Chapter Text
They had found the warehouse at the edge of the industrial district in the third ring. Brick-blackened, half collapsed, the air inside smelled of damp clay and old smoke. Toph had fortified the sagging structure, shoring up the stone walls to protect Appa from curious eyes. Sunlight filtered through the dust, casting long stripes of dusky gold along the earthen floor.
The others were scattered where they’d landed—Sokka slumped against a wall with his boomerang across his knees, Toph sitting cross-legged on the ground, one hand pressed flat to the earth. Aang was running his hands through Appa’s fur. Katara sat with her arms crossed, watching Zuko and his cousin.
Lu Ten looked up, meeting Katara’s eyes. “We owe you our thanks. For getting us out of there–and for helping Zuko.”
Katara looked at Lu Ten, then back to Zuko, who clung to his cousin like a drowning man to a raft. Something twisted in her chest. She had spent so long hating the silhouette of the Fire Nation prince that she’d forgotten he was a boy—not much older than her.
“You’re—” Katara stopped, then shook her head. “It’s no problem. He has a concussion and at least one cracked rib. That’ll take longer to fix. Especially if you keep being stupid, Zuko.”
“I’m fine,” Zuko said, scowling.
Katara ignored him. She’d learned that much about Zuko–he never admitted weakness until his body did it for him.
Lu Ten studied his cousin in the dusty light. Zuko was thinner than he should be, his face all sharp angles. The scar pulled tight across the left side of his face, an angry red against pale skin.
Lu Ten had seen plenty of burn scars in his time as a soldier. He knew what fire could do to flesh.
"Zuko," he said quietly. "Who did that to you?"
Zuko turned away. "It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
"It was a long time ago."
“That makes it worse.”
Zuko's jaw tightened. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Princes of the Fire Nation don't just get their faces burned off," Lu Ten pressed, though his voice stayed gentle. "Was it an assassin? An accident?"
Zuko whirled on him. “It was Father!”
Every head in the warehouse snapped up. Katara caught Sokka’s eye; he frowned. Aang looked faintly ill, and Toph dug her feet into the floor, a small frown creasing her brow.
Lu Ten stared at him. "That's not—fathers don't do that."
"Well mine did." Zuko's voice cracked. He turned back toward the wall, one hand pressed against his ribs. "I spoke out of turn in a war council. Disagreed with a general's plan to sacrifice new recruits. Father said I disrespected him. There was an Agni Kai."
He dragged a shaking breath through his teeth.
“I thought I’d be fighting the general,” he said. “But when I turned around, it was Father standing across from me.”
Lu Ten felt something cold settle in his chest. He swallowed. This wasn’t a new scar. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
"And you fought him?"
"No." Zuko's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I couldn't. He was my father. I begged him for forgiveness. I told him I was sorry."
He touched the scar without seeming to realize it.
“He said I needed to learn respect,” Zuko went on. “Then he banished me. Said I could only come home if I captured the Avatar.”
Katara found herself staring at the scar with new horror. She'd seen it as a mark of his monstrousness. It wasn't. It was proof of his father's.
Lu Ten reached out slowly and pulled Zuko into his arms. Zuko went rigid, then collapsed against him, shaking.
"I'm sorry," Lu Ten whispered. "I'm so sorry, Zuzu."
They stayed like that for a long moment. When Zuko finally pulled back, his good eye was red-rimmed.
"It's fine," he muttered, wiping at his face. "I'm fine."
"Stop saying that," Lu Ten said gently.
Zuko huffed something that might have been a laugh—or a sob.
“But why is Ozai Fire Lord? It should be Iroh. When I was captured, Grandfather was still Fire Lord. Your father was just—"
"Second son," Zuko finished hollowly. "Always second."
"What happened to Grandfather?"
“Dead. Not long after you died—” Zuko winced. “After you disappeared.” He scrubbed at his face. “There was a whole succession thing. I don’t— Father said Uncle was too weak after losing you. Uncle didn’t dispute it.”
Lu Ten's chest tightened. "And Aunt Ursa? Where was she during all this?"
Zuko's hand stilled against his face. "Gone. She disappeared the same night Grandfather died." His voice went flat. "No one knows where. I don't even know if she's alive."
"The same night?" Lu Ten repeated slowly.
Zuko nodded. His throat worked. "Before he died, Grandfather ordered Father to—" He stopped. Tried again. "He said Father should know what it's like to lose a son.”
He paused. “He ordered him to kill me.”
Lu Ten felt the room tilt. “What?”
"By morning, Grandfather was dead. Mother had vanished. And Father was Fire Lord."
Lu Ten stared at him. "Zuko—"
"Zuko," he said again, more carefully. "When I was first captured, I was held with other Fire Nation prisoners. We were bargaining chips. Long Feng—he's the head of the Dai Li—he sent ransom demands."
Zuko looked up at him.
"The other were traded back. Their families paid." Lu Ten's voice went flat. "But no one came for me."
He met Zuko's eyes.
"But if Ozai became Fire Lord after I was taken—"
He didn’t finish the thought.
Zuko went very still.
"He knew," Zuko whispered. The words barely made a sound.
"Father knew you were alive."
The sentence landed like a death knell.
"He left me there," Lu Ten said quietly. "He became Fire Lord and left me to rot in a Dai Li prison."
He looked at his cousin—at the scar, the desperation that never quite left his eyes, the gaunt, haunted expression so far removed from the boy he had known.
"The Avatar was dead for a hundred years," Lu Ten said slowly. "And Ozai sent you to find him."
Zuko stared at him.
"It was never about bringing him back, was it? It was about making sure you never could."
Zuko bent forward and vomited bile.
"Ew, gross!" Toph scooted back. "Not near my feet!"
Katara was already moving, pulling water from her flask to rinse away the bile. She worked efficiently, not looking at Zuko's face or the way his shoulders shook.
Sokka tore a strip from the bottom of his tunic and handed it to Lu Ten without comment. Lu Ten took it, wiping Zuko's mouth with hands that shook only slightly.
"Sorry," Zuko mumbled. He was grey-faced, slick with sweat.
"Don't be," Lu Ten said.
Zuko slumped back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. Lu Ten stayed beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Beyond them, Ba Sing Se went on—distant voices, clattering carts, the city muffled by broken windows and dust.
"We have to get to Uncle," Zuko said finally. His voice sounded scraped raw. "He needs to know you're alive."
"Zuko—" Aang started.
"No. We have to go. Now." Zuko pushed himself to his feet.
The world tilted.
He caught himself against the wall, breathing hard. His vision swam. The edges of the warehouse blurred into smears of gold and shadow.
"Zuko, sit down," Katara said sharply.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look it," Sokka observed.
"I said I'm fine!" His voice cracked on the last word. He took one step away from the wall before his knees buckled. He collapsed bonelessly to the ground.
Lu Ten lunged forward, scooping his cousin into his arms. "Whoa—"
Zuko's skin was burning–hot even for a firebender.
"Spirits," Lu Ten breathed. "You're burning up."
Katara was already there, water glowing between her palms. She held her hands over Zuko's forehead, then his chest. Her brow furrowed.
"This isn't the concussion," she said slowly. "It’s something else."
"Fire fever," Lu Ten said.
Katara’s hands stilled, the water hovering uncertainly between her palms.
"I've heard of it. Never seen it, but—" He swallowed hard, staring down at Zuko's flushed face. "Dad used to say it happens when the body can't carry what the heart is holding."
Sokka stood abruptly. "Right. Okay. New plan. We're not going anywhere until Zuko can stand without falling over, and we're definitely getting food because—" He gestured vaguely at all of them. "—we all look terrible."
"The Dai Li are looking for us," Katara pointed out.
"I'll make tunnels," Toph said, cracking her knuckles. "We pop up, grab supplies, disappear. Easy."
She spread her hands and the earth peeled away, opening into a smooth, sloping tunnel.
"Back soon!" she called, already descending.
Sokka paused at the tunnel's edge, looking back at Zuko's unconscious form.
"He gonna be okay…?"
Katara hesitated before shrugging.
Sokka grimaced and followed Toph into the dark.
The warehouse settled into quiet.
Lu Ten adjusted his grip on Zuko, pulling him more securely into his lap. His cousin's breathing was shallow and uneven, his skin radiating heat that had nothing to do with firebending.
Katara knelt beside them, water still hovering between her palms. She let it flow over Zuko's forehead, his chest, searching for something she could fix. But this fever wasn’t a wound.
It was grief wearing the body down from the inside.
She let the water fall back into her flask.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted quietly.
Lu Ten looked up at her.
"You've already done more than enough," he said. "You got us out. You healed him. You didn't have to do any of it."
Katara didn't know what to say to that. She settled for a small nod.
Aang padded over and sat cross-legged beside Lu Ten. Momo landed on his shoulder, chittering softly.
"So you're the Avatar?" Lu Ten asked, glancing at the boy.
"Yeah," Aang said. "Not a very good one."
Lu Ten gave a tired smile. "How old are you?"
"Twelve. Technically." Aang tilted his head. "Or a hundred and twelve, I guess. Depends how you count it."
"I didn't know there was a difference."
"I was frozen in an iceberg for a hundred years," Aang explained. He said it matter-of-factly, but something shadowed his expression. "Six months ago for me—a hundred years for everyone else—the Air Temples were full of airbenders. The sky above them was full of bison."
He trailed off, absently scratching Momo's head.
"Now it's just me and Appa. And Momo."
Lu Ten was quiet for a moment.
"I lost my entire battalion," he said finally. "I can't imagine waking up and finding out everyone you loved was just... gone."
"How do you get over it?" Aang asked. His voice was very small. "Loving people who aren't there anymore?"
Lu Ten brushed Zuko's hair away from his face, careful around the scar.
"I don't think you do," he said softly. "I don't think you're supposed to. You just... carry it. There's who you were before, and who you are after. They're different people–but they're both you."
He glanced down at Zuko.
"Before I left, this kid followed me around like a baby turtle duck. He'd get so excited when I was home, he'd practically vibrate. And now—"
He faltered. “--Now I don’t know him at all.”
Katara watched Zuko’s sleeping face. Without the scowl, without the anger, he looked painfully young.
She thought of the boy who had chased them across the world, screaming about honor and destiny. She tried to reconcile him with this one: the boy who’d refused to fight his father and had been burned and exiled for it.
She wasn’t sure what she would do if her father banished her. If he told her love had to be earned back through obedience.
The answer came too quickly, and she didn’t like it.
"It's hard," Aang said quietly.
Lu Ten looked toward the broken window, where the sun was sinking lower, the blue of evening shadowing the eaves. A dry wind rattled the framing.
"It is," he agreed. His face softened. “We haven’t officially met. Lu Ten, former Prince to the Fire Nation.”
“Katara,” Katara said tightly. “My brother is Sokka. The earthbender is Toph. You’ve met Aang.”
Lu Ten dipped his head. “I am grateful, truly, for you. I gather my cousin has…been a source of great trouble for you. “
“You could say that,” Katara said flatly.
“When I knew him, he was gentle,” Lu Ten said. “He took after his mother.”
Zuko shifted in Lu Ten's arms. A small, brokensound escaped his throat.
"Hey," Lu Ten murmured. "You're okay, Zuzu. I've got you."
But Zuko didn't settle. His brow knit his breathing quickened.
"Uncle," he mumbled. The word came out broken, desperate. "Uncle, I'm sorry."
Lu Ten's chest tightened. He exchanged a glance with Katara.
"He's dreaming," she said.
"Or remembering," Lu Ten replied grimly.
Zuko's head turned restlessly. "I tried."
His voice cracked.
"The tea's cold. He likes it hot. I ruined it."
Aang sucked in a quiet breath.
Katara felt that familiar twist in her chest again. She'd spent months thinking of Zuko as a monster. It was easier that way. He had terrorized them since the beginning.
But monsters didn't apologize to their unconscious uncles about tea.
"It's the fever," Lu Ten said, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "He's not—he doesn't know what he's saying."
"Uncle, don't—" Zuko's breath hitched. "Don't be mad. I can fix it. I can still—"
He broke off into a soft, broken sound that was almost a sob.
Lu Ten pulled him closer, murmuring something too soft to hear.
Katara looked away. It felt wrong to witness this. Like reading someone's private letters.
But she couldn't make herself leave.
The floor groaned.
Toph burst up through the earth, Sokka scrambling up behind her with his arms full of bundled food.
"We come bearing provisions!" Sokka declared, dropping everything with a thud. "And knowledge! Which, unfortunately, isn't great."
Katara rounded on him. "Did you steal that?"
"What? No!" Sokka looked offended. "I paid for it. With money. That I found. On the ground."
"Sokka—"
"Okay, fine, I borrowed it from a merchant who wasn't looking. But in my defense, we're on the run from a secret police force and Zuko's having some kind of Fire Nation emotional breakdown, so I think we get a pass!"
"Still out, huh?" Toph asked, nodding toward Zuko. She dropped her own bundle of supplies. "And getting worse, from the feel of it."
Katara's mouth tightened. "I don't know what to do. I've treated his ribs. The concussion. But this—" She shook her head. "This isn't something I can fix."
Sokka glanced toward Zuko, then back at the food. His usual grin didn't quite land.
"Well," he said, quieter now, "I'm not complaining about a dinner where no one yells at me about honor or capturing anyone."
He paused.
"But yeah. This feels... bad."
Toph cocked her head. "He's getting hotter. Heart rate's all over the place too."
Lu Ten bent closer to Zuko. "He's burning up."
Zuko shifted again, lips moving soundlessly. Then, barely audible:
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
They ate without appetite. The food sat heavy in their hands, the air thick with cooling day and rising night. Zuko didn’t wake. He only twisted now and then, fever climbing in small increments, like a kettle forgotten on a burner.
Moonlight slid through the broken windows, pale and sharp.
Toph’s head snapped up. “Someone’s coming.”
Sokka’s hand went to his boomerang. Katara drew water from her flask until it hovered at her wrists. Aang’s staff clicked open.
"How many?" Katara whispered.
"Just one." Toph frowned, bare feet pressed flat against the earthen floor. "Old. Moving slow. Wait–” she paused. “I know that heartbeat. It’s uncle.
Lu Ten’s breath caught.
The scent hit them a moment later. Jasmine tea, delicate and familiar, impossibly out of place in a dusty warehouse at the edge of Ba Sing Se.
Footsteps echoed at the entrance. Measured and unhurried.
A figure appeared in the doorway, backlit by moonlight.
He was shorter than Lu Ten remembered. Rounder. His hair had gone completely grey, pulled back in a simple topknot. He wore the plain robes of a tea shop worker, not the ornate armor of a general or the silks of a Fire Nation royal.
But his eyes were the same.
He took in the warehouse in a single glance—the Avatar, the waterbender, the earthbender, the warrior with his weapon raised.
Then he saw Zuko.
Then his gaze fell on Zuko, unconscious in Lu Ten's arms.
"Zuko," Iroh breathed.
He crossed the distance in three long strides and dropped to his knees without hesitation. His hands hovered over his nephew—over the blood matted in his hair, the bruising on his face, the way his breath came too fast, too shallow.
"What happened?" The words came rough.
He gathered Zuko carefully into his arms, one hand cradling the back of his head. Zuko stirred at the touch.
"Uncle?" The word came out barely a whisper. Zuko's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with fever.
Iroh's face crumpled.
"Yes," he managed, voice rough. "I'm here, nephew. I'm here."
He pressed his forehead gently to Zuko's, eyes squeezed shut.
Zuko made a small sound—relief or pain or both. His hand came up weakly, fingers catching in Iroh's sleeve.
"'M sorry," he slurred. "Tried to make it back. Lost track of time."
"Shh." Iroh's voice broke. "It’s all right."
Zuko blinked hard, fighting through the fever. His gaze snagged on Lu Ten.
“Uncle,” he rasped. “Lu Ten lives.”
Iroh's eyes fractured. "Zuko, you’re feverish–"
“No,” Zuko’s voice sharpened, sudden and fierce even in weakness. “Listen. He lives.”
Iroh’s shoulders shook.
Zuko’s eyes drifted closed again, his grip on Iroh's sleeve loosening.
Iroh looked up at Katara, his eyes rimmed in red.
"My nephew has been nothing but trouble for you,” he said quietly. “Thank you for looking after him.”
Katara stepped forward, water already glowing between her palms. "I can treat the injuries,” she said, “but the fever itself—"
"I know what it is." Iroh's voice was flat. He looked down at Zuko's flushed face. "A crisis of the soul. His fate is in his hands.”
Katara knelt beside them and let the healing water flow over Zuko's chest, his ribs, the wound at his temple. The glow reflected off Iroh's face. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since they’d last seen him in the abandoned village.
"He has a concussion," Katara said. "Cracked ribs. He took a bad hit to the head in the fight with the Dai Li."
"The Dai Li?" Iroh's head snapped up. "You fought the Dai Li?"
"We were in their prison," Aang said from across the warehouse. "Under the city. We were looking for Appa.”
"You brought him out of there?"
"He helped us," Aang said. "He was looking for Appa too. And then we found—"
He gestured toward Lu Ten.
Iroh's gaze shifted.
For a long moment, he simply looked—at the gaunt man kneeling beside him, close enough to touch. At the matted hair hanging in ropes past his shoulders. The hollow cheeks. The golden eyes that caught the moonlight.
At the face that looked too much like the son he'd lost five years ago.
Something in Iroh's expression closed.
"No," he said quietly.
Lu Ten felt his heart crack.
"Dad—"
“No.” Iroh’s voice was firm, but desperation bled through it. “My son is dead. I buried him. I mourned him.”
Lu Ten pushed himself upright, unsteady. “There was no body.”
"I burned his armor at the walls of Ba Sing Se." Iroh's hands tightened on Zuko. "I held the funeral rites. I said the prayers. My son is dead."
"Dad, please—"
Iroh’s eyes were wet and furious at once. “If this is a trick—if the Dai Li—if Azula—”
“It’s not,” Lu Ten said. His voice shook. “It’s me.”
Iroh stared at him. In the moonlight, he looked old–so much older than Lu Ten remembered.
"I do not know you," Iroh said, and each word sounded like it cost him something. "My son is dead."
"You fixed my drag-along dragon when I was five," Lu Ten said desperately. "Right after Mother died. It was a birthday gift. I broke it running too fast down the palace steps, and I cried for hours because I thought you'd be angry."
Iroh went very still.
"You stayed up all night repairing it," Lu Ten continued, his voice breaking. "You told me that things break, but that doesn't mean they're ruined. That we fix what we can and carry what we can't."
Iroh's breath hitched.
"You put the dragon on my pillow before I woke up. And there was a note that said—" Lu Ten's voice cracked. "It said, Some things are worth staying up for.
The warehouse was dead silent.
Iroh stared at him, truly stared now. His mouth trembled.
"Lu Ten?" he whispered.
Lu Ten’s eyes burned. “Yeah, Dad,” he said, and the words shattered in his throat. “It’s me.”