Zuko was glad there wasn't a mirror in the room he would call his bedroom for the next few weeks. He had no desire to accidentally catch a glimpse of what he looked like. There was already an image of his disfigurement in his mind, but Zuko was positive the actual mark was much worse than anything he could ever imagine, even in his darkest nightmares. It had to be if the tenderness of it was anything to go by.

With the speed of a snail-sloth, Iroh gently peeled away the gauze protecting the injury as Zuko sat on the foot of his bed. Every grimace and gasp of pain Zuko made seemed to slow the older man's actions down even further. Zuko would have suggested ripping the gauze off quickly, but they both knew that would only worsen his injury.

Try as he might to subdue it, Zuko's curiosity of what his uncle's reaction would be refused to be stifled. He watched, head bowed and eyes raised as his uncle worked. When the gauze was removed at long last, Iroh merely closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"That bad?"

"You are lucky my brother's fire did not reach the bones in your face," murmured Iroh as he opened his eyes. "Despite the close range, the burns are not as severe as they could have been. In due time, you will heal. Until then, however, keep your injured eye rested. Unnecessary strain on it will only cause further damage."

That wasn't something Zuko needed to be told. Trying to move his left eye just to blink, or even beneath the gauze made pain radiate through half his face; it was a lesson he'd learned the hard way and keeping it closed was the only thing he could do to prevent further pain.

Zuko winced from the stinging that was now pulsating from the left side of his face. From the feel of it, open air wasn't a good thing for fresh burn wounds. "Is there any salve on the ship?"

"No, Prince Zuko. Well, I'm sure there is, but it would be unwise to put any ointment on your wound until the blisters have healed. If we put anything on it now, it is likely to become infected and that is not something you need to experience."

To be honest, he'd only asked because of the pain. He knew salve wasn't going to make it heal any faster, but numbing it would have helped a great deal. He decided that if he couldn't numb the pain he would simply have to tough it out.

He remained silent as Iroh quietly excused himself to fetch a bucket of water along with a few wash cloths and listened to the sound of his uncle's footsteps bouncing off the metal interior of the ship.

With Iroh gone, the heaviness of his position began to weigh on Zuko's shoulders. There he was, barely three hours into his formal exile, and he already wanted to go home. While he wasn't technically alone—far from it with twenty crew members and his uncle on board—he felt alone. His father hadn't even come to bid him farewell—not that Zuko had expected him to actually do that. Azula hadn't come either, though he had been sure she would. After all, it was the most dishonorable day in his life. Why wouldn't Azula be there to see her brother being treated like a criminal? The saddest day of his life was sure to be the happiest day in Azula's.

But his uncle had come. His uncle had supported him, a treasonous enemy of the Fire Nation. Zuko hadn't even asked it of him. The moment he had been escorted from the infirmary, Iroh had greeted him solemnly with the news of his banishment. Just like he'd done earlier with the crew, Iroh had made it sound like a vacation. I'll be coming with you, he'd said. So don't worry, Prince Zuko. I will make sure that you are safe and well cared for.

His uncle had even offered to retract the offer if it wasn't what Zuko had wanted, but why would anyone in his position deny that offer? If Iroh hadn't come, he'd be on the ship with a crew that was unlikely to listen to any order he gave. They didn't think of him as a leader yet and a group without a leader inevitably would fall to pieces. Yet he felt guilt. Guilt over allowing his uncle to follow through with a self-imposed banishment. By following Zuko on his quest to find and capture the Avatar, Iroh was leaving behind everything. The rest of his family, wealth, power...

At least he knew that if he did find the Avatar, if he wasn't strong enough to defeat and capture him alone, Iroh would take care of the Avatar in Zuko's place. Wait, if he caught the Avatar? No, when. When he caught the Avatar.

He closed both of his eyes and imagined what that day would be like. He'd bring the elderly Avatar, bound tightly in chains, home to his father. As an added bonus, he'd give an extra present to his father as well, some special possession of the Avatar. Then his father would forgive him. Restore his honor. Allow him to take his place as Crown Prince once more.

It would be a glorious day.

"You must be having quite the day dream," Iroh announced from the doorway, startling Zuko.

"I was just thinking about capturing the Avatar... and the satisfaction I'll bring my father when I bring him home. When I return home."

To Zuko's surprise, his uncle's face didn't fill with the happiness he'd expected. If anything, it almost looked like sorrow as he set the bucket of water on the floor. Iroh sat beside his nephew and the bed immediately sagged beneath their combined weight.

"I see," was all Iroh said before he dipped the washcloth into the water, wrung it out and brought it to Zuko's face. "This is going to sting a little."

"I'm ready."

He wasn't. The feel of the cold wash cloth against the bleeding blisters on his face caused him excruciating pain. He groaned through clenched teeth as Iroh patted away the blood. As much as Zuko knew this was necessary and as much as he knew the pain was only temporary, he wanted to beg his uncle to stop. Knowing he couldn't, he clutched the thin bed sheets in his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white.

In the end, he managed to endure the pain. He kept his teeth clenched and his fingers curled around the sheets the entire time Iroh cleaned his wound and patted it dry. Even when Iroh applied fresh gauze and secured it with a length of tied cloth, Zuko's entire body was tense.

"All finished," Iroh declared as he patted Zuko on the back. "You bore the pain considerably well, my nephew."

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to pull his knees against his chest and hug them. Be brave, he told himself. This isn't permanent. None of this is permanent.

"How long until the Western Air Temple, Uncle?"

Iroh folded his hands in his lap before responding. "It will take roughly five days to get there. Three by ship and two by foot. Unfortunately, getting there is the easy part. Finding it is another matter entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"The Western Air Temple is notorious for being well-hidden. I have never been there myself, but our ancestors have."

Zuko knew what his uncle was implying. There were no longer any Air Nomads left—apart from the Avatar, at least—because the soldiers of his grandfather Azulon and his great-grandfather Sozin had already wiped them out. And, in order to do that, the soldiers needed to have found the temple.

"So as you might imagine," Iroh continued, "it is a possible task. Difficult, but possible. Actually, I have heard that after a certain point, following a map is useless."

"I understand," said Zuko with a nod.

Five days to get to the Western Air Temple. Three or four days of tearing that temple apart piece by piece—brick by brick—to make sure the Avatar wasn't hiding somewhere in the rubble. If he wasn't there, then he would take the ship southeast to the Southern Air Temple. He wondered how long it would take to get there from the Western Air Temple. If he was lucky, perhaps a week. If he was unlucky—as was usually the case—maybe twelve days. It was hard to tell, though. This was his first time out at sea. His first time away from the Fire Nation. The map now resting on the pillow of his bed was so tiny in comparison to the girth of the real world.

"Well then," said Iroh, his voice suddenly lighthearted. "Now that we've gotten that all taken care of, how about some dinner? I hear they're serving roast duck for our first day out at sea. I also made sure there were plenty of tea leaves to steep so we could have fresh hot tea later!"

"I think I'll pass," said Zuko, waving his hand dismissively. He was positive his stomach couldn't handle food at the moment. Besides, he didn't even like roast duck. Or tea of any kind. For being so adamant about everyone on the ship introducing themselves, his uncle sure was a poor listener.

However, Zuko was surprised when Iroh didn't press the matter much further. "Okay, but don't forget that a growing boy needs his nourishment. If you're hungry later, the dining hall is three floors down on the port side of the ship. It's a big room; you can't miss it!"

Although he nodded once, Zuko had no intention of going there. He didn't have time to be stuffing his face with food. He needed to practice. To train. The Avatar was the master of all four elements, after all. He needed to be ready.

Iroh stood and the bed seemed not to sag quite so much, but it failed to return to its original position. The sudden lack of weight made Zuko feel inexplicably lonely, but he remained silent and kept his gaze locked on the metal floor of the ship.

"If you need me, my room is two doors to the right. Or starboard if you prefer using nautical terms now that we are at sea."

Zuko nodded again. "Okay."

Iroh was silent for a moment. Zuko may not have been looking at his uncle, but he could feel that Iroh wanted to say something to him. That something was probably going to be helpful advice tinged with something pessimistic... like reporting that the chances of finding the Avatar were low.

But Iroh said nothing. Zuko could feel his uncle's sad smile on him before he heard footsteps slowly swivel and walk away, leaving him completely alone.