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The silence is striking, and all the more so when compared to din that inhabits Ba Sing Se proper—even in the Upper Ring. Even during the day, the Agrarian Zone is quiet—just the sound of the monorail overhead twice an hour, and the occasional farmer or passerby in a carriage. But now, at this pre-dawn hour, it feels deserted.
Perhaps, thinks Iroh, this is for the best. He is uncomfortable enough in this space—the place to where his Siege advanced before, the space in which his son died—at the best of times, never mind on a day like today, with the humbling task he has set before himself. It’s necessary, and he is honor-bound to do it, and will without hesitation or complaint…but he is nonetheless glad not to have an audience when he does.
The first of the stones come into view, and Iroh closes his eyes, inhales slowly before releasing the breath. This had been his idea. Because there had been no War in Ba Sing Se—that is to say, because the War, ever-present in Ba Sing Se, had been forced to bubble and fester beneath the surface of every and refugee and widow and childless parent’s heart, unspoken about and unacknowledged—there had been no memorial to those who had died during the Siege. Thousands upon thousands of Ba Sing Se’s young men had perished, and their families, friends, and countrymen had had nothing to mourn, nothing onto which to focus their grief, nothing to give them closure.
After the War, Iroh had sought an audience with Earth King Kuei and explained as much to him. The bodies of those that died in the Siege were long since gone, and so there would be nothing to bury—as was the Earth Kingdom custom for bodies of the dead. But in lieu of that, Iroh proposed, a memorial of sorts ought to be constructed—with a headstone for each of the soldiers killed defending their city from Iroh’s army, with their name if possible. And once he had also offered to fund the construction of the project, the Earth King had agreed.
Now, Iroh wonders how much of his own motivations were selfish.
Slowly, he approaches the first headstone, sighs as he reads the name inscribed on it, and sinks into a low prostration before it. When he speaks, he keeps his voice level and formal—but it is admittedly an effort to do so. “I, Iroh Prince of the Fire Nation, admit before Agni that I have sinned before this person, who either died by my hand or on my orders. I hereby repent before this man and before Agni, and pledge to Him to help the downtrodden on this man’s behalf, in the hopes that this man may find peace.”
The old man remains in his prostration for a moment more, before rising. He cannot linger at any one stone too long; he has thousands to get through, after all. Nonetheless, he lays a hand on this one again, feels it cool beneath his palm. Envisions the boy it represents.
Only after this does he move to the next one, prostrate himself again, and begins. “I, Iroh Prince of the Fire Nation…”