This is Iroh's back story, as I see it. I meant this for use in Bad at Good, but it's such a nice stand-alone that I wanted to post it. Also, in Bad at Good this will probably get cut in little bits, if it is actually all discussed at all.
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Iroh's wife was dying of puerperal fever only a month after Lu Ten's birth, when she begged him of an unusual favor.
She asked him to be Lu Ten's mother, in her place, when she was gone.
It was a ridiculous request, perhaps, but Iroh had grown to love his wife a lot, so he promised regardless.
Now, in the Fire Nation - though woman fighters were not uncommon - the roles within a household were rigidly set. A mother brought love and caring, and a father provided discipline. It was a system that had worked since the beginning of days, and a lot of people –Iroh not the least among them – thought it challenging the laws of nature themselves to try differently. And yet the widowed crown prince took to his double-parenthood with the fire and strength of will that had made his family what they were.
Iroh made it work.
The prince provided his son with a stern hand when needed, but loving encouragement when possible. He was both mother and father to the child, and the boy thrived. More than that; the kind of loving adoration Lu Ten carried for his double-parenting father was one unheard of, and it was showing in the effort and determination young Lu Ten displayed in all fields. The boy, despite an amount of talent that would have made many other children lazy and complacent, always worked hard. He was far beyond his peers in all fields, and would double his efforts yet again for the simple promise of making his father proud.
The implications did not go unnoticed to Iroh. To Lu Ten, his father was carrot and stick, push and pull - as the water benders would have said. Iroh was his sun and his moon. And a man of court like Iroh had enough experience in the art of manipulation to make full use of this boundless love.
It shamed Iroh now, to think back how he had used that power; that love. How he had cultivated his own child, to become a warrior with no equal, always pushing to the very limits. But Iroh's mentor themselves had always preached that power was the one true value in the world, and so why would he hold back? What more could a child of the Fire Nation Royal family want, than to be all he could be? Become as powerful and as great a warrior as humanly possible?
In those early days, Iroh's only regret was his own father had not had the foresight to use such a technique on him and his brother when they were young. If Fire Lord Azul had known when to smile in encouragement, instead of only raising a hand to his children at worse, and frowning disapprovingly at best. If he had known how to be kind, what kind of feats would Iroh himself have been capable of?
That question would, of course, remain a mystery. But in a moment of inspiration, the Crown Prince decided to start using the same combination of prod and pull on the soldiers under his command. Military was always a place of discipline and at first his men answered with confusion to their leader's sudden kindnesses. And yet, once they accepted, Iroh's efforts started paying fruits. Within the year, Iroh was arguably the most popular commander in Fire Nation history. And, though Fire Nation soldiers were on the whole quite willing to die for honor, for Iroh, they would not only die, but die while tainting their own honor if needed.
It was the kind of loyalty that made miracles happen.
Campaign after campaign he launched in the Earth-kingdom, defeating armies and winning battles that had been considered impossible before. Exhilarated, Iroh ran rampart across the lands, his armies tearing through forests and enemies alike. When Lu Ten turned fourteen, he took the boy with him on his to battle. And, as expected, the boy fought to outdo Iroh's best and most loyal men.
After Lu Ten's first battle, Iroh was filled with fatherly pride. And so it came as little surprise when the crown-prince dreamt of his dear departed wife.
What did strike the prince-general as odd was that she was not pleased at all. Apparently, taking her son into battle was not what a mother should do.
Iroh protested her assessment and asked her if she was not proud. She was, but she said she was also afraid. Iroh asked her if death gave her some sort of viewing of the future, if she somehow could see it all end badly, now she was dead.
His wife said she could not, but just had a bad feeling.
Almost a year later, just before Iroh put the boy in command of his own unit, his wife showed again to plead with her husband. This time, Iroh could not help but scoff. Everything had turned out great, even she had to admit. And Lu Ten was well under way to becoming a legend in his own right. Was he not all she could ever want in a son?
He was, she admitted, but she could not help but worry.
After another high-inducing victory, Iroh went home to brag. Even his father, Fire Lord Azul, was impressed. The old sour-tart nearly smiled when his heir returned triumphant. Iroh took his time to savor the fact he had performed feats his old man had declared impossible; Azul had been a lousy father, as the prince saw it now, and all these victories were only proving the fact.
As for Iroh's little brother? The little toad was green with jealousy. That fact, too, had amused Iroh to no end, until he realized the young father was taking out his frustrations on his own too-young children. Catching his little brother in the act, 'teaching' the pair in the gardens had been an eye-opener.
Iroh had been on an inconspicuous walk through the palace gardens. True, he was not supposed to be there; he had had different responsibilities. But every now and then, even a crown-prince needed some time to himself.
Any thoughts of such were quickly forgotten though, in the face of Ozai's disastrous lessons.
This was also the first time the esteemed Dragon of the West had taken the time to even consider the boy that he would travel with for over three years; his dear nephew that would all too soon take the place of Lu Ten. But for now it was his true son that remained the linchpin around which Iroh's world revolved. On the rare occasion, of course, that the crown-prince did not just consider himself the center of the universe. No; for all his skills at manipulative interaction, the heir of the Fire Nation was not a social man. At all.
Even when Zuko had finally brought notice upon himself, Iroh's interest had been an academic one. He noted the way the child's stance wavered every time Ozai raised his voice, and noted in the same glance that the little sister seemed better at ignoring such fears, but was hardly immune. Iroh roughly calculated their ages at around five and three, and decided that everything about his little brother's acts spoke of desperation.
The fact did not surprise Iroh. Fire Lord Azul expected much and condoned little, and Ozai had so far not had too many feats to boast off. The man's search for the Avatar had ended up with nothing, and Ozai's attacks against the water-tribes had not yielded much laude with their father either.
Besides, next to the Dragon Of The West, little Ozai was doomed to waste away in the shadows regardless of what he did. Iroh was simply that amazing.
Obviously Ozia's biggest achievement so far was that he had produced two heirs, where Iroh had only the one. So, was only logical that his little brother would work hard on making these heirs worthy of notice. But, the road Iroh's little brother was on now was one of volley. Even if Lu Ten had not been the talented and fearless warrior he already was, and it was possible for the pair to catch up, Ozai was going about achieving this all wrong.
In fact, Iroh's little brother seemed well set on ruining the pair's willingness to bend fire altogether. Perhaps the boy might be old enough to throw a spark, but there would be no such luck with a three-year-old girl, no matter how much Ozai yelled at her.
When the scene looked to descend into simple domestic violence, Iroh had stepped in. He sent the children on their way and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity, had divulged on his little brother what he had learned raising Lu Ten.
His little brother had scoffed, mentioned that their father's methods had been good enough for him when he was young, and would be good enough for his children. And then went on to suggest Iroh's 'stick and carrot' method was likable to cross-dressing. Looking back now, Iroh realized that he should have expected such a reaction from a brother that considered him a rival.
Then, Iroh did one of the things that proved to him now that his younger self was nothing but a selfish, unworthy creep that had deserved all that came to him—even if dear Lu Ten most certainly had not: Iroh had simply shrugged at his brother, said it was his own loss and promptly forgot about the whole matter in favor of gathering himself and his son more honor on the battlefield.
The next time Iroh returned home, his father charged him with the task of conquering Ba Sing Se. Iroh had had a profit dream about that, and boasted he would have the job done within the year. But it seemed not even the Dragon of the West could move this mountain, and at the first-year anniversary of the siege, Iroh's wife came to plead with him one final time.
But Iroh refused to return home a failure. He was still convinced he could take the great cite-stronghold, and so they fought on. His wife's ghost, distraught and upset, never visited Iroh again.
The second year anniversary was coming close when desperation started to set in. Missives from the Fire Lord came more and more often, reminding Iroh of his boast, and asking in badly disguised insults if the Dragon Of The West had finally met his match.
Iroh liked to tell himself now that this was the only reason he went along with Lu Ten's bold but risky plan to break through the walls using speed, surprise and a sudden change of attack point. The plan had Iroh luring the defenders away to the West walls, and then Lu Ten and his divisions would break through at the North.
It worked, but Lu Ten most have let the exhilaration of victory go to his head, because his men did not pull back from the hole managed in the walls. Nor did they wait for backup to arrive. By the time Iroh made it to the North gates, or what was left of them, the few survivors gave him the final news of his son.
Iroh could have taken the city then, perhaps. There was a gaping hole in the walls not even the earth-bending armies could fix in time. But it was nothing in compared to the gaping hole in Iroh's soul. The only order he had left for his men was to retreat.
It was odd for the general to realize, but all he had ever achieved had suddenly become meaningless. His name, his honor, his pride. All had been meant to pass onto Lu Ten, when it became time for retirement. Without him there, all of it was meaningless.
The next couple of days passed in a daze. Iroh was aware that men had parlayed for his son's corpse, but whatever was returned to them, Iroh never laid eyes on it. There was a funeral, a pyre. And then, his most trusted men took him on a ship and set sail for home.
After an unknown time at sea, Iroh came out of his stupor. Yet, when he did, there was only one thing on his mind: that this clarity of mind was not something he could bear right now. He ordered to set for the closest port, and once there found refuge at the bottom of a bottle.
It was a small solace, but for a little while at least Iroh could forget what he had lost, and he went for that time and time again. Iroh went from port to port, caroling and drinking with his men- what was left of them, for many left, but the bliss of forgetfulness was the sweetest fruit left to him.
Indeed it turned out his new love was not called 'strong spirits' for nothing, for sometimes, in the debts of intoxication, Iroh found the gate to the spirit world.
What he would have given to be let through, to his son! But the spirits were evil, vindictive creatures and they would not let the tired general pass into the next life. When he begged to at least see his son for a last time, they simply laughed to his face. On his many trips between life and death, the poison liquor within Iroh's veins enough to kill a komodo-rhino, the spirits did deign to show the many ways he had brought about his own son's death.
The fervent adoration he nourished, coupled with the believe that victory and honor were the greatest of virtues for a man to have. The competition mentality he cultivated with his men, leaving them to vie for his favor. And, of course, his frequent praising of the men that had laid down their lives for Iroh's cause.
Lu Ten had given his life for his father's dream, and it was that father's own fault for failing to recognize it was not a dream he had wanted to live on his own.
When this knowledge had ingrained itself on Iroh's very soul, his spending spurges of night-time booze and party did not stop. Rather, he set about them with renewed vigor, trying his damndest to drink himself to death. –A coward's end, but no less then he deserved. And yet the spirits remained adamant; Iroh would not live to a ripe old age, they promised; cursed him.
The knowledge that his fate inescapable lay heavy on the Dragon of the West, and soon not even the bottle could lift his spirit.
On a particularly nasty day, when Iroh found himself alone and unfortunately sober at a dock-side, a water-tribe sailor sat himself next the drunk shell that had been crown prince to the greatest nation in the world. Iroh hardly noticed at first, because he was busy cursing the sun and all its descendants—himself primly among them, for shining so brightly.
But the man introduced himself as Pakku, and pulled a flask from his blue coat to offer Iroh, and that act alone was enough to laude the sailor—no, water bender, as it turned out - as his hope and savior.
They talked of many things. Of missed chances and lost treasure. Of what was and of what could have been. And then, the subject inevitably turned to Iroh's duties. It was only around then that the washed up general realized the older man had known all along who he had been talking to.
"Your father is dead, you know. And you little brother is busy cementing the throne for himself." The water-bender cast Iroh an appraising glance. "And he is doing so with the blood of your supporters."
Iroh just shrugged, took a long swallow of that delicious water-tribe spirit and announced, quite honestly: "I don't give a fuck."
The other man appraised him once more; a searching glance while a tongue grazed his still-white teeth. Then, he shoved a small stone into Iroh's hands, and stood to leave.
"Hang onto that, in case you ever do."
Then, this Pakku character left him at the docks. Iroh took another wanton swing from the bottle, came up empty, and tossed the thing into the waves in exasperation. He would have tugged the tile as well, but it had a lotus motive on it, and Lu Ten's mother had loved lotus flowers.
Six months later, Iroh's funding was suddenly turned off, and he was forced to return to court painfully short on cash. It was painfully obvious now that the new Fire Lord had only condoned his elder brother's drunken spurges because he needed him conveniently out of the way. Now that Ozai had secured his place, however, he no longer felt indulged to grant Iroh any money.
With badly contained glee, the Fire Lord informed his once-esteemed brother that if he needed cash, he could damn well work for it, just like everyone else. And so, the General found himself enlisted on the National War Council.
The work on the War Council was dreadfully tedious; made worse by the fact that Iroh was required to show up for it sober. But at least he had no menial task beyond voicing his opinion when asked. And soon nobody bothered to ask, because that would only prompt Iroh to state his heart-felt believe that he and the rest of the troops should just get on with it and commit a glorious and liberating seppuku at their next battle.
It was around this time that his nephew started to hang around Iroh, any chance he got.
At first, the washed-up prince thought this was due to some misplaced believe that Iroh would protect the boy from his mad father. He had sort of protected the boy that one time, of course, but Iroh had not the will nor the ability left to protect anything. Honestly, that should have been obvious. So, after that, the widowed prince started thinking the boy actually harbored some form of pity for his uncle. That idea was an amusing one, because Iroh felt that if he explained exactly how he had begot himself this fate, not even an angel would feel a shred of remorse for the old general.
Soon, however, a different notion came to bearing: the boy was lonely.
Well, if a boy of eleven could find no better company then a wash-up drunk that didn't even respond to his queries half the time, Iroh was pretty sure he knew who deserved the pity in that relationship. But Zuko's mother had apparently disappeared around Fire Lord Azul's death, and his sister held the kind of cruel court that was best avoided at all times. As for the boy's father? It would have been nice to say that the position of Fire Lord had gone to his head, and that that was what made him dangerous. The truth was, however, that Ozai had been a nasty piece of work when he was down and weak, and strength and power had only made him worse a man.
After month of begrudging acceptance of his tag-along, Iroh however started to notice he missed the boy when left. And perhaps Zuko had not been the only one to be lonely, because the boy's actions started drawing more and more of his uncle's attention. Soon, Iroh began to see resemblances with his lost son, notice differences and peculiarities. And a little later, Iroh thought that he could smile again.
It was around that time that Iroh allowed Zuko to accompany him to that fateful war-meeting.
At that Agni Kai, Iroh sat, disgusted, but unable to do anything; well aware that Ozai would be glad of a chance to rid himself of his bothersome older brother as well. Indeed, that was Iroh's best argument to be allowed to accompany the boy in exile.
And Ozia, thankfully, complied.
Iroh gripped his third and likely final chance with a final determination. If he had lost his first son due to pride had almost lost his second son by wallowing in his own misery. For if Iroh had not been the wreck he had been, he could have stood up, challenged the Fire Lord easily. At his pinnacle, Iroh had been far greater a bender then his brother. But he had let the drink wash it all away uncaringly, thinking there was nothing left to fight for.
How wrong he had been.
So he vowed himself never to drink again—he would stick to tea, from now on. And to never lose sight of what was important; or whom.