Okay, here’s the next part. Enjoy!

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Iroh wrinkled his nose as he entered the room. It smelled like smoke and burning hair. It was dark; the only source of light came from the small torches on the wall, and their flames only cast a dim flicker of a glow. He could hardly make out where Zuko’s sickbed lay.

After a moment his old eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Iroh glanced around the room. There was a table, its flat surface strewn with bottles, linen bandages, and a cloth floating in a large pail of water. A jug of cleaner water rested alongside it. His heart began to thunder. He didn’t want to see the unconscious boy lying on the bed. He was afraid of what he might see.

No, he thought. Just look. He needs you.

Quickly, he turned his head to look at the bed. He drew in a sharp gasp.

Zuko was lying on his back, with a blanket pulled halfway over his body. His shirt was gone, and his chest barely seemed to move as he took long, ragged breaths. His arm was badly bruised, and the right half of his face was laced with bright red burns. Most of the hair at the front of his scalp was burned away, including his eyebrows. But the left half of his face made Iroh clench his teeth in sympathy. A huge white bandage covered it. It tapered over his forehead twice and crossed the bridge of his nose down to his chin. From there, it was wrapped diagonally around his head multiple times. Through the loose crisscrosses of linen, Iroh could see slivers of the severely burned flesh around his eye. It made his stomach flip over.

Even in unconsciousness, the boy seemed to be in pain. His nostrils were flared, his mouth was twisted into a grimace, and every exhaled breath was laced with a barely audible groan. Iroh bent his knees carefully and kneeled down beside the bed. He lifted one of his calloused, gnarled hands and, very gently, grasped one of Zuko’s. Maybe it would comfort him…

Iroh found himself whispering.

“I’m sorry, my nephew.” He said self loathingly, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let you into that meeting…”

Zuko didn’t respond.

“I’ve been a damned old fool, Zuko, and you had to suffer for it. I could have…” Iroh’s lips began to tremble, and he stifled a sob. “I should have done something… anything, to prevent this…”

He paused, and opened his eyes. Tears streamed from them.

“I beg your forgiveness, nephew… because I can never forgive myself…” Iroh set his head down on the bed, and his shoulders began to shake as soft sobs racked his body. As he cried, he held Zuko’s hand close to him. It was all he could to prevent himself from scooping up the injured boy in his arms.

He had held his son, Lu Ten as he died, and Zuko was hardy any different now, save for one thing- he was alive. He would survive this and, come what may, he would live on. Lu Ten would live on in the Spirit World, yes, but not here with the living. He had failed to protect his beloved son during the siege of Ba Sing Se, and since then, he had looked to Zuko as his second chance. He had vowed to be his educator and mentor. The two had grown close during these few short years, and Iroh began to feel part of himself revived as he grew to love Zuko as his own. But now all that came crashing around him.

His sobbing eventually subsided, but he kept his head down. Iroh didn’t know how long he stayed like this, but his head lifted as a sound came to is ears. Zuko groaned, louder than before, and coughed harshly a few times. He groaned again, and fell quiet once more.

“Zuko?” Iroh forced himself to regain his composure and held the boy’s hand more tightly. “It’s your Uncle Iroh. Can you hear me? Zuko?”

Zuko opened his right eye, slowly. He gazed up at his uncle, looking weak and confused.

“Zuko?” Iroh asked again

“Uhhnn… Uncle…?” The Prince’s voice was weak and seemed to be scorched with smoke. He drew in another breath to speak, but collapsed into a coughing fit again. Alarmed, Iroh let go of the boy’s hand and slid his arm under Zuko’s back, propping him up. He grabbed the small jug of water with his free hand and held it to Zuko’s lips.

“Drink,” he commanded, feigning calmness to hide his worry. “It’ll clear your throat up a bit.” It wasn’t tea, but it would have to do.

Zuko obeyed and took small sips of the cool water. When he was finished, Iroh laid him down once more. He watched as Zuko lay panting, his visible eye clamped tightly shut in agony.

“Where’s father…?”

Iroh felt his heart stop as he recalled Captain Zhao’s words. “He’s speaking with the council.”

“About me?” Zuko’s eye opened abruptly, and he struggled to sit up, grunting with pain as his muscles tensed in protest. “Is… he angry? What’s he going to-”

“That doesn’t matter right now, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said, cutting him off. He gently pushed Zuko’s body back onto the bed, where he lay inertly once more. Iroh took the cloth from the pail of water, wrung it out, and dabbed Zuko’s sweating brow with it. “Lie still. You need to regain your strength and allow your injuries to heal. We can deal with other matters soon enough.”

Silence washed over them once more. After a while, Iroh suspected that Zuko had fallen asleep. He removed the cloth from his forehead and settled down to keep watch over him until he woke. He closed his eyes in silent prayer to the Spirits, but opened them again as Zuko spoke once more.

“How bad is it…?” he rasped. He lifted his hand to his face, and gently touched the bandages on his forehead. Zuko winced and inhaled sharply as even that slight contact made the burn over his eye sting like the very fire that burned him.

Iroh reached out and gently, moved Zuko’s hand away from his face and back down at his side. He sighed regrettably.

“I won’t lie to you, Zuko,” he whispered. “It’s bad.”

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Whoo! Short but whatever. Let me know what you think. Any critique is welcomed an encouraged. This isn’t my best writing, I know, but I’d like to improve. And let me know how you like the story so far as well.