If I owned Avatar, this wouldn't be a fanfic.

This is not humor. Sorry, folks. The basic premise of this is that Iroh has just died, and Zuko's on the beach at Ember Island.

Because, one day, Iroh will pass

He sought solace at the sea, solace from the end of it all. The only reminder that there was time was the footprints leaving away. The sun was beginning to rise, and the sky lightened to purple and red and orange, even in the misty rain. As he walked, he looked behind him and saw the footprints, and wished he could make them disappear, a reminder of a time behind, of time themselves.

But it didn't matter, because he was walking forward, going somewhere, not back. Across the ocean, where he'd once lived, it was impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. The note was still crumpled in his hand, the note handed to him by a dying man, and for the first time he unraveled it. The handwriting was shaky, but it was proof, living proof that the dead man had once been a live man, and there, on that beach, still walking, he read it.

All Beginnings start with an End

He had to read it three times before the words sunk in, and when they did, he was a good mile down the beach. Putting the note back in his pocket, he looked out and pondered the phrase. Years of listening to seemingly useless proverbs had taught him to translate them, but while this one was the shortest, the simplest, yet it was the most confusing. He'd had so many beginnings—he supposed, the first when he was only thirteen, on that day, but so many after that. In the South Pole, when his sister attacked, when he ran, everything. He remembered himself collapsed besides an injured, elderly man whom he should have honored like a father, crying and asking how, how would he beat such a monster? How?

Up ahead, very far ahead, there were rocks bathed continuously in mist, crashed over and over from the waves. He supposed, if it was sunny, it would create a never ending rainbow. Something stirred in his mind, a distant memory, maybe a memory of someone telling them their memory, but he didn't listen to it. Out on the beach, where footprints kept time, anything except him and the note didn't matter, anything else didn't exist.

At the very top of the cliff there was a lighthouse, only it wasn't turned on. Whether because the sun had just started creeping over the world, or because the no one ever took their ships this way, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the lighthouse was turned off, turned off to the world.

As he walked, he took his shoes off. He had distinct memories of a happier childhood when he ran around barefoot in the palace, outdoors, everywhere, until his feet got rough and wouldn't feel even the sharpest knife. Now, he felt every cool, wet grain of sand slide through his toes, and small, sharp shells.

One of the shells was broken, and it cut his foot. Bending down, he picked up the blood covered piece and stared at it, before throwing it into the sea. He threw it so far it didn't make a noise when it fell. Then, again, a memory flashed back to him, so far ago seemed like a dream, or a dream of a dream, of an angry adolescent throwing a Pai Sho token as far as he could. It was so long ago. The Dark Days, days he never thought about, days that if he did think about still welled tears up in his eyes. How he wished he could reach down and throw a shell into the water, and just like that forget it all.

But did he really want to forget it all?

For the first time in hours, he stopped walking and put his shoes on the ground, then sat down. Did he really, truly want to forget those years? The old man had called them his growing years. Just like a plant needs water to grow, all people need pain. He'd said.

Without those years, would he have respect for all people? He supposed he might, he'd felt terrible when his cousin died, terrible for his uncle. But thinking about that day brought tears to his eyes, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Did he really need that pain? Did he? To be a good, strong leader, did he need to suffer? Did he need to spend his childhood looking and never finding? Looking…and never finding…

And there, on the beach next to the sea, he broke down and cried. Anyone could come along, anyone could come along and see their great Lord crying like a little child, but he didn't care. He wasn't only crying for his uncle, but for his mother, even his sister and his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, but most importantly, he cried out of happiness. There, on the beach, knowing that whichever way he went, it would be the right one, Fire Lord Zuko, son of Ozai, now passed, Princess Ursa, now passed, brother of Azula, now passed, nephew of Prince Iroh, now passed, and father of Aza and Huza, sat on the beach next to the sea by the lighthouse and cried, really cried, for the first time in his entire life. Then, Fire Lord Zuko stood up and left to lead his nation.