Hitting Rock Bottom

Those first few months were difficult. The crew was resentful—not that I blame them. They'd essentially been banished alongside my nephew and, if I'm completely honest, I blame myself. These men had no reason to take a commission on this ship but for loyalty to me. I don't deserve their loyalty—their trust. I sense their discontentment, their bitter glances toward Zuko. I don't think any of them know the reasons behind my nephew's banishment except his mark of dishonor. Maybe I should explain things. Maybe. Not yet.

If I had known it would come to this, I would have done things differently. There was nothing I could to do prevent his exile—my brother was determined to find some means of disposing of his son—but perhaps I could have made a greater effort to prevent the utter destruction of his youth.

Zuko has changed. At first he cried. What young boy doesn't when he feels abandoned by all who should love him? In a misguided attempt to cheer him, to give him a new purpose—or perhaps show him that he wasn't at fault—I told him of Ozai's condition. The hope that my words inspired nearly crushed me. The despair that followed did. The Avatar is gone. This is a hopeless quest…

I should have recognized the signs. I'd been around enough depressed men during my military days to be familiar with the symptoms. I knew all too well how the loss of everything could drag the strongest man so far into that dark place within himself he would be unable to claw his way out again. I guess I didn't want to acknowledge my own failings.

Zuko descended into melancholy. For days he ate and drank sparingly. I thought he would come out of it and I regret that I was wrong. I fear I have destroyed another life. I fear I have fallen so far there is no hope of redemption.

I'm sorry, Ursa.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Iroh sat quietly by the bed, gazing at his young nephew. The boy lay still beneath the coarse blankets, his breathing shallow. Bandages swathed his head, protecting the healing burn. Iroh folded his hands across his stomach, releasing a soft sigh. The burn would be with Zuko for the rest of his life, made worse by the onset of infection in the deeper creases of the delicate flesh. But the burn was not the reason Zuko lay unconscious and still as death in bed. Dark bruises marred the pale flesh around his right eye and Iroh knew the loose tunic hid more. The steady rise and fall of the boy's narrow chest was the only indication he still lived and allowed Iroh some measure of relief. Iroh smoothed out a small fold in the thin blanket on the bed, his eyes lingering on Zuko's bandaged left wrist before quickly cutting away. His gut twisted. Guilt left a sour taste in his mouth. Failure was a heavy mantle to bear.

A soft scuff of shoes at the open cabin door drew his attention. One of the crew entered with a tray laden with tea things. No doubt Lieutenant Jee was concerned with Iroh's lack of appetite so thought to tempt him with those sweet cakes Iroh loved so much. The sailor approached with an apologetic look, setting the tray on the low table nearby. A glance at the tray proved Iroh's musings correct. Three sweet cakes, a bowl of rice, and a fish filet was included on the tray with the tea things. The sailor gave Iroh a formal bow, eyes drifting to Zuko, then turned to leave the room. He hesitated at the door, turning to face Iroh and clearing his throat. "On behalf of the rest of the crew, I would like to apologize for the events that occurred this past week, General Iroh."

"None of you bears any blame," Iroh murmured.

The sailor shifted awkwardly. "Has there been any change?"

Iroh scrubbed a hand over his eyes before reaching for the teapot and pouring himself a cup of tea. "No."

It was times like this he wished they could sail into the Northern Water Tribe's harbor and ask for help from one of their famed healers. He'd heard they could work miracles. Zuko needed a miracle. With nothing else to add, the sailor bowed and slipped away, leaving Iroh to stare thoughtlessly into the rippling surface of his tea. Losing his appetite for tea, Iroh set it aside and returned to watching his nephew. The medic had done everything they could for the young prince and any other visits would simply be accompanied by a shameful click of the man's tongue and perfunctory, "I can do nothing else. Prince Zuko will either recover or not."

Iroh's hands fisted in his sleeves. It was during those visits he was tempted to abandon his peaceful ways and strangle the man. The medic must have sensed the malevolent thought because his visits were rare, preferring to await a summons. It took a great deal of effort for Iroh to reach for Zuko's limp hand and even greater courage to clasp it. Zuko's hand was cool, far too cool for a firebender, and Iroh vigorously rubbed the hand to encourage warmth. "Come on, my boy, wake up."

The words were whispered, fearful that Zuko would hear and then refuse to comply. Iroh clasped the hand between his tightly, ignoring the tear that leaked down his cheek. "I can't lose another son, Zuko. Wake up. Things can only go up from here."