"Iroh…Iroh, where's Ozai?"

"He just stepped out for a moment, nothing to worry about."

"Could you get him…I really want him here."

"I'll get him, but you rest now. Lu Ten, stay with your aunt."

"Sure, Dad."

Prince Iroh closed the door behind him, leaving the stifling heat of the infirmary. Ursa had gone into labor the night before, and twenty six hours later, surrounded by attendants, given birth to a son.

A son who seemed resistant to the idea of breathing.

The prince's footsteps echoed as he walked down the hall to find his younger brother. It had always seemed to him that the palace was designed to make a person's footsteps sound bigger and more intimidating, perhaps through the ego of the first Fire Lord to live here, or a paranoia that insisted that one be able to hear anyone creeping through the halls. In the middle of a tense night like this one, where everyone was either busy in one place or pretending to be sleeping, the footsteps seemed to ring out like gongs.

By tradition, the Fire Sages had their temples outside of the palace walls, to maintain the impression of autonomy that had long since broken down. But there were still ceremonial spots for the royals to meditate by themselves, free for a moment from the weight of the throne. It was to one of these chambers that Iroh headed. During the day, Fire Lord Azulon could often be found here, but tonight he was sleeping peacefully. He already had a firm lineage, through Iroh and Lu Ten, and while by no means did he wish Ozai's child to die, he was not about to lose sleep over it. So when Iroh pushed open the door, it was only his brother he saw.

Ozai's back was to the door, as he sat before a row of candles, burning steadily and unflinchingly through his own power. Though they burned hot, the wick did not diminish and the wax did not melt down. One of the first tricks taught to young firebenders, and seemingly the one that everyone returned to when meditating, as if control of a candle could help with control of the emotions. The flames did not fade or flicker when Iroh came in, nor when he sat down beside his brother. Wordlessly, Ozai released the right four candles and let Iroh take control of them, who kept the flames steady. They had spent hours in Ozai's childhood sitting like this, practicing the art of their grandfathers. And hopefully, the art of their grandsons.

"She wants to see you. She needs you now."

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, but she is scared. She needs her husband."

Ozai stared forward at the flames, the little bits of energy; powerful if tended, dangerous if let loose, but utterly fragile.

"We were going to name him Zuko."

"That is a very strong name. Many sharp edges. I am sure he will grow into it well."

"If he manages to make it through his first night. Just think of it, a child of mine who can't even muster up the energy to yell… Perhaps it is a good thing that Lu Ten will be the future Fire Lord. He is a strong young man. You should be very proud."

"I am. But do not give up on Zuko. He has too much Fire Nation stubbornness in his blood to be stopped this early."

Perhaps it was the appeal to pride, perhaps it was the small attempt at a joke, or perhaps it was the use of the name, but all at once Ozai cracked. His chin fell to his chest, and for the first time in more years than Iroh could remember, tears flowed freely down his brother's face. The candles before him sputtered and went out, leaving the room bathed in partial darkness, shadows hanging in the faces of the two princes.

Iroh was prepared to let him have his time, ready to sit for as long as was necessary, but Ozai was not ready to admit how much he needed it. After only a few moments, he straightened his back and wiped the wetness from his face, pushed the hair that had come loose from his topknot back behind his ears. The mask was back in place, and the coldness of the wicks was all to indicate that anything had happened at all.

"I should get back to Ursa."

"And to Zuko."

"Yes…to Zuko."

He rose, seemingly unbothered by stiffness, even after meditation and a tense day of waiting and pacing. Somehow, he always managed to seem more princely than his older brother. They both knew this would never again be mentioned, that no one else would know about this moment of weakness. Iroh thought it might improve his image in the people's eyes, the prince being willing to admit that he felt anything more than control and coolness. But if this was how Ozai chose to live his life, so be it.

Iroh listened to the evenly-paced footsteps walking away through the palace, over the floor that made men sound bigger, but also far more alone.