Chapter Text
Iroh considered himself a man who was slow to anger. Anger clouds the senses and puts a brittle cage over reason, and without reason, there cannot be strategy. In war, strategy was just as deadly as the sharpest sword, or the hottest flame. To win a war requires the careful consideration of every move, the actions of the opponent must be considered within moments.
In this way, war was very much like a long game of Pai Sho.
Iroh considered himself a man with a justified reputation of being calm, strategic, and methodical. It was a reputation he had worked hard to earn and it had served well in putting a great deal of fear and caution in the hearts of his enemies.
However if Iroh had to spend another moment on this spirits damned ship he considered that he might have to throw away his reputation entirely in favor of setting screaming his head off and setting the boat on fire.
The crew had eaten all of the good food only a few days into their journey, so all that was left were bland rations, there was not even any leaves for tea! No less than three storms had they had to weather through. Everything was damp, slightly stiff and crusted from the sea salt, but the sun shone bright and hot overhead, making for a whole new level of discomfort when combined with everything else.
To top it all off, everyone was feeling sour from the week and a half spent in close quarters. On a map the world never seemed more small, but here on this ship, and most likely on the rest of the fleet that trailed behind Iroh’s lead boat, it could not be more agonizingly massive as the miles inched by at a snail’s pace.
Here on the deck, the rocking of the boat no longer bothered Iroh, it hadn’t for years, but there were several young men who even now were often prone to throwing themselves over the railing of the deck in order to relieve their nausea. (on any other occasion, this would have brought the older veterans, Iroh included, no small amount amusement)
In short, everyone was hungry, stiff, tired, and more than a little sick of the sea.
And of course, Lu Ten was dead.
Nothing was more sobering than a parent having to lay their child to rest, and nothing could tempt a sober man to drink like seeing the crushed remains of his son.
Oh, and drink Iroh had sorely wanted to do. When he was finally alone in the privacy of his chambers within the palace of the Fire Nation capital, he still might. But before he could allow the craving of a good stiff drink burning at the back of his throat to overtake him, Iroh needed to see his men home. So many good men had been lost, Iroh’s own son included, and before he tended to the hollow ache in his chest, he had to make sure that these weary, wounded men and women who had managed to find the courage and will to live though the siege on Ba Sing Se made it to the safety of their loved ones arms.
An elbow jabbed at his side as another young man made a dash for the railing, drawing Iroh from his thoughts and he had to bite his tongue to keep a growl from rising in his throat.
Thoughts of arson aside, his crew is a good bunch, obedient and trusting in their general with just enough sass to keep things interesting on a slow day, and they hardly deserve his wrath. The black ache in his heart was Iroh’s burden to bear and his alone, and he did not wish to add anymore misery to this ship.
After all, many of these good young soldiers were friends with Lu Ten, bonded together by war, and grieving just the same as Iroh himself, if they are not grieving many other friends and family members of their own as well.
One of the green-in-the-face soldiers clinging to the railing for dear life groaned in despair and looked wearily onto the horizon through squinting lids. A moment passed, and then another, and then as if the spirits had breathed new life and vigor into her body she sprang up and shouted loud enough for everyone carrying out their duties on deck to pause as they registered her words.
“Hey look! We’re home!”
Sea sickness all but forgotten, the girl jumped up high and sparks flared at her fingertips in her excitement.
“I can’t believe it, we’re really home! Seriously, guys, come look! You can see Capital Island right there on the horizon I swear!”
There was a single pause, And then, from the crows nest, the lookout straightens up from his lazy slump and declares in surprise;
“Holy shit she’s right! Land ho! We’re home!”
The crowd of tired men and women morphs into a single excited roar. They all knew they would be arriving in Fire Nation sometime today, but it was three hours past midday and everyone had been waiting for a sign of home since the early hours of morning.
Before Iroh can get his bearings, he is shoved to the opposite side of the deck as everyone clambers over each other in desperate hopes to see for themselves the blessed sight of that single speck of color against the monotonous grey-blue of the sea. The roar grows louder. Iroh is certainly not pleased to have been trampled by his over eager subordinates but he decides to allow them these few moments of joy and hope. After so much suffering, he thinks with a pang, they could all surely do with a little more happiness. And what was more happy than the sight of home after so much time spent at war in a foreign land?
‘The sight of family after so much time spent away from home for the sake of a violent war’
The thought comes to Iroh unbidden and he sighs. There is no time for tearful reunions in a public space for the royal family, and Iroh knows he will not have anyone to hug tearfully on the salty dock of Capital City like the majority of his men. Only a quiet carriage ride to the palace with none but a resolutely silent driver for company.
But he arrives home, and Iroh feels himself relax just a bit at the thought, there his family will be waiting for him at the imperial palace, where there will good tea, and soft words from dear Ursa, and firm support from his father as he goes through the motions of laying his son to rest and grieving for him properly, and perhaps even his brother, Ozai, will lower his frigid walls long enough for Iroh to connect with him in this time of grief.
And of course his beloved niece and nephew will be there too.
Especially little Zuko. He recalls with disappointment that as of two months ago he had missed his little nephew’s ninth birthday, and knows that neither of them will feel like making up for the lost celebration any time soon. (Iroh knows he will try anyways)
If there was anyone who adored Lu Ten as much as Iroh had, it would have been Zuko, who had spent every moment he could spare since the moment he had learned how to walk trailing after his older cousin with worship in his eyes and so much love in his tiny little body. Zuko was so loving it was ridiculous, and Lu Ten had returned that love tenfold. This would be Zuko's first experience with a loved one’s death, and Iroh pitied Ursa for having to be the woman to break that poor boy’s heart with the news that his surrogate big brother would not be coming home.
As Iroh gathers his composure and barks orders to the crew to ready the ship for their arrival to the docks he cannot help but continue fantasizing about his return to his family, even as he moves through the slightly chilled inner halls of the ship to gather his things from his chamber, a separate room from the crew’s quarters and filled with scrolls on Earth Kingdom culture and battle strategies, and his traveler’s pai sho board. (And of course, gifts he gathered during the course of his campaign that he had saved for his family. He might have sent a few things ahead already, but he desired to do some more gift giving in person)
For just a moment, even grasping the clay urn containing the remains of his only son does not send him stumbling face first into a dark, grey headspace.
Just this once, the promise of home and tea and family was enough to spread a soft candle’s glow throughout his body, banishing the dark shadow that threatened to consume him whenever he thought of the reason that he was here on this ship returning home instead back in the Earth Kingdom, just outside the walls of Ba Sing Se, continuing on in his relentless pursuit of concurring the impenetrable city. Soon,however, he would be home and just perhaps this war would be over as well. He could only have hope.
Iroh gathered all of his possessions and slung them onto his back in a large sailor's bag before tucking Lu Ten’s urn safely in his arms. Many generals were known to travel as though they were royalty in their own right when away at war, but Iroh had alway found that traveling light aided in keeping the mind clear. Physical clutter often finds its way into the mind, after all.
As Iroh stepped back out onto the deck he observed with a whisper of amusement that young soldiers always seemed to perform their best when the adventure had just begun, or when it was almost over.
The ship was almost at the docks now. A large crowd awaited them.
The Capital City Military Docks were, contrary to the name, not used solely for the purpose of harboring navy ships. The Capital city docks were actually located next to a large open air market, used primarily for fishermen who liked to be able take their catch straight to said market as the freshest fish went for the best prices. The whole area was flooded with the scent of strong spices and fresh goods. The wooden boards of the dock creaked under the weight of hundreds of thunderous footsteps.
Not long after the Iroh’s crew had spotted Capitol Island, the people of Capitol Island had spotted them back, and word had spread fast that General Iroh’s navy fleet was heading to port after so many months away from the Fire Nation, and the death of a beloved member of the royal family.
People were crowded on that salty dock roaring with anticipation, sadness, relief. The whole market was a thunderous mesh of turbulent emotions as the war ships edged closer and closer to the docks.
Many more families were eager to see their children, husbands, wives, and dear friends step off of one of those looming metal ships and hold them safe in each other's embraces, or spot at least one familiar face however bruised and battered so that they might not have to mourn losses of their own alone.
The moment the gangplank hit the boardwalk Iroh’s crew was scrambling for the dock. Normally, the return of such a high profile general would call for more ceremony and order, but Iroh’s desperation to get to dry land had cooled some, and the last thing Iroh really wanted at the moment was for so much attention to be on him while he was too busy nursing the ache in his chest to keep up a royal composure that would be fitting any of said ceremony. For the moment, Iroh was content to let his men scrambling off of the ship to search for their loved ones in the crowd while he waited towards the back of the deck for the boat to empty.
After all, it wasn’t as if Iroh had any cause to hurry. There was no one waiting on these docks for him. Everyone he wanted to see was sitting idly at the center of the city, doing paperwork or attending to their respective duties under the accurate assumption that Iroh would come to them. It did not suit the royal image to be wondering about amongst commoners after all, even for family.
Once the hoard of soldiers scrambling for the gangplank had mostly dispersed Iroh finally readjusted his hold on his pack and made his way off the ship with a respectful nod to the captain and the remnants of the crew who were clearing out the ship of cargo and tending to the boat.
Iroh took in the chaos that was taking place on the docks, the shifting, swarming mass of emotional reunions and he sighed. Iroh began to carefully pick his way through the crowd, doing his best to avoid getting pushed and jostled as he made his way towards the other side of the market, where there would be carriages for rent that he could take to the palace.
Despite Iroh’s best efforts, it was, of course, not entirely possible to avoid the occasional elbow in his side or clash of another’s pack against his shoulder and so he did not think anything of it when he felt something snag on the end of his tunic.
At least, not until a small voice had him freezing in place.
“Uncle?”
Iroh felt his heart stutter.
He went still.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked down.
There, clutching at the end of his tunic with a tiny, sunburnt fist and a nervous look on his face was his nine year old nephew, Zuko.
His nine year old nephew who, if the scan he took of their surroundings were accurate, was completely unsupervised in a crowded open air market and military dock with no bodyguards or family members anywhere in sight.
“Zuko,” Iroh breathed, only one thought able to reach his tongue, “what are you doing here?”
His nephew looked tired as he shifted nervously under his uncle’s shocked stare. There were bags under his eyes, and he looked thinner than Iroh remembered. His skin was bright pink with sunburns. Save for the topknot, which looked out of place with his plain brown and red tunic and loose pants, Zuko looked the furthest thing from royalty.
“I-I heard you were coming home today. I wanted to see you.” The small boy mumbles, leaning a little of his miniscule weight into Iroh’s side.
Iroh took a deep breath, taking a second to regain a firm hold of emotions as he sorted through his priorities. Losing his composure would only scare Zuko, and that would accomplish nothing. He forced his now racing heart to calm as best as he could. Important matters first, Iroh.
Firstly-
“Are you alone, nephew?”
Zuko seemed to shrink in on himself. He nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Azula didn’t want to come, and Mother is busy.”
And Ozai would never consider being seen out here, went unsaid.
Zuko’s eyes darted up from the ground to his uncle and zeroed in on the urn in Iroh’s arms. The nine year old began to tremble faintly.
Iroh had a feeling he knew why Zuko had been so desperate to see him that he had felt the need to sneak out of the palace and face the dangers of a crowded market full of strangers. Still, he waited patiently and with a heavy heart for his nephew to speak.
In the meantime, it would be best for him to lead his tiny nephew away from the crowd and towards the carriages like he had planned to before this unexpected development.
Shifting the urn into a single arm, Iroh used his newly freed limb to reach out to Zuko, managing a small smile when a small hand hesitantly curled itself around his much larger fingers.
They had walked for a few minutes, and the din of the chaos still occurring on the docks had quieted some when Zuko finally spoke.
“It's true then. What the letter that mother got said, that Lu T-Ten h-he…”
Tears welled up in Zuko’s eyes but they did not fall, though he had to stop speaking when his throat began to ache with the threat of a sob and he clenched his jaw tight to stop from making any noise.
Iroh took in a shaky breath and nodded silently. Zuko seemed to understand his uncle’s thoughts without needing any words and turned his eyes back towards the ground. Tiny fingers squeezed his hands and Iroh had to wonder at the sheer amount of compassion contained within this little boy, to find the courage to do what he had done for Iroh today.
In his grief over the loss of his son he had not given much thought to the possibility that anyone else might be as shaken as he was himself. He knew that Zuko had been close to Lu Ten, and had expected that he might have cried a great deal when he received the news via the letter he had sent to Ursa. Death was a very new concept to someone as young as Zuko, and he was already such a soft and kindhearted boy, much to the annoyance of Ozai, whom Iroh knew to be a fierce and war-focused man.
Still, Iroh had expected a few tight hugs and some tears. Not sneaking out into a dangerous environment alone and a trembling boy with dark bags under his eyes.
Again, Iroh had to focus on his breathing in order to remain in control of himself. For several weeks now he had allowed himself to wallow in his grief during his retreat from Ba Sing Se and the long journey home. Now, however, he had a child clutching onto his hand that needed a responsible adult to get him home safely and be a solid rock to lean on.
With this in mind, it was much easier than it had been in weeks for Iroh to shake off his sadness and stand tall. A mental list of things that needed to be done sorted themselves out in his head and Iroh clutched Zuko’s hand a little tighter.
“Ah, I think I see our ride home, nephew.” Iroh gestures towards the ostrich horse stables that displayed modest carriages for rent. Iroh was pleased to note that there was an incredibly reasonable price posted for a stable that used ostrich horses. Having been imported from the earth kingdom for breeding fairly recently, the use of ostrich horses in the fire nation tended to be fairly expensive in contrast to the far more common dragon moose used by most. However ostrich horses are fast and agile in a way a steadily increasing amount of fire nationals are beginning to appreciate.
Iroh gently released Zuko’s hand to make his exchange with the well humored businessman running the stable, who took one look at Zuko’s tired, sunburnt face and allowed him to pet one of the foals while he hitched up the carriage, which seemed to cheer Zuko up a little bit, though the tiny lines that marred his temples did not smooth completely.
When the carriage was hitched and the driver was set to go, Iroh paid off the stable manager and after a moment's consideration, handed Lu Ten’s urn to Zuko, who gripped it with wide eyes.
Before he had the chance to react, Iroh grabbed him by the waist and picked him up.
Zuko stiffened, grip tightening around the urn. There was confusion and mild panic in Zuko’s eyes, clearly conveying that he had no idea how to be held.
Iroh just gave him a reassuring grin and held his nephew close to his chest while he climbed into the carriage. For a moment, Zuko remained stiff, but when Iroh settled into the bench and gently took Lu Ten’s urn from his hands to tuck into the space between his leg and the inner walls of the carriage. Iroh then allowed zuko to slide onto the bench next to him and lean into his side.
There was a moment of silence as the carriage began to move before Iroh decided to speak.
“I would like to thank you, nephew, for coming all this way to see an old man home after such a long journey.”
“You’re not old, Uncle.”
At this, Iroh managed a tiny smile. He could be a hundred years old and his nephew would still conspire to convince Iroh that he was but a young warrior in his twenties. It was a joke he would never quite understand, but he had long ago accepted that children were strange creatures who knew little and far too much at the same time when it came to logic and reason.
“But,” He carried on gently, ignoring the way Zuko went stiff, as most children did when they realized they were in for a scolding.
“Coming here alone was very dangerous, Zuko. You could have been hurt, or taken, and your family would have been very upset.”
Zuko looked up at his uncle guiltily. He was a very soft spoken boy, when he was very little Ursa had found her son perfectly capable and understanding of speech, but inexplicably reluctant to use said ability to speak. Instead he had preferred to do his best to convey his meanings through his facial expressions. Though a private ‘chat’ Ozai had insisted on having with his son after quickly getting tired of Zuko refusing to answer him when he was speaking to the boy, had Zuko quickly choking out words whenever it was demanded of him.
.
Iroh looked into his nephew's eyes and saw the apology he conveyed and ruffled his hair, frowning slightly at the small flinch it earned him. Time to tackle the next priority.
“Are you alright nephew? I'm sorry to say this, but you look a good deal under the weather.”
Zuko seemed to close off. His gaze turned away from Iroh.
“Oh, um, s-sorry, I-I I’ve just been um, t-training a lot.” Zuko picks at the hem of his tunic. “F-father says my bending is still too weak, so I have to do lots of extra p-practice to get better.”
Iroh hums. “There is no shame in needing a little practice, i know you worry about your progress in bending, but i think you’ll find that rest and patience will help just as much as training does.”
Zuko frowned. “Father says every minute I spend lazing about is another minute wasted.”
Iroh sighed but did not attempt to press the matter further.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, though it was a warm silence. For all that Iroh felt he was barely treading water in an ocean of mixed emotions, he was glad to be here, in a carriage headed home with his nephew safely nestled at his side. There was so much
Yet to be done, much Iroh had yet to face. The arrangements for Lu Ten’s funeral, his reunion with his family, and the discussion he would have to have with his father sooner rather than later.
But for now, he was content to exist in this quiet little pocket of time and space where all that mattered was the rise and fall of Zuko’s chest as their breathing synced, and the rocking of the carriage as they made their way home. .
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The Imperial Palace was every bit as large and imposing as Iroh remembered it to be. It was surrounded by enormous walls carved in sharp lines, the archery nooks guarded by rooftops gilded in gold, painted red, and edged in terra cotta.
Upon arriving at these gates the carriage was stopped by one of the stone faced guards that lined the entrance. A moment’s conversation with the guard to confirm his identity ensued before the driver was permitted to enter the gates slowly, with a trio of guards following behind as a precaution.
Beyond the palace gates was the Imperial Threshold. A large courtyard that gave way to a massive staircase that led to the imposing, symmetrical lines of the palace. The blood red roof was edged in gold, much like the palace gates, and it gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun. another set of guards were positioned at the massive doors leading into the palace.v
Zuko had fallen asleep on the way home and so Iroh was grateful for the servants that were waiting for him at the palace steps along with Lo and Li.
The two sisters were a rather ominous pair at first glance. All harsh lines and clipped words. But they had been in the position of Advisors to the Fire lord since Iroh had been a young man, and before that, skilled instructors in the spiritual traditions and ancient cultural knowledge of the fire nation. There were decades of mutual respect between the two sisters and Iroh. He had found their wisdom and refreshingly unbiased cynicism of their own country to be indispensable more than a few times.
This did not stop Iroh from hesitating when Lo reached out with a steady gaze for the urn containing all that was left of his only son.
Lo raised a single eyebrow.
“Rest assured, Prince Iroh, that he will be handled with the utmost respect.”
“Furthermore.” Interjected LI, “You are going to have your hands full as it is, assuming you intend to ensure the young prince makes it safely back to his chambers.”
Iroh stiffened for a moment longer and then nodded, if there was anyone he trusted to ensure Lu Ten’s remains made it safely to the Royal Crypt he supposed it would be Lo and Li. he handed the urn over to Lo before shrugging off his sailor’s pack for one of the servants to take to his chambers. Finally, and with great care, Iroh picked his nephew up, slowly so as not to wake him up, and eased out of the carriage.
Iroh’s legs had gone stiff during the journey to the palace and he took a moment to flex the muscles in his legs before beginning to make his way up the palace steps.
“You should know,” Called Li from behind, “That as soon as you’ve seen to the young prince’s care, that the Firelord expects to speak with you in his majesty’s study.”
Iroh paused, and then nodded his assent.
Iroh readjusted his hold on Zuko’s tiny form and waited for the guards to push open the enormous double doors before entering the imposing halls of the Fire Nation Palace.
He was home.