"Come now," the red-clad mother tells her children. "Hurry. The Fire Lord is waiting."
As she ushers the two of them to the throne room, where her husband has requested audience, she pauses a moment to take in their appearances... well. It's good enough, at least. They are wearing their best clothes, as she had requested of them; the servants had done well on presentation, at the very least. She is not, of course, one usually so taken with appearances - but this is the Fire Lord; if they are to offend him of all people...
She will not think of it, in any case. She leads her children into the room then, where flames lick around the raised throne of their ruler and her husband sits already, awaiting their arrival and staring up at the Fire Lord himself. Her children sit down on one side of their father, while she takes her place at his left.
The meeting is dull, at first. Her husband seems to want to flaunt their eldest's knowledge, and she performs well, reciting facts and history like it comes easily to her. It does, of course - all had always come easy for their daughter. She was a natural-born prodigy in many ways.
Then she is demonstrating her katas to the Fire Lord, and her mother tenses as she glances at her son.
He has always felt lesser, she knows. Born after, and always in the shadow of, a sister such as his. But even she knows that try as he might, her son is not ready for a demonstration like the one that has just taken place, even as her daughter bows and retakes her seat. But she knows her son - knows, even before he speaks, that he will want to try, too.
He always tries. He always tries so hard. She loves him so - but she fears this is not the time.
Still, it is done. He has spoken his intent to demonstrate his own learnings, and now he, too, is performing dances of flame for the Fire Lord, who stares down intently over interlinked hands. But even without being a bender of flame herself, she can see that his forms are slightly off; he is not naturally talented like her daughter, though she admires him so for trying anyway.
As she watches, one misplaced kick lands him unceremoniously on the ground; she rises then suddenly, without thinking, eyes wide and worry flaring up for her child. But before she can move to him, he has gotten to his feet again, to try once more-
Then her son has leapt, kicking out with one ungraceful motion and sending a weak flame into the air above him, and as he falls to the ground, a sudden gust of wind, almost unnoticeable, bursts out from where he lands, rustling the bottom of her robes even as she takes a few hasty steps towards him. She need not have worried at all, it seems - his fall had been cushioned.
But his spirits are still dampened; as she reaches him, one gentle hand on his shoulder and helping him up, her son mumbles, almost as if to himself - "I failed." Clearly he had not noticed the wind. His head is down, and though she cannot yet see his face, she can hear in his voice that he is close to tears.
"No," she breathes to him, soothing, as she turns her son to face her and places both hands upon his shoulders. "Be proud of who you are, my son. Someone who keeps fighting, even though it's hard," and yet still she keeps her voice soft, her words just murmurs, unwilling to truly disrupt the hush that has befallen the room, because she knows.
She knows what the gust of wind has meant, untrained and instinctive as it had been.
Air.
Her son had airbended.
And she was not the only one to have realized this. Nor is she the only one to have realized exactly what it meant.
"Go to your chambers at once," the Fire Lord orders, abruptly, breaking the silence, and without a word she rises and leads her children away, but notices as she goes that her husband does not leave. The Fire Lord had not been addressing him.
They intend to discuss this, she knows. She only hopes that their decision will be merciful.
After all, would it not do more good to raise the Avatar here, as one of their own?
She makes certain to keep her son close to her as she leads him to his chambers, never once letting her hand leave his shoulder.
It is later, after she has put both of her children to bed, that she begins to pack a bag. Her husband had not returned to their chambers - and she fears the worst. What if the Fire Lord had ordered - no. She mustn't think of that. She busies herself with the packing instead, not fully dedicating her time and mind to it but spending enough effort to keep herself sufficiently distracted. She is not certain why she packs. It is possible that all will be fine, and this will not even be necessary.
And yet.
Her son. The Avatar. What if they mean to hurt him - or worse? She will have to leave, and take him with her, if that is the case. She will not allow any harm to come to her son. Not while there is breath left in her body.
Sudden fear grips her then. What if he has already been hurt? All the while she has been busying herself in her own chamber - but she should have been watching over her children! What if...
She allows herself no more time to worry on it. Her children's rooms are next to each other, thankfully - and across from her own. She will not have far to go. As she rises, half-packed bag still sitting on her own bed, she makes her way to her son's room first, moving through the doorway and then freezing when she sees that is her daughter instead who stands there, playing idly with the dagger that she knows belongs to him.
She moves to her daughter, and without a word extends her hand, giving her a look even as she fights rising terror. Her daughter sets the knife in her hand, and she slips it into her robes.
"Where is your brother?" she asks her child, and though she tries to keep her tone gentle, kind, there is a sharpness to her words that surely makes itself very clear.
"Dad took him into the throne room," her daughter tells her innocently. "He said he and the Fire Lord had business with him." She smiles then, up at her mother, and though it's a blithe thing, not outwardly portraying any ill intentions, she shudders to realize that perhaps it means that her daughter is pleased. Does she know just what could be happening-?
No. There is no time to chide her, or to pause at all - without a word, the woman takes off running, frantic footfalls echoing throughout the halls of the palace as she hurries to find her son. The throne room. He is in the throne room. Surely she can't be too late already...
She bursts forth into the room, the edges of her robes likely billowing a bit behind her in some dramatic fashion, and her eyes widen as she takes in the scene before her.
The Fire Lord, on his throne - to be expected, that. And her husband, standing some ways in front of him, hatred clear in his features.
And her son - her son is kneeling before a father whose hand is already outstretched towards him in a stance that she knows means flame is forthcoming. Even from where she stands, she can see her son's shoulders shake with the tears she is sure he is spilling, and then her husband's raised hand moves, just slightly, and she does too.
"Stop!" she cries as she rushes forward, and in that same instant she sees him jerk, surprised - but the flame still bursts forth from his hand, still sears the flesh before it, and no, no, no, her son, her precious child -
She's at his side in an instant, where he's crumpled to the ground, and one side of his face is horrible. It's taken the full brunt of the blast, she can tell, though her husband's shock had been enough to keep the rest of him safe. Not that he will be safe for long - this is bad, so bad, and she cradles him to her and tries to whisper soothing words to him, even as he writhes in torment.
She hears him let out a whimper, agony clear in his voice, and then he falls silent, limp in her trembling arms. Unconscious, it seems, probably from the pain. She doesn't know if this is better or worse. All she does know is that her child, her baby - he's hurt, so so hurt and the monsters who did this to him are just staring, not even making a move to finish to job - as if waiting for her next move.
She whips her head up to glare at them, eyes likely wild with her rising panic.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks, desperation clawing forth in her tone even as she tries to keep herself calm, to reason with them. "He is on our side now! If you kill him, he'll only be born again - you will have to find him all over again!"
"Are you a fool?" her husband snaps at her, though his words are slow and condescending even in his anger, as if he is speaking to someone simpler than she. His mouth is twisted in what might be a grin or a grimace - she can't be sure. She looks away then, back to her son. "The next in the cycle is air, and the Air Nomads are dead. Finally the world will be free of this wretch once and for -"
"Hold your tongue, child," the Fire Lord interrupts him, and though he does not raise his voice, his tone is cold and commanding enough to silence the man. She still knows, though - knows what her husband had meant, realizes why they have decided that her child must die. Is it true? Could the cycle truly be broken? "This matters not. The decision does not concern you." The old man's latter words are spoken to her, she knows, even as his icy gaze rests upon her.
"He is my son," she replies, surprising herself in the strength of her voice as she lifts her head, tearing her own gaze away from her broken child to meet the Fire Lord's eyes without fear. "This concerns me."
"Very well," he says to her, and the contempt in his voice is clear. He is sneering at her, she thinks. "Take your precious son and go, if you wish. But you will not be welcome within our borders." He smiles then, a wicked, twisted thing. Because he knows, just as well as she does, what his words mean for her, for them both. Her child, hurting now as he is, needs a healer, and a good one, she is certain, or he will not survive for long - and the Fire Lord is counting on this. She knows he is.
"Do you mean to say that this is exile?" she manages, cradling the limp child she is holding closer to her chest, though attempting to keep her face impassive. She sees her husband's narrowed eyes focus on their son - no. Her son. The revulsion she sees in those hateful eyes is enough to tell her that he is no father to her child.
"Yes," the Fire Lord answers her, coldly. "If you or the boy is found in the Fire Nation ever again, my soldiers will not hesitate to kill you on the spot." He gives her another smile, as if he's being polite - "I wish both of you the best of health."
She seethes at his words, but wastes no time in protesting them. There are no more words for her to speak now. The Fire Lord need not be told that she understands just how cruel his 'kindness' truly is. But she will not let him win - him or her husband.
They think that her son has no chance of surviving. They think that she has no chance of saving him.
They underestimate, clearly, the depth of her love for Zuko.
Ursa gathers her son in her arms and runs.
