Chapter Text
A month after Prince Iroh’s fifty-second birthday, his only child dies in a failed siege of Ba Sing Se. Had Iroh been born into a different family, he might have been surprised by his only brother choosing this time of great grief to steal his birthright. Had Iroh been a different man, he might not have blamed himself for the death of his child and his father, the disappearance of Lady Ursa, and the subsequent havoc that was placed upon his people. Had Iroh been a different man, he would not have been chased from the palace by his grief and abandoned his niece and nephew in the hands of a man he once trusted, to sail around the world in search of something, anything, that can provide him some solace.
Iroh was not a different man.
When Prince Zuko turned eight years old, his Father slammed his hands on the dinner table and explained, at length, the disappointment he’d had in Zuko from the moment he was born.
“Azula was born lucky. You were lucky to be born,” He said.
Zuko didn’t really understand the difference, but Azula did. It showed in the way she preened, and Zuko went to bed that night knowing that luck can mean many different things.
When Prince Zuko turned thirteen years old, he waited outside the door of his Father’s meeting room, where he knew important decisions were being made. All the voices inside spoke so quietly behind the heavy wooden doors that Zuko could not hear a word. He had asked to be let inside, but no one would allow it.
I bet Uncle would have let me in, the Prince thought, but it did not matter, because Uncle was nowhere near the Fire Nation.
His thoughts were correct, though. Uncle would have let him in.
It wasn’t until Zuko was fifteen years old that he was invited to be with the men in their war room. He was to be seen and not heard, as it was a great honor to be invited into the Fire Lord’s war room. It meant he was a man, finally, and maybe Father would start to see him as the heir he is.
A general presented the idea of sacrificing a division of young soldiers to gain the upper hand against the Earth Kingdom. Zuko, unable to hold his tongue, was challenged to an Agni Kai.
For the first time in his life, he wondered if the Earth Kingdom had an equivalent to an Agni Kai.
Facing a general in an Agni Kai was an opportunity to prove himself to his Father, to prove that he was man enough to be invited to the war room, to be considered his heir.
Facing the Fire Lord in an Agni Kai was something else altogether, and no one had ever shown him the rule book on this circumstance.
He knelt, because it was the noble thing to do. It must be the noble thing to do. It had to be. Father had always wanted him silent at the dinner table, in the halls of the palace, even in the gardens outside. Father wanted him to say yes, sir and to avoid, at all costs, being an embarrassment to his family.
He knelt, and he begged for his Father’s forgiveness. It was not the right thing to do. It embarrassed the Fire Lord, and he had to be punished.
For the first time in his life, he wondered if the Water Tribes knelt when they surrendered, too.
Azula watched on as his face was burned by their Father’s hand. He knew she did, because she had always watched intently when Father punished him. Like if she looked away, it might be her turn.
It was never her turn.
He still didn’t know the difference between her luck and his luck, but he did know that he wished he had never been born at all.
He wondered, distantly, if Uncle would have protected him. He pushed the thought away at once, because he didn’t need protection. Protection from punishment would be a coward’s way out.
Hakoda, at the same time Fire Lord Ozai challenged his only son to an Agni Kai, watched his children take turns shoving each other into a snowbank, and wondered how he was going to be able to leave them behind when he sailed away.
Zuko was packed into a sailboat, groaning in pain and barely able to move, with one month’s worth of food. Fire Nation soldiers pushed him out to sea as he laid unmoving in the boat, and laughed as he became a speck on the horizon.
“Good riddance,” They joked.
“I liked him better when he was a child,” Another laughed.
A month after General Iroh’s fifty-seventh birthday, he received news that his only nephew had been banished by the Fire Lord, sent away and only allowed to come back with his honor.
General Iroh should have been a different man.