Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender!
Title: Hot Leaf Juice
Summary: Iroh returns from war without his son. Zuko is missing his mother.
...
The last thing Iroh remembers before coming to in his tent is sitting vigil over his son's body, giving him those customary twenty four hours of protection from wandering spirits who may wish to devour him (it's not really a widespread tradition anymore, but Iroh knows better. He knows how the spirits work, and he refuses for his son to be their snack) before finally burying him. Perhaps it is the look in his eyes that tells the man next to him that he's more aware now, because he perks up and bows.
"It's been a month, sir," he says. "We're halfway home."
Conquering Ba Sing Se has been his dream since he was but a child. But now his child is dead, and Iroh finds himself accepting that. All of it. He will see Lu Ten again one day, in the future. The city will fall in its own time. None of that matters. What matters is that he just had to dig a hole with which to place his blood in. He is muddled and listless, thoughts circling endlessly.
More time passes. They walk day in and day out. How funny, Iroh thinks. They have walked so far, only to walk back, empty and tired.
A black ribbon hawk comes in one day. Judging by its battered feathers, it has been looking for them for a while now. His father is dead. Ozai is now Fire Lord. That should matter- and it does, to the rest of the world- but he is trapped in a world all on its own, and in said world it doesn't.
Iroh returns to the palace city with his much smaller army of men and a new weight on his shoulders; he adds more onto the already heavy burden by taking the disillusioned cheering to heart. His father had always said he was too sensitive (Ozai was too insensitive, he'd told him once, when his brother was off somewhere else), but it's hard to lose a child, as he's learning firsthand, and amongst the sea of blank faces were people who were grieving as he was. Mothers, fathers, husbands and wives. Children.
Ozai's children are alive and well. Seeing their young faces adds to the stabbing pain in Iroh's heart. He cannot remember their names. He can't remember anyone except for Lu Ten. That is too rude for him to say aloud, however, so he doesn't, greeting them with a monotone voice.
Ozai pats him on the shoulder and orders an attendant to show him to his room. It's much more than Iroh was expecting, especially considering that Ozai had every right to kill him now- as a sibling, he could very easily attempt to take the throne- there's also the small fact of his cowardice, turning his back on conquering the city they've had their eyes set on for many years- but perhaps their mother had gotten to him after all. Or maybe he is so pathetic that even one as powerful as the Fire Lord himself didn't see the point of ending him. Whatever the case may be, Iroh has no interest in pursuing an answer.
His room. There is no poetry quite as sweet as the sensation of going into a private room for the first time in over a year to lie down on a comfortable, suitable bed mat. Iroh sleeps off and on, only getting up to use the restroom. It feels like centuries, but the sun and moon tell him it's been two days. This is it, he tells himself. This is life now, forever and ever. That is, until he may finally move on and see his beloved Lu Ten again. That is a very dramatic statement, but the whole situation is dramatic, and he is allowed to entertain silly notions from time to time. That is just the way of people.
Iroh's musing are interrupted when the moon is high his second night, when a tiny fist makes a tiny knock on the door.
"Uncle? It's me."
Zuko. Iroh remembers his name now. For a brief, terrible second, he considers turning the small boy away. Why should he have to put up with his brother's children, when his own son rots? He takes in a deep breath. Those thoughts are, at best, damaging and stifling. There is grief, and then there is ignorance for other's. "Come in."
The door awkwardly slides open. Zuko is still in his bedclothes, looking even smaller without his royal tunics. Carefully balanced in his hands is a tray of food and a pot of tea. He hesitates in the doorway, sets the tray down, and bows, as Fire Nation tend to do to their elders.
"There's no need for that," Iroh says gently. "We're family, after all."
Zuko straightens. "That makes it even more necessary." He grabs the food and carefully totes it over. He picks up the kettle and pours some tea into a cup. "You need to eat, Uncle."
"Did you make this for me?" he asks, touched.
Zuko nods, then thinks it over and shakes his head. "I made the tea. The rest was the cooks."
Perhaps that's for the best. Lu Ten never got a firm grasp on cooking, and he had been much, much older than Zuko. "I appreciate the thoughtful gesture, Prince Zuko. Though I'm surprised your father hasn't commanded you and your sister to leave me alone."
"He has," Zuko replies bluntly, slipping to his knees. At his age and angle, he only goes up to Iroh's shoulder. "But you shouldn't starve yourself when there are kitchens full of food just outside your door."
There's an odd form of wisdom in that. A blunt, fumbling form, but a form nonetheless. Iroh picks up his bowl and chopsticks and takes the first bite, finding himself much hungrier than he originally thought. "The thing about grief," he says between bites, "is that it numbs you to everything. Even your own rumbling belly goes ignored."
Zuko doesn't respond to that. At least, not directly. "I know my father won't come here, and Azula doesn't care, but I can't just sit here and pretend nothing happened." He bowed low to the floor, hair brushing wood. "It wasn't right to take the throne from you. It wasn't. I'm sorry."
Iroh feels something stir in his chest for the first time in over two months. Zuko was begging for forgiveness for his father's actions. That was something only Ozai himself should do. Still, he found it in him to laugh. "Forgive? I should be thanking you!"
He looked up. "Thanking? Aren't you... mad?"
"No, no." Iroh shook his head. "The state I'm in- I'm not fit to lead our lovely nation. My brother has given me the ability to grieve at my own pace and without interruptions. For that, I am grateful."
"Oh." He was sitting up fully now, looking remarkably embarrassed by his show of weakness. "Well... good. You should... you should drink. The tea. You like tea, right?"
"Always," he promised. Iroh took a sip and forced himself not to gag. Something told him he'd never made tea before- it tasted like hot leaf juice. No heart or soul in it whatsoever. "It's very... flavorful."
Zuko smiles. He's proud of himself, and that is enough. The boy stays by Iroh's side while he eats, politely handing dishes and setting them on the tray when he's done. Iroh tries to prod him a bit, but Zuko has inherited his father's social skills- that is, to say, he has none.
Finally, he brings up something he doesn't want to say, but knows he should be made aware of. "There is an empty space at my brother's side, is there not?"
The boy freezes, bites his lip, and shakes his head. Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. Ursa is gone. Perhaps Iroh is not as alone in his silent grief as he wishes he was.
"Sit with me?" Iroh patted the spot next to him in invitation. "I'll tell you about the battle, if you'd like."
Zuko's eyes light up. He nods eagerly, scooching closer with the elegance of a stampeding elephant-rhino. "Yes, please."
Author's Note: This always happens when I re-watch Avatar. I gotta write something mildly angsty. I was originally planning on maybe making something Toph related, but I couldn't come up with anything. Also, I always write Toph, and I wanted to expand my horizons a bit. So here's little Zuko and Iroh!
-Mandaree1