Written for the 2017 ATLA/LOK Pro-Bending competition.

Word Count: 951

Main Prompt: 4th (baby/child POV about parents)

Bonus Prompts:

- Feathers
- Fire Nation Capital
- No dialogue
- Includes fire (my element)

The great halls were still, not a sound to be heard as little feet pattered feather-soft along the floor, but embarrassment raged in Princess Izumi's chest like a firestorm. (Ten years old and not a bender yet, those at the gala had whispered, with eyes fixed in quiet curiosity, as if remarking on a particularly unconventional piece of artwork.)

Winter's chill had cooled the air outside their palace in the Fire Nation Capital, but in her parents' eyes there had been heat enough to scorch the commentary to soot. With hard lines forming on her young face, Izumi had thought it served those people right for being so rude. Most of her friends were nonbenders - her own mother was a nonbender - yet as Izumi grew into her role as princess, it became more and more evident that the royal family had a powerful line of bending, a legacy stretching back as long as anyone could remember. Disappointment hung thick in the air as the nobles milled about, their presence almost suffocating with expectation.

Fire was the element of power. Fire Nation royalty sat at the center of that power. If the nation's crown princess could not command fire, what power did she have?

At her sides, small hands balled to a fist as she slowed to a stop.

Izumi liked to look at the paintings lining the halls of their palace, so bold and majestic - paintings of their family, past and present. She and her parents were at the center, surrounded by Grandma Ursa and Grandpa Ikem, and her Aunt Kiyi as well, who wasn't that much older than she was. There was her Aunt Azula, devastatingly powerful, they said, but difficult to track for long when she didn't want to be found. No one talked about her much, and when they did, it was more uncomfortable than not. Large and imposing was the painting of the grandfather she did not know - the one who was locked away from her because of the terrible, terrible things he had done.

The Avatar took his bending away, back when her dad took the throne. His fire was taken, and with it his power.

She had asked her dad about it once, and he told her it was not the loss of bending that had dethroned her grandfather. Rather, it had been his disregard for his people and the devastation he helped unleash on the world. Fire represented power, her dad had said. But power was not the same as strength, and it was strength of heart that made a person worthy of the crown.

She had asked her dad that night if he wished she could firebend like he could, and he merely smiled, saying her heart was strongest of them all.

Fire was in her blood, regardless of whether it was in her fingertips.

With warmth swelling in her chest, Izumi set forth toward the throne room with stubborn steps. The hour was late, so no torches lit the way. No dancing wall of flames lined the platform where her dad's throne was, but she could imagine the display all too clearly, bathed in an orange and yellow glow.

When she climbed up into the wide seat of the throne, Izumi backed into the corner and hugged her arms around herself, looking out into the room. One day, this would be her throne. Her parents had spared no opportunity to assert as much whenever some traditionalist or another remarked on 'the predicament.' Most of the time, she thought the serious expression of her dad's Fire Lord portrait was out of sync with his silly impressions and loving smiles, but when unthinking comments flew from the mouths of nobles, the fire in his eyes - and the gleaming daggers in her mother's - made her feel secure.

No matter what skeptics and traditionalists might say, Izumi was enough, just the way she was. In time, she would prove that to the rest of the world, too.

Her eyes were drooping when she heard the footsteps bouncing their soft echoes off the walls, and her dad - still dressed in royal regalia - scooped her into his arms, only to sit back on the throne again. Without a word, Izumi snuggled against him. The silence was heavy and comfortable, like a blanket wrapped and cast above like some stalwart fort that the critics could not penetrate. Her crown was a little crooked, the topknot loosened from an earlier - and altogether half-hearted - attempt to release her hair from its binding. No guests were around to judge how presentable she was now. Maybe after the aggravation of tonight, her parents wouldn't care if she did it to spite the grumps of their esteemed nation.

Maybe.

She probably still wouldn't, but it felt satisfying to think about it.

Izumi couldn't have said how long they were there or when exactly she was carried to her room, but as her head sunk into the feather pillow, she felt that warm blanket of safety extend over her again, lulling her to sleep.

When she rose again, it was to a beaming sun. Sticking her head out the window, a subtle warmth brushed her cheeks, understated compared to the winter breeze. Each year, the cool air contended with the blazing heat of the sun - opposites, yet equal in strength. Izumi means fountain, her dad had told her with a strange look in his eyes. She would be the cool water to help heal the burns their nation had inflicted over the years. She would be the burning flame to light the way.

Leadership was balance, as much as it was strength. No words could take that away.