interlude

In Which Iroh Visits A Prisoner

Iroh's cloak fell over his broad shoulders precisely the moment he was out of sight from his nephew's friends who lingered in the golden light of the dining room. Some small wave of guilt passed him at having spent a lie, but he knew it was a danger to share the truth, even with his nephew.

The walk to the prison was long on his old, tired legs, and while the setting of the sun eased his discomfort for a moment, the showers from the skies above quickly dampened his spirits. Though the rain was fitting for his mood, the traces of mud sticking to his boots and kicking up onto the hem of his cloak felt an unnecessary bother. The streets he passed through would have once inspired a feeling of unease; as he crossed the distance towards the prison grounds, he traversed neighborhoods that had always been rife with crime. He was not immune to being on edge about such things, despite his record for dissuading would-be assailants. One could never be too careful, nor get too comfortable.

He was allowed entry into the dark, depressing prison without so much as a second glance; he did not have his nephew's instantly recognizable scar, but The Dragon of the West was a legend among Fire Nation soldiers such that his face rendered any introduction unnecessary.

As he came upon the door to this prisoner's cell, he paused for a moment, focusing on his breathing, allowing his mind to go blank so that whatever words came to him were true and uninhibited. Bolstering his courage, he gave a nod to the guard on watch, who shot him a passing glance of disbelief, or perhaps disdain, before sliding the small steel key into the lock.

His niece lay eerily still on her mattress, shoved into the far corner of the sparse room, facing the wall away from him. Her long, choppy hair was matted to her head, likely with sweat and a lack of washing. The covers had been thrown to the other side of the room, and so she lay without sheets or a blanket, breathing hollowly. He momentarily felt ashamed of the conditions in which she had been left, and had to remind himself that she was being moved in the morning to a health facility personally approved by the Fire Lord.

Iroh had never been in tune with, or understood, Azula the way he did Zuko. A pulse of shame coursed through him at the thought, and shook his head at himself for a moment. But he suspected that she was awake, despite the her stillness and her lack of response to what must be a rare occurence of a visitor. He decided to lean on his suspicion, and cleared his throat.

"I hope that you will forgive me for being brief," he rasped, closing his eyes. "But I cannot stay long." Iroh took a few steps closer to her, and gently knelt down to look her over. She still displayed no reaction, and he could see now that her eyes were closed. Still, he pressed forward.

"I wanted to tell you, that you are not crazy. And I am so sorry that you have been treated as if you are." Here the thought he saw her open her eyes for a moment, but could not be sure. "I did not know you saw spirits, child. But I should have guessed. I saw so many around you when you were younger, but I was blind and did not consider what that meant. They were drawn to you, until Ozai's influence forced you to shut them out, and turn them away." He paused again, before murmuring, "I told your brother, but I should have told you too. Your mother's grandfather was Avatar Roku."

Azula shot straight up at that, whipping her head around to stare at her uncle. She said nothing, but her amber eyes were wide - full of shock, hurt, and disbelief. Her breathing, while still shallow, quickened.

Iroh leaned back away from her, allowing her some space.

"That's not true," she said fervently, her voice hoarse. Her shoulders curled inwards and her head fell forward, as though she were going to retch.

When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as he could make it. "You know that it is, Azula. You can feel it."

The princess shook her head, clenching her jaw in anger. "No. I can't see spirits. I don't know what you're talking about. You're a bit too old for playing make believe, Uncle," she spat. Her fingers resembled the paw of a cat, kneading furiously at the edge of her mattress, curling up into a fist and out again.

"Maybe not anymore. Maybe you choose not to see them. But you still have a connection to the spirit world, one that you were born with." He took a deep breath and leaned away a little further. "When Master Katara and your brother came to visit you, you became possessed with a spirit. Do you remember?"

Furious, Azula stood and walked on heavily shaken legs away from him, bracing a hand against the far wall for support. Iroh closed his eyes, drawing his strength from his breath once more. He then stood, turning to face her but still keeping his distance.

"You're crazy, uncle," she said weakly, tone as contemptuous as her words.

"No, I'm not. And neither are you." He thought for a moment. "Do you remember when you were nine, when I returned from the siege of Ba Sing Se?"

A raspy chuckle escaped her. "The siege you ran away from, like a little girl?" she taunted, tone laced with venom.

Iroh let her comment pass. "When I saw you and Zuko again for the first time, my heart felt right again, just for a moment. I had just suffered the loss of my only child, but your faces warmed my soul. I reached out to hug you first, but as I did, I saw a small creature standing in front of you, vying for your attention. It was translucent, and blue, and looked almost like a young dragon, but infinitely smaller. It caught me so off guard that I stopped, and it was Zuko who ran into my open arms instead."

An insufferably long minute passed before Azula turned to face him, her hand still placed up against the wall. It was difficult to see her face in the dim candlelight, but she looked pale, and grim. "You..." she started, and for once her tone was unguarded, almost vulnerable. "You saw Poki too?"

The general answered her with a smile.

She met his eyes warily, and looked almost as though she might cry. "I'm not crazy," she said, her voice the slightest whisper.

Iroh shook his head. "No, Azula. You have a gift. A true gift, one that must not be taken lightly." He paused, anxious. "I know I have never been the uncle I should have, not to you, not the way I was to Zuko." He watched as she visibly flinched at the sound of her brother's name. "And I am so sorry for that. I cannot go back and fix my mistakes. But I know that you cannot continue to run from this, for if you do, it will continue to destroy you until there is nothing left. If you let me, I could teach you what I know. I can help you embrace this thing that you have suffered with in silence." He suddenly felt a shadow of his younger self overtake him as his arms stretched outward towards his niece, looking more like a timid nine year old girl now than she ever had at that age.

The princess stared into the empty space before her for a long moment before a look of determination swept her features. For a moment, Iroh was sure she was going to snap immediately back into place and berate him again, when suddenly her thin, malnourished arms locked around his shoulders, clinging to the uncle for whom she'd never shown anything but disdain.

As he hugged his would-be granddaughter, he heard a soft sob bubble out from deep within her, and for a long while he simply let her cry.

author's note: hope you guys enjoyed the unplanned, unorthodox chapter here! originally i had only intended to splice in his POV with Katara's in the next chapter, but it felt more and more like it needed to stand on its own. I've had the image of Iroh and Azula's reconciliation in my head for a long time and I needed to give it space. i know this is probably not what you guys were expecting at the moment, but i hope it was enjoyable anyway! leave me your thoughts as always :)