Another chapter. Small writer's notes. Special thanks to SarahNev for being a genius. Read her work! Thanks to my reviewers, I answered you at the bottom of the page. Now read and review! The conversation between Iroh and Sano is based on the conversation at a conference discussing the Final Solution in World War II. Pretty scary stuff! Inspired by Dragonfairex and dedicated to all my reviewers!
Bring Him Home
He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed.
He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die
One by one
How soon they fly
On and on
And I am old
And will be gone.
----Les Miserables
Iroh was very good at killing people. He was one of the greatest generals the Fire Nation had ever known. Give him a city and he could almost always sack it, loot it and burn it to the ground. He could torture people with exquisite precision and was unmatched in interrogation. He could kill a man in a hundred different ways, though only one way was unusually needed. He hurt people well. That was his job and the job of his family.
Looking down at the wounded body of his nephew, Iroh felt disgusted with himself. All he could do was hurt people, it seems.
Zuko whimpered softly in his sleep. The heavy pain medication he had been given must be wearing off. Iroh motioned for a servant to get the healer back. Zuko's bandages would need to be changed soon anyhow.
Yet, even Niu the healer could not undo the damage done. Iroh held his nephew's tiny hand and tried to remember when everything had gone wrong.
Perhaps Iroh should have listened to Jong-Jong. "Don't get involved," he had been advised. Maybe he should have never gotten involved with his nephew. All he had done was make things worse. He thought back over the events of the last few days and remembered where it all began.
Iroh exhaled loudly as he and Mitsu journeyed through the capital. He was so grateful that this journey was almost over. Finally, he would have some peace and quiet!
Mitsu may have been a charming woman, but she never stopped talking. The entire week-long journey, her mouth had not stopped moving and frankly, Iroh had a headache. Mitsu knew all the court gossip, who was back-stabbing who and why this person was being unfaithful to their spouse.
Ordinarily, such information was quite valuable, court intrigue was a miasma that required much information to negotiate successfully.
Yet today, Iroh was too busy trying to repress the memories of his life as Prince of the realm. Returning to the capital was always a traumatic experience, best mitigated by as much sake as possible. In fact, the last time he had come to visit, Iroh had drank himself sick so many times that he had nearly passed out when presented to his brother.
He supposed sobriety did allow him to notice how beautiful the city of his birth was. Huo-Long was a gorgeous and ancient city that shone like a jewel. High ornate palaces dominated the skyline, the homes of the wealthy nobles and high ranking military officers. Stores were buzzing with business, as shopkeepers and customers haggled. Well-dressed women were out for a ride around the city in their palanquins. It was a city alive in a sea of death.
As the two nobles were finally escorted into the Dragon's Palace, Iroh took a moment to study his childhood home. The beautiful, imposing palace had changed little in the twenty years since the last time he had last resided there.
Iroh had closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but the fifteen years he had spent here as a child. Too much was buried here. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the wild war cries of a pair of brothers. Those boys were dead now. Life had beaten and bloodied them into monsters, incapable of goodness. Yet, the memories still came.
That was the door where the boys had rigged a bucket of water, getting Chamberlain Kyo sopping wet. The stuffy chamberlain had been roaring with fury and had chased them halfway around the palace. How Iroh and Ozai had laughed till their sides hurt! Even the beating they had received had barely been felt.
That room had been the chamber that Iroh had held down Hanae until she agreed to kiss Ozai. They mussed up her hair, torturing her and demanding more kisses. Of course, Hanae had a cold and calculated revenge planned and Iroh still had the scars from the aftermath.
Over there had been where Iroh had seduced his first maid. Ozai had nobly stood guard till it had been his turn. Those had been good times. The brothers had many conquests after that incident, all of them enjoyable. They even had a system devised to keep track of how many girls they had deflowered.
More memories pounded through Iroh's head till he cursed Mitsu for taking away his sake. What was with his crazy family and denying him alcohol? If they weren't such back-stabbing sadists, he would not need to get drunk all the time.
"I am sure you'll recognize his room," Mitsu said with a shy smile as she gracefully motioned for the guards.
Iroh was not amused at the sight of the elaborately painted golden door. His nephew was sleeping in Iroh and Ozai's childhood nursery, the room they once shared by choice. Born to an insane family, orphaned of a mother and now shoved into the room of a cursed friendship, what more could be done to this poor child?
The guards slid open the door. Iroh was at least grateful that Hanae had redecorated and spared him the trauma of remembering those painful times every time he came to visit. The walls had been repainted a lovely golden color with red dragon murals painted on the wall, and a comfortable futon dominated the room. Toys were littered the floor.
It was actually quite a pretty room now, instead of the stark Spartan room that Father had insisted upon. Iroh definitely approved. Hanae had really tried to hide the ghosts of the past. A pity she had not lived long enough to make an impact.
Sitting in the middle of the room was the person Iroh had been waiting to meet. He was astounded by the child he saw. Although Iroh had imagined his nephew many times on the trip, he never imagined that such a change could occur.
He had pictured a plump, healthy child, but Prince Zuko had lost a lot of weight since the last time Iroh had seen him. He had not seemed to have grown very much in the weeks that passed.
If anything, Zuko seemed smaller. Grief had hallowed his full cheeks and he seemed so much more fragile. A maid was trying to amuse him with a rattle, but the little boy was listlessly staring off into space.
"What happened to him?" Iroh asked, shocked at the change in his nephew. Hadn't Ozai noticed any of this? What kind of father would allow his son to waste away like this?
"Prince Zuko, I have a present for you," Mitsu called, not answering the question. The little boy turned in the direction of the voice and his golden eyes widened considerably. "You remember him, right?"
The little boy got up from the floor and slowly toddled over to his uncle, as if not sure that Iroh was real. "Unka?" he queried, his golden eyes burning into Iroh's own.
"Yes, it's me," Iroh said, bending down and picking up his nephew. That ache in his arms immediately went away as Zuko's weight filled them. He hugged him close, relishing Zuko's softness.
"You leave Pwin Zuko," the boy scolded him sadly, looking so betrayed. "Fada mad. Yelling and yelling. Want Fada happy. Want Unka here. Want Mama." Well, at least that imperious attitude had remained. For that, Iroh was very grateful.
Iroh hugged him close. "I am sorry, Prince Zuko. I did not mean to leave you," he whispered, holding him tightly.
"Missed Unka," Zuko whispered wretchedly, holding on to Iroh's shoulder for dear life. He felt soft and warm, nestled in his arms. Iroh felt at peace holding him.
"I missed you too, my nephew," he answered, feeling himself growing sentimental. Yes, he loved this child, for better or for the more probable worse.
How could he resist Zuko? Holding him was like being with Ozai again, like sitting with Hanae again. Everything good and pure about them had been put into this child. He was going to suffer, Iroh could feel it. He was getting emotionally involved again.
"Stay?" Zuko pleaded, wrapping his arms around his neck in a vice grip. "Pwease?" Iroh was touched that someone missed him enough to want him this much. He had to leave soon, but he could take care of Zuko a bit.
"For as long as I can," Iroh promised him, kissing his forehead. He had to stay and take care of some matters, but he would enjoy spending time with Zuko. How hard could one child be?
Iroh had been wrong. Children were very hard to deal with. They were constantly requiring everything! They never remained quiet, they had a million wants that needed to be satisfied immediately or all hell broke loose.
Iroh felt like he was being pulled in all directions at one. Between consulting with various generals and military strategists and planning the myriad of details that he was responsible for, Iroh was exhausted when he got home. Yet, the moment he walked through the door, Prince Zuko was waiting for him.
"Play!" he would demand. Iroh had not minded playing with Zuko on the ship, he had little to do then. Now, he had an entire army on his shoulders. The fate of the nation rested with him. Yet, Zuko would not be satisfied. He was constantly demanding his attention, insisting Iroh read to him, teach him, feed him, play with him and listen to him. How in the name of Agni did women deal with children? Had he been such a trouble as a child? He hoped so! His father deserved such headaches. Of course, Iroh and Ozai had been left to nannies and tutors. Sajja had lost little sleep over them.
Yes, even in sleep, Zuko craved attention. He would wake up a hundred times a night and demand that Iroh sit with him. He would crawl into Iroh's room early in the morning and poke Iroh till he woke up. If that didn't work, the little prince would jump up and down on him, clamoring for him to wake up.
Iroh would snore exaggeratedly, trying to ignore his nephew. That did not work very well. When Zuko got frustrated, he had a habit of lighting things on fire. He was a prodigy at fire bending but he still lacked control. After one such incident, Iroh had been lucky that only some sheets had gotten singed.
"Unka play!" Zuko would demand as soon as he got his uncle's attention.Iroh loved playing as much as the next person but not before sunrise! Zuko was Ozai's son, why wasn't that old codger dealing with this little sleep-thief? That loathsome beast deserved to enjoy his son's nocturnal habits!
In fact, why was he the one dealing with this at all? Weren't his nannies supposed to insure Zuko stayed put and out of Iroh's depleting hair? Iroh had half a mind to have Zuko's maidservants whipped for incompetence! How hard was it for them to control one small child?
Iroh had not had a full night's sleep on this little vacation and his temper showed it. Iroh also had a whole host of issues to deal with for the military and his patience was definitely wearing thin with everyone. The servants were terrorized between a general demanding they take care of the prince and a prince demanding to only see the general.
Make no mistake, Iroh loved his nephew. He truly adored him, he loved holding him. Yet, every man had his limits and Zuko had passed those limits many hours before. His entire family seemed bent on driving Iroh insane. Happily, Ozai was too busy with some budget matters to take the time to anger the Dragon of the West. Had Iroh been provoked, he would have been sorely tempted to commit fratricide.
Tonight, it had taken an hour to put Zuko to sleep. The boy wanted a glass of milk, a cookie, three songs and four stories.
After Zuko had finally gone to bed, Iroh sat down and tried to relax himself with a stiff drink. He had finished all his work and he just wanted to be alone. He sighed to himself, relishing the quiet. All the servants had been told to steer clear of this chamber and Iroh hoped for their sake that they would obey.
Iroh was staring at the map of the North Country of the Earth Kingdom. He remembered a terrible battle taken place there, one particular day so many years ago. The Battle of the Flaming Fields.
He had only been fifteen and it had been his first experience with battle. He had been a young army commander, serving as the personal retainer of General Sano, a battle-hardened warrior who brooked no pity for the enemy.
The army had surrounded the town of Endo and had been preparing for battle. "A message from the Fire-Lord, my commander. He says that he wants this town clear by the end of the month," General Sano said, as Iroh recopied the maps to hand out to the commanding officers.
"It's a big town, sir. Which prison will they be sent to?" Iroh had inquired. He had no reservations to speak his mind with his new master. The general was eager to ingratiate himself with the possible future Fire-Lord.
General Sano had smiled and made a flame in the middle of his palm. "You are a long way from the palace, my innocent retainer. There are far more elegant ways of ridding a town of it's people."
"Elegant ways?" Iroh queried, quite confused. What was elegant about the situation?
" You must learn to take your Father at his word. He said he would exterminate the three rival nations," he informed him with a twisted cycle. "Today, Prince Iroh, you taste battle as you help that plan along."
Iroh understood what his master meant. Battle meant killing people, meant wounded soldiers screaming in excruciating pain. He had tended to enough of the wounded to know that. "I understand now, sir."
"You've never killed anyone, have you?" Iroh looked away at his master's question. "Well, I suppose it's as good a time as any to start. Just slash and burn, no mercy. That is the secret to battle. I have a feeling you will make your nation proud. It's in your blood," Sano said, handing Iroh twin Dao swords.
Iroh remembered holding the weapons. He had been trained in combat, but never used it. Somehow, he had a feeling his royal status would not protect him.
The carnage that day had changed Iroh forever. Severed limbs everywhere, blood flowing like a river and screams of agony were all that were heard. The air itself smelled foul and rotting. There were people he knew, people he didn't know, all lying dead together. A kind corporal who had just proposed to his bride was lying on the ground, his belly split open. He would never see his wedding day.
Iroh remembered that day most because it had been the first time he had killed another. He had seen many executions but never done the deed himself before. It had been a boy with green eyes. He had not much older then Iroh, they were two lost boys forced to grow up too fast. Iroh had not even known his name. He had come rushing at the prince, wielding an ax. Without blinking, Iroh had set him on fire.
It was amazing how fragile life was. One fiery punch and the boy was doomed to die a hideous death. Iroh had watched the entire time, feeling some of his humanity drain out of himself as the boy shriek in agony. Who was this boy? Did he have a happy family to mourn for him? Was he an orphan of war? Was he rich or poor? Iroh didn't have long to think.
Although it seemed like an eternity; after a few seconds the screams stopped. It was over.
Iroh dipped his hands into the ashes of his victim. He thought he would cry, but to his surprise, he remained numb. He felt no regret, no remorse. He felt nothing. The city was filled with fire; the world as the people knew it was ending and Iroh felt completely normal.
He merely turned and went to the next victim. He killed ten people that day, but none had affected him more then the green-eyed boy. His screams haunted Iroh for years, even years after the boy had breathed his last. Even after Iroh had killed thousands of people, those green eyes and that screaming disturbed him. He often wondered if the phantom footsteps of the ghost of that boy would one day return to avenge his mortal shell.
As if answering him, Iroh heard the pitter-patter of feet coming towards him. Too old to believe in ghosts, Iroh merely threw a decanter at the source of the noise. He was irritated beyond belief. How dare some idiot servant disturb him now? How dare someone disturb him, after all the work he had done for the Fire Nation, someone had the nerve to disturb him while he was getting drunk!
There was a loud crash and then a thud, ending with a scream. The scream that the intruder made haunted Iroh. It was too high even for a servant girl. Only one person had a voice that high. No, it could not be. Iroh could not have possibly hurt his own flesh and blood like that.
He forced himself to look. Perhaps it would just be a serving child, who had been tending the fires. Perhaps the scream was just his imagination!
Yet, Iroh's worst fears were confirmed. Lying in a tangled pile of limbs was Iroh's precious, helpless orphaned nephew. Breaking new records in speed, Iroh leapt down the stairs from the dais to his Zuko's side.
The boy was bleeding from a blow to the head, caused by the fall. He was not moving. That bundle of energy was eerie in his stillness.
Iroh gathered the boy up in his arms, praying that his nephew still breathed. He did not think of the horrific punishment awaiting the murderer of the crown prince, but only of the fact that could never live his life knowing he had killed his affectionate little Zuko.
Yes, Zuko was still breathing. His tiny chest still moved, his spirit too strong to go down. He had only been knocked out cold. Iroh felt a strange sort of pride for how resilient Zuko was.
He ripped his sleeve and reverently mopped his nephew's brow, trying to wipe away the blood. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, my Zuko. I am a damned fool," he whispered, holding his darling boy close to him. What more pain could the world inflict on this tender child? "Just say something. Anything. Just let me know you are all right. Scream at me if you want."
The golden eyes did not open. Iroh lightly tapped the boy's cheeks, trying to reassure himself that his nephew as all right. "Please, be safe and sound. My dear Hanae and my lost Ozai, all in you."
Iroh had seen slaves beaten to death before his seventh birthday, had attended a hundred executions by the time he was ten and over twenty years at war had given him opportunity to witness human suffering in all it's various grotesque forms. Much of said misery could be attributed to himself or his family. Iroh had seen children younger then Zuko dead.
Iroh had never flinched at all those times. How many times had he seen young boys breathe their last tortured gasp of air on the battlefield without feeling an iota of remorse? How many times had he seen people with everything to live writhe in agony as their life drained out of them and then went home to sleep? Far too many times. He was saturated with death already. If Zuko died, Iroh would follow him quickly and apologize to him and Hanae in the spirit world.
Iroh desperately yanked on a bell pull to summon servants. "Fetch a healer," he shouted the moment his aides entered the room. Shame filled his entire being as he felt how limp his nephew was.
He knew the servants would never dare say that the great Dragon of the West had pushed his nephew down a flight of stairs. They would attribute it to Zuko's clumsiness and hope that Iroh didn't have them all punished for losing track of the prince.
Yet his guilt was clear and Iroh hated himself for it. He had killed so many in war, had his hands forgotten how to be kind and comfort? He cuddled Zuko closer, wishing he could pour his own life into this boy.
"I'm here, Master General. What happened?" said Healer Niu, her soft voice instantly bringing calm into the room. Her gray and orange kimono brought a feeling of comfort to Iroh.
Niu had been a healer for forty years, she had often patched up Iroh himself after one of Father's punishment sessions. There had been many times she had soothed angry welts and burns when Father had ordered the boys left untreated. Iroh was quite sure she had saved both Ozai and Iroh from death a hundred times. She had been the closest thing to real family that Ozai and Iroh ever had.
"He…fell," Iroh answered, unwilling to look into Niu's black eyes and face the truth of what he had done. Niu's dark eyes seemed to pierce into people's soul and Iroh's soul was too black, even for her.
Niu was already examining the fallen prince. "I can tell. He has had quite a nasty shock, he's unconscious with a lot of bruises," she murmured, her small sure hands checking every inch of Zuko. Iroh just held him, not sure what else to do. He had been trained in medicine, but all his skills had left his mind. "Oh, he'll have quite a bump on his head when he wakes."
"Is he all right?" Iroh whispered. "Will he live?" Would any of them survive Ozai's wrath?
"Nothing broken, thank Agni. I'll bandage him up and mix some herbs for the pain. A few days of bed and rest should be put him right as flame. I just need to examine him when he walks up to check for internal injuries," Niu said efficiently.
"Internal injuries?" Iroh whispered. That was the kiss of death on the battlefield, nothing could be done for them and those injured of it died lingering painful deaths.
"Bumps to the head are tricky, General Iroh. I have to be sure he did not injure his mind as well," Niu said, her voice not even cracking with emotion. Years of abuse by Sajja and Ozai had left her cold to the injuries of her patients. "But I don't think it was that bad," she continued, removing some bandages from her medicine bag.
"Carry him to the futon," she directed. Iroh followed her, carrying Zuko in his arms. He lay the prince down carefully on the soft sheets, hoping that Zuko was not feeling pain in his deep sleep.
Winding a long strip of linen around Zuko's head, Niu hummed to herself. Iroh remembered her humming to him during each healing. Iroh would wonder if that strange song gave Niu the ability to heal almost any wound, no matter how grievous. "He looks a lot like Ozai and you," she murmured quietly.
"He's a treasure," Iroh answered, wishing for Zuko to get up and open his eyes. He would give all his riches just to see the boy's mischievous grin. Niu was pouring a strange concoction down Zuko's throat. The boy coughed a bit, but didn't open his eyes.
"That should be it," Niu said. "You can sit with him if it helps you feel better. There is nothing I can do for him until he wakes. All we can do now is pray to Agni to protect his child."
So now, here he was. He did not know how long he had sat his lonely vigil. The inky night had turned to red dawn outside the window, but he took no comfort in the rebirth of the sun.
Iroh could feel the presence of the servants, but he felt so utterly alone. There had been two messages from the War Chamber to attend but he had ignored them all.
Nothing was more important then the safety of his little Zuko. He prayed, begging for Agni to restore Zuko to health. He had failed in his first attempt but if given another chance, Iroh would become a true guardian and teacher to his Zuko. He would guide him, nurture him and care about him.
The first thing he would do was reason some discipline into his lonely, overindulged nephew. He would not always be able to be around, but he would be there more then anyone else. He would give up drinking, he would cut down on womanizing. He would devote himself to the raising of this child, if only Agni would…
"Unka?" a hoarse little voice asked. Those beautiful golden eyes were awake, staring at him. "Hurts," the dear boy whimpered.
"I know…hush. Uncle is here," Iroh comforted his nephew, and thinking a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods. "You had a bit of a spill."
"Unka angwy?" the poor dear said, looking up miserably at his uncle as if expecting to be yelled at.
Iroh swallowed and patted Zuko's hand. Why would Zuko feel the need to worry? He supposed he did look a bit fierce now. Thank Agni the boy didn't remember Iroh's abuse of him. "I am not angry with you, my boy. You just rest and get better, agreed?" he said, before giving the boy a kiss on the forehead.
Iroh heard the guards at the door snap to attention as a heavy set of footsteps bounded inside. "I am not in the habit of getting people myself," said a familiar cold voice.
"Fada!" Zuko squealed happily, holding out his arms. His entire face was shining with clear worship.
Ozai awkwardly patted Zuko's shoulder, looking as if he thought the small toddler would bite. "What happened? Why wasn't he more carefully guarded? This boy is my heir and successor! I expect you have an explanation for this."
Iroh rose and bowed deeply, as he was expected to. Of course, Ozai would come visit, this was his son after all. "Yes, my lord. Prince Zuko was being a bit clumsy after sneaking out of bed and he fell," he liked smoothly.
Ozai turned to his son. "I'm very disappointed with you, my son. Such irresponsible behavior is not something I approve of," he said coldly.
Zuko most likely hadn't understood all the words said but the tone in Ozai's voice was enough to strip the smile from his face. "Pwin Zuko sowwy," he squeaked sadly.
"And learn to talk properly! Agni's thumbs, you are clumsy and slow! I expect improvement and soon," Ozai said, glaring down at his little son.
Iroh keenly remembered a thirteen year old who still stuttered at times. That hypocritical monster had some nerve. "He's just a child, my lord. He can't talk properly till he grows up a bit," Iroh reminded, smirking.
"When I want your opinion, I will inform you of that. My son must grow up quickly if he is to be a worthy successor to me. He must be molded exactly to become the perfect heir," Ozai answered.
"P-p-p-prince Zuko so..w..rry!" Zuko stuttered out, his eyes closed with the great effort of trying to hide his lisp. Iroh had tears in his eyes at this gesture. That brute had no right to command this child's love.
"Good boy. You have made me happy," Ozai returned the smirk, patting his son on the head. "You are my son, always remember that. You are mine." He turned to Iroh and smiled cruelly. "The great Dragon of the West is needed on the Western Front in a week. Just thought you should know."
The next few days past far too quickly. Zuko had been confined to his futon and Iroh had spent every spare minute with him. Even when he had to attend to council chambers to discuss the battle against the city of Jeng-San, his thoughts were only for Zuko.
He could not bear to tell the poor child that he would be leaving. The poor boy was already spoiled and isolated. He needed a family, not fawning servants and a distant father. Iroh would return, he would fight harder and return as soon as he could. Yet, how would he break the news?
The night before he left, he purchased some presents for his nephew. He hoped it would ease the blow. Zuko was waiting for him in bed, perked up for a story. "Nephew, we need to have a talk," he said, as he tucked his nephew into his futon.
"Unka look sad," Zuko noted, looking worried. He wrapped his arms around Iroh's neck. "Unka be happy now?" he asked.
"I have to leave tomorrow, Prince Zuko," Iroh explained, sitting down next to the toddler.
"NO!" Zuko snapped, grabbing Iroh's neck tigher. "No go!" he commanded haughtily. There was a glint of terror in the golden eyes that saddened Iroh. This child was guarded by an army and yet he felt unsafe.
"This dragon mask will guard you when I am gone," Iroh explained, showing the enormous red mask he had purchased to put on Zuko's bedroom wall.
Zuko only sobbed harder. "Why leave Pwin Zuko? Unka no like?" he wept pitifully.
"Don't be silly. Of course I…care about you. Please stop crying. A prince must be strong, even when sad. The whole people look to him to be brave. Can you be my strong boy and let me go to war?" Iroh asked. He knew Prince Zuko had absolutely no say in the matter, but Iroh had vowed to make positive changes in the prince's life. Teaching him responsibility was a good thing.
"Stay! Pwin Zuko love Unka, want Unka!" Prince Zuko wept, his eyes filling with tears. Starting off the lessons in self-control with the removal of the only stable family left to this boy was definitely not the best way to begin.
Iroh sighed. "I wish I could, my boy. But I have to go fight the bad men," he explained. He could not abandon his troops, Ozai would never allow him to stay away from battle for long.
"Fwom bad men who huht Mama?" Zuko enquired tearfully, his chin trebling with more tears.
Iroh smoothed back Zuko's hair. "Yes, my nephew. Bad people like that, it's my job to protect the Fire Nation from those people," he explained. Yes, the bad people who stood in the way of Ozai having the entire world crawling at his feet, the bad people who had the nerve to resist being conquered.
Zuko nodded sadly, and wrapped his arms around Iroh's neck. "Come back vewwy thoon. Pwin Zuko love Unka," he whimpered pitifully. This boy still loved him after Iroh had nearly killed him. He knew Zuko didn't remember the events, but this unconditional love was terrifying.
"I swear I will be back soon." Iroh avoided looking at Zuko's scar by his ear. He never wanted to see Zuko's milk white skin scarred again. He would protect this boy from the world for as long as he could. He would protect and teach him all he could. He would care for him and guide him. The problem was, he know that would not be enough.
Bring him peace
Bring him joy
He is young
He is only a boy
You can take
You can give
Let him be
Let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
----:Les Miserables
Reviews:
Inkheart-I am so honored. Being able to make a reader care enough about a character to cry shows that I am gaining skills in writing. Hehe, I hyperventilated a lot during Downfall, writing Zuko and Katara battling was quite a rush, sitting and typing madly, not entirely sure how far I would have Zuko take it. Thank you, I can't wait to finish this scroll (I plan for at least six scrolls of about 8 chapters each) Actually, the lisp based off my sweet little neighbor Shira who is two and lisps. She's my model for Zuko. Yes, the little baby Mitsu mention is Zula.
DragonFairez-Yes, he really is plump and huggable. I'd sure love to hug him.
Sleepingdragon-I promise more Zhao in the third scroll! Yes, push Zhao around. It will only make him meaner when he has power.
1bzwriter--I update as often as I can, but midterms limit my time. I will update once every two weeeks at the latest, so never fear. So glad that my writing is a treat. Zuko is so cute and I love him so much! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and it satisfies you!
Wiaku-Thank you so much. I plan to write, though your threats are greatly appreciated. I worked for a few months planning this story out before I began writing and I made sure to research and diagram accordingly. I am so glad you enjoyed it and I am so honored I added respect to the canon. You will definitely see more of this story, I have at least five scrolls and around thirty-five chapters planned. I will finish or die trying, and your threats are duly understood. Hehe, tie me to the chair? Hehe, consider myself warned.
Jade Raven93-I am so glad you are enjoying my story. I liked Iroh throwing Zhao overboard too, it seems to be a popular scene. Everyone loves to hate Zhao.
-the story has an awsome plot (Thank you, as I wrote above, I spent a lot of time planning out the plot)
-it's really well written (You'll have to thank my beta reader Sarah for that)
-I like crying from stories like this (I love writing sad stories and crying shows I am doing my job right)
-I also kind of like being kept in suspense (That's my job, keeping you in suspense)
-it's really funny (I also like writing humor as a balance to the angst. Balance is good. Glad you like the humor)
-Zuko made me smile so many times (He is adorable, I just want to cuddle him)
-it easily ties in with the show (Thanks, I work hard at that)
-Zhao got thrown overboard (I just had to say that) I see Zhao abuse really is popular.
I'll keep writing, you keep reviewing!