Iroh hates tea.
He's been sitting still far too long for a six-year-old, and the fact that he's expected to drink the contents of the cup in front of him makes him feel slightly sick.
"Iroh." His mother looks over from where she's talking with some noblewoman. "Are you going to drink your tea?"
He hears the steely command under the question: Drink your tea. "Do I have to?"
She gives him The Look, and he wilts, picking at the tablecloth. Being a prince is good most of the time, but today it means sitting outside during a boring visit, being expected to drink tea. Today he wouldn't mind not being a prince. "But Mom, it's just hot leaf juice," he protests.
Lady Ilah is surprised into laughter, and her guest smiles politely. "How could my own son say such a horrible thing?" his mother teases, her amber eyes dancing. "Drink it up now." She drains the last of her own tea and reaches for the pot.
Iroh stares glumly into his cooling cup and wishes he could go play. Tea is terrible.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh's been sick for days. He tosses in his bed, moaning. He's burning up and freezing cold at the same time.
At one point, the vague shapes around him coalesce into clearer outlines. His mother is leaning over him, her face shadowed and worried. "Iroh," she says. "Can you hear me?"
He nods faintly, and she puts something to his lips. "Drink this," she tells him.
He faithfully takes a small sip, and immediately spits it back out. It's a revoltingly bitter tea that leaves a horrible aftertaste. She tries to get him to drink more, but he won't open his mouth.
Another face swims into view. His father, Fire Lord Azulon. Iroh doesn't see him much, because he is so busy ruling the Fire Nation and bringing greatness to the world. But he is here now, worry on his face. "Iroh," he says. "You need to drink the tea. It will help you."
Iroh still hates tea, and that awful stuff especially. But Father asked him to drink it. If it will make Father happy with him, he'll do it.
Iroh opens his mouth and drinks down as much as his gag reflex will let him. Mom wipes up the tea that has spilled down his chin, and Father lays a hand on Iroh's forehead.
"Sleep, Iroh," he says quietly, and Iroh's eyes drift shut. He floats away into the fevered haze again, but wrapped in the warmth that his father cares.
;=;=;=;=;
When Iroh recovers, four days later, he learns that his little sister Aza died of the chillpox. He is now an only child.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh doesn't like tea.
He makes a face when Ilah brings out a tray to his bedroom balcony, where he's sitting in the sunshine studying the Treaty of Gehisang for his lessons. "Mom…"
She sets it down on the table next to his open scrolls and takes a chair. "I thought you might like some company. That's dreadfully boring stuff for a ten-year-old. Shouldn't you be out playing?"
Iroh sighs. "I have to know this for tomorrow's lesson, you know that. And why'd you have to bring tea?" He glowers in the direction of the tray, with its frankly unappetizing scents wafting his way.
Ilah laughs and pours herself a cup, stirring in milk and sugar. "It's jasmine tea. Good for relaxing. It might help you think better." She pours him a cup too, ignoring his groan.
"If I can keep it down," Iroh grumbles, glaring down at the little cup innocently steaming at him.
"You inherited your father's tastes in tea, that's for sure," Ilah sighs. "Really, though, it's unbecoming for the Fire Lord, or the future Fire Lord, to not care for tea. I'm sure there's a law somewhere forbidding it…"
Iroh shakes his head and looks back to his scroll. "Sorry, Mom. No time for tea. I have to study this." He rubs his temples. "Not that it's going very well. I need to be able to sum up the treaty and all the major points, but I can still barely remember where it was at all…"
Ilah scoots around to sit next to him. "I might as well help you study. I certainly went over this enough back when I was your age."
Iroh sends her a grateful smile, and she returns it warmly before pointing to the scroll. "Now, you have to remember that General Su Seid wasn't present for the initial surrender…"
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh thought she was going to die.
Ilah had been pregnant for four months. Fire Lord Azulon was glad of another child in case something happened to Iroh. It was Ilah's sixth pregnancy, but she'd only carried three full term, and only Iroh, her third, and Aza, her sixth, survived more than a few hours.
In the fourth month, she lost the baby.
Iroh didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that Father looked grimmer than he'd ever seen, and there were nurses and healers and people rushing all over the palace, speaking in hushed tones of foreboding, and shooing Iroh away from the west wing, where the bedrooms and the medical ward were.
All he knew was that something terrible was happening to his mother.
But now she's alive, if barely. They all thought she was going to die, but she made it through. Now Iroh stares at her ghostly white features as she sleeps in her bed, and hopes with all his might that she'll be all right.
Something's missing. Wherever his mother is, the smell of tea usually follows. Iroh runs from the room, leaving Father crouched at Mom's side. Down to the kitchens, where he gabbles out his request to the first person he sees. Back up to the bedroom where Mom is.
He carefully makes his way over to the side of the bed and sets a steaming cup of ginseng tea down. Father scowls at him, but Iroh doesn't care. He still doesn't like tea, but tea is part of Mom.
Her eyelids flutter. "Ginseng?" she whispers, weak as a breath of wind through the grass.
Iroh smiles and feels tears prickle his eyes, as Father and the midwives and nurses and healers all descend in a fussing horde to make sure she's all right. He knows she will be.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh tolerates tea.
Tea isn't something he enjoys. But it is what comes along with tea that he looks forward to. For his mother, tea and Pai Sho go together. They are right together. Comfortable, like a well-fitting glove, or shade on a sticky-hot day.
Iroh sits with Ilah on the patio and plays Pai Sho. She's taught him how to play, and over the years he's become better. Now, at fifteen, he's good. He has a quick mind and can see openings and strategies. Ilah is still better, though, and she beats him almost every time.
Ilah's playing style is seemingly chaotic, random. The scattered, unstructured messes she throws out can be befuddling, because there isn't a known tactic to counter. But somehow, out of the jumble of tiles comes a brilliant strategy, a cunning trap.
Iroh likes to layer his attacks, leaving himself multiple options depending on his opponents. He always has a cover attack that is obvious, but while his opponent is busy defending against it he sneaks up with a different play.
Of course, his mother has an uncanny ability to see through his layers and counter with yet another wild and brilliant play.
Iroh thinks he knows what Mom's getting at. He can see the subtle pattern developing in her tiles as she moves into her endgame, discarding the cloak of chaos to reveal her ploy. But Iroh's not going to let that happen. You made your move too soon. And you're getting too predictable. He moves a boat tile and observes his mother's move. Quick, birdlike, her hand snatches up a tile and drops it on another place, and Iroh smiles.
He shifts his tile into place, and now he's ready to break her formation -
- except her back tile is taking his, and she's encircled him, and as he groans and sinks his head into his hands, she slides one last tile into place, almost encircling the board in her favorite play that no matter how many times Iroh sees, he can't seem to stop it.
"And I win with the While Lotus gambit, I think," Ilah says, smiling at her son.
He concedes defeat and starts taking his tiles off in preparation for another game. "I don't know how you do that," he sighs.
Ilah's eyes twinkle. "You are only fifteen, my dear. I've been playing Pai Sho for a long time."
Iroh shakes his head and takes a sip of the tea sitting next to him. Oolong, with subtle flavors. He may not appreciate tea, not like his mother does, but even if he doesn't enjoy it he can still tell that it is an expensive brew. The Fire Lord's wife would allow nothing less than the finest.
There are footsteps behind Iroh, and he turns in his chair to see a tall figure approaching. Magnificent, regal, powerful, Azulon son of Sozin is every inch the Fire Lord. But today there is a half smile on his lips as he approaches his family.
"Pai Sho again?" There is a subtle twist of disdain in the words. "Surely the Crown Prince has better things to be doing than playing games."
"It trains his mind, Azulon," Ilah says. "You know as well as I do that Pai Sho is a game of strategy, of thinking and planning. It is an admirable pursuit for a prince, and it will make him that much more a formidable leader."
Azulon's face softens at his wife's words, though Iroh isn't sure if that's from the words themselves, or the fact that it is Ilah saying them. Azulon is oftentimes aloof and withdrawn, but Ilah lights him up like nothing else. He may have a reputation for being hard, ruthless, and aggressive, but everyone knows that the Fire Lord melts whenever his wife is around. Then again, who wouldn't? Beautiful, warm, intelligent, kind, Ilah is beloved by the whole Fire Nation.
"As you wish," Azulon cedes, but his brows draw when he peers over Iroh's shoulder. "Tea? Ilah, what are you pressing that foul stuff on the boy for? Tea isn't a man's drink. Give him some sake or something."
"There is nothing wrong with tea," Ilah says mildly, and Azulon snorts. "Iroh, surely you don't care for that?" he says.
Iroh doesn't, but he isn't going to side against his mother now. Deliberately he picks up the cup and takes another sip.
Azulon frowns. "When you are done with your… games, Prince Iroh, I expect you to practice your archery."
Iroh's shoulders slump the tiniest bit – he knows this is his father's subtle retaliation. Iroh much prefers firebending or wielding a jian to a bow and arrows. "Yes, Father."
Azulon nods and walks away.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh raises the bow and aims, his fingers drawn to his cheek. The bow has an eighty-pound draw weight, but Iroh's muscles are well suited to the task. He sights for a moment longer and releases. The arrow sails forward and thuds more than two handspans from the center of the target.
There is a laugh from next to him. He lowers the bow in exasperation and looks over. "You found something… amusing? Perhaps your mother walked by?"
The other young man's grin doesn't abate. "I was just looking at your profile. Thought for a moment that one of the boarfrogs had gotten loose." He raises his bow in a smooth motion and fires. Hardly has the arrow left the bow when he's firing another and another. He's launched six arrows before the first hits his target. They sink into the brightly painted circle dead center, crowding each other as they land.
Iroh rolls his eyes. "Showoff," he mutters. Hezin is hoping to be accepted into the Yuyan Archers and spends most of his time shooting. Also making fun of his friend.
Hezin strides over to the target and starts wrenching his arrows out. "I don't know what your problem is, Your Princeliness. It works fine for me. A crossbreeze maybe?"
"That must be it," Iroh says, ignoring Hezin's sniggering.
"Maybe you can drive the arrows forward with the might of your firebending," Hezin suggests. "You are so good, I'm sure that you would find a way." He grins at Iroh, who sighs. Hezin is never going to let him forget the time he lost his temper and set his arrow on fire…
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh kneels next to his mother, who is reclining in a chair with a scroll. "Are you feeling better?"
Ilah smiles at him. The color has yet to fully come back to her cheeks, but she's looking much better than the few days previously, when an illness kept her bedridden. "I'm feeling almost normal. It's nice to be able to move around."
He nods. "I… I brought you something." Shyly he brings a cup out from behind his back. "Jasmine tea. Your favorite. I made it myself."
Her smile is warm. "Oh, Iroh! That's so wonderful of you! I know you don't like tea that much; this means a lot to me." She takes the cup with another smile and sips -
-and chokes, her eyes widening. She forces the swallow down and offers Iroh a weak smile. "It's…"
"It's terrible, isn't it," Iroh says ruefully.
Her laughter is sweet and high. "It's terrible," she admits. Setting the botched tea down, she pushes herself up out of the chair and takes her son's arm. "Come with me."
He frowns, confused. "Where are we going?"
"To the kitchens." She smiles. "I'm going to teach you how to make a proper cup of tea."
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh doesn't mind tea.
Every sip feels like home. If he closes his eyes and inhales the wafting steam he can imagine that he's in the palace, sitting across a Pai Sho board from Mother.
But the illusion is easily dispelled, and he can't escape reality that easily. This military encampment is his first taste of life on the front lines. As the future Fire Lord, it is essential that he gains military and commanding experience. He is commanding a small battalion of men on the front lines of the war, pushing towards Ba Sing Se, driving the Earth armies back. At eighteen he is young to be commanding, but has a good mind for strategy and is quite capable.
It's long, hard work. This afternoon Iroh took a glancing blow from a boulder, courtesy of an earthbender. The offending man is now charcoal and ashes, but Iroh's shoulder and side are throbbing with pain.
Leaning back on the rickety wooden chair, Iroh studies the flickering patterns of firelight on the tent roof and sighs. It's no palace.
He sits forward, staring without seeing at the dark beyond the tent, and sips his tea again. He will be overjoyed when this time with the army is over and he can return home to Mother and her tea and laughs and hugs.
;=;=;=;=;
The messenger hawk is an unusually large bird, with the sunlight bringing out golden highlights on its wings. Iroh admires it as he draws the message from its holder and passes the bird off to his aide.
It is a fancy message, and it bears the seal of the Fire Lord's seal. It is highly unlikely that the Fire Lord would have sat down and written a letter himself; a scribe probably wrote it down for him. But it still makes Iroh smile.
He breaks the seal, unrolling the scroll. Sure enough, it is an official notice in handwriting that is not his father's. He scans over the words.
Slowly, disbelievingly, he reads them a second time.
A third time.
"Sir?"
Iroh feels empty, vacant, shocked. A pain is starting to needle into his heart, stinging harbingers of future agony once the shock wears off.
"Sir?" His aide has returned from dealing with the hawk. There is concern in his voice, but Iroh barely hears it. "Is something wrong?"
Iroh lets out a single choked, dry sob, the message falling from nerveless fingers. As the alarmed aide hurries to Iroh's side, dust blows over the inked characters telling of the unfortunate, untimely demise of Lady Ilah, during childbirth.
A small afterthought notes that the child, a son, survived.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh sobs into the fabric of his bedroll. He clenches them to him, groans again. His mother is dead. There will be no more sunlit games of Pai Sho, no more warm cups of tea or inside jokes or lighthearted discussions over the price of silk and gold.
He rolls onto his back and stares blindly at the ceiling.
The tent flaps draw back, light from the tent spilling momentarily into the night. It is Iroh's aide. "Sir, can I get you something?" he asks gently.
Sake, Iroh, thinks. Or baijiu. Something to numb his senses and dull his mind, something to wipe away the pain. He doesn't drink much, but now would be the time…
"Iroh, sir?" the aide asks, his voice soft. The whole camp has been notified of Lady Ilah's death and all are in mourning. But none more than Iroh. They lost a national source of pride. He lost his mother.
"Tea," he whispers.
"Tea?"
"Tea," Iroh repeats, his voice scratchy. "Jasmine."
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh's brother's name is Ozai.
Named after some obscure ancestor, Ozai is a month old the first time Iroh sees him. Iroh is not impressed. The baby is small, ugly, and loud.
Azulon is in deep mourning. Ilah was the light of his life. Without Ilah, he has sunk into a dark, smoldering anger that seems to be directed at anyone foolish enough to get too close. And Ozai. Azulon irrationally blames the infant boy for his wife's death. "He was lucky to be born," the Fire Lord growled the one time he saw the baby. "Ilah should have lived instead."
Iroh didn't make it to the initial funeral, the offering up of Ilah's body to flames; but the more elaborate ceremony honoring her memory and releasing her spirit was postponed until he got home from the warfront. He doesn't remember much from the ceremony. The one thought that he clearly had, through the aching pain, is that they didn't say anything about tea.
;=;=;=;=;
"Here, try it again."
Ozai scowls at Iroh, who suppresses a scowl of his own. Iroh is home from the battlefront for at least a year, and he wanted to get to know his little brother. But Ozai acts less like a six-year-old boy and more like a surly teenager. It's rather impressive.
Ozai is a talented firebender, Iroh thinks as the boy grudgingly settles back into his kata. Candidly he acknowledges that Ozai isn't nearly as good as Iroh was at that age – not the prodigy that his older brother was and is – but he's ahead of his age groups. And there's a surprising, slightly worrying rage in Ozai's kicks and blows that gives them extra power.
Iroh thought that giving Ozai extra pointers on his firebending would be a good bonding experience for the brothers. He could help Ozai improve and give him a leg up for his lessons. But the boy didn't seem happy to be doing it in the first place, and his mood is worsening. Maybe it's just not a good day, Iroh thinks.
He watches as Ozai lunges forward, punching a fist before leaping up and kicking out. His left leg is tucked in, and Iroh's eyes narrow as he sees how it is crooked under Ozai. As the boy comes down, his foot slides, and he tumbles to the stone flagging.
Iroh hurries to help him up, but Ozai pushes him away and gets up on his own.
"Your leg was crooked there," Iroh explains. "Try keeping it aligned with -"
"No!" Ozai stamps a foot. "I'm not doing this anymore."
Iroh blinks. "Pardon?"
"I'm done! So what if I don't get it exactly absolutely perfect? So what if I slip? You make mistakes sometimes, too! You don't have to get all high and mighty about it! Just because you're the perfect prince doesn't mean that I have to do what you say! I hate you and your stupid forms!" Flushed with anger, Ozai storms out of the garden courtyard.
Iroh watches him go, brows drawn in worried confusion.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh loves tea.
At the end of a long, difficult day, there is nothing that soothes his aching muscles and eases his mind like a steaming cup of tea. The work of conquering the Earth Kingdom is difficult and Iroh misses the homeland, but he does get the opportunity to sample some local brews. Once, he snuck into a town in disguise and spent a lazy afternoon in a tea shop, sampling the different teas and coaxing the owner into teaching him how to brew a proper cup of oolong in the local style. If he weren't an important commander and the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, Iroh thought, he could be happy running a tea shop of his own.
The next day they invaded the town. The tea shop owner nearly had an aneurysm when he saw that nice man from yesterday leading the attack in full Fire nation armor. Oh well.
Iroh, at thirty-five, is a powerful man. One of the youngest generals in history, he earned the title "Dragon of the West" when he killed the last dragon in the world (or not) six years ago. He is a terrifying figure on the battlefield, and one day he will take the city of Ba Sing Se and make it Earth Kingdom ground.
But for now, he sips tea and wishes he could go home to warm weather and his beloved nine-year-old son, Lu Ten.
;=;=;=;=;
Lu Ten loves tea.
A man after my own heart, Iroh muses as he watches his twenty-one-year-old son sipping a cup of fine green tea with relish. Unlike his father, Lu Ten has always enjoyed it.
Say what you will about these backwards Earth Kingdom folk, but they grow fine leaves indeed. Iroh drinks from his own steaming cup, eyeing the map between the two of them. If only tea was the only thing that grew here; unfortunately, earthbenders are almost as common. Sitting on the top of the outer wall of Ba Sing Se, they could rain deadly rocks down on the besieging Fire Nation army without any casualties on their part. Iroh isn't sure how to get around the problem.
"Just blast through the wall," Lu Ten suggests, tapping a thoughtful finger on the line indicating their position. "It would take an awful lot of blasting jelly to get through, but it's worth it if it works."
Iroh allows himself to consider the idea. It's not a novel one, but in all honesty, after throwing all they had at the city for six months with no real progress, Iroh would be willing to consider praying that the spirits would transform the wall into chrysanthe-daisies and the earthbenders into koala-sheep. "Do you have any idea how long it could take to get that much blasting jelly?"
Lu Ten shrugs. "Do you have any idea how long it could take to get through the wall at the rate we're going?" He taps the map again. "Those earthbenders make attacking almost suicide. We know by now that a regular frontal assault on the walls is hopeless. Way too tall for any ladder or scaling device, way too tough to force through by any normal means. They can just sit up there and laugh at us. We have to do something different, because our way isn't working."
Iroh nods, and spares a smile of pride at his son, bent over the map, already lost deep in thought about the logistics of such a strategy. Lu Ten will make an excellent Fire Lord someday. Bright, powerful, considering, innovative. He is a remarkable man.
I am the luckiest father in the world.
;=;=;=;=;
It has been nearly a day, and Iroh still can't seem to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart. They fumble through his fingers and fall into an endless chasm, opened when he watched his precious, beloved son swallowed up by the earth itself.
They knew the danger. They'd taken the Outer wall, after two years of sitting in siege. But in that killing ground that the Agrarian Zone had become, they were losing so many. His brave Lu Ten had taken the men under his command to shore up a bad spot, and hadn't come back. Would never come back.
"Sir," his aide says quietly. Riu is a fine man. He's been with Iroh since the prince first came to the army. Helped Iroh through the death of Lady Ilah. Now Riu rests a hand on Iroh's shoulder. "Sir. Iroh. Please, you have to get a hold of yourself, just for a little while. The men need orders."
Iroh's fingernails dig into his palms as tears trace the lines of his cheeks. He has become old overnight.
After Lu Ten's death, Iroh ordered a retreat to outside the Outer Wall before losing himself in grief. Now the soldiers camp, anxious, nervous. They had lost so very many men that day, and their general has done nothing since retiring to his tent.
"Iroh." It's unforgivable familiarity from the aide, but right now Iroh latches onto the sound of his name like a lifeline. "Please. Think of the men."
Slowly Iroh rises, and turns toward the tent entrance. "We cannot take the city without sustaining unreasonable losses," he manages to croak. "And even if we did manage to take it, we would never be able to hold it. Not with how few soldiers we have, and the fewer we'd have after such an assault." He presses a hand to his forehead, trying to think through the fog of shock and grief.
"Bring the officers to my tent. We need to retreat. We're going home."
"Yes, sir," Riu says. The aide hesitates at Iroh's side before leaving. "Here, sir." He presses something small into Iroh's hand. "If there was balance in the world, the young prince would not be dead," he whispers, and is gone.
Iroh should kill the man for a treasonous statement like that. But he can't deny the truth of it. Lu Ten's death forces him to face something he'd noticed for a long time but never wanted to articulate: simply put, the war was wrong.
He uncurls his fingers and looks down. In his hand was a single pai sho tile, painted with a white lotus.
;=;=;=;=;
Lu Ten is not here.
Iroh's desperate, dangerous journey into the Spirit World in search of his son is fruitless, vain. But there is wisdom to be found here in the madness. At first Iroh was as mad as the rest, driven by grief and unacceptance and stubborn refusal to give his son up. But he has slowly become painfully, brutally sane as time passes.
Who knows how much time? The Spirit World flows differently than the mortal realm, and Iroh doesn't know or care how long he's been here. He measures time by the things he learns, the spirits he meets. Without bending, he nearly dies. Many times. But then there are the spirits that teach, that help.
He can see that even the Spirit World is damaged. The imbalance in the world is imbalancing the Spirit World, too. It's finally the great spirit Oma – an Earth deity – that gives him a glimpse of truth and destiny.
And it's Oma's final words, as she returns him to the mortal realm, that ring in his head. Your nephew is chosen by the spirits. He will bring balance and peace, or bitter destruction on us all. Guide him, Iroh. Guide him.
;=;=;=;=;
Zuko hates tea.
Iroh holds his cup of spiced oolong and tries not to laugh at the look on his nephew's face, so like the one Iroh used to make. It's easier to remain sober when looking at the white bandages swathing the boy's head.
Iroh's other fist clenches under the table. He very deliberately straightens out his fingers again before he sets the table or his robe on fire.
If Iroh had been faster, smarter, more willing to listen to the boy, maybe this disaster would have been averted. Even during the Agni Kai itself, Iroh could have done something. Even leaped down into the arena and forcefully stopped the proceedings.
But he had been shocked to the core when it was Ozai that stepped forward to battle Zuko. And even as Ozai's voice deepened to a snarl and Zuko cried out in fear, Iroh did not truly believe that Ozai would harm the boy. What father would hurt his son like that?
And, frozen to his seat with shock and horror and disbelief when Ozai kept walking forward, Iroh couldn't get up, couldn't cry out, couldn't intervene. All he could do was turn his head away as fire blazed and Zuko screamed…
Smash!
Iroh and Zuko both jump and stare in shock at his hand, oozing blood from a dozen thin cuts, dripping with tea, the shattered remnants of the teacup strewn across the table.
"Ah," Iroh laughs, forcing jolly casualness into his voice. "It would seem I underestimated my grip! Or, perhaps, I brought the more fragile tea set by accident!"
(He hadn't. These cups were tough and strong. He'd dropped one once and it barely chipped.)
Zuko slumps farther in his chair as a crew member brings over a towel for Iroh's hand. "I told you tea is bad."
;=;=;=;=;
"Uncle. What is this?"
Iroh chuckles, holding his belly. "You weren't using the room, my boy. I thought I would put it to use while you were not there!"
Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and glowers at the stacks of tea crates that all but fill the captain's room. "Uncle."
Iroh grins sheepishly, and prays that his nephew will not argue the point too fiercely, or make the crew carry the tea down into the hold. Just let Zuko pass this off as another of his crazy uncle's crazy antics, and let it go.
Technically, Zuko is the captain of this ship. And technically, Zuko should have been sleeping in the captain's room this whole time. But for a young boy with depth perception problems and constant wooziness and disorientation from pain and infection, climbing to the top of the bridge to get to the room was a bad plan. So Zuko had taken one of the crew's rooms, down closer to deck.
What Zuko – and most people did not know – was that it was uncomfortably easy for someone to scale the outside of the bridge and get into the captain's room. Far safer for the boy to sleep in a nondescript, unmarked room that could belong to any of the crew, then a room with a target all but painted on it. Yes, Iroh was a little paranoid. But better to be paranoid than to have a dead nephew.
In addition, the captain's quarters were very big for such a small boy, and very lonely.
So Iroh sighs with relief as Zuko turns away, muttering something.
Zuko has had the bandages off for a week now, and Iroh is getting lots of practice at not flinching when he sees it. Or not lighting things on fire and blasting lightning, which is his other instinctive reaction.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh drinks, grimacing. The tea is disgustingly bitter. He almost prefers Zuko's tea. But there is no other recourse for it. He needs this tea.
It isn't long before a rash starts to ripple along his skin, itchy prickles running up and down his face and arms before spreading downward. He grimaces and tries not to scratch. He will do whatever it takes to get to a healer – Zuko doesn't want to admit it, but he is in terrible shape. If Iroh needed a healer, though, the boy would go. So, Iroh made the poisonous tea, and drank it, and now he ruefully scratches as he waits for Zuko to return from his fishing trip.
;=;=;=;=;
Zuko tolerates tea.
Iroh pauses for a moment, watching his nephew. Pride and joy, for how far Zuko has come, swells in his heart. Zuko sweeps, not cognizant of his old uncle's attention, quiet and content.
Today, Zuko brewed his first batch of tea that Iroh deemed consumable. It really wasn't terrible tea. Of course, in the Jasmine Dragon, it wouldn't do. But Zuko would get there, eventually, and Iroh couldn't be prouder. With his hair softening the edge of his scar and shading his gold eyes to something less recognizable, green and gold robes draping his no longer painfully thin form, and a look of something akin to peace on his face, Zuko could pass for any young man of the Middle or Upper Ring.
"Uncle?"
Iroh realizes he has been staring for too long. "Just an old man thinking, nephew. Pay me no mind."
Zuko walks towards him, broom in hand. "I… I know it's hard for you sometimes, being in Ba Sing Se," he says hesitantly. "Are you…?"
"No," Iroh says, smiling quietly. How he loves this awkward boy that, despite the unlikelihood and everything that the spirits could throw at him, is growing into a young man to be proud of. It has been a long, difficult road to get here, and Iroh knows that they aren't nearly to the end of it yet, but Zuko has made his old uncle happy. "I lost a son here, true. But now, I have another one."
Zuko smiles, and Iroh's heart aches with bittersweet happiness. He will never forget Lu Ten, never stop missing and mourning him. But Iroh has learned to move on, and he meant what he said. Zuko is like his own son.
Iroh wonders, and hopes, that Zuko might one day consider Iroh his father…
Balance and peace, or bitter destruction on us all, Oma had said. As Iroh puts an arm around Zuko's shoulders (and the young man actually hugs him back, Iroh still isn't used to this but it's amazing), he smiles. Balance and peace don't seem that far off after all.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh weeps silently, for his precious, confused, hurting nephew. Chains weigh Iroh down inside the small metal cell, cutting into his wrists and ankles, but the physical pain is far less than the anguish in Iroh's soul.
Bitter destruction looms on the horizon, and Zuko is pushing it ever closer.
;=;=;=;=;
Iroh raises the gate knocker, bringing it down three times before standing back and waiting. Cricketfrogs sing in the bushes, and wan moonlight spills over the countryside. It is several minutes before he hears footsteps, and then the gate slowly creaks open, framing Fat, the butler.
"Who are you?" Fat asks suspiciously, peering at Iroh, who is wearing a cowled cloak, hiding his face. "What do you want?"
"I am a seeker of the pure water in the desert of ignorance," Iroh says mildly. "May I come in? I wish to speak with Master Piandao."
Recognition and surprise flash across Fat's face at the voice. "Of course." He bows and steps aside, holding the gate wider, then locking it behind Iroh as he enters. Iroh pulls his cowl down, enjoying the cool night air.
The grounds are beautiful, as always. Iroh breathes deeply as they pass a bed of fire lilies, the fragrance sweet and delicate. "How have you been?" he asks pleasantly.
Fat, not one for small talk, grunts. "Well."
"I am pleased to hear it," Iroh says. He lapses into silence, smiling genially to cover the small niggle of worry in his chest. If Fat is here, that meant Piandao is too. Iroh hadn't really been expecting them to be; he'd thought that, if no one was home, he would use the manor as a temporary base until he could leave the country. Why was the swordsmaster still here? Was he no longer sympathetic to the cause? Had Iroh made a grave mistake in coming?
But he would trust Piandao for now, as he had so many times in the past, and be prepared for anything.
Piandao is in his study. Fat knocks on the door as Iroh stands back a respectful distance. "Enter," Piandao calls, muffled by the door, and Fat steps in, shutting the door.
A few moments pass, and Iroh hears Piandao's voice rise in an unintelligible exclamation, then furniture being shoved back. The door swings open, and Piandao steps out, his eyes widening as they fall on Iroh. "Grand Lotus Iroh!" he says, astonishment clear on his face. "How… I believed you in prison!"
"And so I was," Iroh agrees. "I escaped the day of the eclipse, as it happens. If I may be so forward, what keeps you here? I believed the senior members of the Order would already be gathering near Ba Sing Se."
"You," Piandao says bluntly, leading Iroh into his study. "I wasn't leaving until I could find a way to get you out of prison. But here you are." He smiles, looking years younger with the expression. "Fat, will you bring us some tea?"
Fat bows and exits, shutting the door. Piandao leans forward, sweeping papers on the desk to one side. "What do you wish from me?"
"I need to get to Ba Sing Se myself," Iroh says. "I had planned on borrowing some things from you, seeing as I have nothing to my name at the moment, but this is much more convenient."
"Borrowing, eh?" Piandao smirks. "You old thief."
Iroh laughs. "I would have repaid you from White Lotus coffers, of course. I simply have no way of getting to them at the moment."
"Right," Piandao says. "You still owe me thirteen silver pieces for that drinking party."
"That was thirty-four years ago!"
"Exactly."
;=;=;=;=;
Zuko is warm in Iroh's arms, clinging to his uncle, crying like he hasn't in years. "I thought you would be furious!"
Iroh is quick to correct Zuko. He was never angry. If anything, he blamed himself for his failure to guide Zuko as he should have. But Zuko has finally found his path, helping the Avatar restore balance. Iroh holds him close, and weeps tears of his own.
;=;=;=;=;
Zuko doesn't mind tea.
Iroh sits down, pouring his nephew a cup, and smiles as Zuko picks it up and drinks. "You are working too hard, nephew," he says warmly.
Zuko pushes a hand through his hair, loose from its topknot. "There's so much to do," he says. "Ruling a nation is difficult in the best of times. Rebuilding after a war of a hundred years is a task that is more than monumental. I have to work." He takes another drink of jasmine. "I have to fix what I and my ancestors have created."
"You don't have to do everything yourself," Iroh says, sliding the papers away from in front of Zuko. "Being Fire Lord doesn't mean that you have to kill yourself through overworking, Zuko. The busy tigercrane builds the biggest nest, but the wandering pantherbeetle is happy."
"What is that even supposed to mean?" Zuko demands, exasperated. For a moment he looks and sounds like a seventeen-year-old boy again, fed up with his uncle's ridiculous proverbs.
"Go enjoy the sunshine, Zuko," Iroh urges, gesturing to the window. "Spend some time outside. I'm sure Lady Mai would be grateful for your company. You are far too pale."
"Uncle. I'm naturally pale."
"Then you need a nice tan!" Iroh beams. "The ladies love a bronzed specimen." He flexes his muscles suggestively, and Zuko facepalms. "Uncle. Don't do that."
Iroh laughs. "Just go relax for a little while, my nephew."
Zuko drains his cup and sets it down, rising from the chair. "That would explain something, though."
"What?"
"Why Sokka has more girls hanging off him than he knows what to do with." Zuko smirks. "It must be that bronzed look."
Iroh laughs, and keeps laughing, as Zuko heads out of the room. He laughs because he is happy, and because Zuko is listening to him and relaxing, and because the world is slowly, surely righting itself.
And, finally, Zuko is appreciating tea.
;=;=;=;=;
Izumi hates tea.