AU: Whoo, getting this one in late tonight. :p I am a slave to the Fire Nation royal family, I tell you...

This is another Iroh POV, and it's-well-I can't really call it a foreshadowing of the series, because a) it's not canon and b) it was written after the show came out. So, let's call it retroshadowing. XD

Song: Yiruma - May Be .com/watch?v=GF9w_iERKMA (it's a little soft and sweet, but that's all right)

Enjoy!

7.

Iroh could remember the very first time he had truly realized that Ozai was a different sort of child. There had been previous instances where the elder prince had wondered where his younger brother had come from, but none stuck out in his mind as much as this particular vignette.

It had been a fine spring afternoon, when the palace was full of the fragrance of a thousand cherry blossoms. Iroh had been sitting on the eastern steps of the royal quarters, watching the sun set. He could remember the flavor of the cup of tea sitting in his hand, and how he had considered learning to brew tea, himself, so he would never go without its soothing relief.

Behind him, he had heard the laughter of his mother and wife as they shared their own pot of tea in the eastern ornamental garden. Ruka had barely left his side after his first campaign into the heart of the Earth Kingdom; that afternoon had been the first time they had been separated for a month, and it had been a separation imposed by his mother. Lady Ilah had insisted on a private tea session with her daughter-in-law, and Ruka had graciously accepted. Iroh had sighed, feeling a little forlorn, alone on the palace steps with nothing but his tea to keep him company.

That was when he had heard the rustling noises coming from another part of the garden. Iroh had perked up his ears, pinpointing the sounds to the miniature orchard two cloisters over. The heavy swishing of branches had led him to suspect that an intruder, a spy or assassin, had entered the palace and was climbing into the royal family's private quarters. He had picked up his teacup, slipped on his shoes, and tiptoed to the orchard, intent on sniffing the intruder out of his leafy entryway.

As he had crouched behind a low wall, Iroh had found that no one had snuck into the garden; on the contrary, someone was trying to sneak out. Ozai had been the source of the tree-shaking. The elder prince had watched, amused, as his younger sibling eyed the spry dragon-eye, the closest tree to the outer wall. The younger prince had backed up a few steps, then took a running leap and attached himself fiercely to the bark of the tree.

Ozai had managed to get one foothold on the smooth trunk before his small hands lost their grip and he tumbled back down. By the cock-eyed angle of his topknot, it had been apparent that the boy prince had been at his escape attempt for several minutes, and if Iroh had not known from his hair, he would have known by the harsh words spilling from Ozai's mouth. Iroh had blinked, impressed and somewhat embarrassed at his young brother's use of colorful language. He could remember hoping that Lady Ilah never heard her youngest son swearing like a stable hand; she would have surely blamed it on him.

After this miniature temper tantrum, Ozai had pushed some hair out of his eyes, spat on both his hands (another mannerism at which Lady Ilah would have fainted), and attacked the tree again. This time, he had latched on to one large branch, wrapping himself around it like a monkey and swinging himself up. But, at the last second, his foot had slipped, dumping him in a heap on the grass. Iroh's chest had twinged a little when Ozai did not get up immediately, but lay like a bundle of maroon laundry at the base of the tree, completely winded.

Iroh had thought that the matter was closed, then. He had even moved to stand, to go check on his younger brother and scold him for trying to leave the palace. But he had stopped as Ozai had risen, his small frame rigid as a metal mast, looking up at the dragon-eye. The youngest prince had folded his hands behind his back and tilted his head so that his topknot appeared straight. And he had stood that way for over a minute, staring at the tree as Iroh stared at him, wondering what in world was going on in that childish brain.

Finally, Ozai had reached down and untied his belt, holding up the piece of fabric to judge its length. Seeming satisfied, the boy had thrown the belt over the lowest branch of the dragon-eye, looping it twice for stability. Then he had tied a knot at the bottom of the belt where the two ends met and used that as his foothold, pushing the rest of his body up onto the branch. When he had settled himself, he had reached down, untied the knot, and repeated the process on the next branch, working his way to the other side of the tree.

Iroh had watched the whole scheme play out with an open mouth. He had only just realized that he needed to stop his baby brother from making good on his escape as Ozai's figure had vanished inside the leaves. Then he had sprinted forward and called, "Where do you think you're going?"

There had come a startled cry from the upper branches, and then Ozai had peered back down at the base of his getaway tree. "Oh," he had said, looking innocent, "hello, Iroh."

"Hello, Ozai," Iroh had said calmly. "That was quite a good escape plan you had, there; it would have worked, too, if I hadn't have taken my tea out on the eastern steps."

"I-I'm not trying to escape!" At age seven, Ozai had not been such a great liar.

"I did my fair share of sneaking around when I was your age," Iroh had admitted, "but I was never so clever as this. But you must make sure you haven't ruined that belt; mother will notice and wonder what you've been doing."

Ozai had slumped glumly against a branch. "You're going to tell mother about this, aren't you?"

"I don't see why I would," Iroh had said, with a smile. "As long as you come down, now-"

"I will come down-"

"And never try this again."

"Oh," Ozai had said, folding his arms. "I knew there was a catch."

"There's always a catch," Iroh had said. Ozai had stuck out his tongue, making the older prince laugh. "You may not like it, Prince Ozai, but it's true."

"Whatever," Ozai had said, and sighed, shifting on his feet like guilty children do. "I suppose I had better come down, now?"

"That would be best-"

Iroh never had figured out how the little ruffian had done it; it irked him that he, one of the finest military minds of the Fire Nation, had been outwitted by his seven year-old brother. In the time it took Iroh to say, 'That would be best,' Ozai had scrambled through the tree and over the wall, leaving nothing but his triumphant laugh behind. And Iroh had picked his jaw up off the ground for the second time that afternoon.

Twelve years later, Iroh sighed as he met a familiar sight by the eastern wall of the royal orchard. The dragon-eye had grown to a ponderous height, swaying over the wall and dropping an occasional fruit onto the ground below. Its branches bore enough leaves to conceal a boy who had grown just like the tree.

"Don't you think you're getting a little old for this routine, baby brother?" asked Iroh, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. You could just walk out the palace doors, you know; you're not confined here, anymore."

Ozai glanced back down, one foot still poised on the edge of the wall. "No one can know about this," he said, and, as Iroh took in his dark clothes and nondescript topknot, he understood.

"You know the rule, Ozai?" Iroh asked, watching the last of the black cloth fade into the green leaves.

"Yes," came sarcastic the answer, from somewhere in the tree, "and I learned it all by myself."

Iroh shook his head. Ozai's excursions that required an escape through the orchard were not ones with which he wished to get involved. "Just don't get caught," he said, trying to put as much care into the words as he could. He received a scoffing noise in return. Pretty soon, he knew that his brother was gone, in the outer palace and soon to be on the streets of the capital.

"Someday, I'll cut this tree down," muttered Iroh, with a dark glance at the swaying branches of the dragon-eye. The tree swished in the breeze, seeming to echo a moment from years before: a boy's triumphant laugh.