An early morning fog hung around the Fire Nation encampment deep in the jungle on the creatively named Fire Fountain Island. The soldiers chatted amongst themselves as they ate, their tight stances and searching eyes at odds with seemingly jovial mood of the company. Zuko hunkered down in the thick foliage, taking deep breaths and focusing his mind as he waited for the scout to come back with her report. He'd tried to get a count on his own, but he really needed to be high up to see everything. At least he could see an insignia; they were the Sparrows. Light infantry. Lots of archers. They'd been flexing their muscle at the people of Fire Fountain City for quite some time, and the rebellion had come to put an end to it. Finally, the scouts returned.

"Sparrows," she said. "About forty of them here. Twenty more stationed around the city itself."

"Can we do it?"

"Well enough."

Zuko nodded. They would be outnumbered, but they had a tactical advantage; even though they were alert, it didn't look like the Fire Nation soldiers had discovered the rebels yet. They could do it. He signaled to his soldiers and they fanned out, the scouts sending out the owlcat hoot, and Zuko watched the other side of the clearing as if he expected to see Sokka and his soldiers falling into place. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and loosened his dao in their scabbard. When the third owlcat hoot sounded, they attacked.

The Sparrows were highly trained, but when the forest came alive, icicles shooting from between the leaves, immediately downing several of their soldiers, they were thrown into panic. Sparrows with bowls hastily dropped them, reaching for their weapons only to be cut down before they could draw their swords. The rebels moved as quickly as they could to take advantage of the surprise; it would only be a few seconds before the Sparrows were able to reorganize, and in that time, the rebellion would need to do as much damage as possible. Commands were shouted, and the Sparrows toward the center of the camp moved with unison, weapons drawn and fire ready, trying to rescue their comrades.

Zuko emptied his mind and focused on the battle, relishing the way the rest of the world slipped away as he ducked a blast of fire and swung at a soldier's knees. They went down, only to be replaced by two others, and Zuko met them both, kicking one in the stomach and blocking the other with his dao. His crown made him a target. Ozai had given strict orders for him to be killed on sight, probably offering some reward for the soldier that brought him the traitor's head, and Zuko tried to use this to his advantage, drawing them closer to the rebel archers, still hidden in the trees. He spun, using the flat of his blade to block a blast of fire before reaching into the pit of his stomach and letting his own fire out in a bright spray. Eyes wide, two of the soldiers dove out of the way, and right into Sokka's sword. Sokka made short work of them as Zuko took care of the others, and neither man could help a smirk as they saluted each other before turning away to rejoin the fight. Zuko took two steps, then stopped short.

There he was.

Across the battlefield, standing in the safety of a half circle of trees, surrounded by soldiers in heavy armor. When he thought of his father, the first image was always a thirteen year old's warped perception of the man who had created him, then burned him. A tall figure bathed in golden fire, his mouth twisted into a weird grin of pure joy, his eye wide with excitement, as fire burned in his palms. Ozai had always seemed large and imposing, a man that loomed above him. Dangerous. Deadly. Now…

His armor was far too shiny, too new to have actually seen any battle; a lone, pristine general surrounded by soldiers bathed in blood. His dark hair was mixed with grey and moved freely in the breeze, unlike Zuko's own, which was covered in blood and filth. Ozai was a man above the battle, someone who never deigned to get his hands dirty, and his crown was polished to a high gloss, brightly reflecting the sun. Too bright for the gory setting, too perfect for the slaughter that surrounded him. But those eyes… Those eyes were the same as his own, and Zuko stared at them, held their gaze, feeling for a moment like he was three, the first time he crossed his father, and those eyes and flashed with rage and fury, the wall scones erupting like volcanoes as Zuko cowered behind a chair that was ripped away and smashed against the wall. That face twisted with rage and hate…

Zuko forced himself to close his eyes, taking deliberate breaths to calm the inferno inside of him, pulling the fire back from his fingertips, painfully aware of the itch and a base desire to visit every hurt, every pain on his tormentor. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of a man who looked old, dark bags under his eyes. Out of touch. An unused sword at his hip. Ozai smirked, inclining his chin in challenge as if he would actually step away from his bodyguards. Zuko took a half step forward.

"Not right now." Sokka's voice was solid, his grip on Zuko's arm strong. "We're going to get that bastard, but we're going to do it in a way that leaves no doubt about who's going to be Fire Lord."

He barely heard Sokka's words, his mind filled with thoughts of all the times Ozai tried to hurt him, of the way Ozai had thrown lighting at his own son on the Day of Black Sun. He couldn't stop the itch in his finger tips, and Zuko shifted, ready to spring across that battlefield and truly show Ozai just what lightning could do. He would show Ozai just what fear was.

"Don't be stupid."

Sokka yanked him back, breaking his eye contact with Ozai, and Zuko realized that they were being surrounded and protected by a few of their soldiers. He was putting everyone's life at risk. Zuko took a step back; he'd learned a lot from his best friend over the years. He trusted Sokka with his life, and he trusted that Sokka wouldn't lead him astray on this, because it would be easy, so easy, to end Ozai's life. But Sokka was right; if he did it now, ran a sword right through him without enough witnesses from both sides, the people wouldn't believe him. They wouldn't fully accept him as their Fire Lord, saying that someone else must have done it, that there was no proof, that there were rules for challenging a Fire Lord. When he finally sat on the throne, he would have enough trouble taking control; he'd only be making things harder for himself if he struck Ozai down right then.

Ozai's grin turned predatory, mocking, and he threw his head back and laughed, mouthing the word "pathetic." He turned and was escorted off the battlefield, his soldiers shielding his back. Slowly, Sokka let go, and nothing was stopping Zuko from going after his father, and the voice of the insecure sixteen year old boy who wanted nothing more than to have his father's approval and see him rot in the depths of the world was far too loud. If he took off, Sokka would follow him. The soldiers would follow him. It would be so easy to end it all.

With a sigh, Zuko turned his back, forcing himself to look at the clearing. Their soldiers had taken care of Ozai's forces, and were clearing up, separating prisoners from the dead, looking after injuries, figuring out if they had any losses. They nodded respectfully whenever they made eye contact with Zuko. He felt tired. Exhausted. Sad.

Empty.

Zuko sat huddled in a corner his room, his knees to his chest, his head resting against the wall. It was weird to be back in the Fire Nation, to be surrounded by things that were so familiar and yet so foreign to him. He hated that his own nation felt foreign. He'd been away for so long. He took a shaky breath, stubbornly rubbing at his eyes and hating that such a vile creature could still inspire such terrifying rage and anger and confusion in him. After they'd gotten back, he'd immediately run off, deep into the jungle and unleashed his rage on a circle of trees. He'd only calmed when Druk came to him, taking him out of the burned clearing and bringing them back to their house in Fire Fountain City. The moment people looked at him, questions at the tip of their tongues, Zuko had gone off, hidden from everyone, shame making him hang his head as his uncle's words came to him. The Air Nomads practice forgiveness unconditionally, Iroh had said, but you cannot forgive one who does not want to be forgiven. Your pain, your anger is real, and you have every right to feel it.

"Zuko?" There was a soft knock on the door. "Do you mind if we come in?"

If his pain was real and if it was valid, then why did it always make him feel like a fool?

"I guess not."

He hoped that he'd spoken too quietly for them to hear, but the door opened and Hakoda and Iroh stepped into the room. He was hidden in the corner, the bed blocking him from their view, so he watched as they surveyed the damage, waiting for their disappointment. And he waited. And he waited. Hakoda took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his whole body tense. Behind him, Iroh's shoulders drooped, his sigh heavy. Zuko waited for their disappointment.

"Where are you, son?" Hakoda asked.

If he wanted, he could stay hidden for the rest of his life. Just tucked away in that corner, shaking and terrified of what they might say to him, knowing he was too damn old to be acting this way.

"In the corner," he mumbled. Better to get it over with.

Hakoda and Iroh came over, sitting on each side of him, and the three men sat on the floor, their backs against the wall, not talking. They sat in silence for so long that Zuko was almost ready to beg them to say just how much they hated him. When had he started shaking? Iroh placed his hand on Zuko's head, just like he used to do when he was a little boy, and that hand was steady. Calm.

"Sokka told me what happened," Hakoda said quietly. "I'm proud of you."

Zuko took a deep breath, tears in his eyes again, and he didn't have the willpower to stop them.

"For what?" His voice sounded weird. Childlike. Angry. "Prolonging this war even more? Sixteen years, Hakoda. Sixteen years. For Agni's sake, Katara's going to start teaching the Avatar in a few months. Aang would have been… His birthday…"

He gestured vaguely, searching for words to explain the turmoil raging inside of him. He was 32, had a three year old daughter, had crowned himself Fire Lord in direct opposition to Ozai, had crowned Katara his Fire Lady. He actively sought to thwart Ozai at every turn, and had been successful at it, picking up supporters along the way, making powerful allies and working to untie the world.

And still, Ozai had a hold on him.

"There are many paths you could have taken," Iroh said. "We could sit and speculate all evening about what might have happened had you chosen one and not the other, but one truth remains, and you must cling to this, my nephew. You have never forgotten who you are."

"Why does he hate me?"

"Because he's an idiot," Hakoda said through clenched teeth. "He's got no respect for life, and he'll never be a quarter of the man you've become. I don't know that I would have the strength to turn away like you did."

"Strength?" Zuko pulled away from them, turned to face them, because he had to see if they were mocking him. "Strength? I could have ended everything, right then. One bolt of lightning, and this war would be over."

"Would it? Or would it just bring about a civil war in the Fire Nation and flood the world with a different kind of rebel?"

Zuko rubbed at his eyes, staring at his uncle. "Why can't I forgive myself? For everything."

This was the truth of it, wasn't it? He'd never forgiven himself for all the hurt and pain he'd caused the world. In his anger and desperate need to be loved by a madman, he'd actually found the Avatar and worked to bring him to the Fire Nation to either be slaughtered or imprisoned. It had taken him too long to straighten out his life and by the time he did, it was too late. There wasn't enough time to teach Aang, to really teach him, and because of that, he wasn't ready to fight Ozai. Because Zuko had been a fool, Aang had died and the war had gotten more brutal, and he was still too much of a coward to face his father.

"Do you want to be forgiven?" Iroh asked quietly.

Zuko hung his head. "No. I don't deserve—"

"Oh, enough of this," Hakoda said, frowning and crossing his arms.

Hakoda stood and yanked Zuko up, practically dragging him to the window and making him look out at Fire Fountain City. Outside, as the sun was setting, people were packing up the market, waving and saying goodnight to each other as they went home for the day. Noticeably missing was Ozai's statue; after they liberated the city and tore down the statue, the people repaved the area, and it looked like Ozai's monument to himself had never been there.

"Forgiveness is a complicated thing," Hakoda said, his voice much softer, but still stern. "And I agree with Iroh, it is something you have to want. But this notion that you don't deserve to be forgiven for something you did when you were sixteen? You were a kid, Zuko, and you thought you were doing what was best for your nation and your people. It's not your fault that your father is a piece of shit."

Behind them, Iroh chuckled. "Ozai's sins are not your own, nephew."

"None of this would have been possible without you. You are a good man, and you have proven yourself again and again. You take your time to consider the consequences, you think, you plan. You try to only ask of others what you're willing to do yourself. You were a child when this whole business started. All of you. This wasn't your war."

They stood in silence, watching as the last of the people finished closing up their shops, and Iroh came to join them. Zuko sniffled one last time, then wiped away the remnants of his tears.

"Do you regret not killing him?" Iroh asked.

Zuko shook his head. "No, I don't suppose I do. I don't want to kill him at all, but…I…"

He waited for the words to come to him, but he wasn't quite sure just what he wanted to say. He'd thought over this decision for years, and was absolutely sure of the choice he would make.

"You'll never be him," Hakoda said. "Never. You're too much like your uncle."

Iroh laughed, shoving his hands inside his sleeves. "It only took how long, nephew? I finally got him to enjoy a good cup of tea and a nice game of pai sho."

Zuko shrugged and Hakoda put his arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. He felt calmer. A little.

"Maybe a cup of tea wouldn't be so bad right now," Zuko said.

"That's the spirit, nephew. We can work on self-forgiveness later."

"Besides, I think Katara and Kya are back." Hakoda opened the door and looked back at them. "Take a look in the mirror, son. That's the best proof I could ever give you t hat you'll never be the despicable man that Ozai is."

Zuko looked in the mirror. He looked tired, and his eyes were kind of red, but he was smiling a little. Hearing Kya's name always made him smile. Iroh always said his face lit up whenever she was mentioned, and Zuko didn't doubt it. She was the light in his life, and the real reason that he didn't kill Ozai right then. She would inherit his crown one day, and he wanted to make the world better for her. She was so bright and happy and pure and untroubled, and he wanted her to stay that way for as long as possible. He watched his smile grow the longer he thought about Kya.

"I did it for her," he told his fathers. "And I'd do it again."

"There's the spirit, son. Now let's get that cup of tea."