Sorry, once again, for the long time between updates. It's been a long road and I'm finally at the end. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around and reviewed. I wouldn't be doing this--or any writing at all--without you guys cheering me on.

This one is for Father's Day. Hope you all like it.

Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....

Ozai sat in his jail cell, scratching at the crispy, oozing scabs crusting his forearms. It had been kind of Toph to remove the little veins of metal from his damaged flesh. But he'd eschewed the Waterbending healing available to him in favor of traditional bandages.

Stupid noble idiot. Not only were the linen strips hard to keep clean in this wretched, festering dungeon, but they reeked of the ointments the physicians insisted upon applying to the wounds. "We wouldn't want you to die from infection," they'd mutter, though their acerbic tone told Ozai otherwise. After all, he'd nearly killed the heir to the throne.

He picked at one large crusty plate, prying it up by one corner with a long fingernail, debating whether or not to tear the ugly bit off to expose the tender, vulnerable flesh beneath. It would hurt, and it might get infected, but pain was good. Pain and the incessant maddening itch…he deserved it all.

"You have a visitor," the guard called flatly from just outside the cell. He let the scab fall back in place. The door opened, sending a blinding shaft of orange fire light into the room. He squinted. A figure loomed large in the doorway, and for a strange moment, Ozai thought he was seeing a future version of himself on the other side of the bars.

Maybe the wounds were gangrenous and he was starting to hallucinate.

The door closed once more, and his eyes readjusted to the dimness. Recognizing his visitor, he sat up, clutching the bars.

"How's the baby? And Katara?" He wished he didn't drawl quite so much—it made him sound arrogant. But since the Firebending suppressant dosage had been tripled, he was punchy all the time now. It was an effort most days to keep his eyes open and remember to eat his meals and evacuate his bowels. But for this conversation, he needed to be clear-headed.

His visitor pulled up a stool and sat before the cage. It was a monstrous, doorless contraption Toph had constructed with her tiny, bare hands, weaving long pikes of steel around him in situ. Even with her arm in a cast, she was not to be underestimated.

Ozai's visitor took a long, bracing pull from his travel mug of tea and cleared his throat. "They're both doing fine," Iroh said. "Yugoda has given them both a clean bill of health, though little Mako has a rather dashing scar on his chest from that jolt you gave him. It looks like a starburst flower right over his heart." He smiled. "It's just like his father's. The girls are really going to like it."

"How…how is Zuko doing?" Ozai asked quietly.

"He hasn't forgiven you." Iroh set his cup down. But with a thoughtful tilt of his chin, added, "Yet."

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't, either." Ozai leaned his head on the cold metal bars.

"Wouldn't you?" Something shone in the old man's eyes. "Father never treated you all that well, either, but you forgave him, didn't you?"

The ex-Fire Lord snorted. "I think you overestimate my streak of kindness."

"I think it is the streak of a master's brush. It has thick and thin parts to it, fades and darkens and disappears at will. But the stroke is there nonetheless, and can't be taken back." Iroh tugged at his beard, smiled lopsidedly. "I'm sorry, I started with a metaphor, but I can't remember where I was taking it."

"Something about the great painting of life being made up of master strokes, perhaps?" Ozai offered blandly. "Something about how my stroke is about being part of the whole picture?"

The old retired general chuckled. "You always were the better poet."

They shared a quiet laugh. They hadn't shared one since before their mother had died. "Tell me about my family since they locked me up again, brother. Tell me about my grandchildren in the few weeks that have passed. What are they like?"

"Azuria is a belligerent, greedy, manipulative, attention-hogging, adorable son of a gun," Iroh summarized.

"Just like her mother." He sighed wistfully. "And Mako?"

Iroh shrugged. "Quiet. Happy. Bright. I look at him and…it's the strangest thing, Ozai. His eyes are like Katara's, but they remind me of an old man's, ringed with wisdom. He likes to laugh, though. Especially at his little cousin."

"His health is stable? There are no lasting effects?"

"None. Both of the children are well."

Ozai stared at his hands. "And Ursa…my wife? How is she?"

"She's been busy enjoying her grandbabies." He frowned a little. "She's not ready to see you yet."

His heart sagged. "I understand." He'd miscalculated so much in this last attempt at domination. All the things that had mattered were gone from his life now. And what had he earned? Nothing. Family was all that mattered. Family, friends, life, love, laughter…

None of which he had here in this dank little hole. Once upon a time, he thought he would have them; he thought he could have it all. His beautiful, lovely wife, a wonderful family, his father's respect, the adoration of the people… But he'd been so focused on those last two, he'd lost sight of the rest.

And then Zuko had been born, just barely, and everything had changed. He couldn't face the son that had nearly taken it all away from him…. Had taken it all away. The boy whom Ursa loved more than life itself had replaced him, and Ozai had seen his happiness trickle away like so much sand in his fierce, desperate grasp for power and dominance…

No. Zuko was not to blame. The ex-Fire Lord assumed the burden of guilt now, added it to his long list of things to atone for here in his cell for the rest of his days.

"Forgiveness will come, brother," Iroh intoned, as if hearing his thoughts. "You must give them time."

"Which I have in abundance here." He gave a faint, grim smile and stared blearily around his custom-made cage. "No, Iroh, I think that I will spend the rest of my days paying penance for the destruction I have wrought on this earth and on my own family. My own family!" His bark of laughter was humorless. "Gods, how did I let myself become so blind? So hateful and ambitious?" Ozai ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, snuffing out the angry tears. "I burned and scared my son. I twisted my daughter. I exiled my wife, the woman I love, the mother of my children. Why did I do all those things?"

Iroh held back a torrent of witty comebacks. His brother was having an epiphany. No need to mock him. Out loud, anyhow.

"I have earned this prison, Iroh. I have earned it with every drop of blood I spilled in the war. I earned it when I broke my oath to the Waterbender who saved the woman I love. I earned it when I betrayed our father. I earned it with every last person I alienated, including you."

"Admitting your wrongs is the first step of the journey, brother."

"And I intend on walking that path until my soles bleed," Ozai said wholeheartedly.

Their conversation ended, Iroh stood. "I will return," he promised his brother.

"I look forward to the day." Ozai smiled.

But that day never came. Iroh never returned to the jail. And Ozai never wondered why.

I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

Beyond the cell and down the hall, relegated to a dark corner no one ever visited, Iroh sensed her standing in wait in the shadows.

"We never should have started Fadmon," the Earthbender said quietly. "I should be in there with him. So should you."

Iroh shook his head. "What's done is done, Toph."

"I should have shut it down when things started heating up. I should have toned down the editorial. I was so caught up laughing at everyone…" She bit down hard on her lip, hot tears threatening her sightless eyes. "What did we do?"

"We made the people speak up for what they thought was important. We gave everyone on both sides of the fight a reason to care."

"We incited a war!" Toph slammed a fist against the wall, shaking the prison foundations. Sand trickled from the cracked stone like tears. "Over what? Some stupid gossip rag?" She clenched the first issue of Fadmon in her fist.

Iroh shook his head. "I know it's hard for you to understand, Toph, but this was about more than just some little leaflet full of junk journalism. We're entering an unprecedented time of peace. After a hundred years, the four nations are finally, finally at rest."

"We stopped that pretty quick, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. But we gave the people a reason to work together. To remind them that peace and harmony is fragile, precious. No one must ever forget the horrors of war." Iroh's eyes misted over, grew distant. "This battle had no casualties, no deaths."

"It nearly did."

"Yes." He sighed. "Toph, you are young. But this is something you must understand. Freedom comes at a terrible price. The freedom to write what you want, say what you want, do what you want…these things, in times of prosperity and peace, are the key to our staying free. Fadmon was a mere exercise of those rights. Zuko and the others must learn to take a little criticism, to turn a blind eye—so to speak—on the unfounded ramblings of a cabbage merchant and his cronies. He cannot become his father and launch an attack every time someone makes fun of him. He cannot stomp out criticism of him or his policies. Dissent is necessary, and open discussion is vital to maintaining the right to write. For us to be truly free here in the Fire Nation and all over the world, we must allow the likes of Fadmon, and perhaps worse, to continue."

Toph blew out a breath. "I just wish we didn't have to be the ones doing all the freedom fighting." She rapped on the stone wall behind her. The section dislodged and slid back to reveal a large room where an enormous printing press was being operated by a number of discreet Earthbenders and Ink— er, Waterbenders Toph had specially trained. The first issue of Fadmon since the war rolled off the stone tablet press. The headline:

STILL KICKING! ZUTARA BABY ALIVE AND WELL. A beautiful portrait of Mako eclipsed the page.

"We won't be the only ones," Iroh assured her. "Others will appear. Fans never say die."

"I hope you're right." Toph surveyed the work around her with a growing sense of pride and tinged with just a hint of sadness. What would the future bring? How long would Fadmon last before it was replaced? "We wouldn't be here otherwise."

I know, a little heavy for a humor piece. But as Iroh might say, you can't appreciate the sun without a couple days of rain.

Stay tuned for the epilogue!