Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender; someone else who's very lucky does. I didn't create it; that credit goes to the two geniuses and my role models, Mike DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. And I'm not making money by posting this story.

A/N: The oldest story I've published so far, probably completed in early 2006. We never got to see Iroh and Zuko's reunion in "The Waterbending Master," after Zuko's ship blew sky-high! So here's how I thought it would go. The horizontal lines represent passage of time or change in point of view. The first part of the story is from Iroh's POV; the second part is from Zuko's POV. Review? Please? Please?

Reunion of Fire

Iroh stared in horror at the billowing flames before him. Even as he watched, more explosions rocked the small Fire Navy ship. The ship that his nephew was on. . .

"Zuko," he moaned, bowing his head. His grief swam like ice in his stomach—why? Why was he being forced to go through this again? First, he'd lost his son. And now, the boy he'd come to love just as much was being snatched away from him. Fate was cruel, unbearably cruel.

He shook slightly with suppressed sorrow. He had trained Zuko carefully in the art of Firebending, practically raised him since childhood, watched him grow into a talented young man—and now, it was all over. He was dead, never to return. . .

With the anguish came guilt. Had he failed his nephew? If he hadn't gone for this walk—if he had been there to help—could he have Bent the flames away? Could he have saved the adolescent who was such a part of his life . . . who meant so much to him that it was unbearable to think that he was gone?

Was he doomed to have everything—everything!—he cared for taken away from him?

Just then, a splash from in front of him brought his tumultuous thoughts to an abrupt halt. He opened his eyes, expecting to see a rapidly sinking bit of debris from the ruined ship. When his gaze fell on the true source of the noise, his mouth fell open in shock.

The face staring at him looked a little worse for the wear—a few more bruises dotted the visage, and numerous cuts were bleeding slightly. But he would recognize it anywhere.

It was Zuko.

Zuko paddled clumsily—keeping his head above water was, at the moment, a seemingly impossible task. After all, Bending a raging inferno of flame around himself had been no easy feat. His fall into the water had almost knocked him unconscious. And the swim to shore had been much more difficult than he'd first thought it would be. But now, he was nearly there. Keeping his eyes fixed on his uncle, he sped up, eager to leave the water.

Within seconds, he had reached his destination. He dragged himself laboriously onto the sand, panting, water streaming off his robe. Iroh was just staring at him, his mouth moving soundlessly. He felt a surge of annoyance. He'd just had a brush with death, and all the old man could do was stand there?

"Will you stop mouthing like a beached koi fish?" he asked, irritated.

His words seemed to bring Iroh back to reality. His uncle suddenly strode forward and pulled him upright by the arm. Next thing Zuko knew, he was drawn into his uncle's tight embrace. It caught him off guard, and he moved almost automatically to push them apart. But Iroh wasn't about to let him go; on the contrary, he only pulled Zuko closer.

"My boy, my boy," Iroh sobbed, his voice shaking. "I was so afraid. . . I-I thought you were gone. . . I th-thought I'd lost you. . ."

Zuko listened, surprised. The sudden display of emotion was unusual, to say the least—as was his uncle's choice of words. But what baffled him most about this entire scene was that it wasn't surprising to him. It all felt so right . . .so natural, even . . . and he found himself faced with the undeniable fact—Iroh had become like a father to him. He had a closer relationship to his uncle than he had to his own father. But somehow, instead of dwelling despairingly on the fact that Ozai could care less about him, Zuko found himself reveling in Iroh's touch, his warm acceptance of a lowly, banished prince.

"It's all right, Uncle," he murmured gently. "I'm alive."

He didn't know how much time they spent standing there, nor did he really care. He merely leaned his tired body into his uncle's embrace, enjoying the natural heat radiating from the wise old Firebending Master. For the first time in many months, a soothing sense of peace settled over him. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced for a long time—and he enjoyed it.

Finally, Iroh released him and and stood back, wiping his eyes on his flowing sleeve. Zuko shivered slightly and pressed his hands to his robe. Soon the cloth began to steam. Iroh inhaled slowly, then let out a long breath of hot air, which blew around Zuko like a summer's breeze. With the two of them working, the garment rapidly dried.

"We're going to need a new ship," Iroh pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone, placidly folding his hands into his sleeves.

Zuko could tell that this was an invitation to explain the events of the evening, but he was currently deep in thought, staring at the ruins of his burning ship. It hadn't taken him long to piece together Zhao's part in this ambush. And though the attempted murder had failed, it had still left Zuko stranded without any means of transportation. The Fire Prince raked the waters with his gaze, willing himself to come up with inspiration. Then, he noticed the mass of ships docked farther down the shoreline—Zhao's fleet. Zuko smirked. Zhao was going to help him capture the Avatar, whether he was aware of it or not.

"I have a plan," he said simply. Iroh stepped up beside him, waiting patiently for him to elaborate.

Zuko remained silent a few seconds, staring at the horizon. He had lost so much . . .his rank . . .his honor . . .his home. His old life as prince of the Fire Nation seemed like a hundred years ago instead of two. And yet, through all the pain, all the suffering he had gone through, his uncle had always remained staunch and loyal. A powerful, wise teacher, his gentle guidance had supported Zuko, steadying him as he traveled the turbulent road his life had long since taken.

Iroh meant so much to him . . .had always meant so much to him . . .that, despite it all, he was grateful—grateful to the Spirit of the Sun, for the blessing of this incredible man.

He turned to venerable Fire Master and smiled, ready to give him all the details.

~The End~