Chapter Text
– and Azula’s crackling bolt of lightning steadied, became still and straight, and was a beam of blue light thrusting from the horizon to the sky. The cold voltaic shock through his nerves was the sting of cold air damp with spray from the sea, the pressure of electrical charge the weight of armour on his shoulders, the harsh blue-white glow of lightning the grey-white-blue of sea and ice and sky.
…His scalp was cold.
Zuko slowly raised a hand to the back of his head, felt the smooth shaved skin, the ends of a phoenix tail brushing over his knuckles. He closed his eyes and let out a slow, shuddering breath.
The metal deck of the boat swayed with the waves and juddered with the engine; he could taste the soot flakes on the air.
Azula wasn’t here. He was not at the Fire Temple in Caldera. He was on a ship in cold polar waters, surrounded by icebergs.
He looked behind him. Uncle was there, sitting before a low table, element tiles laid out in front of him, a steaming teapot next to them.
Uncle was here. Uncle would help. Uncle would know what was going on.
“Uncle? Do you know what this means?”
Uncle sighed and put down a tile. “I won’t get to finish my game?”
This had happened before. Zuko recognised the fake pout for what it was, this time. Uncle was concerned, his lack of attention feigned.
This had happened before. Here in the polar waters where the light of the Avatar pierced the sky. Nine months before where he had just been.
He watched the pillar of blue light fade to white, to sky.
It was like waking from being awake. Was he dreaming now, or had he been dreaming before? Had any of that actually happened? Had he…?
“The Avatar…” he breathed. If somehow any of this was real, if any of his memories were real…
“Or it’s just the celestial lights,” came a reproving voice from behind him. “Prince Zuko, we have been down this road before. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing. Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming jasmine tea?”
Calming jasmine tea. Yes, he definitely needed some of that.
Whatever was going on, he needed to get to Aang. Who was it at the helm just now? – It didn’t matter. He pitched his voice for command. “Helmsman, set a course toward that light!”
Then Zuko turned towards his Uncle, with his card table and his tea. “Uncle,” he said, half fond, half desperate. “I would love some tea.”
That was not his nephew’s normal reaction.
Ever since that dreadful Agni Kai, Zuko had resisted showing any sort of care or fondness for anyone or anything. In a hopeless world, Iroh lived for those few moments when his nephew let his mask of rage slip, even though it was only exhaustion or despair that took its place.
And now?
There was a small, fond smile on his face, and he came over and sat quietly, cross-legged, on the hard deck on the opposite side of the table, and met his uncle’s eyes openly, unscowling, for the first time in years. It made him look so much younger, so much more like the boy he remembered.
The engines rumbled and the deck tilted against the waves as the Yosumi turned onto her new course.
Iroh didn’t actually have a second cup at the table.
He realised this at the same time as he saw Zuko’s smile twist into a wry grin. “Uncle,” he said, amused, and shaking his head. “I’ll get a cup. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He rose to his feet, apparently determined to fetch the cup himself, over Iroh’s protests, and headed aft, towards the galley, with a steady tread. Iroh watched after him, wondering.
When Zuko was out of sight, Iroh looked down at the game of Patience he’d been playing. The last Fire Cloud was under the Water Rock. If he could free it, he would be able to clear the Fire set…
…what had happened to his nephew? Had that light done something to him? The blue beam of spirit energy that clearly wasn’t the celestial lights, though Iroh had offered that as an excuse to discourage Zuko from going on some new quailgoose chase, to prepare him for the inevitable disappointment.
Or – Iroh felt a sudden chill at the thought – had Zuko been possessed by whatever spirit had set off that light? Was it using Zuko’s body for some purpose, pretending affection in an attempt to keep Iroh off-guard?
Quiet, sure footsteps approached from behind. Zuko, or whatever was assuming his form now, rounded the table and placed a cup on the table before crossing his legs and dropping straight down into a seated position. The smile was gone from his face, but there was still that warmth in his eyes that Iroh really didn’t know what to do with.
Iroh carefully poured the tea. It would be a little strong by now, but still good. The cup Zuko had brought was red, matching the rest of the set. A curl of steam floated up into the cold air.
“Thank you, Uncle,” the boy murmured. He inhaled the steam and took a sip, and actually closed his eyes, visibly savoured it, letting his shoulders gently fall. “You do make good tea.”
Iroh blinked, and took a moment to consider his strategy.
“You have never complimented my tea before, Prince Zuko,” he eventually decided on.
“I should have,” his nephew said, with a frown at his cup. “I’m sorry.”
Where had this come from? All this responsiveness, this completely different range of emotions? Iroh watched him suspiciously. The boy was now nervously turning his cup round in his hand, frowning down at it. Then he looked up and around, apparently checking no-one was in earshot.
“Uncle, I’m going to need your help.” He took another sip of his tea, closed his eyes again, and let out a breath. Then he met Iroh’s gaze seriously. “I don’t know if I’ve dreamt the last nine months, or if I’m dreaming now, but…” he trailed off, averting his eyes.
Iroh hid his worry with a chuckle. “I can assure you, the last nine months have been entirely real.” Fraught though they had been, with what could have been the ship’s second mutiny only just averted by replacing a third of the crew, including the captain; that incident with the pirates; the spirit Zuko had annoyed that had pursued and haunted them for nearly a month; the debacle at Shu Cheng; the never-ending antagonism of Captain Zhao… “If you want, you can check on the komodo rhinos. The two you surprised us with at Kowan are growing nicely.”
Zuko was shaking his head. “Wait… that’s not what I meant. I mean, I might have dreamt the next nine months.” He paused. “Or I might be dead. That’s a possibility.”
Iroh stared at his nephew, trying to make his mind work past that horror.
“Or – is this the spirit world?” Zuko gently pursed his lips, let out the tiniest, most controlled huff of golden flame Iroh had ever seen from him. “Huh.” He breathed again, caught the flame on his fingertips, and stared at it for a moment before dissipating it with a spread of his fingers. “So… I’m alive, you’re alive…”
Something was very wrong. Iroh reached his hand out and touched the back of Zuko’s hand. Whether he was offering reassurance or seeking it, he wasn’t sure. But Zuko immediately turned his hand around to grasp Iroh’s, fingers desperately clambering their way to his wrist and grabbing on. He looked up, face suddenly anguished, eyes brimming, and Iroh abruptly realised that Zuko’s calm demeanour was hiding deep worry and fear.
“Uncle, I –”
Zuko could feel his Uncle’s hand in his, warm and soft and real, and the touch felt so familiar, so much like home, that he couldn’t breathe for a moment. All of a sudden his eyes were pricking and his tongue was heavy in his mouth because Uncle was here, Uncle was here and nothing seemed real at that moment but the warm plump hand he was gripping, like the hand he’d held in a dirty half-ruined house because Uncle had almost died from Azula’s fire and he couldn’t bear it, like the hand that stroked his brow and held his hand while he lay dizzy and disoriented in a shabby flat in Ba Sing Se, like the hand that grabbed him and pulled him close in a tent at dawn two days ago and nine months away, and maybe this was a dream now and he was really lying in the courtyard of the Fire Temple dying as the world burned around him, and maybe none of it had happened at all –
’Breathe, Prince Zuko,” came Uncle’s voice. “Breathe slowly. Breathe with me.”
Oh. Right. He was sitting on the deck. The Elements tiles were laid out on the table in front of him, Air over Fire, Water over Rock. Zuko breathed the chill air, in, out, like meditating, watching Uncle’s exaggerated breaths and trying to follow them. That real, real hand was rubbing a thumb over Zuko’s knuckles, and Zuko leant towards it. There was a hesitation, and then a shuffling, and then the teacup he’d forgotten was plucked from his other hand and he was pulled into warm, comforting arms.
His shoulder guards rubbed against Uncle’s breastplate, leather squeaking, and Zuko wished they were both unarmored so he could sink properly into Uncle’s embrace. He closed his eyes, letting the tears spill down his cheeks, and his breath caught in a ragged sob.
“Prince Zuko – nephew –” came Uncle’s voice, rumbling through his chest where Zuko’s good ear was pressed. “Please. I am here for you. Whatever it is that is bothering you, I promise I will listen.”
He should tell him. He needed to tell him. But Zuko didn’t think he could even speak now. He just clung to Uncle, trying to smooth his breathing. He knew the lookout on the top deck was watching, and would probably tell everyone in the mess later on, but right now that didn’t matter. Uncle was here.
Uncle was warm.
Uncle was breathing steadily, in and out.
Zuko let his head rest on Uncle’s breastplate and allowed his arms to slowly loosen and relax.
Uncle was holding him.
Uncle was here.
He didn’t want to move.
“Come, Prince Zuko. Let me take you to your cabin.”
Zuko, with effort, lifted his head off Uncle’s shoulder guard and opened gummy eyes. He let Uncle haul him to his feet, and tried not to stumble as he walked alongside him towards the door into the tower. He’d been afire with the Comet’s light, chi leaping and fizzing with the flame in the sky, and now that was all gone. The weight of the last two nights without sleep before the Comet, searching for Aang, waiting for Uncle; the desperate effort of the Agni Kai, fighting against the sister he should have loved; the lightning he’d caught and, unrooted, pulled in; and now… whatever this was…
Maybe he was dying outside the dream, and that’s why he felt so heavy and tired. He didn’t complain when Uncle opened the door to his cabin and led him in by his elbow.
“You need to rest, Prince Zuko,” his uncle said gently. “I will help remove your armour.”
Zuko let him. Maybe if he slept, he would wake in real life.
Iroh gently unbuckled his nephew’s armour and laid each piece aside. Zuko stood passively, quietly, perhaps swaying slightly with the motion of the ship, and allowed Iroh to move around him. Iroh surreptitiously brushed his hand against Zuko’s forehead as he pulled the shoulder guard off over his head. He didn’t seem to be running hotter than usual. He was just… quiet.
He’d firebent, earlier, on the deck, so he probably wasn’t possessed by a spirit. That wasn’t much reassurance, though.
He got the leather skirt off while Zuko fumbled to untie his own bracers.
“’m sorry, Uncle,” he murmured to his hands. “I just– I can’t–”
“You are just tired, Prince Zuko. The constant sun here has been keeping us all awake.” Maybe that was true. Maybe the relief of finally having a lead had allowed him to relax enough to not fight his body’s needs any more. Maybe if he just reassured his nephew, this would go away. “You should rest. A man –”
“–Needs his rest. I know, Uncle.” His nephew gave him an exhausted smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Iroh almost pulled him back into his arms, but he resisted, and instead allowed himself a puzzled frown. “I’ve always been here.”
“I know, Uncle.” Zuko tensed and pulled in a breath. “But I haven’t.”
“When the pot has been moved, the leaves turn again to face the sun,” Iroh tried. It wasn’t his best, and he wasn’t sure how relevant it was, but really he was just stalling for time while he tried to work out what was wrong with his nephew. Perhaps Zuko would find more wisdom in the proverb than he could.
“I’m not a plant, Uncle! – Never mind,” his nephew said, dismissing it with a shake of his head. “I just– I need to tell you but…” He sighed. “Where do I start? I don’t even know if I’m dreaming or if I’m really here.”
“Does it matter?”
Gold eyes looked up at him, the one eyebrow scrunched in confusion. “Of course it matters, Uncle! If it’s real, if all of it happened, and now I’m back here, then –” he broke off, looked away, at the altar at the other end of the room, the mask of Agni in dim pink light, dark against the daylight from the window above. “Then I need to find the Avatar again.”
Iroh stopped himself from sighing. As if his nephew had stopped hunting the Avatar, ever, for one moment in the two and a half years since the moment he’d woken up after that awful day. “And if you are dreaming, then you will wake in the fulness of time, and search for the Avatar again then.”
Zuko scrunched up his face. “But –”
“Either way, what you need to do now is rest. For if you are dreaming that you are tired when you are already asleep, you must be tired indeed!” He chuckled warmly, and hoped it didn’t sound too false.
For a moment it looked like Zuko would concede. But then he shook his head again. “No, I need to – If this is real, you need to know.” He licked his lips. “That pillar of light… that was the Avatar. I – he’s a child, he didn’t know anything about the war, and I was…” He sighed, bringing his hand up to his forehead and wiping it down his face. “Well, that’s not so important right now. The important thing is… the important thing is that I need to find him and do it right this time.”
’Prince Zuko, please. You must rest. We can talk more about this once you have slept.”
“But you have to know, Uncle! Sozin’s Comet is coming, and Father – he was going to burn down the Earth Kingdom, and we couldn’t find Aang, and, and Azula – oh Spirits, Azula, there’s something wrong with Azula…”
Iroh grasped his nephew’s shoulders to interrupt his increasingly delirious words. “You are too tired to talk sensibly now. I promise, once you have rested, I will listen to all you have to say. But now you must rest.” And in the morning, hopefully Zuko would realise that all these concerns were nightmares brought on by lack of sleep.
Zuko sighed again and slumped in a way that could be interpreted as a nod. “OK, Uncle. But… if there’s a distress flare sighted, cut the engines and come and get me. Don’t ram the village.”
“Certainly, Prince Zuko.” Iroh nodded and smiled reassuringly as if that request made any sense at all, and guided him gently down to lie on the bed. His nephew did not resist, and Iroh pulled the cover over his shoulders, resting his hand there.
“Uncle?” Zuko looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Even if this is a dream…” he turned onto his side, facing Iroh, huddling into the blanket, “’m glad I got to see you again.” His eyes closed, and Iroh sat there with his hand on his nephew’s shoulder, hoping that he would be back to himself when he woke up.