One of my strangest pieces, to be certain: a blazer/coat I found thrifting in my hometown. Well-fitting, even with a thick sweater underneath, looks decent with almost anything that isn't sweatpants, or cargos, and above all is perfect for the local weather a huge chunk of the year. Generally really adaptable to any need, all it truly lacks is more patches.
All designs, except for 1312, Calloused, and Pup on the shoulder came from Anarchostensilism's deviantart.
Summary: Iroh hadn’t been able to watch. The pure horror of a man - a father- burning their child for a slight infraction... He couldn’t do anything to stop it, but he will stop his brother from destroying entirely the kind boy he knew Zuko could be.
(I’ll post this in the morning to AO3, but I really wanted to get this out today, since it’s been something I wanted to write since I began Perfect.)
[EDIT: here’s the link!]
Iroh was not surprised, but deeply saddened when the news reached him at his nephew's bedside. It arrived inconspicuously, in the hand of an unassuming and unmarked guard. The only thing to identify the origin of the letter was the Fire Lord’s insignia on the seal.
“By Order Of Fire Lord Ozai,
Former Crown Prince Zuko is hereby stripped of both rank and home, and forthwith banished from the lands, commonwealth and colonies held by the Fire Nation, for the crime of dishonoring the Fire Lord, and bringing shame upon the Throne of the Fire Nation. Immediately, upon receipt of notice, the Crown Prince is to move with all reasonable haste from the Nation and its Territories, lest he wish to face the Lord’s wrath.
By the Decree of the Fire Lord,
Long May He Rule in Agni’s Light.”
His brother’s firm, bold character at the bottom of the notice left no doubt of his perspective on the matter. Disgusted, Iroh hefted his solid frame from the chair beside his resting nephew’s sick bed. The healers had already come and gone -- there was no certainty that the young man was going to regain sight in his injured eye, and the ointment used to coat and soothe the burn was only to dull the pain. Due to the extent and severity of the burn, there was a great chance of infection. The only thing that kept the young man from screaming out in pain was the tranquilizing tea he was coerced to swallow down between his feverish episodes.
If the Fire Lord was following the tradition associated with banishment, Zuko was to be moved immediately. The Dragon was certain what that would spell for the young man, and was determined to prevent any more loss of those he loved.
Turning to the menservants hovering near the young man’s bedside, he located the one in charge.
“Whatever may happen while I am gone,” the retired general leveled a steely gaze at him, his amber eyes leaving no room for failure, “no one is to move the Prince. If anyone, guards or otherwise, arrives to take him away, send for me at one.”
The young man, hardly older than the 13 year old in the bed, nodded sagely. Face softening, the General nodded slightly, then made his way out the door. As he entered the hallway, he allowed the storminess that had brewed inside him from the moment he had heard of the Agni Kai, to finally show upon his face. Ozai might be Fire Lord, but to Iroh, he was still his obnoxious little brother. Once upon a time, he might have felt a certain pity for him, but the years had not been kind to his disposition. While this once may have been a factor to consider on the part of the older brother, the public humiliation and mutilation of his own son had put what once may have been pity far from his mind. Instead, Iroh felt the rage of a thousand suns build in his belly. The Dragon of the West had made up his mind, and he knew he had the strength behind his words to fulfill what task lay before him.
Ozai deserved no son of this caliber.
To Iroh, as he had given up his right as Crown Prince when he chased his lost son to the Spirit World, Ozai had lost his right as father to Zuko the moment he laid a scorching hand on his son’s face.
With that determination and fire in his eye, no guard stepped forward to stop him as he flung open the doors to his younger brother’s private study.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Dragon’s words hissed, the notice of Zuko’s banishment raised in a barely restrained fist.
“The boy dishonored my general and I.” Without turning away from the fireplace, the Fire Lord - his brother, Iroh reminded himself - responded coldly. He knew Iroh would come in with fire on his heels, and it gave the old general pause. “He must learn the path of honor through pain and shame.”
The Fire Lord turned in his chair by the raging fire. Did he have to keep the fireplace going even in the middle of summer?? Iroh kept the thoughts to himself, exasperated at his brother’s jockey for relevance and drama. Instead, he watched as the dismissal danced across the younger man’s face. Fury continued to eat at the Dragon’s belly.
“Was his public humiliation not enough for you, Ozai?!”
A scowl pulled at his lips, and amber eyes turned back to the burning fire.
“No.”
The response was simple and quiet. Yet, within it Iroh could hear the disgust, the disdain of his own son. All the things that had wronged his brother, real or imagined, they were laid solidly at a thirteen year old boy’s feet. And with a simple act - a scrawl of ink on parchment - he could send his son away with those guilts upon his shoulders.
“You send him away,” Iroh’s voice was quiet, but his words held steel, “with nothing to fight for. You wound him, physically shaming him, in such a way that he will never escape, to wander lands he is not welcome to. You leave him with nothing!”
Incredulousness licked like flames at the older man’s heels. “You don’t even give him a purpose! What do you wish for, Ozai? For him to die?”
Slowly, the Fire Lord stood from his chair before the fire, his slim silhouette cut an intimidating figure before the flames. They rose precariously higher before falling again. It followed a steady pattern. Iroh watched as his shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, smoke curling from his lips, pulled into a sneer.
“I wish for him to learn the pain that his existence has brought upon me.”
Aghast, Iroh took a step back from the firebender, wishing he had never heard his brother speak so callously of his own son. For a moment, he attempted to envision a situation where his anger could have ever led him to speak so heartlessly of his dear Lu Ten, and his imagination fails him. He swallows hard before continuing.
“You wish upon him a fate worse than the death you could have easily wrought. And you give him no goal for him to reach for - no chance for his own reinstatement to a place of honor before you.” Even as he speaks, the horror of the Agni Kai still sits behind his eyes, the young boy’s screams in his ears. “Give him something, Ozai. Something to attain.”
A dark laugh reached his ears, and stately, Ozai turned to his brother, disgust evident across his features.
“This is why you would have failed as a Fire Lord, Iroh. You cling on to hope for those who do not deserve it. The boy was born weak, and he will die the same. Weak. You want to give him hope that he will live to be more than he is capable of.
“‘It is the duty, nay, the privilege of the mighty to cull the weak. To pull the thorns and thistles from the lilies, so they may grow, devoid of the leeches of the unculled.’ Or have you forgotten your duty, Iroh?”
Amber eyes narrowed. “You may quote from our father as much as you wish. But I recall my younger brother, scared and barely able to stand, cowering before our grandfather, much as your son did before you.”
Eyes like fiery coals rounded on him, wide. “And I fought back. I learned strength! That child has learned nothing! He cowers and cringes and scrapes, and never once does he stand!”
“But he did. He stood for what he thought was right. And for that, you marred him. He has stood before you in the past. Stood between you and his sister, even if she is unaware.” Iroh’s voice dropped dangerously. “How many hits has he taken since Ursa left, Ozai? He cowers before a volcano he cannot hope to stop. And now you tell him he is adrift amongst the lava flow.”
“What would you have me do?!” Ozai stood close, almost nose to nose with his older brother, and washes his expression of disgust with the smoke from his lips as he hissed.
“Give him a quest. Give him hope for his return. A way for him to redeem himself in your eyes. For that is the only person he begs that from.”
“Fine.” The Fire Lord turned away, moving back to the fire.
Iroh nods despite the sensation of dread suddenly curled like a snake in his belly. It was not like Ozai to give in without more of a fight.
“Tell me, Iroh, respected General and Dragon of the West; what is the greatest threat to the Fire Nation?”
Without thought, Iroh speaks, the words of his father and his father’s father ingrained into his subconscious.
“The Avatar.”
A malicious glint catches at the younger man’s eye, casting a smirk over his shoulder to his brother.
“No.” It escapes Iroh’s chest like a death rattle. “It’s an impossible mission.”
The glint hardens like steel. “If my son wishes to prove himself to me, he will find it possible.”
***
Not a full day beyond the fateful Agni Kai, Iroh stood at the cusp of the bow of a small, decommissioned Fire Navy frigate, his back turned away from his nation as the coast disappeared behind him. The salty breeze whipped away the tears that attempted to fall. He had left Caldera City, Ember Island, the Fire Nation itself, before, and he was free to return whenever he so desired. The young man he now accompanied, however, no longer held the same option. His tears fell only for the lost youth in the belly of the ship.
Even as the last tendrils of steam from the Caldera City mountain disappeared into the horizon, he heard the commotion rise from below. The general made his way down below deck, and the doors to the young man’s room were left ajar. As he entered, sad eyes fell upon the young man who struggled against the ship’s only medic - an old field officer unprepared for this sort of wanton injury - trying to restrain him. Iroh rushed to his side, pulling the young man into his arms.
At first, the boy struggled against him, pushing him away. His freshly shaved head glistened from the exertion, combined with the after effects from his severe burn. The struggles became sluggish, and slowly the young boy sagged into the embrace. Iroh didn’t notice when the medic took his leave, a small jar left on the nightstand beside some fresh bandages, or that he made certain to close the door completely as he exited.
A soothing hand circled the young man’s upper back, as the cries of pain mixed with his tears of shame. Through the hiccuping sobs, he managed to get out a few words.
