Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Ship(s): Zuko/Katara
Rating: G
Warning(s): Spoilers for Episodes 109 (The Waterbending Scroll), 115 (Bato of the Water Tribe), 209 (Bitter Work), 220 (The Crossroads of Destiny), 319 (Sozin's Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters) and 321 (Sozin's Comet, Part 4: Avatar Aang).
Title: The One You Knew
Summary: Six times Iroh accurately read Zuko's heart, and one time he didn't.
Status: One-shot; complete.
AN: I'm late to the party, having just marathoned the series this week, but I fell head-over-heels in love with Zutara right away. While I'm still angsting over the fact that it didn't happen in canon, that's what fanfiction is for, right? So here's a little something I typed up, inspired by the awesomeness that is Uncle Iroh. I ganked a few actual lines and scenes from certain episodes and interpreted them to suit my fangirly shipping needs. Grasping at straws is fun.
There's only one way I know how to do this.
Stay here and help me live through this,
And I'll always be the one you knew.
From your love I grew into complete and whole.
And the way I justify, it's my way to control love everlasting.
- Joshua Radin, The One You Knew
The years have left their solemn marks on Iroh (the wintry cracks on his forehead, the spider-webs at the corners of his eyes, the cumbersome weight around his middle, the dull pain that splinters down his back whenever he stands too quickly and suddenly), but they have also blessed him with the wisdom of experience and a rich pool of memories to draw insight from. So it comes as little or no surprise that he can read his young nephew like an unfurled scroll, especially given the close bond and familial affection that the two share.
Iroh perceives what Zuko buries under layers of immovable pride and righteous fury, and whenever he exerts his observation skills just a little bit more, Iroh can peer into the deepest recesses of Zuko's heart.
Of course, as the Dragon of the West is soon to discover, fat lot of help that is.
I.
Iroh watches with an expression of mild distaste as Zuko grabs the struggling Water Tribe maiden and binds her to a nearby tree trunk in a series of deft, speedy movements.
"Lack of common sense seems to have replaced your manners, nephew," Iroh remarks. "You'll never get a nice girl to like you if you keep this up."
Yet Iroh notes that Zuko has used his best rope, the kind that doesn't chafe skin, and is uncharacteristically restrained (some might even say gentle) as he grabs her wrists and subdues her.
"Tell me where he is, and I won't hurt you or your brother," Zuko commands, every inch the regal, intimidating crown prince of the Fire Nation.
The Waterbender is unimpressed. "Go jump in the river!" she yells, glaring at him in icy, angry contempt.
Iroh stifles a hearty chuckle at the disconcerted expression that momentarily flashes across Zuko's face. Used as he is to hordes of people bowing and serving his every whim since his birth, the lad is no doubt taken aback by such blatant disrespect, least of all coming from a Water Tribe peasant that he considers his social inferior in every possible way.
It is good for him to be surprised every once in a while, Iroh reflects. It forces him to rethink the situation and gain a new perspective.
Iroh watches with growing interest and amusement as Zuko sidles nearer to his captive, attempting to strike a bargain with her. The boy's raspy voice lowers, becomes almost a caress, as he leans in closer than is appropriate or, in fact, necessary. Iroh's sharp old gaze catches the split second in time that Zuko's fingers lightly press against the girl's skin as he tauntingly mimics the motions of placing her mother's beloved keepsake around her neck.
It must be the eyes, decides Iroh. All men are suckers for a pair of pretty, bright blue eyes.
II.
On the day the Shirshu tears up their ship in hot pursuit of a stowaway, after the bounty hunter has left and the commotion has settled and pinpricks of sunlight glimmer on the calm ocean surface like a million scattered diamonds, Iroh asks his nephew if he is familiar with the ancient customs of the Water Tribe.
Zuko frowns. "No, Uncle. I don't plan on becoming acquainted with the ways of barbarians," he snaps, and for a moment Iroh is looking upon a young Ozai, fervent and ferocious and horribly misguided.
"Among the Water Tribe, it is the tradition for a man to ask for his beloved's hand in marriage by presenting her with a necklace, the pendant of which he has carved himself," says Iroh. "Once he has placed the necklace around her throat, the couple is considered engaged."
A slow, barely noticeable red flush tinges Zuko's pale cheeks. "That's stupid," he spits out, but already his gaze is fixated on the waves, as if remembering a long-ago moonlit night in the forest and the feel of a graceful, copper-skinned neck against his hands.
"Do you really think so?" Iroh's lips form a serene, contemplative smile. "I find it rather romantic, to be honest."
"Romantic notions are for fools," Zuko retorts woodenly.
Later, he makes no attempt to correct June when she nonchalantly refers to the Waterbender as his girlfriend, and as they whiz through the countryside on the Shirshu's back, Iroh is bemused to spot the necklace wound tightly around Zuko's wrist.
And when the Shirshu bounds into the Abbey and they endure a particularly rough landing, Iroh glances behind to see the Fire Prince hold on to the paralyzed Waterbender, as if to protect her from falling to the ground.
III.
Ever since Iroh regained consciousness, thanks in no small part to the decidedly bracing (if rather undrinkable) tea his nephew brewed, his heart has been heavy. Zuko's inner turmoil prevents him from mastering lightning; his scowl is as harsh and angry as the terrain itself. During his lecture on the four elements, Iroh cracks a joke, which Zuko receives with stony indifference, his expression failing to lighten even just a bit.
(No child should ever feel so lost, so confused and full of rage. My generation and those that came before have placed a terrible burden on your shoulders. You are too young for this war, my boy. Too young. I am sorry.)
"Water is the element of change," Iroh continues with quiet determination, drawing the pertinent symbol on the sand.
And, just like that, Zuko's golden eyes soften in the shadow of daylight's hard glare.
IV.
Once Iroh and the Avatar blast their way into the part of the Crystal Catacombs where the prisoners are being kept, the first thing Iroh notices is how close Zuko and Katara stand to each other. For reasons he cannot fully pinpoint, the Dragon of the West is assailed with the vague, uneasy guilt of one who has disrupted an intimate moment.
The feeling only worsens when Katara looks back, and when Zuko's gaze follows her as she finally disappears into the darkness.
No doubt about it, something precious, something fleeting and fragile and private, has occurred in the cavern, and the regret on those two young faces, awash in the soft green glow of the crystals, is almost too much for an old heart to bear.
V.
Everything has changed.
Iroh can feel it after the tearful reconciliation with his nephew in the encampment of the White Lotus. He sees it in the way Zuko carries himself (moves with a quiet confidence that can only originate from a previously-untapped reservoir of inner strength, no longer self-conscious, no longer afraid), in the way Zuko and Katara act around each other amidst the hustle and bustle of life in the camp and the flurry of war preparations.
He opens a tent flap for her without being asked to; she offers him a warm smile, which he mirrors, a bit nervously. She slips inside the tent and he has to stand still for a moment before he is able to regain his characteristic stoic expression and go about his own business.
(They have recovered from past betrayals and hurts, and now they flow together, graceful yet cautious, their every movement part of an intricate dance of Fire and Water, lingering glances and charged silences, hands and shoulders that brush too often to be completely accidental.)
Iroh is by nature an optimistic man, but even he knows that some things are doomed before they even start. There are paths that need to be taken, choices that must never be made. No one will come out of the war unscathed, no matter how pure and good (or redeemed) they are. All he can do is hope.
This, too, is destiny.
Later, he calls the children to him for a council of war, and presents his nephew (his son) with the only gift he has the power to give.
"Not alone," he tells Zuko sternly. "You'll need help."
"You're right." Zuko's gaze flickers to the person seated across him. "Katara, how would you like to help me put Azula in her place?"
Katara grins at him. "It would be my pleasure."
There, Iroh thinks, not without a certain fondness. I truly do not know how it will end. But at least I was able to give you this, Zuko.
One more adventure together. (One last chance.)
VI.
Playing the sungi horn, Iroh watches from the corner of his eye as Zuko serves tea. The Fire Lord hands Katara a steaming cup and she takes it and smiles at him. For a moment it seems like only the two of them exist in the little teashop, the sunset's warm, sleepy golden light all around them and the low melody of the sungi horn curling into the air. Iroh notes the way Zuko's fingers skim over Katara's knuckles, briefly, before he steps back and moves on to serve tea to Mai.
VII.
The old man and his nephew watch Appa disappear into the clouds above. Cold silence envelops the courtyard of the palace, which, only a few moments ago, had rung with cries of farewell and promises to keep in touch.
"Will you be all right?" Iroh asks, turning to face the Fire Lord.
"Of course, Uncle," Zuko replies. "Why wouldn't I be?" His golden eyes are frozen and unreadable; his face is a sharp mask set in stone.
Iroh smiles sadly (already, Zuko knows the meaning of sacrifice), pats him on the shoulder and walks away, leaving the boy alone to gaze up at an empty sky.