Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts with a boy. 

Not Zuko, Iroh thinks, but also him in some ways. It starts with fire burning soft flesh and a child screaming. It starts with a council meeting, and an accusation from a just heart but too soft for the war his brother is waging. It starts with a boy, his little nephew, bright eyed and soft hearted and brilliant minded. It started with a boy who is his nephew, in another world, but not in this one. 

It has been a year since his boy was exiled from home, a year away from the fever and infection and the fear of losing another son after all this time. The skin of his nephew is still tender and thin, healing in ways only time can give it. A part of Iroh wants to flag an old friend and beg for water - but he'd sworn. He'd vowed not to use his connections for personal reasons, to keep them hidden as they should be. 

They won't begrudge him, he doesn't think, but he is still being watched. He - They - can't afford it. And that aside, Zuko is already healing, and healing well. Well enough to drag their old, rusty ship into a ghost chase, searching for someone nobody thinks exists anymore. A quest for honor, a chance, or so his nephew believes. Iroh does not have the heart to say his brother is so unkind when Zuko burns with passion and desperation both. 

He doesn't know what will happen if the fire goes out - does not care to know in particular. 

Iroh breathes in. Watches as the ragtag crew - smaller now than they started, and replaced twice over - wanders off, refusing to look at Zuko. His nephew sits on the sand, eyes staring out into the sea and somewhere far, far away. He takes a seat beside the still boy, settles his small table and prepares his tea. Lavender, this time, a rare one from some specific city that cultivates it in the Earth Country. It calms the mind, and he muses that if there's anything his nephew needs tonight it's to indulge in a little softness, a little rarity, some small kindness. 

It takes a while, the silence lasting through the preparation and the brewing and the serving of tea, and then some. He warms his cup silently, nursing it and taking sips as he waits. Zuko does not touch his, not until the final rays of the sun has disappeared into the ocean and the sky is turning dark. He takes a slow, steady breath as his nephew stares into his cup, just this side of blank. 

He is, admittedly, a little surprised when Zuko breathes out a fire, a small burst that is almost nothing, really. Enough to warm the cup, he muses quietly as the child takes a sip, swallows. Let's the taste settle, before he gets that look that makes something warm and gentle unfold inside Iroh's chest despite himself. 

"They didn't have an army," Zuko whispers, voice hoarse and restless, "they didn't have an army."

He sounds lost, desparate. Iroh breathes in, tilts his head in agreement. It feels - it feels like they are in the precipice of something, the air turning heavy. Like the world is looking at them, like this is a turning point. He does not move, doesn't fuss and carries on like he can't feel the weight of attention. Beside him, Zuko doesn't seem to notice at all. 

"There were children," his nephew continues, voice breaking as he curls around his cup, shoulders shaking. "They- The general- Children. Uncle, they were children. I fought- I said- They were even younger than- Why do children have to pay for war they didn't start?"

It feels like an accusation, coming from his nephew to him. It isn't, Iroh knows, because his nephew turns to him like he could have all the answers in the world. His nephew, so angry at everyone except for the ones who deserve it. His nephew, who's love and trust and belief is never ending, vast and unflinching. He dares to meet piercing golden eyes, and wonders what to say. 

There's the truth, that children shouldn't have to and should never had. The truth, yes, but falsely ringing tonight, because they had and they do, and they will, in the future where the Avatar does not come and Ozai continues and so does Azula and so will others, on and on and on. He can't imagine Zuko like that, and wonders what it says about his nephew for him not to be able to.

Wonders what it says about himself. 

"The father only knew of the cycle," he says, thinking about how history repeats itself, about legacy and vengeance and torches passed on from one generation to another, "and so his children perpetuates it."

A flash of annoyance, and Zuko places down his cup with a frustrated click. At least, he thinks vaguely, the boy did not throw neither cup not tea. He takes a calming sip, and continues before his nephew could speak - or demand, as it most likely would have been. 

"You must understand, nephew, that it is hard to impart lessons you have not learned for yourself." Zuko stares at him, intense in that way only he gets, desparate and hungry for whatever is offered and trying not to look it. "No children deserves war by their doorstep, but it comes anyway. It knocks on wooden door to be let in, and if you refused then-"

He falters, then, thinks of his bright boy gone too soon, and then of the one beside him. He swallows, whispering, "then it will force it's way in nonetheless, and take."

Silence. He tears his eyes away and towards the horizon. He can't bring himself to look back, to see the damning evidence of failing. To say the truth is to speak of treason, and he is already walking that line even here, with whatever answer he managed to voice out without damning himself or his nephew or the whole world. There is a block on his throat, and it tastes like dread, like failure. 

It is deafening, the way his nephew's eyes bore into the side of his face, the heaviness of the air, the silence. Dissapointment, both his and not, settles on his shoulders like a cloak, obscuring and uncomfortable. Beside him, he feels Zuko wilt, and he dares a glance desire the fear and dread and everything else. His nephew looks even more lost, now, eyes shiny as he looks at Iroh like an accusation, like a damnation, like cruelty that was never meant to be one. 

"Then why have war at all?"

It rings in the lonely beach, and Iroh looks around. No one, there's no one listening. It is just him and his nephew and no one else. Still, Iroh breathes out, shaky and fearful. Ozai wants his son dead, and Iroh too. For him to hear of this-

He can't bear it. He let's his grief show, looks at his nephew mournfully, and begs for forgiveness, "I don't have an answer that will not damn us to treason, my boy."

Zuko flinches hard, as if struck. Iroh turns away once more and closes his eyes. There is a rustle, and his nephew stands up abruptly. He waits for a response, but the boy stalks off, broody and silent. Iroh breathes fire into his tea, and swallows. It does not help at all. 

He looks up, towards the stars and where Agni rests when the night comes. The world breathes out a soft sigh, disappointed and disapproving but like it expected it. He asks the ocean, the sky, the world listening, "what else was I supposed to do?"

Nobody answers. There is just him, his tea, and the cold evening breeze.

The night passes. The crew does not speak of his ill advised words, and Zuko does not speak to him at all. The boy does not rage as he'd been doing for months since he could speak without aggravating his wounds, doesn't even look at Iroh for a second. The tension can be felt, and it unnerves him as much as it does the crew. His nephew looks at the sun like it will give him answers. Iroh doesn't know what kind he is wishing for. 

"I'm taking a walk," the boy announces at noon, the sun shining brightly down, burning. Iroh almost thinks it is shining down on Zuko, and carefully puts it aside to think about later. "We'll search for the funeral rites later, and go back the way we came. It's the least the dead deserves."

Then Zuko walks off the ship, towards the sun. He is still a child, Iroh thinks as the crew alights into buzzing whispers, and breathes out. He follows on, keeps pace just a few meters behind his nephew. His mind wanders, does Zuko think of last night, of the silence and the words and everything? Does a fourteen year old boy understands what Iroh had to say, especially one as devoted and loyal as his nephew is? 

Had he helped, or is he damning Zuko to a worse fate? Or, if neither of that - will Iroh have to cut off his last ties to a family he loves, still? 

"Uncle," there is wonder in Zuko's voice, confusion. Not angry, as Iroh expected him to be when the boy finally confronts him about following. Iroh focuses back, blinking as he walks the last steps forward to stand beside the boy. "Uncle, look."

He follows the way his nephew is pointing, and pauses. There is a figure in the sand, covered in red - not their shade of red, something darker and deeper. Blood, is the first thing that comes to his mind, and fire the next, except that's not possible for them being different shades. He squints, and oh, it is threaded with gold. The realization strikes him silent, tracing the way it shimmers beneath the sand. It glows, impossibly. 

He walks forwards, a little numb. He kneels, bones creaking, and a vague part of him notes his shaking hands as he reaches aside to push it aside. It feels like he is outside of himself, like following Azulon's orders, like being in the middle of war and doing what he must to keep everything on track. His heart beats in his chest, steady, and blood rushes in his ears. He wonders if the drumming is only his to hear, of if Zuko can feel the world vibrating with it. 

The red cover, he realizes, is cape. It yields to his hands as easily as any fabric, and he knows the feeling of silk velvet, though there is something almost metallic mixed in it that he's not quite able to identify - and Iroh is one of the most well travelled people in the world, not only by war but also after he left to grieve. His hand brushes against the gentle embroidery, golden and beautiful, separate from the mettalic fabric that seem to be the source of the glow of the cape. 

For a brief second, he regrets touching it - Agni, if this is a spirit or worse, he might've just damned himself. But just for a second, because he turns over the figure and it steals his breath away. The cape spreads out beneath the body like spilled blood. There is a white cuff around the figures neck, fluffy fur that's not quite the right shade for what the waterbenders up north sacrifice to Tui and La, but similar enough that he recognizes the cut of it. 

But that is not what steals his breath away, no. 

The figure is pale, with scars all over his face. Iroh swallows as he spots a particularly nasty one on the forehead, like it has been broken open before carefully pieced together. A white shirt, linen or cotton, with red sleeves and pale brown pants that he doesn't recognize. The figure is barefoot. And-

Hair, long and slowly curling around a face slack with unconsciousness, golden bright. Beneath the sunlight, it looks like a halo, spread out in the sun and a contrast to the blood red cape and snow white fur. Behind him, there's a sharp intake of breathe from his nephew, and Iroh himself feels the shock and disbelief down to his bones. He hesitates. 

"Nephew-" he starts to turn and look up, but before he could say anything more Zuko is already responding. 

"We have to- we have to save him, Agni-"

Iroh doesn't know if his nephew is calling the figure Agni, in which he can't fault the boy, or if he's simply calling out for the Great Spirit. He looks up the sky, the sun frozen on the highest point, unmoving. The world settles into focus, and for a brief shining moment he could see golden sunrays shining directly on the figure, bathing them in holy light. Iroh breathes. 

He reaches out, and picks them up easily. The figure is light (light like air, like a spirit) in his arms, and when he looks down he is struck by how young the figure looks. Perhaps a few years older than Zuko himself, on the cusp of becoming an adult. He doesn't mention it, simply follows the quick steps of his nephew. 

The moment they are in screaming distance of the ship, Zuko was barking orders, calling for preparation of the medbay and the attention of the ship doctor. Perhaps the crew has been getting used to following orders from the young prince, or could hear the panic in his voice, because when they step foot on the deck the way is clear for all that there is hovering crewmates around. 

Iroh ignores them and walks purposefully, but he can hear the soft gasps when he passes them by. His nephew throws the medbay doors open, holding it as he enters and makes way to an open bed, where the ship doctor is already hovering. A newer recruit, he knows, brother of someone from that group-

He shakes his head, gently laying down the figure in his arms. There is a faint oh, Agni-, before the doctor starts checking the figure. There is bewildered and almost reverent look in his face, darting between the figure and him. 

He breathes, and offers, "Prince Zuko was the first to spot him. While on his walk."

There's a spark of something, as the man nods shortly, before he goes back to checking. When he leans back, he looks - strange. He looks at Prince Zuko, lips pursed, before saying quietly, "he's just- asleep. I think he'd be up in a few hours, tommorow at the latest. There's nothing wrong with him."

A beat of silence, and then delicately, "you found him in the sand? No boat nor remains of it?"

Iroh frowns thoughtfully, and no. There was none, wasn't there? His nephew confirms his suspicions. The doctor nods, looking a little faint, "and we definitely combed the island for any sign of life, right, and there was nothing to be found?"

A sinking feeling, and this time he's the one who answers, "no, there wasn't. No hair nor hide, no food nor shelter. No remains anywhere of any ruined boat, no cave or nook to hide in aside from the tower, and that looked... We were very thorough."

I was very thorough, he thinks, reaching out for the closest chair in the room and sitting heavily on it. The doctor glances at him, and then to his nephew once more.

"A figure, with golden hair and glowing cape, washed up on the ship with no sign of boat anywhere," the man says softly, breathlessly, "a figure washed up in the sand, dry."

Dry. Dry, dry, dry. Iroh looks down, checks himself. He's not wet, either, doesn't remember feeling wet while carrying the figure. It seemed - natural, right. 

"He wasn't there last night," Zuko says, sounding terrified and so Agni damned young, "Uncle and I were - drinking tea, there. Thinking of the. Of the skeletons. The children-"

Zuko cuts himself off, and Iroh can imagine the way he gulps down nervously, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves when he's scared, when he doesn't understand something, when he's trying to puzzle something out. He doesn't look to check, simply stares down at the figure on the bed, breathing softly without a care in the world. They look tired, like one who hasn't slept for ages, or had crossed the boundary between spirit and mortal worlds. 

"Oh, Agni," the doctor says, heavy with meaning, before making his excuses and leaving. Iroh breathes, and forces himself up. He meets Zuko's wide, panicked eyes, and offers a gentle smile to his nephew. 

"I'll go make us some tea, I think," he says, because he needs a drink and so does his nephew, "and some snacks to go with it. Would you like to come?"

He knows the answer even before Zuko responds, shaking his head and shuffling towards the chair. His nephew takes the seat, and Iroh goes, shutting the door with a click that feels final. The kitchen has already laid out a selection of his calming tea blends, and his favourite tea set. He takes it, and walks back towards where his nephew is waiting. 

The beginning, he thinks, is here. It starts with a boy. Not Zuko, no, not his nephew. Not truly, except for the ways that it starts with him. Mostly, it starts with a golden haired boy, dry and clean from sand for all he lies on the beach, too close to water. 

Chapter Text

Zuko sits on the chair, unmoving, when Iroh comes back to the room.

His nephew doesn't even look at him as he sets down the tea and snacks lightly on the table near them, nor when he drags over another chair to sit in. The boy simply sits, almost silent if not for the steady breathing matching the spirit lying on the bed. Unnerved, he sets about making tea, placing his nephew's cup first before his own.

He waits. Seconds tick to minutes ticks to hours, and there is only the crashing of the waves from outside, the soft crackle of the lit lantern, the creak of floorboards as the crew keeps the ship functioning. He looks at his nephew, and sees-

He's not sure what to call the emotion on the young prince's face is, but it is as unnerving to look at as to watch the rise and fall of the stranger's chest. Something between reverent and wariness bordering hope. He wonders what his nephew thinks of this, and so he asks.

"Prince Zuko," he says, keeping voice even and steady, "how do you feel?"

Silence. The tea remains untouched, and his nephew keeps his silence like he tends to do during vigils, solemn and unflinching. It reminds Iroh of late nights, of steady flames and a young boy's determination to stay awake through the night to light the way for children and almost children, lost by the greed of men and wars.

He finds he's not quite partial to the comparison. There is no dead here, and there is no responsibility for his nephew to bear. They have done what they could, and that the prince would be so solemn, so silent-

He had said it before, but it is unnerving.

"Prince Zuko," he tries again, tone urging as he pushes a teacup closer. Then a plate. Still, Zuko doesn't move, does not flinch. Iroh could feel the way his heart jumps up his throat, rabbit quick and just the slightest bit fearful. He reaches out, clasps a wrinkled hand around his nephew's arm.

Zuko jumps, eyes wild as he looks around frantically. Golden eyes meets his worried ones, and he watches as the prince sways with something like relief in his eyes before it turns chiding, "Uncle! You startled me!"

"So I see," he answers, a bit grimly, "I've been calling you, Prince Zuko. What is in your mind?"

Zuko looks surprised, before he shrugs. He reaches towards the cup, warms it gently as he hums thoughtfully, lips pulling into an almost adorable scowl. Iroh throws studies his nephew. Aside from a slight paleness and the far away look in his eyes, he would have thought that nothing had changed at all.

"They - they might be a spirit," Zuko starts, sounding as hesitant as he'd always been, "right?"

Iroh takes a sip of his tea, to wet his throat and perhaps buy himself some time. Might - no, there's no might about it. Iroh had shared time with dragons, had connected to the spirit world and travelled far and wide for answers to his plights. The strange boy feels as they do, off putting and other - and for all that he'd not seen any with golden hair he cannot claim that he'd meet every spirit there ever was.

His mind brings up once more the blood wrapping around the stranger, curled and tucked around them like a hug one cannot wish to escape. The cape, in the light of Wani, looks less like blood soaked and more like a shade of ruby or garnet but he cannot erase the thought of his first impression. Whoever owns that cape, the stranger or someone else, have hands stained with blood both innocent and not.

"That is the most likely conclusion," he agrees easily, as if the thought does not make him wish to pick up his almost son and tuck him somewhere far away, protected and untouchable by men who wish him harm.

Zuko, again, falls silent though more present with his thoughts than the far away. He pushes aside the wish to reach out and drag his nephew out of his mind with his own hands, reminding himself that what the boy needs now is patience and space to draw his own conclusions. He takes a sip of his warm cup, and hums out an appreciation to fill out the silence of the room.

Iroh watches. It's all he'd ever done for so long, and now is one of the few times he wonders if it's ever the right move. He turns to the figure in the bed, the sunlight seemingly reaching for them like it hungers for connection to the stranger. He takes a bite from the plate of snacks, some kind of pastry with rich, creamy filling the kitchen made from left overs. He washes down the sweetness with tea, trying very hard not to let the strangeness get to him.

"Last night," his little prince whispers, quiet and hesitant and a little terrified, "I asked for what to do. I asked for help, no matter what form. Uncle-"

Zuko finally, finally, turns to look back at him. He shivers at the look of the boy's eye, wide and frantic and as desperate as they had been last night, "Uncle, what if it is a trick? What if it's not? How would I know-"

He swallows, reaching forward to cup trembling hands between his. There are so many things to say, all delicate topics that will break his little nephew's heart no matter how it is said. His brother is a monster, the children are pawns, the war is a cruel burden covered by innocent's blood. How could Iroh speak ill of someone Zuko wholeheartedly believes is right? How could he say something that might break the boy's faith - not just in him, but the world in general?

Before he could start to say anything, the figure on the bed twitches, turns.

There is a soft groan, and he tightens his grip on the hands in his before flexing his fingers. His breathing is even, not even a hitch of breath despite his surprise. As one, him and his little prince turns to the spirit stranger, who is - slowly but surely - pushing himself upwards. Iroh watches as the spirit rubs his eyes, then yawns and stretches like any teenager would - like any mortal would.

He breathes out, and smiles.

It falls when the spirit opens his eyes, turns into something strained as he hears Zuko's startled gasp. He can't blame the boy, for he'd never seen such shade of eyes in all his years. He thinks, perhaps, that somewhere in the icy North or South, there is someone who does, but-

The only one that comes to mind is a friend's mention of the spirit-touched princess, and even hers would pale in comparison to this.

The spirit's eyes settle on him, and Iroh feels - enchanted, captivated. He stares into the blue-blue-blue, and there is nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and a soft tugging in his heart that screams. He wonders, a little, if there is any jewel in the Fire Nation Vault that could ever match the shine of the spirit's eyes, if it is the right shade for a clear, cloudless sky or perhaps the deep dark sea. He-

The spirit blinks, and Iroh is grateful for the fact that he's already sitting as he feels his knees weaken. He raises his trembling hands to sip at his tea, searching for comfort in its sweet calm. His breathing is even, still, and he forces himself to look up despite wishing he could simply run.

Fear drags down his spine as he sees Zuko stares at the spirit with wide, wide eyes. No, no, no. The force with which he stands up with makes his seat fall over, and the clattering startles both the spirit and his prince. The prince, for his part, blinks at him with nothing but curiosity, as if his breath and life weren't just almost taken away from him, but. But the spirit looks at him with a crinkle of slight amusement on the corner of his eyes, as if he's entertained.

At least it is not Prince Zuko, Iroh thinks, a touch hysterical.

He bows, deeper than a Fire Nation Prince should to anyone. He hears his nephew scramble to do the same, a clatter, before silence. It's a heavy one, weighted down by expectation and the otherness of the situation. He doesn't dare move, not even when his limbs keeps trembling as he felt, once more, the full weight of the spirit's gaze on him. The only comfort he finds is that if it is on him, it is not on his son.

"Hello?"

Zuko's soft, hesitant voice snaps Iroh out of his trance, and he looks up to see the Prince had stood already. He hesitates - should he get up or stay? what is better for the both of them? - before he gets up and hurries to stand beside his boy, tense and ready to fight. Still, he can't look away from the stranger as he pushes himself upwards, movements stiff and wooden like he's not used to the body he's inhabiting. His head turns slowly, and Iroh - Iroh stares back into blue eyes that is filled with unfathomable weight. He shudders.

The gaze turns from him, settles on his nephew. He automatically grasps Zuko's shoulder, terrified. The stranger looks like he hungers, like he yearns for something the world cannot give him. He swallows roughly, and holds on to his nephew despite knowing that right now, there is nothing he could do to stop the spirit. He will , nonetheless.

(Hi, what the fuck? Who the hell are you?)

"Greetings," the spirit says, voice slightly distorted, words slow and heavy like he's not used to speaking. Iroh watches as it stares at them, a hand reaching up to touch its neck with something like surprise in its eyes despite the unmoving facial features. "Hmm, this is quite strange, isn't it? I wonder, who are you?"

The voice is rough with sleep, and almost sounds normal enough. Iroh considers his options, before reluctantly straightening up. The spirit looks bemused, maybe a little bewildered. Someone who's never been worshipped before then, he guesses to himself as he offers a shaky, benign smile. The spirit simply blinks back, and out of the corner of his eyes he watches Zuko straighten and prepare tea.

The tea is offered to the spirit like one would give an offering, and there is relief as he releases a soft sigh. The spirit looks at the drink carefully, breathing the aroma in before he even takes a sip. It felt impossible, but his eyes seem to shine brighter when he does, widening lightly as a smile breaks out on his face.

(What the hell, man, some kinda fancy fucking shit, innit?)

"Ah, this is a rather fancy tea, isn't it?"

Belatedly, Iroh notices things - the way the spirit's lips move out of sync from his words, like he is saying something completely different from what they can hear; the stiffness of his limbs, like he is not used to joints moving in specific ways; the blue of his eyes, deep and bright and heavy with its gaze, like he is judging the world and finding it lacking. He probably would not have caught it, with how quick the spirit speaks, but he is a General steeping in paranoia and so he does. He flickers a glance at Zuko, who doesn't seem to notice it at all, and swallows.

"Greetings," he says, keeping his tone as reverent and fearless as he could even as he bows once more. He's cut off by a snort, and when he looks back the spirit looks…not upset, but bemused. Uncomfortable, even, as he seems to take in Iroh's form.

"G-greetings," his nephew bows just as he did, and Iroh looks at the boy he chose to follow, and sees the same bright eyed determination from almost half a year ago. Hesitation comes, making Zuko falter, before the young teen firms up once more, "I am Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, and this is my Un- the General Iroh. May I have the pleasure of knowing you?"

(Stop fucking bowing and shit, that's not - or well, unless its ur fucking culture I guess I can't say that. I don't wanna be cancelled but like-)

"If you would," the spirit starts, and Iroh's heart skips a beat. He holds his breath, biting his tongue before he could apologize - better to let them speak instead of cutting them off, he thinks. Still, he readies himself to throw himself in front of his nephew. "I'd like to ask for you to stop bowing - unless it is part of your culture? May I ask that of you, or will I be held in low esteem for it?"

(I don't like it much, alright. Feels wrong to have an old man bow like that - though I guess I am Great and Amazing and all that.)

The spirit makes a sound similar to clearing of the throat, and offers, "it is simply a preference of mine, if you can so kindly believe me. I would say I deserve it for simply being who I am, but I am not so cruel to have someone so old dip himself so low for me."

Then they stare once more, before his arm moves towards Iroh's prince, palms open. He twitches, and the gaze flicks towards him and he stills in his place, feeling like prey for the first time since his father had stopped being so terrifying. Fear slides down his back like ice, settles in his tail bone like rocks. He cannot move.

The spirit does not look away from him as it reaches out to take Zuko's hands, grip gentle as calloused hands wrapped around thin wrists. It feels like a challenge, like a taunt. Iroh is a general, experienced in war and courts and spirits and all other types of fighting. He had withstood against dragons, learned their lessons well and celebrated for it. He was the Crown Prince, once upon a time. He is no stranger to threats, especially the supernatural kind, but it is first to have Zuko on the line.

"Prince Zuko," the spirit says softly, and his words matches his lips for the first time since he woke up. It felt like the spirit had been speaking for a long, long time, and yet Iroh knows that he barely had spoken at all. The steely gaze leaves him for his nephew, and the release of tension almost leaves Iroh swaying. There is something soft in the spirit's gaze as they look at Zuko, and he wonders which to fear most - this strange look or the coldness he was looked at with.

(So where the hell are we? Because these feels like we're on the sea, and I don't remember that happening - or either of you in the Essempi, if I'm being honest.)

"May I ask where we are? I feel the gentle rocking of the waves, but I don't remember getting to the sea, nor have I ever seen either of you before," the spirit's movements and words goes out of sync once more, whole body spasming gently, so brief Iroh barely caught it. He shudders at the image formed, unrecognizeable and vast and alien in it's everythingness. He breathes out shakily, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

"We are in a ship called Wani," Zuko answers before Iroh could, and he thinks to the heavens his thanks for the steadines of his ward's voice and tone, "we are out at sea. The general and I found you out on the beach, and we brought you here for healing. Our apologies for not being able to stay where you were found, but we could take you where you must go."

The spirit hums thoughtfully as he nods almost absent-mindedly. He's not really looking at them, but somewhere above Zuko's head. Iroh watches the spirit's eyes glaze over, as if looking at something far away. A beat, then two, and something changes in the room, something almost oppressing at the same time it's pulling and then - it's gone.

(Huh. What the fuck. I can't go back to the Essempi?)

"Oh," starts the spirit, "this doesn't seem good. I cannot seem access the Essempi?"

Essempi, he assumes, is what the spirit calls the spirit realm. He'd never heard a spirit call it that, of course, but he thinks it would make sense that spirits has their own way of reffering to their own homes. He nods, slowly, and watches as the spirit reaches into the air itself. Watches as something gold and shiny appears in the spirit's hands, the way it was turned this way and that before the spirit bites down on it. It's gone immediately, and when the spirit realizes that they are staring at him, he throws them an odd glance.

(What are you staring at, huh? I'll have you know that The Blade gave me per-mi-ssion to take it! Or well, he didn't try to kill me, which, really, that's the same thing! He-)

"May I ask what's so fascinating that you simply must stare? I shall have you know that The Blade had given me per-mi-ssion to have it for myself," there's a touch of smugness in the spirit's voice despite the lack of expressions, before they add almost brightly, "or, I suppose, he did not make an attempt at my life and that's all I needed from him. After all, he-"

(I fucking knew it, that bitch is a sap when it comes to me.)

The spirit pauses waving his hand, seemingly realizing there's a cape over him. There's awe in the spirit's gaze as he trails his fingers on the shimmering embroidery of the blood-like cape. His face twists into a strange grin with too many teeth, a little mocking, a little mischievous, and very much delighted, "after all, he has a rather large, exploitable softness saved just for me."

Iroh is smart enough to connect that while the apple might've been taken unknowingly, the cape is freely given. He also understand that the owner of the cape is called The Blade, and there is history of violence from them. He shudders - if the blonde spirit can't go home, will this blood soaked spirit hunt them down?

"You..." Zuko speaks, and Iroh turns to him, only slightly panicked. "You can't go home anymore?"

(Fuck, it's been a really long time since I was allowed to go back.)

There's a heart broken look on the boy's face, and a soft, hurt sound escapes Iroh before he could stop it. His poor, beloved boy, stuck in a journey no one had ever succeeded at. He hates his brother, suddenly and deeply, for all the love he still keeps for the man. Zuko doesn't look at him, but the spirit does. His blue, blue eyes flashes with something, and Iroh almost misses it when he whispers, "I haven't been able to go home for a long time now."

Silence.

Iroh watches as his prince fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and gets an inkling on what's about to happen. But he feels frozen in place, words stuck in his throat, and he can only listen and shake as his child signs away their days to the spirit, "you can stay with me, if you'd like? I can't go home, either. Not until I find my honor."

(I don't think your people would like that, kid.)

Iroh feels the look from the spirit more than sees it, really, and curls his old hands into fists. The golden boy's voice is soft and considering as he speaks, "shouldn't you ask your crew first before inviting strangers into your ship, little prince?"

Zuko, predictably, scowls, biting out, "I'm not little! And this is my ship, I don't have to do that!"

(Yeah, right, if you say so, princeling.)

The spirit, blinks, and then coughs stiffly into his hand - a rather mortal like action to hide his laughter, and Iroh feels a little out of his depth. In an almost reasonable tone, the spirit says, "then, I suppose I must believe the little prince now, shall I?"

"I'm not a child! Don't treat me like one," Zuko growls out, and Iroh flinches, eyes widening as he reaches out - to do what, he's not sure. Spirits are other, twisted into the fabric of the universe itself, woven into the land and the air they breathe. Larger than any mortal will ever be, as wild and unpredictable as the sky and sea. Iroh is mortal, and old, but his little prince needs to be protected, the stupid, stupid boy-

Laughter like tinkling bells, like soft wind against the wind chimes in the old temples of Fire nation rings in the room, and he freezes on his spot as his head turns. From the window, the sun shines bright on the spirit, for all that it has never done so before, like the light craves to wrap around the golden boy. It felt like walking on sinking sand, dragging his body to pull Zuko close to him.

"Oh, Agni," he whispers, and wondering just who this spirit is.

(You're the bitch I heard before. I'm Tommy Innit, what the fuck do you need from me?)

"Oh, it was you I heard, isn't it?" the spirit says, staring at his nephew like he is the most fascinating creature the spirit had seen, even leaning forward until there's bately only a hand's length between him and Iroh's nephew. Zuko, for his part, had not looked away from the spirit since they woke up, eye glittering with something unnameable. "I am called Tommy Innit, and I wonder what you called me for?"

Called me for, Iroh thinks, feeling fainter than ever, I heard you. Did Zuko truly called for the spirit, or are they using his nephew's desperation and lost heart for their own purposes? How can he protect his boy like this, when this spirit can make his heart race with fear with just a look? And that name....

Init.

Years ago, Iroh had come across an old, old documents from long, long ago. It speaks of a far off island with a language different from any current Nation that exist, filled with rough syllables and harsher, snappier tones. It was a fascinating read, how those islanders views the world and the spirits and the connection between the two - but that's not what is important right now, is it?

No, no. His heart beat stutters, and he swallows dryly. The documents had a section for every Great Spirit and the words that are attached to them. Init is one of those words, and it means heat. A term attached to fire, and therefore Agni himself. A spirit sent by the Great Spirit - or perhaps.... He shakes his head. Surely not, he thinks as he squeezes the shoulder his hand is resting upon, but Zuko does not turn to him at all. Iroh begins to fear, just slightly, that this spirit is not a new one, but someone much, much older and well-known.

"I did?" The boy asks, and Iroh turns to his nephew like the sea to the shoreline. Zuko looks thoroughly enchanted, delighted. The spirit looks back, head tilting to the side. His golden hair falls across his shoulders like threads of silk, shining beneath the sun. Then they smile, a little too wide and too bright but as real as anything else.

(Yeah, bitch boy, who else could it be? For the old man? He looks fucking old, mate.)

"Yes, who else could it have been? Your ancient companion? He looks much too old to have a young one's voice."

The stranger, Init, flicks a glance to him again, a thread of amusement in his jewel-like eyes that is almost mocking. Zuko laughs, sounding a little giddy. It's the first act of joyful childishness he'd done since the Agni Kai, he realizes with a pang. He blinks, taking his hands back to tuck inside his sleeves. He breathes out, and steadies himself.

He will protect Zuko, as he'd sworn to himself when he followed the boy. This is just another obstacle to overcome, another possible threat to be wary of. He steps back and smiles, "Shall I serve us more tea while the two of you speak, then? I would assume, lord spirit, that the one served by my dear nephew had long been finished."

(Nephew, huh. You sure you want this guy here, Zuko?)

"Your nephew," says the spirit, looking bemused and thoughtful as he speaks, before he turns to Prince Zuko and asks, "do you wish for this man to stay here, Prince Zuko?"

Iroh stills, but Zuko is already nodding before the question was even done. Relief makes him breathe a little more easily, and he offers Zuko his cup and another for the spirit, before taking his own and sipping. He pulls a seat closer and takes it, only now realizing that his nephew had made himself comfortable at the side of the spirit's bed, dangling his legs over the edge and not letting go of the stranger's hand.

"Yes, of course," the prince says, eager. Then he falters, wavering, "would you like him to go, Init?"

(Who fucking cares about this guy? I want to know why I'm here, instead of like, back home, you know?)

The face twists, something sneering and annoyed. Iroh grips his cup and considers the consequences of harming a Great Spirit that controls their bending, or someone working for him. But the spirits shakes his head, saying impassively, "I don't care at all about your uncle - I'd rather know why I am here instead of having a rest in my home."

" I..." Prince Zuko looks away from the spirit, turning to their clasped hands, "I was asking Agni for help. I don't understand many things, but- but-"

The boy stops, exposed eye watering as he breathes out shakily. He breathes in, "last night, I discovered that my country had murdered children in their cribs. I was told there was an army, and yet found no evidence of one. Where else do I go from here? I don't- I don't understand."

His nephew's voice cracks, but bravely continues, "Uncle says I speak of treason to think that children should not have been or be dragged into war, and my father..."

Zuko trails off, hand pulling away from the spirit's hold to touch the bandages on his face. Iroh swallows, eyes falling closed. "I am my father's loyal son. I am my father's loyal son, and I should not entertain such thoughts."

(Why the fuck are you asking me, you sound like you'd already made your fucking mind? Stop being a little bitch and make up your mind.)

"Why ask me, then?" The spirit speaks softly, eyes knowing as he glances at Iroh then back to his nephew. "You already sound very sure of yourself. Only cowards ask for someone else to make the decision for them."

"I'm not a coward," Zuko says in a shaky tone, and Iroh places his cup down with a click, arms reaching for the Prince as the little boy bares his teeth furiously. The boy pulls away from the spirit, jumping down from the bed and scowling. The spirit smiles, all awkward stiffness and heavy amusement. When they speak, there's a mocking edge in his voice that sets Iroh's teeth on edge.

(Meh, meh, meh. I'm a prince and my fathers the king so i follow everything he says even if its bad blah blah blah - that's what you sound like, bitch.)

"Oh, really? You've listed to me your country's wrongdoing and how your father perpetuates it, and yet here you are speaking of obedience to him, daring to ask me to tell you to keep doing it? What is that, if not cowardice?"

Zuko shakes his head frantically, angrily, "it's not like that at all! I'm- I'm- I'm his son! The prince of my nation, spreading our righteousness and betterment to the world! And my father didn't- my country wouldn't-"

The prince shakes, and the spirit blinks impassively. Iroh had enough. Zuko doesn't need this kind of help that isn't help at all. He says, softly as he could, "do not speak of what you don't know, spirit-"

(Shut the fuck up, old man. He asked, not my problem if he doesn't like what he hears.)

"Do not speak to me when you are not spoken to, old man," the spirit says, eyes cold and unnerving as they stare into Iroh's. He grits his teeth, staring back steadily despite the fear. He wouldn't have been made a general or make it as a Crown Prince if he kept letting fear drown him. "Prince Zuko asked, and so he will listen regardless of what he thinks."

Then the spirit turns away from him, back to his nephew, and speaks once more.

(You can't even say your father wouldnt do that kind of shit, and if the betterment or whatever the fuck is killing children for your nation, is that really a cause you wanna follow?)

"Continue it, then, Prince Zuko. Can you tell me honestly that your father would not do such a thing as kill children in their cribs? You can't even finish a word of it, can you? Is that the cause you wish to fight for? The person you wish to die for? Sending children to their deaths at the hand of other children?"

"I- You- That's treason!"

Iroh watches as his nephew turns around, walking angrily towards the door and walking out. The door slams closed with a bang, and he moves to shield it against the spirit. Strangely, the spirit does not move, simply drinking from his teacup like he has nowhere else to do, or did not just fought a child cruelly.

"You..." He starts, fury overcoming the dread, "Prince Zuko is a child. Why would you speak to him that way?"

(His face is burned, and he's not home. You got a war fought by children against other children. I'm not stupid, bitch, Im Tommy fucking Innit. I can put two and two together. Besides, he's already against it, isn't he? He just needs a little push to get there.)

The spirit looks at him once more, face turning into a sneer like he's over compensating his expressions. He speaks, "do you think me stupid? He is injured and instead of home he is out here. You are in a war fought by children, against other children. I'm Tommy Innit, and if there's anything I know it will be that. And, I would say, he already knows the same things. He just needs to hear them spoken."

"It is treason," Iroh says, uncaring of how it will confirm or deny any accusations laid down. In the end, he only worries his brother will hear such things spoken in this ship, and how it will affect the prince and his homecoming. He, himself, had already resigned himself to such things, but for his nephew...

(Can't be treason if I'm not his citizen now, can i? 's not like he deserves to be king if he's all like that.)

"It is treason to you," the spirit says, "I am no citizen of your nation, and your king is not mine at all. He does not deserve to sit on that throne."

Silence settles heavily between them, and the spirit looks away almost dismissively. Again, Iroh wonders who this spirit is. Is he truly Agni, coming down from the heavens above to forsake their country? A servant spirit, sent to serve the chosen king until his coronation? An impostor, here to weaken the Fire Nation from inside out? If so, by whom? The other countries? The Avatar himself?

Iroh doesn't know, couldn't know. He takes a sip of his tea, and wonders.