𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑹 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

18 ~ lies left unsaid

There was a vast difference between the Fire Nation and the North Pole. In one, the air was dry and warm, irritating his throat more often than not, while the other had crisp, raw air that rattled his insides. He got used to both, eventually. But the air in the Earth Kingdom was a whole other problem. There were times where he'd catch himself hitching his breath, breathing in a second time because the air wouldn't pass the first. It was easier when there was more green around him, much easier, but now that he was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by brittle ground, the breathing problem came back.

The waterskin he carried was almost empty, but no matter how much water he drank it didn't make things easier for him.
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.
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"Is it always that bad?"

Guren didn't look back, instead he continued sitting on the edge with one of his legs dangling off the side. "Not much I can do about it."

Iroh took a seat beside him, leaving a bit of space between them where he put down his tea set. Guren watched him from the corner of his eye, watched him spark up a fire and move the cups around. Within a few minutes, steam came out of the pot and Iroh began pouring the liquid in the cups. When a cup was offered to him, Guren hesitantly took it in hand.

In silence they sat, watching over the distant sun.

The scent of lavender took over his senses and Guren was reminded of a childhood he'd rather forget. In a moment, the liquid in his cup sizzled, a white cloud of steam dissipating in the space around him. Harshly, the cup clattered against the ground, rolling towards the edge. Before it could fall, however, Iroh caught it.

"He loved lavender tea," Iroh spoke, eyes downcast, "It was his favourite."

The heat beneath his skin flared up just like any other time, but...but it was worse this time. Like boiling lava scalding each and every part of his body, coursing through his veins instead of blood. Unconsciously, one of his hands reached towards his neck, but just as he was about to breach the surface, his wrist was grabbed and his hand was pulled away. He clenched his fist and tried to break free of the hold, yet was unable to do so.

Iroh had an iron grip. "I wish I could've enjoyed one last cup with him." As if ignoring him, the man continued speaking, continued mentioning him.

If that was how he was going to play, then Guren could do the same. Without hesitation, he dug his nails into the skin of his palm and ignored the stinging that followed suit. Within a second, Iroh released him, body leaning away from the light golden spark that engulfed his hand. And just like that, the flame died out, leaving behind nothing but an already scabbing wound.

That...wasn't what Guren wanted to hear. "I don't care!" He forced out, lowering his head. "I don't want to hear anything about him!"

"Even when you know nothing about him?"

His chest constricted, heart skipping a beat. A simple question such as that...? No...No! He knew enough! He knew what he needed to know and it was enough!

"If you keep denying it then nothing will change."

He got up with trembling legs, and, after three words, walked away, "So be it."

_

He thought he understood things now; Why they happened the way they did. But, in the end, he understood nothing, did he? He was but a child, barely nine years of age, and the only stable part of his life had crumbled beneath his feet. The heat of that night was instilled into his mind like a brand used for livestock. Red, orange, gold, yellow...white, all the shades fire could have, licked at the hands that held so tightly onto his mother. Through the fire and the smoke, he watched his father straighten up.