No, I don't consider Iroh to be the suicidal type, but grief can do strange things to people. Please keep that in mind as you read this chapter.
Disclaimer: Narrator borrows Avatar: The Last Airbender for the express purpose of fanfic, and thus makes no profit. unless you count reviews and the ensuing ego-boost as profit.
4. Depression
"General?" The aide swallows nervously, shifting his weight slightly as his lord does not respond.
And then… "Yes?" The voice, normally so vital and strong, capable of shouting orders about the riotous cacophony of pitched battle or laughing heartily at simple jokes, comes forth tired, old… the voice of a man pierced with grief.
"Sir… General Iroh…" The aide is not a young man or inexperienced solider - he knows defeat and grieving and suffering and death as well as any man who had gone through years of campaign, but he never once considered that the famed Dragon of the West could also succumb to the dark and terrible despair of loss.
"Enter, please." The tent's flap is drawn aside and the aide looks down into dark-ringed eyes of amber that belie the energy of the general's welcoming smile. "You have something important to tell me?"
"Sir." A Pai-Sho board has been set up on a short table, the tiles seeming to dance in the flickering light of the single oil lamp. Two cushions on either side, set for two opponents who exist only in the mind of a single man.
In the center of the board, an unsheathed dagger.
"You wished to speak to me?" the general prompts.
The aide tears his eyes away from the table, the game, the blade.
"A message from the Fire Lord."
"Already? The report of the retreat should only have reached him two days ago. I would have thought the order for my execution would have taken another day at least. My father does not waste time." The general chuckles at his own gallows humor, cheerfully breaking the heavy seal. Waiting to be dismissed, the aide once again turns his attention to the gleaming dagger.
The light flickers, the crackle of flame consuming oil the only sound.
"It seems…" He starts, having almost forgotten the general's presence. "It seems that there is another who wastes no time. My father is dead."
"Fire Lord Zulon is dead? Impossible!"
A wry smirk greets this explosion of disbelief. "Fire Lord Ozai commands my presence in the capitol immediately. I am to abandon my army and fetch myself to the palace to receive judgment."
"General Iroh -!" The aide, too long in the service of one man he admires above all others, speaks his mind. "If you leave this army and return to the capitol, your life is forfeit! No one can judge you for retreating from Ba sing Sei, you did it to protect the army, and the Fire Nation! Your younger brother has usurped the throne and will -!"
"My younger brother is now the Fire Lord Ozai," the general interrupts kindly, but with underlying steel, "To speak of him in any other way is to speak treason, and I for one have had enough of senseless death."
"But, General…"
"Have the staff assembled. I will make preparations to hand over command to General Lukka. We have avoided the trap the Earth Kingdom armies set for us, and soon we will reach more comfortable territory. I am no longer needed."
"…" Unbidden, his eyes return to the naked blade.
The general picks it up, cradling the hilt in his palm. "I gave a dagger such as this to my nephew, did you know?" he asks, "The commander of the outer wall surrendered it to me personally. And excellent gift for a growing prince, because of the advice carved into it. This one, however… this one has no advice."
The aide tenses as his general's hand closes about the hilt.
"I give it to you," the general says, holding it out.
"A more fitting death awaits me," say his eyes as his loyal soldier takes it from him, bows, and leaves to carry out his final orders.
I cannot take this pain anymore.