Time passes. Without access to the sun, Zuko is forced to count the days by the meals he's given, and the daily rhythms of the village. The Water Tribe favors a simple porridge for breakfast, a larger meal with lots of protein for lunch, and something hot, like stew, for dinner. The food is too mushy and bland for Zuko's taste (what he wouldn't give for some flaming fire flakes, or a dish of komodo chicken), but he eats it all without complaint. It's nourishment, and he'll need all his strength for what's to come.
The chief usually visits in the afternoon. Mostly, they talk. Sometimes Hakoda asks particular questions he seems to have prepared ahead of time, about Fire Nation culture (which Zuko answers to the best of his ability), or military structure and tradition (which Zuko, who is not a traitor, refuses to talk about).
Other times they simply chat, the chief wanting to know about Zuko's time at sea, what regions he's been to, what his likes and dislikes are. Zuko's replies to these questions are hesitant and awkward. He's not used to anyone wanting his opinion on trivial matters—or anything, really—and he doesn't know why Hakoda is asking in the first place. The information holds no strategic value, so why does he care?
(He doesn't care, Zuko reminds himself over and over. Of course he doesn't.)
At night, Zuko dreams of burning. Of ash in his mouth, of chasing something he can never catch before waking. Of the fire he can no longer conjure during the day.
As a child, he remembers hearing about firebenders losing their abilities. Such tales are told like ghost stories, because to a bender, there's nothing more terrifying. Benders having horrible accidents, their bodies so mangled they're never again able to perform the necessary movements. Children shocked by an event so awful they can't call their inner flames, even into adulthood. War veterans so psychologically scarred they're unable to make fire without past horrors sending them into hysterics.
But nothing like that has happened to Zuko. Not even his failed Agni Kai and his scar prevented him from bending. So why can't he do it now?
Zuko tries everything he can think of. He prays to Agni. He meditates. He works himself into exhaustion, doing modified forms until he's sweaty and shaking. But nothing helps. No matter what he does, he's not able to bend. No fire, no spark. Not even a lick of smoke.
(Weak, worthless, weak, worthless—)
During the day, Zuko works on his next escape attempt. When Bato comes to retrieve his bowl from dinner one night, Zuko hides the spoon up his sleeve. He expects to be caught immediately; everyone has been so careful not to leave anything within Zuko's reach. But Bato doesn't notice, and neither does anyone else. The spoon is made of bone, the edges smooth and round, but it's hard enough to use against the weaker ice blocks he discovered.
Zuko chips away at them, bit by bit. It takes days of work whenever he's alone—in between the nerve-wracking time he spends in the company of Bato, or the chief, or the old witch doctor, sitting anxiously against the wall to hide his progress—but now he's finally ready to finish the job.
He's been careful not to break through any of the blocks before this moment, whittling them down until only a thin later of ice remains. When he presses the spoon against the wall and punches a hole through the first block, cold, clean air whistles through the gap. Zuko inhales deeply, his heart pounding in anticipation. He's so close he can taste it, to freedom, to getting his life back. To putting this awful place behind him and forgetting it ever existed.
As silently as possible, Zuko begins carving away at the wall in earnest. He breaks through the blocks one by one, piece by piece, small ice chunks building up on the storehouse floor. He tries not to think about how much easier this would be if he could bend. He doesn't have time for self-pity, not right now.
Zuko hacks away at the wall until there's a gap big enough for him to fit through. He gathers his supplies; the meat jerky he's been rationing, a nearly full waterskin, a fur from the sleeping pallet for extra warmth. He puts the food and spoon in his pockets, slings the waterskin under his coat to prevent it from freezing, and ties the fur around his neck. Then he carefully eases onto his front and starts crawling through the hole.
Each forward motion drags Zuko's broken leg on the ground, sending jolts of pain up his body. He clenches his jaw against the wounded noises building in his throat. It's slow and excruciating, and takes far longer than Zuko would like. But with one final grunt, he's able to pull himself through and into the night air.
Zuko stops and listens. No sign of Bato, or his enormous beast of a dog. All clear.
Next comes getting to his feet. Zuko rolls onto his good knee, grimacing at how stiff and awkward his injured leg is, sticking out behind him in the splints. He braces himself against the storehouse wall and gingerly pushes himself upward. Pain like white-hot knives shoots through his leg. Zuko grinds his teeth together, smothering every cry before it leaves his lips. If he screams now and gets himself caught, all this will have been for nothing.
Finally, after what seems like an age, Zuko is upright. He takes a moment to catch his breath, air streaming in and out of his body in a frozen cloud. He surveys his surroundings. The dark sky is clear, and the moon is nearly full, casting plenty of light against the reflective surface of the snow. Everything is silent, save for the wind.
Zuko looks up at the wall that surrounds the entire village. If he follows it long enough, it should lead to a way out, and then hopefully, a boat. He has no sailing experience, despite being on a ship the last two years; the Wani, as rusted and decaying as she was, at least ran on steam. But Zuko figures it will be easier to row a boat with one leg than it will be to escape over land by foot. His captors are Water Tribesmen after all, surely they must have plenty of boats down by the shore.
As quickly and quietly as he can, Zuko starts hopping along the wall, making sure to keep in its shadow and out of sight between the igloos and tents. The pain in his leg is growing steadily, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. Every tent he passes has a cheery yellow glow, lit from within by oil lanterns. Zuko imagines he can feel the tiny flames inside each of them, the small scraps of heat wonderful after so many days spent in the dark and bitter cold. He shivers and keeps moving.
Pain slows time, making minutes feel like hours. But eventually Zuko finds the village entrance. It's a simple gap in the wall wide enough for several people to walk through shoulder to shoulder. He leans around the edge of the wall, his breath coming in harsh pants, and sees a line of long, wooden boats moored on the shore. Yes!
The boats are only a handful of steps away, but without the support of the wall, it will be much slower and more painful going. Zuko grits his teeth. He can't give up now, not when his escape is within sight. Taking a deep breath, he lurches into open space.
Half hopping, half dragging his bad leg, Zuko makes his way toward the boats. The pain is extraordinary, involuntary tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and freezing his lashes together. He reaches the nearest boat and collapses, too exhausted and hurt to bother muffling the sound.
Zuko doesn't know how long he lays there, half in the boat and half out, his body shaking in agony. But then the rhythmic sound of crunching snow cuts through the ringing in his ears. Footsteps. Someone is coming.
Zuko panics, torn between trying to push the boat into the water, or finding somewhere to hide. He flails, fumbling for one of the boat oars to wedge under his arm as a makeshift crutch. It's enough to allow him to hobble towards the wall and press his back to the cold, hard surface. Zuko holds his breath as the footsteps get closer.
He can tell it's two people now, two women from the sound of their voices. Soon they're near enough Zuko can hear their conversation filtering over the wall.
"I wish Chief Hakoda would just get rid of the firebender," one of the women says. "I hate knowing he's in our village. Even if we can't see him, I can feel his presence. It makes my skin crawl."
"I know," replies the other. "Like a spot of rot on a good kill. You have to cut it out to save the rest. If the other men were here, the ash eater would be long dead."
Zuko sags against the wall, one mittened hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his breathing. Of course the villagers don't want him here. Zuko is the enemy; he's been taught the same about the Water Tribes all his life. But even knowing that, hearing the women talk about him in such disgusted, dismissive tones sends a tremble of anxiety through him. It reminds Zuko too much of feeling cast aside, unwanted.
When you were born, we weren't sure you had Agni's fire at all. You didn't have that spark in your eyes. I wanted to throw you over the palace wall. What good is a firstborn who can't even bend?
The women's voices fade, but Zuko can hear they're still close by. He risks peeking around the wall for just a second, and sees the women sitting around the fire pit near the center of the village, the flames burned down to smoldering embers. From there, the women have a clear line of sight through the village entrance and down to the shore. They will certainly see Zuko if he tries to steal a boat, no matter how stealthy he is.
Zuko thumps his head against the wall in frustration. Shit. Now what?
He thinks over his other options, none of them good. He could stay here, try to wait the women out and hope there's still enough darkness left to complete his escape. But the closer Zuko stays to the village, the more likely he'll be discovered and caught. Someone is going to notice he's missing eventually, and it's not as if he can outrun anyone in this state.
Zuko could hide farther out, in the snowdrifts that surround the village, and wait for nightfall again. But his supplies are limited. Wasting a whole day could mean the difference between surviving the journey, and not.
Zuko turns to the vast, white tundra that stretches clear to the horizon. Maybe if he follows the coast, there will be other villages nearby, with other boats he might use.
What choice does Zuko have? He can't stay here. He doesn't want to be used as a bartering piece against Father, and sooner or later, Chief Hakoda will tire of him and dispose of him accordingly. Zuko refuses to wait around for that to happen. Not while he still has a chance, and fight within him to do something about it.
Traveling on foot it is, then.
If Zuko thought it was slow going before, this is something else. The boat oar is too long to use comfortably as a crutch, and soon his arm is bruised and aching from having it wedged underneath. His breath is coming in heaving gasps, his muscles shivering with effort. The wind is much worse outside the village wall, and even with his coat, fur, and mittens, it's not long before Zuko's whole body feels frozenly numb. Except for his broken leg. That feels like it's one fire, molten-hot pain filling him up with each limping step.
Every bit of distance Zuko gains, he pays for it five-fold in agony and exhaustion. He decides to walk south first, inland to be less visible from the water, and any other villages he may come across. But the tundra is so big, so empty. There's no trees, no rocks, to living creatures of any kind. Just miles and miles of white snow and stark, barren land. It makes Zuko feel small and insignificant, like falling overboard all over again, except this time his feet are still on solid ground.
Zuko stops for a drink of water. His hands are shaking so badly he can barely raise the waterskin to his mouth. He leans heavily on the boat oar and desperately tries to stay upright. If he falls, Zuko's not sure he'll be able to get back up again.
(Weak, worthless, weak, worthless—)
Zuko tears the mittens off his trembling hands and cups them together. He takes a deep, shuddering inhale and tries to call his inner flame, praying to Agni with all the strength he has left. He has to make a breath of fire, some kind of firebending, anything—
Nothing happens. No spark, no smoke, no steam. Nothing.
Zuko curls his hands into fists, a sob bursting out of him. He's going to die out here, freeze to death or drop dead from exhaustion, and he still can't make fire.
Maybe Father is right. What good is he, if he can't even bend?
"Prince Zuko."
Zuko yelps in surprise. The voice comes from behind him, and he nearly topples over trying to turn around on the crutch. When he finally manages it, he sees the solid figure of Chief Hakoda against the white tundra.
The chief simply stares at him without speaking, his breath coming out in a steady stream of mist. Unlike Zuko, he doesn't seem winded at all.
Zuko plants his crutch in the snow and reaches into his coat for the bone spoon. He whips it out and points it at Hakoda like a blade, shifting his feet into a defensive stance. The spoon is blunt, but it's better than nothing. Maybe with enough force, or a soft enough target, Zuko can do some damage with it before the chief kills him.
"So that's how you did it," Hakoda says, his eyes flicking between the spoon and Zuko's face. "You dug your way out."
"You should tell Bato to be more careful," Zuko spits. "The stupid idiot didn't even notice I'd taken it."
The chief blinks, and for a moment Zuko thinks he's scored a blow. But Hakoda's calm demeanor doesn't change as he tilts his head, studying Zuko. His next words feel like a kick to the gut.
"You can't firebend, can you?"
At Hakoda's words, the prince's bravado and what little color remains in his face drains away. "Shut up," he rasps.
"I couldn't figure out why the storehouse wall wasn't melted. Why you'd use tools to break out instead of fire. But I guess I have my answer."
"Shut up."
"Why can't you bend? Is it because of your leg?"
"I said shut up!" The prince shouts. "You don't know anything about it!" On the surface, he's all anger, boiling and white-hot. But Hakoda's not fooled by that anymore. Now he can see what the prince is so desperate to hide underneath, the emotions he's trying so hard to bury. He can see it in the whites of Zuko's eyes, the wavering spoon in his grasp, the tremor of his good leg as he struggles to remain standing.
The boy is terrified.
"Is it something we did?" Hakoda asks. "Something that's happened to you since you arrived here?"
"So you can recreate it on other firebenders?" The prince scowls. "Never."
The thought has crossed Hakoda's mind, but that's not why he's asking (not today at least). "No, because I'm concerned. I imagine if a bender can't bend, some kind of… damage has been done to cause it. I want to make sure we're not mistreating you somehow."
The prince's brow wrinkles in confusion. "Why would you care about that?"
"Prince Zuko, what have I done to make you think otherwise?"
Zuko stares at him, his confusion deepening. Other emotions flit across his face, each too quick for Hakoda to parse. He can almost see Zuko come up empty-handed and decide to be angry again, because it's the most familiar and acceptable option.
"Enough talking," the prince growls. He makes himself as tall as he can on one shaking leg and a stolen crutch. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with."
"I'm not going to kill you. I thought I made that clear."
"Right," the prince sneers. "You expect me to believe you? Our nations have been at war for a hundred years. You hate me, you hate my father. Why wouldn't you kill me the second I become too much trouble?"
"Too much trouble? You've been too much trouble since the moment we dragged you aboard my ship!" Hakoda's tried being nice, he's tried being calm. But he's not getting through to the prince, and after a week of mounting pressure and stress, what little patience he has left is starting to fray. "I prevented my crew from executing you, got you medical attention, brought you back to my home—upsetting pretty much everyone I love in the process—and risked my position as chief in order to get the village to allow you to stay. So, what do I have to do, Zuko?"
Zuko stares at him, his good eye round and his mouth hanging open.
"What do I have to do to convince you? I've given you food, shelter, clothing. I've tried to reassure you, make you comfortable. I've been more than hospitable. Certainly treated you better than the Fire Nation would treat one of my people if they'd been captured. Mother of spirits, can't you see I'm the only person in a hundred miles who doesn't want you dead?"
Zuko's mouth snaps shut, but it takes a few moments before he can form words. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet Hakoda almost can't hear it over the wind.
"I didn't ask you to do any of that."
"Well, tough shit."
Zuko sags against his makeshift crutch. "If I'm such a burden, then just let me go."
"No. That would be letting you die, and I can't allow that. I told your father I'd take care of you, and I meant it."
Zuko lets out a hollow laugh. "Trust me, my father would much rather hear I died trying to escape than rotting away as a prisoner of war. It would mean I died with dignity, like a warrior."
"Have you ever seen anyone die, Zuko?"
Zuko is silent. Hakoda thought so.
"If I let you go, you'll freeze to death. If you're lucky. If you're not, a wild animal will find you first. Or you'll make it to another village, and they'll kill you on sight for being Fire Nation."
Hakoda pauses, letting the prince mull over those options. He sees fear return to Zuko's eyes.
"But if you come back to the village with me, you get to live. To fight another day, to see your family again. To complete your mission and go home. In that, there's dignity. But not in death. Death is nothing but pain and ugliness. Always."
Zuko knows he should refuse Hakoda's offer. He should turn away from the chief and keep walking until he dies, like a proud Fire Nation warrior would. Like Father would want him to. Perhaps his honor can be restored in death, if he dies valiantly enough.
(In truth, Zuko doesn't know how to answer Hakoda's question. Once, Father made Zuko and Azula attend a public execution, where the Fire Lord burned a man alive for being a traitor. But Zuko had his eyes closed the whole time, so he's not sure if it counts. Is listening to a man die the same as watching it happen?)
But then Zuko thinks of Uncle. How sad he looks whenever it's LuTen's birthday, or his wedding anniversary to his late wife, or some other day of remembrance. How he disappeared after the failed seige of Ba Sing Se, only to return a shadow of his former self. How he said he'd do anything if it meant having his family back again.
And how much it will hurt Uncle to lose Zuko, too.
Zuko hangs his head, the hand holding the spoon dropping to his side. "Okay, fine. I'll come back."
He hears Hakoda let out a long breath. "Thank you. But I need you to promise you won't run off again. It was hard enough getting the village to agree to let you stay. If they find out you've escaped, I'll lose what little support I have, and I can't guarantee your safety after that."
Zuko doesn't know how to feel about the chief fighting his own people so hard on his behalf. It makes a knot in his chest, equal parts confusion, warmth, and something else. Something a little scary.
"Only if you swear not to tell anyone I can't bend," Zuko counters. It's bad enough Hakoda knows. If he had the strength, his unscarred cheek would be burning with shame. He can't stand the idea of the whole village ridiculing him, too.
The chief considers this. Then he nods, and sticks out his mittened hand. "I can do that. Deal?"
The meaning isn't lost on Zuko. With his other hand still wrapped around the boat oar, he can't shake Hakoda's without first letting go of the spoon. He drops it in his pocket, and then places his hand in the chief's, carefully pumping it up and down once. It's not much of a handshake, but it seems to satisfy Hakoda.
"Deal."
"Good. You ready to go back now?"
Zuko nods wearily. At this point, only spite and force of will are keeping him vertical. He plants the crutch to take a step, but as soon as Zuko shifts his weight, his good leg buckles. His muscles have stiffened up during the conversation, making him lurch forward and nearly fall to the ground. But Hakoda steps in and catches Zuko at the last moment, holding him up.
"I don't need your help!" Zuko snaps, flinching away from the chief. It causes him to teeter in the other direction and fall on his backside, the impact rattling up his broken leg and driving a sharp groan from between his teeth.
Hakoda tilts his head skyward and sighs. Then he reaches for the short sword strapped to his back.
Zuko recoils, raising one hand defensively and squeezing his eyes shut. He hardly has time to feel the mess of emotions that surge through him—fear, exhausted resignation, and most surprisingly, betrayal—before he hears a loud thwack. When pain and death don't shortly follow, Zuko cracks one eye open.
Instead of bringing the blade down on him, the chief has used it to cut the boat oar down to a more manageable size. He tucks the excess piece of wood in his belt and sheaths his sword. Then he offers the crutch to Zuko. "Here. This should work better, until we can make you something more permanent."
Zuko blinks at Hakoda, letting out a short laugh that sounds more like a pained wheeze. He tried to escape, and now the chief is giving him a better crutch? Agni above, the man can't really be this stupid. Can he?
Up until this point, Zuko has been more than happy to take advantage of the misguided trust Hakoda has shown him. But now he suddenly finds himself wanting to do the opposite. Zuko wants Hakoda to trust him, and to prove himself worthy of that trust. He wants Hakoda to be right bout him. Zuko wants to earn it, even though Hakoda has made it clear he doesn't have to.
Zuko doesn't know if it's the bone-deep exhaustion, his own weakness, or some kind of devious Water Tribe trickery. But he accepts the crutch, and the hand Hakoda uses to help Zuko to his feet. He replaces the crutch under his arm and takes a tentative step forward.
Zuko wobbles dangerously, be manages to stay upright. The crutch is now the perfect height to comfortably hold his weight, taking a lot of strain off his good leg. He tries another step, and then another, carefully moving forward. The chief keeps a slow pace to walk beside him.
"Let me know if you get too tired," Hakoda says. "We can rest, or I can help you. I won't even tell anyone about it afterwards."
Zuko huffs. "You'd better not."
They continue in silence, the only sound coming from their crunching footsteps and the whistling wind. But out of the corner of his eye, Zuko thinks he sees the chief smile, just a little.
Hakoda is carrying Zuko by the time they reach the village. Almost predictably, the prince refused help until he nearly collapsed, his exhausted body no longer able to put one foot in front of the other. But that also meant Zuko was too tired to argue much—thank the spirits for small mercies—when Hakoda hoisted the kid onto his back. Zuko grumbled, but fell asleep almost immediately, his head lolling against Hakoda's shoulder.
It's nearly dawn when Hakoda finally walks through the village entrance. Kanna and Bato are both waiting for them.
Zuko is limp as Hakoda gently lowers him to the ground. Kanna holds up a lantern to examine him. She tuts disapprovingly. "How far did he get?"
"About a mile," Hakoda says.
"His leg shows it. Almost all the healing he's done has been erased." She shakes her head angrily. "Do I need to tie the brat down?"
"No, we had a talk, and I think I finally got through to him. He should stay put, for now at least." Hakoda turns to Bato and tosses him the bone spoon. Bato catches it against his chest using his good hand. "You got something you want to tell me?"
"A spoon? You've gotta be kidding me." Bato's tone is light, but even in the pre-dawn darkness, Hakoda can see how tight his shoulders are, how his expression ripples in guilt. "I don't know what to say, Hakoda. I messed up. It won't happen again."
Hakoda gives Bato a critical look. It's not like him to miss something like this, and they both know it. But whether it was a mistake, or there's something else going on, Bato doesn't say. Hakoda decides to let it go for now. He sighs, and it turns into a deep yawn, his own weariness finally catching up with him.
"We can talk about it in the morning," Hakoda says. "After I've slept for a week."
Bato grimaces. "I'm afraid that's going to have to wait." He pulls a letter from his pocket and hands it to Hakoda.
"From the Fire Lord?"
"Guess again."
Hakoda breaks the seal and unfolds the letter, holding it up to Kanna's lantern. It's from the Council of Elders, and it's not good news.
Chief Hakoda,
The Council is most disturbed to learn you have opened negotiations with the Fire Lord without our permission, in direct contradiction to tribal law. You are hereby summoned to the old capital for a tribunal to assess the situation and determine the best path forward. The Council awaits your imminent arrival.
Hakoda looks up to find Bato mirroring the grim expression on his face. "The old capital is at least a day's journey inland, and who knows how long this will take. I can't leave the village for that long, not right now."
"You have to," Kanna says. "A tribunal is very serious. The Council does not look kindly on those who refuse their authority. If you don't go, it will mean losing your position as chief, at the very least."
"I know." Hakoda looks gravely down at Zuko's unconscious form. "It also means the Council will come for the prince, and most likely execute him." Hakoda's plans unraveled and a boy's life ended, all because the Council would rather cling to political posturing than see reason. He shakes his head. He can't let that happen.
Hakoda looks at Bato and Kanna in turn, and then nods. It's not really a choice, not if he meant what he said to Zuko on the tundra; to take care of him and keep him safe. It's a promise Hakoda intends to keep.
The sun finally crests the horizon, the rays painting the village and the snow beyond in pastel light. Hakoda tucks the Council's letter into his coat. "I'll start packing."
Iroh contemplates the jasmine tea in front of him, his hands hidden in his sleeves. He can't see the bottom of the cup through the cloudy leaves, and steam stopped rising from it long ago.
It's been nearly two weeks since Zuko fell overboard during the storm. The crew aboard the Wani has been searching tirelessly every since, with no success. No confirmation that Zuko is alive, or dead.
Iroh closes his eyes. It's like losing LuTen at Ba Sing Se all over again. He remembers digging through the rubble until his hands bled, desperate hope slowly dissolving into tragic resignation the longer he went without knowing, without seeing LuTen's body with his own eyes. Just like then, Iroh mourns. Not officially, not yet. But he mourns all the same.
"General Iroh?"
Iroh looks up to find Lieutenant Jee standing in galley's doorway. "Any news?"
Jee shakes his head sadly. "No, general. But this arrived." The lieutenant holds out a letter, wrapped in black ribbon, the royal seal shining like an open wound.
Iroh breaks the wax and opens the letter with the trepidation that always accompanies messages from the Fire Lord. To Iroh's surprise, the letter inside is written in his brother's own hand, and not that of a royal court scribe. The letter is short and to the point, lacking any emotion at all, which does not surprise him at all.
Iroh—
We have received word that Zuko has been captured by Water Tribe savages. Please confirm at once.
There is no signature line, no proud list of royal titles. But Iroh would recognize Ozai's sharp, pointed handwriting—almost like knives—anywhere. Iroh's heart leaps in his chest and he lets out a long breath. If the palace received word that Zuko has been captured, that means he's alive. Thank Agni.
Iroh only allows himself a moment of relief before he begins to think. Given their location during the storm, the Southern Water Tribe seems more likely. But if it was another ship that found Zuko, they could be anywhere in the world by now.
The plan Iroh has been carefully preparing for years, his secret strategy to remove Zuko from Ozai's influence and create an escape for them both, springs to the front of his mind. The timing is not what Iroh had in mind, but circumstances have changed. They may not get an opportunity like this again. Best to strike while the iron is hot.
Iroh calls for writing supplies. He spreads the paper between two stones, and readies the ink and brush. With deliberate care, he begins to pen a message that will hopefully set both himself and Zuko free.
My dearest brother,
It is with great sorrow that I report Prince Zuko was lost at sea nearly a fortnight ago, presumed dead after falling overboard during a fierce storm. We have searched the area ceaselessly and without rest, but we have been unable to find him. After so much time, I can only think he succumbed to the waters and has no hope of returning alive. It is with a heavy heart I deliver this news.
Therefore, any demands on behalf of Prince Zuko from the Water Tribe must be fraudulent. That they would try to take advantage of the royal family during this sad time is unspeakably cruel. I await your orders.
Your faithful brother,
Iroh
