5th Day, 11th Moon, Year of the Hare (Azulon 64)

Yesterday's storm has not yet ended, and there is a biting chill outside. I know this because my lord husband insisted that we all eat lunch on the eastern veranda, right in the face of the wind. I protested, and relented in the end only on the condition that all three of us would dress warmly. He is not the only one who can make demands! This meant the quilted bunting with the hood for Zuko, and an extra wrap for myself, and a cloak for my husband. He would not say so, but I think he was glad I had made that stipulation, because it was chilly indeed on the veranda, and with the frequent gusts, our food and tea grew cold far too quickly for our liking.

"How disappointing," I said meaningfully, setting down my cup. "If only there were a firebender present to warm the kettle."

My lord husband frowned. "That's not what firebending is for."

"And why not? At the moment, I can't think of a better use."

"It's a warrior's art, not a drudgery tool," he grumbled. "Would you use a fine sword to chop vegetables for dinner?"

"If it had to be done and there was nothing else to use, certainly," I replied.

He sighed and shook his head, but he summoned a small flame to hand and held it to the brass teapot, which soon steamed again. Zuko babbled urgently and reached out toward the heat.

"Yes, it was very kind of Papa, wasn't it?" I said. "Someday, you'll be able to do that, my sweet."

"This is foolishness," my husband muttered.

"Your brother wouldn't think so," I said, hoping to raise his mood again. Before the conversation could play out, there was a growl of thunder from above, and Zuko began to fret. I bounced him in my lap to distract him.

"What's wrong with him now?" my lord husband asked.

"Nothing. The thunder frightens him," I explained.

"Ah. Well, we'll soon break him of that."

"I'm certain he'll grow out of it on his own, once he realizes that no harm comes of it. That's how it was with me when I was little."

It began to drizzle at that point, and although the veranda is canopied, the wind blew the rain in upon us. I pulled my wraps closer around Zuko and myself, and even my husband shivered. The flurry lasted only a few minutes, and we weren't so wet by the end of it that we couldn't stay and finish our lunch.

"So," my lord husband said, "when do you think he'll be ready to start learning firebending?"

"Not for some time, I'm sure," I answered. "He can't even stand up yet, my lord husband."

He was undaunted. "Maybe he'll be a prodigy."

"He'll be what he'll be. You and I can guide him, but we cannot change what he is in his soul."

"You're right. Unfortunately."

I had to sigh at that. "My lord husband, with all due respect, you must make peace with the fact that there are things and people in this world that are out of your control. You will be doomed to a life of frustration if you do not."

He fell silent, and did not speak again until another rumble of thunder had Zuko pressing his face to my bosom. "He's not going to start crying, is he?"

"It seems not," I said, lifting the baby up to my shoulder. "He fusses, but he actually doesn't cry much, unless he is hungry, or in pain."

"That's good."

It thundered again, a real clap this time, and Zuko made a pitiful mewling sound against my shoulder.

"Give him to me," said my lord husband. "I'll show him there's nothing to fear."

Zuko didn't want to leave me, but I suspected what his father had in mind, so I passed him over. As I supposed, my husband walked to the veranda railing and lifted Zuko up toward the sky.

"Please be careful, my lord husband!" I said, seized with a sudden alarm.

"I won't drop him, Ursa," he said. "Do you take me for so clumsy?" Then he addressed the baby, as the thunder continued to sound. "Don't be afraid, my son. You are a prince of the Fire Nation, and there is no room in your heart for fear. You are stronger than the storm. One day, you will be stronger than anyone and anything foolish enough to stand against you."

My heart fluttered, both in nervousness at seeing my child held out so precariously, and with a sort of thrill at hearing my lord husband's magnificent words. It was the first time I had ever heard him praise our son, and I only regretted that Zuko was too young to understand and remember. Or maybe he did understand a little, because he became quiet despite the noise from the sky.

With a satisfied smile, Ozai returned Zuko to me. "There," he said. "That is how you stop a child from being afraid: by forbidding the fear."

"You should speak that way to him more often," I said. "It's much better than calling him weak and spoiled."

On that note, we concluded the meal. Now it is late evening, and the storm has only intensified all afternoon…yet Zuko sleeps soundly in his crib, unbothered by the thunder. It seems his father's words have had the desired effect. Su-Lin thinks differently; she says it is only that he is used to the noise by now. But I hope she is wrong. I want my lord husband to have an incentive to treat our son with kindness and confidence.