A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to Dallas Liu, the perfect live-action Zuko.

Disclaimer: yadayadayada

From the Fire Nation Royal Family's official records

Missive delivered to Fire Lord Azulon during Autumn Festival, 69 AG

To my revered father, Fire Lord Azulon,

In accordance with my esteemed brother Crown Prince Iroh's wishes, I am writing to let you know that I have successfully helped him recover Princess Ursa from the traitorous plot I brought to your attention. All five of the co-conspirators Iroh and I found at the scene were former members of the Royal Guard who had recently been dismissed from service and sentenced to prison by Iroh following Ursa's investigation into their sexual crimes, just as was initially described to me by Private Jeong Jeong when he caught wind of the plot.

Iroh was most impressive in the battle against the traitors, if you can even call it a battle: he killed four of them in moments with his skilled lightning attack, and he only required my assistance to distract and surprise the last one who dared to attempt using the princess as a human shield. Although you recommended capturing one of the traitors for interrogation purposes, Iroh commanded they all be executed. Given the gravity of the crimes they committed - kidnapping a royal person, causing her grievous injury, and clearly intending to assault her further if they had not been tracked down - I deferred to Iroh's judgment on the matter, as you have always advised me to do in uncertain circumstances.

While I write this letter, Princess Ursa is unconscious, battling infection from a third-degree burn on her right forearm in addition to strangulation injuries. Governor Kato here at Ningzhou has been a gracious host to us under the circumstances, providing us with the greatest hospitality and deference. Still, Iroh has refused to leave her bedside, hence why I am the one drafting this letter and passing along his urgent message to you: Given the severity of the trauma inflicted upon his wife and the uncertainty of how deep this conspiracy among the guards goes, Iroh wishes to cancel the remainder of the Autumn Festival procession and return to the capital as soon as Ursa is able to travel. He asks you to consider that he will be better able to uncover the conspiracy at home, and his wife will also benefit from the full royal healing staff at her service, both of which he encourages you to view as more important than autumn celebrations at this critical moment.

In the meantime, Iroh has asked me to stay in Ningzhou to help him keep watch over Ursa since his trust in the guards has declined greatly as a result of this whole affair. Until ordered otherwise, I will be at his side.

Respectfully,

Fire Prince Ozai

[Notated by Azulon III, 167 AG

Writings by Ozai's hand are few and far in between. Unlike his brother, Ozai was never one for journaling or putting his inner thoughts to paper. The few records from Ozai I have incorporated into this story, such as the letter above, are often direct messages with little rumination. Consequently, we have almost no insight into Ozai's mindset during his life, relying primarily on the observations of those around him to deduce his thoughts and emotions. Some historians argue that this is not enough for such a significant figure. I am inclined to agree, but unfortunately, it is all we have.]

The cabin was on fire.

Ursa couldn't breathe, both from the panic welling up in her throat and the smoke seeping into her lungs. Waves of heat were inexorably rolling towards her, the fire consuming her vision and every means of escape. Soon, it would consume her too.

"Nowhere to run, Princess."

Tiron.

His hazy form took shape out of the smoke. Ursa froze, attempting to back away even as flames threatened to overwhelm her.

"Do you really think you can escape?" he laughed. "That anyone is coming for you?"

Iroh would come for her. He would.

"Not in time, he won't." Tiron's face twisted, and he lunged towards Ursa. Even as she braced for the impact, he dissipated back into smoke that slid through her, setting her right forearm alight with a burning agony.

No.

She collapsed backwards onto the wooden floor, no longer caring about the fire surrounding her as she tried to scream through her smoke-ravaged throat. But despite her mouth hanging open and her head arching back uselessly, not a sound escaped.

No.

The burning was spreading out from her forearm to her entire body, inescapable and unbearable. Spirits help her, she was going to die here-

Cool relief suddenly spread across her forehead, gentle droplets of water trickling down her face.

Blinking, Ursa witnessed a sudden rain rushing down to meet her from a now-open sky, washing away most of the burning to leave just her throat and her arm crying for relief. Iroh knelt next to her, gently pulling her into his lap and holding her close.

"You're safe, Ursa." His voice came in a whisper, although she couldn't quite focus on his face as he uncharacteristically smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead. "You're safe. Just breathe."

That was right, her mind faintly recalled. Iroh had already come for her, on a night very much like this, so what on earth was she experiencing now? Dazed, she allowed her eyes to slide shut, too tired to figure out the answer.

Remember our family.

Not now, she silently told her grandfather's insistent reminder.

Keep an open heart.

"Ursa?"

A hazy view of a bearded face greeted Ursa's half open eyes. Was Avatar Roku really not going to let her be unconscious in peace?

"Spirits," the man whispered, "this is…this is after Tiron, isn't it? During that first Autumn Festival?"

No, this wasn't her grandfather. But something still tickled at the edge of her memory, telling her she knew this voice regardless. The image in front of her sharpened into Iroh - or rather, the future version of Iroh - gazing at her with an expression so raw it made her heart clench. The rainy night was gone, replaced by those strange blue-light tunnels.

"I'll never stop being sorry for this, you know. This was the first time I really failed you. Before…" His voice faltered. "Well, considering how long ago this was, I suppose I need to be careful about what I say.

"I'm failing again. Even right now. I don't know where I am, except that apparently this place seems determined to remind me of all the times I failed before. I can't….Spirits, I need to get back to you, but I don't know how, and all I see are these reminders of how people suffered for my mistakes. How you suffered. Maybe this is my punishment," he laughed harshly. "I've read of places like this in the Spirit World, where humans are tormented by their fears and regrets until their minds unravel. Perhaps this is my eternity now."

He reached out to touch her face, but his hand just passed through her. His eyes, the familiar amber aged by his lifetime, were so sad. "Perhaps I deserve it. I just hope that you remember this, years from now. Maybe that way you'll understand why I didn't come back this time. I'm so sorry, Ursa." His deep voice broke now, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "For…everything that's going to happen. You always deserved so much better than I could give you. I see that clearer than ever, now that it's too late."

She had no idea what fears and regrets and suffering she was talking about, but the sight of Iroh's tears twisted something inside her. The notion that this version of her husband, whatever he'd done, deserved to spend eternity tormented by his worst memories just didn't sit right with her. She strained to speak, to whisper something to him.

"I…." A strangled sound escaped her mouth, scraping painfully against her hoarse throat. "I…roh…" Don't give up.

"Ursa?"

Iroh was still next to her, but now it was her Iroh, clean shaven and dark-haired, seated in a chair. The tunnels had thankfully vanished; in their stead, a room slowly took shape around her. There was a fire roaring away behind Iroh, silhouetting him so she couldn't quite see his expression. She was lying in bed, with her burnt arm resting on a pile of pillows, thankfully wrapped in clean bandages.

The cool sensation on her forehead hadn't left; there was a cold cloth lying there, she realized as Iroh reached over to keep it from covering her eyes. She attempted to say thank you, but all that escaped her was something like a wheeze. Ugh, her mouth was so dry and her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Here, try to drink."

A bowl of something warm was held to her lips, the familiar scent of bone broth filling her nose. She parted her lips just enough to allow a trickle of the salty liquid to enter, swallowing with great effort. A couple more mouthfuls helped soothe some of the persistent dryness in her mouth, and her head began to feel a little less fuzzy.

"Thanks," she managed to rasp out.

"Of course. Rest your voice. Do you want more of the broth?"

Now that she'd had some, her body cried out for nourishment. She nodded, allowing herself a proper look at Iroh's face as he held the bowl to her lips once more. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and there was a slight frown that looked like it had been there for days. His tired gaze found hers when he withdrew the now-empty bowl.

"Ursa," he whispered, and something in the way his voice trembled made her see the sad, old Iroh he might become in the future, "I…"

His lips kept moving, but whatever words were passing through them were beyond Ursa as a sort of buzz filled her seemingly cotton-stuffed head. The warm broth in her belly was working its charm, lulling her heavy eyelids closed again despite her best efforts to listen to Iroh.

A hand brushed against her cheek, wiping away a bit of spilled broth she hadn't noticed. "Never mind," his whisper penetrated the buzz. "Rest, my wife. You're safe."

Ursa wondered if she was already dreaming.

From Master Piandao's estate,

Letter delivered to him during the Autumn Festival, 69 AG

Dear Piandao,

I can't believe you and I missed each other at the capital once again. Of course the one year I decide I won't return home for the Autumn Festival's opening ceremony, you have to secure leave from the front lines and make me look inconsiderate. How was the party? I heard Princess Ursa planned a marvelous affair, which is no surprise of course. She was very diligent about learning her duties when I last left her, and I'm sure she's flourished since then.

I'm writing with some unfortunate news about how our favorite newlyweds are doing. Something has happened during their travels that I can't discuss freely, but it ended with Ursa being rather grievously injured. I'm treating her in Ningzhou now on Iroh's request (I think he's going to order me to become a royal physician any day now, considering how little he trusts anyone else with his wife's care), but I'm reaching out to you because I can't seem to treat Iroh's ailment. You know that while I'm an expert on physical injuries, matters of the heart - especially Iroh's heart - are really much better left to you.

Iroh blames himself terribly for what's happened to Ursa. He believes he failed her by allowing this calamity to befall her (and I really do apologize for how vague I have to be about this, but I'm sure Iroh will let you know the details if he thinks it necessary). I haven't seen him sleep more than a nap in a chair since I arrived, preoccupied as he is with staying at Ursa's bedside and making sure she is safe. It would be endearing if it weren't taking such a toll on him. My discussions with Ozai and the attendants indicate that she and Iroh had argued rather intensely before she wound up getting hurt. Based on what Iroh himself has told me, I think he may have convinced himself that his part in the argument led to his wife's injury even though all other evidence indicates that the two events were unrelated, and the injury was very much out of his control.

I can't get through to him, Piandao. I think the only people who can are you and Ursa, and Ursa is unfortunately rather indisposed at the moment. Please, I know you have more compelling things to handle as a soldier, but you need to say something to him. Tell him driving himself ragged with guilt over Ursa isn't doing either of them any good, and it certainly won't win him the forgiveness he can't seem to give himself. Work whatever magic it is that makes him lend you his ear while he remains deaf to the rest of us. Otherwise, I fear his marriage with Ursa will suffer an injury that cannot heal.

Stay safe, my friend, and write back to us when you can. I hope you and I find ourselves in the same place sometime soon to catch up properly; perhaps for the new year, or for Iroh's birthday. In the meantime, keep making us proud on the front lines.

Sincerely,

Your friend Korzu

Ursa's burned arm looked disconcertingly exposed with the bandages removed. As soon as Iroh had gotten her to safety, the governor's physician had trimmed away the mass of blackened, leathery skin that had marked her injury. Iroh was just grateful she'd been unconscious for that procedure; the physician had been clumsy, hands trembling with nerves as the crown prince had watched him work. It was nothing short of a miracle that Korzu had been in a nearby village. Iroh felt much better with his friend back in charge of Ursa's care.

Still, better didn't necessarily mean good. Iroh kept his gaze focused on Ursa's closed eyes as Korzu examined her wound. Focusing on her face was important. Otherwise, he would catch a glimpse of the bruises on her pale throat, and those had already made him spiral into one slightly unhinged rant against the guards.

"The infection seems to have cleared up," Korzu said quietly. "Once her fever breaks, we should be seeing some promising signs of recovery. I'll clean the wound and rebandage it."

"Why hasn't her fever come down yet?" Iroh asked. "She woke up briefly and took some broth and went right back into a deep sleep. What's going on?" His amateur readings of her energy hadn't revealed anything more than what Korzu had already told him, frustrating him further.

"The burn by itself would be bad enough, but the fact that it got infected made it much more complicated. Her body needs a lot of recovery time." Korzu's thin lips twitched apologetically. "Her waking up shows that the worst of the fever has passed. We just have to watch and wait."

He dabbed at the edges of the wound with a wet cloth, cautiously moving towards the center. Ursa began to stir, groaning quietly as Korzu washed the worst of it and patted it dry. But when he gripped her arm to rebandage it, she cried out, weakly attempting to pull herself free.

Iroh's heart leapt into his throat, and he half-fell out of his chair to kneel by the head of the bed. "You're hurting her!"

Korzu was unfazed, studying Ursa with the physician's calmness Iroh could not understand. "Believe it or not, it's good that she's reacting. It means she's somewhat conscious, and any nerve damage she's suffered isn't too deep." He offered Iroh a weak smile, brushing some of his brown hair out of his face. "I'm being as gentle as I can, but some discomfort is inevitable with burns. You know that."

Iroh had recovered from his fair share of burns, but even the lightning that had scarred his palm seemed less painful than what had happened to Ursa. "Just…be careful."

"Of course. Hold her arm still for me."

Iroh obeyed, wincing as Ursa began to whimper and writhe against his hold on her elbow. "Ursa," he said, silently praying for Korzu to hurry up, "You're safe, you're safe. Just breathe."

He'd been whispering those words to her intermittently during her coma, hoping they would reach wherever her mind was trapped. Now, they had the desired effect: Ursa, still breathing a bit heavily, settled down. Iroh stayed next to her, gazing at her face to make sure she didn't start to panic again while Korzu finished his work.

"Iroh," Korzu said as he released Ursa's arm, "You should go get some proper rest."

"For the tenth time, I'm fine here."

"You're very obviously not. That chair's going to give you an awful crick in the neck. Go lie down."

"We had much worse beds than that in academy training, remember?"

"Iroh," Korzu sighed, "I know I can't actually make you follow 'physician's orders,' but be sensible. By your account, you haven't gotten more than a nap or two in at least three days. That sort of thing is going to make you less alert, less intelligent, less articulate, no matter how much training you have."

He was right, of course. Despite himself, Iroh could feel a sort of weight settling down over him with each passing hour, dragging his movements into sluggishness. Still, he trusted his sluggish skills over the guards right now.

"I'll live," he said stubbornly.

"Let's consider a different angle. What makes you think a sleep-deprived, cranky husband is what Ursa will want to see when she wakes up properly? Do you think that's the version of you she's likely to forgive?"

Iroh cast his friend a dirty look, pleased to see Korzu at least flinch back a little. As steady of a physician as he was, he still scared easier than a baby turtleduck sometimes.

"You sound like Piandao," Iroh told him.

"Well, he's not here to knock some sense into you, so I thought I might give it a try. I have to say, I don't like it much."

"The trick is, Piandao can pull it off because he can go toe to toe with me in a sparring match."

"I can't do that, but I could just slip sleeping drugs into you. Which I'm very close to doing." Korzu raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "You wouldn't even see it coming."

"I could have you arrested for that."

"And then who would take care of Ursa?"

Iroh sighed. "Fine. I'll go lie down. But I want you at Ursa's side until I return, and I want to be woken up the moment she wakes up."

Korzu had a point about the value of sleep, Iroh decided as he walked towards his room. He rapped sharply at Ozai's door, waiting for it to open to reveal the groggy teenager. "What?" Ozai yawned, rubbing his eyes. "It's the middle of the night. Did she wake up?"

It was the middle of the night, wasn't it? Iroh hadn't been paying much attention to the passage of time while sitting with Ursa. "No, not yet. I'm going to lie down. Go keep Korzu and Ursa company until I get back."

"Yeah, of course." Ozai ran a hand through his hair. "I'll straighten up and be right there. You sleep."

Iroh was half-tempted to stand and wait for Ozai to follow through, but his younger brother had proven himself capable in the last few days, and Iroh's eyelids were starting to drag. "Come get me if anything happens," he said before slipping into his own room next door.

Even a cup of tea felt like too much work at this point; plus, Korzu's comment about the sleeping drugs put him on edge about consuming anything for a while. Iroh barely took off his tunic before collapsing into bed. He was asleep in moments, dreaming of the last time he'd seen Ursa happy: drinking chrysanthemum tea with her parents on the back porch of her childhood home, laughingly telling stories about the palace and poking fun at Iroh. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He would have given anything to go back to that moment and stop himself from ruining everything that had come afterwards.

From the Fire Nation royal family's official records

Missive delivered to Crown Prince Iroh during Autumn Festival, 69 AG

To my firstborn, Prince Iroh,

First and foremost, it is a relief that your wife is once again back with you. Ozai told me how valiantly and decisively you attacked and eliminated her kidnappers, which pleases me to hear even in these dire circumstances. He also informed me that you chose to execute all five of the men involved despite my advice to the contrary. I certainly would not have been able to show the restraint I preach if such an ordeal had befallen your mother, may she rest in peace, so I will not condemn your decision.

Now, to address the matter of your request. My son, I understand the impulse to rush home with your wife and nurse her back to health. However, you must recall that your duty as crown prince comes before your duty as husband. While I still do not have a clear picture of the conspiracy that led to this kidnapping, my ongoing investigation leads me to conclude that the general belief among the palace guards is that you are soft from a life of luxury and susceptible to manipulation from your new bride. They viewed your penalties for the sexual deviants among their ranks as Ursa pulling your strings, and so they brazenly felt free to target her as a way to exact vengeance on both of you.

You and I both know you are neither soft nor manipulable, Iroh, because I have raised you better than that. In our positions, though, perception of truth matters just as much as truth itself. If you slink back to the capital to lick your wounds now, the perception of you as a sheltered, lovelorn prince will be cemented among onlookers. Not to mention, abandoning the Autumn Festival will undoubtedly send a message that our family is shaken, considering that the last time we suspended the royal procession was the year your mother passed. We cannot afford such cracks in our image, not when we are still uncovering the depths of the conspiracy that has been growing right beneath our noses.

I acknowledge that I have my part to blame in this as well. I've all but abandoned the battlefield since you came of age, scarred and bent as I am from decades of war. But I failed to maintain my image of strength as a wise king, and I fear I've allowed you too much freedom in shirking your own responsibilities as crown prince. By the time I was your age, I'd successfully faced the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe in battle, and I'd assumed the mantle of Fire Lord in all but name as my father lay on his deathbed. I thankfully still have some decades before I reach my father's age of death, but I believe my resentment over my too-brief childhood and my grief for your mother have indeed led me to shelter you too much in some areas. We have to rectify this together.

While I have no intention of passing the throne to you any sooner than I must, I do need you to swallow down your worry for your wife and see the Autumn Festival through to the end. I know you're more than capable of keeping yourself and Ursa safe now that you're on guard, and rearranging the festival to accommodate for her injuries is a simple affair. Although I appreciate your eagerness in investigating the guards at home, my mind is more than capable of handling this matter even though my body has aged. You and Ursa must restore our image now: the future Fire Lord and Lady, unfazed by attack or treachery, continuing to honor our traditions across the nation.

In the meantime, I would like for Ozai to return to the palace once you begin traveling again, so he can assist me in my investigation. I believe he will be of more use here than getting under your feet during the procession. Let me know of anything you may need in your journey, but otherwise, I expect you to follow my directions in this regard. I promise, son, this small sacrifice of your personal wants will be worth it in the long run. Be well, and try to enjoy the rest of the festival.

Regards,

Fire Lord Azulon

There were chrysanthemums on the nightstand next to the bed. Ursa hadn't noticed them the first time she'd woken up, but she could see them very clearly now that she was sitting up and more alert. Yellow and pink, artfully arranged in a vase: for new beginnings and strong relationships, according to her mother's flower language. Ursa wondered where these chrysanthemums had grown.

"Princess," Korzu called her attention away from the flowers and back to his examination, "do you feel that?"

He was tapping her right thumb. Ursa couldn't feel it. With a lump in her throat, she shook her head.

A small, sympathetic frown flashed across his face. "Nod for me when you start to feel something." He continued tapping, moving down to her wrist, then at the edge of her bandaged forearm, which finally made her flinch and nod.

Dutifully, he scribbled something down in his notebook. "I'm going to add more pressure now. Nod when you feel it."

He pressed down hard on the center of her palm. The sensation should have made her fingers instinctively curl up, but he might as well have been tickling a pillow for all the reaction Ursa's body gave him. This time, however, she felt the greater pressure on her wrist and quickly nodded.

"Encouraging," he said with forced cheeriness. "It seems that the nerve damage on your injury site isn't irreparably deep. Once your body rebuilds the connections to your hand, physical therapy should prove very helpful."

So her hand was useless from Tiron burning her, and her voice was basically useless from Tiron choking her. Ursa stared at her unresponsive fingers despairingly, trying not to cry in front of Korzu.

"For your diet, I recommend primarily warm, easy to swallow-" Korzu was cut off by the door slamming open. Iroh walked in, fuming, followed by a very apologetic-looking Ozai. Ursa's heart leapt into her throat. Fortunately, though, his anger didn't seem to be for her.

"You," Iroh growled at Korzu. "What part of 'wake me up the moment Ursa wakes up' did you not get?"

If he was intimidated, Korzu didn't show it. "I sent Ozai to get you, didn't I?"

"After an hour!"

"I needed to do my examination, and you needed the rest. I'm done now, if you want to talk to her." Korzu stood and gestured for Iroh to take his chair.

Iroh seemed to finally register that Ursa was watching him, and all the fight went out of his body when their eyes met. He was only wearing an undershirt and trousers, with his hair uncharacteristically hanging loose, like he'd rolled out of bed and immediately come to see her. Maybe he had. The hair in particular caught her attention; she'd never seen him without his topknot before, and now his mane of dark brown hair reached his shoulders, messy and wavy in a way that begged for fingers to comb through it.

"Ursa," he said softly, "do you…do you want to talk? Or should I let you rest?"

Vaguely, Ursa remembered the strange dream-slash-vision she'd had of the older Iroh, and how sad he'd looked. Right now, her Iroh didn't look much better. She beckoned for him to come sit next to her, swallowing down her nerves. There was a lot to discuss

"We'll give you two some privacy, Ursa," Korzu said, pointedly elbowing Ozai out of the room. "It's my understanding your husband has a lot he needs to say."

Iroh didn't respond to Korzu's unusually snarky comment; instead, he took a moment to add more wood to the fireplace, stoking the flames higher. Ursa sank back into her pillows as a fresh wave of heat filled the room. Even under this plush quilt, she was so cold…

"This is for you." Iroh set a small box on the nightstand before sitting down. "I picked it up, and the flowers, from your parents while I was looking for you. I know the pink and yellow are your favorite."

Ursa turned to glance at what he'd given her, eyes widening with shock as she recognized it: The box of Ikem's letters from her wardrobe.

"I thought you might want the letters to remember him since you're stuck with me." He stared resolutely at his feet instead of her. "One's missing because…I burned it, by accident, when I saw you'd been reading it. I'm sorry about that, but I copied down what I remembered from it and put it in the box with the rest so you still have them all."

What was he doing? Giving her Ikem's letters like he hadn't yelled at her for reading them? Was this some sort of test?

"I've had Ozai send a message to your parents, by the way, to let them know we found you. I didn't want to tell them too much about what happened without your consent, so whenever you feel up to it, I can help you write something to put their minds at ease as well.

"I'm sure you want to know what happened…it's complicated, but essentially those guards we fired had been plotting their revenge for some time and seized the opportunity while we were separated. Jeong Jeong - you remember Jeong Jeong?" - he waited for her to nod - "well, he found out about the plan and told Ozai, who told our dad and raced out here to help me find you since he didn't think a letter would make it in time.

"We weren't fast enough, of course." Ursa watched him shift to stare at her bandaged arm, his hair hiding his eyes from view. "I'm so sorry for all of this, Ursa. I really am. It never should have been possible for Tiron to get his hands on you: he took advantage of my foolishness, my stupidity in picking an argument over nothing and driving you away from me. And now…Spirits, Ursa, I'm so sorry. Maybe if I'd just said that instead of letting you walk away that day, all of this could have been avoided. I'm sorry for hiding the truth about Ozai, for my stupid jealousy about Ikem, for breaking my promises. I'm making you a new promise - a real promise - that I'm going to make up for this somehow and earn your forgiveness."

Ursa's mind reeled, attempting to unpack everything that had just spilled out of Iroh as he shut his mouth and bowed his head. The guards' plot, the apologies, the…jealousy? Everything else at least somewhat made sense, but what possible reason could Iroh, the crown prince, have to be jealous of Ikem?

"Why?" she whispered, wincing at how it taxed her throat to speak.

"Don't strain your voice," he said at once, leaning towards her. "Why what?"

"Jealous…" she managed to eke out before obediently falling silent.

"Why am I jealous of Ikem?" he pieced together.

Ursa nodded. He sat back and sighed heavily.

"Do you really have to make me say it? Ursa, I…I'm jealous because he has your heart. And I know it's not fair because you never wanted to leave him behind to marry me in the first place, but I wish…I wish you felt about me the way I feel about you. I wish it so badly, when I have no right to wish such things, and I didn't even realize I wished it until I was confronted with the evidence that you don't."

He tapped at the box of letters on the nightstand, then finally glanced at Ursa and grimaced at whatever he saw in her face. "Don't look at me like that. Please. Hate me all you want, but don't pity me."

"I-" I don't hate you.

"And stop straining your voice," he admonished gently. "You were choked. I promise, I'll listen to everything you have to say once Korzu says your vocal cords are better."

Somewhat reluctantly, she closed her mouth, giving him a look that hopefully conveyed her plans to hold him to that statement.

"In the spirit of honoring my promises, there's something I want your opinion on as my equal. I asked my father to let us cancel the rest of the festival procession and come home so you can recover. He doesn't want to because he thinks it would make us look weak. I believe he's overreacting, and I could probably convince him to see my perspective. But at the end of the day, you're the one who's put the most work into the festival, and the one who most needs the recovery time, so I wanted to consult with you first. Do you wish to return to the palace?"

Absolutely not. The thought of displeasing Azulon and being trapped by those stifling palace walls in her injured state made Ursa shudder. At least with the festival, she would have fresh air and some measure of freedom. She shook her head no.

Iroh tilted his head, studying her. "Are you sure? You want to go on with the festival, even with your injuries?"

Yes, she nodded. Even with her injuries, it wasn't that much work to sit in a carriage and journey from place to place. Surely physicians like Korzu would help make it easier as well.

"Alright. I suppose I'll tell my father we see his wisdom, then." Iroh didn't look pleased with her decision, but he didn't argue with her further. One advantage of being ill, she supposed. "I assume Korzu has planned out a meticulous recovery diet for you, so I'll tell him to arrange your breakfast. Is there anything else you want me to talk about?"

There was a lot, but Ursa didn't think any of it was possible to discuss while her voice was missing. She shook her head.

"Well, I look forward to hearing what you have to say when you're up to speaking."

What was he expecting her to say? For now, at least, she had a convenient reason to not disclose what she'd been through while gone: Forgetful Valley, seeing Ikem, meeting her grandfather…she had no idea how Iroh would react to any of that, if she ever ended up telling him. Would he ask for a detailed account of everything that had happened between their fight and Tiron?

"I'll leave you to rest and eat," Iroh interrupted her thoughts. "And I'll think of a better way for us to talk while you're healing besides yes or no questions. Send for me if you need me, otherwise I'll come back in a while and see how you're doing."

He stood to leave, and Ursa was struck by the realization of what was making her so nervous about this conversation: Iroh hadn't smiled once. And it was especially odd for him to not leave her with a parting smile. Fortunately, he was on her left: she patted the mattress, prompting him to meet her eyes, and she smiled. Thank you, she tried to say silently.

Iroh studied her warily, like he wasn't sure what to make of it. His lips twitched slightly, not quite smiling, before he turned away again, and then he was gone.

It took her a moment to figure out what had been in his face. Guilt.

She glanced at the box of letters he'd left on her nightstand. Guilt.

Her body wasn't all that would take some time to heal, it seemed.

A/N: I consider myself a pretty detail-oriented author, but at the end of the day this is fanfiction in a fantasy setting and the Internet is finicky in its answers. So if you're somehow an expert on burns who has an issue with the creative license I'm taking with Ursa's injury, shush. I did my best, just give me some suspension of disbelief.

~Bobbi