It was only a momentary distraction. Iroh just wanted to sneak a glance at the young earthbender he had encountered on his journey. But it was a fatal one, all the same.
General Iroh, the great dragon of the west, fell as the flames streamed from Azula's knuckles and struck him right on the chest — just above his heart.
Zuko was horrified. And it showed; on his face, in the clench of his fists, and lastly through the yell of shock and terror that escapes his lips.
And that is how he finds himself by his uncle's side after Azula has escaped, the avatar's group towering over him.
"Go away!" Zuko screams at the waterbender, covering his uncle's body with his own. Never in a thousand years would he have expected to be yelling such a thing, but his mind is blurred with grief. "Leave! Get away from me! Stay away from him!"
His heart lurches. And he's suddenly terrified. Terrified that they'll hurt him — hurt his uncle.
And why wouldn't they? He's helpless right now, isn't it? It wouldn't hurt to just off him and his hapless uncle right now as revenge for his chasing them to the ends of the earth, right?
She steps forward. "Please, I can heal your-"
The girl blanches as he blasts fire at them, and they quickly flee the scene.
Zuko hardly cares. Right now, he is overwhelmed by loss and grieving and so many other conflicting emotions. He puts his head in his hands, and sobs. He feels defeated. He feels distraught.
He feels hopeless.
"Uncle," he whispers. "Uncle, please be alright."
"Zuko..." the aged man speaks, and his weakened voice gives Zuko a feeling he hasn't had in many years..
...relief.
"Uncle!" He exclaims, hands falling away from his tear filled eyes. "Uncle, are you okay?"
Quivering as he does so, Iroh brings his hand to his chest - just bellow his heart. Right over the place where Azula's fire struck.
He shakes his head and closes his eyes, and Zuko's heart drops to his stomach.
It is a shake that means so much more then just "No, I'm not okay".
It is a shake that means "No, I won't survive this".
Zuko's eyes widen. "Uncle? Uncle, no!" He shouts, realising that his uncle's breaths are becoming more slow; more relaxed. He is about to fall asleep. "Uncle, you can't sleep!"
His arm belts out to shake his uncles shoulder - to keep him from sleeping for he might never wake up, and he is so, so scared that he will never wake up- but the wrinkled fingers of the older man's hand wrap around his wrist.
"Zuko, as long as you are alright, I am too," the retired general says, and his voice is hoarse but firm and powerful- the voice of a dying dragon. "But you and I both know how this will end."
Zuko clenches his teeth.
"I lied. I lied," he says, again and again and again, because he doesn't want his uncle to miss these words. "I need you. I /need/ you. I need my uncle. Please, uncle, don't..."
Zuko is crying now - full out crying.
"Zuko-"
"NO!" Zuko roars - his voice fierce and ragged. "NO! YOU AREN'T! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE!"
Iroh brings Zuko's hand to his chest - right over the wound.
"That is what I said to Lu Ten," Iroh says. His amber orbs meet Zuko's gold ones, and Zuko is reminded of the first time he saw a flickering, dying fire. But this feels more real - and Zuko immediately knows what a real dying fire looks like.
"But you aren't Lu Ten!" Zuko says firmly. Because he isn't. Lu Ten is dead. Iroh is alive. Alive. Alive. Iroh is alive.
Zuko makes those three words his mantra.
Iroh is alive.
Iroh is alive.
Iroh is alive.
"Take this, Zuko," Iroh whispers hoarsely, pressing something like a wooden coin into his palm. Zuko doesn't even look at it, staring intently at his uncle as If trying to burn the image into his mind. "Look for an old man sitting at a Pai Sho table, place it in the middle and say that I sent you."
Zuko can only guess what it is, and his fist clenches around it. "No. I don't have to say that, because I know you'll be there with me."
Iroh takes his hand back. Tears are pooling at the corner of his eyes as he turns away from Zuko, and up towards the sun.
"I-I can see...him..." He says, barely audible. "Lu Ten, my son...you've come for me..."
The old man reaches up, towards the sun. And then his hand goes limp; his arm falling in Zuko's lap.
The fire in his eyes is dead. All dead. Zuko makes a strange sound — somewhere between a whimper and a sob.
And then he breaks down - really, truly.
He collapses to the ground, screaming out in pain. Pain thicker then when he obtained his scar. True, searing agony.
He feels like an eight year old — throwing a tantrum.
Beating his fists bloody on the rocky ground, crying in rage and sorrow and pain and - and hatred.
He rolls over onto his back and shouts and yells and screams and sobs and sobs and sobs and keeps on sobbing.
"Why?! AGNI, WHY?!" He yells at the sky - at the sun - at everything he's ever known. "Are you punishing me? Huh? I've taken on your trials — all of them! My father burnt my face and - and banished me and you've taken everything! My mother, my birthright, my honor...Couldn't you let me keep this. One. Thing?!"
He stills, panting. He is out of rage but not out of tears. Not out of grief.
And suddenly, he's hit with the raw realisation that he is alone. All alone in this cold, cruel world. He whimpers and folds into himself, weeping.
"Why?" He whispers. "Why, Agni? Haven't I given enough? I've taken every hit you've thrown at me...why must you take him away?"
Time seems to unfurl around him, as does his whole world. He is a hurt, lonely, teenage boy with enough angst to fill a fire nation war ship.
He knows. Knows what he must do. A traditional fire nation funeral involves burning the body and scattering the ashes.
He doesn't know how he'll go on alone, but another thing he does know is that he must leave something in this abandoned place — some kind of mark that the dragon of the west died in this village.
But, he can worry about that later.
And he will worry about that later.
For now, he must deal with burning the body. He looks around at the abandoned village. He's sure no one will miss a few planks of rotting wood, so he sets to work. Building the pyre around his uncles body is hard, tiring work, and Agni's beams draw beads of sweat from his skin.
But, when he is done, he is rewarded with a satisfying little coffin made of wood. For a while he stares at it.
It seems as if his uncle is safe. As if he is protected by that wood.
Zuko lights a fire in his bloody palm — bright and orange and flickering with life. Sniffing shamelessly, he swings his arm and the flame licks his uncle's pyre.
He only stares passively as his whole world crashes and burns around him. As silent tears slide down his cheeks.
It is almost beautiful - in a fierce, ironic way - as Zuko stumbles away from the burning body. Dark, morbid smoke seeping out of the bright orange fire and a shadowy silhouette trekking away as the flames billow into the sky; up towards the sun.
He doesn't even realize the song he is singing until his voice cracks.
But when he does realize, he doesn't stop. He carries on until the end of the song and continues his descent into the trees; the forest surrounding the village.
"Leaves from the vine, falling so slow.
Like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam.
Little soldier boy-"
And at this his breath hitches with a sob. It is almost in a whisper that he finishes the song.
"Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy, comes marching home."
He is nearing a river, and as he reaches it, his knees buckle, and his legs foul, bringing him down to the ground. He kneels at the riverside, sobbing.
An hour or maybe two later, he is still at the same river, his knees sunken into the mud and his legs numb from misuse. The moon has already begun it's steady ascent into the sky, and his only useful tear duct has all dried out.
"Well, Agni. Now I have nothing. Are you happy now? Happy that I am alone?" Zuko sniffs and looks down at the water. His face is red, his eyes swollen and bloodshot, from the tears.
He smashes his clenched hand into the cool liquid to rid the surface of his reflection, and his fists are covered with clotted blood and dirt. The water ripples. He refuses to see himself right now.
Alone.
He is alone.
All alone.
By the time the moon is at it's highest peak, the scarred boy is rolled into a tight ball and fast asleep. His fist is still tightly clenched around the white lotus tile, his knuckles white from the somewhere deep into the spirit world, a newly reunited father and son watch the sleeping boy; the older man sighs, the younger man frowns.
Authors Note: Yeah, yeah. I know. Zuko's a bit OOC. Sorry about that. Orz.
Disclaimer: If I owned avatar, I wouldn't own avatar. Try and puzzle that out BI