A/N: Inspired by one of the greatest episodes in ATLA. Zuko goes to visit his uncle's grave.
Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA.
He had finally done it. It had taken him a while but he had finally learnt the song. He had promised him the last time he visited, that he would learn it. And now that he was ready, he practiced it to make sure he got it right. He wanted it to be perfect. He asked Aang and everyone to follow him, he would need their help if he wanted all to go well, and he would love their support.
They rode on Appa, landing him in a large green field before sliding down his side. They made the quiet walk, each shouldering their burdens and their bodies teeming with anticipation. They knew how much it would mean to him, and how much it meant to Zuko.
They stopped by a large tree, a small framed picture marking his final resting place. To the right, perpendicular to this spot with its own framed picture, lay his son, Zuko's cousin. Tears welled in Zuko's eyes as he thought of how his uncle would visit this spot every year on the anniversary of Lu Ten's death. He would go alone, it was a private affair, and one Zuko was sure was filled with sadness and regret of a life his uncle once lived. Now Zuko would honour the two of them, he would continue the tradition for the two of them.
Everyone picked up their instruments, Aang had his flute, Katara who had learnt the song on her lute and Zuko who had his Tsungi horn. Sokka, Toph and Suki held back with their heads low. Zuko started the song, playing each note perfectly as Aang and Katara joined in. His mind strayed to his time with his friends, his time in the war as the soldier boy who came marching home, though it was broken; his uncle, once a soldier boy when he was younger, who had always been there for him, guiding him spiritually until his soul came marching home to where it truly belonged; his cousin Luten, the noble and decorated soldier boy who never came home.
After one round, Zuko stopped playing but his friends continued on.
Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow
His voice was deep and carried on the wind across the grassy field. He sang with all his heart the words his uncle taught him long ago, the song to remember all the persons who had gone to war to fight valiantly for their nation, their families awaiting eagerly for them to return. Zuko sang for his family, his true family - his uncle, his voice breaking as the words fell from his mouth. His friends ignored his tears, trying to hold back their own, and continued the song as instructed.
Brave soldier boy,
Comes marching home.