Disclaimer: I own nothing, it's a cryin' shame!

He was fighting, fighting a battle he didn't know if he wanted to win, but he fought anyway. His tormented subconscious had created an opponent to battle; it felt as if he had been battling forever, sometimes he thought he might lose, sometimes he felt he was close to winning, but always he was fighting. It wasn't his nature to give in, to give up; he'd been through too much for that.

Something had changed though; he could feel it. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he was gaining the upper hand, and he would not lose it. It was with a victorious smirk he sliced his opponent in half with a white hot torch of flame and watched as it simply disappeared as if it had never existed. He blinked in confusion, how could that happen? One's enemy did not simply vanish into thin air, it wasn't possible. As he stood, wondering, he began to feel heavy, his bright dream world becoming very dark; it wasn't long before all was darkness. Then he heard a voice, a quirky male voice that seemed so familiar, yet so strange. He concentrated on the voice until he could understand words and sentences. The man seemed to be rambling, talking to no one in particular about wood and snow and herbs. He wanted to see the man who was speaking, and tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavy and he couldn't open them. It wasn't long before he began to notice other things as well. That is, more importantly, one thing in particular rather drowned out everything else. It was pain. He moaned without realizing it. Despite the hard coldness against his burned and scored back, and the odd smell his nose was bringing to his brain; the pain was all encompassing. He gave an involuntary shudder and instantly regretted it as his body objected to the movement and the pain worsened. He was no stranger to pain, he told himself; it was something he had to endure.

Iro heard even through his mutterings to himself the low moan from his nephew, and he dropped what he was doing and rushed into the makeshift shelter. "Zuko!" His voice shook. "Zuko, are you awake?" He had heard the boy make small grunts and moans before, but this one was somehow different from the others. He looked down at his nephew's blistered and torn body with as much anguish as he had the first time he'd found him on that river bank. It was agonizing to wait, to see if he would wake up, and if he did, how much of him remained. How he would react. The general shoved the thought from his mind with force born of years of loss. Time would tell. "Zuko." He was determined to wake him up this time. He gently laid a hand on the boy's shoulder where his robe sheltered his skin from the cold.

Zuko had heard a name spoken, it felt right. It was his name, he was sure of that. The voice, he was again sure he knew the man it belonged to but recognition danced just out of reach, as if some imp were dangling it then snatching it away just as he thought he might grab it. Suddenly he felt something touch his shoulder, and it erupted in agony. He groaned and his eyes flew open in surprise and he stared blurrily at nothing, shapes and light, too much light, and more pain! He was tired of the pain; it wouldn't go away and leave him alone! He shut his eyes again. Ah, that was better. Suddenly the voice nearly seemed to shout. "You are awake!" Zuko moaned again, wishing the voice and whatever had touched him would just disappear along with his seemingly endless torment.

The gentle pressure left his shoulder and his body seemed to sigh with relief. Then the man spoke again. "Zuko, can you hear me? If you can, just open your eyes a bit." Open my eyes, the pain…why would I want to do that? His muddled brain instantly corrected him; Prince Zuko wasn't worried about a little pain. Wait, Prince Zuko? He was a prince? His musings were once again interrupted. "Please Zuko. I need to know if you can understand me" he heard the man say, his voice was quieter this time, and it sounded gently pleading and sadder than before. He felt affection for the owner of the voice and decided to try and do as the man asked.

He slowly opened his eyes, just barely, so the light wouldn't be so overwhelming.

"Ah, Zuko you do understand me." The voice sounded relieved. He opened his eyes a bit more as they grew accustomed to the light. He was beginning to see something other than light and fuzzy dark shapes. The first thing he truly saw was the face that matched the quirky voice he'd been hearing. He felt as if he should know the man, the features were so familiar. The gray hair pulled into a topknot, the full gray beard and wrinkled skin. So familiar, but he just couldn't put a name to the face. He opened his mouth; suddenly he realized he was desperately thirsty. "W..wa..t.." his voice sounded wispy and raspy all at the same time, and it was difficult to force out the sounds.

"Water?" The old man in front of him asked. "Are you thirsty? Just blink once for yes."

Zuko slowly blinked and tried to clear his throat. "Shhh, don't try to talk, I'll be right back with some water for you." Then the man was gone from his range of vision and he closed his eyes to rest them. He remembered seeing tree branches and wood, it seemed as though they were in a forest. He stifled a moan as the pain that seemed to be his constant companion flared for a moment when he tried to shift his position. He stayed still. It seemed no time at all had passed and he heard the voice of the kind old man once more. "Ok Zuko, just open your mouth a bit, I have the water in a hollow half of bamboo reed, all you have to do is swallow." He simply obeyed and almost immediately the cool, refreshing liquid was trickling into his dry mouth and he swallowed thirstily; almost choking himself in his eagerness. "Easy Prince Zuko! There is plenty where that came from."

Once he was finished drinking he felt better somehow. He opened his eyes again and this time it was much easier to focus. He turned his head ever so slightly, testing it out to see how much he could move without causing a large amount of extra pain. It was bearable. He eyed what he could see of the shelter and decided that it looked rather hastily put-together. He finally realized he was somewhat cold, but again, bearable. He wanted to ask the kind old man who he was, and why he seemed so familiar. He wanted to ask what had happened, why he was in so much pain, why they were in a makeshift shelter in the forest (he assumed), why was he lying on some wood with just a robe laid over him? That thought brought him swiftly to a halt. Wait, why wasn't he wearing any clothes?! He cleared his throat. "A..ah" He coughed and regretted it, shooting pains knifed through his chest, and it felt like his skin was covered with a million scorpions all stinging him at once. He rasped a bit and stifled a cough. "What is it Zuko?" The old man asked, looking concerned.

"I…w…who…are you?" Instantly the man's concern deepened and he nearly frowned. A small sliver of fear sprang in his eyes. "Zuko…do you not know me? Think hard, are you sure?" He tried, but it seemed as if a wall of fire surrounded the information he sought, and he was unable to reach it, each time he made the effort a jolt of pain would slice through his head like a red hot knife. "I..I can't." He rasped, "the fire…won't..let me." Frowning in earnest this time, the old man looked at him steadily. "Are you sure of your name?" He was, and said as much. "Oh Prince Zuko, I am your uncle, most people call me Iro, or General Iro, but you usually just call me Uncle." The old man sighed and looked somehow deflated, like things were beginning to wear him down. His eyes looked so sad, Zuko suddenly felt sorry for him. "I'm s..ss..orry ..Uncle." He saw the emotions in his uncle's eyes disappear, as if a curtain had been drawn in front, he looked away. "Prince Zuko, you have nothing to apologize for. It is I, who must apologize to you for leaving you alone, when I should have been there for you. I am so very sorry, so very…" his voice caught and he swallowed hard, "very sorry." Zuko's eyes snapped back to his uncle's when he heard his voice catch. He read pain, self-loathing, sympathy and..pity? Why would he pity him? He may have forgotten some things but he knew very well the last thing he ever wanted from anyone was pity! His eyes narrowed. "Why a…are you sorry? Why do I see…pity in yo..ur eyes? What a…are you hi..hiding from me?"

Iro looked away from the demanding gaze of his nephew. He was ashamed of his weakness. He didn't realize that Zuko would be so astute so quickly and recognize the pity he was unable to hide in his eyes.

"Answer me!" Zuko began to cough from his outburst and cried out in pain. Iro swung back around ready to aid him if need be. The boy's frantic efforts to stop his coughing and his body's involuntary movements caused the robe to slide off of him, revealing more than he wanted Zuko to see at that moment. He tried to cover the boy up again as fast as possible, but it was too late, the damage was done. The boy somehow sat up with superhuman strength, ignoring the waves of pain that simple action released, threw the robe back off and stared down in horror at what was left of his leg and foot. "No…no…no…NO!" He began screaming, his hoarse voice no less intense in his despair. "This c…can't be h..hap..happ..penning" he began to hyperventilate and curled into a fetal position, uncaring of his injuries, no longer able to create sentient thought. "Zuko!" Bellowed Iro, "you must calm down!" But the boy was lost in his own world of horror and screams and could no longer hear him. He moved to him quickly and placed the robe once again over his body; then he lowered himself down to the makeshift bed and held the boy as best he could. It would hurt, but it would be worse if he truly lost himself. The alternating shrieks and gasps for air continued, the wracking sobs that seemed so unlike the proud prince he knew. It was more than his heart could take, man or no, he was not made of stone; tears sprang into his eyes and fell, making tiny rivulets down his cheeks and dampening his suit. How he ached for this young one, so proud, so full of life, so much pain, so much anger and hurt to be trapped inside such a small vessel, but Zuko had always worn it well. Now…now…now he didn't know. Would he pull through, would he bounce back? Would he remember? Would he ever be the Zuko he used to know and love, and be proud of? The prince he loved like a son, the boy he would follow to his death, betray his country for, was he lost forever? The questions flew around in his head and spun like a tornado out of control, he closed his eyes. He had to keep it together for Zuko; he needed to get a handle on himself. Yes, Zuko needed him.

He was lost, so lost. He knew he had lost something he could never get back, and that loss had, in turn, caused him to begin to lose himself as well. He watched the scene with detachment, it seemed as if he were hovering over his broken, torn, and burned body, watching him tear himself apart, scream by scream, sob by sob. He saw the boy below him at last unable to breathe, he saw the man holding him cry out when the terrible sounds stopped so suddenly. The old man held the boy's body tightly as he almost shook him in his need to awaken him. "Zuko! NO, no you can't do this to me, Zuko! Don't leave me, please don't leave me! I've thought I lost you once tonight, I can't go through this again." His voice hitched and a sob caught his throat. "You're all I have left…" His voice trailed off. "You have to live."

Suddenly the wood and branches of the shack in the woods faded away, and somehow he was standing beside a small babbling brook that wound through the forest. It looked so gentle, so happy; it made him feel safe, and secure, even calm. He sat down next to the brook and trailed his fingers in its clear coolness, watching as the water flowed over the glossy stones underneath. At that moment he realized he wasn't alone. His head snapped up and he jumped to his feet in surprise. He wasn't sure where he was or how he got there, but he would be prepared if someone was going to try to sneak up on him!

"Relax, friend." A gentle, calming voice spoke. The sound seemed to come from all around him, or maybe it came from the brook, it seemed just as peaceful. Somehow he felt himself relaxing, there seemed to be no danger at present that he was aware of. He remained standing, and looked around for the origin of the voice. "Where are you?" He finally spoke. "I am everywhere" the voice replied, and he realized it was a distinctly feminine voice, and very, very beautiful. "Yet I am nowhere." Zuko was confused. "Come again?" The beautiful voice laughed, a wonderful, musical sound, he would have liked to hear it again. "Friend, I have brought you to this place to give you a choice. The forest sensed your agony and I removed you from the instant of your possible death. As I said, you have a choice to make. You may leave things as they are, and you will surely cease to exist; leaving your uncle a lonely old man to be caught and tortured by the fire nation and killed. That is one path. You may choose to fight your fate, live, and learn to live with, and accept your new body, no matter how broken it may be to you; it is yours, and you have no other. This path comes with infinite possibilities, as the future is not yet written, and no one can say for sure just what will happen. You will be reunited with your uncle and you may very well fulfill your destiny, whichever one you choose. You may find friends, even love, as I said; anything is possible, if you will it so. You have little time left to choose; so choose wisely young one." The voice fell silent and Zuko sat down almost heavily. It was a lot to absorb, and apparently he had very little time in which to do it. He didn't really want to die, did he? He was pretty sure he loved his uncle, and didn't really want to leave him or have any of those things the voice mentioned happen to him, but he also remembered now; his body. The body he was going to be stuck with for the rest of his life; a body that would make it impossible for him to fight, ever again. A body he couldn't even walk in! How could that be considered living? How was he supposed to live, like..like that? He thought he wanted it all to go away; and here he had the chance to make that happen. But at what cost? The voice came once more. "It is time. What is your decision?" He hesitated for but a moment and closed his eyes.

He was not a coward. He was Prince Zuko, and he ran from nothing! His eyes snapped open and he glared up defiantly at the leafy coverage above his head. "I choose to go back!" He cried, "back to my broken body and my uncle and the life I might have!" It almost seemed like the voice was smiling at him. "I wish you well on your journey, may you find your path and walk it with pride. Farewell."

Without so much as a warning he was back in his own body and gasping for air, the pain closing in around him like a tightening shroud that threatened to suffocate him should he allow it to. He wouldn't allow it to. He fought through the pain and struggled to stay conscious. He realized that he was still in his uncle's arms; even though he had basically died his uncle had continued to hold him, to hold onto hope that he wasn't gone.

General Iro felt like a broken man. From the moment his nephew stopped breathing he knew that his life essentially was over. He saw a vision of himself being captured, tortured and eventually killed by the fire nation. He tried to care, but the only thing he truly cared about was the fact that he had lost the boy he had come to love as a son. It was but a few moments when all at once the still form in his arms began to gasp for air and he nearly dropped him in surprise! He couldn't believe it, it couldn't be his imagination, no one's imagination was that good. He heard Zuko struggle to breathe and slowly his breathing calmed and he relaxed in his arms, turning over a little onto his back, clearly in much pain. "Zuko, you came back…" he breathed, almost afraid if he spoke normally, it might be a dream and he would be alone again. "Yes uncle," his nephew replied, "I came back. I'm sorry I nearly left you." It was all he could do to hold in the flood gates of his emotions in check. "Zuko, you have nothing to be sorry for. Just live, live and greet your future and find your destiny. I'm very proud of you."

Zuko felt the corner of his mouth almost twitch slightly; it felt good to hear that his uncle was proud of him. Then suddenly he yawned, he was so, so tired. "You're exhausted, of course you are, you've had a very rough day." His uncle carefully slid himself out from under the head and shoulders that he'd been holding and tucked the robe gently around him as best he could. "Get some sleep Zuko." The old man gave a tired smile. Zuko nodded slightly, and allowed his eyes to fall closed.

While Iro was truly overjoyed that Zuko lived, his heart held apprehension. It was going to be a long and rough rehabilitation, and he hoped he was ready for it; he hoped they both were.

The next day found Zuko awakening to the sounds of birds chirping in the trees. He immediately groaned. He hurt all over, he was still cold, and a particularly brave and possibly stupid bird was obstinately tweeting somewhere very nearby where he lay. He glared at the branches that made the ceiling to his shelter and dared to move his head a bit, wincing through the fresh surge of pain that simple movement brought. "Uncle!" He yelled, or at least, tried to yell; it came out sounding more like a frog gargling rocks. Ugh. He tried again. "Uncle, where are you?" Better. He noticed the bird had ceased its incessant twittering and smirked; then he frowned. Where was uncle? He wouldn't leave him, would he? No, no of course not, uncle would never leave him; he was the one person he trusted, the only person he could. He forced himself to relax. The old man would be back soon and he would simply have to wait. He was helpless without him, and he knew it. The bird began chirping again. He growled and coughed. "Shut up!" Silence. Where was uncle? He wondered again, but to his chagrin, the cheeky bird provided the only answer to his thoughts. He made an inarticulate sound. He hated nature; hated it with a vengeance. Why were they in a forest anyway? Why couldn't uncle have taken him to a town? At least in a town it would have been warmer; here it was freezing. He shifted his position and gasped as a white-hot streak of pain shot through him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his arms up to his chest on each side, wincing as each movement felt like his skin was being ripped apart.

It mattered not; he would not let pain get the better of him. He made a herculean effort to raise his uncooperative body into a sitting position and succeeded, crying out in intense pain and feeling his head swim dangerously. I will not pass out, I will not! He ordered himself inwardly, unable to do more than fight for consciousness and gasp as the physical torment threatened to render him senseless once again. A minute that seemed like hours later he had calmed somewhat, the pain had dulled to a certain extent and he was able to think more clearly. He finally felt the chill as the robe had fallen off his chest when he had sat up, and he looked down at himself hesitantly. Burns covered the majority of his shoulders, chest and arms. He knew most of them would heal and leave far lesser scars than the one on his face. A long, angry red gash that threatened to reopen from his movements ran along his chest sideways, and several smaller gashes and already healing scratches were all over the rest of him that he could see. He momentarily closed his eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat he grabbed the robe, and in one quick motion, snatched it off and tossed it to the side. Instantly he felt faint, and bile rose up in his throat at the sight his horrified eyes relayed to his brain. He wanted to close them, to shut out the revolting images. Finding it hard to breathe, he tried desperately to calm himself. Clenching his teeth, he remembered his uncle's training and focused his breathing and slowly brought his emotions under control.

There was only a long stump where his right leg had once been. Whatever had hit him had sliced it off just above the knee. The flesh at the end was blackened and ragged, behind it the leg was swollen and angry red. He gave an involuntary shudder, ignoring the hurt it caused and once again had to swallow the feeling of wanting to retch. He took a bracing breath and blinked, realizing that he had missed something. There was a kind of thin, dried, grayish-green film on his leg. He looked closer, it almost looked like a dried paste of some sort. Of course, he realized, uncle had found some herbs and made him a poultice. Leave it to uncle; he snorted. Once distracted, he was beginning to feel quite cold, and decided to quickly take stock of the rest of his body and then huddle under the robe again until his uncle came back. He took another deep breath and slid his eyes over to his left foot. His only foot, his mind added, seemingly simply to spite him. His jaw clenched, and he almost glared as he stared at the repulsive appendage. Whatever had taken his toes off had only left him with a crooked, partial foot. Where the ball of his foot should have been there was just a part of it, the flesh at the end jagged and burnt, moving up into red and angry, just like his right leg. Stump, his mind corrected him. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, then shook his head. He was a fighter; he knew he was. The beautiful voice he had heard believed he was too, he just knew it. Still, he didn't know how. How was he supposed to live, to function, much less fight again? He wasn't too sure what he'd been fighting for before this happened, but he was very sure he had to fight, right? His mind whirled with the questions he couldn't ignore, the pain that was his constant companion, and the cold that was seeping into his bones like a creeping frost. Reaching for the robe once again he flipped it out and let it settle over his legs, feeling the strange pain of the fabric rubbing against the damaged limbs as he lay back and pulled it up to his neck. A thought hit him at that moment, he felt a fool. He had no reason to be cold, he was a fire-bender; he could easily use the technique his uncle taught him to warm himself. He took a deeper breath than normal and expelled it, calling upon his fire to heat his body as he had done many times. Nothing happened. Terror began to fill him as he tried again, and again until finally he was forced to stop, as the pain in his chest began to take its toll. Finally, he lay still, his heart pounding and his breathing ragged. Where was his fire, his power? He had never heard of a bender losing their ability to bend. Slipping an arm out from under the robe, he reached for the fire in his mind, and attempted to simply create a small flame above his finger. Again there was nothing. It was as if a wall had been raised and his fire was no longer within reach. Could it be because he had lost limbs? Did that affect one's ability to bend? There were so many thoughts inside his head that he felt as if his head might explode. "Aaaa!" He cried out in frustration and fear, and attempted to regain some of his former calm by utilizing the breathing techniques again. Soon, he was fast asleep, but somehow, there was still a frown etched into his brow.

A/N: Well here we are again, I'm really enjoying writing this story so updates should be relatively quick. Also, this is me, begging shamelessly for reviews! I'll love you forever! :)