Chapter 1: Silence In Shadows

Zuko was dozing; trapped somewhere in between the world of the living and that of dreams. His lips were slightly parted, his head pillowed in his arm; but the tension of the day hadn't quite drained out of his tense little frame. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever-so-gently. He responded immediately, eyes parting drowsily and a confused sigh escaping him.

"Mom?"

Ursa pulled him upright, clutched his thin shoulders. "Zuko. Please, my love; listen to me." His head drooped, but he forced himself to look back up at her. Even through the haze of sleep he could sense her urgency, knew that something was very, very wrong. "Everything I've done, I've done to protect you." She pulled him into her arms, held him tightly. Closing his eyes, Zuko pillowed his head against her shoulder.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. He felt her turn, glancing worriedly over her shoulder. She grasped his arms again, reluctantly peeling away from her son. "Remember this, Zuko." He lifted his head, stared wide-eyed at his mother. Worry and fear were etched onto her delicate features. "No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are."

She released him, gently, as he nodded, tired and confused.

"Mom?"

She paused, reached out and stroked his jaw, a terrible sadness in her eyes. "I love you, Zuko. Never forget."

Ursa slid her wedding ring; a silver circlet set with three clear stones, from her left hand. Taking his, she pressed the still - warm band into his palm, closing his fingers around it and pressing tight, as if she could imprint herself on him, as though she could somehow leave a piece of herself there with him. As she turned away, she gave him a reassuring smile. It was the saddest smile he'd ever seen.

And then she was walking away; and the last thing that Zuko remembered was watching her lift a hood over her face, her form fading from view as his eyes drifted shut.

The darkness was her ally, cloaking her hooded form in shadow as she slipped through the empty corridors she'd unwillingly called home for the last ten years of her life. Night cast a spell on the palace, every painting and hallway she ghosted past coming alive with memories. How ironic, that these walls painted with the gaudy opulence she'd despised since she'd first laid eyes on them, now each held a piece of the past she was abandoning.

Ten years ago, she would have been glad. Wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. Even now, despite everything, a part of her was, at least a little. She'd never wanted this existence, and the bitter joy of freedom ate at her guilt.

Ten years ago, she didn't have children.

An eerie calm settled over her as she found her from one child's room to the other, silencing, but not steadying, that roiling pit of fear in her belly. She'd done everything in her power to shelter her son from the harsh realities of his existence, from his father's dismissal and the general scorn that everyone seemed to see him with. Zuko was her child, there was no question, was everything that a young boy should be, everything a mother could hope for in a son. But qualities generally considered normal in common children; compassion, empathy, short-temper and rashness, were viewed as undesirable and an embarrassment to the royal family; to Ozai especially. And despite Ursa's best attempts to stop him, Ozai had always made sure to leave the evidence of his displeasure imprinted in black and blue on Zuko's little body.

Her lip curled with anger at that, hatred for her husband rushing through her.

Husband, no longer.

After this night, she would be princess of this palace no more.

Guilty relief, at that. The proof was carefully tucked in her bodice, and in the band of metal that had chained her - to Ozai, to this place - that she'd left pressed in her bewildered son's sleepy fingers. She had neither need nor desire to keep it. Only the hope that for him, it would be a gift, rather than a shackle, had kept her from pitching it into the flames. He deserved some keepsake. Come morning, his precious heart would be broken, and nothing she did or said could change it. If only she had more to give.

With every moment, the wild desire to snatch her babies up and carry them away with her into the night gnawed at her, but for their sakes, she could not, and it was that knowledge that kept her from acting on her impulse. She would never escape with both, not alive. Ozai would hunt them all to the ends of the earth, before he allowed her to abscond with his heirs. She might, just might, get away with one . . . but which? How could she abandon one for the other? And worse, which would need her more?

Zuko. Zuko was her love, her light. The one ray of light in the hopeless situation she'd been forced into. A boy after her own heart. And despite everything Ozai had put him through, he had kept that brightness alive. Very few things came to him naturally; for everything that was expected of him as the firstborn son of Prince Ozai, a child of the Royal family and a runner - up for the succession of the throne, he had struggled desperately to attain any sort of grasp on the subject. He was an average firebender; had yet to show any signs of the power his ancestry should have granted him. Military tactics and political nuances were all but lost on him. In essence, Zuko was in every way a very normal child. But instead of allowing normalcy to define him, he still fought to become more. He was strong, in his own way, no matter what poison his rat-viper of a father spat. But Azula . . .

Ozai had set his hand on her almost as soon as she was born. Had swept her away from her dolls and playmates to the training grounds, shaping her to be a warrior, instead of a girl. If he could not have a worthy heir in Zuko, he'd said, he would make one of Azula. Her daughter, despite her youth, despite her quirks, and despite her sometimes downright sadistic behavior, was absolutely brilliant, talented, and beautiful. Gifted. She would change the world, someday. But her father's influence was already obvious. And Ozai was not raising her to be an upstanding woman.

No. He would make her his minion, his accomplice, his tool. And maybe someday, he would let her succeed him. But he would shred any humanity and decency she possessed to achieve his ends, and break her heart without a moment's hesitation. And she'd never once question whether he had the right to do it. Because Azula loved Ozai, damn him to the bowels of the earth. If her father commanded it, then it must be right.

It was Azula who she ought to spirit away. But of the two, it was Azula who would be hunted more determinedly. And she'd never quite been able to find a way to connect with her daughter, and if Azula hesitated at all, if she looked back even once, it would be the end of both of them.

Not to mention, Ozai would be sure to exact vengeance on whichever of her children she left behind. Could she sacrifice Zuko in the hopes of giving Azula a brighter future? Or Azula, for Zuko's heart?

No. I can't

Save all, and I will save none. Save one, and I damn the other. Save none, and I abandon them all.

She couldn't choose, and it broke her heart.

Ursa swept silently through Azula's door, pausing for a moment to admire the eight-year-old's already graceful form one last time, as the princess lay dreaming, oblivious to the nightmare become reality. She seated herself on the side of the bed, brushing aside glossy black locks to place a kiss on her brow, to embrace the little girl who didn't know she needed it. A slow tear trickled down her cheek, as she suddenly realized she'd never see the woman her baby would become. Never walk her down the aisle or pass down her crown when she came of age. Never meet her grandchildren.

My darling.

I wish you knew how much I love you. I should have tried harder to show you. To understand you. And I will regret it to my last breath.

Gently, she laid her head back on the pillow. Slowly unpinning the crown from her hair, she tucked the golden piece in Azula's slackened fingers.

"Goodnight, love," she whispered, standing. "Goodbye."

And Ursa vanished into the night.

He woke slowly, the hazy feeling he always got whenever he woke up slowly retreating to the corners of his mind. He lay still, letting the feeling seep back into his limbs. Slowly, pieces of what had taken place that night began to come back to him. His father had asked Fire Lord Azulon to disinherit Uncle Iroh! And Azula seemed to think that Father was going to punish him for it. She'd come into his room, taunting him; which explained why he'd gone to sleep in his clothes. Suddenly, he saw his mother's slim figure retreating into the darkness.

That was a weird dream, he thought, distantly. A long moment later, he felt the tiny prick of some tiny object clenched in his fist. Uncurling his fingers, the glimmer of polished silver shone in the faint light.

He sat up instantly. "Mom?" he called, confusion in his voice. No one answered; he was alone in his room. "Mom!" he cried, urgently. He threw his covers aside; jumped off the bed and ran for the door. "Mom!"

Zuko tore down the hallway; he couldn't see anything except her face, couldn't feel anything but the tiny band of metal clutched in his desperate fist. He ran into the chambers where, just yesterday, Ursa had read Iroh's letter to him and Azula. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He stopped, glancing around. Azula leaned against one of the columns. "Where's Mom?"

"No one knows." She looked away, a superior tone in her voice. "Oh, and last night, Grandpa passed away." Azula met his gaze, a smug smile on her face. She held his knife like a trophy.

"Not funny, Azula." He leveled a finger at her. "You're sick. And I want my knife back." Zuko walked towards her demandingly. "Now."

He reached for his blade, only to have Azula duck away, shoving him against the column. "Who's going to make me?" she asked, in a triumphant, sing-song voice, holding the knife out by her fingertips. "Mom?"

Zuko froze, horror creeping over him. No. She couldn't be.

He grabbed the knife from her outstretched fingertips, and ran away. Forget Azula and her mind games. He had to know.

His father stood by the pond; staring out over the water. Zuko could not recall ever having seen his father here before. He stopped short, fists clenched. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Ozai said nothing; didn't even glance at him.

Zuko bowed his head, grief and shock pulsing through him.

Gone.

He didn't remember walking away. Couldn't recall how he'd made his way back to his room; or what he'd done afterwards.

How long has it been?

He didn't know.

It seemed to Zuko as though he'd been walking around in a daze since he'd woken, not really registering anything. The servants pushed him where he needed to be, changed him into the clothes for his grandfather's funeral and his father's coronation. He didn't have to think, to speak. He wasn't sure he could have.

"...Fire Lord to our nation for 23 years. You were our fearless leader in the battle of Garsai; our matchless conqueror of the Hu Xin provinces. You were father of Iroh, father of Ozai. Husband of Illah, now passed. Grandfather of Lu Ten, now passed. Grandfather of Zuko and Azula."

Zuko started at his name, then lowered his head in respect, before his surroundings hit him.

The Fire Lord was dead! Grandfather Azulon, lying prone atop his casket, when just yesterday he'd been seated proudly on the throne of the Fire Nation.

Where is Uncle Iroh? he thought, worry niggling at him. They can't crown the new Fire Lord if he isn't here, can they?

The head Sage approached the casket, the royal crown held in his upraised hands. "We lay you to rest, as was your dying wish." Two of the lower sages, dressed in white, set the body aflame, and Zuko blinked, confused, as his father knelt before the Sage, head bowed. "You are now succeeded by your second son."

What?

The Fire Sage placed the crown in Ozai's topknot. Stepping away respectfully, he cried "Hail Fire Lord Ozai!"

Zuko blinked in shock.

Ozai stood; all of his subjects knelt before him, faces to the ground. Seeing Azula also move, Zuko followed her lead, crouching on his knees beside her. He glanced at his sister, worried and confused; but the look on her face was one of triumph. Zuko looked away, unable to hide the fear and confusion swimming in his wide eyes.

Something had changed, something had been lost, and he didn't understand how or why, as the answering roar of the kneeling crowd echoed hollowly in his ears, but somehow he knew deep in his bones that the future had just grown immeasurably colder.

Updated: 08/13/15

Reread these chapters and realized they were crap. So sorry. Am working on trying to fix them up.

~Evil