A/N: Sorry about the wait! It's hard to balance all my computer-needing interests...but anyway, here's the update! Thanks for all the reviews, and for over 1000 hits! I won't say much about this chapter till the A/N afterward, except that i hope you like it. (Also, while you're waiting for the next update-- and i can't guarantee how soon that will be, unfortunately--you're welcome to check out my collection of Zuko-related poems. No pressure or anything, but I'd love to see some more reviews on that, since it only has two right now. And after all, if you like my prose, you might like my poetry, too. lol) Btw, i am now caught up as far as Episode 13 of season 3, and i could mention some things about this story in conjunction with one of the recent episodes...but i was thinking it would be nice to keep this story relatively spoiler-free in case people want to read it who haven't seen season 3 yet. I know it might be unlikely that they still haven't seen any of it, but still. ;) So please keep that in mind when writing your reviews.

But now, on to your regularly scheduled programming.

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The following morning, Zuko slept late again, although not quite as late as he had yesterday. Around midmorning, the prince woke, and his uncle gave him some more broth and hot tea. While they ate, the old general observed that his charge didn't seem quite as listless and weary as on the previous day, and after they'd finished their meal, his good eye didn't immediately close again. Appearing far away in thought, the prince lay without speaking for a long while instead.

After several minutes had passed, his uncle inquired, "What's on your mind?"

Turning to look at him, Zuko answered slowly, "I was just thinking about what my life is going to be like now. I'll be living on this ship and looking for someone who's been missing for almost a hundred years, unable to--to go home, or to regain my honor (or change my father's mind about me), until I fulfill my mission or die trying. And...I suppose there's really no telling how long that will take, although I'm going to succeed if anyone can. It's not a very inviting prospect, is it?" he asked bleakly.

"Perhaps not," Iroh admitted. "But don't give up hope. Sometimes you can't see how you'll get through a period of great adversity, but eventually, I've found that things will start looking up in ways you didn't see before, perhaps when you least expect it. At any rate, you'll feel better when your eye heals, and you don't have to endure being injured any more."

"That's part of the problem, though," his nephew responded, appearing troubled. "What do I do until--until my eye gets better? When I'm awake, it hurts--so much--all the time. That's why I've mostly been sleeping," he admitted quietly, shamefaced. "I...don't want to constantly be in such terrible pain. And...to be honest, I'd rather just forget that--that I'm banished and dishonored. So...I've been trying to escape by spending as little time awake as I can. But even in my dreams, he finds me..." His voice dropping to a whisper, the prince trailed off and his gaze became preoccupied, as though inwardly it were transfixed in horrified fascination by a scene only he could perceive. However, Iroh was willing to bet he knew which scene it was, for his thoughts had also flown back to that Agni Kai arena, where two days ago a nightmare had indeed been cloaked by the bright, dreamlike sunshine.

Recalling them both to the present, Zuko then continued, "It serves me right, I suppose. I know it's the cowardly thing to do--hiding from my problems like this. I guess it just proves what Father said--I'm weak and worthless, and I don't deserve to be his son." In the young exile's last words, Iroh heard no bitterness or regret. Instead, Zuko spoke them with a kind of calm, despairing acceptance of this paternal judgment, for despite the torment it caused him both physically and internally, the prince would die rather than choose to act in a way that he believed to be disloyal to the one who had pronounced it a fitting sentence for him. Although Iroh knew from experience that no words of his could dampen that blind adoration, however, he could still try to change his nephew's opinion of himself.

"No, Zuko, you're not worthless, but priceless," the former general asserted. "You're wounded--you need lots of rest. And I don't blame you for not wanting to deal with the memory of your banishment, and the pain of the burn."

"But I should be dealing with it!" the prince countered. Turning away, he added in a constricted tone, "Father said--suffering--would be my teacher, and I'm not being a very good student by running away from my lessons like this."

"My dear nephew, I think you'll find that suffering enough awaits you in the days to come, without having to look for it," Iroh told him quietly, feeling his heart break as he said it. To this, however, Zuko gave no reply. As though wrestling with some inner quandary aroused by his uncle's words, the prince had instead tightly shut his good eye, and furrowed his brow in consternation.

When no reply came, the old general reaffirmed, "If you'd like to get some more sleep, by all means do so. You need your rest."

"Actually...I don't really want to go back to sleep--at least not right away," Zuko replied, opening his unbandaged eye and appearing somewhat surprised by his own decision. "Thank you for what you said, but I think I'd like to see if I can stay awake for a while. After all, I have been sleeping a lot lately, and...besides, I want to face my problems." Although Iroh didn't want his nephew to do himself further harm by striving to live up to standards to which the Fire Lord and thus Zuko himself believed that the prince had failed to adhere, the old Dragon decided that it might not hurt for his charge to stay awake for a while. In fact, perhaps it would benefit the young exile to have his conscious mind occupied with something other than the discomfort both his injury and his fall from grace inflicted upon him. At any rate, Iroh could always insist that Zuko get some more rest if he thought the prince needed to.

"All right then, why don't I regale you with exciting tales from my military career instead?" the former general suggested. Aware that his nephew enjoyed these stories, Iroh mentally reasoned that recounting them might help to keep the prince's thoughts off his troubles. Right now, it wasn't really healthy for Zuko to brood on his drastically worsened situation, as the old Dragon knew his nephew would if he were allowed to.

"All right, Uncle--I'd like that," the prince agreed.

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As the days passed, Zuko slowly began to recover, and didn't spend quite so much of his time asleep. While Iroh was of course glad that his nephew was regaining strength, another difficulty arose from the prince's increased periods of wakefulness. Although the old general tried to avoid having to tend the burn while Zuko was conscious, this was not always possible. At such times, the young exile simply lay still, both eyes firmly shut, and spoke no word as Iroh cleaned and re-bandaged his wound as gently as he was able. Despite Zuko's uncomplaining silence, however, the former general knew that this process still hurt his nephew. As though to help him endure it, the prince would clutch the edge of the blanket so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he would allow himself a sigh of relief when his eye was done being touched for the moment. During the rest of the time, Zuko bore the pain bravely, but it didn't escape Iroh's observation that his nephew's gaze was almost always dulled with suffering, whether of body or of mind. However, the old Dragon did everything in his power to lighten the prince's many burdens, or at least to share them.

Nonetheless, although Zuko was making gradual progress physically, his uncle discovered that it presented a far greater challenge to tend the still more grievous wound that Ozai's wrathful scorn had emblazoned on the young exile's heart. No matter how often or how earnestly Iroh assured the prince of his own value, Zuko remained firm in the conviction, which his father had so deeply and so mercilessly impressed upon him, that he had brought all these trials upon himself by his perceived failure and weakness, and that he didn't deserve to be treated any differently. At times, Iroh found himself inwardly blazing once again with horrified anger at the injustice and savagery with which Fire Lord had chosen to punish his son, or overwhelmed by heart-wrending sorrow for what the young exile was suffering because of it. For the most part, however, the old general strove to set these emotions aside in order to be the patient, loving caretaker that his nephew needed so desperately at present. Although Iroh couldn't replace Ozai as a father to Zuko, and the prince couldn't take the place of Lu Ten as a son to Iroh, the old Dragon did his best to nurture and protect his nephew's injured body and broken spirit with as much care and tenderness as parent ought to employ in looking after his child.

When Zuko was awake, Iroh did all he could to encourage his downcast nephew, but he found that the prince's responsiveness varied. If Zuko felt like talking about the circumstances that had so radically altered his life (as well as his face), then he and his uncle would have long conversations in which the old general struggled to bring them both to some understanding of this earth-shattering turn of events that seemed at first glance so incomprehensible. During these discussions, Iroh observed that the prince would return again and again to his father's expression directly before the flames were unleashed, which appeared to have been seared into the young exile's memory as surely as Zuko's own anguished cry in the moment immediately following had been seared into his uncle's heart. Although Iroh wasn't attempting to conceal the fact that he had looked away at that time, neither was he certain when or how to bring it up (or even if this revelation wouldn't do more harm than good), and his nephew hadn't directly asked him about it. Still, the old Dragon wished there were some way he could help Zuko to let go of this recollection that caused him so much emotional agony, and Iroh wasn't sure that he knew the best way to do that--at least, without having seen his brother's expression with his own eyes.

Although the young exile appeared at times to listen and respond with minimal beratement of himself to his uncle's reaffirmation of his worth, there were long periods during which a black depression would take hold of Zuko, and for hours on end he would do nothing but stare dully into space, lost in the misery of his own shame and despair. While the prince was in this state of mind, he would at best give Iroh toneless, monosyllabic answers, and at worst the former general would have to practically force him to eat and drink. In an effort to draw his nephew out of this dejection, Iroh would often sit and talk to him, although he rarely received a reply. When the old Dragon could think of nothing else to say, he simply held one of the prince's hands in both of his own, wishing to let Zuko know that he cared enough to be there when his nephew needed him, and to show the young exile that there was someone who loved him, and considered him worthwhile.

While Zuko's mood seldom rose above melancholy in the daytime, his sense of hopelessness and self-degradation was always worsened when the sun went down. For benders of fire (and to some extent for the human race at large), whatever tribulations they were facing loomed larger when the source of their element had forsaken the sky until dawn. To increase the prince's dread of the hours of darkness, every night he still woke screaming from fire-haunted dreams, and Iroh could certainly imagine that the prospect of having to relive that terrible duel yet again in the realm of slumber might well contribute to further dampening Zuko's spirits. Nonetheless, the old general was always there to comfort his nephew, and did all he could to drive away the terrors invading the prince's unconscious mind. Sometimes Iroh pursued this course by talking with Zuko once more about the events that had become the subject of his nightmares. While he could not lie to the prince by telling him that whatever fear had returned to trouble his dreams had no longer any power to harm him, the former general did assure his nephew that he would not have to face his troubles alone. When Zuko was especially upset and incoherent, however, it would often appear to Iroh that he needed simply to hold his charge close until a kinder sleep took him. This would the old Dragon do, sometimes crooning a lullaby as he cradled the banished prince in his arms.

After supper one night about a week into their journey, the former general noticed that his nephew was shivering. Although the room he and Zuko shared didn't feel particularly cold to Iroh, he was aware that those who have been injured don't possess as much energy to direct toward keeping their bodies the right temperature.

"Let me get you another blanket," the old general suggested, and did so.

At first Zuko did not respond, but when his uncle had spread the blanket over him, the prince asked quietly, "Why does the night have to be so dark, and so long?" In his unbandaged eye there was a lonely, forlorn expression that had become usual for him at night, and that reminded Iroh of what his nephew had now become--a child cast adrift in a vast, unfriendly wilderness, with no certainty of when or how he might ever return to his beloved home.

Desiring to remind the young exile that he had at least one benevolent companion remaining, Iroh smiled kindly down at Zuko as he reclaimed his seat, and answered, "That is so the world can rest, my nephew. If it were day all the time, we'd all get very tired."

The prince let out a disconsolate sigh. "All the same, I wish it were always day. I don't like the dark--the sky seems so empty without the sun. And my problems...seem even bigger. And so hopeless."

"It's true that as firebenders, we're never at our best at night-time," the former general acknowledged, heart aching for his nephew. "However, you must remember that the stars can only come out to shine once the sun goes down. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning," he added, trying to lighten the prince's mood.

"I hope so. I just wish...it wouldn't be quite so bad if I didn't keep dreaming about--about the duel," Zuko finished, appearing uncomfortable. As if to himself, he continued in a low tone, "It's bad enough...burning...when I'm awake." Looking at his uncle, he elaborated, "And even though I'm really not burning--anymore--it still feels like I am. I--I wish it wouldn't keep hurting quite so much," the prince confessed. Although he was absently fingering his bandage as he spoke, Iroh had a feeling that in those last few words, his nephew had been referring to more than simply the pain of his wound. As excruciating as the burn surely was even after the days that had passed since the duel, the old Dragon knew that Zuko was tormented far more cruelly by the fact that the Fire Lord had seen fit to strip the prince of his honor, as well as what little of his father's good opinion and love he may have possessed before their fateful Agni Kai.

Wishing to lift the young exile out of his present dejection, the former general replied, "Remember that even in the darkest of nights, there is hope, and that the sun will come again. I know that life is very difficult for you right now, but I will help you through this time of hardship. I won't let you suffer alone."

For a moment there was silence, and then Zuko softly called, "Uncle?"

"What is it, my nephew?"

Hesitating slightly, the prince inquired, "Did you see...his--my father's--face, just before--before..." Seeming overcome by the pain of recalling his ordeal, Zuko fell silent, and dropped his gaze. Drawing a deep breath, the old general inwardly prepared to tell his nephew of the betrayal (for so a part of him called it) that sympathy had bade him commit.

"No, Zuko, I--I'm afraid I didn't see the way he looked at you. I've known your father all his life, my prince. I knew he...would not show mercy to you. I didn't think I could bear to watch him...wound you as he did, because you are my entire world. In the moment before my brother unleashed the flames, when you raised your tear-stained face to gaze up at him, I must confess that...I looked away. I'm sorry--I didn't mean to forsake you in your time of need."

"Don't apologize, Uncle," Zuko told him in a hollow-sounding tone, as though Iroh's words had renewed the anguish of that memory. "I don't blame you for not wanting to watch. It was...horrible. Sheer agony. I...could feel my skin starting to crack, and...blister, as--as Father sent the fire toward me, to eat at my face and sear away every thought except...the white-hot pain of the burning. To--to make me suffer. " Closing his good eye, the prince dropped his voice to barely above a whisper, and went on with apparent difficulty. "But even that was better than--than the anger and...contempt in his eyes, as he looked into mine. That burned me worse than any firebending ever could. And...I know a prince shouldn't cry, but...knowing how badly I'd disappointed Father, and--and what he thought of me--his useless, disobedient son who wouldn't even fight for my honor when he told me to...I just couldn't stop the tears from coming. And they burned, too." Before he replied, Iroh found it necessary to brush away a few tears of his own.

"My dear nephew, you have suffered much already, and I would have spared you any of it that I could. But all my attempts failed, and here you are, wounded and banished. And not only that, but I even took my eyes from you in your moment of greatest duress, when you cried out amidst the roar of my brother's flames. My heart tells me I betrayed and abandoned you by doing so."

"You don't have to say that, Uncle," his nephew protested. "Like I said, it was horrible. I know that...being publicly shamed was a fitting part of the consequences for...my disobedience, but no-one should have to watch that--not if they don't want to. It was...my punishment, not yours. You didn't disobey the Fire Lord--I did. I...deserved what I got. I don't blame you for turning away."

"Nonetheless, I blame myself," the old general quietly insisted. "To be honest, it seems to me that I am the failure, not you. I'm sorry I allowed you to enter the war council chamber, where your heart drove you to speak out against the generals' cruelty. I'm sorry I let my brother hurt you, when I knew your pleading would fall on deaf ears. And I'm sorry I couldn't convince him to change his decree that you were to be banished--I cannot tell you how much it grieves me that you must endure this fate, when you have in my eyes done nothing wrong." Recalling the shock and horror of that moment in the dueling arena, he added heavily, "When you collapsed in my arms, and when I saw clearly what your father had done to you, I was afraid...oh my nephew, I feared so terribly that I might lose you, and that I would have to endure once more...the grief that crashed down upon me at Ba Sing Se. And I can't help feeling that in part, it's my fault this has happened to you, because I didn't try hard enough to prevent it."

"Uncle, stop!" cried the prince in frustration, as though he found that in absolving Iroh of these charges, it was necessary to further proclaim his own guilt. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you! I wanted to go into the war council when it wasn't my place, I spoke out of turn about that plan, and I...wouldn't fight when my father and my Lord commanded me to. And now I've dragged you down with me into exile and disgrace, when you didn't do anything wrong, and you shouldn't have had to leave the Fire Nation. I'm the real failure!"

"Zuko, you know I don't see you that way!" Iroh exclaimed in concern.

"But Father does," his nephew persisted unhappily, "and how can I say he's wrong? He is the Fire Lord, and I...I'm only an outcast. It's not my place to contradict him."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not very high in your father's esteem either, and he's known me longer," the old Dragon told Zuko. "He's always thought that I'm too soft-hearted and friendly to make a good Fire Lord." Briefly he smiled. "And I drink too much tea."

"I don't think that about you," the prince slowly responded. "Although, you do drink a lot of tea. But that's not a bad thing," he added quickly.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," answered the former general with a soft chuckle. Sobering, he observed with a touch of gentle humor, "Here we are, each trying to convince the other that we're the one to blame for your banishment. It's an odd situation to be in, isn't it--fighting for the right to apologize?"

"I guess so--yes, it is," Zuko admitted.

"Listen, I know how very difficult it is to choose to believe differently from someone you respect and love, and whose opinion you value so highly. So instead, why don't we just go ahead and forgive eachother anyway, even though we each feel the other doesn't need to apologize?"

"All right," the prince agreed.

"Now then, will you forgive me for letting it come to this, my nephew?" the old Dragon inquired sincerely.

"I still don't think you should have to ask," Zuko replied, "but I will, of course. And now it's my turn. Uncle, I'm sorry you had to get involved in my disgrace, and I'm sorry for...everything else."

"You were already forgiven," Iroh stated simply, "although you know I don't believe you've done wrong."

"Thank you, Uncle," came the quiet response.

"You're certainly welcome," the former general assured his nephew. Then he continued, "I want you to know that you will always have my forgiveness, no matter what you do. But get some rest now-- things will probably look more hopeful when the sun returns, you know. And I have faith that there will be a light at the end of this dark tunnel, even though we can't see it right now."

"I wish I could agree with you," the prince sighed, "but...I just don't see what you see. The future looks so hopeless right now, and I feel drained of everything except all the things I don't want to think about. I'm sorry, Uncle. I guess I just don't have your faith."

"Don't feel bad about it," the old Dragon responded, trying to sound encouraging. "I'll have faith and hope enough for both of us. And this I will promise you: no matter how long and hard the road, I'll always be right there by your side. I'll never forsake you (or stop loving you) as long as I live." Although Zuko didn't reply, the ghost of a wan smile appeared on his drawn and pale face, and that was all the thanks his uncle needed.

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Although it seemed to Iroh that his charge had moved closer in that discussion toward healing emotionally as well as physically, he knew that it would take the work of more than one day's conversation (or one evening's conversation, for that matter) for not only Zuko's face but also his heart to completely recover from the wound left there by the Fire Lord's terrible lesson, if indeed it ever could. Later that same night this was proven, for the old general woke to hear his nephew crying out once again as another nightmare tortured him. Hastening to the prince's bedside, Iroh leaned down to gently shake him out of this hostile slumber.

"Zuko, wake up--you're dreaming." With a start, the young exile opened his good eye, breathing hard. Then he shrank back in fear, seeming to mistake the dark shape looming over him for the tormentor of his dream.

Sitting down on the prince's bed, Iroh softly assured him, "It's me, nephew--I'm not going to hurt you. And I won't let anyone else do it, either." His apprehension evidently melting into intense relief, Zuko closed the visible eye again, and turned his head away.

"That's right--you're safe now," the old Dragon soothed. Cupping the unbandaged side of the prince's face in one hand, he found that it was wet with tears.

"I'm--I'm sorry, Uncle," Zuko choked out. "I'm...trying to--to get myself...under control. It's just--I thought you were--it was worse than the burning, making him so ashamed of me...! I'm sorry," he repeated in a whisper.

Pulling his nephew to a sitting position, the former general replied gently but firmly, "No, don't be. You can't bottle up all of your pain and fear inside you. It will only poison you from the inside out, and hurt you even more." As the old Dragon spoke these words, he was reminded of the angry, bitter young man in the vision that he had sworn to prevent, if he could. At present, however, comforting Zuko was what mattered the most, and so it was to this that Iroh devoted his attention.

Enfolding the prince in a warm, sheltering embrace, he murmured, "You have to let it all out. Go ahead and cry. There's no-one here but me, and I am not someone from whom you need to hide your tears." Appearing unable to hold back his loneliness and despair any longer, the young exile's defenses came crashing down, and he obeyed that gentle direction.

As Iroh tightly held the wounded prince who had come to know so much of anguish and loss recently, Zuko buried his face in his uncle's shoulder, while his body was racked with bitter sobs. Soon the prince had soaked the front of Iroh's robe with tears from the only eye that could still produce them, but the old general did not care in the slightest. As he had known since the Agni Kai that had shattered his nephew's world (although perhaps that event had only made him consciously realize what had been true long before), Iroh would do anything to protect and comfort the child he loved. Remembering someone who had shared this conviction, which in her case had probably led to her unexplained and tragic disappearance, the old Dragon promised himself once again that he would continue to look after Zuko for the sake of Ursa as well as that of the prince and Iroh himself. The young exile might be doomed to wander fruitlessly in the wide, unfriendly world, but he would not lose the only remaining family member who still cared about him.

At last Zuko quieted, and the former general became aware that the prince had fallen into an exhausted slumber. Unwilling to relinquish the worn out child from the protective circle of his arms, Iroh leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed, where there hung a banner upon which the Fire Nation insignia was emblazoned in cloth the color of blood and flame. Glancing tenderly back down at his charge, the old Dragon watched a shadow pass over Zuko's face, as though some ghost of the evils that the prince had been forced to endure haunted his unconscious mind even now.

"Don't be afraid, my dear little one," Iroh softly reassured him, hoping that his nephew would somehow sense these words even in slumber. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you." Whether it was by these words of encouragement, or perhaps because of the love for Zuko that resided so deeply in the one who spoke them, it seemed that the young exile's troubled dreams were calmed after all. His expression cleared, and Iroh felt his own heart, so burdened with concern and sympathy for his charge, ease a little.


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A/N: Hope you liked it! To tell you the truth, i was a bit worried that i'd gone somewhat overboard with the fluff/angst factor, or that i'm repeating myself. But hopefully you didn't think so...it's hard to tell with one's own work. As regards notes on the text, i'd like to point out that we have, as you've seen, finally gotten to...a better place of some sort...(argh! my mental thesaurus is malfunctioning again!) concering the distress on Zuko's part that has been caused in this story by the memory of how his father looked at him when Iroh turned away. (Another long, confusing sentence...I'm prone to those.) Also, in the discussion in that part of this chapter, Iroh's the one feeling like he failed, and Zuko's the one insisting that his uncle didn't fail, so it's kind of reversed that way. And in case you were wondering about the head of the prince's bed being against the FN banner instead of how it is in the show, that was a conscious decision on my part. You see, i needed a wall or something for Iroh to be able to lean up against, and i figured it was possible that Zuko might have rearranged his room at some point. ;) Oh, and i'm planning to post an illustration (well, actually more than one) for this chapter, but i'm not sure when i'll get around to that yet. You're welcome to comment on the illustrations i already have up for the previous chapters, tho. Also, i thought while writing Iroh's promise about Zuko always having his forgiveness no matter what was especially interesting in consideration with Crossroads of Destiny. Because i think it's true, you know, even tho Zuko betrayed him. That's just the kind of person Iroh is, and that's the kind of love he has for his nephew. (I love foreshadowing...lol.) But anyway, i suppose it's time to go ahead and post this so that my wonderful, patient readers can finally read it. (After I take a deep breath and cross my fingers, that is...)