He didn't know what he expected to find when he stepped into the infirmary, but he did know that his nephew has a custom of resisting the physicians' care ever since he was a child.
"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!"
It seemed like he was breaking all sorts of traditions today.
"I won't fight you!"
Zuko's head was down, staring unseeing at some miniscule point on the floor. The room was dark, devoid of anyone save for the boy. What really caught Iroh off guard, though, was the silence. It sat heavily, like early morning fog in the bay. If all was well, he should be able to hear his nephew's protests from the opposite side of the palace, but now, his lips were noticeably sealed shut. Iroh really shouldn't have been surprised. His nephew was broken.
"You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher."
Iroh sat down next to his nephew and placed a hand on his shoulder. Long ago it was Ursa's hand that would comfort him, let him know that he was still loved, and no matter what Ozai did, he still had family. As much as Iroh hated to admit it, Zuko's gone far too long without the touch of someone who cared.
"Prince Zuko." No response. Iroh racked his brain, trying to find something to say. He took a moment to really observe the boy. He was still dressed in the traditional attire for Agni Kai: no shirt, light training pants, and the arm rings on the upper bicep. The left side of his face, covered in bandages. Iroh had felt his brother's flames before; felt his brother's rage. He was willing to bet that the skin would never fully heal.
Wordlessly, Iroh began to remove the bandages. They fell to the floor with a light thump. His nephew seemed to shrink into himself as more of his skin was exposed to the air. Iroh stepped back to get a better look at him. His hair was awkwardly lopsided now, with half of it burned off., the skin secreted a yellowish puss, leaving a foul stench in the air. Zuko hadn't said a word once.
Suddenly, Iroh was struck by an idea. Iroh strode over to a dresser on the side of the room, and started rifling through the drawers. He stopped only once he found the item he needed: a razor. Then, slowly, as to not frighten him, he tread around the makeshift bed the prince was sulking on.
Iroh gently took a lock of hair, and after wetting the razor in a nearby basin of water, began cutting through it.
"Do you remember, Prince Zuko, the story of how we came to be benders?" he asked. No response.
"Long ago, the dragons, the original benders of fire, taught us the ability of how to wield the flame. How to control fire. How to be one with the fire in our mind, and in our soul." As he continued the story, more and more hair joined the bandages in an unorganized heap on the ground.
"The first men and women who learned how to bend fire; the first students of the dragons, were a group of people who started to call themselves the Sun Warriors." He paused a moment, looking at all of the hair that had fallen on the ground. Iroh refocused his efforts to combing the remaining hair.
"They believed that every person who learned the art of fire had ignited a small flame, somewhere deep within themselves, that had entwined with their souls." He pulled the last of his nephew's hair into a ponytail at the crown of his head.
"According to Sun Warrior philosophy, a warrior, a true fighter never lets their flame go out. It does not matter how hot it burns, nor how small becomes: as long as the fire of his soul is still alive, the warrior can survive anything.
"The ancient Warriors of the Sun traditionally wore their hair like this. If you ever feel the flames of your soul start to wither in the face of life, just take a look at yourself in the mirror." He placed his hands on Prince Zuko's shoulders, pointing his first finger towards the large mirror on the set of drawers.
"The warrior can survive anything, if he keeps his spirit strong. YOU can survive anything. Don't let anyone put out the flames, Prince Zuko." The prince began to shake, ever so slightly, his head still pointed down to the hands in his lap. He gently pat his nephew on the back, before packing up the razor blade and walking out of the room. Iroh deliberately chose not to look back at the sight of the boy as he left. He didn't need to.
He could already feel the flames start to burn.