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The Spirit World will never be fully understood. It is the root of life in all realms, all realities. Occasionally, those strong in heart and soul may find themselves traversing a chamber of the Spirit World at a pivotal moment in their lives. Countless beings from different worlds meet on common ground to console and guide one another in their hours of need.
Iroh was no stranger to this realm. The last time he had walked the Spirit World, he had commanded his forces to retreat from Ba Sing Se the next morning.
As his surroundings came into focus, he found himself in a small tavern. The architecture was humble, the craftsmanship shoddy, the cards table unlike anything he had ever seen... but a tavern was a tavern, no matter where you went. Several souls were gathered here, some familiar and others completely alien. A few didn't even seem to be human. It was the stranger at the counter, however, who really caught his attention.
He was staring solemnly into an empty glass, as if it held the answers he needed. Sweat beaded on his brow, a reflection of his condition back in his mortal realm. Sweat dampened the back of his brilliantly blue shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and his posture told the world that it had finally broken him.
Iroh approached slowly, deliberately avoiding his blind spot. "What is your drink of choice, traveller?" he offered merrily.
The man cut a look in his direction. "You got yourself a funny accent there," he grunted, "you know that?"
"Who's to say your accent is not funnier?"
The man snorted, as close to a laugh as Iroh felt he would get. "Got me there, I guess. Dreams are funny things, ain't they?" His eyes glanced at the stool next to him before he fell into a coughing fit, a handkerchief flying to his mouth with the speed of a first strike.
"How do you mean?" Iroh asked as he took a seat.
"I just want a cold beer, and if I ask for it, I'll get it. But this is a dream. None of this is real, so what's the point?"
"What would be the point if this was not a dream?"
"Dull the pain. Thin the blood. Don't know much about medicine, but maybe thinner blood... hurts less, I dunno."
Iroh nodded. "If the drink does nothing to soothe, I see no reason to have it! Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but... do you even want to be in here?"
"Quick old-timer, ain't ya?" the stranger grunted. "No, not much. I's always more partial to... lakesides. Riverbanks. Quieter spots, y’know?"
In an instant, before the stranger could realize what had happened, the tavern was gone. The two men were seated at a campfire, a beautiful lake shimmering in the afternoon sun behind the man. A tea kettle sat on a metal grate above the fire, the water just starting to boil. Iroh smiled as he poured their respective cups.
"Didn't know that was an option," the stranger grumbled as Iroh handed him a cup. "Least I know I ain't dead. What is this stuff?"
"It's white jade tea, with a special technique of mine that I can't share! But, I will say it involves a bit of tapioca! I've always found that tea soothes a troubled mind much more peacefully than alcohol."
They both sipped. "Hm," the stranger nodded. "Pretty good, there. Didn't expect to taste anything, but... huh." He looked around quizzically, taking in his surroundings. "If you don't mind me askin', who are you? Did you do somethin' to me? I know this ain't real life, and it's too... I know I'm still alive, but this ain't no dream, is it?"
"Pretty quick yourself," Iroh jested before extending a hand. "Iroh, former general of the Fire Nation Army."
The man regarded his hand hesitantly, then finally accepted. "Arthur Morgan… outlaw, I guess."
"I want you to know that I very much appreciate you taking my offer, Mr. Morgan! Outside of here, I don't get many opportunities to share tea with kind strangers anymore. This was the lake I would often visit as a child. I practiced firebending with my younger brother right out there, on that platform in the water!" When Arthur made no effort to turn around, eyes still fixed on him, Iroh continued. "I didn't do anything to you, spirits as my witness; where we are, you only get with deep inner struggle."
Arthur glanced down, as though he did not want to admit how much sense that made. He said nothing as he took slow sips of his tea. A family of turtle ducks waddled past their campfire, paying the two men no mind as they made their way to the water. Arthur studied them intently, not daring to show any emotion. When he finally spoke in a raspy whisper, his words cut Iroh to the bone. "I don't deserve this."
Iroh set his cup down on the flat stone next to them, his face sympathetic. "What makes you say that?"
"This feels like a... a joke at my expense. Showin' me all this... it's peaceful here. Quiet. Feller with a book and a smoke would feel right at home. But I ain't a peaceful man. I've been a wrathful, stubborn, violent fool in my day, and it finally caught up to me."
"Your cough?"
"Tuberculosis," Arthur uttered the word with hatred. "Doc gave me the good news just yesterday. I got it… shakin' down a sick man for money. Weren’t even a debt to me, just some Austrian blowhard we keep around. Feller died shortly after, all because I didn't question what I was doin'. Never did, really." He sighed and finished his tea before continuing. "I robbed folks, killed when it seemed needed, did all sorts of rotten business in the name of loyalty to our gang. Our leader." The last word left his lips like a curse, as if he were spitting out a piece of gristle.
"And you believe this is karma?"
"If that means the goin' around is comin' around, sure. Loyalty don’t amount to a goddamn thing if you’re loyal to snakes. Live too rotten, hurt folks too much, you eventually get yours. You hit a point of no return and ya got no choice but to watch as everything is taken from you, knowin' the whole time it's your own goddamn fault." He sighed, his breath rattling like the boiler of a Fire Nation scouting vessel.
"If you don't mind my saying," Iroh offered, “I find that karma rarely works so directly, philosophically speaking."
"Huh? Nah, I ain't much of a philosophizin' type. I was never much of a thinkin' man. I just did what I was told because that's what I thought loyalty meant. Stickin' by the men and women who got your back, no matter what. Now, I... I don't know."
Iroh reached over to refill Arthur's cup. "Philosophy isn't about knowing the answers to everything in life, contrary to what most people think. Part of the enlightenment gurus and monks achieve comes from one’s full acceptance that they will never fully understand any part of nature! True philosophy is how you think about life. Why, it's simply not possible to not have a philosophy! We wake up every day, look at life, and make our choices according to how we see it. And to base yours on loyalty to your friends is certainly more admirable than most!"
"Guess you could say that," Arthur nodded as he took another sip. "For all the good it's done me."
"You sound like my nephew. And a younger me, for that matter!" Iroh let out a bellowing laugh as Arthur stared at him, confused. Iroh cleared his throat and blushed. "I wasn't always a fat old man with a love for tea and music, I used to be the general of the mightiest army the world had ever seen! We were told it was our divine right to spread our influence to every corner of the world, to share our greatness!"
"Yeah, I've seen what that does," Arthur grunted.
"Exactly! It was pointless!" Iroh gave a much drier laugh this time, one tinged with regret. "I lost so many men trying to conquer a legendary city, and it never meant a thing to me until... I lost Lu Ten. Suddenly, I was grieving not only my son, but every man I had lost. Every man I had killed. I took a step outside of myself and saw what I had done for the first time, and I was horrified."
"So... what'd ya do?"
"That night, I found myself here. And I learned something very important. More important than firebending, or leadership, or even brewing tea!"
Iroh took the kettle of tea and began gently pouring it down the slanted side of the rock. The stream split fractally, each new stream splitting into their own forks, with one main current in the middle. "Life is a flowing current of forked paths and crossroads," he explained. "So many people assume that once you've chosen your path, you are stuck on it, never to find your way back to what might have been.
"Now, place your hand here," Iroh instructed, pointing to a smaller, weaker stream on the outskirts of the flow. Arthur complied and cupped his hand at a light angle. "The reality is that it is always possible to find the correct path again, with a little guidance and patience!" As Iroh spoke, the tea curved with Arthur's hand, changing its course to eventually reconnect with the main stream.
"I think I kinda get it, somewhat," he muttered.
"Good!" Iroh beamed. "Because I don't have enough tea left in the kettle to do another demonstration!"
This time, Arthur laughed with him. When they had settled, he asked, "So how about yourself?”
“How do you mean?” Iroh grunted as he leaned forward to prepare another kettle.
“If we’re here ‘cause of inner conflict, that means you got somethin’ goin’ on, too, right?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to be bothered by all of that,” the older man shook his head.
“C’mon, old-timer, do ya think we met fer a reason or not?”
Iroh pursed his lips, gave a single nod, then sighed. “My nephew,” he spoke softly. “He is… lost. He reached a crossroads of his own, and made his choice out of fear. Every couple of nights or so, he comes to visit me in my cell, and he voices his frustrations. I can still see the glimpses of courage and kindness within him, but he fights so hard to drown them in a sea of rage and spite… do you have any children, Mr. Morgan?”
Arthur was looking into the embers between them. “Long time ago,” he muttered. “I wasn’t there enough to really… he and his mother died while I was gone. No siblings, either, so no nieces or nephews. Closest thing I’d say would be Jack, John Marston’s boy. Bright little boy, too, don’t deserve his washout papa one damn bit.”
“Does he mistreat his son?”
“No, no, he’s not that much of a bastard, he just… he left us all once. For a whole year, Abigail and Jack were stuck without someone they both really needed. And so were the rest of us. The man abandoned his own family!” Arthur was grinding his teeth now.
“But he came back? Why do you think that was?”
He paused. “Reckon he did,” he relented. “Finally unblocked his ears enough to let a sliver of sense crawl inside that coconut he has.”
“And, even after a year, he made things right,” Iroh added.
“I wouldn’t go that far, he still pouts and whines like a child himself about it whenever he and the missus get into it.”
“And yet, he stays.”
“What’re you gettin’ at?”
“I won’t pretend to know everything about him, but what if John Marston had the right idea to leave?”
Arthur stared at him for a moment. “Look,” he finally replied, “maybe… maybe three years ago, he mighta been able to run. But now? With Pinkertons and lawmen everywhere, not to mention the price on all our heads after our last big score went bad, I just don’t see such an easy way out.”
“There’s always a way out, my friend,” Iroh countered. “It may not be easy, but it is always possible. Just as it is never too late to find your path again, neither is it ever too late to leave the darkness behind.”
“Are you sayin’ that ‘cause you think I can make it, or ‘cause you need it to be true for your nephew?”
Neither of them said a word for a minute. Iroh looked to the lake behind Arthur, watching the turtle ducks chase tadpoles. The fire was fully extinguished now, the few remaining embers losing their glow.
Arthur removed his hat and rubbed his temples. He gave another rattling sigh. “Look, I… I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s alright, you may be correct,” Iroh said. He was sitting straight now, his face stoic and bereft of all jovial whimsy. “My nephew is a stubborn, rash, hotheaded boy who was taught his whole life that power gave him a divine right to oppress others. And yet, I have seen him comfort children. He helped me open a tea shop. He showed mercy to a boy he believed to be his mortal enemy, twice. Even now, when he visits me, I can hear the part of him that wishes to be better, and I hear how he fights it. These feelings, they control us if we let them. Once they do, it is never easy to let them go, but it is always necessary if we ever want to heal. Even if that means forgiving those who betray us.”
“I see what you’re doing,” Arthur grunted, wagging his finger. “Truth is… hell, I dunno why the kid bothers me so much, why it’s so hard to see anything in him. But I’m over here thinkin’ about everything, and to be quite truthful with ya, I think you’re right. This whole time I think… I’d been toyin’ with the idea of runnin’ away with Sadie ‘n’ some others. But I reckon none of that matters if we leave that boy to hang, does it? Especially since I… well, you know.” He shook off the ball of emotion that threatened to take hold of him, choosing to lean back on his elbows and stretch his legs, instead.
“Y’know somethin’?” He chirped, looking up. “That boy’s damn lucky to have you. His daddy sounds a good bit like mine. Rotten bastards poisonin’ the souls of their kin. ‘Cept, you been doin’ the work for years to keep the boy safe, ain’t ya? That’s rarer than folks expect. And I think he knows that.”
He sat up, rubbing his hands together. “They need us, don’t they?”
Iroh smiled. “I reckon they do!” He beamed, as if to ask if he had used the word correctly. Arthur’s half-smile was his only answer, so he continued. “If you think about it, neither of us knows how much time we have left. We need to do something soon, wouldn’t you say?”
Arthur fixed his eyes back on the smoldering ashes. "You're probably right. Hell or high water, we ain't got the luxury of bidin' our time anymore." He looked up. "Best a' luck t'you, General."
"To you as well, Outlaw," Iroh returned, offering his hand to his companion. It was taken, and the two men shook as Arthur's eyes fixed on something behind Iroh. His face took on a look of worry, then calm stoicism.
"Okay," he said, seemingly to no one.
Iroh turned to the hills behind him, and beheld a great stag, the likes of which he had never seen before. Not combined with other animals, not galloping away from the intruders in his domain, but simply observing. The setting sun cast a soft silhouette of his mighty antlers, mist blowing from his nose with every breath. Iroh was unfamiliar with this spirit, but could immediately feel his importance.
He turned back to Arthur. "What a magnificen--" but the other man was gone.
Iroh awoke sitting up in his cell, facing the wall. The usual guard was doing his usual routine of petty gloating, but none of it had registered. In the months Iroh had been imprisoned, he had not once acknowledged a single word the man had said, and yet he never ceased his barrage of mockery. It was more sad than anything, and Iroh almost pitied the man.
Then came footsteps. Soft, reserved, not trying to be heard echoing down the hallway. Ming's footsteps were instantly recognizable. He allowed himself a brief smile before slipping back into character.
Sure enough, he heard the soft "Lunch time!" that always heralded her arrival.
"Careful, Ming!" came the guard's boisterous voice. "Don't get too close! His stench'll knock ya right out!"
Ming's silence told Iroh she found the joke no funnier than the first twenty times she'd heard it.
"This time, I brought you an extra bowl of rice!" Ming announced after the comedian had departed.
In that moment, Iroh made his decision. "Thank you, Ming," he replied graciously. "Ever since I was put in here, you have been very kind to me. You don't look well, perhaps you should take the rest of the day off!"
"Huh?" Ming sputtered, confused. "I feel f--"
"I'm serious," Iroh interrupted, his smile gone. "You don't want to be here this afternoon."