As Zuko writhes under the Fire Lord's fiery touch, Iroh can't bear to see his brother's rage, his nephew's agony. Listening to Zuko's screams, he thinks of the cliffs on Ember Island, the way the wind shrieks through the rocks and spires towering above the ocean. It sounds just like a boy on fire.
The girl beside Iroh glows at the sound. His gut churning at the acrid stench of charred flesh wafting towards the onlookers, Iroh grips his niece's hand and tugs her away from the brutality wrapped in the trappings of honor. Azula drags her feet, but allows Iroh to pull her along. He doesn't slow his steady pace until he pulls her behind a gilded marble column.
"You are not safe here," he whispers.
Azula's smirk chills him, the red pillar reflected in her eyes. "Father says that I'm the lucky one. Not like Zuzu."
"Like a catgator lying in wait, Ozai can strike again at any time, at any target. Your mother asked me to protect you and Zu—"
"Mother should've stayed here if she wanted to protect us," Azula snaps, drawing herself up and casting a withering glance at her uncle. "Instead of sending a doddering fool to look out for us."
Iroh does not scowl or murmur apologies. Rather, he smiles, a melancholy affair ready to spill from his eyes onto his cheeks. "Princess Azula," he says, hating the way his voice echoes in this musty air, a chorus of Ozais snaking back to mock his earnestness. "I will protect you from dangers seen and unseen, if only you will let me."
She huffs with all the impatience of a child dragged away from a party. "If I say yes, can I go back to the courtyard?"
Iroh nods solemnly.
"Fine." With a wave of her hand, she spins free of his grip and skips back to watch her brother fall from grace.
His ship ready to sail tomorrow, Zuko sleeps one more evening in his own bed. Iroh sits at his side, smoothing salve across the boy's face each time he stirs. Each whimper reminds Iroh of his own hand in Zuko's demise. He should've known that the prince was not strong enough to weather a council meeting like that.
I will not allow Azula to meet this fate, he resolves. He must protect her, and in doing so, protect the future of the Fire Nation. Without him, madness will overtake balance. So he stays at the palace even as his nephew faces banishment and the impossible quest of finding the Avatar.
"I am sorry, my son. If only I could have protected you." Pressing a kiss to his nephew's ruined forehead, Iroh bows his head and weeps.
The first letter from Zuko is brief. Iroh savors every word, thanking the spirits that his nephew is safe. A gentle breeze wends through the garden as he rereads the letter for the third time and imagines that a far colder gale is sending his nephew's ships away from home.
Although engrossed in his letter, Iroh notices Azula sweep into the garden. She leans over his shoulder when he fails to address her with more than a nod. "Tell me what you're reading."
Iroh beams, eager to share his joy. "A letter from your brother, Prince Zuko."
Snatching the scroll out of his hands, she lets the flames in her palms lap at the letter. "He brought shame upon our whole family!" Ashes float on the wind to the ground. "Stop fraternizing with traitors."
"I have been called a traitor, Princess Azula, but—"
"For good reason," she spits.
"In order to avoid your brother's fate, you must learn how to please your father without sacrificing your conscience."
Her cold chuckle and hard amber eyes bore into Iroh's hopes. "Please, Uncle. Look how well that turned out for Zuko."
Arguing with her is like trying to hold back the air from rushing through an open window. Iroh exhales and lets her words rain down like blows upon his back.
Blue lightning crackles from his fingertips. Azula counters, redirecting the blast with a series of calm breaths and smooth steps.
"Well done," he says, extinguishing the fire racing from her veins.
Azula does not smile, does not pause. Instead she pushes back the tendrils of hair escaping her bun and plants her feet shoulder-width apart. "Again," she snarls, and in that instant, Iroh sees the fire consuming her from inside.
"Just a moment. My old bones are aching from this exercise. I could use a—"
"Cup of tea, I know." Her half-hearted scowl brings a genuine grin to Iroh's face. But she lets him lead the way inside the palace and down to the kitchen. A regular visitor that the kitchen servants have come to expect, Iroh heads straight for the tea cabinet, opening it to reveal canisters in all shapes and sizes.
"What would you like to drink?" Azula doesn't register his question. Her eyes glaze over and limbs shake almost imperceptibly. "Princess Azula, I sense confusion in your heart." She tenses visibly, pivoting to face her uncle with a wild look in her eye.
"I'm not confused!" she snaps.
"Might I recommend the jasmine tea? It soothes the soul." She rolls her eyes, snorting quietly, but grabs the jasmine tin and tips the contents into her mug.
"No!" Iroh lunges for the cup and tin, wrestling them from his niece's grip and spooning most of the tea back into the canister. He points to the pot of water sitting over the fire. "To make a flavorful tea, you need a balance of leaves and water."
"I don't have time for your proverbs, Uncle, I'm trying to make tea."
Her impatience reminds him of Zuko, makes him smile a little despite the familiar guilt burrowing deep. "Maybe it should be a proverb."
Pouring the water, slicing lemon, straining the leaves, he watches Azula out of the corner of his eye. She perches on a stool at the counter, opening her palm and watching a thin spiral of electricity dance across her hand. A storm brews in her mind, swirling gusts blowing across her face, and Iroh waits for it to break over him.
Sure enough, she explodes, fingers clenched around her cup: "Father thinks I'm weak."
"Weakness is not an absence of power, Princess Azula."
"He can't think I'm weak! I'm not like Zuko." Her tea bubbles as she unconsciously warms it. "I'm the perfect one." This time, her customary arrogance vaporizes. The statement almost sounds like a question to Iroh.
"The fire lily blossom is not perfect, but it does not have to be perfect to be beautiful."
"Almost perfect isn't good enough."
"But it can be." Iroh sighs, stirring sugar into his cup. "I suggest you think about what you want from life and why."
Azula doesn't hesitate, her response almost reflexive. "I want to rule the Fire Nation."
The general can't contain a sigh. Such impetuosity. She reminds him of Zuko the more he speaks with her. The pang in his chest pinches a little harder today. He wonders how his boy fares on the sea. He hasn't sent a letter home in weeks.
But even as his mind wanders, he can't ignore the girl standing before him, heir to the Fire Nation and the last hope for balance. So he reins in his wanderings and sips his tea. "Is that your own destiny? Or is it one that has already been decided for you?"
She startles as if slapped, questions taking shape in the steam of her cup. For once, the princess is at a loss.
One more swig, and Iroh sets down his empty cup on the counter. "Princess Azula, it is time for our meeting with the council."
One spring afternoon, the sharp wind biting through his cloak, Iroh suggests they forgo their habitual tea after training. Reluctantly Azula joins him on the marble bench, watching impatiently.
"To lead our nation someday, you must first look beyond our element." Iroh bends to trace the symbol for fire in the dirt, lightning long extinguished from his fingers.
Azula stretches beside him, eager for another round of combat. "But I'll draw my power from fire."
"In order to be a powerful leader, you must look to the other elements to achieve balance." The curving flames carved into the ground, he begins another swirling pattern at their feet. "Something your father has forgotten."
At the mention of Ozai, Azula straightens, her attention absolute. "Teach me how to do that." Her command, though imperious, thrums with something else, something deeper and darker than her desire to claim the throne. Fear. Iroh hasn't sensed it in her the same way it manifests itself in Zuko. She does not explode with fireballs and raspy curses. She looks to strategy, cold like the lightning she channels through her heart.
"Very well," he agrees. "Air is the element of freedom. The Air Nomads detached themselves from worldly concerns, and they found peace and freedom…"
She scoffs. "My great-grandfather freed them from worldly concerns when he burned them to the ground. They were weak!"
"'They were unprepared," Iroh corrects, raising a stern brow. "They did not have a formal military, but their bending was some of the most advanced in the world at that time. There is much you can learn from them, Princess Azula."
The scowl remains, but her contempt slowly fades to a sly, measured interest.
He dreams of Ember Island that night, of rocky cliffs rising above surf and sand.
A broken man after Lu Ten's death, Iroh spent weeks sitting on the bluffs above the shoreline, letting the coarse seagrass scratch through his sandals and skin, dulling the pain threatening to consume him.
In his dream, he's back on the cliff, watching gulls freewheel overhead. The wind tangles his beard, pulling him to the edge so he can contemplate the drop to the sand below the way he did years ago.
In his dream, he's not alone.
Ursa approaches him, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, both babies nestled in her arms. In this dream, she looks the same as the last time he saw her: hair spilling from her bun, cheeks flushed from the wind. He's dreamed of her since her disappearance, but never so vividly.
"Iroh, I apologize for disturbing your rest." Long gone is her formality, the way she used to trip over his title. In its place, a comfortable familiarity settles between them as the gulls shriek overhead. Baby Azula gurgles in response to their cries.
"How does the princess like the beach?" Iroh asks as Ursa joins him in the grass at the edge of the precipice.
"She likes it," she says, but she isn't looking at her daughter or the sea spreading before them. Iroh grows warm under her gaze. "The sun on her face does not make her cry. She laughs when sand blows through her blanket."
He smiles gently. "So young, and already so different from Prince Zuko."
"Protect her." Ursa grabs his arm. "Protect Zuko. Ozai grows more unpredictable with each day. If I'm not always here…"
As she speaks, the earth begins to undulate, the cliffs tearing themselves apart and the ocean sloshing onto the sand. It shakes Iroh's teeth in their sockets.
Ursa shrieks as the ground cracks around them. Iroh reaches for her, but she shoves a swaddled baby at him. "Protect them!"
So he grabs Azula, presses her against his chest. Then he reaches for Zuko, but the ground crumbles into sand beneath his feet. Ursa clutches her son, screaming for Iroh to save him as they tumble out of sight.
He wakes drenched in regret.
Iroh is no stranger to sorrow, but that doesn't stop the ache when he realizes Zuko's letters have trickled to a halt a year after his banishment. He can't bring himself to train with Azula that morning in the garden. He lays in bed until his back protests.
On his journey from the royal wing to the palace kitchens, he passes Azula's chambers, the door wide open. Her maid's voice trickles out into the hall: "Please, my lady, it was an accident. I—"
Pleas like that usually stoke the fires of Azula's temper, yet Azula's reply today lifts Iroh's spirits. "Carry on." Stiff, but reasonable. Balanced. Iroh grins the rest of the way to the kitchen.
Soft knocking at his door wakes him. Expecting a summons from the Fire Lord, Iroh is surprised to see his niece. "Princess Azula, what are—?"
"Am I a monster?" she demands. "Do you think I'm a monster?"
Moonlight streaming from Iroh's bedroom window illuminates the tears on her face, the bruise purpling across her cheek. A warning.
He gathers her into his arms; he hasn't held her since Ursa's disappearance. "No. You are too kind to be a monster." She doesn't shrink away from his contact and as they embrace, Iroh prays that his words come true.
The summons arrives after breakfast, a thick scroll bearing the royal insignia, demanding Iroh report to the throne room for an audience with the Fire Lord. As Iroh approaches the throne room, his brother's growl rumbles in the distance, too low to make out distinctly through the thick oak doors that forgot to latch. Iroh only catches a few words: "Follow them… If they fail… Finish the task…"
A louder, brasher voice replies, "Yes, my lord." The tension in that voice— where has Iroh heard it before?
Boots click against wood and Iroh knows the Fire Lord's audience is over. He tiptoes back a few paces, leaning against a marble column as if he had been waiting there the whole time. Just as Iroh adopts an air of nonchalance, the throne room doors swing open and out marches Admiral Zhao.
Iroh nods respectfully. "Greetings, Admiral Zhao."
He sneers, not bothering to break his stride. "General," he says, the veneered title an insult on his lips.
Iroh simply smiles, but that smile fades as he enters the throne room. Ozai allows Iroh to remain on his knees for several seconds until acknowledging his visitor with a lazy wave of the hand. "Your schemes are not lost on me, brother." Wasting no time on pleasantries, Iroh notes. "I see your influence on Azula. It weakens her."
A thousand responses spring to his mind, but Iroh simply closes his eyes and thinks of the push and pull that earth and air, fire and water exert on each other.
"A pity, that girl has such talent for raw"— Ozai licks his lips hungrily— "power. She must prove herself to me, show me that her old fool of an uncle hasn't softened her beyond repair."
Iroh wonders how his brother can forget that without air, fire would snuff out; without water, the earth would crumble. The man on the throne above him is the foolish one, for he ignores the power that balance brings.
The doors creak open, and a small figure enters the throne room. Azula joins her uncle at the foot of the throne, kneeling before her father. "You called, Father?" Her even tone does not reveal the way her hands tremble at his feet. But Iroh notices.
The flames behind the dais flicker while the Fire Lord's voice rises. "My spies report that the Avatar has been found among the Northern Water Tribe."
Iroh can't conceal his surprise. "He has?"
Ignoring his brother, Ozai peers through the flames at his daughter. "I have a task for you. Go to the North Pole. Lay siege to the Northern Water Tribe and capture the Avatar."
"Father—"
"Should you succeed, you will inherit the throne. Should you not… well, your luck will start running out."
Has he gone mad? Iroh wonders. His last heir to the throne and he threatens to throw her away like he did his son?
Azula swallows hard, but her voice does not falter. "Yes, Father."
"Brother, you will accompany her, since you enjoy advising her so much." Iroh nods, for how can he refuse?
"Tell me about Lu Ten," Azula says one day at sea as her uncle scans the horizon for any trace of a ship pursuing their fleet on its journey to the North Pole.
The request is so unexpected, so sudden. It turns the breakfast settling in Iroh's stomach. A breeze cuts through the black fumes curling up from the ship's smokestack. It slices through his robe until he's left shivering and mute. He has to clear his throat three times before he can speak.
"He valued honor above his life, and duty above his will. Serving his grandfather and our kingdom— that brought Lu Ten joy." He stops for there aren't enough words in the Four Nations to describe his son's somber demeanor, his surprised laugh, his thick warrior's tail pulled sharply back.
"Kind of like Zuzu," Azula muses, resting against the burnished railing.
"Indeed," Iroh sighs, all the air leaving his lungs. "Like Prince Zuko."
When Iroh enters the Spirit Oasis and finds Azula locked in combat with the Avatar's waterbender friend, he thanks the spirits he followed his hunch here. His niece is in danger of losing her target. Fire and water raging around him, the Avatar sits in quiet mediation. But his friend puts up quite the fight to protect him, and Azula struggles to push her away.
Though the idea of bringing him back to the Fire Lord unsettles Iroh, he will not endanger Azula's success. So he launches a fireball at the waterbender, a distraction that buys Azula a few seconds to knock her opponent off balance. The waterbender falls hard, falling still as the thump of her head against the grass echoes in the chamber of ice.
"The Avatar is mine," Azula crows, but still she hesitates as she approaches the boy. "He's so… young."
So she's noticed, too. The smooth face, the unguarded eyes. The hundred-year-old last hope. "A boy with the power to bring balance to the Four Nations."
His words freeze Azula in ice. One hand outstretched, ready to pull the boy upright by the collar, she lets a minute slip by, then two, as she watches her foe meditate.
Then a blast of fire streaks over her head, lighting up the cove. Azula and Iroh spin to face the newcomer— their fleet's invasion isn't scheduled to begin earlier than daybreak— and find Admiral Zhao advancing across the ice.
"Can't capture the Avatar, Princess?" The sneer in his voice has only grown more prominent.
As the general nears the bridge, Azula steps in front of the airbender. "I was just about to."
Zhao waves his hand dismissively as he steps onto the soft grass. "Your weakness endangers the Fire Nation. You're a disgrace."
"You will pay for your insubordination," Azula says coolly. "When my father hears of this—"
"Your father sent me to make sure you could finish the job." Azula's face pales. Her father thought she would fail even before tasking her with the Avatar's capture.
A frosty wind tears through the cove as Zhao opens his mouth again: "I'm going to kill you just like I did your whelp of a brother."
"Liar!" Azula screams, and Iroh's left gasping for air.
"Pathetic excuse for a son of the Fire Lord," he growls. "Although with the way his filthy peasant mother kept mooning after Iroh, who knows who Zuko's father really was?"
The look Azula shoots Iroh rends his spirit in two, all things betrayal and disgust. But she turns her attention back to the threat at hand. "Agni Kai!" she screams at the admiral. "I challenge you to an Agni Kai."
He chuckles, a grim excitement streaking his face. "This will be over quickly."
Lightning spindles past his cheek as Azula drops into a crouch.
Every breath in Iroh's body begs to join the fight, protect his niece by obliterating Zhao with one fiery blast. Yet the Agni Kai sidelines his anger, leaving him to worry, watch, and wait. "Remember your training," he calls as she nearly stumbles from a well-timed attack. "Basics, Azula."
In this tiny garden long from home, Azula whips and twists and rains blows down upon her enemy until he's forced to retreat from the Avatar step by step. A vicious shot to the heart, and he falls hard, cracking his head on the bridge, whimpering as Azula prowls towards him. The predatory gleam in her eyes, the measured steps she takes, the painstakingly careless way she raises three fingers in Zhao's direction: Iroh knows what's coming next and it chills him to the core.
"You miscalculated." Azula's thin smile reappears. "You should've feared me more than my father." Ice blue flames crackle through the air, arcing into the admiral's fallen body.
His screams remind Iroh of his nephew and a windy beach far, far away.
Team + Position: Laogai Lion Vultures, airbender
Task: Examine the butterfly effect by writing about a decision a character (Iroh) makes and how it plays out.
Prompts Used: (title) Her Name Was | (plot point) a destructive earthquake | (plot point) someone burns an important document
Bonus: Use of my element (air)
Word Count: 3,488
If you'd like to examine the alternate timelines spawned by Iroh's decision to help his niblings, check out the rest of the series posted on my teammates' accounts!
Part A: The Decision—One for All by ManofManyHats
Part B: Choosing the Prince—The Grey Beach by me + FictionIsSocialInquiry
Part C: Choosing the Princess—You are here!
Part D: Choosing both—Seven by FictionIsSocialInquiry