The Simple Things in Life

[avatarspirit]

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! go Iroh! It's amazing how a small act of kindness can make such an impact for anyone. (Hugs sentimental watch) Please write more!

[sayuri]

7. Teaching each other the true and constant meaning of survival, one simple phrase, never give up without a fight.

“Zuko, you have failed once again. Your sister is two years younger than you and she has already mastered that move. You are falling behind.” His father’s voice boomed from behind the Prince as he lay on the ground, after falling once again.

Azula stood erect next to him, basking in her father’s praise; she stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her nose at the young Prince. Prince Zuko only returned the favor, but his father caught him, stopping the boy with one glare that meant he was in for a small beating.

“Iroh, you said you could improve the boy’s technique, and since I have left him in your care, I have seen nothing but failure. I believe that you are loosing your touch. If I do not see improvement within the next day, you will both be punished.” With that the new Fire Lord Ozai left the garden with Azula on his heels.

Zuko sat in the grass, breaking off pieces here and there, tearing them in half. Something to keep him from looking at his Uncle. But when the man sat down next to the boy, Zuko did look at him with curiosity. Iroh sighed, he slumped his shoulder’s looking much like Zuko. They sat there, a perfect image of defeat, and a perfect image of each other. One would have thought that they were father and son by the simple similarity between them.

“I failed, Uncle why can’t I do anything right?” Zuko finally turned to Iroh, expecting some kind of reassurance from him.

“It appears, Prince Zuko, that you are not the only one your father thinks has failed.” Iroh looked downtrodden, eyes glued to a certain spot on the ground, something Zuko did not expect from his normally cheerful Uncle.

Zuko did not know what to say or do; he had never seen his Uncle like this. He had always imagined him as someone much like a super hero, the invincible kind, never getting hurt, always cheerful, wise, and brave. But perhaps with time everyone falls victim to his father’s words, even Iroh.

As natural habit Zuko pulled out his knife, the one that Iroh had sent him while Ba Sing Se was under siege. He fiddled with it, carefully running his small fingers over the sharp blade, tracing the inscription with his fingers.

“Never give up without a fight.” Zuko mouthed the simple phrase, realizing for the first time, the depth of its meaning. Iroh just looked at the Prince awestruck, who ever knew that one so small could think so deep?

Iroh guessed after all, that since he was his Nephew; the wisdom must run in the family. He turned to the boy and knew now what they had to do.

“Thank you Prince Zuko.” Iroh placed a hand on his shoulder.

“For what?”

“For reminding me,” Iroh chuckled; perhaps this deep thinking was a one time only situation.

“Oh, yeah. Sure thing Uncle.” Zuko smiled, pretending to know what his Uncle was talking about.

“Never give up without a fight,” Iroh mimicked the phrase before standing up and brushing himself off. “Now Prince Zuko,” he held out his hand for his Nephew to take. “Where were we?”

[sayuri]

8. The rocking arms and soothing voice of a simple song, scaring away the nightmares. “Leaves from the vine, falling so slow. Like fragile tiny shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home.”

Rain.

Fire.

Death.

Uncontrollable.

Consuming.

The palace is completely silent, and dark. With the exception of the soft and cautious voice of a man who has seen too much, and bore too much pain for his age, and the small child wailing in his arms, gripping the man further and further into his almost strangling embrace. A small candle is lit, only enough for those inside to see.

“Come now Prince Zuko, everything is going to be ok. Nothing is going to happen to your mother, she is right in the other room. She will never leave you,” the old General looks down softly as he strokes the boy’s silky jet black hair.

“But I saw it in my dream! Mama left me!” The child’s tears never ceased to flow from his eyes.

“Shh, it’s going to be ok, I’m here. I’m here,” he moved over to a large wooden rocking chair in the play room, the child never leaving his grip.

He winced as it slightly squeaked but soon became accustomed to his weight. The man just tucked the child’s head under his chin, gently rubbing his hand over his back, much like he had once with his own son. But no longer, never again will he hold his own flesh and blood. His Lu Ten. But, then there is this, this child, so tender, so innocent. The man felt like he had to protect him from anything and everything – even his nightmares.

“Now tell me Prince Zuko,” the man tilted the boy’s chin to look at him, even through his tears. But the young Prince just cried even more, keeping his Uncle’s stomach in his death grip. “What can I do?” The man spoke to himself, the child obviously not hearing.

The Prince’s cries became louder now, as if the dream was returning and trying to pry the child from his beloved Uncle. The man now doing the only thing he knows how, the only thing that worked on his own son, the only thing that could possibly scare away this nightmare.

“Leaves from the vine,” the boy stops almost instantly and looks curiously at his Uncle. “Falling so slow. Like fragile tiny shells drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy come marching home, brave little soldier boy, comes marching home.” The boy’s tears slowly melted away into the loving embrace of a great war General. Sleep took him. The General did not mind. They sat in the dark, while the man continued humming the simple lullaby long after his Nephew fell asleep.

Enjoy! Happy New Year's Eve!