Sometimes, Zuko thought, even the most boring schoolwork paid off.

The Fire Nation usually used coal for fuel. The Earth Kingdom used everything from wood to coal to odd gases that seeped up in rock-salt pits. Given he'd been trained in preparation for conquering more of it, he'd had to know a little about them all.

Which was how he'd noticed a persistent scent of wood smoke, and followed it to a charcoal-burner's mound. Part of which he'd just carefully dug out, constructing a small but thick cup of not-yet-charred wood against the mound's side.

"Really, Prince Zuko, this is unnecessary…."

"I don't use equipment I haven't tested, Uncle." He held out a hand. "Rocks. Now."

"We could heat them by hand. You didn't have to undo a poor woodcutter's hard-"

"Yes, I did!" But he didn't move. Didn't attack. No matter how much he wanted to break something, just to loosen some of the knots in his gut. "Uncle, will you just trust me on this?"

Uncle Iroh frowned, but handed over the bag of pebbles.

Finally. Zuko dumped them unceremoniously into his makeshift kiln, punched down flames, and stood back. Waiting.

"The smoke will draw attention," Uncle warned, as flames blazed in the nest of wood. "Whatever you are up to, nephew, it cannot be as crucial as avoiding the notice of-"

Crack.

Zuko let out a breath, suspicions confirmed as more explosive cracks shuddered through smoking wood. A relief, actually. Maybe the universe would settle for this as bad luck, and leave them alone for a while.

Uncle didn't say a word.

He waited until the fire was quiet, and a few minutes more. Damped flames with a push of his hands, and started digging for surviving rocks.

Uncle was still quiet, watching over his shoulder. Unreal.

Finally he had the survivors, still hot to the touch. And two half-charred logs, studded with shards of stone like Mai's little knives. "You said that was a stream sometimes," Zuko said bluntly. "I couldn't trust them."

"Water in the rocks," Uncle said slowly, staring at glittering edges. "Yes, of course." He glanced at Zuko. "How did you know?"

"Zuzu, can you heat these up for me? I want to play a game…."

"Oh look, Zuzu's an earthbender! And he can't even get that right!"

"How do I learn anything?" Zuko said grimly, blowing on pebbles to cool them, before he dropped them back into Uncle's bag. "The hard way."

------

Don't laugh, Iroh told himself firmly, deliberately ignoring Zuko's trembling hands as they placed warm stones on a cranky blacksmith's back. Most people wouldn't have noticed even a twitch. Indeed, the small crowd of onlookers taking part of their midday break in this inn had seen nothing; they were too curious of strangers, and too incautious, to have held their tongues if they had. But he knew his nephew. More, he'd led men in war for many years. He knew, even if the boy himself did not know, when a young man was heart-wrenchingly afraid. Afraid, and ready to run. Or attack, burying the shame of fear in action.

Don't laugh. This is a battle - not of the body, but of the soul. Remember the general you once were, and lead.

So far, his story to the local innkeeper - that they were healer and apprentice, there'd been a Fire Nation raid, how unfortunate, not even time to grab supplies - seemed to be holding up. They'd treated a few other men already; apparently the village healer was up to her elbows in caring for three difficult pregnancies, and these were but simple injuries, left to wait. Though perhaps their patients were also taking advantage of the fact that the strangers were refugees, and so all but forced to charge less for any business at all.

It didn't matter. He knew enough battlefield care to pass, as did Zuko. It should suffice, so long as no one asked them anything too complicated.

Or anything at all, at the moment. Fortunately, the blacksmith was lying on an inn bench, unable to see Zuko lower his head and breathe, slow and deliberately even. If there were candles about, Iroh was uncomfortably sure they would have been blazing in time to that rhythm. It was a wonder the inn's hearth wasn't flaring.

Well, perhaps not quite a wonder. Zuko knew they were watched. The young man was careful. Sometimes.

But why is he afraid? Iroh wondered, setting to work on muscles knotted by a long morning pounding iron. There is no danger here, nothing to fight. We are here to help this man, as we have helped his neighbors-

Hmm. Aside from his uncle, when was the last time Zuko had helped anyone, without suffering for it?

Our helmsman, in the storm. The Avatar.

Heh. His nephew might think Iroh knew nothing of that little escapade, but he was old, not blind. One day despairing, certain Zhao would take everything he longed for - and the next, simply going to bed? With a great many bruises, no less.

Ah, but I wish I could have seen the look on Zhao's face.

Iroh channeled that amusement into an approving smile as Zuko stepped in and began to work. Careful to make it seem as if the shimmer of heat were from the stones fished in and out of their camp pot on the inn's hearth, and not his hands. "Gently," Iroh instructed, matter of fact as any master to an apprentice. Act as if this is ordinary, and everyone will believe that it is. "Always ease the muscles first, to be sure they are not strained further."

"Ha!" their patient rumbled, not quite dislodging smooth stones. "Think I can't take it, old man?"

"You are a veritable wellspring of yang chi, Master Blacksmith," Iroh said cheerfully, waving Zuko back to work when the young man hesitated. "But healing requires balance. So some gentleness is called for."

Advice he would do well to remember himself. That demonstration, with the pebbles-

He could have told me. I would have believed him.

Yet, it seemed Zuko didn't believe that.

No. It is more than that. Iroh considered Zuko's actions, and their result. By not explaining, he gained the freedom to act, and so remove the danger to both of us.

Which meant Zuko had expected to have his concerns dismissed. Though why his nephew would believe anyone would deny the crown prince his right to protect himself-

I am a fool.

Learned the hard way, had he?

Ozai. Or Azula.

The girl, most likely. His brother's cruelty was more likely to be words and fire than tricking a young boy into harming himself. River rocks to explode in an innocent's face - oh yes. That was definitely Azula.

Which meant that he'd set his nephew to work in an inn full of strangers with the memory of Azula's mockery ringing in his head. Oh dear.

Well. At least he has not run yet. Or set anyone on fire.

Still. It would be wise to draw this to a close, while his nephew's nerve still held. Pain and danger, Zuko would face without flinching. The demons of his own mind….

Three years, and I thought I had at least scouted them all. But those years were without Ozai, and without Azula.

My enemy's forces are more deeply entrenched than I ever knew. And far stronger than I had imagined.

As they had been, at Ba Sing Se….

No. I will not lose another son-

"Uncle!" Zuko hissed, elbow jabbing him.

Ah, yes. Better to focus, if he did not wish to lose his nephew right now. "I would advise you take it easy for a few days," he informed the blacksmith as Zuko started packing up. "Or at least, no more ostrich-horse lifting contests for a while, hmm?" he chuckled. "Better to let them carry you."

A snort of laughter. "Where's the fun in that?"

The hearty backslap that accompanied it was enough to drive most men to their knees; Iroh let himself shift with it, only staggering enough to confirm their watchers' image of him as a lucky, harmless old man. Still smiling, he mentally held his breath; Zuko was twitching, within a heartbeat of attacking the man-

Wrestled down the rage, and stayed still. Though Iroh suspected the rocks in their pot were much, much hotter than they should be.

"I thank you for the use of your hearth, madam," Iroh bowed to the openly eavesdropping innkeeper. "But if there is no one else for now, I just remembered some supplies my nephew and I will need for our journey."

"You can come in again before the dinner crowd, cutie," the elderly woman dimpled at him.

"Ah, but you are too kind." Another bow, and he subtly dragged his disbelieving nephew out, pot and all.

A left, two rights, and they were behind the solid wall of a bakery. No houses too close, due to the risk of fire - and no one would be surprised at a few stray drifts of smoke. "Nephew. Breathe."

"Breathe? I don't need to breathe, Uncle! If we've got enough, let's get our supplies and get out-"

"Lee," Iroh said, very deliberately. "I believe, as your master, when I tell you to breathe - you breathe."

Shock, painted on Zuko's face. Betrayal. Anger-

Shoulders slumped in resignation, and Zuko breathed.

That won't hold long, Iroh reflected. Attack, and he will fight. It's what he does. What he knows. But if I maneuver elsewhere…. "When I was a younger man, I dealt with soldiers who had once been captured by our enemies. Who had not been… treated well." He grimaced, recalling how he had been then; proud and fierce and not nearly as kind as Zuko likely imagined. "And I did not treat them well. I had not lost what they had lost, and I did not understand."

"Uncle," Zuko said stiffly, "soldiers in the past aren't important. Not compared to soldiers who might be here, right now-"

"They are important," Iroh interrupted. "You are important, nephew."

Zuko eyed him warily. "I'm not a soldier, Uncle."

"Not in name," Iroh admitted. "But you were confined, and harmed by those you had no choice but to obey, and unable to free yourself, without aid-"

"Don't talk about my father like that!"

"And when you thought you had won your freedom," Iroh bore brutally on, "your nightmare returned, and threatened you with new chains. I have seen this fear, nephew! I knew it in their hearts. I know it in yours!"

"I'm not afraid of her!"

Quick as a striking snake, Iroh moved. "I am."

Wrapped in his arms, Zuko sputtered incoherently.

"She is skilled, and she is deadly," Iroh said, voice low. "She haunts your mind, and you cannot rest. But you must, nephew. Remember when we visited the Northern Air Temple, years ago." Zuko had vowed to search every Air Temple for traces of the Avatar, and his nephew never spoke lightly. But even a scarred, angry teenager had seen the wisdom in keeping Ji the Mechanist's work for the Fire Nation a secret. This was not the first time the pair of them had traveled in Earth Kingdom brown.

Yet that was only hours, to search quietly, Iroh knew. This has been days.

But he could not falter. Zuko needed his confidence, now more than ever. Exile was crushing to the soul; exile with the threat of agonizing death, far more terrifying.

"Lee and Mushi are but simple refugees," he said, voice deliberately steady. "To be always on watch, always searching for an enemy in the shadows - it marks us. And we must be as two leaves in the forest. It is the only way to survive." He held on tight, rubbing at too-thin shoulders. "I am here. I will not abandon you to her again."

"…I'm not afraid of her." A low, bitter whisper.

No, Iroh thought wryly. Not so much as you are of everyone, my nephew.

Not a fear of injury, or death. On the battlefield, his nephew could face any enemy-

Save two.

But to walk among those who might not be your enemies… he'd never had the chance to teach Zuko that. He'd never realized he had to.

That ends. Now.

"You should know, nephew," Iroh said matter-of-factly, voice still low, "that what we are doing is one of the most difficult and dangerous tasks in this world. To survive in a nation not your own, among ways and customs foreign to all you know - it is hard. Very hard. I do not believe Azula could do it." He pulled back enough to smile. "But I know you can."

Gold eyes blinked, incredulous and disbelieving. But Zuko did not pull away. "…How?"

"Have you not heard the proverb of the dragon and the mountain? The mountain is strong. It seems invincible. And to many things, it is. But if a fierce enough blow strikes it, it is only rocks and dust." He gripped Zuko's shoulder, light but firm. "The dragon seems weaker. It is mortal; if struck, it bleeds. But the dragon can move, and avoid the blow, and choose its own time to strike."

Good, Iroh thought, feeling Zuko's breathing even out under his hands. The fear is far from dead, but we have weakened it. He is thinking-

"The dragons are dead, Uncle."

Ah. Well. That was an honest objection, given what Zuko knew.

Do I dare? He still loves my brother, and fears him. The risk, if I am wrong….

The cost could be high. But the cost to his nephew, to the world, if he let Zuko fall back into that pit of awful doubt-

Mentally crossing his fingers, Iroh prayed. "So they said of the Avatar."

Now Zuko did struggle free, shaken. "You lied to Grandfather?"

Carefully. Carefully. "The Moon Spirit taught waterbenders, my nephew. Would you have followed Zhao's path, and drawn its blood?"

"No!" Zuko recoiled, horrified. "Is that why he came - and I…." He jerked away, fists clenched.

Iroh stiffened, recognizing the huddled shame, the way Zuko had turned so his scar shrouded any expression. He never cries. Not since Lady Ursa….

"Is it my fault she's dead?"

Yue. He'd told his nephew everything, those endless days drifting on the raft. The princess had had a rare courage, to give up her life for her people. It deserved to be remembered. "No," Iroh said firmly. "You did not know Zhao's plan. I did not know. I could not stop him in time. Her death was brave, and her own choice. It is not your fault."

"But I'm the one who took the Avatar away." Zuko swallowed dryly. "If he'd been there… if that waterbender hadn't followed me, she would have been there, and - if I'd known, I would have…."

Iroh kept his voice level, feeling the precipice his nephew stood on. "What would you have done?"

"…I would have waited."

Do not yell at him, Iroh told himself, unable to hide a sigh. He has been lost a very long time. You cannot expect him to recognize the path in an instant. "And if you had been there, and Zhao had overpowered them? What would you have done?"

"I'm not a traitor!"

"No, you are not," Iroh nodded. "I do not believe you ever could be. No matter what you chose."

Zuko was shaking his head, as if to drive away pain. "It doesn't matter now. She's gone."

Something in Iroh's heart eased, recognizing the truth. "You would have helped the Moon."

"I wouldn't have helped the Avatar!"

"I said nothing of the airbender, nephew," Iroh said deliberately. "Two who fight for the same cause are not always allies." He shrugged, as if it were of no importance. "I will admit, I am curious why you would choose so. It would have been a noble effort, but you are not usually the first to approve of dealing with spirits."

"They don't exactly approve of me, or none of this would have happened," Zuko said venomously. Closed his eyes, and gripped the bridge of his nose, fighting back frustration. "Uncle. In case you didn't notice, we've been living on a ship the past three years. If we didn't pay attention to the moon, we'd be dead." An explosive sigh, with only a hint of steam. "We need supplies, and we need to get moving."

Nodding, Iroh followed his nephew toward the market. Still a bit sore of foot, but much lighter of heart.

His spirit is wounded, but it still fights. He needs only time. And a little… encouragement.

"Well, if it isn't a little deserter," a smug voice drawled. "Front lines too hot for you?"

Spirits, Iroh thought darkly, eyeing the massive Earth Kingdom swordsman smirking their way, you are not helping.

------

Patience. Patience, and shadows.

"Who do you think you're fooling, old man? That boy's no healer."

Wait. For the right time to strike.

"Did his family pay you to take him, or did you just pick up a stray?"

Breathe. Crouch. There.

"Who's there?"

Swordsman, yes. Good one, no. Grab, pull, use the solid wall against the almost as solid skull-

The man was out. And the swords were….

Spin, and cut the air. Feel their movement; not as separate blades, but two halves of a whole.

Not bad. Not the best, but not bad.

How a bragging lowlife like this had ended up with master-quality swords, he'd never know. Bastard hadn't been taking care of them properly, that was certain.

Dao sheathed, he melted into the night. No real town watch here, but there was always the chance of wandering drunks, especially with such a full moon.

He made it back to their shelter in a stable's hayloft; the innkeeper hadn't been at all averse to arranging that instead of a paid room, once Uncle worked her over with hot stones and flattery. Which he really didn't want to think about. Ever.

The mask, Zuko tucked under the pile of supplies Uncle would have him pack in the morning. He should do the same for the dao….

No. I won them. They deserve better.

He hadn't weighted himself down with swords to raid the North Pole, not when he'd all but planned on going swimming. But he'd always carried the cleaning kit, ever since he first started learning blades. Through the invasion, the raft, their mad flight from Azula - always.

Unsheathing twin blades, Zuko peered along the edge of one for nicks and scratches, and set to work.

"I wondered if you would find him."

Sharpening stone in hand, Zuko hesitated, then kept working. "You don't want me to give them back."

"No, I do not," Uncle Iroh said thoughtfully, seated cross-legged in his bedding. "Our chances will be better if you are armed. Though it is just as well we are leaving early." He stroked his beard. "And since our men have never spoken of your extra training, even when Zhao asked - and believe me, he did ask, when he conscripted our men for the fleet - no one should connect this theft with us."

Zuko tried not to wince. "Theft? We're at war!"

"The Fire Nation may be. We are not." Iroh regarded him sternly. "You have always kept your honor, Prince Zuko. Do not lose it to despair. A leader of men does not allow his soldiers to pillage. That way lies hatred for the Fire Nation, and not a future of harmonious rule, but a bloody conquest that will never be satisfied." The stern look softened. "And a wise leader first commands himself."

Steel seemed to burn in his hands. Zuko swallowed, and laid it down. "…He called you a liar."

"There will always be those who believe the worst of men," Iroh said easily. "You are not a deserter, Prince Zuko. That, we both know."

Do we? "I'm not fooling anyone as a healer!" Hold the temper. Hold it. Hay and fire were a bad mix. "Uncle, this is crazy, I'll never - real healing takes years to learn, it's going to be obvious I - I can't do it!"

A sigh. But it didn't sound resigned, or disappointed. More… decided. "Nephew," Iroh said quietly. "Come here."

Biting his lip, Zuko did.

"Sit," Iroh instructed, lighting a small flame in the palm of his hand. "Fire and healing are more closely entwined than most will ever know. Fire is not only destruction; it is passion, will, and life itself. And that life can affect other lives." He held the flame in front of Zuko. "Your mother may have shown you this."

My mother?

"The motions are like what you use to raise warmth in your hands. Only instead of the heat of your body, you use the flame. Gently… do not pull, but coax it to you… blend the energy of the flame with your own…."

It was like ice giving way underfoot. One moment it was flame. The next-

Lighter. Different.

The circular motions fell into place, reminding him of the Avatar's sweep of calm air to storm, the waterbender's shove that froze waves into ice. The fire was more than flame, but it had to be coaxed there, held, persuaded….

"Good," Uncle said softly. "Now, let us see what you can do for an old man's sore feet."

Blinking - since when did his fire have bits of green? - it took a moment for his uncle's meaning to sink in. He can't be serious.

"Try," Iroh urged. "Only try. If it does not work - then yes, you may call your old uncle a fool, and we will find another way."

"Don't say things like that!" Zuko snapped, heartsick. I said that. Because I wanted to believe it. Because otherwise Azula was lying, again, and I wanted to go home so much…. "You're not a fool, and you're not a liar, and he had no right!"

No one should say that to Uncle again. Ever.

Green. Bright as moonlight. Not hot, but warm as summer noon.

I can't hold this long….

Near, but not touching skin. Palms both turned outward now; he moved them over road-strained ankles, feeling strength leeched out of him as it fed frayed energies. In his mind's eye, hints of copper warmed to antique gold.

"Enough," Uncle said firmly, wriggling his toes. "Reach back, and allow me to redirect what I can."

A wash of warmth, and sparks of pain burned away like dead leaves. Zuko lost the motion, flames falling apart into smoke. "…I couldn't hold it." He was not going to cry. Even if he was - tired. So tired of failing.

"That you could summon it at all, is more than I have ever been able to do."

Zuko stared at him.

Iroh gave him a wry smile. "Your mother showed me the kata many times, yet I could never master it. She said it had been passed down in her family. A technique based on legends. A secret, and a gift, from Kuzon of Byakko."

"Kuzon?" Zuko blanched.

"Your mother's grandfather. A powerful firebender, with quite the sense of humor, from his letters." Iroh raised curious brows. "You have heard the name?"

Zuko swallowed. "The Avatar… I overheard him say it." Kind of. "Someone he knew, a hundred years ago."

"Kuzon would have been fifteen," Iroh said thoughtfully. "It is possible. And perhaps that is why I could never master it. I have studied the waterbenders, but never have I held my own against an airbender."

Held my own. For all of two minutes. "Why would you study waterbenders?"

"Wisdom can be found in many places, Prince Zuko. Have you not studied the waterbender who bested you?"

Zuko tried not to snarl. "…Yes." And she'd better have some new tricks, next time. He was not going to be crushed under a column of ice again.

"Study her not only to defeat her, but to learn what may be useful for your own form," Iroh advised, running a careful hand over his nephew's back. "Does that hurt?"

Zuko frowned. "No." Which didn't make sense.

His uncle smiled. "Then it would seem, Prince Zuko, that we are not lying."

Realization sank in, and Zuko buried his head in his hands to muffle a disbelieving groan. Oh, Agni. I'm going to have to go through with this….

"Rest now." Iroh ruffled his short hair. "We will finish with your blades in the morning."