Chapter Three: Iroh's Past

General Iroh is a man of many days.

He's felt as if he's lived a thousand and one lifetimes twice over to this day.

Yet still he lives, for the sake of bringing up these two children whom he calls his own. He hopes to see the day when the Fire Nation will return to it's true glory.

When young little girls, lost, will find their ways home unpassed glorious revelries of gore.

But he is weary, this old man, of trials unforseen that forsake him.

His children are growing up—wearily, but truly so—and he cannot impress upon them his own whims and desires any longer.

He thinks back to days lost and past, when a simple and eager nine-year-old Zuko had asked him for something not his.

There is always something to force a mind into hearing a need and thinking it's a whim. There is always the want for more, for something undeniably real. Leave it to his nephew to complicate that particular truth of life by choosing someone to be that something.

"I cannot," Iroh says to his nine-year-old nephew, "give you what you are asking for."

"Why not?"

"Because, Prince Zuko, people are not to be passed from hand to hand like sacks of rice. People are people, not things." Many among the nobles and military think differently. Too many. Iroh was hoping his nephew, proud and certain though he is, was not growing up to be one of them. Yet Zuko has asked him…this.

Zuko has asked for Katara.

"You have plenty of servants, prince Zuko. In the future you will have thousands more, along with armies, ministers, and a nation of supplicants. Don't take from your poor, rickety uncle the only person who can brew a good cup of tea to warm these old bones into life."

"Anyone can make tea. You don't need her especially for that."

Iroh does not ask what Zuko needs her for. "But Katara makes the best tea."

The boy fidgets, frowning at the steaming cup in front of him with ire. "She would still make tea whenever you wanted it, I wouldn't care. Or you could both move into the palace," he adds hopefully.

Iroh sighs. "Court air gives me headaches." A disapproving note shades his tone, camouflaging a note of teasing. "And Katara is too young to enter the seraglio."

His nephew's pale skin tinges a compromising pink. "I wouldn't put her there. Ever."

Iroh wonders if "ever" will last past sixteen.

A/N:

There an excerpt from Tempest In A Teacup by AKAVertigo. A great author whom you guys should check out. Since that story is what I've built this story and my other Zutara story (Where to Wander), I thought it might explain why Iroh is slightly against ZxK being together. A seraglio is where the harem lives.

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