Disclaimer: "A wise girl listens but never believes, kisses but doesn't fall in love, and leaves before she is left."

(An: This is not a happy fic. There is lots of character death and angst in general. What Ursa does in this fic is purely my theory, and it's not really one I support, either.)

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Ursa. One day, she would be known as Princess Ursa, then as a traitor, and eventually she would just be Ursa again. But when we begin, she was just Ursa, daughter of Tyrus and Lena. Her family was ancient, part of the nobility as far back as records went. Ursa was never really aware of that, though.

At least, not until the prince started noticing her.

O-o-O-o-O

Ursa met Ozai when she was thirteen and he was almost twenty. She had seen both princes in passing, of course, but she was formerly introduced at thirteen.

Her mother had been so excited when Ursa's name had finally appeared on an invitation to a ball. She remembered her mother fussing over her hair and dress. "You look lovely, Ursa. You have to. Today you're meeting the Fire Lord and his sons!"

To Ursa, still mostly a child, that sounded terribly exciting. She had listened with wide eyes to her mother's descriptions of the balls at the palace, and now she could finally go herself.

Her mother gently stroked her hair, careful not to muss it. "Perhaps one of his sons will even take a liking to you, dear. You could be a princess someday. Probably not Fire Lady. Iroh's much older than you, and he'll never settle down."

Later, Ursa would recall that and realize with some horror how much Ozai reminded her of her mother.

O-o-O-o-O

The ball was all she had hoped for. She, of course, was only one of many girls her age being introduced to the Fire Lord and his court, but she still felt a swell of pride when her name was called. She tipped a curtsy to Fire Lord Azulon, who did nothing, Lady Leila, who responded with a hint of a smile, Iroh, who laughed and jabbed his friend in the ribs, and then to Ozai, who also responded with a smile, and it was wider. If his was a bit more calculating than his mother's, Ursa was too dazzled by his attention to notice. She would later laugh over it with her friends, although that smile remained in her heart like a flower that hadn't quite had time to bloom.

O-o-O-o-O

Many balls followed, and many suitors, even though she was young to be courted. Ursa was not shy around men, but she wasn't flirtatious. She had two older brothers, so boys were ordinary parts of life to her. She was vaguely aware that they were trying to please her for far different reasons than her brothers, but none of their smiles quite called to her like Ozai's had. He was handsome, after all, and he smiled so rarely, which meant that it must have meant a great deal for him to spare one on her.

Besides, what little girl never wished a prince would sweep her off her feet?

Part of her knew it was a silly daydream and that she should have been assessing her suitors, trying to choose one that would please her parents. But she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. So she found herself gathering friends instead of marriage proposals, and unlike her friends, she didn't get flustered and giggly whenever someone asked her to dance.

Well, not until Ozai.

Ursa spent a lot of her time at those balls watching him (discreetly, or at least so she thought), and she had learned quite a bit about the prince. Like his brother, he was very attractive, but, as far as Ursa could tell, the similarities stopped there. Iroh was fond of wine and women (no one was quite sure who the mother of his infant son, Lu Ten, was, and Iroh was very tight-lipped about it). His good cheer and love for life sparkled in his eyes and his laughter. He could start a conversation with anyone and find the humor in anything.

Ozai was reserved, but certainly not shy. He did everything with intense seriousness, and if he had any sense of humor, it was very dry. Disciplined and aloof, he associated with only the nobility. But to her, he seemed terribly sophisticated and mysterious.

In other words, he certainly wasn't a prince from a fairy tale. But Ursa was young enough to believe that appearances could make up for faults, and before she could believe otherwise, she discovered a strange kindness and romanticism in him, and again, she was too young to know how easily those things could be faked.

And it all started with that one dance.

When someone tapped her on the shoulder, she expected it was another ridiculous young man forced upon her by his parents. She stifled a gasp when she saw who it really was.

The prince bowed and offered her his arm. "If I may, Lady Ursa?"

Fiercely aware of the heat in her cheeks and her friends' giggling behind her, Ursa nodded and accepted his arm, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Of course, your highness."

Ozai smiled at her, and the flower in her heart burst into bloom. It was cool in here a moment ago, she thought. Why am I so hot now? If he noticed how flustered she was, he was polite enough not to mention it. When she could breathe properly again, she looked up into his face. It was a slow, stately dance, one she knew well, so she didn't stumble or hesitate as she asked, "Your highness, why me?"

"Prince Ozai, please," he murmured. She was so close to him she could feel his voice rumble in his chest, and she shivered. He waited a moment, twirling her out and pulling her close again, and answered when they were just moving in time to the music again. "Your parents are old friends of my parents. It seemed only polite. Besides..." Here, his hand moved from her shoulder to her cheek, gently brushing it, and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You are quite lovely."

Ursa blushed again, wondering that she didn't burst into flame this time.

O-o-O-o-O

There were many dances after that, but they all blurred together. Each time he kissed her, though, stood out bright and clear in her mind, even years later.

Most of the Fire Nation nobility ignored the old customs of propriety and chaperoning; they pretended to obey them, but no one objected when two young ones snuck off alone, and certainly nobody had raised eyebrows at Iroh's illegitimate son.

The first was during a ball. She was fourteen now and had ceased to humor anyone else who asked to dance with her. He only danced with others when it was their gathering. He simply didn't let go of her when the song stopped, pulling her out into the hall where there were fewer eyes. It was only a chaste, hurried one, but it kept her smiling throughout the rest of the week.

O-o-O-o-O

The only time she ever doubted him was during a fight between him and his brother.

It was for show only. The princes would duel each year on Iroh's birthday as a formality. Ozai was to always let him win to show that he accepted his brother's authority as future Fire Lord.

Only, that year, on Iroh's twenty-seventh, she had an idea that Ozai was paying no attention to that rule at all. Her brothers also followed this custom, and they treated it as a game. Neither of them were firebenders, but the weapons that they used never came close to doing harm. Ozai and Iroh fought with flame, and it seemed that Ozai had nothing but harm on his mind. He came close to actually striking his brother with a fiery fist, and she remembered, He really intends to hurt him! But Iroh dodged and eventually pinned his brother, who smiled and bowed.

But for once, the veil of love allowed Ursa to see that the smile did not reach Ozai's eyes.

That worried her, but he could be achingly sweet at times- taking her outside to show her cherry blossoms and twining them in her hair, telling her poetry, bearing all of her questions and sorrows with patience that was so lacking in later years.

O-o-O-o-O

She was fifteen when Iroh was the one to take her beneath the cherry blossoms instead of Ozai. It was chance, only; they were both on their way to meet him, and Iroh had commented on something and made her laugh. They were passing through a courtyard when it suddenly started to rain. Iroh dragged her underneath the spotty protection of the canopy, laughing. She leaned against the trunk and watched him with some amusement. She didn't know the elder brother as well as the younger, but he was silly and friendly, and it was almost impossible to feel awkward around him. "You're drunk," she accused, poking his shoulder.

Iroh laughed harder. "Just a little."

"I doubt Ozai will be pleased."

Iroh flapped a hand at her. "That stick in the mud! I don't care! He doesn't like me anyway!" He looked at her with a half-serious, half-sarcastic expression and leaned in, as if to relay some grave secret. "He intends to marry you, you know, once you come of age."

Ursa flushed, although it was nothing she wasn't expecting. Ozai wasn't the type to toy with a woman unless he had marriage in mind; it just wasn't his way. "And I suppose you'll stay a bachelor forever?"

Iroh snorted. "Probably." He sighed, stroking his sideburns. "I would have made an honest woman of Lu Ten's mother, but she died having him. Ah, she was almost as lovely as you."

Ursa put her hands on her hips and glared at him, but Iroh just laughed again. "Permit an old man his jokes, my dear... she was thrice as lovely as you."

She exhaled in disgust, but she was laughing too.

When a breeze knocked one of the flowers loose, Iroh tucked it behind her ear. She couldn't tell if his graveness was from honest emotion or just a drunk trying to focus. A single, confused half-thought occurred to her- If it had been him who asked me to dance- but she banished it. There was no point wondering on what-ifs and might-have-beens.

She would remember that thought later, and she would weep.

O-o-O-o-O

Iroh's prediction came true. The day after she turned sixteen, Ozai approached her father. Ursa was not surprised when she was officially announced his fiancée, although she once again found herself smiling and couldn't stop.

O-o-O-o-O

Ozai was not cruel- not to her, at least. He knew she only had the vaguest idea of what she was supposed to do on their wedding night. Such patience had to be born of love! And she, unlike so many other young girls before her, did not go to sleep unfulfilled.

Their firstborn was conceived sometime soon after that. Ursa was very excited, but Ozai had only smiled thinly and nodded; all was well, but it was nothing really new.

It was probably because he had no younger siblings. Ursa had three little sisters, and some of her fondest memories of her mother were leaning against her and feeling new life there.

O-o-O-o-O

Ursa could not say when she had started to mistrust Ozai or when the doubts truly began to creep into her heart, although it probably started with Zuko's birth. He was born two months too early after a long, hard labor that left Ursa weak and delirious. Zuko did not cry when he was born. Ursa almost thought when the midwife held him up that he had been stillborn, but no, he was just ill, and so small!

When Ozai came to see his son, the midwife barred his entrance, saying that both mother and child needed their rest. "Anyway," she had added, not bothering to whisper, "I don't think the boy will survive the day. I have doubts about the mother, as well, although she's less likely."

Ursa, though in the throes of a fever, heard the woman very well; she only wished that she could have seen Ozai's face. She wished it would have been grief-stricken... but later she would realize it was probably just a derisive sneer. If there was one thing Prince Ozai could not abide, it was weakness.

O-o-O-o-O

Ursa adored Zuko. She wasn't allowed to hold him or touch him during his first few weeks of life- he was fragile, and his breathing was like listening to an old man- but oh, she loved him. He was her son, and that was that. She would sit beside his cradle and hum all the songs her mother had sang to her, smiling.

When she discovered that Ozai hadn't named the child, she immediately did so herself, calling him after her eldest brother. Holding Zuko, she approached her husband about two days later. She approached cautiously, feeling timid around her husband for the first time in ages. "Ozai?" she murmured. "You never came to visit."

Ozai looked at her and smiled slowly, as though it were an effort. "I know, my dear. The midwife wouldn't allow me inside. And she told me that he-" Ozai gestured at the baby, and Ursa, for the first and only time, interrupted her husband.

"Zuko," she insisted.

Ozai's eyes flashed, full of something unpleasant, but he said, in a tone that suggested it was a great personal sacrifice on her behalf, "Zuko only had a few hours, maybe a day, to live. I didn't want to meet him only to lose him, you see?"

Placated somewhat, Ursa nodded. "I understand. Will you meet him now?"

Gingerly, Ozai accepted the baby, Ursa adjusting his arms so he was holding Zuko properly almost without thought. "He's small," Ozai murmured with what might have been affection.

Ursa nodded. "He was early."

Ozai did not respond, looking down at his son, his eyes hooded and his face a purposeful blank. But Ursa saw no malice in that expression, even later, when she scrutinized her memory. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they had peace for a little longer.

O-o-O-o-O

Almost two years later to the day, Azula came into the world. She was a perfect contrast to her brother- her labor was only a few hours, right when the healers predicted, and she was normal size and weight.

The only similarity was that neither of them cried at birth. As her husband would later say, Zuko did not because he was weak, and Azula did not because she was strong. Instead, her newborn daughter regarded the world with clear eyes the color of hot copper, much like her father's.

Zuko was at first fascinated by his sister; he was two, after all, and curious about everything. And his sister wasn't a whit like the other babies he'd seen. She didn't squall when disturbed from her sleep, and she would fuss only when she wanted to be fed or changed. Zuko had eyed his sister initially with interest and then, as she continued to behave so strangely, with concern. "Is there something wrong with her, Mother?" he asked, holding her hand and looking up at her, his golden eyes wide.

Ursa smiled and stroked his hair (he was still too young to wear it in a ponytail). "No, dear. I think your sister's just… different."

She picked up Azula and held her level with her brother, and the two siblings regarded each other with the total solemnity only young children can manage. Azula's infancy was the only time Ursa ever saw them getting along.

O-o-O-o-O

The years passed, and time went on. We'll not linger long here, for the tale's been told many a time. There are so many examples I could give of Ozai and Ursa, of her love, of his distance.

But we'll let one stand for them all, since it was the one Ursa would always remember as the day she finally questioned her choices, especially one cold night when she left the life she knew behind her.

Ursa was not a blind woman, nor was she foolish, but she loved strongly. Even Azula, who was so strange and cruel and so much like her father (and oh, how she would rue that thought!), was dear to her, in part because of her placid infancy; until she was about five, she allowed her mother to choose her outfits and dress her and brush her hair, and she would smile and laugh, and she was impossible not to adore, for Azula could be charming and kind and sweet when she wished.

But when she got older, Ursa drew back, simply because she didn't understand her daughter. Zuko adored his mother and would show her through the usual ways- flowers, a painting, clumsy but loving gifts. Azula loved her mother, too, but she was very different from Ursa. She would firebend for her and recite endless lists of battles won against the Earth Kingdom, things that pleased her father.

And they pleased Ursa as well, but they also confused her, for she and her mother were simply very different. Azula had no interest in the graces of court; she knew how to treat her friends, of course, and those in power, but she had no use for fancy dresses and balls and endless parties. She knew how to control others instinctively and couldn't care less about what etiquette demanded.

Ursa liked and respected her daughter's interests, but she didn't know how to show it. With Zuko, she could give him a book of poems and show him one she had liked, and he would understand it and undoubtedly enjoy it as well. She could show him how to make paper lanterns or the beauty of sunlight reflections on water and cherry trees in spring.

But unless the poem was about war, it wouldn't interest Azula, and to her, paper was only good for burning or writing, water was for drinking, and cherry trees were absolutely useless. Azula was nothing if not practical; even her choice of friends showed that, for she was not a social person (although undeniably cunning and good with people) and only associated with those who were useful to her.

So Ursa, flustered, would give her daughter a doll, even though she knew how she loathed them, or a dress, even though her daughter wore pants since the age of six.

And one day, she overheard Azula talking to her father about it after her eighthbirthday.

"It bothers me, Father," Azula mumbled, sounding close to tears. That was why Ursa had stopped and not gone into her bedroom; she had never heard her daughter so. "She always knows just what Zuko wants! It's not that he pretends to like his presents, he does! And she knows how much I hate these things! I've told her, and she says so! Does she hate me, Father?"

Ozai, in a soft tone Ursa hadn't heard him use in years, probably since before Azula was born, murmured, "Of course not, Azula. Your mother is simply not like us. She means well, but she is soft."

"She's weak."

Ozai laughed. "Exactly, my dear, my Azula."

"Then why did you marry her, Father?"

Ozai didn't answer for a long moment. "Perhaps I was weak as well back then. But I've gotten over it."

Ursa knew that her daughter and her husband kept talking, but she didn't hear it. She put her hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs, although, as usual, she was not really surprised by her husband. Most of her had known for years, but actually hearing it from Ozai brought it home: she was trapped by a man she couldn't trust.

And all she wanted to do was take her son and run.

O-o-O-o-O

Ursa never spoke to her husband about that day. She wasn't a good actress, but if he noticed her distance (and she doubted that), he didn't comment. He wasn't interested.

Ursa thought she could tolerate it all until that meeting with Azulon. She had always known her husband was ambitious and disgusted by his brother and his ways, but she had never expected Ozai to actually do anything about it.

At first, she thought the meeting was nothing out of the ordinary; Ozai simply loved to show Azula off. But she was curious, so, like her children, she stayed back and eavesdropped.

Azula had only been kidding about making Ozai kill Zuko; the Fire Lord knew it would bother his son not a whit. No, Azulon's punishment was much quicker; he simply struck Ozai down, and it was all Ursa could do to keep from crying out. Cruel or not, Ozai was family, and Ursa hated to see him in pain. She dashed away before she could be caught spying and managed to act surprised when Ozai appeared with a terrible scar covering part of his face.

O-o-O-o-O

The first and only time Ozai surprised her was when he hired the assassin. You're becoming quite the little spy, Ursa, a nasty voice whispered when she lingered outside her husband's rooms to overhear his conversation, hushed though it was. And it had good reason to be hushed; Ozai was planning his father's murder.

Poison, slipped in his soup. A bribe to the courtiers, and Azulon's last wish would be to make his younger son Fire Lord.

Ursa had never really been a decisive woman, but she knew her husband would ruin the world (what was left of it, anyway) as Fire Lord. She had to stop it.

It didn't work. Ursa knew how to wield a knife, but in the end, she couldn't do it. A stumble over the hem of her dress, and a harsh look from the courtier, and Ursa was at Azulon's feet, holding a dagger.

The Fire Lord, his face wreathed in shadow, sighed. "Princess Ursa, if you stay, I shall have to consider this an attempt on my life."

All thoughts of the poison fled; Azulon had never spoken to her directly before, and he terrified her. Ursa fled. She shook Zuko awake, holding her son for the last time, and left the castle by cover of darkness.

A month and a series of ships, aliases, and disguises later, and Ursa found herself in the Earth Kingdom. She had been a princess, and now she was technically a traitor, but she quite liked being just Ursa.

Fairy tales had never really suited her, anyway.

(Ok, yeah, that part was kind of… weird… but that's because I'm really not interested in Ursa's past in the Fire Nation. The second part incorporates the Freedom Fighters! Review!)