Neither man spoke.
The blood red colors of sunset were seeping through the thin paper walls of the western half of the palace, and the silhouettes of the blossoming cherry trees were dark against the white rice paper. The dying sunlight fell weakly like water across the faces of two men, who were kneeling, ridged on the rice mat in their thin, red Fire Nation robes. June bugs sang loudly in the trees, their voices making familiar sirens which filled the air with the sounds of sweet summers past. Outside, the world was beautiful. Outside, all was calm once more, calm as it had been one hundred years ago. But inside, inside the palace, inside his head, flashes of death and war revisited his thoughts and his eyes gazed, unseeing, his heart beat without beating, and his breath came and went, leaving him to contemplate with each new intake how so many men would never do so
again.
The man on the right closed his eyes as the cruel voice of the wind whispered through the plants outside, to mock him as his memories played back her sweet whispers of confidence before she'd left on a mission impossible.
Then all was still. He focused on his breathing. I can't hear you.
The wind came again, louder now, but still as soft as the breath of the dying...Katara, dying. I can't hear you, I can't hear you!
But he could, and the more he denied it, the more intense was his misery. I can't hear you I can't hear you I can't hear you!
"Zuko...would you let me die, as you let your father die?"
No! Katara would never say that!
"I'm alone, Zuko. I'm dying."
"Katara's still out there, Uncle!" Zuko's anger burst from inside him in loud angry words which he bellowed from his core, unable, as always, to keep his emotions on the inside, because there was too much to deal with on the inside. He was on his feet.
"Yes, she is." Iroh said softly in agreement. Zuko exhaled loudly. He wasn't supposed to agree!
"So what are we doing here?" he said, no longer shouting. "This is stupid and we're not getting anywhere. She-she could be-" He stopped.
Iroh said nothing.
"You're being selfish. You don't care about Katara!" his voice had returned to a roar and he shot up off his knees and turned his back on the old man, prepared to leave the room. But he faltered, unsure.
Iroh spoke as Zuko reached for the sliding wooden door, and his voice was soft, though firm as he said, "Katara is alright, Zuko. I promise." Zuko froze, and closed his eyes. The colors of blood and carnage flitted across his mind in that moment of vulnerability where the present was not there to occupy his mind. He let his hand fall to his side as he opened his eyes again, but he did not turn around. Didn't sit. His eyes fell upon the intricate designs on the wooden handle of the door. Iroh continued. "You have responsibility, now. You can't just leave. "
The shadows danced as the soldiers moved, quickly dogging, running, bravely fighting. The moon was high in the sky, the sun had just abandoned them. A soldier slipped away into the night, leaving behind the raging battle...
"The whole world is depending on you, as it depends on the sun to rise each day, as it depends on the tides, the birth of a new Avatar."
He'd made it in. Alone. This was his destiny. The lamps had long ago been put out, and banished Prince Zuko stepped onto the threshold of the palace for the first time since he was fourteen years old. The branches of the trees waved in the wind, beckoning him like the hands of fate. Memories, cruel and bitter-sweet that had long since forgotten their haunting were back, stabbing him like ice chills a warm neck.
He was so tired. He wanted rest. Had it really been so long since he'd curled up in that corner, the sweet smells of the pine wood filling his nose and the voice of him mother whispering tales?
But he could not rest. He had a mission.
"If you leave now, you will have failed everyone. You will have let all the men down who have so tirelessly fought for you, even died for you so that their children might live in a better world."
Stealthily he navigated the corridors, turning and taking staircases without thinking. His years of watching the hallways and passages of the palace in his dreams were paying off. The light of the moon fell through a window to cross his face, his scarred features. Voices of doubt followed him like vultures stalk their dying prey. He put a hand to the grand door. Could he do it?
Zuko clenched his fists as the memories of his father's last moments came rushing like an angry river into his aching brain, and released them, letting go of the tension inside him. With no energy to put up a proper resistance, he sighed through his nose and went to the wall across the room where he stood, his forehead against it and his fist pressed to the wall. He was so tired.
"If you leave now, who is the selfish one?"
Zuko listened to his uncle's words, but Katara's face flashed in his mind's eye. Her hair, her eyes glittering blue...the neckless, warm from the warmth of her flesh.
"I can't just let her go, Uncle. I can't just abandon her. I-" he stopped himself. I love her. He slammed his fist on the wall, willing it to break. Then his anger was gone, replaced with an emotion that was much easier for his tired mind to access : sorrow.
"Don't worry about Katara. Do you think she can't take care of herself?" Iroh adjusted his hands in his lap. He was watching his nephew intently. "You have higher priorities. The things that matter to you have to come last. You are only one person, and there are hundreds of others you have to look after."
Zuko turned to look at his uncle. He was right. You will have to put on a mask now, every day of your life. An image of the Blue Spirit's mask came lurking to the front of his mind, pulled from what felt like another lifetime, another world... A mask of fearless courage and complete wisdom.
The people will not trust you if they know you are human, capable of human emotions and mistakes, as they are. Being Firelord doesn't mean you get what you want. It means you make the most sacrifices.
He turned his attention away from the world, away from everything except his future as Firelord, forcing his mind away from his worry. It was too much to think about anyway. He couldn't deal with it.
Because there's just too much to deal with on the inside.
Moments passed.
"I'm sorry, Uncle." Zuko said softly, and he was. He was sorry for the things he'd said to his Uncle, sorry about his uncontrollable selfishness. Sorry about the people who had joined the numbers of the dead today.
Iroh said nothing, getting up to leave. His face was emotionless, unreadable.
A mask of fearless courage and complete wisdom...
He shut the door of the Sunset Room, and closed his eyes.
Such lies pouring from his lips, unstoppable. Unclean, unkind...
Relaxed his face. Tears glistened in his lined chocolate eyes that moments before had been so harsh and still in his nephews turbulent moments. Those of a torn heart.
But heknew how much she meant to him.
Something blue hung from his hand.
Betrayal. Secrecy. How would he tell him, when she did not return?
Iroh clenched her necklace tighter in his hands, wishing it weren't so cold. Cold as death, cold, as it would be forever more.