Writer's Note: Written on a whim for Urzai Week, this little fic delves into the interesting clockwork that is the marriage of Ursa and Ozai. Most is invention, much is inspiration, and a ton of it comes from a black hole I call my ninja-plotbunny nest. Enjoy!
Warning: Contains spoilers for Zuko Alone and The Avatar and The Fire Lord.
She wasn't sure when ambition had become corruption, but it had to have been when she wasn't looking.
Which was strange, because she had always thought she was looking.
When they were younger, Ursa and Ozai had always known of each other, if not directly. The noble circles were small, and Ozai, while the second prince, was still considered a prize of a match.
Ursa herself was certainly one to not be ignored. She was raised as the last of one of the most prestigious lines in Fire Nation history, one of the last known descendents of Avatar Roku himself. It certainly meant a lot in terms of her personal value, but her striking beauty and impeccable manners didn't hurt, either, despite not being a firebender.
One of the first unchaperoned meetings that they had together as teenagers, however, was certainly something so far from having manners.
It was a hot summer day, just before Ozai's sixteenth birthday celebration. Ozai was somewhat cynical about it, since it was, he was told, somewhat downplayed compared to his older brother Iroh's had been. Thus his mood wasn't exactly sunshine and daisies when Ursa was announced and allowed into the simple tearoom in his apartments.
She sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and looked out the window. The celebrations weren't due to start until sundown, when the fireworks display would begin. Everything outside was a flurry of activity, and it was interesting, and amusing, to watch the nobles and their servants get excited over something other than gossip.
Ozai sat on his couch, his legs out and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes flashed in unspent irritation, and he refused to look at Ursa. She wasn't surprised. This was something of the norm when it came to their meetings. They both knew that once Ursa was sixteen they would probably have to get married, and while neither of them really had fallen in love (with each other or otherwise), it was still something of annoyance to be controlled by their parents.
Still, that didn't mean that Ozai had to be such a grump about it.
"Stop sulking and entertain me, you big stupid spoiled brat, or else I'll spread a rumour that you got drunk and tried to fondle me."
Ozai jumped, his eyes wide. He stared at her, mouth open slightly. "What?"
Ursa tossed her hair over her shoulder. "If you're going to be my husband then you have to get used to paying attention to me, instead of being a huge sulk and simpering for no reason. This is your sixteenth birthday." And here she stared at him with a very angry face. "You could at least pretend to be an adult."
Ozai blinked slowly. "You know, this is the first time you've opened your mouth and I haven't wanted to fall asleep," he admitted.
Ursa grinned, and he licked his lips. "That's because you've never been alone with me before."
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I never knew that one of Roku's line could be such a sass."
She leaned in across the table, her own face displaying a sly smirk of her own. "Perhaps Roku was the biggest sass of them all, having to put up with Sozin and his kin."
Ozai leaned in as well, their faces inches apart. "Oh, I like you, Ursa."
Ursa sniffed. "You have to work harder to get me to like you," was her haughty reply.
And so it went. The more time they spent together, the more layers were peeled away and they got to know one another. Amidst war and trouble, both personal and political, Ozai and Ursa always found their own ways to cope, be it with razor wit or fiery embraces.
Ursa found herself liking, maybe even loving, the Fire Prince in her own way. She could see a kind of passion there, an ambition of someone who wanted so much more than he was given, and it was something she could admire. Together, in public, they were the picture of propriety, but behind closed doors they were wild and unchained. It was the kind of subterfuge that had its rewards.
And the rewards soon came to flower when she became pregnant with her first child.
They had been married for a few weeks shy of a year when Ursa found out. Blissfully happy, she told Ozai about it. But his reaction was not one of a happy father, but of a frustrated politician.
"You can't have a baby now, not when my damned brother is still on campaign," he snapped, his eyes livid. It wasn't the first time that Iroh sent him into a rage, and it wouldn't be the last.
Ursa blinked, bemused. "What does Iroh have to do with us, Ozai?"
Ozai threw his hands up in the air. "Everything! You were born into politics, Ursa; surely you know how important it is to have a child at the right time."
Ursa's eyes narrowed. "Ozai, we're married; you're eighteen, and the prince. You speak as if there is more. There is not. Iroh is Crown Prince, and you are not. Let it go."
Ozai turned to her, and for a moment, Ursa wondered if he would hit her. She raised her chin, defiant, and he stared at her, his face a mask of fury. Only when he saw that she would not yield did he sag a little and look away.
"Let it go," he muttered, his eyes blank.
Ursa reached forward and took his hand in hers. Carefully, she led it to her belly and spread his fingers wide. She could feel the warmth of his hand through her clothes, and she smiled. "It's wonderful, Ozai. Rejoice in it."
Ozai looked up, his fingers twitching a little on her belly. He smiled faintly, but it never reached his eyes.
When Zuko was born, Ursa felt a kick to her heart, something she had never felt before. While she was always sure that she loved Ozai in her own way, it was Zuko that she fell in love with. The moment the midwife placed his small form in her arms and he searched for a nipple to suckle on, she was lost. She felt warm, and full, and curled up closer to this small baby, her son, as if to protect him from everything.
It changed everything. It was probably when she had looked away.
When she could have been spending her time with Ozai exchanging banter and eavesdropping on Azulon's meetings, Ursa spent her days with Zuko, taking care of him and relishing in the simplicity of this new world. When Ozai offered both a wet nurse and a day nurse, Ursa shunned both, stating firmly that she would be sole caregiver of her son, and no one else.
"You have duties, Ursa," Ozai pleaded with her one day, his mouth a line of anger. "You are a princess, and you have your responsibilities."
Ursa barely looked up from her place on the floor with Zuko, her hands holding up a stuffed tigerdillo. Zuko reached for it, giggling and squealing, and she smiled brightly. "What could be more important than taking care of a prince?" she replied absently. "That is part of my responsibilities as well."
"Ursa--,"
"Ozai," she looked up, and her eyes were hard. "This is our son; you should be asking yourself why you don't play with him more, not why I play with him so much."
Ozai stared at her, his face darkening. She stared back, unmoving, even when Zuko's chubby hands succeeded in grabbing the toy away from her (which he promptly shoved into his mouth and gummed blissfully). When she looked back down at Zuko, Ozai stormed out of the room. She didn't notice.
There were happy days, simple days. During the summer, the three would join Iroh and Lu Ten in the shared royal summer house on Ember Island, spending the hot and lazy days in luxury. While Ursa and Iroh got along and spent the days in the shade or on the beach, sipping tea and watching the boys play, Ozai would often either pace in the beach house or stay silent beside his wife. While sometimes he would even play with Zuko or Lu Ten, the playfulness was fleeting, and the joy never reached his eyes.
When Azula was born, the family started to fray.
While it wasn't Azula, herself, that caused the fragile balance to shift towards chaos, it was an indirect reason for Ozai to submit to his slow-burning bitterness. Because now, with Azula born, Ursa's attention was no longer even partially his.
And what was worse was that Iroh's military progress, and with it his son's, was growing. His countless successes were harsh blows to his younger brother, who for all of his attempts in trying to prove Iroh a fool was being called a liar as a result. Even Lu Ten, as young as he was, managed to get further than anyone, even his own father, had even dreamed of.
His own son was a far cry from what Lu Ten had been at his age. Azula, at least, showed promise, being a skilled firebender at such a young age. But Zuko was a disappointment; he was clumsy, childish, and a slow learner. While he had the ability, he lacked the skill, and despite this was often prone to arrogance.
He also had, despite all of this, Ursa's full attention.
While Azula was strong and doted on her father, it was Ursa that Zuko grew to depend on. She was the only one who didn't chastise him for his constant weakness and failure; she even complimented him and told him to keep on trying. While it was confusing to Ozai why she would do this, Ursa's reasoning was simple: the only way to support someone was to show that, no matter what, they still made someone proud.
"And Zuko should be proud," Ursa said one night before drifting off to sleep. "He's a good bender; he just stumbles because he gets too caught up on trying to be perfect, especially for you."
Ozai snorted, his back to his wife. "There is nothing perfect about that whelp," he muttered. "No matter how hard he tries, he'll always be a failure."
Ursa glared at him. "Why do you hate him so much?" Ozai didn't answer, so she went on. "He's a boy, Ozai, not an enemy. He's your son, your flesh and blood. How can you treat him like he's nothing? All he wants is for you to see that he is trying, for you."
"He has you. Isn't that enough for him?"
Ursa shook her head slowly. "He wants both of his parents to love him," she said sadly.
Ozai said nothing, and the conversation ended. Maybe that was when she had stopped looking.
Zuko needed love. Azula needed attention. Ursa realised far too late that in trying to give Zuko enough love for two parents that she had failed to do the same for Azula. She was so desperate to protect Zuko, to spare him grief, that she didn't realise that Azula was trailing behind her father, watching him and his reactions to things, emulating them and quickly formulating her own speculations as to how the world worked and how she could make it work for herself.
And this was all while her husband spiralled deeper and deeper into the well of his own ambition that it started to corrupt him, and everything else around him.
It was only when Lu Ten was killed and Ozai, upon reading the news, actually smiled, that she realised that her whole family was in trouble, and that there was no way to save it.
"You asked him…to do what?"
Ozai combed out his beard, not looking at her. He was singed from head to foot, and was starting to show a black eye. His eyes, however, shone. "I asked him to disinherit Iroh and put me in his place."
Ursa turned to him, feeling a fury she didn't know she had blossom deep within her breast. "How could you do such a thing? Have you lost your mind?"
Ozai turned to her, grinning. His eyes glittered, and she swallowed hard. "It's alright, Ursa," he said softly. "He said yes."
She stopped, frozen with shock. "He said yes?"
He nodded. "Yes," he repeated, walking over to the dresser and pulling open a drawer slowly. "On one condition." And he reached in, felt around, and slowly pulled out a dagger.
Ursa felt her mouth go dry. Her eyes stayed glued to what was in his hand. "What is that condition, Prince Ozai?" she whispered.
He grinned wider, unsheathed the dagger, and swung it downwards, testing the blade. Ursa felt her blood turn to ice. "It's simple, really: I have to kill our son."
And then he laughed, one of pure pleasure. "Not much of a loss."
Fleetingly, in her state of panic, Ursa suddenly thought back to their youth, to the days when things were simple and there was actual happiness despite the times of war. Was there always this darkness within him? Had she done all she could to dispel it? Or had she merely added to it, with her own kind of hatred and darkness, without realising what she was doing?
"You will not kill my son, Ozai," she heard herself say calmly.
Ozai froze, the dagger still out. The blade glittered in the candlelight. "What are you saying, Ursa?" he wondered, sounding truly confused. "This is my chance! Everything will be mine if I just do this one thing!" He sheathed the dagger. "I promise, I know how to make it painless. He won't feel a thing. We can have another child, try for another son!"
"Another son?" she echoed weakly.
Ozai nodded, thrusting the dagger into his belt. "Don't worry, Ursa," he said, reaching forward with one hand.
She jerked back, moving her hands away from him. She spun around, lunged forward towards him, and reached for the dagger, trying to tear it from his belt. He caught her hands and dragged them away, but she dug her nails into his skin, hard, and he let go.
"You will not kill Zuko!" she snarled, her hands out in front of her. She wasn't a bender, but she wasn't going to give away her son's life without a fight. "There has to be another way!"
Ozai glared at her, his hands going to the dagger at his side. "This is the only way." He laughed again, the sound flat. "Of course you only care about this now," he said. "Now that your precious son is at risk. But when it came to just me, I could have rotted beneath your feet and you wouldn't have given a damn."
"That's not true," she said, her voice desperate, although she knew that the moment the words left her mouth that it was a lie. She hadn't taken Ozai's desperation for the throne seriously, and wouldn't have done anything in her power to help him achieve it. Only now, when he threatened Zuko, did she listen, did she want to help. He was right.
"If it's not true, then help me get the throne another way," he snapped. "You want Zuko to live? Prove it." And he thrust the dagger at her suddenly.
She stared at it wordlessly.
"Kill my father," he said silkily. "Kill Azulon, and your precious son will be spared, I will have the throne, and we will all be happy."
When had ambition turned into corruption? She thought, her fingers closing over the hilt of the dagger. When did she stop looking?
She took it from him, and he smiled in triumph. The deal was done.