Beta: Gerald_Of_Revea

-Iroh-

The royal family has always been a mess.

It was like that even before his father died, his recent passing just brought those memories to the forefront.

He was never able to form a good relationship with his mother. She didn't lift a finger to help him or his brother as they grew up. He could never connect with Ozai, being a decade older would do that. But if he wasn't as stupid as he was, if he didn't start petty squabbles, perhaps his relationship with Ozai would be better today.

His father was the only one who loved him. The only one who was proud of him for his achievements and becoming the man he now is.

He didn't like to admit it, but it hurt him to hear that his father's dying wish was for Ozai to become Fire Lord. It was not that he was interested in the position, but it hurt to be chosen over Ozai.

Still, it was probably for the best. His father's death was tough, but he knew it would have happened any day. Age would do that to a person.

Age isn't what took his son away.

"Your move."

The gruff voice of his nephew brought him back to reality. His eyes quickly scanning the field before making a few moves of his own.

He loves his nephew. Just as much as he loved Lu Ten. Even still, it pained him to admit the truth.

He was wary of Zuko.

Zuko never did anything evil. He had a brilliant mind for tactics but didn't have any interest in the war. He almost reminded him of himself at a young age, though less grizzled and sarcastic.

What Zuko did have was a lust for battle.

Zuko always had a pair of swords hanging in his room. A steel and silver one, respectively. What made him worry was that the more he visited Zuko, the more wear he could see on the blades.

Instead of confronting him, he waited, wanting to see for himself how they got their use.

He learned that day that Zuko was much more skilled with the blade than with fire-bending, killing a wild lion vulture that was looking to make Zuko his next meal.

He never told anyone about the incident. Or the many more that came after. He was sure some of the guards knew the prince regularly left the grounds, but if they knew that he was hunting was anyone's guess.

"Hmm, you have developed a nice siege row. It is a pity that the rain will slow them down," he hummed, playing his Torrential Rain card.

Zuko grunted, playing a Clear Weather card, negating the effect.

Iroh looked at his cards and decided to forfeit the round. In a best-of-three game like Gwent, you had to make sure not to overplay your hand, so while he could still have won the round, he wasn't likely to win another.

It was surprising. He never expected Zuko to come up with his own card game, especially one so fun to play.

It was terribly unbalanced. It was clear the best faction was the Water Nation. The Spy cards that gave the user two new cards were just too strong to not use. However, he did see merits in the other factions.

His personal favorite was the Wind Temples. The siege & ranged bonuses have helped him more times than he could count.

Of course, he wasn't as good as the creator. Zuko knew Gwent like the back of his hand. And while he was able to beat him sometimes, a lot of it was because Zuko had a bad hand.

Looking up from his cards, he noticed the subtle signs of frustration on Zuko's face. Agitated, it was clear that the game of Gwent was as much for Zuko's benefit as it was for his own.

Putting down his cards, he reached for the tea and poured two cups.

"Zuko, what troubles you?"

His nephew paused, scowling before putting down his cards as well.

He blinked when his nephew reached into his robe and pulled out a flask.

"Zuko, that will ruin-" he tried to stop his nephew, but he continued pouring the alcohol into his tea.

He remained silent, mouth agape as Zuko knocked back the tea. He had to keep himself from going into a lecture, chastising him for drinking alcohol, drinking it so quickly, and most importantly, ruining the tea!

But as much as he wanted to do that, now wasn't the time for that. Instead, he poured another cup, waiting for a response.

"Ursa is dead."

Ah, of course.

He wasn't the only one that was suffering. The boys' mother has disappeared without a trace. Of course someone as cynical as Zuko would expect the worst.

"Zuko," he hesitated, "Your mother has disappeared, but that doesn't mean she is-"

"She is dead because Ozai killed her."

A chill ran through his back at the words. He studied Zuko carefully, noting the tension in his clenched jaw, the way his fingers curled tightly around the cup as if grounding himself. The anger in his voice was palpable, but beneath it, there was something else—"

"Just like he killed Azulon."

The grip around his own cup became tighter. A bit more pressure and it would have broken into pieces. Carefully, he placed the cup down, giving his nephew his full attention.

"Explain."

"It wasn't age, that took the old man," Zuko started, taking the new cup. "He was poisoned."

If it was any other child, he would have dismissed the claims. A child lashing out against their distant father. If he was talking to Azula, he would be doing his best to comfort her.

Zuko is not Azula.

"Explain."

"The Funeral Procession," Zuko started, "It was an open casket funeral. When I was alone, I noticed the problems. The inflamed larynx, the skin was swollen, he tried to scream but paralysis had taken effect by then."

A hearsay argument. He couldn't confirm this, especially since his father was cremated.

"Actual time of death didn't match the coronors. Azulon wasn't dead for more than two hours when I saw him. Rigor Mortis did not settle in yet. I was…forced to leave before I could do a deeper inspection."

He was caught then, good. It wasn't right to disturb the dead, even if he believed Zuko was trying to do it for the right reason.

"Zuko, is there anything I can see with my own eyes?" he gently tried to question him. "Your word is strong, but steady proof is confirmation."

"Correct," Zuko nodded. "That alone didn't convince me, but it did raise my suspicions. Doubly so when Ozai was announced as the Fire Lord."

"It was Azulon's dying wish," he frowned. "It's-"

"How." Zuko interrupted, making him pause.

"Sorry?"

"How could it have been Azulon's dying wish if he was found dead in his chambers?"

Iroh froze, the air thick with the weight of Zuko's words. He felt his heart stop, the room feeling smaller with each passing second. His mind raced, trying to justify it, to grasp for a shred of hope that this was just another misplaced accusation.

But he was coming up short.

"You are right," he breathed, and didn't that admission hurt like a dagger? Was he so blinded by his own grief that he didn't notice such an obvious contradiction? "Whether or not my brother killed my father, I don't know. But what I do know is that something is not adding up."

But just as soon as he was preparing to leave, he was interrupted once more.

"If you confront Ozai, you will die," Zuko grunted, making him stop in his tracks.

"I earned the name Dragon of the West for a reason. If it comes to a fight, I will not fall so easily," he tried placating his nephew, but Zuko remained unmoved, his gaze steady and unrelenting.

"To Ozai alone, yes. But would you be willing to kill the royal bodyguards?"

He took in a slow breath, realizing his anger was clouding his judgment. Reluctantly, he sat back down, his fists unclenching as the weight of Zuko's words settled in.

"If you confront him, he will accuse you of planning a coup, that you are 'doubting the words of the Fire Lord', and in the best outcome, you would spend the rest of your life in prison."

That couldn't happen. Zuko was right, he needed to approach this much more methodically.

Iroh exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think beyond his anger. Charging in headfirst would only seal his fate—and do nothing to uncover the truth.

"The worst outcome is me, you & Azula die."

He studied Zuko's face, searching for any hesitation, any doubt. But there was none—only a grim certainty that unsettled him.

"Why do you think your father would kill you? You or Azula?" he asked, and for the first time in his life he heard Zuko laugh.

It was a hard, bitter sound—hoarse and joyless, like a laugh torn from someone who had long forgotten how.

"If Ozai killed his father to become Fire Lord, killed his wife for trying to stop him, why wouldn't he kill his children so no one could take his place?"

And with those words spoken, the horror of the situation finally started to settle in.

"Start from the beginning."