"

"Obstinate as always, aren't you Zuko!"

Zuko stepped forward. "You're not in a position to demand anything from me, old man!"

The guard cautiously peeked into the room, in response to the rising voices. The guards were used to dealing with spats between inmates and visitors. Zuko wasn't sure how they would respond if the Fire Lord himself attacked one of their charges. He was very much tempted to find out.

Ozai yelled banged his hands on the bars. Zuko stepped back. He hated that his father could still illicit a reaction from him. The old tyrant yelled again and sat back down. "Damn these walls!" Ozai said. "And damn these guards for not telling me anything!"

"I shouldn't have come. I don't know why I came," Zuko said. He turned to leave.

"Zuko don't you dare leave me here!" Ozai said. "I raised you. I provided for you. I taught you everything you know. I am your father! And I deserve your respect!"

Zuko kept walking.

Ozai yelled again. But then he said something Zuko never expected. "Please!"

Zuko turned.

"Please!" The look was one Zuko had never seen on his father's face before. Earnest, desperate. "Please, Zuko. Just listen to me."

"What?" Zuko said.

The old tyrant took a deep breath, which was difficult for him. It almost sent him into another coughing fit. "I need to talk to you. And I won't have many more chances to talk to you again. So please, Zuko. Don't leave."

Zuko wanted to turn and leave anyway. He felt like that would have been the smartest choice. But the fact his father, someone who was so used to the world bowing to him and catering to his every need, had actually uttered the word "please..." Once again, Zuko was overwhelmed by curiosity. So he sat back down in front of his father's cell and waited.

"I want to know what's going on outside," Ozai said. "I want to know what disgraceful thing your mother is doing now. I want to know if Azula's still going to see that physician for her hallucinations. I want you to bring your child to see me. I want you to tell me how the affairs of my Fire Nation are going after all these years of your mediocre leadership."

"You don't care about any of those things," Zuko said.

"I don't have anything else to occupy my mind," Ozai said. "There's nothing for me to do in here."

"Damn it!" Zuko said. "Please, can you tell me what is really going on?"

Ozai clenched his fists. He was quiet for a minute, avoiding eye contact. The truth was infuriating to him. If he still had been a fire bender, perhaps his hands would have been steaming. "At first it they thought it was another one of those fevers the rats carry between the cells. They have enough of those in here. The prison physician is overworked and under-trained as it is," Ozai said. "Not that you, the Fire Lord himself, has the power to do anything about that."

"Save the snark," Zuko said. "It isn't helpful."

Ozai huffed. "The prison physician was clueless. So they called in our family physician. He took one look at me, and he knew. It is the same thing that killed your uncle and your grandmother. And if some savvy assassin doesn't get to you first, it is the same thing that will probably kill you." Ozai almost laughed. "For years I tore out my hair over the traits I failed to pass on to you. My intelligence, my work ethic, my wit. You were born with none of those. Wouldn't it be ironic if this was the one thing you did get from me?"

Zuko sat very still. "How long... how long do they think it will take?"

"Ha! Anxious to be rid of me, aren't you, Zuko?"

"Just answer the question."

"A few weeks."

"Does Azula know?" Zuko asked.

"I've been meaning to get the warden to write her for me. Of course, he will write it all wrong, he will put it to her in a way that will absolutely destroy her. She never used to be sensitive, but she is now. She has enough burdening her, Zuko, after what you did to her the day of the comet... It would be easier if I could simply do it myself."

"I didn't do anything to her! I only..." Zuko stopped himself. This wasn't the time for an argument. "No. Ozai. The rules do not change, even in sickness. No parchment, no ink."

Ozai exhaled.

Father and son sat on opposite sides of the bars, not looking at each other, not speaking. Zuko wasn't sure what else he should say. But then it dawned on him, he didn't actually know what he was supposed to think. He didn't know how he felt about this news. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell Mai, his friends, his family. He wasn't sure how he would feel going to sleep tonight.

Ozai broke the silence. He was angry. "After everything I did for you, after everything I gave you. Including your very life. This... this is what you do to me? You're going to let me die in here, alone, disgraced?"

Zuko didn't answer that.

"Whatever I did to you, to this nation... It was so long ago. I'm an old man now. You've had more than ten years to forgive me."

"And you've had just as long to apologize," Zuko said. He felt a little sick to his stomach. "But you never did." Zuko stood up. He felt like his body weight a thousand pounds as he did it. "Ozai, I have to go now. I have to go home to my wife and child. I promised myself I would treasure them in a way you didn't treasure your own family. And you have a lot of gall asking for forgiveness." He turned to leave, this time with conviction that he would not allow himself to stay.

"Promise me you'll come see me again before I go," his father called after him.

But Zuko didn't promise anything.