A/N: So I got a request for more Ozai and Zuko interaction and I realized that they'd only interacted one time, really, and thought I should rectify the situation. And boy-howdy is Ozai real bad at talking to children. Who let this man have children.
Ursa was impossible to please, it seemed, when it came to selecting a Master to teach Zuko firebending. Each person who came to call, no matter how much Ozai approved of them, would inevitably be turned away for some trivial reason or another that his wife found upsetting. Ozai was beginning to wonder if it would have been easier to find himself another bride instead of a Firebending instructor for his son.
As Zuko's second birthday came and went with no Master in sight, things were starting to get dire. Untrained firebenders were of the most dangerous benders in the world, conjuring flames with the rise and fall of their emotions and burning those close to them with even the slightest touch. Stories were told of early firebenders who accidentally burned loved ones to death over minor squabbles. Needless to say, having such violent power in an untrained and temperamental two year old was only proving more dangerous each day.
Ozai had no choice. If Ursa was going to be so picky as to put other people's safety at risk, he would just begin Zuko's training himself. Not that training of a firebender this early even resembled proper training at all. It was more learning restraint this point, not any true forms.
As the Prince pushes the doors open to Zuko's room, he realizes it's been months since he'd last been in this place. The crib has been replaced with what must be a brand new bed, childishly decorated with dragons along the skirt of the mattress. He had to admit that he didn't pay Zuko as much attention as he probably should, and he'd hardly given any mind to the idea that the toddler was rapidly transitioning into childhood. As the boy looked up at him from his spot on the bed, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes that matched Ozai's own, Ozai crosses the room to stand at the foot of the child's bed.
"Dad?" He asks, his tiny voice barely carrying over to his father. Ozai's brow furrows, and he realizes that it's the first time he's been called such a thing. It seems unfitting.
"Get up, son." The word felt foreign on his tongue, and a faint scowl finds its way onto his lips, "We're going to begin your training." Zuko's brow furrows, looking up at the imposing man in confusion.
"I don' have a teacher yet." Zuko slurs tiredly and Ozai turns from him, crossing the room to the heavy curtains blocking out the first morning rays. They beam into the room brilliantly when he pushes the curtains open. He hears Zuko groan in discomfort at the sudden brightness, scowling. It was unnatural for a firebender not to rise with the sun, yet another sign that Zuko wasn't as strong as Ozai had proclaimed him to be.
"For now, I am your teacher." He turns his back to the sun, looking back at Zuko. He looked so small—so weak—in the center of the large bed. His son's expression seems to falter for a moment, caught between wariness and excitement at the idea.
"I dunno." He mumbles down at his sheets, "Mom really wants t'pick my teacher"
"Firstly—" Ozai starts as he paces back towards the bed smoothly, "Speak clearly or don't speak at all. Secondly, I don't care what your mother prefers. I've elected to teach you until she can come to her senses and stops being so indecisive." Zuko looks up at his father, the width of his broad shoulders blocking out the light and casting him in deep shadow. The toddler doesn't even comprehend half of what Ozai is saying, his longer words lost on the boy.
"O-Okay." Zuko answers, unsure of what response his father wanted from him. Ozai lets out a tense breath in place of a verbal answer, calling in the waiting servant to help the child get dressed before leaving the room as swiftly as he'd come.
Walking the length of the corridors towards the scarred training grounds, he ponders the thought of his son. He was practically his carbon copy, looking much like Ozai had thirty years ago. That thought turns his expression sour as his feet meet rough, burned ground.
He'd turned thirty-two only weeks ago, and still he was no closer to his goal of being Fire Lord. Iroh still lived, and, as if to add insult to injury, his miraculous recovery only impressed Azulon further and proved his right to the throne. Beyond that, Iroh's son had done nothing but impress his grandfather as well, already showing promise in his combat abilities at a young age. Nearly all the Fire Nation adored them both, yet most were hard-pressed to even recall Ozai's name, let alone the fact that he had a son at all. He wonders what would be different if he hadn't fought the idea of marriage in his earlier years, going the length of his late teens, and all of his twenties as a bachelor. He would have an older heir, one he could actually present to Azulon with some modicum of pride, and a more established marriage that he wouldn't have to be constantly fighting to keep under control. He would likely have a different wife altogether, he realizes, considering the arranged nature of their marriage. A strange feeling twists in his gut at the thought of never meeting Ursa that stops him in his tracks. A familiarity had grown between them that he hadn't anticipated, and the thought of an alternate reality where he didn't have her was a surprisingly unpleasant one.
The wind blows locks of his dark hair into his eyes, and when he brushes the strands off his cheeks his fingers brush unusually warm skin. He attributes it to the sun on his face.
"Fire Prince Ozai." A voice speaks from behind him and he turns suddenly as he's jarred from his thoughts. He hadn't even heard the servant approach with Zuko, the child draped over her shoulder. The steady rise of the boy's shoulders told him that he was fast asleep on the servant and the Prince frowns deeply. The sun itself should bring him enough energy to motivate him, but apparently the sun's pull on the boy wasn't as strong as it was on any respectable firebender.
The servant sets Zuko down on his feet and he jolts awake, looking around for a moment in confusion as he tries to place where he is. He's utterly confused, having never seen the training grounds before.
"This is where all your training is going to take place." Ozai says, shattering the peaceful silence of the clearing. He sheds his light robe, leaving him in only the traditional pants that hugged his waist and calves but hung loosely around his thighs, allowing his legs a wide range of movement. He wouldn't need them, considering training a toddler was largely motionless, but it was a formality that he wanted Zuko to become accustomed to. Throwing the flammable robe aside, he sits gracefully in front of his son, crossing his legs beneath him.
Zuko takes a moment, his mind still addled with sleep, before he realizes Ozai wants to him to sit in the same way. He does the same as his father—his movements admittedly far less graceful—and looks up at him for further instruction.
"I'm sure you've noticed that you've been starting fires without meaning to." The man says calmly, his hands resting on his knees as he breathes deeply. Zuko mimics him, clutching at his knees.
"Yeah! I hurt mom—I didn't mean to…" Ozai's brows arch subtly. He hadn't heard about that development.
"It happens. Our element is a temperamental one, and it largely draws off of our emotional state if you don't know how to channel your chi." Zuko stares up at him, confusion painting his features once again. Of course he didn't know what chi was. Ozai had forgotten that he would likely have to assume Zuko knew absolutely nothing about his element and build from there. He forces himself to speak calmly.
"Chi is where your ability to create fire is born from." Ozai is hyperaware of his own chi, the heat in his core a constant reminder of his elemental companion, and he presses two fingers over his own stomach to illustrate what he meant, "You have to pull from it to create fire, whether you're doing it consciously or not. At this point, you are using it without meaning to." Zuko looks down at himself.
"I don't see anything." Ozai's breath leaves him in a harsh rush.
"It's not something you can see."
"Then how do y'know it's there?" He could show him any number of illustrations of the flow of chi and how it lived in a benders core, but he hadn't thought to bring any with him.
"Because you can feel it." He answers instead, agitation tinting his tone.
"Why?" Ozai is losing his patience, running his hand through his hair.
"Because you can."
"Why?"
"You just can!" He snaps, and Zuko flinches back, "The point is, understanding your chi is important and will help you control your fire as well as summon it whenever you wish." He takes a deep breath for what must be the fourth or fifth time, his hands returning to his knees. The boy was exceptionally good at trying his patience.
"Oh." He says softly, still uneasy after his father's outburst.
"When do you most often accidentally make fire?" Ozai asks. Zuko's lips purse in consideration.
"When I'm mad. Or scared." It was the answer he expected.
"Anger and fear are powerful tools for firebenders. Anger more so than fear. When you pair anger with chi, you get a more powerful flame." He holds his hands out in front of him, a bright orange fire with a brilliantly white center building over his palms. Zuko stares in awe, but his awe quickly dissipates to a disapproving frown.
"Mom says I shouldn't."
"Shouldn't what?" Ozai asks, his eyes narrowing and the flame in his palms rising with his anger.
"Be angry. She said it's bad." Zuko shies away from his father's anger, fingers poking at the dead, charred grass beneath them, "It hurts people." The fire in Ozai's palms extinguishes as he closes his hands into fists.
"Your mother is too soft. You are not allowed to be like her." Maybe he did like her softness. Maybe he liked the way she would brush his jaw with her delicate fingers when they kissed. Maybe he liked her soft gaze in the hazy hours of the morning when he'd indulge himself in an hour of lazily lying in bed with her before beginning the day. It was befitting of her, but his son was a different matter entirely. Softness was fine for a bride from the colonies, not a son of the Fire Lord.
"But I like Mom. She's nice. I wanna be nice." Ozai snorts.
"Nice. Do you know where nice gets you?" He asks, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the ground. Zuko leans back nervously, "Nowhere. In the eyes of the Fire Nation, nice is synonymous with weak. Do you want to be weak?" Zuko searches his father's face for the correct answer, hopelessly confused.
"No?" He says quietly, his answer more of a question than anything else.
"No. You don't." The sun has risen slightly higher, the light streaming through the clutches of the trees more firmly and sending a surge of energy through him that settles heavily in his core, "Focus on the sunlight, and how it makes you feel. Do you feel it?"
"Yeah…" Zuko murmurs, eyes widening as he, for the first time, becomes aware of his own power. A smile pulls at the corners of Ozai's mouth. Zuko feels an odd sense of accomplishment, sitting up a little straighter.
"Then we'll start there."
Ursa was finding it impossible to get out of bed as of late. She'd been aware of Ozai rising from his slumber beside her before even the sun had risen, and had only spared him a wayward glance before he'd left the room. Sleep had quickly reclaimed her, and when she woke again the sun was firmly above the horizon. Still, she couldn't find it in herself to push aside the covers and start her day.
Ever since the events that had transpired on Ember Island, there had been a subtle shift in their relationship that put her on edge around the man she 'loved.' Perhaps that's why she couldn't fully wake, her back turning to the window and her face pressing into the fluffy pillows that still held her husband's scent. Nausea turns in her stomach suddenly, and she sits up abruptly. That certainly wasn't her usual reaction to such a thing, and even when she's pulled away from his musk, the queasy feeling building in her core doesn't fade. She's quick to grab an unfortunate nearby decorative vase as bile leaves her mouth, followed by a few unpleasant dry heaves resulting from her empty stomach.
Her unwillingness to leave her bed now made far more sense. She was obviously coming down with some variant of the flu, and that was enough justification for her to continue lounging in the welcoming sheets. It isn't until Ozai reappears in the room some time later that she realizes the sun has now finished its arch upwards and is on its decent.
"What are you still doing in bed?" He asks, his footfalls indicating his approach.
"Sick." She answers into the pillows, curling in more tightly on herself. She jolts when she feels an unexpected touch on her. His hand strokes the length of her hair from her scalp to where it ends below her shoulders. It's a caring touch that makes her shiver and turn over to look at him. She finds he's wearing his sparring clothing, the expanse of his chest covered with only the thin cotton of his robe, and a fine sheen of sweat makes him glisten in the dim light of the room. His gaze on her is soft, making her heart flutter in a way that it shouldn't when she thinks about the man that had delighted in her blood.
"I'll go call for a healer." Despite his words, he doesn't move immediately, hand lingering in the locks of hair still twirled around his fingers. She takes the opportunity of stillness to further dissect his gaze, finding the calculating wheels turning just behind his eyes.
"What are you thinking about?" She asks, her hand finding his and pulling it from her hair. His fingers interlace with hers instead.
"You, obviously." She rolls her eyes, tugging on his hand, "I suppose you want something more specific?" She nods and his thumb absently plays across the skin of her hand in his.
"Zuko burned you." He finally says and it's just about the last thing she could have expected to leave his mouth.
"So have you." She answers, pulling her hand from his forcefully. His empty hand closes into a fist and settles at his side, "How did you find out about that?"
"Toddlers are surprisingly talkative when you get them alone." Ozai says casually. The blood rushes from Ursa's cheeks, a cold wash of fear settling over her in its place. Never has she let Ozai be alone with Zuko since his original threat on the child's life.
"What did you do to him?" She sits up sharply, surprising her husband with the sheer swiftness of her movement. His brows lift slightly, but he gives no other response, "What did you do?" He chuckles this time, the sound like dense gravel in her ear.
"Really, dear, why are you so paranoid? We had a deal. I didn't hurt him. I was teaching him this morning." That surprises her, and she looks up at him quizzically, "About firebending, specifically, since you refuse to choose a Master for him." The panic isn't quelled by his words, only growing stronger and twisting in her gut uncomfortably.
"He's still too young for firebending." Ozai shakes his head, sitting on the very edge of the bed. His weight presses down on the mattress, drawing her closer to him.
"He burned you. That's a very clear sign that he's ready to be trained." She opens her mouth to protest, but a sudden onslaught of nausea overwhelms her and she grasps at the vase again. Strings of the bile left in her stomach are the only thing that's available to be thrown up. Her throat stings, and when she swallows she grasps at the afflicted area painfully.
Ozai's weight suddenly leaves the bed. He crosses the room to the pitcher of water resting on the vanity, silently pouring her a glass of water before returning and handing it to her. He settles back in his spot on the bed, watching her intently. A long, tense silence sits between them as she holds the glass, looking between him and it. It was a simple gesture, but one that confused her in its subtle kindness. His eyes practically sear her with their intensity as he watches her and she realizes he's waiting for her to drink. She sips tentatively.
"How did the training go, then?" She asks into the glass, watching the faint ripples in the water with interest.
"He's frustrating." Ozai says stiffly, his mouth setting into a frown, "He doesn't understand the implications that come with being a firebender, and his connection to the sun is tenuous at best." She huffs, finding herself glaring at Ozai.
"He's two."
"That's no excuse."
"You expect too much."
"From him?"
"From everyone." Their exchanged words are quick, rushed, as if they're reading through a script at double the speed. Maybe he's as uncomfortable and confused by his show of kindness as she is.
"I'm going to get a healer for you." He finally says after the silence has once again grown heavy.
"I'm sure it's just a flu." She knew an array of herbs she could find herself that would ease the symptoms and speed her recovery from something so common. She didn't see the need to bother a healer with such trivial matters. He gets up to leave, standing above her and watching her with an indecipherable gaze.
"Whatever it is, it needs to be treated." He says before he leans in and presses his lips to her forehead. When he pulls back, two shades of amber clash as their eyes meet once again. For just one moment, she can see far deeper within him than she ever has, before his brows twitch inward and the raw openness of his very soul is locked away from her. When he turns and leaves, it seems less like he's walking away and more like he's running from her.
A/N: *puffs out cheeks and makes plot noises* I don't know what the fuck I'm doing but I'm sure having fun. Anyway. Review/comment whatever idk getting those emails literally make my entirely life because I am a sad person. ~ Jiggle