Author's Note: I'm back! After a very stressful week, which is followed by another stressful week! XD Oh, the things I put myself through; I think I have an Azula complex.

I was, as usual, unsure about this chapter. But, no one cares...

Song: Like the Sun by RyanDan .com/watch?v=iMpNPedVQ0s (warning: it is decliciously sappy, as are all songs with wonderful male leads)

Enjoy!

12.

The rain splattered against the palace like pellets of mercury, pelting Ursa as she dashed up the grand steps. She held a thin piece of rice paper above her head in an attempt to spare her hair the indignity of a frizzy end. One of the palace guards, his face miserable in his water-logged helmet, slipped as he pulled open the smaller wooden door for the princess-to-be. Ursa caught his elbow and pulled him upright again, narrowly avoiding a fall herself by gripping the side of the palace.

"Thank you, Lady Ursa," the guard said, with a bow that flung raindrops off his armor.

Ursa wiped her face clean of the moisture and nodded in response, then dashed inside as a peal of thunder sounded out above them. "I'm sure the Firelord will understand if you take those helmets off," she called back to the guards, who seemed eager to take her encouragement as an order. Ursa smiled as the men took off their helmets, sighed in relief, and rubbed their faces on their sleeves.

All frivolity faded as Ursa made her way further into the palace; her concern for the Fire Princes rose up again in her stomach, and she forced her soaked sandals to slap harder against the floor. Throughout her harried trip to the capital, the princess-to-be had hardly slept or ate, her anxiety for Prince Iroh twisting her insides in knots. Ozai's last, sharp letter had spurred his betrothed into immediate action. Ursa knew that, if Ozai would do something as selfless as warn her against coming to the palace, the crown prince's situation was far more serious than she had imagined.

Ursa cringed when she thought of her fiance bearing the unexpected burden of his brother's seniority so quickly. When prepared, Ozai was a highly competent leader, but she worried that having to bear the weight of an older man's duties would run the younger prince into the ground. Ozia was only eighteen; anyone would agree that he was too young to assume the full responsibilities of the crown prince, who was also a general and an advisor to the Firelord.

Ursa caught herself again before her feet skid out from under her, clinging to a pillar as the rug slipped under her wet sandal. She straightened and pressed on toward the only place she knew to look for her fiance: his personal study. Unlike Prince Iroh, Ozai preferred to address matters of state in a designated area, and she figured that she would have the best luck in finding the prince there than in searching half of the palace. Both princes had their own study, of course, but had she been looking for Iroh, Ursa would have known better than to go to a confined space.

In her frequent visits to the palace, it had not taken Ursa long to realize why Iroh took so readily to the mayhem of the battlefield. If he had to remain in one place for over an hour, the older prince grew jittery and began to chatter as though his life depended upon his ability to converse about teacups, Pai Sho tiles, and any other triviality that struck his fancy. Ozai, on the other hand, could descend into a fierce silence and shut himself in a room for hours, with nothing but maps and tea to sustain him.

This role-reversal in the two princes baffled most of the nobility, but did not surprise Ursa at all. Anyone who knew the sons of the Firelord personally would attest to their opposite personalities. Iroh had the characteristics of a bright sword, whereas Ozai was more like a short, subtle knife; both were made of the same mettle, but the way they showed their steel could not be more different.

Keeping this in mind, Ursa arranged a convincing speech in her head to push aside Ozai's objections to her presence in the palace. She had learned much about her fiance from the way he interacted with his brother, and she used those experiences to rehearse a winning argument.

As she rounded another corner of the palace, Ursa started her mental list with several sensible reasons why it was smart for Ozai to have a second mind to work through his new-found problems. After all, two heads were better than one, especially when matters of state were involved. Next, she planned to point out the fact that her parents had sent her back to the capital just so she could serve the prince. She would add in the idea that her father and mother would be mortally offended if Ozai refused her company.

Keeping herself so occupied, the princess-to-be hardly noticed when she came upon the wing of the palace reserved for the Firelord's family until she saw an elite guard detach himself from a nearby wall. She started a little when the man appeared before her and gave her a sharp bow.

"Lady Ursa," the elite guard greeted her, his voice studiously bland, "I'm glad to see you. We did not know you were coming."

Ursa returned his bow with a brief one of her own. "I didn't know I was coming, either, until I boarded the barge."

"Is everything all right with your family?"

"Yes," Ursa said, "with my blood relatives. But, as you know, nothing is all right with my new family."

Something seemed to shift in the guard's face, and Ursa thought she saw the rumored devotion of the Firelord's personal defenders cross the man's brow. "You're right about that, Lady Ursa."

"Could you tell me if Prince Ozai is in his study?" asked Ursa. She felt her worry for her fiance grow with increased proximity, but she tried not to look too anxious; elite guards were notorious for reading body language, and they tended to be suspicious of anyone that was nervous.

"Prince Ozai was in his study half an hour ago," answered the elite guard. "He should be there, still." And, with another bow, he returned to his post by the wall. Ursa nodded her thanks and walked on.

When she finally reached the entrance to Ozai's study, Ursa had fixed her arguments for staying at the palace firmly in her mind. She stepped to the doorway, her chin jutted out and her shoulders back. She glided through the door as regally as possible and began to speak. "Hello, Ozai..."

Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes met a charming sight. The prince was slumped facedown at his desk, his hand fisted around a cold cup of tea, a bunch of crumpled papers cushioning his face. His other hand lay curled upon the desk, empty of cup or document. From the deep rise and fall of his shoulders, it was clear that Ozai was fast asleep.

Ursa covered her mouth to stop her giggle and leaned against the doorway, taking in the sight. Then she walked quietly to the desk and smoothed out Ozai's empty hand. He stirred at her touch. "Ursa?" Ozai mumbled, not really even awake.

"Hello, Prince Ozai," Ursa said softly. Lightly, with the tips of her fingers, she picked up stray locks of his hair and tucked them behind his ear. Her fiance stiffened slightly as he was roused from sleep.

"Hello," Ozai said groggily, then relaxed against the desk, drifting back towards dreams.

Ursa leaned down and planted a soft kiss against her fiance's black hair. "Come on, Prince Ozai, wake up for just a moment; we have to get you back to your quarters if you're going to take a nap." Ozai's response was a muffled yawn, and Ursa laughed. "You can't sleep here, darling."

"Am I asleep?"

"Yes," Ursa said, with a twinge in her heart. How could Ozai be so exhausted that he didn't even realize he had fallen asleep at his desk? How long had he been crammed into a chair, staring at accounts and reports? Reflexively, her hand camp up and stroked his hair again, with an endearing result.

"Mmmm." Ozai's contented sound and smile warmed Ursa's chest from the inside out. As his eyes drifted shut again, his face lost every shadow of worry or responsibility, leaving his usually taut face looking disarmingly young.

Ursa bent and laid her cheek against his forehead, feeling a sudden protectiveness that she had never associated with her fiance before. Ozai took pains to project an image of strength to the world; it was only when he was robbed of that image, in the vulnerable time between sleep and awareness, that she could imaginge him as someone who might need her protection.

Resting her chin on the crown of his head, Ursa laid another kiss on Ozai's hair, vowing to herself never to forget that a prince, just like any other man, possessed that small, bare window before sleep; that window of open helplessness. And, quickly, Ursa reminded herself that Ozai needed his fiance to guard that window with all of her might.