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He makes it a habit, once a week, to close the doors of the Jasmine Dragon and transport his wares to the Lower Ring. He sets up shop at his old employer’s establishment, donates the day’s earnings to that man.
(Are you sure? Pao had asked when Iroh first approached him about the arrangement.
Of course! Iroh had responded. A man does well to show gratitude to those who have helped him on his path!
But Quon, your benefactor, the owner of your teashop—
Iroh had grinned then. I purchased it from him for a sizable sum. I am my own owner now! And I would be very honored indeed to share your facilities on a weekly basis.)
It is consistently the busiest day of the week for the man’s shop; people flock from the Middle and Lower Rings to the small establishment for what is still regarded as the best tea in Ba Sing Se. Tables are too scarce, and people take their porcelain cups to the outside street, sip them sitting on curbs and doorsteps. They smile. They all smile.
And perhaps it is because Iroh is so accustomed to this cheerful demeanor, that the middle-aged woman who stands in front of him now, eyebrows creased and wearing a frown as she stares at him, stands out.
“Might I help you, ma’am?” he asks, kindly.
Her gaze intensifies. “Do you have any teas from the Fire Nation?”
Ah, Iroh thinks, suddenly understanding the source of her unease. But he will play along, he decides, for now. “Indeed, I do. Is there something specific you are looking for? Or perhaps, you are, like me, a lover of teas from—”
“How did you get teas from the Fire Nation?”
He sighs. He decided when he came back that, while he would not publicize it, he would not hide his identity, not because he has nothing to be ashamed of (he has plenty to be ashamed of and feels it keenly, constantly), but because these people deserve at least the truth from him.
“Because I am from the Fire Nation,” Iroh responds, finally.
“There are rumors about you,” says the woman, squinting. “That you were involved—”
“This is not the optimal time for this conversation.”
“Why? Afraid all these people will hear that their favorite tea maker stood outside the Inner Wall six years ago and slaughtered their children? Afraid they won’t want your bloody tea?”
Iroh blinks, realizes that she knows exactly who he is.
Nonetheless, he forces himself to maintain eye-contact as he responds. “No. You deserve answers, and I wish to be able to provide them. I will have adequate time to do so at the day’s end. Return then, and you have my word that I will tell you anything that you would like to know. In the meantime,” says Iroh, pouring a cup of his favorite Ginseng blend and handing it to her. “Enjoy this, on the house.”
She looks down at the cup, and then up at him. “Think you can bribe me?”
“I would not dream of it.”
“I’ll be back tonight! And I expect you to keep your word!”
“I will be here.”
Sure enough, she reenters the shop as he is packing his belongings into his bags.
“Good evening,” he greets her, before Pao is able to bark at her that the shop is closed. “If you would just give me a moment to get out of this man’s hair, I will join you.”
He bids Pao a farewell, and then holds the door for the woman as they exit together. “Now, you are most welcome to accompany me back to the Upper Ring and—”
“So that you can have me all alone and powerless? I don’t think so. You talk in public.”
“Of course. Would you allow me to purchase you dinner?”
She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but tentatively nods.
Moments later, it seems, Iroh finds himself sitting across the table from her in a small, dingy noodle shop, empty save for the server behind the counter, who disappears into the kitchen after they have been served. (Iroh is grateful for the lack of people, and then scolds himself the instant the gratitude enters his mind. He deserves no privacy, not on these matters. After all, didn’t he once desire fame for his exploits?)
“As I said,” he states, willing himself to keep his voice steady. “I will answer any question you have.”
“You’re the Dragon of the West.”
“Yes.”
“Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.”
“Not anymore, but I was, yes.”
“Fire Nation General.”
“At one time.”
“War criminal.”
Iroh pauses, forces himself to move past the hitch in his breath. “I imagine there are those that believe so.”
“Murderer.” Like the rest of what the woman has said, this is a statement, not a question.
The old man sighs, bows his head, closes his eyes. When he responds, his voice is quiet, but firm. He gave his word, after all, that he would answer every query, and truthfully. “Yes.”
There is silence, and when Iroh opens his eyes, he is not surprised to find that the woman is glaring at him.
“Did you lose someone, during the siege?” he asks tentatively.
“My son. My only child. Defending the Outer Wall.”
The image of Lu Ten swims into Iroh’s consciousness before he is able to sense it, much less stop it. Nevertheless, he keeps his voice steady; his grief is not relevant, not now. “What was his name?”
“Tai.” She pauses, as if for emphasis, or, thinks Iroh, in an attempt to separate her son from what she says next. “There was no body, only a pile of ashes.”
Iroh blinks. His son had been crushed, had been hardly recognizable, and Iroh had burned him after in accordance with their funeral customs. But at least there had been a body for him to cradle, to say goodbye…
He feels his eyes burn with salty liquid, but forces it away. Now is not the time, not the time for his own grief.
And he finds that his body, almost of its own volition, sinks from his chair to the ground at the woman’s feet.
“I will not insult you by extending my condolences or by begging for your forgiveness,” he says from his prostration. “But I would like you to know how sincerely and deeply I regret—gah!” Iroh cries out involuntarily as the woman’s foot forcefully meets his rib.
“You regret?!” she spits, as she kicks him again. “Will your regret bring him back?!”
“No.”
“No! It won’t! I have no one in this world, because of you! You murdered my child, and millions of others, and you tell me that you regret it?!”
Iroh is silent, only tries not to wince as she continues to kick his ribs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the server reappear from the kitchen. “Hey!” the man shouts to the woman as he approaches. “Hey, stop, or I’ll call the police!”
“No,” says Iroh. “That will not be necessary…”
“But—”
“I am alright.”
The interruption, however, seems to stir the woman. “Get up,” she commands Iroh, and he obeys, gritting his teeth as his ribs shift uncomfortably, and as he sits back down at the table after she does. The server, appearing satisfied, returns to the other room.
“Why did you come back to Ba Sing Se?” the woman asks after a moment.
“Do you really wish to know?”
She nods once.
“To explain is a rather long story.”
“I have all night.”
“Very well,” says Iroh. “Six years ago, after I abandoned the siege—”
“Why?”
“I am sorry?”
“Why did you abandon the siege?”
“I...I beleive I truly saw what it was, what we were doing, for the first time. I...also...saw what my nation was, and what I was for the first time…”
“What happened?”
“Forgive me, but I do not quite understand…”
“You were the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. You don’t just realize something like that out of nowhere. And if you were a Fire Nation General, that couldn't have been the first time you saw blood and slaughter.”
“No,” agrees Iroh. “It was not.”
“So what changed during the siege?”
He sighs, looks down, does not answer.
The woman leans in, unrelenting. “You gave your word that you’d tell me everything I wanted to know.”
“Yes.” Iroh closes his eyes, pauses before speaking. “My own son...my Lu Ten...also...perished.”
When he finally brings himself to look at her, she still appears angry—there is a still a glare in her eyes—but somehow softer. “I see.”
It’s just as well, he thinks, because he doesn’t want her condolences either. He does not deserve them, not for a moment, and he doesn’t think that, in addition to everything else he is guilty of, he would be able to carry the guilt of her pity.
He continues: “After I abandoned the siege, I knew I could not go back to the Fire Nation. I saw the blood on my own hands, and I saw that my nation was dripping with it as well. I wanted nothing to do with it. So I wandered. I was extremely fortunate; I met men who gave me a chance, who showed me a different path, a good path…”
“Do you think you deserved it?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think you deserved to be given a second chance? To be shown a ‘better path,’ or whatever you just said?”
“I...I have never considered it.”
“Then consider it now.”
He takes a moment to sit in silent deliberation before responding. “My regret was genuine.”
“I’m sure it was. There is nothing like the pain of losing a child.”
“But it was not merely the pain,” responds Iroh, not to contradict her, but because it is crucial to him that she understand. “It was because in feeling that pain, that horrible grief, I realized that I had caused it in others. Again and again and again. And that every person who had died at my hand or my Nation’s, was a person, just as my son had been.”
“I can assure you my Tai was a person!”
Iroh, again, bows his head. “I know.”
“And you didn’t answer my question. Did you deserve that chance?”
“I had power to help to end the atrocities that my Nation was committing, and I never would have been able to do that without that path. So I believe the more relevant question is whether those suffering at the hands of my Nation deserved their suffering to end.”
“That’s a convenient answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
“I’ll bet it made you feel good about yourself, while you were out there wandering. You didn’t have to feel guilty about everything you had done before, because now you were out helping to end the atrocities.”
“On the contrary. Repentance is an active process; there was nothing else I could possibly do but work to end what I had helped to do. What I had done was constantly on my mind.”
She stares at him for a moment before continuing. “So you met these men who gave you a second chance. Then what?”
“I did some small missions for the Order for about a year, and—”
“The Order?”
“The Order of the White Lotus. The men I had met—”
“You were in the Order of the White Lotus?”
“I am proud to say that I still am.”
“The same Order of the White Lotus that liberated the city from the Fire Nation a few months ago?”
“Yes.”
“Were you...involved in that?”
“I was.”
“I guess...as a general, you had some experience in conquering Ba Sing Se.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” He risks a small smile.
She seems to almost reciprocate before saying: “So, you did small missions for the Order of the White Lotus. And then...what?”
“I got word after about a year that my father had died and that my younger brother had ascended the throne.”
“You went back?”
Iroh nods. “I was worried about my nephew. My brother had never seemed to show him any care, and things could only get more dangerous for him, as heir to the throne. And I was right…After about two years, my brother punished his thirteen-year-old son for speaking out of turn by challenging him to a fire duel. When Zuko—my nephew—refused, my brother burned half his face so that it boiled, blistered and scarred. And—”
“The Scarred Prince!”
“Yes, he was—”
“There are stories about him, here! They say he was living here, that he helped with the coup…”
“Yes. He was lost for a long time...I tried to help him...”
“What do you mean lost?”
“Burning him was not enough for my brother. He was banished until he could capture the Avatar. But this was before the Avatar had actually returned. My brother did not care what happened to Zuko; it was a mere excuse to get him out of court, to send him to his death. But I could not let that happen. I went with him.”
“Why did you care about him?! The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, who was clearly loyal to his father! Who was slaughtering us? If you had realized, like you said, how bloody your Nation and family was…”
“He was my nephew!”
“He was the son of Fire Lord Ozai!”
“And I am the son of Fire Lord Azulon! My nephew had done nothing wrong!”
“Didn’t you just say that he refused to fight his father?”
“He was a child! Twisted by Ozai, he did not know any better...Ozai was not just violent to his enemies in war. He was mad and power-hungry, saw his own children and mere tools to achieve his own power. He was good at manipulating those tools. Zuko was not to blame!”
“There’s more. You’re getting mad talking about this in a way you haven’t so far.”
Iroh curses himself internally when he realizes that she is right. Slowly, he inhales, then exhales, and forces the calm in his voice as he responds. “Yes, there is more. I loved Zuko like my own son—I still do. And, as I have said, I had already lost a son. I refused to lose another.”
The woman gazes at him, raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
So Iroh continues. “When the Avatar actually did return, and when Zuko had failed to capture him, Ozai wanted us out of the way. He sent his other child, his daughter, to capture us, drag us back to court in chains. We resisted and ran. And in so doing, we both became full-blown traitors to Ozai. Eventually, with the help of the Order, we arrived in this city as refugees.”
“That’s ironic.”
“I thought so as well. We lived here in peace for some time. I was happy, even. I think my nephew almost grew happy as well.”
“Until the coup.”
“Yes. My niece had been tracking us, followed us here, and then turned her sights on higher glories than just capturing her treacherous relatives.”
“Succeeding, where you had failed.”
“Yes.”
“And your nephew joined her.”
“I begged him not to, but his choice was his own. And I believe there was a part of him that regretted it even as he did it. But the temptation my niece offered him was too great, to be able to return home in glory as a prince rather than a prisoner...I fought them, gave the Avatar time to escape.”
“I thought you said you loved your nephew.”
“I did, with everything in me.”
“But you still fought him?”
“I loved him. But there were things greater than either of us at stake. He had made his choice.”
“So what happened after that?”
“After the Avatar got away, I let myself be captured and was and dragged back to the Fire Nation in chains. My nephew was welcomed home in glory. But he was in turmoil. Our time traveling had changed him. He came to visit me in secret several times when I was in prison, seeking advice…”
“Did you provide it?”
“No. I had already provided him with everything I could tell him. He needed my silence…And he found the proper path.” Now Iroh smiles despite himself. He is proud of his nephew, so proud. “I did not find out until I had already broken myself out of prison that he ran away from court, and joined the Avatar to help him defeat my brother. And he did. While the Avatar dueled Ozai, Zuko defeated his sister and won the throne he was properly owed. And, after, formally ended the War.”
“And you?”
“I am sorry?”
“Where were you when all this was going on? You said you broke out of prison…”
“I assembled the Order of the White Lotus to take back Ba Sing Se from the Fire Nation. I believe you know the rest.”
“Your nephew is Fire Lord?”
“Yes.”
“And you two reconciled?”
“Yes.” It had been one of the dearest moments of his life, embracing Zuko, crying there in that tent outside Ba Sing Se on the eve of battle…
“So, you still haven’t answered my original question. You could be living a life of luxury and leisure in the Fire Nation. Why did you come back to Ba Sing Se?”
Iroh sighs again. “I said, did I not, that repentance is an active process?”
“You did.”
“I am not finished with it. Perhaps I never will be.”
“So you came back, you make tea…?”
“My tea makes people happy. I endeavor to bring people joy where once I brought so much sorrow.”
“Tea won’t bring our children back.”
“No, it will not.”
“So you can’t be redeemed.”
“I know. But I nonetheless repent.”
She sighs. “You know, when I heard that the famous teamaker of the Jasmine Dragon was the one who led the siege of Ba Sing Se, I wanted to look you in the eye, spit in the face of the monster that stole my son.”
“I will not protest if you would still like to do so.”
“No, because I look at you, and I don’t see a monster. I just see...a man.”
Iroh says nothing.
“Do you think you’re a good man?”
“I am not sure I believe in such things as good men or bad men. If there are good men, I am not one. I try to do good things now. Perhaps that is not enough. But it is all that I can do.”
The woman nods, rises. “It’s late. I’ll be going.”
Iroh rises too. “Allow me to walk you home.”
“No, that will not be necessary.” She hesitates. “But will I see you next week? You were right, I did enjoy your Ginseng…”
Iroh smiles. “It will be on the house.”