He remembered when he was maybe 17 or 18. His brother—Zuko's father—had come bearing a gift.

Iroh, for the life of him, couldn't understand why his younger, (and at that time, extremely sour) brother had entered his room politely, holding in his hands "a rare vase from the Earth Palace," until he uttered the words, "in replacement of" and he flashed back to the vision of the week before, and a chaotic game of chase between the younger children of the nobles.

Now his nephew stood before him with that same guilty expression, glancing heartbroken at his uncle.

But it was no rare vase that Zuko had broken.

It was Zuko himself that was broken. But there was no way he could mollify his brother; the stubborn streak that Ozai possessed was wider than his respect for his elder brother.

"Well, Zuko?"

The boy stared at him pleadingly, unable to make himself beg.

"There's nothing more I can do."