Chapter Nine

The Western Air Temple was airy and vast, a maze of strange foundations and odd buildings. Zuko and his men - a crew consisting of cast-offs and retired soldiers - had barely found it. It was only when Pon, who was tipsy and giggling, had peered over the edge of the cliff and let out a shrill shout that they had found it.

"What a magnificent find, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently at his side, keeping up with Zuko no matter how fast the younger man tried to walk. "A ruin that not even war has kept from being preserved."

"Well, it didn't stop them from being found," Zuko answered flatly. In a louder voice, he called out, "Search every inch of the place and only come back if you have something!"

One of the oldest crew members - Jee - made a face. "And if we don't?"

Zuko glared at him. He had been the most outspoken when it came to making Zuko's decisions seem foolish or wrong. No matter how many times Zuko proved him wrong, Jee still continued to be a pain in his side.

"Then don't come back!" he snarled in reply, his hands sparking in his fury.

Iroh's hand clamped down on Zuko's shoulder, startling him into being ashamed. "Whatever you find - or do not find - is more than enough, Lieutenant Jee," Iroh said gently, wearing a placating smile. When the older men huffed a little and made their way into the temple, Iroh turned to Zuko with a frown. "Where is this anger coming from, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko's face darkened. He hated hearing his title, hated everything that came with it, especially since it really didn't belong to him anymore. He wondered why Iroh even bothered using it. "Nothing," he snapped. When he ventured a look up to meet Iroh's gazed, he reddened. "Really! I'm not angry!"

Iroh raised a brow, not moving his hand from the younger man's shoulder, and finally he gave in, looking down. "Fine! I'm angry!" he admitted, jerking his shoulder away. "I'm tired and I want to go home."

"And?" his uncle added, standing very still.

Zuko shut his eye, the burned eye still buried beneath bandages that stuck and hurt. He clenched his teeth together, unable to keep it in. "And, so I'm angry! I don't want to do this. I want to go home, start over again!"

"You can't change the past."

"I know that!" Zuko snapped, turning back to his uncle, his voice cracking. Iroh blinked, but he didn't move. It was as if Zuko's anger meant nothing to him. Inside, Zuko also wondered where it all came from. All of those years of being bullied by Kohaku and Azula, all of those weak moments when he put up with it... he had felt shame and frustration, yes, but never this blazing anger and hatred for his fate. Never like this.

"I'm sorry," he burst out suddenly, looking away. He stared at the ground, focusing on the dust and pebbles - anything but his uncle. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Iroh knew. He knew exactly why Zuko was so angry, and why he had such trouble coming to terms with it. And when he finally found out for himself, Iroh planned to be at his side.

He said, "It's alright. Would you like me to start looking as well?"

Zuko swallowed, taking a breath to calm himself. When he turned back, he felt more assured. "If you can. I'll also take a look around, see if I can find anything. Anything at all, Uncle - even if it looks like junk - just bring it here. My honour depends on it."

As he stalked away, Iroh reached up and fussed with his beard idly, watching him vanish around the bend.

Iroh was right: the temple was beautiful. Even Zuko, in his desperate searching, could see that. As desecrated as it was, it still held the shadow of deep and serene beauty it once had, and Zuko found himself standing in front of a crumbling statue of Yangchen, the last Air Nomad Avatar. Her expression was of calm and collected peace, and Zuko wondered what it was like to feel like that. Even in meditation, he couldn't shake his anger. Even when he was supposed to be thinking about his breathing, all he could think about was this unfair twist of events.

I wouldn't have stood in the way of the throne, he thought idly, his injured eye throbbing beneath his dressings. I would have been content with being the second prince, the eternal prince.

And he really would have. He believed it with all of his heart. He would have been fine with Kohaku being Firelord after their father. He would have been fine with being the shadows, doing his own things that would help make his twin's rule easier. He would have never spoken up, never said anything against him...

But that's exactly what I thought before the war council, isn't it?

With a bite of cold fear, he realised it was true. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought to have the courage to speak to his father about his decisions, to second-guess him the way he had. A year ago, such a thought would be laughable, the furthest from his mind.

He stared at Yangchen, his eye going unfocused. At his sides, his hands trembled.

In the end, there was nothing there. Zuko didn't want to admit is disappointment. Even though he knew that the Air Nomad Temples had been combed through numerous times, there was some small part of him that had hoped that things would be different for him, that there would be some kind of special hint for him. But there wasn't, and he tried to keep his emotions inside.

"Try not to let it keep you down," Iroh suggested gently, making sure that the other men couldn't hear. "We still have three temples to look through, and anything else along the way. We just have to keep our eyes open."

Zuko shot him a look, one that clearly indicated his feelings on having both eyes open, and Iroh had to laugh a little at that, hoping Zuko would see the humour in it, too. Sadly, he didn't; he stormed away without once looking back.

Watching his father rule was like watching a carefully orchestrated play. When he was small, and Kohaku was privileged enough to watch Ozai dictate his small following, his father had merely displayed a fraction of the charisma and cool-headed dictation that he showed now, as Firelord.

Kohaku sat at his father's right side, his legs crossed and his head held high. Sitting like this, he could see what was going on before him while still being partially obscured by the flames. It made him feel powerful, like an untouchable deity.

Ozai never said it, but Kohaku knew that he was his heir. He knew that, at this point, it was moot. He was the one that sat in on meetings, and he was the one that watched it all happen. Azula wasn't invited; she merely waited in the gardens or went to the Academy, never once having a private tutor like Kohaku, never once being invited to the war councils or sitting so closely at their father's side.

These moments, these truths, tasted even sweeter now, without Zuko's constant shadow haunting the Palace, waiting to be punished and humiliated and burned.

Kohaku waited for the day when someone would announce that his twin had given up, or that he was found washed up on a shore somewhere dead. He waited with eagerness for news of his twin's failure, hoping that Zuko would come home either begging for mercy or in a box.

Either way, it wouldn't change how things were, now.

Kohaku was the favourite. He was the heir. He was the future. And Zuko was not - and never would be.

Zuko lay in his cot, his eye open and wide, the other under light gauze bandages covering a cold salve. His body shook, still full of adrenaline, and he tried to calm down. It always ended up like this, every time Iroh cleaned out the burn. There was something about the added agony, the feel of the burning alcohol and the sharp knife, that set his body into panic mode and made him want to fight, want to flee. Even when Iroh was as gentle as possible, sometimes giving him a calming tea to make it easier, it didn't.

He was grateful that Iroh was here, and that he knew what he was doing. If he had had to do it alone, he probably would have lost the sight in the eye in the first week. He trusted the other men on his ship even less, and wouldn't let them near him, much less witness his humiliation.

He listened to the waves crash against the walls, slowing his breathing and trying to focus on the sound, instead of the dull throbbing pain in his eye. It wasn't getting easier, he had to admit. Even now, with the Eastern Air Temple two months behind him, it still wasn't getting any easier. All of it - the searching, the pain, the humiliation, the pity - was just as hard-going as it was then.

It also didn't help that the nights were getting longer, and colder - a price paid for going north. Zuko had never been so far from home before, and the cold was a shock. While his firebending seemed to keep it at bay for the most part, moments like these, when he was in a stupor of shock and medicine, he felt the cold deep in his bones, as if his fires had been stuffed out. It was a helpless feeling.

The door creaked open slowly, and Zuko jumped, the waning adrenaline flooding back into his system. He sat up hurriedly, determined not to look weak in front of the crew, but when he saw it was Iroh, he relaxed, just a bit. "Something wrong?" he croaked out, his voice thick with the painkilling poppy he had had earlier. "Is there land?"

Iroh walked in carrying a tray laden with a teapot, a pair of mugs, and a bowl that steamed and smelled like something wonderful. "Relax, nephew," Iroh replied gently, walking to his sit and sitting down in a chair - the only one in the entire room. "It's late, and I know you haven't eaten anything yet this evening."

Zuko's first instinct was to fight it - after all, he suspected that Iroh, meaning well, had also spiked the tea with more poppy to help him sleep. But when his gut clenched and he felt a minute wave of dizziness wash over him, he gave in. "Yeah," he admitted hoarsely, "You're right. Thanks."

He took the tray and placed it in his lap, picking up the spoon and bowl carefully before starting to eat. As he ate, Iroh poured two mugs of fresh tea, and Zuko wondered if he had been wrong, after all.

Iroh watched Zuko closely, noting the glassiness in his eye and the eagerness in his eating. He put on a good front, but in the end, Zuko was still his youngest nephew, full of careless abandon and eagerness to please and be noticed. That much was clear in how fast he ate, and how his eye kept flickering up to Iroh to see if he was watching. Iroh lowered his gaze and sipped his tea casually.

When Zuko set the bowl down, Iroh offered him a cup. He knew that Zuko preferred his tea a little tepid rather than steaming hot - another indication of his personality. Zuko took it carefully, his hands shaking a little.

"You have to remember to eat, Prince Zuko," Iroh said gently. Zuko looked up, his eye flashing for a moment in anger, but it passed, as Iroh knew it would. "If you don't take care of your body, it won't matter if you find the Avatar - if you do."

Zuko scowled, a dark look coming over his face. "There is no 'if', Uncle. I will find the Avatar. I have to."

Iroh set the mug down. "Zuko, you know it's possible that you never find him."

Zuko glared, feeling a tug of pain in his chest. "I have to! I will! Father knows I can find him! That's why he put me on this mission in the first place - to find him! He knows I can do it. Why else would he do this?"

Iroh looked away, folding his hands in his lap. Zuko felt his body shaking, felt the exhaustion and the medicine tugging at his last reserves of energy. Now, with his indignation, he felt even worse. In one gulp, he downed the rest of the tea and slammed the mug onto the tray. "Thanks for the tea," he grated out.

His uncle looked at him with a blank look on his face, then wordlessly gathered the mugs and bowl up on the tray. He picked it up from Zuko's lap, and the younger man instantly turned away and curled up on his side. Iroh bit back a sigh and left him alone.

When the door closed, Zuko shut his eye and gritted his teeth. His hand went under his shirt and around the medallion, the metal warm from his skin. He clutched it tight, trying to keep that very same thought - that Ozai was doing this because he believed in his younger son - in his mind, trying to meld it into his thoughts and turn it into the truth.