Iroh had cleared his throat hesitantly. “I…I heard the prince and princess are in town today, do you–” His uncle’s inquiry was cut off by the sound of Zuko’s lunch flying to the floor, the porcelain bowl of rice porridge splattered on his tatami mat after a violent swipe of Zuko’s arm. “Never,” Zuko had panted, “mention them again.” “Nephew, I–” “STOP!” Zuko had yelled. “JUST SHUT UP!”

“Um…here you go. Uh. Sir.” Zuko timidly extended his palm, holding the tile face up. The man’s eyes widened minutely before narrowing in suspicion. “Who knocks at the garden gate?” It was the same thing that Piandao had asked when Iroh had knocked on his door earlier that night. Zuko scrambled to remember how his uncle had responded to the question, which was clearly some sort of old person code. “Um…someone who…likes mysterious fruit?” The other man sighed in exasperation, his eyes raised to the sky like he was asking the spirits for strength. “Good enough.” “Oh—thanks.” Zuko gave the man an awkward bow before shuffling past him into the palace.

“by the summer of Zuko’s eleventh year, his beloved mother was on death’s doorstep. Zuko was there in her final moments, curled against her pale form as she drew her last few rattling breaths. He held her limp hand as tightly as he could, just like she had done for him all those years ago, and looked at her with tear-lined eyes as she uttered her last words to him. And when his father removed her body swiftly and without emotion, Zuko stayed in that room for hours afterward, staring at the indent in the mattress where his beloved mother had just rested, her final words echoing through his head: ‘Remember this Zuko--no matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.Have courage, and be kind.’”