Disclaimer: I own nothing. Meh.

The smell of burnt flesh and hair was prominent in the room, though the source of the odor had been long since removed from the arena. Only a few flames flickered to light the deserted platform, and a lone figure stood there, as if forcing himself to relive an event that he had not prevented. Could not? No. He had not.

"You will not reconsider?"

"No more than you will," the figure responded easily to the disembodied voice. He knew its owner well.

"I am not sending you away."

"I wish to go with him. He will need guidance and love."

"He needs to learn respect!" the voice roared and the flames leapt from their dozings.

"What sort of respect will a child learn from his father's violent anger?" Iroh answered. "You have not been to see him."

"And this is the first time you have left his side."

The Dragon of the West turned towards the voice. His eyes rested on the shadowy face of the Fire Lord. "Let me tell you something, Ozai, that I hope you never learn from experience: to lose a son is life's worst curse. Worse than losing a kingdom. Learn that, younger brother, and perhaps you may mend your mistakes."

"He is dead to me."

His cold voice seemed to cause the remaining flames to flicker and die, and Iroh knew himself to be alone in the grand chamber. "Then I will stand in your place for as long as you leave it vacant, brother. You do not know the treasure you throw away."