In the years to come, he would not remember her face. Iroh would search his son — their son — for any look or gesture that wasn't his, and decide this must be Lu Ten's mother in him. But it might as well be Iroh's mother, or her mother, or some distant lineage he could not account for.
He could not remember her face. There were so many, back then.
She would have been lovely, of that he had no doubt. The Dragon of the West, first general of his father's armies, Crown Prince of the Fire Nation — there were many who sought protection or wished to curry favor, offering their homes and hospitality for the night. Well into his late thirties, his reputation ensured that Iroh's bed was rarely empty on campaign.
He would remember she was from a noble Earth Kingdom family, when the steward of their household rode into his camp in the dead of night on a fine ostrich horse. Their steward rode into his camp carrying a banner of peace and a swaddled bundle that would change his life forever.
Iroh would name him Lu Ten. A road to gallop over.
Even ten months later, he could not remember her face. A night of hard drinking had probably not helped that. But when his lieutenants escorted the dapper man with gray at his temples and a tanned face lined with severity into Iroh's spacious tent, he remembered the fine old house and the river town with its white-paved streets. A growing center of trade in a region of the Earth Kingdom which his armies had conquered only years before.
Iroh remembered a fine cup of jasmine tea with his dinner. He had asked to thank the brewer personally, only to learn it was the eldest daughter of this first family in town. He had not noticed her during the tea ceremony. He noticed then, or Iroh thought they would not have been so bold as to leave her waiting in his chamber when he retired along with his colonels and senior captains, also guests for the night.
She sat on his bed with hands folded in her lap and eyes downcast, still fully clothed in a furisode in the style of his homeland but stitched with green and gold. She looked up when he entered, and Iroh thought even then she was too young, barely old enough to be married, let alone —
He would not remember the color of her eyes even ten months later, but the sadness in them, he remembered that. She had old eyes, the ancient wisdom of her kingdom. He thought he might have said as much, maybe he only thought it. She was pale and trembling, and Iroh asked her if she really wished this. He could tell her parents what they wanted to hear, and he would show her family favor, as they had shown kindness to him.
She looked at his hands and not into his face while he spoke. She gave no answer, but surprised him when she stood to take his hand in her much smaller ones, and turn it over. She studied his palm like a diviner of fortunes, before pronouncing, "I like your hands."
She ran a slim finger down the center of his palm. When she looked into his eyes the fear was gone, and a familiar fire kindled in his belly. "They are strong and coarse," she remarked without judgment, "like a farmer's hands. Like one who works the earth."
"The calluses come from firebending," he had managed. "I train often, and spar with my men."
"I like them," she said again, and even then, she never smiled. But her mouth was soft, her skin cool beneath his callused hands…
It was a sweet night, like many that came before it and many that would come after. She was gone when he woke in the morning, and there was blood on the sheets. Iroh didn't see her again before he left her parents' house, ignoring their pointed questions. Iroh would never see her again.
He had barely thought on that night since, until the fruits of it were brought to his very doorstep. Her family's steward dressed diplomatically in black robes, knelt before Iroh in the light of coal braziers with his lieutenants arranged in an uneasy half-circle behind. He offered the swaddled bundle he carried up to Iroh, a tiny babe with round face smooth with sleep and a messy head of black hair.
"My lord general," he spoke simply, "your son." Iroh's thoughts were fuzzy and slow to resolve, and he thought he had too much to drink. Maybe he hadn't had enough.
Iroh made no move to take the baby, could only stare in bewilderment. He had no interest in being a father, any more than he had in being a husband. Leave that mundanity to other men; he had a greater destiny. Behind the steward, one of his lieutenants broke the silence with an uncomfortable cough.
It had occurred to Iroh before now that he might have sired any number of bastards. But he had never laid eyes on any of the several children claimed as his, entrusting his manservants with confirming these claims and making provision for their support. Their mothers had more sense than to send a bastard to the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, unless —
"What of — his mother?" Iroh asked slowly at last, too ashamed to admit he could not remember her face let alone her name, more fearful she had died in childbed. Even if he had forgotten her, Iroh would not want that on his conscience.
"She is to be married in the fall," the steward replied, his gaze directed respectfully at the dirt floor of Iroh's tent. The babe began to stir in his swaddling, snuffling fretfully when his sleep was disturbed by the voices around him.
"Could not some place be found for him, with her family?" Iroh asked helplessly. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his head pounded. He never asked for this.
The steward looked up at last, but Iroh was too busy watching the boy blink sleepily, his eyes the bright, vivid gold of Iroh's family. "She thought to keep him," the steward contradicted quietly. "But when she brought him forth, he had your look."
Iroh glanced down at the steward, and there was no mistaking the older man's glare. "We are but a recent acquisition to your empire," the steward spoke with slow-burning resentment. "She feared he would face persecution, or worse, in the Earth Kingdom. She hoped a man of your means might find some situation for him, in the Fire Nation. No one would look twice at him there."
"This is —" Iroh started, at a loss for words when the babe looked back with golden eyes that were a perfect mirror of Iroh's own. "I don't —"
"My wife has served as nursemaid to Lady Tamsin from her birth," the steward put forward, ignoring Iroh's fumbling. His gaze was unmistakably accusing, and Iroh could not meet it. "She labored for a day and a night with your child, and never screamed or cursed you. She only cried when they laid him on her breast and she looked into his eyes. She knew then she could never keep him.
"Would you like to hold him?" the steward asked, and Iroh startled at the abruptness of his offer. He glanced to his lieutenants as if for guidance, and perhaps mistaking his look, the oldest of the men stepped forward, gathering the baby gently from the steward's arms to lay him in Iroh's. Iroh recalled the lieutenant, Enlai, had several children of his own at home.
"My lord should support his head," the bearded lieutenant offered, arranging Iroh's bare arms to hand off the boy before he stepped back with a respectful bow. The baby cooed contently, not seeming to mind the change in position or the cool silk of the sleeping vest Iroh wore.
It had been many years since Iroh last held a baby, his brother Ozai in fact, now almost a man grown… "Poor, motherless child," his nursemaid had whispered tearfully, while a stricken Iroh rocked his fractious brother in vain attempt to soothe him. Ozai was a colicky baby, red-faced and squalling, born a Moon's turn early and years too late to their mother, Fire Lady Ilah.
New to his post in the Fire Army, Iroh had not been home on leave for months. His mother had barely been showing when she hugged Iroh goodbye for the last time, tearfully entreating him to come home safe to her, to them both. She was a fond and affectionate mother, and had taken Iroh's posting very hard.
Iroh knew she had suffered repeated miscarriages in his youth, trying to provide another heir to the Burning Throne. Father was matter-of-fact about her pregnancy, but Iroh thought he only acted cold and distant outwardly because he was afraid to hope. His mother though, had never stopped hoping. And in the end, she never held her second son. She never even saw him.
Iroh arrived home on planned leave only to find Azulon sequestered with his generals and admirals in high-level war meetings, his mother's ashes cold in the royal crypt, and his new brother a virtual orphan. Azulon held her funeral without him, had not even written Iroh upon his mother's death.
Part of Iroh was glad he could remember her as she appeared at their last parting, radiant with happiness. Part of Iroh resented that he had not been there to lay her to rest. She was his mother. He should have been there. He should have been there…
"His father hasn't even looked at him," the nurse sniffled when Iroh handed the babe back with a tired sigh, barely audible over its continued crying. "Not once."
Sometimes Iroh wondered how much happier Ozai might be, if he had ever known a mother's love. "General Iroh," his lieutenant's voice intruded, "what are your orders?"
Poor, motherless child, Iroh thought looking down on this new little one. But when he closed his eyes, it was Ozai he remembered, face screwed up against his tears, his skinny body wedged into one of the narrow back stairs used by the servants —
Why are you hiding? I'm not! Where did you get those bruises? In training, I train all the time! One day I'll be just as good as you, and Father — and Father…
Iroh's mind was working too slow. He had had too much to drink. Maybe he hadn't had enough. "Provide this man an armed escort back to his family's estate." The roads are not safe in these parts, Iroh remembered. "And six day's pay," he calculated the distance, "for his trouble."
The steward stood but made no move to leave, watching Iroh expectantly. His lieutenants exchanged uncomfortable glances. When the silence stretched and Iroh did not hand the baby back, the steward volunteered, "Goat's milk will keep him, for a time. But he will need a wet nurse soon."
"Alright," Iroh sighed, and his men began to lead the steward out. His headache worsened when the baby began to cry piercingly, maybe distressed at being separated from a familiar face. Could babies even remember faces? It took years before Ozai learned to recognize him.
"Wait!" Iroh stopped the steward on his way out, and the lieutenants halted with him. "What is his name?" He shifted the wailing infant helplessly, to no effect.
"That is for Your Highness, or whosoever you appoint, to decide." The black-robed steward took his leave with a shallow bow, fist clasped in hand in the style of his people.
"I will leave the goat," he gestured out the tent flap at the beast tethered to a stake in the ground beside his ostrich horse. "And my sling to carry him." He removed a length of black cloth slung across his chest and hung it on a post by the tent flap.
Lieutenant Enlai lingered at the threshold when the rest of Iroh's lieutenants led the steward out. He watched Iroh hold the squirming child out at arm's length, before volunteering, "General Iroh, with respect, the boy will need a crib, cloth diapers and bottles…"
"Would you —" Iroh tried to ask over the baby's squalling, and the lieutenant snapped off a smart salute. "I would be honored to help, General Iroh."
"And call a meeting of my senior staff in the morning," Iroh yelled after him belatedly. We will have to discuss some changes around here…
The baby kept crying when Iroh carried him, still held at arm's length like that would spare his eardrums in the least, into the interior of his tent. The braziers were freshly lit, casting orange firelight on his luxuriant camp bed and paid companion of the last two nights. Besides lighting the coal braziers, the buxom girl had tied her green, sleeveless robe back in place and sat up in bed waiting his return.
Her oval face lit up at the sight of the bundle he carried. "Who is this?" she cooed, standing from the camp bed and holding out her arms for the baby, which Iroh gratefully handed off to her.
"Yours?" she asked easily, holding the baby up to her shoulder to rub a brisk hand up and down his back, making little shushing sounds in his ear until he quieted.
Iroh nodded numbly, but she barely seemed to notice when she shifted the babe to the crook of her arm, and its mouth closed upon her breast. "Oh, he's definitely yours alright," she laughed and winked at him, and Iroh flushed crimson, unaccountably embarrassed.
"You … like children?" Iroh asked slowly in surprise.
"I have five brothers and sisters at home," she spoke archly, still smiling at the baby. "You think I do this for fun?"
"Er…"
She looked up at last with a hint of impatience, nodding to the infant in her arms. "He's hungry."
"I'll go get him some goat's milk," Iroh hurriedly excused himself.
He found someone who actually knew how to do that, and slept off his hangover in another tent.
"You look like hell."
Flames crackled in the trough before his father's throne. Iroh knew better than to answer that, knelt with his forehead touching the the gleaming tile floor until Azulon parted the flames and descended the shallow stair to join him. He sat back on his heels to see the Fire Lord looking down on him, with arms crossed in his flowing sleeves and a smirk upon his ancient lips.
"Is this how fatherhood suits you?"
And Iroh paused, weighing his words. "What have you heard?"
"That you left the occupation of Yi Ti when an Earth Kingdom steward rode into the camp with your bastard son. You brought the child here and asked for an audience with me." He smiled thinly at the surprise Iroh didn't hide quickly enough.
"You are my son and heir," Azulon chided him casually. "Do you imagine you have any secrets from me?"
"Father, I did not intend —"
"You thought to get ahead of this," Azulon dismissed with flick of his veined hand, in a tone that clearly communicated, You're going to have to do better than that. "You intended to tell me your own version of events, for your own purpose. Your intention is obvious." The Fire Lord walked a slow circle around his son. "Your purpose, less so."
His father paused behind him, but Iroh did not take the invitation to speak. He was too tired for this, and his courage flagged as it always did when confronted with his father's judgment. Old habits died hard.
"Tell me, Prince Iroh," Azulon addressed the back of his head, "are you a farmer, to spread your seed so indiscriminately in the dirt?"
Iroh cringed when the Fire Lord came back around, looking down on him in the firelight. "For a man of your station to take mistresses and father bastards, even among the nobility, is not unexpected," Azulon pointed out, and Iroh squashed the mutinous thought, You would know.
"That you seem to prefer the low women of our subject nation almost exclusively, is less expected. Even your frequent absence on campaign is not enough to account for it," his father grumbled. "The whispers reach me even here: The court, the nobles, the people, call it unbefitting a prince of the Fire Nation, unpatriotic even. They say you have gone native, sleeping with the enemy. What will they say now, I wonder, to your latest stunt?"
Iroh had no answer for him, except that this was not — could never be — a stunt. He knew his father wouldn't care.
Azulon considered him a moment longer in silence. And then he spoke, "I would make you a brilliant marriage."
Iroh's eyes sprang wide in the semidarkness. "Father please, I crave your indulgence!" he burst out, as he had not since he was a little boy. Azulon's smirk settled somewhere closer to a sneer. "I am your loyal son," Iroh protested, still knelt before him. "I serve you faithfully in court and on the field of battle. I have brought glory to our family and our nation. Please do not ask this of me."
"You were born to royalty, Prince Iroh," his father reminded coldly, with arms crossed in his flowing sleeves. "A privilege that comes with many responsibilities, not least of which is to continue the line. Do you think you should be excused from one duty because you have fulfilled the other?"
"No," Iroh admitted, even if that was exactly what he hoped. "I only wanted —" He stopped, and Azulon looked down on him in the crackling of the fire before the throne.
"Still…" the Fire Lord spoke at last, after a pause long enough to make Iroh sweat. "She is too young as yet, and by the time she is old enough to bear children safely —" His father exhaled loudly in exasperation, and Iroh allowed himself to hope he might be spared.
"You are almost thirty years her senior," Azulon finally dismissed, lifting a hand to stroke the tails of his long mustache. "Between your own predilections and the age difference — It needs another way," his father admitted, almost to himself. Iroh tried not to let his relief show.
"Your boy's mother is noble-born," Azulon switched tacks abruptly, and Iroh blinked in trepidation. "Did you know her family is descended from the 46th Earth King, a distaff branch?"
"Her steward said —" Iroh stumbled, cast back into a state of mild panic. "Father, she is to be married in — in the fall…"
His father snorted with disdain, stepping aside with hands clasped behind his back, still military-straight despite his age. "Get up, boy, and take a deep breath. She will never be married to you."
Iroh climbed to his feet in the shifting light to face him, at a loss. His father seemed to grow more unpredictable with each passing year, and Iroh had never been able to guess what he was thinking.
"What will you do with the boy?" Iroh stopped at the question he knew was coming, one he still had no firm answer to. It was true, these past two weeks had been the longest, the hardest, the most sleepless in recent memory —
"He might be raised to the royal guard, if he proves to be a firebender." Azulon offered casually, and Iroh's mouth twisted with distaste.
He knew past Fire Lords, his father included, had taken this option with a select few of their baseborn sons. The thought of Iroh's own flesh and blood living so close, but a virtual stranger, any one of the faceless horde of imperial firebenders who stood in ready defense and silent witness to their lives — It was repellent.
Azulon smiled thinly at his reaction. "But this is no peasant's get, is it? An aristocratic bastard — If his true origins were ever discovered, there might be those who would use him against us…"
But Iroh was only half-listening, remembering the night before he took ship for the Fire Nation. He had been lucky enough to find a wet nurse for the boy on short notice, only to give in to temptation and tumble her. An error in judgment, he would realize too late, when she left him in a fit of jealousy with a wailing infant he was wholly unsuited to care for.
Iroh didn't sleep a wink, tried everything he could think of to get the boy to stop crying, and failed. Until a lonely moment in the darkest part of the night found Iroh in his royal cabin, crying as long and as loudly as the babe he held. He hadn't cried for years, not since — He hadn't cried for years, and when he did at last, it felt like coming home.
"Perhaps it would be wiser, after all, not to keep the boy so close," his father mused. But his old eyes watched his son intently. "He could be fostered out to a cadet branch of our family on Shu Jing —"
"No," Iroh surprised them both by speaking up, and the Fire Lord raised his eyebrows mildly.
"No?" Azulon echoed, in the silky tone Iroh knew too well presaged his anger.
Iroh drew drew a deep breath, remembered the darkest part of the night… "No."
"Then you would keep him?" Iroh remembered how the boy stopped crying before he did — "You would raise him yourself, as your heir?" — the guileless gold eyes that looked up at him without judgment, only an absolute trust, the little fist that closed around his finger when Iroh fixed the fold of his blanket…
"Yes," Iroh managed to speak, though his heart felt so full. "I would."
"You cannot take a bastard for your heir."
Iroh looked up at his father and a new resolve straightened his spine, though Azulon would always have the advantage on him in height, in a hundred other ways. But the Fire Lord just spread his hands in the warm light of the Burning Throne, and Iroh was taken aback.
"So I suppose you leave me no choice — but to legitimize him."
"Father…" Iroh whispered in astonishment. "This is — I don't — thank you."
"I do not act for your sole benefit, but the advancement of our family and the good of our nation," his father reminded, as he would. Azulon wagged a finger at him in warning. "And if I am to adjust my plans for your shortcomings, I expect you to do your part.
"Your boy might bring the hybrid vigor we need to combine the lines successfully." Iroh blinked, unknowing what lines were to be combined or even what hybrid vigor was. "But the Earth in his blood must not out, do you understand?" the Fire Lord warned him, before Iroh could think too deeply into it. He nodded reflexively. "It is for you to ensure he grows to be a credit to our name, and not a liability."
"I understand." With those eyes, Iroh thought the boy was sure to be a firebender. The rest would sort itself out.
"Then welcome to fatherhood, Prince Iroh," Azulon glibly congratulated him. The corners of his long mustache twitched with what might almost be a smile, if he were anyone else. "If you will take the advice of an old hand, pass the boy off to your servants and get some sleep, before the nearest solid surface finds you. You can talk to my chamberlain in the morning, to make arrangements for his household."
"Thank you, Father," Iroh accepted his dismissal, kneeling again to touch his forehead to the tile floor in obeisance. He rose and took his first steps from the throne room, his first steps down a new road that led he knew not where.
"He has your look," Azulon spoke behind him, and Iroh stopped, turned back in surprise. But his father was the Fire Lord. He knew everything that went on inside these walls, and outside of them. If Azulon wanted to see his grandson, he would see him.
"What will you call him?"
Iroh thought a moment, though he had known from the night his son arrived at camp. "Lu Ten."
"An old name, and a rare one. Prince Lu Ten," Azulon tried it out, and nodded once. "It will suit."
Iroh didn't think to tell his brother until the next day. An error in judgment, he would realize too late. He forgot how quickly gossip spread within the Fire Palace.
Iroh sought Ozai first in his chambers, only to be advised by his manservants that the young prince was training. But when he walked the torchlit halls to the Agni Kai arena where his brother liked best to train, the twin whores blocked his way.
"You are welcome home, Crown Prince Iroh," said one of them, in the honeyed tones Iroh learned so early to despise. Lo or Li, he could never tell, nor did he care.
"But you might be advised to come back later," the other warned, to the sound of Ozai's fire blasts rebounding off the stone of the open-roofed chamber through the archway behind them, his shout of frustration…
"Prince Ozai does not wish to receive company."
Iroh looked on them with undisguised hatred. The pale whores wore modest black silks about the palace now, since middle-age began to take its toll on their faces and figures. They did not dress so modestly when his mother was alive. Iroh still remembered how they made her cry with their despicable wantonness, their insolence. He would never forget.
"You would warn me away from my own brother, slut?" Iroh spat at one of them, though it had been years since his father took either to bed. If the rumors were to be believed, Azulon liked to have them both at once.
His father's favorite concubines. But they had never given him sons, and they never would. He looked the other one full in the face. "You forget your place."
"Never, Prince Iroh." They stepped aside with identical poisonous smiles on their powdered faces. "So long as you are here —" They bowed in unison, their manicured hands arranged in mocking flame salutes.
"— to remind us."
Iroh stormed past them into the stands of the arena where Ozai moved sharply through his forms, still seething. Iroh had wanted them gone for years. But even when Azulon tired of Lo and Li, they remained as madams of his harem and caretakers of his second son — a position they simply inserted themselves into and then proved impossible to dislodge.
Ozai stopped momentarily and shot a baleful glare up at his older brother in the fall of sunlight, before launching back into his kata with renewed ferocity. Iroh watched him while he descended the stone steps to the arena. Ozai bent with skill and power. Iroh thought he would attain the rank of Master soon, if he hadn't already.
Bare to the waist, sweat shone on his skin and his long hair flew freely as the fire from his fingertips. Iroh would always remember him as that skinny little boy, all knees and elbows. But Ozai had grown into a handsome young man, handsomer by far than bluff Iroh, and well-built. He should have every nobleman's daughter in Caldera competing for a place in his bed…
Instead Ozai had two dried-up harlots to dog his every step.
Iroh had complained about them to his father, bitterly, and more than once. He did not like Lo and Li around his brother, putting on their airs, stoking his violent temper, whispering in his ear… They were — inappropriate with Ozai. Iroh had seen it, and his brother admitted as much, uncaring of the dishonor. Or maybe just ignorant of it.
Their own mother would never use Ozai thus. Azulon had laughed, actually laughed, when Iroh told him. His father seemed to grow more unpredictable with each passing year, and Iroh had never been able to guess what he was thinking.
Maybe Azulon didn't believe him. Maybe he just didn't care. And Iroh — Iroh hated as he had not since his father burned his mother's body with never a word to him…
But Iroh was careful to smooth the scowl from his face before he reached Ozai. His brother's temper burned hot enough for both of them, and Ozai seemed to feed off people's anger sometimes, in a way that was probably unhealthy and certainly not conducive to their sibling bond. So Iroh put on a smile and tried to think happier thoughts.
"Good morning, Brother!" he called out. Iroh waved uselessly when Ozai stopped mid-form only to turn from him, making instead for a manservant in the crimson smock of his station, waiting with a tray of hot towels at the near end of the arena.
Ozai stood with his back turned to Iroh beside a burning coal brazier, scrubbing at his face and neck before he threw the used towel at his manservant, to order shortly, "Leave us."
"Yes, my prince." The old man caught the towel and hastily took his leave. Ozai still wouldn't look at him.
"Your bending has improved since —" Iroh cringed in self-consciousness that he could not remember the last time he saw Ozai bend, let alone the last time they had trained together. Iroh was always away on campaign. "Since the last time I saw you," he finished lamely.
His brother spoke at last, almost too low to make out, "It's been a long time." The silence stretched horribly before Ozai faced him, to offer stiffly, "I hear congratulations are in order."
"Yes!" Iroh seized on the happy news, remembering why he came here. He never knew what to say to his brother. "I have a son."
"Father legitimized him," Ozai sounded like he was being strangled. "He is your heir now."
"Yes…" Iroh confirmed, his brow furrowing at Ozai's reaction. His brother did not seem nearly as happy as Iroh thought he would be at the new addition to their family. He stood straight before his younger brother, much the taller of the two, and fixed his smile back in place. "I wondered if you would like to meet him?"
"Why?" Ozai demanded harshly, and Iroh was taken aback.
"Because … you are his uncle."
"His unc—" Ozai cut off, barked out a bitter laugh. "I am an uncle dozens of times over!" he burst out. "Do you think I don't know you have bastards in every corner of the Earth Kingdom? I'm not a child!" He indicated himself with a furious gesture, though he could not be much older than sixteen. Or was it seventeen?
"Ozai…" Iroh stared at him. "I don't —"
"What's so special about this one?" His brother was actually shouting now. "Tell me!"
Iroh let his demand die to silence, before offering simply, "He needs me." I need him.
"He needs you," Ozai echoed, his voice hollow, his gaze unblinking and so accusing Iroh could barely meet it. All the anger seemed to have drained from him with those words, but Iroh knew how deceiving that appearance could be. The silence stretched horribly.
"Everyone says you're so great," Ozai whispered bitterly at last and turned to leave, to spare Iroh that awful look. His shoulders set with tension in the morning light. "But you're a blind fool."
Iroh couldn't let it end like this, not a moment of such import… "Brother, wait!" he tried helplessly, "I don't understand —"
"I was your heir!" Ozai lashed out, turning on him with tears in his eyes and a fire blast that Iroh barely dissipated in time. "Did that ever occur to you?"
Iroh looked on his brother in shock, hands still raised in readiness even when Ozai's anger crumbled to despair. "You never even thought of it…" his brother realized. He looked like Iroh had physically struck him.
The tears fell when his handsome face twisted with rage. "You never even think of me!"
Iroh didn't try to stop him this time, when Ozai stormed out one of the corner archways behind the stands. The fire in the braziers at their end of the arena flared with his exit, and Iroh looked up to see a few of his father's imperial firebenders gathered at the top of the stands looking down, probably drawn here by Ozai's shouting.
Iroh had a bad feeling about this.
His brother was leaving today.
Iroh stood at the docks holding Lu Ten, with his father beside him and a retinue of imperial firebenders behind. The babe blinked his golden eyes peacefully, unusually quiet in contrast to the crowds who turned out to see Ozai depart on his royal mission.
They had probably also turned out in no small part to catch a glimpse of their new prince. Azulon introduced him as the only son of an obscure noblewoman whom Iroh had married in secret, only for her to die tragically in childbirth.
He neglected to mention she was Earth Kingdom, just like he neglected to mention she was actually still alive. If anyone thought to question the word of their Fire Lord, no one was brave enough to say so out loud.
Iroh supposed this constituted Lu Ten's first public appearance. The babe smiled toothlessly up at him when Iroh bent his head, to tickle the boy with his whiskers. Lu Ten's little hands snatched at Iroh's beard with a grip that grew stronger and more dexterous every day. Iroh could tell he would have a firm handshake, he would grow to be a big, strong boy…
Iroh desisted in his tomfoolery at the look Azulon shot him, to stand straight and soberly at the parting of the guard. Ozai approached them under a sultry white sky, dressed in ceremonial armor that made his broad frame look even more intimidating and flanked by his own escort. He took a knee before their father. And Iroh's stomach dropped with guilt, when his brother did not so much as look at him.
Not an hour after their one-sided argument, Iroh learned Ozai had been called before their father in the throne room. Whatever answers he gave must not have satisfied, because Azulon had the young prince confined to his quarters afterward, with only Lo and Li to attend him.
Iroh was appalled that Azulon would put his own son under house arrest. If he were not my son, he would be rotting in the palace dungeons right now, their father had coldly replied. But Iroh had pleaded his case: It was a moment of anger, an error in judgment, no more. Ozai was young, he would learn.
Azulon was adamant, I will not have him near your son. And Iroh was shocked speechless at his implication. Ozai's anger was with Iroh, with his oversight, not the boy. Lu Ten was an innocent; who would take issue with him?
Their father was unmoved. Ozai destroyed everything he touched, Azulon insisted. I did not take this chance on your boy only for him to ruin the whole enterprise.
Iroh tried once more, Then let me take Ozai with me on campaign. He was eager to make his name, hungry for glory and acclaim, that was all. He was not much younger than Iroh had been, when he enlisted.
The Fire Lord looked cruelly amused at the prospect. You think he would take orders from you? And Iroh lost patience at last, Then place him with someone else! But do not keep him shut away here, Father — He is stifling!
Azulon considered him impassively behind the banked fires of his throne, when Iroh argued, He only wants a chance to prove himself. He only wants a task worthy of a prince.
And his father had smiled grimly. A task worthy of a prince? I have just such a task…
Oh Agni. It was no wonder Ozai hated him.
"Prince Ozai," their father spoke to his bowed head, in a booming voice that carried to the throng of nobles and commoners arrayed to watch the spectacle. "You leave today on a sacred mission your father and grandfather have borne before you. You leave today in search of the Avatar, the last airbender."
Those gathered near them erupted into whispered speculation and muted exclamations of surprise. This was the first public announcement of the nature of Ozai's mission — in truth, his exile. Iroh and Ozai and everyone watching knew he would return home only upon his father's orders or with the ancient demigod in chains. Iroh hoped he was the only one who wondered which prospect was likelier to come first…
"Thank you, Father," Ozai stiffly replied, his gaze downcast. He sounded like he was strangling again, and Iroh's heart ached for him.. "I am proud to serve you and our nation."
Azulon looked sternly on his second son, but mercifully lowered his voice to rejoin, "Your pride was ever your downfall, Prince Ozai."
His brother grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut against anything ill-advised he might have been thinking of saying, or doing, and climbed to his feet instead. He stood straight before their father, his shoulders set as if waiting for a blessing that would never come.
"Say goodbye to your brother," Azulon dismissed him irritably.
Ozai merely glanced at him. "Goodbye."
"You must write to me often!" Iroh tried for a smile. He shifted a sleepy Lu Ten to his shoulder to clasp Ozai's gauntleted arm, in the closest thing to a hug he judged safe to attempt right now. "Tell me of all your adventures, all the exotic places you have seen…"
Ozai just looked at him. By gods, his brother had a look that could peel paint off the hull of an Empire-class Fire Nation battleship. Iroh removed his hand.
"I hope we will see each other again soon." He meant it. But his brother's face said it all, though Ozai did not speak a word. Keep hoping.
Iroh glanced to their father in consternation. He wondered if Azulon had expressly ordered Ozai not to speak unless he was bid, only to find the old Fire Lord watching his sons with a viscious satisfaction that put Iroh's doubts quickly to rest.
Ozai bowed once more to their father with a smart flame salute, before climbing the gangplank to the ship that would take him away from the Fire Nation, to his waiting crew.
He would be fine, Iroh reassured himself. It was a fine ship crewed with veteran sailors, too large and well-armed to be a tempting target for pirates, too ostentatious to allow Ozai to sneak up on any threats he was ill-prepared to handle.
His brother would be comfortably housed in the central pagoda. He would be free of the poisonous influence of his twin caretakers, who would remain behind at the palace. Iroh had managed that much for his good.
His brother would be fine. Azulon would relent when he found some fresh use for Ozai. And his home and his family would still be here waiting for him.
Iroh shifted a fretful Lu Ten to the crook of his arm, and put on a parting smile Ozai would not even see. His brother didn't look back, just disappeared behind the high rail of his ship, as he disappeared from Iroh's life.
This headcanon took up residence in my head, and I felt compelled to explore it. (The plot line of my main story, Dominion, has only allowed the opportunity to hint at this so far.) Iroh does not strike me as the marrying kind, we never learn anything about Lu Ten's mother, presumably his wife... So it occurred to me, what if she wasn't?
Iroh was not always the sage family man we saw in canon. Before Lu Ten's death he writes a letter home from the war front, joking to his family about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground. His hedonism and petty theft are played for comedy, as is his casual flirting and wandering eye ... and hands. *cough*June*cough* All of this points to a rather different person than we are presented in canon, hence my theory of Iroh's "reckless youth" (and adulthood).
I wondered how this would affect Lu Ten, growing up without a mother, with a father whose character might not predispose him toward fatherhood. Everyone knows how dramatically Lu Ten's death changed Uncle Iroh. I wanted to explore how Lu Ten's life changed him, too.
I've planned two more installments subsequent to this one, and will release them as I complete them. Special thanks go to my regular beta reader, Meneldur, for proofing and providing input on this short story, as well as Dominion. I hope to have more for you and my readers soon!
And please leave a review! I'd love to hear your thoughts and questions :-)