Loyal
A/N: For TikiPrincess, as part of the RLt's 2014 Spring Gift Exchange event.
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The sky was clear and bright and pale on the fresh spring morning when Lu Ten and his father set sail for the Earth Nation. As Lu Ten stood on the deck leaning his forearms against the starboard bulwark watching the waves rush past, the grinding of the engines vibrated through the thick metal under his feet and against his folded arms. The salty smell of the sea prickled in his nose, reminding him of the trips he'd taken with his father to Ember Island—the time they'd spent searching under driftwood and along the edges of tide pools for seashells. In recent years, his cousin Zuko had often joined them in the hunt, and while they always enjoyed showing off their discoveries to one another, it had never been a competition to find more or better shells. Because for General Iroh, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, nothing ever seemed to be about competition—perhaps not even the things that really should be...
Lu Ten had heard some scattered whispers amongst the nobles, soft voices and tittering giggles he likely wasn't meant to hear about how the Fire Prince was too interested in food and games, and not quite as ambitious as perhaps he should be.
But maybe it was easier for someone to relax when he was already the best in the world. Because Iroh was amazing, arguably the best living firebender, one of the best firebenders in recorded history. They called him 'The Dragon of the West,' and they feared him.
But once they'd taken Ba Sing Se and crushed the Earth Kingdom's resistance, no one would be able to call his father unambitious again.
A strong hand clapping him on the back broke Lu Ten out of his thoughts. "Lu Ten, my son, would you like to play a game of Pai Sho with me?" Iroh's smile was friendly and hopeful, his eyes warm.
"Of course, Father." Lu Ten never won at Pai Sho when he played against Iroh, but that didn't matter, because it was a joy just to play the game—to spend time with his father and learn more nuances of the different advanced techniques.
Though...just once in his life it might be nice to do something better than his father, to be better at something—for the student to surpass the teacher. Iroh was always proud of his son, but it might be nice to surprise him, to make him even prouder while humbling him a little at the same time.
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"The siege drags on," Lu Ten admitted one morning over his cup of fragrant Jasmine tea—a pleasant reprieve from the taste and feel of dust and smoke in his throat, a near-constant irritation since arriving at Ba Sing Se. It turned out the city had not in fact been named 'impenetrable city' for nothing.
General Iroh waved one hand carelessly while smiling as he sipped his own tea. "If this victory was easy, they would not need us, would they, my son?"
Lu Ten tried to hide his worry behind a mask of duty, of conscientiousness—he couldn't quite make himself share his father's cheerfully optimistic view as day after day their efforts were repeatedly and thoroughly rebuffed. "Their walls are strong. Their people are strong."
Sipping his tea again, Iroh nodded. "Very true." He set his teacup down and regarded his son soberly. "You need not have come with me, Lu Ten; the Fire Lord would like to see you married and starting a family of your own." He grinned broadly, eyes sparkling. "And I must admit I wouldn't be opposed to a grandchild or two myself."
Lu Ten ducked his head, smiling softly. "I know, Father." He tapped his fingers against the edge of his teacup, the china smooth and warm to the touch. "There will be plenty of time for that once we win the war. For now, my place is with you."
But trying to take Ba Sing Se was like trying to burn a rock—in fact, that was very nearly literally what they were doing. And it just wasn't working.
Lu Ten still heard the whispers he wasn't meant to hear, the doubts born of fatigue, the frustration of doing the same thing day after day and receiving the same discouraging results.
Some of the gossip was even more worrisome: quiet rumblings that not only would Ozai be a better Fire Lord, but that he meant to be. Would Uncle Ozai really try to steal the throne, given a chance? But the answer was only too clear: of course he would. If there was one thing Ozai was—aside from cruel—it was ambitious. He was far more like his grandfather Sozin than Iroh could ever be. Perhaps it was simple love and loyalty to his father, but Lu Ten was sure Iroh would make a far better Fire Lord. He just needed to make sure his father got that chance.
If Iroh refused to answer Ozai's ambition with ambition of his own, then maybe Iroh's son could offer his own answer.
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It wasn't a foolhardy plan, just a risky one. But this was war, and war by definition was always risky. The risks to continuing as they had been were at least as worrying, if perhaps less obvious. And if victory was easy, there would be little honour in it—a job any randomly assembled group of raw recruits could handle was hardly worthy of the Dragon of the West. Or his son.
Lu Ten's hand was steady, his movements smooth as he wrote the words. He kept the shaking inside, quiet and subdued, close to his heart. It would not do to show fear. Iroh never showed fear. Ozai never showed fear.
The smell of the ink was damp and bitter in his nose. The sturdy wood of the table was coated in a thin layer of dust. The dust covered everything here, followed him everywhere. Unpleasant, though perhaps less so than the ash and smoke produced by his own side in this war.
There was another war, one of which Iroh was perhaps unaware, but Lu Ten could win both with one decisive blow.
Then he could marry and give his father the grandchildren he wanted. They could take vacations together on Ember Island and search for seashells, letting the water tickle their bare feet as the tide washed gently across the sand. The children would be so proud to show their grandfather the treasures they'd found, and he would smile and exclaim with sincerity over each one as he always did. Lu Ten smiled at the thought. Iroh deserved that and so much more. And Lu Ten would give it to him.
Setting aside his pen, he straightened up in his chair and looked over what he'd written—characters neat and legible enough to make his old tutor proud:
To General Iroh: See you after we win the War. Your loyal son, Lu Ten.
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