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Fire surrounded him. It embraced him in its warmth. He did not need to fear these flames. They would not consume him. Move, the fire seemed to say as it caressed his limbs and urged him forward. Fly, the fire desired as it moved skyward. Zuko could not follow the flames as they surged high above his reach.
It's not fair! He wanted to call after it. I can't fly with you!
Words caught in his throat as pungent air filled his lungs. A fire returned but not the fire. It was his fire. It caressed Zuko with trails of agony. Zuko could not fly away.
Suffering will be your teacher.
The soul-shattering scream that echoed through the iron halls of the ship would have woken Iroh if he were anywhere near sleep. It likely woke several of the crew, but Iroh could not spare thought to them. He did not have the capacity to spare thought to the tea splattered across the table and the front of his robes. Iroh's single focus was to cross the small space of the infirmary to pull his nephew into his arms.
Zuko quieted into pained whimpers that did little to calm Iroh's racing heart. At least he did not lash out in response to being held. This time. Iroh had to stop the path of his hand, wanting to soothe his child with soft fingers carding through his hair. Lu Ten always calmed from nightmares when Iroh stroked his hair. But Zuko was not Lu Ten, nor would any touch on his head be soothing at this point. Hopefully, one day, he would be able to find comfort-
No, Iroh cut his thoughts off and refused to think further down that path. He could not think to the future when it was still unclear if his nephew had a future. Iroh swallowed around the sorrow in his throat and ran his hand along Zuko's arm. It didn't feel like enough. Nothing would ever be enough to soothe the pain Zuko was going through.
The tension in Zuko's body slowly eased. His small, fragile body once held the promise of so much growth and strength. It was trampled when it should have been uplifted. Where a mere week prior there was the beginning of a young man whom Iroh granted access to a war room, Iroh now only saw the child he failed. He held that child and prayed to all the spirits he could to spare him.
The infirmary door creaked open as the ship's medic stepped inside. A week on the ship, and Iroh still did not remember the man's name. On a good day, Iroh managed to remember the captain's name. It was unbefitting of a former general. Once, Iroh would have been ashamed of himself for poor leadership. These days, Iroh felt every bit of the washed up old man the court loved to paint him as. His heart ached. His soul bled.
"Do I need to redress anything?"
Iroh glanced down at the young—too young—head nestled against his shoulder. The unmarred side of Zuko's face pressed into him, leaving only the injured side for him to see. Bandages covered the true horrors, but even the peripheral minor burns were enough to turn Iroh's stomach. Those blisters would have been enough to drive any young man to smarting tears, let alone a newly-turned thirteen year old. If only those blisters were the end of Zuko's pain.
"N-" Iroh's voice caught in his throat. He coughed and attempted to muster his usual chuckle, but it died somewhere in his chest. "No, thank you. I was able to calm him before he moved too much. Please, go back to sleep."
The medic looked from Iroh, to the tea dripping off the table and pooling on the ground, and sighed. He waved off Iroh's thanks as he cleaned the mess. With a scrutinizing look, the medic turned to Iroh. "I can watch him, Sir. At least go change your robes, perhaps take a shower and get some food. You haven't left the room since his last outburst."
There was the implication that 'since his last outburst' was a significant amount of time. Yet Iroh barely remembered the hours passed. He ate meals, restlessly napped in his chair, but time had lost meaning. It was as if sorrow dragged him into the spirit world rather than venturing in of his own volition as he once did. First, to find a lost son. Now, lost himself as a son fended off the call of the spirits.
Iroh smiled or at least tried to. He hardly felt his face, unsure if the action got further than intention. "Thank you, young man. But I believe I've been assigned pillow duty. Perhaps I'll get some sleep this evening as well."
"Sleep well then, Sir," the medic said with a departing bow.
Soon, Iroh would need to kindle the strength of his inner flame. He allowed despair to dampen it much too far. Soon, but not yet. His chest ached, was too tight. There was no room for strong flames, for a strong will and a determination to guide his nephew through this ordeal. No, for now he did not fight the flickering in his soul as it rose and fell with the soft breaths of the boy in his arms.
Dragons twirled in the winds. They danced in their multicolor flames and reveled in their freedom. Dragons of every size filled the sky. High—higher than Zuko could fathom—were dragons so large they seemed the same size as the tiny dragon scampering along Zuko's arm.
Let's fly, Zuko!
The hatchling tried to leap into the sky and join its brethren, but the wind did not carry it. Zuko scrambled to catch it before it fell. Silly thing, how could it fly without wings?
They don't have wings either, Zuko. Children of air don't need wings to fly.
Zuko laughed. He shook his head. Everyone knew dragons were beings of fire that just happened to fly. That's why they had wings. Yet, as he looked skyward again, none of the soaring dragons flapped a single wing. The wind played with them, swirled around their serpentine bodies and kept them afloat. They shot bright, vibrant plumes of flames in response so the wind could play in the fire, shape it as the wind pleased.
Come on already, Zuko. I want to play too!
Well, Zuko wasn't trying to stop it from flying. The silly thing would have fallen if he hadn't caught it! He held his arms out with a snort. It was free to try flying without wings, like the silly thing it was. Dragons were supposed to have wings. But it was okay, Zuko would catch the hatchling again when it realized its mistake.
The dragon leaped from Zuko's hold. For a moment, Zuko's heart leapt with it. Even without wings, it was going to fly! The air swirled around them both, whipped through his hair and rustled the little dragon's whiskers.
Fire erupted. The playful caress of the wind dropped. Zuko shot forward to catch the hatchling. He tripped in his haste, but managed to protect the dragon against his chest as he rolled across the ground.
Where did the wind go? It was right there. I was going to fly! Zuko you were supposed to fly with me.
Zuko curled around the dragon as its sorrowful words washed over him. It was so sad. It lost something. What had it lost? Zuko looked up. The skies were dark, not a scale or spark in sight. The surrounding air was stale and stagnant. It was wrong. This wasn't right. Zuko looked down to his dragon, but it was gone. In his arms was an egg, warmed by the cradle of his body and the embrace of a gentle flame.
A quiet, rasped groan drew Iroh's attention to the bed. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing to assist his nephew in sitting up. Zuko tried to speak. His voice cracked, and he winced. Iroh settled Zuko against the wall with the gentle order to stay put as he got some water. The way Zuko's uncovered eye followed him as he crossed the room was promising. Koji, the medic, declared Zuko's fever broken the night before, but Zuko was not yet lucid when they woke him earlier to drink.
Iroh sat on the edge of the bed as he held the cup up to Zuko's lips. He was too weak to attempt raising his arms to take it for himself. When Zuko was seven, he came down with a terrible illness. It had bed ridden him for two weeks, but even at his highest fever he fought to try and drink by himself. Iroh's chest ached comparing that stubborn boy to the one before him now, but he had the strength again to smile and hope. There was, without a doubt, a clarity to Zuko's gaze that promised his recovery.
After two, slow glasses of water, Zuko turned his head and whispered a soft thanks. Medic Koji warned Iroh that Zuko may have damaged vocal cords, from the screaming, heat, or a combination of both. Iroh hoped the damage would not be as lasting as his burns. At least, one small mercy for this child.
"Uncle," Zuko said, so quiet Iroh had to lean closer to hear. "Why can't I fly?"
Of all the first words Iroh feared, these were wholly unexpected. They brought the first real smile he'd felt since boarding the ship. He had the ability to laugh again as he ran his hand down Zuko's arm. His boy was here, alive, and shocking him in the best way children could.
"Well, nephew, forgive me if you take this personally, but none of us can fly!"
Zuko's single brow furrowed and his nose scrunched up as it was wont to do when he was dissatisfied with an answer. "But the dragon wanted me to. Expected me to fly with it. It couldn't fly either! Obviously neither of us were going to fly when it didn't have wings."
As Zuko spoke, his eyelid drooped. Iroh could not stop smiling as he eased Zuko back into bed. Fighting sleep, Zuko continued to indignantly speak of his dreams.
"Stupid thing kept trying to fly! It kept falling and thought I was the weird one for thinking it should have wings. It was cute though. The fire was so pretty-"
His voice started to trail off as sleep pulled him under. Iroh pulled the sheet over Zuko, and would have tucked the fabric around him, if not for Zuko's sudden alertness. His hand shot out to grasp Iroh's forearm, his eye wide open, pupil blown in his urgency.
"Uncle! How long can dragons live in their eggs?!"
Iroh calmed his racing heart as he took Zuko's hand in his own. "Dragons are—were—very mystical creatures. Half of our world, half of the spirit world. Legends say a dragon egg could remain unhatched for centuries until its inhabitant found the time was right to come out."
Whatever fear that ripped Zuko out of his descent to a healing sleep seemed appeased by Iroh's answer. Zuko nodded with a serene smile as his eye slid closed again. "Good, who knows how long it'll take to learn to fly. Have to do that before it hatches."
Just as quickly as it came, Zuko's wakefulness left him. Iroh sat at his bedside much longer, still holding the small hand between his own. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he would never deny himself this bittersweet pain when his inner flame burned so brightly. Zuko's eye moved in his sleep. Iroh hoped he continued to dream of dragons, flight, and fire worthy of being called pretty.