Chapter Text
The palace kitchen was quiet at this hour. The sun had only just cleared the red tiled roofs, and its light slipped through the bamboo screens in thin, pale strips.
Iroh knelt in front of a low shelf, sorting through his teacup collection. He picked up one cup as if greeting an old friend, turning it slowly. The glaze had hairline cracks that only showed at certain angles, like a spiderweb catching frost.
Zuko watched him while he tended the kettle. He sifted through jasmine leaves, listening to their dry rustle.
Some mornings, it still felt like he was living someone else’s life. Even now, guilt sat inside him like a steady pulse, tugging him back toward things he didn’t want to look at for long. Faces he’d hurt. Faces the Fire Nation had hurt. Some nights he woke shaking. Sokka heard him. He always held him, tucked against his pulse and told him everything would be alright, as if saying it could make it true. Zuko hated how much he needed it.
“And how is my nephew on this beautiful summer morning?” Iroh asked.
Zuko grumbled.
“You’ve seemed troubled lately,” Iroh said, adjusting another cup.
“Why would you say that?! I’m completely at peace!” Zuko snapped, already on edge.
A moment passed.
He glanced up, eyes apologetic, “Not everything has to be a talk, Uncle.”
“That’s true,” Iroh said, settling back onto his heels with a quiet grunt. “We don’t have to talk. But know that I am here.”
He met Zuko’s eyes with a warmth that Zuko didn’t know what to do with.
Zuko nodded, stiff, pretending he didn’t feel the words settle over him like a blanket he wanted to curl under.
They worked in silence. Zuko kept sneaking cautious glances at him. Iroh kept organizing.
It took about ten seconds before Zuko cracked under absolutely no pressure.
“I haven’t been sleeping. It wakes Sokka up too,” he said. “He’s too… nice about it. He doesn’t even get annoyed! Everything annoys him!”
“It seems the two of you have grown very close,” Iroh said, voice low with amusement.
Heat crept across Zuko’s face.
“We have,” he said quietly.
A small smile flickered and vanished.
Then he set the kettle down too hard. The lid rattled.
“Uncle…” His voice shook. “I thought things would be different. That bringing balance to the world would bring balance to myself. But I keep having dreams, like old memories dragging me backward.” He gripped the granite counter, knuckles whitening. “And I’m still so angry. If I start to turn into—” His throat closed. “Into my father. We need to have a plan.”
Iroh stood and moved toward him.
“You won’t,” he said. His voice was calm, but not distant.
The words reached Zuko like cool hands on overheated skin.
“You’ve walked far from that path. If your troubles chase after you, you won’t face them alone. You deserve simple happiness.”
Zuko let out a rough breath.
“Zuko,” Iroh said softly, “you have deep compassion. But your compassion is incomplete if you don’t offer it to yourself.”
Zuko closed his eyes. “How?”
Iroh set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You already allow yourself to be cared for when difficult memories return. That takes strength.”
A small smile tugged at Zuko’s mouth.
“I don’t ask for that. He’s just kind,” Zuko said.
He looked down at the polished wooden floor, searching through memory.
“Toph told me during the airship fight, the last thing he meant to say was some joke. To calm her down.” He exhaled. His golden eyes shone faintly.
“I’m glad those children are still here,” Iroh said, a shadow passing over his features. “I’m very proud of them.”
“Me too. They brought down the entire fleet,” Zuko whispered. “Sometimes… I think he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.”