Iroh twiddled the Panda-Lily between his fingers as he leaned over the side of the ship. He had plucked the delicate flower from the castle garden weeks ago. It was the only one that had survived the early frost, but it had survived. And that made all the difference.

Its petals were soft and fragile—the touch of something familiar. But by now they were covered with the grease from Iroh's fingers; causing them to fall limp and heavy. But Iroh couldn't stop touching the flower. He had been doing so for weeks now, ever since the ship had left port. "You might want to put that in water," one of the officers had suggested. "If you don't leave it alone, it'll die. Put it in some water, and keep it outside." Iroh hadn't taken the advice. The officer didn't understand.

The wind on the sea made him shiver. It was nothing like the perpetually warm climate in the Fire Nation. Iroh had tried wearing thicker armor, but that only made things worse. It was like being trapped in a metal ice box.

"Umph," Iroh heard a grunt behind him. He glanced around. It was a cabin boy, more or less his age struggling with a wooden crate. His long legs were fumbling aimlessly underneath the box that was easily twice his size. As Iroh turned to face, he noticed the boy's unnaturally skinny build. His arms and legs were almost comically slender in comparison to his head. He wore the slightly strained appearance of someone who had grown too quickly in a short span of time.

"Here," Iroh said instinctively as the boy began to rapidly loose balance. "Let me help you with that."

"Oh, thanks," came a voice from the other side of the crate. The boy poked his head around. "Prince—Prince Iroh," he spluttered. "I—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to drop it I just—"

"Don't worry, you didn't drop it. Look, we're both fine." Iroh said calmingly as he continued to level out the box. He hadn't expected to make the boy nervous. "You're going to need to brace yourself like this if you want to make it up the stairs," Iroh instructed. He bent his knees and balanced himself in the way his firebending teachers had always taught. "You see?"

The boy's eyes were wide and fearful when he nodded in response.

"Can you do it?" Iroh asked kindly. "Just bend your knees like this."

The boy did as he was told. He bent his knees and widened his grip around the parcel before looking to Iroh for approval.

"That's perfect," Iroh said with a smile. He let go of the crate and gave the boy a second to steady himself.

"Thank—thank you." There was a moment's pause where neither of them seemed to know what else to say. The tension was broken however, when the boy made an attempt to smile (it was much more like a grimace), and scuttled off on his long, spindly legs (which looked significantly more balanced below his body).

Iroh smiled slightly. Now that he had seen the boy, he realized that he was not 'more or less' his age at all. The boy was just that, he was a boy. An invisible line had been drawn. Iroh was on one side of the line, and the boy on the other. Perhaps he really had been clinging to childhood for too long. Had he grown up without noticing? Not grown up. No. Iroh was not an adult. But he was not a boy either. He was stuck somewhere in between.

Iroh caught his reflection in the polished metal near the helm. The armor made his shoulders look even broader than he remembered. Then again, Iroh had always been endowed with broad shoulders. It was a family trait. Still, it was more noticeable now. And the hair. Iroh had always had thick hair. It was coarse and unmanageable—though not as unruly as Vailea's. He had sideburns too. They ran from above his ears to his jaw line where they met the stubble. Iroh remembered when Vailea had kissed him, and then recoiled playfully when she rubbed against his furry chin. Iroh scratched his face absentmindedly.

Suddenly, he felt the ship move. It wasn't that the vessel lurched or halted unexpectedly. On the contrary, it plowed through the waves with the same grace and agility that Fire Nation ships were famous for. Instead, it was Iroh who changed. He felt different—open, exposed. This was first time since setting out that Iroh consciously sensed that he was traveling. It had never occurred to him that he was being transported.

The thought itself was frightening, but not as terrifying as the feeling. This feeling was almost too overwhelming to rationalize, too overpowering for words. It was as if he were awake and alive for the first time, as though someone had flung open a door and Iroh stood helplessly at its threshold. It was a sensation of stepping out of his body to examine himself from both ends—both the observer and the observed.

It didn't take long before Iroh noticed his heart—pump in, pump out, pump in, pump out. And his lungs. Iroh could feel his lungs—breathe in, breath out, breathe in, breathe out. The instinct mechanism flipped on, and told Iroh to run. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed by this state of consciousness.

"Admiring yourself?" Came a voice from behind.

Iroh was startled into whipping his neck around quickly. Too quickly. The muscles protested by sending a hot singing sensation all the way down his spine. Yet in the same instant, the spell was broken. Iroh was released from himself. "Excuse me?" He rubbed his neck and shoulders. His eyes focused on the source of the voice. It was General Junren; looking every bit as calm and poised as any member of the Royal Court. Then again, they were in public. Iroh reminded himself that General Junren always made a point to keep his public and private self exceedingly separate—the two faces of one man. He wouldn't find the frazzled, disgruntled model while they stood in the open air.

"I asked if you were admiring yourself," General Junren repeated, smiling. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You've grown into quite a handsome young man."

Iroh had forgotten that he was starring at his own reflection in the polished metal. He thought of how he must look; standing there gazing unseeingly at himself. "Oh General stop, you're making me blush," he joked.

The two of them laughed awkwardly. Somehow being here, carrying out the mission to recover Vailea, seemed both the most and least appropriate time to be cracking jokes. It was a paradox the two had been trying to balance since first setting out on their voyage. Every time Iroh saw the General, he felt he should say something witty; lighten the mood. But by the same logic, lightening the mood might imply he was loosing focus. He was acting immature. This was a matter of girl's life. If the Water Tribe discovered Vailea for who she really was, the consequences could be dire.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," General Junren said; cutting through Iroh's thoughts like a knife. "I've been on missions like this before. Missions to retrieve those I'd left behind." Some of the light faded out of his eyes as he said this, and Junren looked immediately older. "Both in my professional and private life, I've gone back to retrieve the fallen. But it's never as easy as we make it out in our minds to be."

Iroh remained silent. The mood had taken such a drastic turn. He wasn't sure if his mouth could form the right words to fit the air around them.

"I'm not saying," General Junren was speaking slowly now "that we won't find her. I'm just saying that—"

"—we can't expect anything." Iroh finished, finding his voice. He had wanted to say it before General Junren so that he wouldn't have to hear it. It was less painful that way. Iroh made a point of looking General Junren squarely in the eye when he added "It's like war isn't it, General? We can take all precautions, prepare for every attack and yet nothing is set in stone."

General Junren nodded wearily. "I'm glad you understand."

Iroh felt his face fold into a solemn expression. The two of them were silent, both men consumed by their own thoughts. And as they faced the sea, Iroh could make out the forms of the glaciers in the distance. They were almost there.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" General Junren said gently. "I'll never forget the first time I saw the polar ice caps. They're like nothing we have in the Fire Nation."

Iroh looked hard at the horizon. The General was right, the sight was truly breathtaking. The ice caps glowed with the same luminous quality as a full moon, and with all the sparkle of the stars. But…"I disagree," Iroh said quietly. His voice was calm and level, not argumentative at all. "They have their mountains made of water, we have ours made of fire. We're not so different."

Out of the corner of his eyes Iroh saw the General blink, clearly taken aback. He breathed in the chill air and responded with "very wise, Prince Iroh." Nodding, Junren chuckled and then looked sideways at him. "Handsome and clever, what a combination."

"Thank you," Iroh responded gruffly. "I owe it all to my education."

The two of them laughed again. This was nice, Iroh thought. Standing here with Vailea's father was nice. And despite any attempt to fight away looming thoughts, Iroh let his mind wander into the dangerous territory of the future. He could see himself growing up, working with General Junren like this as an adult; sailing together. Perhaps one day Iroh would even become General, or Admiral Iroh. And Vailea. She would be a part of it too. He would marry her. Iroh couldn't see there being any universe where Vailea would be content to stay at home in the Fire Nation while he was off adventuring. She would come along. He, General Junren and Vailea would be one, big happy family.

But Vailea hated war. She wouldn't come with them.

She wouldn't have to fight. He could just bring her with.

She would refuse to take any part in it.

Could he make her? No. He couldn't make her do anything. To suppress Vailea was to kill her. And besides, she was too stubborn for that. Well so was he.

Iroh was clutching to strings now. He was trying to connect the puzzle of his life, and pounding in pieces that could never fit. But perhaps he was naive (or narrow-minded, or idealistic) enough to believe there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. It would all pan out in the end. It had too.

"General Junren," came an urgent voice from behind. Iroh turned around.

A strained looking solider carrying a helmet was panting when he reached them. The young man bent over to brace himself with a hand on his thigh. The other arm was outstretched towards General Junren. "A letter Sir," said the solider; still breathing heavily. "It just arrived by messenger hawk. I ran as fast as I could to deliver it. It's urgent."

General Junren snatched the paper out of the young man's hands in one quick swipe. Iroh tried to read it, but the he pulled it out of his line of sight. So he attempted to read the Junren's face instead.

It was as if the air became unexplainably heavier. Iroh knew something was wrong by the way Junren's expression contorted into the strict, uptight face of a General. It was his split personality kicking in again. Junren the father had to be suppressed to be replaced by Junren the General—Iroh had almost forgotten that they were in public.

"Are they positive?" Asked the General, who was still scanning the paper intently.

"The informants are sure. And we've already spotted ships on the horizon. They're coming towards us."

The three men impulsively looked out the bow of the ship. Iroh squinted as he tried to find anything that resembled what he was looking for.

"There," General Junren pointed. His experienced eyes had caught the enemy first.

Iroh looked in the direction of his finger. It was true. And now that he had found them, Iroh was surprised that he had not noticed the ships before. Not only were a group of dots visible across the horizon, but they were moving. Fast.

"How long until they reach us?"

"Within the hour, Sir."

"Damn," General Junren swore under his breath. "I take it that means there are waterbenders aboard."

"We believe so," said the solider quickly. "We can't see any other explanation as to why they're moving so swiftly. They've got to have people bending the water around the ship."

General Junren sighed angrily. He crumpled the letter furiously in his left hand. "Do the informants know of any planned attack? Are we absolutely sure that those ships are coming for us?"

Iroh was switching his head rapidly between the two of them; trying to catch every word. He could understand why General Junren was confused. The Fire Nation supposedly crushed the Southern Water Tribe Navy in the very earliest years of the war. They weren't a threat. Their great cities were demolished; their way of life subdued. Why had they now found the strength to approach, let alone fight, a fully armed Fire Nation fleet?

"The officers on the other ships seem to think so," answered the solider. He was fiddling with his fingers nervously.

"But why now? Why is it so appealing to—" General Junren stopped mid sentence. In a split second turn around, he was facing Iroh. "We're getting you to safety."

"What?"

"Please escort Prince Iroh to a life boat, and transport him to the last ship in the fleet straight away. Inform the captain and the crew that they are to set a course for home immediately." General Junren spoke coldly, emphasizing the last word as if the solider were too dense to comprehend it fully.

"What?" Iroh asked again. Though he understood perfectly well what General Junren meant. "No," he said instinctively. "No, I'm not leaving."

"Prince Iroh, be reasonable," urged the solider. "If they're coming for you then you'll be in—"

"I am not leaving," repeated Iroh forcefully. "If they're after me, I'll fight them when they come. I'm not running."

"Do not be a child," General Junren snapped. He, on the other hand, was not urging at all. He was ordering. "You will report to the last ship. You will travel north, and away from threat. You will return to your father safely."

"Return to my father?" Asked Iroh, and he almost laughed as he said it. "I can't go back. We can't have come all this way just to turn around now. We have to find—"

"You are going to return home because your father loves you, and would sooner die himself than have anything happen to you!" General Junren's yellow eyes bulged out of their sockets. And for split second, Iroh thought that he was about to hit him. The words were shouted in a hoarse whisper that came from deep in the General's chest. And Iroh understood almost immediately that this wasn't about him at all.

He paused, looking the General straight in the eye. Iroh pulled himself up to his full height, which was still rather short. But he made every effort to appear just as fierce as the broken man in front of him. "I'll go," he hissed through clenched teeth. Iroh understood that there would be no convincing General Junren now; he was past reason.

The General seemed to pull himself together at the last minute. He looked embarrassed, even terrified at what he had just done. Several of the crew had turned around to watch the scene. Iroh could tell that their eyes were piercing his outer defenses; his perfectly crafted mask of the respectful, honorable General. Even the solider was lost for words.

But before he could say anything else, Iroh turned on his heel. He had no intention of following the orders, but as long as everyone believed he was, that was all that mattered.

It seemed like less than a heartbeat had passed before the solider was at his side; leaving General Junren more alienated and alone than ever. But Iroh did not pity him. It was not Junren whom Iroh was leaving behind, it was the General.

"You made the right decision," said the solider quietly, as he placed a helmet properly atop his head. "I know it feels cowardly to run, but it's your duty. Soldiers of the Navy follow the orders of their superiors, no matter how much they may disagree."

They were empty words, thought Iroh. But he nodded in silence.

The two walked together below deck. And as they did so, Iroh could feel his mind racing. The Water Tribe Navy was coming after him? How had they known that he was here? Did they really think anything could be achieved by murdering the son of the Fire Lord? The only outcome—besides his death—would be violent backlash on the part of the Fire Nation. If he were killed, the Royal Family would react more fiercely than the Water Tribe could imagine. There would be suffering; the Water Tribe would regret. And suddenly, Iroh stopped himself. They would react. His family would react, he was sure of it.

"Something the matter Prince Iroh?" Asked the solider; almost running into him.

"No, nothing." Iroh forced himself to continue walking. The thought was both electrifyingly wonderful, and breathtakingly terrible; the idea that Iroh might be worth fighting for. He suddenly felt more a part of his family than he ever had in his entire life. Just the thought that they would avenge his death somehow strengthened that weak bond. They were his family—the thought was alien.

And through the same logic, he was connected with the most violent and deadly central power in the entire world. This was how they showed their love? Yes. The Fire Nation, especially the Royal Family, praised strength and violence. They loved war and carnage. It was in their blood, and Iroh shared that blood.

His brain was firing so rapidly that he almost lost focus. He nearly forgot the he had to escape. As he and the solider walked in silence for a while longer, Iroh hastily cut together a plan of action. He just needed to think, put all those years of strategy and creative planning to the test. He would need to incapacitate the solider. That much was obvious. He would have to steal the man's uniform as well. He couldn't escape as Prince Iroh. Instead, he would mask himself as someone else entirely. And he would flee, not home as General Junren had ordered. He would sail south to the Water Tribe. The plan was risky and irrational, and even completely idiotic. But Iroh was not going to give up yet.

"How much farther?" Iroh asked with a smile.

"Oh it's just around the corner. General Junren said he would send someone to lower the lifeboat," said the solider cheerfully.

Iroh felt an eruption of guilt for what he was about to do. This solider was a decent enough man; respectful, honorable—and about to be completely incapacitated. Iroh took a deep breath; focusing all his energies until he was centered.

"Oh good they've—" but the solider did not finish his sentence.

In the flash of red and black, Iroh landed a high kick squarely in the soldier's chest; knocking the young man off balance. He faltered for a moment, and quickly succumbed to the force of gravity with a satisfying clunk on the hard, metal floor. But before Iroh could wonder whether or not the attack had done its job, the young soldier was sitting up; sputtering incoherently in shock.

"I'm sorry," Iroh said honestly, and he gave his opponent a split second to comprehend before delivering the second blow. This proved effective. After all, the solider was young and inexperienced. Perhaps he had yet been taught the first rule of war and of life; expect the unexpected.

Iroh removed the helmet from the soldier's head as delicately as he could. Its weight was unexpected—heavy in his arms and even heavier atop his head. And as soon as Iroh had the helmet firmly in position, it could not be clearer that it was not a helmet at all. This was a mask. Iroh tried to convince himself that this was exactly what he needed, what he wanted. It was necessary to leave Prince Iroh behind if he were to escape. And yet…this mask was terribly confining. His vision was obscured, and even breathing was restricted.

Iroh caught his reflection on the side of a brass boiler. But the head he turned towards it was not his own. The face of Iroh, prince or otherwise, was not discernible from behind the mask. He was an anonymous solider; unmarked among a sea of other anonymous and unrecognizable soldiers.

With surprising ease, Iroh was able to drag the unconscious young man into the next room. He stripped him of his outer armor, and used it to replace his own. This would ensure that if he was stopped, Iroh could feign another identity. Hopefully, he would not be stopped. Iroh planned to sail behind the ship and use its smoke trail to mask his presence. As they drifted closer to the mainland, he would seize any chance to escape behind an iceberg or into a cavern.

Questions flooded his brain. How would he find Vailea? What if he were recaptured by the Fire Nation? What would his father do? What if he was captured by the Water Tribe? Iroh tried to weigh which was worse, but both broke about even. As he turned to face the square opening in the side of the wall that would soon frame his only chance at escape, Iroh could feel his stomach drop out completely. What was he getting himself into?

"Lowering boat, call for confirmation!" A voice echoed from above.

Iroh watched as the pulley system sprang to life. The boat would be in his reach within the minute. His breath quickened, and Iroh gazed out the opening towards the not-so-distant glaciers. Iroh checked that his armor was on correctly and convincingly before poking his head out. Iroh tilted his mask to look up the side of the ship and called back "message received, continue lowering lifeboat!"