#they teach him a ton of cool new firebending stuff

[aethersea]

I haven't listened to taz but I loved that Iroh thing you made up one time. So can you please do Iroh? Good luck with the next midterm!

Iroh’s incredible, good good choice, thank you for this prompt. This prompt got me through my midterms, actually, and through the first part of finals week. Thank you. And sorry it took so long to publish this – I take a glacial age to write anything, even these headcanon posts, but I did have a lot of fun doing it, and I hope you’re pleased with the result.

So. Let’s kick this off with the opening lines from that fic I’ll never write:

Iroh left the Fire Nation capital a proud general, filled with the passion of his element and the careless, easy confidence of those who have grown up blessed. In those days he laughed often, smiled at everyone, and dispensed kindnesses like a game. He rode to war at the head of a shining battalion, his son at his side and the whole world laid out at his feet.

He came back with white in his hair and age in his gait, at the head of a ragged company, with no one at his side but loss.

Iroh saved a dragon’s life. I will not budge on this, okay, I’m very invested in this headcanon. Slaying dragons was a big deal in the Fire Nation, remember – mastery over the element and nature or some such rot, bla bla honor, imperialism, whatever. Iroh’s the Dragon of the West for more reasons than one, and one of those reasons is that, as far as anyone knows, he slew the Dragon of the West. The last dragon left alive, people thought. Iroh told the story at parties for years – how fierce the battle, how fearsome the dragon, how fiery its demise. How the very mountains shook with its death throes. How absolutely certain he was that there were no dragons left, no sirree, not a one.

Iroh saved the dragon from another Fire Nation general. Some powerful firebender, one who’d lost his military command over some disgrace, was looking to regain his honor by slaying it, and Iroh stopped him. Killed him, which he can’t find it in him to regret, though sometimes he thinks maybe he should. Iroh turned away from his enemy’s burnt body and saw the dragon, wounded, dying, and learned a whole lot about dragon medicine on the fly. 

Iroh wasn’t even looking for a dragon, which is the funny part – he was honest to god just passing through, yes I know it’s the middle of nowhere and there’s no human settlement for days, I really wasn’t looking for you, please don’t breathe fire at me I just want to help. Incidentally do you know the way to Sen Zhu, I am very lost.

Iroh doesn’t go to Sen Zhu for a while, because he has to nurse the dragon back to health, and after that it takes him to that dragon temple from the Indiana Jones episode. Iroh learns a bunch of cool firebending moves from the temple guardians, and when he leaves he swears he’ll tell the whole world that the Age of Dragons is over.

Iroh was a great general to serve under, back when he was still fighting. He has a brilliant tactical mind, and even before he learned how to be kind, he knew the importance of taking care of the people serving under you. His soldiers were well fed and provisioned, his officers didn’t abuse their power, and at night when they made camp he would go from campfire to campfire with a large jug of good wine and a choice selection of really bawdy jokes. It took a while for the soldiers to get used to this, but eventually they all knew him, and he knew them. By the time they reached Ba Sing Se, all of the soldiers, even the conscripted ones, had come to believe that maybe the Fire Nation would be in good hands when he took the throne.

He was a pretty great prince in a lot of ways. He was arrogant, yes, and prone to recklessness – you know the opening scene in Prince of Egypt, where the two princes wreck everything? That was Iroh and Ozai, every other month – but he was clever and cunning, he knew everything about how the Fire Nation was run, and he knew how to balance listening to wise counsel with making his own decisions. Everyone was sure he was going to be a strong Fire Lord, and most people thought he might even be the one to end the war. The general consensus was that the Siege of Ba Sing Se would be the last great battle of the hundred-year war, and that when it was done or shortly after, Azulon would step down and hand his crown on to his son.

When Iroh took Zuko under his wing, it wasn’t because he saw himself in Zuko. It wasn’t even because he saw his son in Zuko – that would have been too painful to bear, even several years after his death. It was because of how much of his family he didn’t see in Zuko. Where Iroh had been arrogant, Zuko was shy. Where Ozai was coldly ambitious, Zuko was generous and kind. Where the Fire Lord was dispassionate and calculating, Zuko cared about people. Where Azula was—well, the less said about Azula the better. But Zuko was nothing like her, and if Iroh had anything to say about it, he never would be.

Iroh met his wife in winter, under the boughs of the only tree in the palace gardens that blossomed in that season. Their marriage was not yet arranged, but they both knew it was likely to happen. She had smiled at him, shy and hesitant under the star-white flowers, and admitted with a self-deprecating smile, “I think I’m meant to seduce you.” Iroh had laughed, and said, “Our parents can worry about that. Why don’t we talk about something else? Do you like the theater? There’s an excellent production of Zukon the Dragon-Slayer on in town.”

After the play, they walked arm in arm through the city parks, under trees that were sparse and drooping in the tropical winter, and talked about dragons and history and storytelling, and never once touched on politics or weddings. It was only after several more months of such outings that Iroh turned to her, seriously, and said, “I know what our parents have planned, and it’s not a plan that I could ever object to. Spending time with you is the brightest part of my day. But I would rather work the rest of my life on forging alliances with your family myself than see you unhappy. If you don’t want the marriage to happen, it won’t. I will see to it that it won’t have to.”

They weren’t in love. They both knew this. But Iroh thought he could grow to love her, that he could be happy the rest of his days with her at his side. He hoped she felt the same, but—

She stared at him in shock, and then started to laugh. Iroh turned away, embarrassed and awkward, ashamed of his sentimentality. He didn’t see her face when she called him an idiot, and he was taken by surprise when she turned him around, still laughing, and kissed him.

Iroh joins the White Lotus like this: One of its members is the governor of an occupied Earth Kingdom city, and when Iroh visits, they play pai sho. Iroh leads with the white lotus tile, and the governor comments on what an unusual choice it is. Iroh responds with something cryptically philosophical, as he is wont to do – something about unexpected stratagems allowing for unpredicted victories. It is exactly the kind of thing White Lotus members say to each other.

They play a full game of pai sho, and Iroh wins, making use of clever strategies and maneuvers which are all part of the secret code that White Lotus members use to impart how much they know. Iroh’s new friend understands it all to mean that Iroh’s a super high-ranking member of the organization, and he’s here to help the governor with some problem plaguing the city.

Iroh’s never heard of the White Lotus. He’s just really good at pai sho. When the governor asks for help, he gives it freely, because that’s just who he is as a person. When word spreads and more people start coming to him for help, flashing a white lotus tile as they ask, he starts to put two and two together.

Iroh doesn’t tell anyone that no one ever actually recruited him, in case they decide to assassinate him or something. He picks up secrets as he goes, through intuition and careful questions. It’s not like he disagrees with what they’re doing, once he figures out what it is.

After the war, he tells King Bumi about all this, and they laugh together for a good long time.

Iroh and Bumi get along like a house on fire. Sometimes literally, because they have a lot of friendly duels and they can get a little out of hand. In the years after the war, they exchange lots of correspondence, and Iroh visits Omashu a lot.

Whenever he does, the whole city despairs, because now there are two unreasonably buff old men with mad bending skills walking around, delighting small children with their antics and imparting cryptic wisdom to shopkeepers.

Iroh never actually got a divorce. His father wouldn’t let him, and later his brother upheld that ruling – a disgrace to the throne, your wife leaving you because she can’t bear to see your face anymore. Because you can’t find words to say to her anymore. He never got a divorce, but he hasn’t spoken to his wife in a long time. She lives with her sister, on one of the more distant islands. 

When Iroh was imprisoned in the start of Book Three, she sent him a letter. It was cold and brief, and Ozai had the prison guards read it to him, out of… some jealousy that still remained, some desire to see Iroh beaten, to see him brought as low as he could be brought. Iroh listened to it silently, eyes hooded and blank, which was how he always looked in prison when there was anyone around to see. In the letter, his wife said, “My heart is a barren winter, where only the star-white flowers of the senko tree could bloom. Hearing of your vile betrayal, you who style yourself Dragon of the West, I remember the dragon-slayers of old, and I long for a return to those days of chivalry and hope. The legacy of that time has died, but it pains me to think that we have fallen so far. I hope you still believe in repentance.”

After the war, he finds her. “Thank you for your letter,” he says. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else did. I am sorry for how long it’s been.”

“I meant what I said in it,” she says firmly. “I am your wife and your ally. I should have been by your side, these many years.” 

“As I should have been by yours. I should never have left you to grieve alone.”

Iroh’s wife smiles, and kisses him on the cheek, and says, “Now, I think we should get down to business. Your nephew has the support of the people and of the Avatar, but that won’t keep him safe for long. I have a list for you of blackmail material for the nobility. Unfortunately it’s not comprehensive, but we’ve managed to assassinate or otherwise remove the worst ones in the chaos of the last year or two, so your boy should have a few years at least to solidify his claim.” 

Turns out Iroh’s not the only one who’s been running with an undercover network of powerful people looking to enact change. Hers is smaller, based almost exclusively in the Fire Nation, but it’s also a fair bit more… hands-on. Iroh immediately takes her back to Zuko and says, “Nephew, hire this woman as your advisor. Trust me, you want her on your side.”

Iroh loves his brother. That never changed, even when Ozai stole the throne, abused his children, killed… no, surely Ozai would never kill his wife. Surely not. Iroh won’t believe it. But even so, Ozai has done horrible things, become a monster worse than their father, and Iroh loves him still. Iroh tries to reason with him, tries to fight him, and it never seems to make any difference. Iroh works against him, secretly, with the rest of the White Lotus, and his heart is heavy as he does.

Iroh sees his brother challenge Zuko to an agni kai when the boy is only thirteen years old, sees his brother mutilate his own son in public, sees the unrelenting rage in his brother’s face as he does it. Iroh gives up.

Iroh loves his brother. He never stops loving him, till the day he dies. But he never forgives him, either.

Iroh came home from the Siege of Ba Sing Se a broken man. That phrase gets thrown around a lot, to the point where it’s almost lost its meaning, but this is what it means here: 

In the days after coming home, after kneeling before his father’s throne and recounting his defeat, Iroh does not leave his office. For seven days and seven nights he sits at his desk, staring at the books and scrolls that he’d studied before leaving. They’re filled with tactics, strategies, accounts of historical battles. He wants to burn every last one of them. He can’t muster up the energy. 

On the eighth day his brother comes to his office and says that this has gone on long enough. The people are worried, his family is worried – it’s time for Iroh to leave his rooms and return to the world of the living. Iroh stares at him, stares through him, but Ozai doesn’t take no for an answer, forces Iroh to shower, get dressed, go outside. Iroh follows his brother through the halls of the palace like a ghost, empty and drifting.

“You’re upsetting your wife,” Ozai tells him. It’s one of many things Ozai tells him, but it’s the only one that sticks. Iroh hasn’t seen his wife since he came home, and told her that he sent their son marching to his death. She had known already, of course – he’d sent word when it happened – but she had thrown herself into his arms and sobbed until she was empty. Through it all, Iroh had held her and felt numb. His guilt and his grief had long since consumed him, until he no longer felt like a man at all, just a walking hole in the world.

The next day, and the next, and the day after that, Iroh forces himself to leave his rooms. He walks through the palace, face blank, not seeing any of the people who bow and step out of his way as he approaches, not hearing their hushed whispers as they stare and stare at their fallen prince. He walks, after a while, into the city, without a litter or a procession, unaccompanied by anyone but a squad of harried guards who were manning the palace gates when he went through and had to hurry to catch up. He stops in parks and at busy intersections, and spends hours watching the flow of traffic or the way the wind moves in the branches of blossoming trees.

This is very embarrassing for the crown. Ozai is sort of regretting having forced his brother out into the public eye. There are whispers and murmurs that the Fire Nation will surely crumble when Iroh takes the throne. Azulon is not pleased. 

Iroh’s wife goes to live with her sister. When she tells him she’s leaving, he nods, and says, “I understand.” When she’s gone, he puts his head down in his arms and cries, for the first time in a long time.

It’s not long after this that Iroh goes before his father – formally, requesting an audience and kneeling before his throne – and asks permission to run away. He wants to tour the kingdom, he says. He wants to see the results of their war with his own eyes, to remind himself what they fought for. Azulon is relieved. He sends Iroh off with his blessing, hoping his son will find his backbone out in the world where he lost it.

Iroh wanders, for a long time. When he comes back he is, once again, a changed man.