#but halfway thru thinking it up i remembered it and went YOOO THIS IS A THING THAT PEOPLE MIGHT DO

[officially-a-bee]

It's common enough practice to leave a chair open for a deceased loved one.

After Iroh died, Zuko left him a chair at every ceremony, every banquet. He already did so when Iroh was alive in Ba Sing Se, because he never wanted there to be too few places if Iroh ever decided to visit spontaneously, so why should he stop? He does it out of love, respect, and remembrance. Everyone knows what it means, and respects the single empty chair.

Izumi continues the tradition, as the next Firelord. It's easy for her, he was her grandfather. She named her son after him.

So, of course, do Iroh II and his sister. He wants to honor his namesake, and she wants to continue the tradition. It's not even a choice for them, neither one ever has to ask the staff to do it. It's customary now. Not even a thought in anyone's heads.

They pass the tradition and stories down to the next generations, and they all make sure to keep it going. No one wants to forget the legendary Uncle Iroh, who saved the world from the metaphorical backseat by being a good dad to THEE Avatar's Friends, and also a badass. The country as a whole begins to integrate it into their own lives - everyday citizens, hearing of the Royal Family's custom and adding empty chairs of their own "for Uncle Iroh" at big gatherings and ceremonies like weddings. They don't always stay empty, though; at home, the people will occasionally let other, extra people come in and stay at the extra seat. They know the old man from the stories was incredibly kind and caring - they know he wouldn't mind. He's got a chair of his own at home.

But maybe one day, centuries have passed, and Zuko's 5-or-6-greats-grandchildren begin to understate Iroh's accomplishments. Other, "brighter" people have come and gone since the end of the 100 Year War. There are newer stories to tell, greater heroes. Not once do they falter with their tradition of leaving a seat open, they just. . . forget. . . to keep the stories as alive as they were the first few times they were told.

By now, the Fire Nation as a whole has integrated "Uncle Iroh's chair" into their spaces. Most of them barely know why it's called that anymore, but it's caused the country to earn a new reputation. One of hospitality and generosity. One of sharing tea with strangers.

Stories of Uncle Iroh may have fallen out of common use, outside of fun stories historians might tell about why they keep that extra chair in the dining room, and why they all call it Uncle's Chair.

And maybe things get rough again, where people can no longer trust the people on the street, but they always keep Uncle's Chair by the table, in case a friend or family member arrives unexpectedly and they have no room.

But long after he's gone, long after he's fallen out of popular stories parents tell to their children at bedtime, he stays in people's hearts.

His legacy becomes that of new friends made at unexpected holidays, of stories told over tea between strangers by the fireplace, of desperate people let in to share the food and warmth.

And I think that's the best lasting effect Uncle Iroh could ever have asked for.