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It has been years since he felt rage of this magnitude, if he has ever felt it at all. It radiates off his skin, red-hot and terrifying, is etched into his face, and were Iroh to consider it, he might conclude that it is this, and not his royal status, that prompts the guards to let him into the throne room without contention. But as it happens, he does not have the capacity to consider it; his mind is too otherwise occupied.
“OZAI!” he bellows as he storms through the threshold of the magnanimous room. His voice echoes off the walls and pillars as he proceeds closer to the elevated platform on which his brother’s throne sits.
The flames on the platform flare in front of his brother, and when Ozai speaks, Iroh can sense the anger under his dangerously quiet voice. “It is proper decorum to bow to one’s Fire Lord.”
Iroh, however, remains standing. “I am not here to discuss proper decorum, Ozai! How dar—”
“It is also proper decorum to show respect to your Fire Lord by addressing him as such!”
Again, Iroh ignores him. “How dare you banish Zuko just—”
“I suggest you show me the respect I am owed, Iroh, or I may be forced to teach you a lesson as well! And, because you are older and should know better, I may not be able to be as lenient with you as I was with my son. And then who would make whatever impassioned plea you are about to make for him?”
The one-time general grits his teeth, but Ozai has made his implied meaning clear, and there are things more important than an old man’s pride at stake here. So Iroh closes his eyes, breathes. When he manages to calm his demeanor, he slowly sinks into a low prostration, can feel his brother’s smirk on him as he touches his forehead to the cold tile floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Now, then. What do you want?”
“I intercepted your messenger on his way to Zuko’s quarters. Zuko has a severe burn on his head and face; his body is going into shock. He will need medical treatment for at least several weeks. You cannot—”
“I suggest you do not tell me what I can and cannot do!”
Iroh breathes in and out, keeping his forehead on the ground. For Zuko, he must keep himself contained. “Forgive me. But your son requires medical attention. To send him alone, across the sea—”
“He will not be alone. In my generosity, I am providing him a ship with a small crew.”
“But no one to tend to his injuries or to care for him! Without this, he will die!”
“Perhaps.”
He thinks of Lu Ten, and though he lifts his head to look at his brother, forces his rage to stay inside him. “Is that what you want? Your son’s death?”
“Frankly,” says Ozai lazily. “I don’t care if he lives or if he dies. But he must be punished for his shameful weakness. If you’re so bothered, you’re more than welcome to go with him.”
“Then I shall.” He is not a healer, but he knows basic skills from his military days, and his nephew trusts him. That will have to be enough, because Ozai will not send a medic, and Zuko cannot die. Iroh refuses to lose another son.
“Very well. But he is not to return until he brings me the Avatar in chains.”
“The Avatar has not been seen for nearly a hundred years.”
Ozai raises an eyebrow, smiles slyly. “Is that so?”
Iroh sighs, knows that his brother has no intention of seeing Zuko again, that this whole ordeal has nothing to do with the War Room, or the Agni Kai, or Zuko’s courage or respect, that when Ozai looks at Zuko he sees only disappointment, sees only embarrassment, wants him out of court. (He is wrong, so wrong, and it makes Iroh want to snarl like Ran and Shaw. But anything he says or does now will only hurt his nephew more.)
“Please,” he says when his voice comes back to him. His pride is all but gone, and if he has to beg for the sake of his nephew then he will. “Allow me to be the one to convey the order to him.”
“As you wish,” smirks Ozai. “But, Iroh, he is to be gone by dawn tomorrow. Or there will be dire consequences for him.”
Zuko’s uncle nods, rises, turns to leave.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Iroh bites his lip, moves toward Ozai, prostrates himself again. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You are most generous.”
“I am indeed. You are dismissed.”
The Dragon of the West stands, paces out of his brother’s throne room toward Zuko’s quarters, tries not to weep as he wonders what in Agni’s name he is going to say to his nephew.