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As he examined his freshly cut hair in the mirror, Prince Iroh scowled faintly.
He had worn his hair long, as was Fire Nation tradition, for as long as he could remember. The feeling of the open air on his neck and the absence of the familiar weight of a topknot on his head unbalanced him. But, as he had repeatedly told himself ever since he sat down for the significant hairstyle change, it was a necessary sacrifice for the career of which he had dreamt since childhood. Members of the United Forces wore their hair short, and he wouldn’t dishonor his post and his peers by flouting that rule. He would already be under enough scrutiny as it was for being royalty.
Eventually, having acclimated himself as much as he could to his new appearance, Iroh emerged from his bedchambers and found himself face-to-face with the Fire Lord in the corridor.
“Iroh, I was just about to—,” Zuko began, only for the words to evaporate on his tongue in an instant.
For a beat, he simply stood still as a statue and stared in mounting horror at Iroh’s cropped hair. Scenarios that could have led to this, each more absurd than the last, swam through his mind like a school of krill shrimp fleeing a whale shark. Had his grandson expressed displeasure with the Fire Nation recently? Had he expressed displeasure with his family? Had he decided to renounce his title and his citizenship? Had he, most harrowing and outlandish possibility of all, decided to end his life?
Zuko’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and his eyes grew wide as saucers with confusion and fear (and even a glint of anger that flared up beyond his control).
Iroh’s pleasant expression fell and mirrored his grandfather’s confusion. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern knitting his brow.
“What’s wrong?” Zuko repeated, incredulous. “I should be asking you what’s wrong! Why did you… I can’t imagine… How could I have missed…” His demeanor transitioned abruptly from shock to dismay. “It must be my fault. I… Whatever I did, there must be some way for me to make it up to you, Iroh. I can’t believe…”
The wrinkles of befuddlement in Iroh’s face deepened, then suddenly smoothed over with realization. “Oh my gosh. Is this about my—”
“Iroh!” called a dignified voice at the end of the corridor. Crown Princess Izumi hastened her approach as much as she could with the full weight of a two-year-old on her hip. “I know you were worried, but it looks so fetching on you.”
Zuko swiveled around on his heel to face his daughter with a fresh bout of horror etched into his face. “You…!” he choked. “You knew? Oh, what have I done?”
Izumi halted a distance away from her father and her son, stilled by the distress in the Fire Lord’s raspy voice. The same crease that wrinkled Iroh’s brow seconds before now furrowed hers. Princess Mizuki imitated her mother’s expression adorably, but no one present was in the right state to acknowledge her charming antics.
“Father, what are you—”
Izumi stifled whatever remained of that question when her own epiphany occurred. Try as she might to cloak her burgeoning amusement with care and compassion, she was helpless to bite back the laughter that began to spill from her lips.
“Is this funny to you?” demanded Zuko. The hallways echoed fearsomely with his exasperation. “Your son has disowned—”
“Oh, Dad!” Izumi exclaimed between snickers. Now, both amusement and empathy shone from her face in equal measure as she closed the remainder of the distance between them. “Dad, he cut his hair for the United Forces!”
With that, Zuko’s ire began to wane, but his bewilderment was no less pronounced. “He… He cut his hair for the United Forces,” he said numbly.
Iroh, also caught somewhere between amusement and worry, set a hand down on Zuko’s shoulder. “Yes. They require that all new recruits cut their hair. I didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, Grandfather. I’m really sorry if I… I—I didn’t mean to concern you.” Some guilt crept into the corners of Iroh’s smile. Had he known that this would cause such a great misunderstanding, he would have warned his grandfather in advance.
For a moment, Zuko did nothing but gawk at Iroh and Izumi.
Mizuki began to giggle at her grandfather’s comical expression. “Mama! Grandpa silly!” she astutely observed.
“…Oh.” As if burdened with a sudden weight, Zuko’s entire body deflated where he stood. Already, he knew the doom that awaited him. “Oh.”
Izumi regarded her daughter with a wide grin. “Yes, Grandpa is very silly, isn’t he? He thought that your big brother didn’t love us anymore.”
“Noooo!” Mizuki trilled. She extended tiny hands toward Zuko. “Silly Grandpa!”
Zuko crossed his arms defensively, scowling at his own humiliation. “You act as if my concern was unwarranted!” he said to his daughter. “All of a sudden, my grandson’s hair is chopped off! What was I supposed to think?”
“I mean…,” Iroh started hesitantly, “a lot of Fire Nationals around my age cut their hair now. A lot don’t wear topknots anymore either—at least, not as an everyday thing. I sort of assumed you knew that…? W-which I shouldn’t have! And I’m sorry for that. I guess it’s different with me being a prince and everything…” Iroh reached back and rubbed the now bare nape of his neck awkwardly. “I’ll grow it back out if you want,” he conceded quietly.
“No. No, you did it for the United Forces. I don’t mind that.” Zuko’s eyes widened slightly, and he amended, “I wouldn’t mind if you did it just because you felt like it, either! It’s none of my business. Really. I just…” He grimaced, a near perfect reflection of Iroh’s awkwardness—or, rather, Iroh’s awkwardness was a near perfect reflection of his. “I misunderstood. I’m sorry.”
Izumi gave a long-suffering sigh. “Enough apologies, you two. It was a simple misunderstanding, not worth any remorse.” A smirk curved her lips, then, and she rested her free hand against Iroh’s cheek. “You look very handsome, son. Like a proper Republic City man.”
Iroh’s cheeks flushed a blossoming crimson. “Ugh, Mom,” he whined.
“What?” she retorted innocently. “I’m not allowed to compliment my own son now? Surely that’s more worrisome than a haircut.”
Zuko grumbled at her playful jab. “The last time I cut all my hair off, I was a fugitive. I think you ought to have some more sympathy for me here, Izumi.”
Mizuki stretched herself toward Zuko again. “Silly!” she reminded him pointedly.
Glaring tepidly down at her, Zuko took it upon himself to relieve Izumi of her daughter. He hoisted the small girl into his arms and arched his eyebrow at her. “I’ll show you silly,” was his low, mischievous threat.
He poked her in the stomach, and she squealed joyously. Mizuki countered his attack by grasping at a grey lock of his hair and pulling—hard.
“Ow, fu—”
“Watch it,” Izumi warned sharply.
“…Fun. That’s what I was going to say.” Zuko smiled sheepishly, tapped Mizuki’s button nose with the tip of his finger (and she crossed her eyes so preciously when he did it, he had to admit), and regarded Iroh again. “If she keeps that up, I might get a haircut next.”
Iroh laughed good-naturedly. “I was thinking about that before I got it done, actually. Mother, how hasn’t she pulled all your hair out?”
Izumi hummed thoughtfully as she lowered her hand from Iroh’s face. “Mm. She doesn’t pull my hair.” Stepping toward Zuko, Izumi leveled an expectant look at her daughter. “Mimi, no hair pulling, my love. It hurts.”
Mizuki leaned into her grandfather’s chest. “Okay,” she softly capitulated.
“Now, what do we say?” Izumi prompted.
Mizuki gazed with large, cherubic eyes at Zuko. “M’sorry,” she whispered.
Zuko hugged her close and clicked his tongue. “I could never stay angry at you, Mizuki,” he nearly cooed. Lowering his head, he kissed her temple, and she giggled once more.
“You know I have to tell Mother about what just happened, right?” Izumi remarked all too casually.
Zuko looked positively betrayed. “No, you don’t,” he insisted.
“I’m afraid I must,” she returned wryly.
Iroh chuckled. He reached out and ruffled Mizuki’s hair absentmindedly. “Make sure I’m there when you tell her. I want to see the look on her face.”
Zuko scoffed, then shared a fond look with his granddaughter. “This is why you’re my favorite,” he muttered.