Fighter

Ursa's ragged breathing calmed as she accepted the bundle of red blankets and clutched it to her heart. Her eyes darted to the man at her bedside but quickly tore away, turning down again. A deep sigh escaped her lips, and the way her breath was so clear, so easily heard made what was missing glaringly obvious. A baby's cries. Her precious, little son didn't make a sound as he lay in her arms. Lady Ursa's face was red, and sweat beaded all across her face as she breathed out again. Still, a warm affection shone in her eyes, and a new kind of love she'd felt growing inside of her for the past nine months consumed her completely. Here in her arms was a treasure to put all the jewels of the world to shame.

All of the pain-just a few moments ago, she'd been so certain that everything was going to end there on the blasted infirmary cot with healers fretting all around and telling her to breathe and push. She had barely been able to breathe, and each push had brought a fresh scream that outperformed the last in agony. Was it really supposed to hurt this much? But all of the grief, all of the panicking her husband had done, all of the pain-Ursa would do it over again in a heartbeat for her beautiful baby boy.

"Zuko," she cooed softly, running her fingers gently over the pale face. It was smooth and flawless, the reflection of everything lovely. "Zuko, Zuko, Zuko." The chant was warm, reverent, like it was a sacred song she was singing for the first time. The infirmary room and all the nurses and even her husband faded away. For a fleeting, perfect instant, her son was the only thing in her world, and he was perfect.

The women around her were not convinced, and neither was Prince Ozai. The baby's skin was pale-a trait true to all people of his nation. But babies were supposed to be ruddier, warmer from their escape of the womb. This boy's skin was pallid. The rich, red blanket he was wrapped in only made his surrounded face look deathly pale.

Babies were supposed to cry. They were supposed to wail their shock and bewilderment and anger and fear and whatever they might feel at this new, unfamiliar world to the skies. They were supposed to show off a good, sturdy set of lungs to indicate a strong firebender-as was expected of this noble line. This pale boy remained silent as though asleep, not moving to make any noise other than the soft, tired breaths he took in and out. This baby hadn't even been breathing when it came out.

The old, leathery woman who had delivered him had quickly turned him over and given him a good smack on the behind. That same slap that always started the wailing had only coaxed a whimper out of the tiny child, followed by a little gasping noise as he took his first breath of air. The little nose had crinkled faintly at the antiseptic smell, but that was it. No crying.

Babies were supposed to sleep, or they were supposed to look around at this new world and the faces of their family with wide, curious eyes. This pale, silent boy did neither. Or perhaps he was asleep. It was hard to tell.

Around half of the babies in this nation-the proudest nation of them all-were born under the strong, summer sun. It was considered good fortune that promised a resilient child, but more than that, it made birth easier. Sun strengthened the people of the Fire Nation, and mothers and newborns were no exception. It was not uncommon for a child to be born in the softer glow of spring, or even in autumn's subtler light. But winter? It was the most common season for stillborns.

This baby, his son, Zuko, had been lucky to be born. Ozai frowned quietly and slipped his hand onto Ursa's shoulder, still half-afraid that the child would not live. Her contented, weary sigh reminded him of how frantic he'd been moments ago as he'd paced the hall outside of the room. Was it normal for the husband to be chased away during the delivery? Wasn't he supposed to be in there for her? The snatches of conversation he'd caught from bustling assistants coming two and fro with water, towels, little vials and any other sort of supplies they needed only further undid the man.

…wasn't due until spring…

…breathing too hard, won't calm down…

…bad pains…

…worst I've ever…

…Isn't it strange? A winter baby in the Fire Nation-from Sozin's bloodline, no less! Bad luck…

…Do you think she'll make…

…has to…

…But the blood, so much…

Then had come the screams-the ear-shattering, mind-wiping screams that ripped from his wife's throat and echoed through the palatial halls. He'd disregarded their orders and bolted back into the room anyway. If he had to stay out of the way, fine. As long as he was there to hold Ursa's hand through it, it would be okay.

"Congratulations, Brother!" A hardy slap on the back jolted Ozai from his thoughts, and the assault was continued with a brief hug. He drew back from the arms encircling him quickly, fighting a surge of annoyance.

"Iroh," he greeted through clenched teeth. But the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation had already moved on to sit gingerly on the edge of Ursa's bed. It groaned at the added weight, dipping in the middle. The broad grin on the new Uncle's face only widened as she smiled at him.

"Iroh," she greeted in a tired but happy voice. Baby Zuko was rocked gently in her arms-back and forth, back and forth. "Look at him," she whispered. "Look at our little Zuko. Isn't he wonderful?" The pride in her voice made Ozai flinch. Shame overcame him as he looked at the closed eyes. Did it matter if the child-no, Zuko-had struggled to come into this world? He was there now, and, mercifully, Ursa was still there as well.

Prince Iroh beamed at his new nephew, pride shining in his eyes. "Indeed he is!" His hand dwarfed Zuko's face as he tickled the boy's chin with one finger. Zuko sighed and leaned into his mother more, definitely asleep now. "He is quite the little fighter!"

Ozai looked up sharply. "Fighter?" He bit back a snide comment, instead looking at Iroh in disbelief.

"Of course he is," Iroh agreed, smiling easily. "Not many have such a struggle to come into this world." Not many that lived, at least. "And look, here he is anyway. Strong boy." Nothing about the way the prince grinned or spoke indicated he was saying it merely to boost the parents' pride. Though Ursa could have burst from pride at the words.

"Our fighter," she repeated. Carefully slipping a hand beneath Zuko's head to tilt it up, she pressed her lips to his forehead. The lips curved into a smile as she lowered her son's head again just to raise him above her own. "Here, Ozai, hold him."

Iroh's laughter irritated the floundering man who wasn't quite sure how to hold this thing. Wasn't Zuko fragile enough? What if he broke him? What if- Thoughts broke off as his son turned over in his awkward hands, head nuzzling weakly into the warmth of his father's chest. An uncertain smile finally touched Ozai's face.

"Hello there," he said quietly. "Zuko. Are they right?" The question was light, but the searching look he gave his son was not. "Are you a fighter?"

"Hey!" Ozai fumbled, nearly dropping the child at the sudden shout. "Hey, can I come in yet! Dad? You said I could see my little cousin!"

"Alright, alright, yes. Come meet Zuko, Lu Ten." Iroh chuckled as he looked at the boy peering around the doorway. "But please, calm down. You sound like an impatient child. Not very befitting of a ten year-old prince. That-" Iroh smirked. "-And you're going to wake him."

The normally-responsible Lu Ten ignored the chastisement and zipped into the room, returning Lady Ursa's wide smile. He immediately reached for the baby and took him when Ozai released him easily. "Hey, little cousin," he greeted warmly. Nothing about the way Lu Ten held Zuko was awkward or uncertain. He radiated excitement. "It's nice to finally not be the youngest around here. Maybe you and I aren't real close in age, but just you wait! Once you're old enough to learn, I'll be old enough to teach you some great firebending tricks."

"And how do you know he's a bender?" asked Iroh, amused.

Lu Ten glanced up, confused. "What else would he be? If he's Uncle Ozai's son, he's got to be a strong one too, right?"

Finally aroused by the commotion around him, Zuko sighed again and blinked his eyes open. Ozai couldn't help but feel a small rush of pride at their color. Gold. It was a trait only possible for a firebender. His frail son would one day command the flames as well.

"Oh!" Ursa gasped, taking her son back. She looked into her son's eyes with pure love, smitten with the warm, golden color. "You have your father's eyes, little one."

More importantly, Ozai thought, he would have his father's fire. But even as he watched the others grow closer and coo and smile over the child, he found himself believing Iroh wrong. No matter what the crown prince had said, Zuko was not "a fighter." He was lucky. He had come so close to dying or causing his own mother's death. The healers hadn't said so, but there had been no need.

His hand clenched into a fist silently at his side. Ursa-he could have lost her.

The hand unclenched again as Zuko stirred in his mother's arms. Ozai nodded once, the faintest of smiles on his lips again as he joined the others. No, Zuko was not a fighter. But in time, he would be.

After all, nothing less from Ozai's son would be acceptable.

AN: First story posted on this account. Yay? This story inspired by Zuko's statement: "My father says she (Azula) was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born." It's possible that a few more chapters will follow. ...Which is why this was called "Fighter" instead of the main title, Birthday. :P Sorry for any confusion. *bow* A look at Azula's birth will probably follow next.