A/N: Welcome to my new story! This is the exact opposite of my last one...but I couldn't help but write it once I got the idea, so I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome. n.n
Shameful Weakness
"Hey, are you going to come out?" Iroh asked from the door.
Eleven year old Prince Ozai sat at his desk with his back to Iroh, his schoolwork sprawled out in front of him. Although it was the middle of the day, Ozai had drawn his curtains and instead lit the lanterns that lined the walls, illuminating his room in an eerie, flickering light. "No," he told his brother, rubbing his eyes with his right hand while the other still held his brush, poised above the roll of parchment containing a half-finished essay about Fire Lord Sozin's strategy against the Air Nomads.
"Come on," Iroh said softly, "Everyone's expecting us."
"No," Ozai insisted more forcefully, his hand shaking somewhat as he drew the brush across the parchment. The comet only comes once every one hundred years, the prince wrote as if his brother wasn't there, Since the Avatar would be born into the Air Nomads next, he knew that he and his firebenders could draw power from the comet's fire—
"Ozai…" Iroh started, but his voice trailed off as though he wasn't sure what else to say.
At the sound of his name the boy stopped. His shoulder slumped and he let his elbows fall onto his desk, his left arm landing on his essay. The prince knew that his brand new, flawlessly tailored white tunic would now be permanently stained with the words "comet's fire," but the prince didn't mind as much as he should have, even though he knew his nursemaid would probably give him an ear full later.
"At least open the window," his brother insisted, but Ozai only shook his head; there was an annoying sting behind his eyes. The young man had drawn the curtains on purpose, blocking all of the bright sunshine out of his dark, safe little refuge. It was summer, and it was very hot, but the prince refused to let the light in. He didn't know how it could possibly be so beautiful outside on that particular day.
Two nights before was the night that Fire Lady Ilah had gotten out of bed, although no one knew where she was going or why she was out so late; she then made her way out of the chamber she shared with the Fire Lord, and down to the main entrance hall. The family physician would say that Ilah's foot had become tangled in her long silk dressing robe. They'd say that she had slipped, her hand missing the railing; they'd say that was the reason that, when Ozai awoke the next day, it was to find out that his mother had broken her neck when she fell down the palace's main, winding staircase. When the prince came in for breakfast, smiling like normal, instead of seeing the welcoming face of his mother, he met the heartbroken stare of his brother and the emotionless glare of his father. Instantly, panic had filled the boy's chest; Father was never at breakfast, he was far too busy with the war.
Now he rubbed his eyes with his ink stained funeral tunic in an attempt to get rid of the itching that was trying to force him to cry. With a deep sigh, Iroh leaned over him and jerked the curtains open. Ozai was blinded by the white, sparkling sunlight that streamed into his room.
It was almost obscene to him that the sun would still rise, that the birds would still sing, or that the world would still keep turning without his mother in it; how could nature be so happy while his heart was so broken? How could life move on like nothing had happened, while for him, everything had changed? These were the questions that the prince asked himself as he glared at Iroh for letting the sun in but refused to speak for fear of the tears breaking out through his voice.
"You can't stay in here forever," Iroh said sadly. The boy still didn't answer, instead looking at his sleeve and rubbing at the ink stains. "Trust me," his brother said, kneeling down to eye level placing a hand on Ozai's shoulder, "I'm sad too, and I didn't want to come out of my room either." The boy looked up to finally meet his elder brother's gaze.
He was amazed. Somehow, his much older and stronger brother always seemed too tough and brave to want to stay in his room sulking. I'm not sulking, Ozai corrected his own thought a second later. I'm doing homework.
"But I did," Iroh continued, "Because I know that this is my last chance to say goodbye to her and if I don't go then I'll regret it."
The stinging behind the eyes of the eleven year old only intensified. Didn't he want to see his mother one last time before she disappeared forever in the blaze of her funeral pyre? He decided that terribly sunny day or not, he did, and he nodded. Iroh smiled sadly and stood up, motioning for his brother to follow him down to the palace entrance way, where the funeral would be held.
Ozai's heart was pounding as he waited for his turn to step up to Ilah's casket. According to Iroh and the fire sage presiding over the funeral, he was supposed to "say goodbye," but the boy had no idea what that meant. He held his arms stiffly down at his sides, trying to hide the ruined sleeve from his father who stood on the other side of the casket, waiting for his sons to join him; in slow motion, Iroh closed his eyes sadly, sighed, and then stepped away from the altar. That meant it was his turn and Ozai's heart jumped up to his mouth. Slowly and mechanically he stepped up to the stone slab where his mother lay, standing on his toes to see her face.
Her skin was just a little too pale from the powder and her cheeks were just a little too red from the rouge, but it was Ilah; that was the same long, silky, slightly graying hair that Ozai remembered brushing his face when he was very little, and that was the same kind, soft mouth that smiled at him when he came downstairs in the morning. The only thing he couldn't see where the light gold, caring eyes that would sparkle whenever she laughed the laugh he'd never hear again.
Ozai didn't know how to "say goodbye," so he just stared at her. The hundreds of citizens of Capital City were spread out behind him, silently watching the youngest prince, but soon, their little chatters and whispers seemed to melt away and it was only Ozai and his poor, dead mother. It dawned on him that this is the last time that he would ever see her; it was the last of his last times with the woman who had raised him while his father was too busy.
He had wasted all of the other last times without even realizing it. The last time she kissed him goodnight was two nights ago, the last scent of her perfume had come and gone without him realizing, and the last time that he heard her voice was over. How could he have not known? If he had he could have treasured each last time. Suddenly, the stinging was too much and the tears were flowing before Ozai even knew it was happening.
He was hiccupping and gasping for air, the fact that he was being watched by an entire city and what was left of his family had completely flown out of his mind. Sooner than he would have liked he was being shooed along by a servant, and positioned to stand beside his brother, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to meet Iroh's eyes; he was frowning and his eyes looked glazed, but Ozai knew, with a jolt of shame that Iroh would not cry.
All of the worry about appearances was quickly banished when he realized that his mother was on fire. If he was on slow motion earlier, now someone had sped up time; seeing the funeral pyre, and knowing that what was left of Ilah would soon be gone forever, the flow of tears only increased. Then, he was being ushered inside, the fire still burning behind his eyelids.
Then, time slowed back down to the usual speed when he felt a hand clamp onto his arm in a vice grip. Ozai gasped and opened his eyes to see those of Fire Lord Azulon glaring down at him. "How dare you embarrass us all like that?" asked the menacing voice of his father. "Stop crying," the Fire Lord ordered. Years of conditioning to be the perfect prince told Ozai that he should listen, he would just get in more trouble and his father would just get angrier, but each time he tried he would remember one of the last times with Ilah and he couldn't.
When the tears didn't stop, Azulon gave his son a little shake, but to no avail. With a scoff he thrust his youngest son away from him and Ozai landed on the ground, shame slowly spreading like cancer to join the hurt.
"Father…" Iroh said, stepping up to his brother's defense, but the man just held up his hand.
"No. You know he has shown shameful weakness and disgraced us all," Azulon turned an angry eye on the crown prince.
"He's a kid," Iroh pleaded.
"No. He's a prince of the Fire Nation and it's time he starts acting like one, instead of a pathetic child," Azulon glanced Ozai, glaring down at him with rage written in his tired eyes, and fear reared up in the back of the boy's head until his father turned back to the eldest boy. "Until he does, take your brother out of my site," he ordered before turning on his heel and striding away from the princes.
Ozai didn't move from his place on the ground, instead he pulled his legs up to his chest covering his face with his arms. The tears had stopped, almost as quickly as they started, and now all the boy could feel was hollowness and humiliation.
Vaguely, he registered the sound of Iroh kneeling beside him on the marble floor, and felt him rubbing his shoulders. "Do you want to go for a walk in the gardens?" Iroh asked. Ozai knew his brother was trying to get him away from the palace in order to distract him, but he refused to fall for it.
"I have to finish my essay," Ozai said, quickly trying to compose his tearstained and reddened face into a hardened mask.
Iroh's frown deepened with concern, but he nodded anyway, seeming to give up. Ozai stood up slowly, dusting off his white tunic regardless of it already being ruined, and trudged back to his room, eager to pull the curtains closed and get back to his homework. On a regular day it would have been nice to look at all of the blooming flowers and trees, but his mother was gone and his father hated him more than ever. The flowers should have died when Ilah did.
A/N: Attention readers! Go call your mom. n.n
