"I won't be coming to dinner tonight," Zuko announced, and no one thought to challenge him. When a boy loses his mother, cousin, and grandfather in the span of a month and is then designated Crown Prince of the Fire Nation at the age of eleven, he needs, after all, his time.

He had one of the cooks prepare him a small picnic box and a canteen of sweet cider, as if he meant to take his evening meal in his favorite courtyard. But once beneath the spreading branches of the cherry trees, he set his dinner down and swiftly levered himself up the tallest to retrieve the package of food, water, coin, and servant's clothing he had secreted in the fork of a limb. Hidden from curious eyes, he unwound the ribbon that bound up his long hair, and replaced his fine clothes with a kitchen's boy's stained tunic and apron. After making his way back down to the grass, he reached up and tied a note to a leafy sprig with the strip of red silk in his hand.

Then, head bowed to hide his golden eyes from the gate guards, he went quietly to join the rest of the potboys as they shuffled home under the bloody light of the setting sun.

It was two days before his uncle discovered the letter flapping in the wind above the pond. It read: I've gone to find her. I won't be coming back.

-ooo-

Iroh was met with crossed spears at the door his brother's private study. "Fire Lord Ozai left strict orders not to allow anyone inside without a formal request for an audience," said the guard. His voice was thick with shame, even muffled by the full helm. Iroh knew it very well. It was only by his good word to Fire Lord Azulon that man had been admitted to the royal family's personal guard.

"Prince Zuko has not been seen for almost two days," Iroh said. "Let me in, Quan." He looked at Iroh, then his partner, and in unison drew their speartips up and let him pass.

Ozai was at his desk, completing a stack of state correspondence in his flawless hand. He did not look up from his brush when Iroh entered. "I have no time for that foolish boy and his foolish whims. Since he has not returned to the palace whimpering by now, fetch him and see that he is reprimanded for this childish display."

Iroh felt a flare of rage tear across his numbed chest for the first time in weeks. "Reprimanded? For mourning? Are you mad?" he said, but his brother did not deign to answer, and calmly dipped his brush to begin a new line. "Look at me, Ozai!" he thundered.

He did so slowly, eyes narrowed, the shadow of a malicious smile on his lips. "It's no longer your place to command me, brother."

"Damn your politics! Have you no love for your son at all? His mother disappeared less than a week ago. He's out of his wits with grief, not acting to spite you!"

The smile faded, if it had ever been there at all. Iroh had never seen his brother any less than perfectly controlled, perfectly calculating. But his fingers were shaking as they held the brush handle, and the flimsy reed snapped in half in the pressure of his grip. "Father took her because of him. My wife is dead because of him. She sacrificed herself so that pathetic boy could live on."

"Every gift should be cherished," Iroh said quietly, "for there are many that go wanting."

"Take yourself and your proverbs out of my sight, General," Ozai spat. Iroh bowed, barely as low as courtesy demanded, and left.

-ooo-

He found Zuko on the arduous pilgrimage road to the Temple on the crescent isle, his face sunburned and his legs and palms scraped bloody from the steep and treacherous climb. He refused to let Iroh tend his injuries, and accepted only jug of water from one of the soldiers before collapsing into the scanty shade of a gingko tree.

"Dad doesn't want me. Nobody wants me," he said, staring hard up at his uncle after he had quenched his thirst. It was a challenge, one that made Iroh pause. He wished he could say yes, that of course Ozai loved him, as every father loves their son. It would have been a lie.

"I do, Zuko," he answered instead, offering a hand up to his mount. "I want you." He had failed his own son. He would not fail this one.

Zuko stood, gritting his teeth against tears of relief, and took it.