Chapter Text
From the hand of Azulon III,
Recorded in 170 AG
Welcome, reader, to Volume II of the story of Iroh and Ursa. Volume I traced their relationship from their engagement and marriage in 69 AG to the birth of their second son Zuko in 83 AG. In the first volume, they told you what it was like to be teenagers forced into marriage who were trying to make the best of the confusing feelings that emerged, from the perspectives of the commoner suddenly turned princess and the crown prince who was not yet The Dragon of The West. They remembered their first touches, first journeys, first fights, first kisses. They recalled the momentous occasions of meeting Sun Warriors, spirits, and White Lotus members, and how those encounters shaped each of their attitudes towards the war.
Iroh received the blessing of the last dragons Ran and Shaw, who imparted to him the true meaning of firebending and reminded him of the importance of balance. He trained with the Sun Warriors, developing his famed fire-breathing and learning how to incorporate “untraditional” techniques into his own novel style of firebending. Ursa trained with the Sun Warriors too. She learned the skill of tracing chi that started her journey towards spiritual mastery, and she learned the truth of the prophecy that had brought her and Iroh together: that their children would restore balance to the ways of firebending, not just preserve the royal family’s rule. As Iroh strove to become a balanced soldier and Fire Lord, Ursa chose to focus on understanding her family history; specifically, understanding Avatar Roku.
In addition to romance and prophecy, the first volume also told readers of the other members of the royal family. Azulon I’s favoritism between his sons was all but an open secret in the capital. The death of his wife Ilah in childbirth led him to prize Iroh, the midwinter child who was born lucky, and scorn Ozai, the deadly child who was lucky to be born. Truly, ‘favoritism’ is too gentle of a word for how Azulon treated Ozai, and how his vitriol infected even Iroh. Until Iroh grew old enough to be kinder to his brother, they famously shared a strained relationship that never quite recovered from those early wounds.
Those wounds even extended to the rest of Ilah’s family, who were very close with Iroh but not so much with Ozai as a result of Ilah’s death. Iroh even named his firstborn after his maternal grandfather Lu Ten, and he was very fond of his cousin Kai Ming and her many acrobatic daughters. Ozai could not say the same. Amidst this brotherly rivalry, Ursa’s arrival at the palace meant she was the only person who could get to know Ozai without the baggage of Ilah’s death clouding her perception of him. As a result, she became the family member who arguably understood Ozai best, and perhaps even one who commanded something like respect from him. Ursa even introduced Ozai to her best friend, Hana, who captured his heart.
The birth of Iroh and Ursa’s first son Lu Ten in 73 AG, by all accounts, was a sign of the prophecy coming true. Both Iroh and Ursa remembered his innate talent very well: a boy who created fire before his second birthday and managed to turn it white after his eighth. His bright mind and equally bright fire made him basically the perfect heir to the throne, beloved by even strict Azulon and brooding Ozai; a fortunate thing, after an assassination attempt on Ma’inka Island caused Ursa to lose her second pregnancy and dealt terrible injuries to both her and Lu Ten. The tragedy scarred both Iroh and Ursa deeply, leading them to not discuss the topic of pregnancy again for years afterwards.
Consequently, the accidental conception of their second son Zuko came as a surprise to all parties. By that time, Ozai had successfully courted and married Hana and welcomed his own son, Azulon II (affectionately nicknamed Zulon) while Iroh and Ursa had resigned themselves to raising Lu Ten as an only child who would share a close relationship with his cousins. As you will soon read for yourself, Zuko’s unexpected arrival altered the family’s dynamic, especially as he grew into a very nontraditional sort of prince.
The first volume is, in my opinion, the more classically romantic of the two. My theory is that when Iroh and Ursa began journaling about their lives after the end of the war, they took their time reliving the tender moments of falling in love because, frankly, they needed to remember how to fall in love again after decades of war taking its toll on their marriage. This second volume unfortunately details those uglier parts, especially towards the end of the war, as the next generation of the royal family grew old enough to participate in key battles.
That is why I chose to begin Volume II here, after the birth of Zuko. Although Lu Ten and Zulon have passed, Zuko is still alive and willing to write about his early life. He will serve as the voice of his generation, sharing what it was like to grow up in the palace and slowly come to understand the truth of the war. His perspective, juxtaposed against his parents, will serve to shape this second volume.
From the hand of Zuko,
Recorded in 169 AG
There’s a portrait of my family, made about seven months after my birth, that is one of my favorites. It hangs in my study; I can see it right now as I describe it to you. In it, my father sits on the viewer’s right, and my mother on the left. They’re both dressed in their everyday palace attire, nothing especially extravagant. Neither of them are smiling with their mouths, as longtime royals know a smile is a rather exhausting pose to hold during the painting process. But the artist managed to capture the way each of them smiled with their eyes: Mom with her knowing little crinkle at the corners, Dad with that spark like he’s just thought up a new tea joke.
You can see those details even though they’re not looking at you. Their gazes are drawn to the middle of the portrait, where Lu Ten sits between them, all of ten years old (and a half, he would proudly remind you). He is smiling—an appropriately regal smile, no teeth showing, but a smile all the same. He can’t contain that smile, because I’m sitting in his lap. Actually, I’m sleeping in his lap, leaning back against him with my eyes closed and my mouth slightly open. Mom is resting a hand on Lu Ten’s knee, next to me, while Dad has his hand on Lu Ten’s shoulder.
It’s one of my favorites for a few reasons. It’s a rare piece of evidence documenting that period of early childhood that I don’t remember. It’s the only family portrait where I’m sitting in Lu Ten’s lap like that, a preview of how frequently he carried me around when I was small. And it’s a glimpse of that brief window in my life when I was still somewhat ‘normal,’ as much as that word can be applied to a prince.
I’m the only one left from that portrait now. When I contemplate my inevitable death, as people my age do in our idle time, I like to hope that it will feel something like falling asleep in my big brother’s lap with our parents watching over us.
Winter, 83 AG
“Look at my baby brother!”
It was Iroh’s thirty-fourth birthday party, but that was hardly obvious from Lu Ten’s behavior. He was showing off Zuko to everyone in sight like the baby was the actual guest of honor. Piandao (still) didn’t know much about babies, but it seemed to him that Zuko was oddly calm amid the fuss of the party, even with Lu Ten’s loud voice so close to his ear. Maybe he’d grown accustomed to Lu Ten’s boundless energy while in the womb.
“Colonel Piandao!” Lu Ten spotted him talking to Korzu and ran over, “Have you met my baby brother yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“This is Zuko!” Lu Ten held up the baby so Piandao could get a closer look. It was already evident that Zuko had inherited more of his mother’s traits, with his black hair and his pale gold eyes. He squinted at Piandao’s face in a manner that was rather reminiscent of Ursa before smiling and reaching out towards him with a little hand.
“Nice to meet you, Prince Zuko,” Piandao said, gently touching the proffered hand. “How old is he now?”
“Seven months,” Lu Ten answered. “He just learned how to crawl! Want to see?”
“Sure. Will he do it now?”
“I think so.” Lu Ten planted the baby on the ground a few feet away and positioned himself next to Piandao and Korzu. “Come here, Zuko!”
Zuko looked up at his big brother with that smile still on his face, like he was waiting for some game to start. When nothing happened but Lu Ten’s continued calls, the smile vanished, and tears filled his little eyes.
“Oh, no,” Korzu clucked his tongue as the crying began, “I don’t think Zuko wants to crawl right now, Lu Ten.”
“Sorry, Zuko!” Lu Ten scooped him back up. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, I’m here now, okay? I won’t leave you alone again. Don’t cry!”
Fortunately for Piandao’s ears, Lu Ten’s method was rather effective. Zuko’s piercing cries abated into whimpers, and he pressed his tear-streaked face into his big brother’s shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” Lu Ten apologized to the adults. “I shouldn’t have tried to make him crawl in front of everyone.”
“It’s alright,” Korzu brushed it off. “We’ll see it some other time.”
“Thank you for introducing him to me,” Piandao said. “I can see you’re very excited to finally have a baby brother.”
“Yeah! I mean, I wanted a baby brother when I was little, but I actually think it’s better that I’m older. Now I’m big enough to carry him around, and I know way more stuff to teach him.”
“Oh, really? What will you be teaching him?” Korzu asked.
“How to be a good prince, of course.”
“Of course,” Piandao smiled. He had a faint memory—very faint—of Iroh as a boy, back when they’d first met, talking about his new baby brother. For a few short months, Iroh had been much like Lu Ten: ready to step into his new role as big brother and teach little Ozai to be a fine prince like himself.
Then Fire Lord Azulon had had his say.
“Hey, Colonel Piandao,” Lu Ten tilted his head, “it’s pretty responsible of me to watch Zuko during the party, right?”
“Well…” Piandao had a vague sense that he was walking into a trap; Iroh had set up his winning arguments in class debates in similar fashion. “...yes, I’d say so.”
“Responsible enough to get me my own sword?”
Korzu laughed. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“He told me he’ll teach me when I’m old enough.” Lu Ten’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he just likes lying to children.”
“Alright, alright,” Piandao held his hands up, “here’s the truth. I can’t forge a custom sword for you at this age. You’ll outgrow it within the year. But I’ll help you pick out a good training sword from the armory and give you some one-on-one lessons before I leave. Is that good enough?”
“Ye- oh, come on, Zuko!” Lu Ten lifted the baby off him with a disgusted expression, revealing a wet spot on his shoulder. “I told you not to suck on my shirt like that.”
“He’s probably hungry,” Korzu observed.
“Yeah, I better take him to Mom. But it was really good to see you both. Honestly, Zuko,” he scolded as he walked away, “this is a new tunic.”
“Do you think he’s going to hold me to the lessons?” Piandao asked Korzu.
“Definitely. Just be glad he’s still too young to think to order you to do it.”
No, it wasn’t that he was too young. Piandao could tell; like his common-born mother, Lu Ten wasn’t the type to order people around unnecessarily. If only the same could be said for the rest of the royal family…Ozai’s son, the second Azulon, was toddling over to intercept Lu Ten with a familiarly petulant expression on his round face.
“My turn!” he demanded, raising his arms up.
“Sure, in a minute,” Lu Ten said. “I have to take Zuko to my mom first.”
“My turn! Make him walk!”
“Zulon, don’t be silly. Zuko can’t walk yet. Just wait a minute.”
Zulon’s face reddened. Piandao had seen that look on a younger Ozai’s face plenty of times: a tantrum was brewing. Spirits, where were the parents? Why were the royal children just wandering around by themselves anyway? Would he and Korzu have to interfere now?
“Hey,” Lu Ten squatted down before the volcano erupted, “you like pudding, right?”
The red receded. “Puddin’?”
“Yeah, you like it, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I saw some on the dessert table earlier. Here,” Lu Ten shifted Zuko to the side and held out a free hand, “come help me take Zuko to my mom, and then we’ll go get some pudding.”
Brightening, Zulon took the proffered hand.
“If only Iroh had developed the same skill of defusing Ozai as a boy,” Korzu sighed as the boys walked on.
“Iroh didn’t care to try until Ozai’s bad habits were already set,” Piandao reminded. “Besides, you’re forgetting that Iroh had plenty of his own anger as a boy. He didn’t calm down until we were out of school. Lu Ten has his looks, but not his temper.”
“True,” Korzu smiled. “That was a very Ursa way of handling it: distract, then redirect. Iroh would’ve been more straightforward.”
“Yes, I think so.”
Across the room, Lu Ten finally handed Zuko back to Ursa. It took Piandao a moment to recognize her, with her hair barely reaching her shoulders; he really needed to get the full story on what had happened there. Lu Ten then knelt down to let Zulon clamber onto his back. Zulon slung his arms around Lu Ten’s neck, his golden-brown hair pressing against Lu Ten’s darker brown as he tried to sit as high as possible. Laughing, Lu Ten let Zulon steer him towards the prized pudding. Going from being the only royal child to the oldest of three might’ve been a challenge for any other ten-year-old, but this one looked truly happy to have other little princes around.
Maybe these princes really would be different from their fathers. Maybe their love and laughter would be life-long instead of shrivelling up with growing pressure. Piandao could only hope.
From the hand of Iroh,
Recorded in 102 AG
What do I write about Zuko? I know historians will examine every word I put to paper. Curiosity about Zuko’s early life is only natural; he is not even twenty years old, yet he has already proven himself to be twice the man I ever was. Future generations will wonder, I’m sure, what it was about Zuko that made him unique even among our family. Was it the mysterious blessing of Agni he received as a newborn? Was it the close relationship he shared with Ursa? Was it some strange Avatar power that had been passed down to him but not Lu Ten? Or was it simply a matter of destiny and prophecy that would’ve led Zuko to do the right thing regardless of those factors?
Frankly, I can’t answer any of these questions, and I do not think it does any good for you all to ponder them either. Maybe it was some combination of these factors, or none at all, or something we will never know. But I will happily tell you about what I remember about his early days.
Unfortunately, as I’d predicted from the moment that Ursa told me of her pregnancy, I had far less time to spend with infant Zuko than I had with Lu Ten. I had to leave Zuko less than a month after his birth, and I wasn’t able to return until half a year had passed; an eternity for a baby.
It was inevitable. At the time of Lu Ten’s birth, I was twenty-three years old and a new captain. When Zuko came along ten years later, I was thirty-three and an experienced colonel vying for my promotion to general. It was no small task to make time for both Lu Ten and Zuko during my shrinking breaks; the boys were so far apart in age, with such different needs. I was determined to make it work, but I know I fell short at times. I was—am—not a perfect father. I fear Zuko suffered more for that by sheer misfortune of being younger. I’m lucky that he has never held that against me.
But I want to make one thing about Zuko’s childhood as clear as possible: for all my other flaws, I never, ever pitted my boys against each other. Never. My rivalry with Ozai is one of my greatest regrets in life, and that bitter seed was sown at the moment of Ozai’s birth by my father. When Ursa and I decided to start our family, I vowed I would not plant similar seeds among my own children. As often as I could, I told both Lu Ten and Zuko that they had earned all the unconditional love in my heart through the simple act of birth, and that they were each wonderful young men in their own special ways.
I tried to tell them that, anyway. I don’t know how often they heard me. Even though I never compared them, it is the nature of high society to measure brothers against each other, doubly so with royal brothers. Parents can’t shield their children from everything.
It was an unusually warm mid-winter day. The sun was high and bright, trying its mightiest to send its rays across the greater distance. The wind was a calm breeze instead of whipping away the sun’s warmth. Lu Ten was taking advantage of the good weather to spar with Mahito in the garden, both of them wielding wooden swords.
“No, Mahi,” Lu Ten was correcting, “Master Piandao said to think of the sword as a part of the body…”
Iroh wasn’t paying close attention to the boys; whatever had happened in Piandao’s hour-long lesson had been enough to convince Lu Ten that no other sword instruction would ever compare, so Iroh wasn’t going to waste his breath with advice. Instead, he lay by the turtleduck pond, in the shade of the great tree. Being in one of Ursa’s favorite spots would hopefully remind Zuko that Iroh was also his parent.
“Zuko,” he called, “can you look at Daddy?”
Despite laying tummy-down on Iroh’s chest, Zuko was more interested in the turtleducks that had come out to enjoy the warm day. He held his head up with remarkable stability while his eyes stayed on the turtleducks waddling about.
“Zuko,” Iroh tried again, “what about Daddy? Can you look at me too?”
A little nudge to Zuko’s chin made him turn to Iroh with wide sunshine eyes, like he’d forgotten Iroh was even there.
“Hi, little phoenix,” Iroh greeted, “how are you today?”
Zuko’s mouth opened and closed silently. Funny; Iroh remembered a lot more babbling from Lu Ten at the same age, but Zuko always looked as if he was simply mimicking the motions of talking without the accompanying sounds. It was an odd quirk, but it was undoubtedly Zuko.
“I’m Dad-dy,” Iroh said, drawing out the syllables. “Dad-dy, that’s me. You probably don’t remember me very well since I’ve been gone for most of your life so far. That was actually my birthday party you attended last night.”
Zuko was still watching Iroh with what looked like interest, so Iroh kept talking.
“I’m your parent too, like your Mommy, but I’m not exactly like her. I have to leave home a lot, like I did after you were born, and then I come back after months and months like I did a few days ago. But I want you to remember, Zuko, that just because I’m not at home like Mommy doesn’t mean I don’t love you like Mommy, alright? I love you very, very much, no matter how far away I am. And when I’m lucky enough to be here with you, I’m going to do everything I can to show you that.”
Zuko squinted at Iroh in a very Ursa-esque manner, as much as the resemblance could be visible in a seven-month-old. How much had Ursa been squinting at the baby like that for him to have already picked up the mannerism?
“Not sure you want my company, are you?” Iroh teased. “Alright, let me show you something fun. You like those turtleducks? Listen to this.”
Iroh put his hands over his mouth and mimicked a turtleduck call. The trick, which normally performed quite well with children, got no reaction out of Zuko. Hm, perhaps he still preferred visual humor. Iroh crossed his eyes and wagged his tongue, provoking a tiny giggle from the baby on his chest. That was more like it.
“What are you two doing?” Ursa asked, walking up. “Seeing who can pull the silliest face?”
“Something like that,” Iroh replied, closing one eye and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. Success; Zuko laughed again.
“I thought you were keeping an eye on Lu Ten too.”
“I am.”
Ursa pointed across the turtleduck pond, where the boys had apparently dropped their swords to grapple hand-to-hand instead. Mahito had managed to pull Lu Ten into a complex headlock, with much yelling and wriggling from both parties as Lu Ten tried to break free.
“They’re fine,” Iroh dismissed. “Piandao and I tried to kill each other in about half our sparring matches at that age. It’s how they learn.”
“You know these comments about how you and Piandao grew up just make me nervous about puberty, right?”
“He’ll be fine. He has you. Besides,” Iroh kissed Zuko’s forehead, “this one here is still nowhere near puberty.”
Ursa smiled and lay down next to them in the grass. “That’s true, isn’t it, Zuko?” she cooed. Zuko immediately began squirming his way towards her. Iroh helped him along, passing him onto Ursa’s chest. It was silly to be offended by a baby’s preference for its mother, but it stung all the same.
“He’ll become more comfortable with you eventually,” Ursa said, reading Iroh’s thoughts. “You just have to keep spending time with him while you’re here, so he can get used to you.”
“I know. I will.”
Iroh did his best to live up to that promise during those few weeks at home. Admittedly, it had been a long time since he had been responsible for a baby. He dug deep into his decade-old memories of caring for Lu Ten: diapers, baths, playtime, lullabies. The skills came back easier than expected, even though the physical tasks of waking up with the baby and bending over his crib were a bit harder at this age.
But in all his memories of Lu Ten’s infancy, Iroh couldn’t recall the cat being so involved.
Yet with Zuko, Xiliu was always there. Always. Any time Iroh opened the door to the nursery, Xiliu was somewhere near Zuko. If Zuko was in a good mood, Xiliu would play some game with his tail batting Zuko’s face that somehow made the baby squeal with laughter. If Zuko was upset, Xiliu would groom him like a kitten until someone else came to soothe him. If Zuko was asleep, Xiliu would perch on the crib’s edge and watch over him dutifully. It made no difference whether Iroh shut Xiliu out of the nursery after each visit. One way or another, the cat always found a way back inside, shooting Iroh that taunting feline look upon his return.
None of this had happened with Lu Ten. It wasn’t that Xiliu disliked Lu Ten or anything; once Lu Ten had grown old enough to respect the cat’s boundaries, the two had established a perfectly cordial relationship that mostly involved Xiliu seeking food scraps and ear scratches. But Xiliu had always had such little tolerance for the shenanigans of babies and toddlers, staying far away from them. Even now, he refused to let two-year-old Zulon get within ten feet of him. Zuko was an inexplicable exception.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ursa said when Iroh asked her about it. “Maybe he’s gotten more patient with age.”
“But he doesn’t do this with Zulon.”
“Well, Zulon’s out in the villa. Zuko’s right here.”
“Even when Zulon comes here, Xiliu runs away.”
That gave her pause. “Zulon’s older,” she said finally. “He grabs at things a lot. Zuko’s still too small to really bother Xiliu by doing that. Once he starts grabbing more, Xiliu will probably put some distance between them.”
Ursa’s prediction didn’t come to pass. When Zuko started grabbing, Xiliu…tolerated it. Zuko was permitted to pat XiXi’s ears, hold his paws, boop his nose, and, eventually, wrap his arms around the cat like a great stuffed animal. Xiliu allowed all of it to occur with a patience Iroh hadn’t known the cat possessed. Iroh kept waiting for something to go wrong--for Zuko’s little hands to grab the wrong thing, for Xiliu’s claws to tear into tender infant flesh--but that moment never came. Whatever affection Xiliu had for Zuko was apparently enough to overpower animal instinct.
“He loves him,” Ursa said as they watched Xiliu groom Zuko before bed. “That’s all it is.”
“More than he loves Lu Ten?”
“He’s a cat. They play favorites in ways we would never,” she shrugged. “Besides, I don’t think it’s that simple. Maybe he remembers Ma’inka in his own way, so he’s making sure nothing happens to this one.”
“Maybe,” Iroh conceded. “Or maybe Zuko just smells like you.”
“Two things can be true.”
“I know, I know. I’m not being fair. I should be grateful, really.” He kissed her temple. “I’m fortunate there are so many people watching over my son while I’m gone.”
“Yes. But no one who could ever replace you.”
Her lips found his, the initial chaste comfort deepening into a reminder that Iroh should be lavishing his wife with her fair share of attention before he left again…
“Dad?”
Why were kids so gifted at sensing the perfect moment to interrupt their parents? Iroh broke the kiss and glanced at the nursery door, where Lu Ten was standing with his pajamas on and his hair mussed from his pillow.
“Why are you up, my love?” Iroh asked. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah, a little. Can I have some bedtime tea, please?”
“Of course.” He and Ursa would just have to continue after Lu Ten was asleep, then, if they still had the energy for it. She smiled at him, forgiving as ever, as he left her with Zuko and took Lu Ten to his study for tea.
Usually, Lu Ten had a lot to say during midnight visits. Many a nightmare had been cured by Lu Ten telling a groggy Iroh all about the bad dreams before finally falling back asleep with Captain Moopotamus in his arms. But that old stuffed hippo-cow was in Zuko’s room now, and Lu Ten didn’t seem to want to talk.
“Is something keeping you up?” Iroh asked as he brewed the chrysanthemum tea.
“Mm…kind of.”
“Kind of? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Then why’d you say it?” Iroh teased.
Lu Ten shrugged, not saying anything else as he took the tea. Iroh didn’t push, just sat next to him on the couch and let him drink silently. Even the chattiest of children had quiet moods.
“Dad,” Lu Ten said finally, “are you still leaving next week?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How long will you be gone?”
This was always a tricky question. Missing Lu Ten’s seventh birthday had taught Iroh not to make promises about when he’d return, but he also didn’t want to leave Lu Ten waiting and wondering endlessly again.
“I’m going to try to be back for Zuko’s first birthday,” he answered, “but I can’t guarantee it. I probably won’t be back for your birthday, though. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. You were there last year, and eleven’s not a very important year anyway.”
“What are you talking about? Every year is an important year. Why, I’m thirty-four, and each one of my years have been important.”
“Really?” Lu Ten tilted his head. “What’d you do when you turned eleven?”
“Hm, I decided to spend my birthday that year with Great-Granny and Great-Grampa at Senlin, so I could have a snow party. I took Colonel Piandao and Doctor Korzu with me, and all my cousins came as well. It was small, but it was a lot of fun.”
“That sounds fun. You should have another snow party next year, so Mom and Zuko and I can be part of it.”
Iroh laughed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Uncle told me something else about your eleventh birthday.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. He said after you turned eleven, Grandfather started teaching you lightning. Did that actually happen?”
“Yes, it did.”
“Then why do I have to wait until I’m thirteen?”
“To be safe.” Iroh held up his scarred left palm, “I hurt myself so badly my first time generating lightning that I was too scared to do it again until I was almost thirteen anyway. It went much better the second time because I was more patient and more cautious than I had been at eleven. Waiting until thirteen makes it less likely you’ll hurt yourself the same way.”
Lu Ten frowned. “You don’t think I can do it right the first time?”
“I’m sure you’re capable of it, but lightning is unpredictable. Mastering your basics first will help.”
“You don’t think I’m going to finish mastering my basics until I’m thirteen?”
“I didn’t say that, love. I’m sure you will, and then learning more advanced techniques will help prepare you for lightning even more.”
The frown didn’t leave Lu Ten’s face as he stared at his almost-empty teacup. “Dad,” he said in a small voice, “please, can’t you teach me lightning now? Before you leave?”
“Why now?”
“Because I have to look after Zuko while you’re gone.”
“What does lightning have to do with Zuko, love?”
“Well…” he fidgeted, “at Ma’inka, Uncle used lightning to kill those assassins, after they hurt Mom and killed my sister. So if I learn lightning, I can kill bad guys in the palace.”
“Oh, my boy,” Iroh sighed, “I’m so sorry you’re worrying about such dark things. But you should not be planning to kill people at your age. There are plenty of guards in the palace who can handle threats for you.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Lu Ten challenged, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m getting older. I’ll have to kill Fire Nation enemies someday, like you do in the war.”
“Someday, yes, in the future. Not now.”
“You don’t know that, Dad. You’re not home enough to know everything.”
The simple statement was a blow to Iroh’s gut. Perhaps it was true, but it was a truth better left unspoken. Or so Iroh had thought.
“I think about Ma’inka a lot, now that Zuko’s here.” Lu Ten finally looked up, eyes shining with tears. “You don’t know what it feels like, Dad. You weren’t there. We got hurt and you weren’t there.”
“I know I wasn’t.” Each word was another blow, hitting harder and harder. “I’m sorry, my love, you have no idea how sorry I am that I wasn't there-”
“But you’re still gone all the time. How do you know something like Ma’inka won’t happen again? How do you know I don’t need lightning to keep us safe when you’re not around to do it?”
“Lu Ten,” Ursa’s voice, cool and sharp, “that’s enough.”
When had she entered the room? Iroh had no idea, but he was grateful she was here, kneeling in front of the couch to force Lu Ten to look at her instead of Iroh.
“This is a very mean thing you’re doing to your father,” she said sternly. “This isn’t the way to get him to teach you lightning. If he says you have to wait until you’re thirteen, that’s that.”
“Dearest,” Iroh protested, “come now, he’s just sharing what’s on his mind. He should be able to speak freely.”
“He is not just speaking his mind. He’s been after his uncle and grandfather for lightning lessons for months. They both told him you said he has to wait until he’s thirteen, and he wasn’t happy about that. Isn’t that right, Lu Ten?”
“Yeah,” the boy admitted.
“So you decided to try to ask your dad for lessons anyway?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s perfectly fine to ask your dad for something. But getting the lessons by making him feel bad about Ma’inka all over again is mean, and you know it.”
Was that what Lu Ten had been trying to do? No, he’d simply been sharing his feelings with his father as part of explaining why lightning was so important to him…right?
“Lu Ten?” Iroh asked. “Were you making up those things you said about Ma’inka so I’d give you the lessons?”
“No!” Lu Ten said quickly. “That stuff was true, I promise.”
“So you do still think about it? And you think I’m gone too much to know what it’s like for you?”
“Yeah, sometimes,” he said. “I thought if I told you about all that now, maybe you’d feel bad and give me the lightning lessons to make up for it.”
“Oh, son,” Iroh sighed. “I understand wanting to be stronger, and I understand feeling frustrated that people won’t let you learn what you want when you want. But you just have to trust my training methods. You will learn lightning and other advanced techniques when you’re ready, and I’m sure it’ll be sooner than you think, even if it feels like forever. Alright?”
“Alright.”
“Now, Lu Ten,” Ursa’s voice softened, “if you want people to help you, making them feel good about themselves works much better than making them feel bad. I bet you didn’t enjoy upsetting your Dad either, right?”
“No…sorry, Dad. I should’ve said all that nicer.”
“That’s alright,” Iroh forgave him.
“And,” Ursa continued, “you should never mess with your family’s feelings like that. Family should always be honest and straightforward, so we can trust each other. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She stood and kissed his forehead. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
Iroh let them go without him, under the pretense of cleaning up the study before bed. In truth, though, he was a little disconcerted by what had just happened. Lu Ten had attempted ‘manipulation’ before, of course, in the clumsy, transparent way that children did. Daddy, will you help me do my homework because I love you the mostest? Daddy, my bad dream was so scary, can I have a sun cake to feel better? That was fine. Expected, even. A little boy testing the limits of what he could get away with.
But this time, Iroh hadn’t sensed that he was a token in a game until Ursa had entered and revealed the play. And he was unused to that feeling. Surely his son wasn’t already old enough to outsmart him? Then again, Iroh wasn’t on guard against his son. Plus, Lu Ten had always had a knack for acting and storytelling, inherited from Ursa…who’d used her tricks on Iroh before. Maybe that’s why she’d seen through it.
Oh, whatever. So Lu Ten had learned a more sophisticated method of testing limits. Ursa had spotted it and corrected it, and now Iroh was aware of it. Smart children like Lu Ten would always keep parents on their toes.
From the hand of Ursa,
Recorded in 102 AG
It was foolish of any of us to think that Lu Ten’s desire for strength would be so easily quelled, especially when Azulon was more than willing to push Lu Ten harder when Iroh wasn’t looking. True, Azulon surprisingly heeded Iroh’s wishes on lightning instruction, so Lu Ten did not learn lightning that year. But there were plenty of other ways to test a prodigy’s talents.
Not long after Iroh left, Lu Ten excitedly told me the news: his grandfather had arranged for him to start training in the Box. The announcement made me want to scream, if not for the fact that Zuko was napping in my arms and Lu Ten was so happy. I remembered Iroh and Ozai’s horror stories about training in the Box, and I was furious that Azulon had waited until both of them were gone again to put my son in there, knowing perfectly well that I couldn’t do anything about it.
The Box, you might remember, was the royal family’s advanced training room. It was a large stone chamber, sealed off and powered by various technological innovations to simulate various training environments. It could fill with water like an ocean, turn bone-chillingly cold like the poles, and spirits knew what else. The Box served more than one function; during Ozai’s childhood, it had been a place of punishment more than anything, as Azulon would throw him in there for ‘extra training’ whenever Ozai displeased him. Iroh told me Ozai had nearly drowned in the water during one such punishment, and lost a toe to the cold in another. Azulon personally supervised each Box training session, and he was not inclined to show mercy for ‘small’ injuries like that.
My one small relief was that, unlike Ozai, Lu Ten was beloved by his grandfather for his boundless energy, quick mind, and prodigious talent. So I made a point of being there for his first time in the Box, hoping that my presence in addition to Azulon’s affection for Lu Ten would stop the Fire Lord from pushing too hard again.
“Mom, I’m fine,” Lu Ten brushed off Ursa’s attempt to tuck a loose hair behind his ear. “It’ll come loose again while I’m training, you know.”
“I know, I know. But a prince must maintain appearances,” Ursa smiled, trying to act normal, trying to not show her nerves. She must have been doing a poor job of it, based on the way Lu Ten hugged her before descending the stairs into the Box. If only Iroh were here. He was more familiar with the Box, and Azulon was far more likely to listen to him.
“Look,” Azulon beckoned Ursa towards him now, “this is how I watch the princes train. I can see and hear them, but they can’t see or hear me.”
Ursa’s stomach lurched as they peered down into the Box. The chamber’s ceiling was a one-way mirror, a detail she’d never known before. How long had Azulon watched Ozai struggling to tread water from here before finally deciding to let him out? Had Ozai known his father was watching? The thought made her eyes sting; she watched Lu Ten enter the chamber alone and tried not to think about how very small and vulnerable he looked down there.
“It’s going to be an earth-focused day, just to get him used to the space,” Azulon told the chamber’s operators. “Start him with Earth Level Three.”
The operators began moving levers, and the chamber rumbled in an imitation of earthbending. Rocks began flying out of unpredictable places. Lu Ten was ready, smashing smaller rocks apart with well-timed blocks and dodging the bigger ones.
“Good, good,” Azulon praised. “Add a sand element.”
Ursa watched with baited breath, waiting for her son to be overwhelmed and need her to intervene. She knew the moment would come, just like it had at that firebending tournament where Lu Ten had created white fire for the first time and promptly fainted. Sand whipped around the room, forcing Lu Ten to shield his eyes as he continued fending off the rocks. Then the sand was replaced by jets of fire, testing his ability to handle both elements at the same time. The rocks were then followed by earthquake-like rumblings, testing his balance as the fire continued.
Lu Ten’s defenses weren’t perfect, but they were close to it. He took a few hits here and there, glancing blows from rocks and fire blasts he couldn’t quite dodge while everything was happening at the same time. But it was evident that his ability to keep track of the elemental chaos around him was well beyond his age. His white fire came in strategic bursts, letting him stay somewhat cool in the enclosed space. He moved with small, precise steps, conserving energy in anticipation of the next attack. There was no panic in his movements, even as his stamina began to wane. That was perhaps the most impressive part. Ursa was probably more stressed than him right now.
“Scale back to Earth Level One, and go dark,” Azulon instructed.
Go dark? Did that mean- yes, the lamps in the room below were extinguished, leaving Lu Ten with only his own bending for light. Yet the earthbending sounds continued, albeit at a slower pace. Ursa’s heart was in her throat. The bright white of her son’s fire flashed through the chamber as he blasted and blocked. Was he using more energy so he could see? Or was he scared?
“Add in the quakes again,” Azulon instructed.
The ground rumbled, and suddenly the room went dark. Had Lu Ten fallen? Fire flashed towards the ceiling, a desperate stream. Lu Ten was on the floor.
“Father, maybe you should let him out,” Ursa said.
“Give him a moment,” he replied.
Lu Ten was trying to get his footing back, but the earthquake effects wouldn’t let him. He was only getting further disoriented as he rolled to avoid the rocks still hurtling around. His fire kept flickering in and out, her only sign of what he was doing.
“Father, please, at least stop the quakes.”
Azulon sighed and nodded at the operators. The earthquakes stopped. For a moment, the room below was still. Then- “Mom! Grandfather!” Lu Ten called. “Can I come out now? I hurt my ankle!”
Her worst fear. “Let him out,” Ursa pleaded. “He’s asking. He’s injured.”
“It’s just an ankle,” Azulon said. “He’ll have to deal with worse.”
“Not for years from now!”
“And he won’t be able to call his mother for help from the battlefield. Give him something a little easier,” the Fire Lord told the operators, an attempt at compromise. “Fire Level Two.”
Red-orange fire began blasting into the dark room at random. Lu Ten screamed, a sound of pure terror. “Mom!”
“Let him out!” Ursa uselessly banged her fists into the glass, bruising herself for her efforts. “Can’t you hear something’s wrong? Let him out!”
Looking shaken, Azulon gave the order. The fire stopped, the lamps came back on, and Ursa hurled herself down the stairs into the chamber to wrap herself around her crying son.
Hours later, after his ankle had been treated (just a sprain, it would be fine in a few weeks), Lu Ten explained what had terrified him so. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, “but it’s just that…I felt like I was back at Ma’inka, with the fire in the dark while I was hurt and couldn’t run. I felt helpless again, like I did that night. I felt like something really bad was going to happen.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she assured. “It’s normal to panic when something reminds you of a scary memory. Now that we know, we can practice what to do if it happens again.”
Lu Ten hid his face in his hands. “I hate that feeling,” he said, muffled. “I’m too old to be so scared. What am I going to do if something like that happens again while Zuko needs me?”
“Honey,” Ursa rubbed his shoulder. “Don’t be hard on yourself. No one ever completely stops being scared.”
“Really?” He peered through her fingers at her. “What about you and Dad?”
“Of course we still get scared. Learning what to do when you’re scared is part of growing up and being brave.”
“Oh. Well, I probably shouldn’t be asking you for help when I’m scared, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ursa smiled. “You can always ask your mom and dad for help, no matter how old you get. That’s what we’re for.”
“Oh.” Lu Ten uncovered his face, looking a little relieved. “Well…I still don’t want to feel that way again.”
“Alright. That’ll be a question of mental strength,” she tapped her temple, “not just physical. It’ll be hard.”
“I can do it. I want to be strong in all the different ways, so I can be a good prince and a good big brother for Zuko.”
“Sweetheart, you’re a wonderful prince. And Zuko already thinks you’re a great big brother. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you make him feel safe just by being yourself,” Ursa explained. “He doesn’t know or care that you’re strong. He knows that you hold him and play with him and talk to him, and that’s enough for him.”
“Oh.”
“You still have plenty of time to learn all these advanced techniques you’re so worried about,” Ursa continued, “but don’t forget all your other good qualities while worrying about strength. You’re clever and caring and kind. Those mean just as much as being strong, especially to a little baby like Zuko. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Mom.”
When Zuko woke up from his nap, Ursa brought him to his brother’s room for a bit of bonding. Lu Ten held the baby in his lap and resumed his efforts to teach him to say his name, much to Zuko’s amusement. Every time Lu Ten repeated himself, Zuko opened and closed his mouth silently in that guppy-like manner.
What a complicated thing it was to be Lu Ten, Ursa thought. Almost-eleven and a prince, with part of his mind still trapped in a dark hallway, where fire and blood and death had come much too soon for him to even understand it. No wonder Lu Ten was so eager to be strong for Zuko, when he must have felt so weak that night he lost his sister. But he couldn’t forget—Ursa wouldn’t let him forget—that some things were more important than strength. There was so much more to him than his future throne and the color of his flames.
“Lu-Ten,” Lu Ten told Zuko slowly, “Say ‘Lu-Ten’, come on.”
Zuko smiled, still silent, but content to simply be with his big brother.