Several candles flickered, illuminating the tent serving as a makeshift operation base a soft gold. A map of the Earth Kingdom's greatest fortress of defense was spread out on a low red table in the center, and small wooden figures, each with a different symbol, were positioned at specific points around it. His plans were all laid out; soon, the stronghold of Ba Sing Se would be theirs.
A gruff man guarding the entrance of the tent poked his head in. "General Iroh," he said, "The head of the twelfth battalion wishes to speak with you."
Iroh gave a curt huff. "Send him in."
He glared as a young man in his early twenties entered through the gold flaps. The young man bowed his head and seated himself in front of the table opposite of him.
"General," he started. "Word has been spreading throughout the camp that you're planning on sending the twelfth battalion in to fight for the middle wall. Tell me it isn't so." The man's words were laced with apprehension, and his light brown eyes with fear.
The General's met them, his own irritated and pitiless. "Yes," was his only reply.
The man gasped, and immediately began to protest. "General, the twelfth battalion consists entirely of swordsmen, non-benders!"
"I am aware of that. They are capable enough to handle the task, nevertheless. They have fought strong in the past, and I will not doubt them now."
The man's eyes widened.
"Even at full strength, they'd be little match for an army of Earthbenders. They've not yet recovered from their latest battle at Suonqin; at very least allow them time to rest! There's no way that-"
"They're going." Iroh said.
"But Father!" The man's voice was losing protocol, taking on a desperate undertone that was quickly engulfing it completely.
"That is enough!" Iroh shouted. The small flames of the candles suddenly spiked, and for a second the entire tent glowed bright red. "There will be no arguments, Lu Ten! You are a leader, a member of the Fire Nation army, and you will act like it. You will never defy your General's orders! At sunrise you will lead your division up the hill to the location of the battle, and you will return only when the wall has been taken. Is that understood?"
The man gave a humbled sigh and nodded. Silently, he stood and walked to the entrance of the tent. He pulled back the flap, letting in the light of the blazing afternoon sun seep across the floor and walls.
He turned his head back to face the General.
"Goodbye, Father," he said, before ducking his head underneath the flap and exiting.
Alone once again, Iroh shook his head in disappointment.
Days later, Iroh stood next to the outer wall with the Captain of the sixth battalion.
"General, the twelfth division still hasn't returned. Do you think something's gone wrong?"
He shook his head, reassuring the slight twinge of worry eating away at his stomach more than the Captain's fears. "No. I'm sure everything is going along as expected."
The Captain nodded. "If you say so..."
Suddenly shouts could be heard from beyond the hill. Iroh turned to face the ruckus, and saw that a man from the eighth division was sprinting towards them.
"General! General!" He yelled as he approached.
"General," he panted once he reached them, "the twelfth division...lost...injured...some dead..."
Panic swept through him like nothing ever had before. He grabbed the man's collar and pulled him up from his crouch. "Where?" he demanded.
The man took a sharp breath and pointed in the direction he'd come from. "Follow me."
So they ran. Through the battlefield, weaving around soldiers of Earth and Fire alike, not taking any care of whether or not anyone on his own side was knocked aside in his desperation to get to the scene.
He could see them everywhere. Moans of the pained and dying filled the air, and the ground was soaked with blood. Men lay in crumpled heaps, barely breathing. Searching the carnage franticly, he spotted a shape in black armor just yards away from where he'd paused.
He could only stagger towards it, terror filling his very being at what was to come.
He turned over the body, and his worst fears were confirmed. Staring back at him were the light brown eyes of his son, glazed over and rigid.
In one swift movement, he pulled Lu Ten to him in a tight embrace.
"No...No!" He shouted at the sky, before burying his face in his son's neck and beginning to sob.
"No-o-o..."
"Leaves from the vine, Falling so slow;
Like fragile, tiny shells, Drifting in the foam.
Little, sol-dier-boy, come marching home,
Brave soldier boy, comes marching home..."
Salty tears trickled into his mouth as he sang.
He broke down into sobs again as he sat beneath the birchoak tree under which Lu Ten had been buried.
The painting before him simply stared back at him, as if somberly saying "See...I told you..."
He'd changed every aspect of his life since that day. He no longer put needs before others safety, he helped anyone in need, he was a different man...but none of that would ever bring back his son.
He could have formed a deep hatred of the Earth Kingdom, could have fought harder than ever to destroy the ones who took his son's life, but he knew there was no one else to blame but himself.
If only he'd listened. If only he hadn't been so stubborn as to rationalize what he'd said, not sent him off to fight, Lu Ten would still be alive today.
It was all his fault...