Chapter Text
When it happens, Iroh blames himself for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’s not that they’re careless, he supposes. They’re young, and in love, and they want to express it; he can’t fault them for that.
He does, however, wish they would be a little more...discreet with their expressions.
It’s late evening and he’s walking back from the kitchens after a deep conversation with the cook about unique blends of sencha. He’s just rounding the corner to pass the royal gardens when he hears the groans.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand up briefly, worry that someone has been injured flooding his chest-until, that is, he realizes that the stifled noises are of an entirely different nature.
“S-spirits! Zuko, ah-your mouth-”
Before his ears and his mind can fully connect, his feet carry him close enough to the room that he can see Zuko on his knees in front of young Ambassador Sokka. Iroh nearly trips on his robes backing away, throwing both hands over his eyes to protect his nephew’s privacy.
As he makes haste to his quarters, the soft moans fading into the back of his mind, he can’t help but smile. Relationships are often forged in the fires of war, and if Ambassador Sokka was half the man he seemed to be, Zuko had chosen well.
Still, he had one responsibility to fill, as Zuko’s remaining paternal family member. That was why he found himself up early in the morning before Zuko rose for the day and joined him for their morning pot of tea.
“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says gravely, his hands folded in front of him. “It has been nearly a year since the war and you are now nearing your nineteenth birthday. You have grown into a fine young man.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Zuko replies, looking confused. He pours himself a cup of tea, and Iroh almost feels bad for what he’s about to bring up. “I am deeply grateful for all your guidance.”
“I feel that you have perhaps missed important guidance on some...other topics.” Iroh sips his tea. “Adult topics.”
Zuko frowns. “If this is about the way that I chose to handle the trade disputes with the people of Omashu-”
“I am speaking of intimate relations, Lord Zuko.”
The rashy shade of dark red spreading up Zuko’s neck and cheeks is really very impressive, Iroh thinks. “Uncle!”
“I mean no offense,” Iroh says delicately, setting his teacup down with a clink. “I only wish to offer information that Ozai may have neglected to inform you of.”
Zuko’s golden eyes are boring holes into the floor between their cushions. “Uncle, I greatly appreciate your mentorship, but I can assure you that I-I am well versed in the details of intimate relations. I don’t need your guidance.”
“Protection is key, my nephew,” Iroh says blithely as Zuko sips his tea, his face the same shade of red as his robes. “I’m sure Ambassador Sokka will appreciate the effort.”
And, as expected, the hot tea jets out of Zuko’s nostrils, streaming onto the floor as he coughs and chokes.
“Uncle,” he says hoarsely, when his nasal passages have cleared of hot tea, “Uncle, please tell me that you heard something through idle gossip.”
“Ah. I wish that I had,” Iroh replies ruefully. “I am just glad to hear that you are able to engage in some stress-relieving activities. Though I would appreciate not walking in on it when I am returning from my nightly tea debrief with Chef Katsu.”
Zuko’s face is buried in his hands, strands of hair falling from his elegant topknot. “Oh, spirits.”
“There is nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the flesh,” Iroh remarks idly. “I was young once. Oh, my dear nephew, the times I had in Ba Sing Se-”
“Please do not say another word.” Zuko’s rubbing his temple with the tips of his fingers and Iroh supposes he should probably stop teasing him. “Please. I will play Pai Sho with you every day for a month if you cease speaking.”
“I’m very happy for you and the Ambassador,” Iroh says, and he hopes Zuko knows that he’s being sincere. “I would have known something was happening even without the incident. He is very fond of following you around like a lost little turtleduck.”
The flush in Zuko’s face is replaced with a soft pink glow, his lips pursing into a funny little grin. “I love him, Uncle.”
“Good!” Iroh stands, fetching the kettle where it has been boiling away over the fire and pouring himself more tea. “The world could use more love. We have a hundred years to make up for, after all.”
Zuko traces the rim of his cup, smiling to himself.
“Now go lead your nation, my son!” Iroh flapped his hands, ushering Zuko out of the kitchen and in the direction of the throne room. “And know that you have my blessing. You have always had it.”
Zuko bowed deep to his uncle, his golden eyes sparkling curiously. “My thanks, Uncle.”