Ember

By Foxy Pentapus

Title: Ember
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Pairing: None
Spoilers: Season 1 up to Episode 19, "The Siege of the North, Part I"
Characters: Zuko, Uncle Iroh
Word count: 1400
Notes: Not all fading embers go out.

When he heard the familiar yet unexpected roar of fire, Iroh turned back towards the dock. He saw the ship. It had erupted into flames, bright against the dark sky. No. "Prince Zuko!" Before the cry had left his mouth, he was running towards the water, cursing himself for an old fool.

Once he was close enough to the blaze, he drew in breath and reached out a hand. The boards of the dock creaked beneath his hastening feet. He could feel the fire, its heat warm against his skin and its power vibrant in his mind. All that energy, raging. This was no natural fire, not that he had supposed for a moment that it was.

At the end of the dock, he stopped. His heart beating fast and hard, he reached out with both hands to the blaze. He reached out, and he seized the fire. Moving his arms, steadily but surely, he asked the fire to come with him. He pulled on it. The fire pulled back, resisting, angry. He didn't let go. Prince Zuko was inside.

When he had left his nephew, the young man had been below deck in his room, clearly intending to stay there for some time. If Zuko had remained there, he would be dead already, Iroh knew. Nevertheless, he spoke to the fire. He told it to listen to him.

"Listen to me, Prince Zuko," he said, trying not to smile at the young man. It was not that he found him amusing; he was just so fond of him. But he knew Zuko would take a smile amiss. "You must be patient. You cannot master the forms in a day."

"I'm tired of being patient! I don't have time!" Zuko was flushed, his scar dark with it. A passing crewman surreptitiously glared at the young prince, whose voice was too loud, carrying far over the calm sea. Iroh let the man's look pass. His nephew could be hard on the crew.

"There is time," he said. "You have time, and even if you did not, we would make it."

In lieu of a response, Zuko cried out in frustration, pushing out with both his hands, and a fire blazed before him. Iroh could tell from Zuko's expression that it was larger than the boy had expected, and it promptly set a nearby crate on fire--they had taken on new supplies, and there had not been time to stow them all away yet. The fire crackled high in the air, born of anger.

Zuko flinched, his eyes widening, and Iroh calmly stepped forward. He reached out. He took control of the fire as he took in breath, then he breathed out, pushing his hand down. The fire flickered and obediently went out. "You cannot allow yourself to lose control, Prince Zuko." The prince was still young, and after what he had experienced, it was no wonder his command of the fire was so erratic. Fire was wild, capricious. It took solidity and strength of will to control it. Zuko had great strength of will, yes, but he was unstable. Iroh settled a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

Zuko pulled away. "I didn't need your help, Uncle."

The scarred side of the young man's face was turned towards him. Not for the first time, Iroh felt the sting of regret. He let the feeling wash over him, accepting it. He saw in his mind's eye the imperious youth demanding to be let into the war chamber. If he had thought the boy would speak out as he had, would he have escorted him in? Perhaps not, but it was what he had done. There was no undoing it, and some good might yet come of it. No one could see all ends.

"Of course you did not. But I was willing to give my help."

He blamed himself. He should have foreseen this. Zhao had done his best to isolate the boy, and he had played into the admiral's hands by leaving Zuko by himself on the ship. My fault. I left him alone. Shame and grief welled up within him. He knew he could not fight against these feelings, so he let them come. Such emotions were like the fire. For all their destructive force, you had to respect them, to embrace them for what they were, before you could control them.

He let the tears stand in his eyes as he embraced the flames. The fire filled his vision. He would put this blaze out. He had the will. He commanded the fire. This time, it listened. He could feel it. It was his now. He drew his hands back over his head, and, with all his strength, pushed down. The fire flared--a final struggle--then died. The ship was still smoking, but the hull was largely intact. Fire Nation ships were naturally fire-resistant. If only the same could be said of the Fire Nation's citizens.

Iroh took a deep breath as he surveyed the ruin of the ship. Why had he done this thing? For all his insistence on calm and rationality, his action was inexplicable. Putting out the fire had helped nothing. There was no sign of his nephew. The tears in his eyes fell, and he did not stop them.

Yet the tears did not stop him, either. He had not given up hope. Something might have drawn Zuko from his quarters. He did not know what had happened. He was only an old man who had gone on a walk, then put out a fire.

Turning his back on the wreck, he lit another fire, but this was a small one, burning contained above the palm of his hand. There was no need for him to board the ship. The metal was still hot, and if Zuko had remained on board, he would be dead now. There was a chance, however, that his nephew--who was not easy to take by surprise--had managed to jump ship in time. He would not give grief its victory yet. He knew well the despair that was already by his side, a familiar creature grappling for a perch, a place to sink its claws in. Not now. He had to hurry. He had wasted enough time already on the madness with the fire.

When he saw the body on the shore, he caught his breath. It was warm in his throat, and he kept it there: a warm hope sustaining him. Yes, he saw as he drew nearer, it was the prince, lying so still, Iroh was not certain whether he was alive. When he knelt down beside the young man, he was overjoyed to see the breath animating his body, the rise and fall of his chest. The light of the fire he held in his hand showed scrapes and bruises on Zuko's face, but no new burns.

The prince was alive. Iroh let his grief go. Hope would rule him again. He smiled and set about ascertaining the extent of his nephew's injuries.

Dawn was beginning to pale the sky by the time the prince awakened. Iroh had managed to set up a rudimentary camp. He knew it was a temporary solution, but he hadn't wanted to move Zuko too far, too soon. He had carefully carried him a little ways from the shore and transferred the fire to a more sturdy base of firewood. Unfortunately, none of the supplies from the ship were salvageable. All that tea, lost. It was a tragedy, if not as tragic as it could have been.

"Uncle?"

He glanced over at the sound of Zuko's voice. It was more rough and low than usual. The prince must have inhaled a little smoke. His eyes were open. Iroh allowed himself a fond smile. "Yes, Nephew?"

The prince struggled to sit up. "My ship--" He sounded half-delirious.

"Lie down and rest," said Iroh, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "For a little while, at least."

"But--"

"Your ship is gone, Prince Zuko."

The hulk of the burnt boat was visible in the distance. "The fire went out," Zuko insisted.

No, it is still burning, thought Iroh. He decided not to risk another smile, not yet. "We will go on without it," he said.

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