Rise and Fall
by Kaiyrah
Rated PG
The Fire Lord is to be executed tomorrow at dawn. Ozai/Ursa, drabble.
Notes: A:tLA are property of Mike DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko.
The guards spoke of a beautiful woman with long black hair who had been seen pacing in front of the prison many times, many nights, but never entering. She would look up in the sky to the highest window and stare for the longest time and then finally tear her eyes away and leave.
How is Fire Lord Ozai? She would ask every day, and every day they gave her the same answer, He is alive.
Then one day: Fire Lord Ozai is to be executed tomorrow at dawn.
Her blood ran cold and her breath stopped. I'm sorry?
Fire Lord Ozai is to be executed.
She swiftly left in a flash of red robes.
Her tired feet climb up the long spiral stone staircase, several times her own weakness tempts her to stop and turn around, but she tells herself to keep going, keep going.
The guard is fast asleep at his post, and she takes his keys and opens the door. The man she once called husband rests against a wall, his face sallow and pale. The door creaks open, and he raises his head. His once sharp golden eyes now are tired, weary. Ursa, he rasps harshly, yet he has never once said her name with such tenderness. Ursa.
Have you been well? The tray she has been carrying now sits on the ground in front of her knees -- a barrier. What is she afraid of? This man will no longer cause any pain, any hurt.
Ursa, my love, he says, his arms reaching out to her.
She hesitates, then places her hands, soft and gentle, within his palms. Calloused fingers enclose hers in a grip that is far too weak. They say you are to die at dawn.
He nods slowly, and raises his eyes to look at her. Here, in this dark and damp prison cell, the Fire Lord is humbled. The greed has lifted from his eyes, the thirst for power long gone. When Ursa looks close enough, there is no more devil in disguise, there is simply... a man. Ozai. The charming prince she was betrothed to and eventually grew to love.
The Fire Lord was never her husband. This man was.
Her eyes break away first as she pours the tea into the cup and hands it to him. The smoked, musky aroma wafts into her nose. "Your favorite."
Ozai accepts the cup, staring down at the dark liquid in deep thought. "It was never my favorite. Simply Iroh's least." And without another word, he drinks the tea in one gulp.
Suddenly she does not want to see what happens next. She springs to her feet, knocking over the teapot in the process, and turns on her heels, running from the room as quickly as possible. She does not see the desperate look in his eyes as he claws at the bars. She does not hear him gasping, choking for breath, shrieking as he keels over in pain.
She does not see him drop to the floor, dead, and she does not join in when the rest of the world celebrates.