Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Dedication: To friends, having free time to write, & The Avengers (& all of the reblogs on Tumblr).
Zuko has always been impatient. His blood sings like a siren for battle, calling it to him.
Recently, however, Iroh has been questioning whether his nephew, instead, was bewitched by Battle for a possible sighting of fabled Honor.
There is one particular day that stands out in his mind; he had been giving a lesson on the Water Tribes with a heavy emphasis on the Southern faction as they sailed their calm way there on the main level of their battleship. His weathered hands pointed down and out towards the sea as he talked about the vast food source it offers and how the Water Tribes use it so efficiently. Iroh was happily in the middle of a particularly wistful recounting of a certain meal he had had in the Water Tribe style a few decades before, when his father had had a few women from the Northern Tribe cooking in the royal kitchens, when Zuko interrupted.
"Uncle, we are searching for the Avatar; even if he is older than you, he has had over a century to prepare for this fight! Why do you need to teach me about their... culture? It doesn't affect us. What we need to do is focus on preparing me to capture the Avatar whenever we come upon him."
As he stared at his nephew, Iroh was painfully aware of the boy's naiveté. He had never fought in a battle, had never looked into someone's eyes as he burned their life into so much ash and dust. Zuko had not experienced the aftereffects of battle lust like he had, when he would stare at the nothing around him before leaving the survivors to try and piece their lives together again. There had been small green cottages built between hills and three-story brick apartments below a dam; he had made and seen brotherless sisters and newly childless widows.
Zuko knew nothing of battle but the glory of the stories.
He had never lived a story.
Iroh remembered the barren land surrounding the temples of the Sun Warriors, how they'd greeted him with the functional ends of their spears and how they'd allowed him to stand before the empty caves of the Firebending Masters. He had known they'd expected him to burn in the flames he'd wished to brandish. He'd learned to wield fire without the rage he saw within Zuko and his younger brother, could bend it with understanding instead.
He wondered if the young prince would ever meet the dragon and learn the true meaning of "The Dragon of the West" for himself.
He wondered if he would ever have enough compassion to outgrow their family's roots.
Calmly and most seriously, the uncle told his nephew, "You cannot destroy without knowing what you're killing. Power isn't to be used indiscriminately, Nephew. Understanding the effects of what you can do is just important as doing it, and you have to learn that before you can even hope to take the throne after your father."
The nephew scoffed and kicked an ice rock sullenly.
It is five days later, as they approach the shore of the Southern Water Tribe in pursuit of the distant beam in the sky, that Iroh feels the stir of adventure under his skin and hope that Zuko will learn.