The next morning, Iroh sat on the deck with his hot cup of tea, admiring the sun as it rose above the horizon. Despite his worries from the previous night, he had slept soundly enough, and woke just before dawn feeling more refreshed and full of new energy. As he sipped, he could feel his concerns melting away within him, only to be replaced by more soothing and calming thoughts.
"Yes," he said to himself, "everything will be just fine." He had resolved himself to have another conversation with his crewmembers about his nephew's behavior, perhaps giving them some insight into his behavior, or simply reminding them that the prince was, after all, still only a very impressionable and headstrong boy who might not always make good decisions, but certainly has good intentions within himself that might not be readily apparent.
First, however, he needed to speak with his nephew to see if he had taken away anything from what his uncle told him the night before, so Iroh waited patiently for Prince Zuko to come up the steps and greet him up on the deck, after which they would be able to eat their breakfast together and Iroh would be able to understand what exactly his nephew had taken into consideration.
Iroh waited and waited, but Zuko did not come up the steps. At high noon, when the sun was glaring down on the deck, he began to grow slightly concerned. "Perhaps he feels ill…" he muttered softly, before heading to the kitchens himself to arrange a tray of tea and rice to bring down to the boy's quarters.
He made his way down the corridor far more confidently than he had the night before, even humming to himself an old folk song with each step while he remembered his boyish days of playing in the royal gardens, and out in the fields where he would run through the tall grass, nary a worry in his mind.
Iroh held the tray in one hand as he knocked twice on the metal door with the other.
No answer.
Iroh knocked twice more.
"Prince Zuko?," he called out in a loud voice, "Are you feeling well? I brought you some nice chamomile tea."
No answer.
Iroh knocked three more times. "Prince Zuko? I am coming in."
The soft groaning he then heard from beyond the door worried him, and he began to push it open. After several creaks of the metal frame, he was able to clearly make out, "—aw-way Uncle. Don't c-come in." It was spoken so weakly that, for a moment, Iroh doubted that the words had even come from his hotheaded nephew. The boy sounded almost like he was on the verge of tears, the way his voice had been wavering.
Iroh was beginning to grow frightened.
"Prince Zuko?" he asked as he opened the door wide and stepped inside, before his eyes grew wide at what he saw and he dropped his tray, allowed the tea and rice to scatter across the floor messily.
The boy lay on the ground, facing away from the door. He wrapped himself tightly in his blanket, and shivered violently where he was. A portion of the blanket was completely soaked through with dark blood.
Blood.
His nephew was bleeding heavily.
"Prince Zuko!" Iroh called as he moved toward the boy. "What happened to you?" He reached out to touch his nephew on the shoulder, but he flinched away violently, before resuming his constant and steady shivering.
"Please," he begged, "please, tell me."
No answer.
After a pause, Iroh suddenly said, "I… I am going to get the medic. Stay put, Prince Z—"
"No," came feebly from the boy on the floor.
"But, you need he—"
"No!" he sobbed out. "No! No…"
Iroh had never seen such a pitiful display from his own nephew. His nephew, who had been so headstrong, so determined, so confident in himself and his abilities, now lay on the floor, bleeding, and shaking, and crying out like a young child. It hurt him to see such a stubborn boy reduced to this pitiful, weeping mess. It hurt him deeply.
He did not know what else to do. He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief, and moved himself so that Zuko's face was to his own. He placed a hand on the boy's face though he flinched and sobbed and shuddered violently, and began to wipe the tears from his eyes and cheeks as gently as he could. The poor boy's sob's only grew louder as the tears rolled down with seemingly no end.
Despite all Iroh's strength of will, he could not keep from weeping himself.