Aral certainly doesn't look like anyone important in that shirt and with bread to feed the fish. That doesn't mesh with Zuko's mental image of stern, high-placed officials at all. Iroh's about the only exception to that rule he'd ever known apart from himself. He assumes he's part of the retinue that came with Regent Vorkosigan, as expected.

His instinct here is to grumble and complain, and once again he has to take a breath, consciously, to keep that back. Zuko's self-control is extremely hard won and probably fairly visible on him. He's still adjusting to thinking of himself as Fire Lord as something more than a surreal dream. All that time, he'd wanted his father's approval back-- his honor, his family-- but not necessarily the throne. That had seemed so abstract. Frankly, taking the crown was a shock, an eventuality he'd been aware of as far off as being a father.

And then, suddenly, it was here, and he wasn't just Zuko anymore. His pride as a prince hadn't swelled to match his new station-- it had humbled.

"We'll all be stuck inside for days once the real talks start," he sighs, with a bit of grumbling despite himself. But that seems neutral enough, something that passes for pleasantries with Zuko. He never quite manages to find the beat of them, impatient with pointless observations. He retrieves his fingers from the water and carelessly brushes them on his travel clothes.

"I guess getting here before us would make the past week like a vacation for you." He glances up, sharp golden eyes really focusing on his companion for the first time.