It was almost absurd how natural it was to talk to him, to be with him, after that. We could spend hours just talking and teasing laughing and existing like we were children again, albeit with far more stolen kisses. Despite so much radical change, some things would always be the same. There was so much peace in that, so much calm in the midst of chaos. We'd spend time together with Lu Ten, in the gardens, in the city, on the rocky beach, and all over the palace. Ozai made no attempt to hide this "courtship," but the servants seemed to stop caring as soon as it became obvious and open. If Azulon heard, he must not have thought much of it due to his total lack of reaction, but we knew we'd have to confront him eventually.
Ozai's form of romance was endearing and adorable, if not as traditional as one might expect of a prince. He knew I wasn't a fan of jewelry or even bouquets and just generally felt too awkward to shop for me himself, much less send someone else. His form of romance was passive-aggressive presents of scrolls, poems, songs, solitary flowers, and artwork that he thought I might like but refused to acknowledge any investment in himself. Serious scrolls and works he was more than happy to discuss and analyze, but he rarely admitted even to reading poetry or the "sentimental."
I'd never liked metaphors. I'd never liked poetry or love songs… Until her. Until the tidal wave crashed and I drowned in those amber pools, I didn't understand. Now I wanted to be a poet. I wanted to be a minstrel. I wanted to dedicate my life to writing for her, to capturing what could never be depicted. Each hair on her head was worth a lifetime of artistic devotion.
Unfortunately, I had little talent to speak of outside of bending.
His form of romance was starting stupid fights and witty debates only to, eventually, let me win each one. It was pretending to agree that his hair was silkier, stronger, and more beautiful than mine even though his eyes couldn't stop following and worshiping the way it moved. His form of romance was plotting out, and hiding all the details of, some long, mysterious romantic gesture that I was half-convinced would never happen. It was holding my hand in front of his nephew and waiting to chastise his bending with another reminder of, "Power in firebending comes from the breath, not the muscle!" until I'd left. It was never interrupting me. It was always finding some excuse to touch me. Brushing back my hair, holding me in his arms, kissing the top of my head. Sneaking up on me and scaring me half to death just so he could soothe me. It was always having bread for the turtleducks and a willingness to laugh or smile as loudly or as broadly as he actually felt. His form of romance was humming in front of other people and always bringing me my favorite foods despite my protests that they would make me gain ten pounds in a week. His form of romance was demonstrating intense respect and self-restraint, sometimes more than I wanted but always as much as I needed. His form of romance was the simple attempt to discuss his feelings and dreams, even if he couldn't articulate it like a legendary hero in an epic ballad.
His form of romance was the way he looked at me.
I don't think Ursa realized what she did for me. It was part of her nature to give herself to others, to make selfless act after selfless act, without realizing it. As unfathomable as I found the concept that anyone could find me loveable, she couldn't comprehend being served and loved daily, being cherished, receiving someone's total devotion and dedication. If she'd been a blusher, she would've been constantly red. Her modesty wasn't forced or contrived; it was unconscious, unaware, and totally sincere. She had so much more of it than she realized, and I knew I had to be cautious and considerate of it, even when she wasn't. It was easy enough to do. Everything about being with her was easy, despite its technical impossibility, despite the fact I deserved none of it. She had a way of looking at me that made me forget about my unworthiness, my total lack of value. I couldn't be haunted by insecurity when Ursa was smiling, when her shining eyes were forcing the world to stand still. She knocked all breath and concern and thought from my body, leaving only the warmth of her amber glow and the freshness of her cool, flawless skin.
And I lived to make her laugh.
I also lived to gather support from, or inspire fearful in, as many Fire Sages as possible, in case Azulon asked for their opinions on this Avatar's granddaughter. Of course, it would be too suspicious if all of them sung her praises so I left a few alone.
After what felt like both too much and not enough time, Iroh came home.
Lu Ten was ecstatic, naturally, and Ozai was doing his best to return that excitement as we all watched the ship dock. He was glad, naturally, but also incredibly anxious.
I whispered something that I hoped would entertain, or at least distract, him while Lu Ten waved frantically. My hand rested on his shoulder, my lips inches from his ear, his eyes glued to the bay.
He smiled at the joke, but it wasn't real. It didn't reach his eyes.
It was his almost-smile.
"Don't tell me you're warding off a dark sense of foreboding again," I tried, again, to tease him out of the fog.
Even on the sunniest of days, Ozai always found a dark cloud, some reason to be wary and distrustful. He sometimes seemed to believe the existence of anything good was too good to be true.
"I can't shake it off. I can't help dreading that throne room, no matter how much I plan out every sentence and every counterargument to any possible objections..."
"But you have planned everything out, and your plans never miss a detail. In all likelihood, there won't even be a need for Iroh to talk to him."
He nodded, somewhat appeased but far from relaxed or relieved.
"I'm just unaccustomed to asking questions without knowing what the reply will be."
"Is there anything you need me to—"
"No," he rebuffed sweetly. "We're going to be partners in everything, and this is my 've done enough, and you'll do more when necessary but not before and not if there's the slightest risk of stifling the fire you are."
"We can wait," I reminded him. "If you think he'll say no, if it's too great a risk to take right—"
I cut her off, taking her hand in both of mine and forcing her to meet my gaze with a large, serious stare that allowed no room for argument or confusion.
"You are the most certain risk I could ever take. You are the greatest enigma I could ever uncover. All lives should be spent learning you."
Everything in me screamed to kiss him, but Lu Ten rushed forward as the ship opened up. Still holding hands, we went after him to make sure he wasn't crushed by the crowd. Everyone parted a way for the little prince as soon as his father could be seen, and Iroh dropped his bags in order to embrace his favorite "soldier boy." Even Ozai softened enough to smile at this reunion and squeeze my hand tightly. We stayed back and let them bask in their happiness for a few minutes, then Iroh looked up and spotted us.
For a moment, his face showed some rather extreme surprise at our holding hands, but he recovered swiftly, as expected, and came to greet us as well. A lot of bows were exchanged before he was allowed to pat me on the back, and Ursa excused herself to let us talk and catch up.
Eventually, once Lu Ten fell asleep from exhaustion, I told my brother what I was planning, trying to speak in a way that didn't allow him to interrupt. I also glared at him in a way that didn't allow him to grin as broadly as he wanted.
"When are you going to ask his permission?"
"As soon as he grants me an audience. Hopefully tomorrow."
Somehow, his eyebrows suppressed their instinct to shoot up again, and he asked my permission to share some words of wisdom. I agreed, begrudgingly and only under the condition that he wouldn't share any more for several months.
"Out of great strength comes the most gentle. Out of much education comes the deepest humility. Out of fierceness, the greatest compassion. Out of passion, the purest reason. And out of discipline, true freedom."
"Thank you, Iroh. We have your support if…?" I didn't want to finish the sentence.
"Of course! But I have one more. I've said it to you a dozen times before, and it may seem out of place now, but please remember. Pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source. True humility is the only antidote to shame."
I nodded, respecting him and allowing the words to sink in rather than whipping out some retort. It was a serious, sincere moment, and I shook my brother's hand in silence, unable to say or admit anything more. He smiled in understanding and pulled me into a hug anyway before leaving me to my thoughts and fears and deepest, dearest hopes.
The next evening, I entered the Fire Lord's throne room.
A bead of sweat ran down my back.
It was the first time in my life I'd ever really felt the heat, and it was suffocating. I didn't let it show, of course. I didn't let anything show that I hadn't already calculated and prepared, which meant the mask of dutiful son was glued to my face.
Through the flames, I could make out his face quite clearly. Azulon's mood seemed to be neutral, until the entrance of the High Sage raised his suspicions.
I bowed low, practically kissing the ground, and spoke first since he still hadn't.
"Father, thank you for granting—"
"Just tell me what you want."
He'd never been one for small talk.
"I'm here to ask your blessing and permission to marry," I declared before bowing again, submitting fully to both his examination and final verdict.
I didn't specify my intended on the chance he would recognize her name and lineage, even though her face would've surely escaped him. That was a bomb that required the High Sage's justification, and Azulon needed to adjust to the concept of me as a husband first. If he could swallow that basic premise, he would know I had someone in mind, and even Iroh thought it was a safe bet that he wouldn't try to select someone for me in that case.
He appreciated, to no one's surprise, the chance to assess me openly and my deference. After a few minutes of this silent evaluation, he spoke swiftly and with far too much ease.
"You're too young," he declared, leaning back as if the matter was finished. "In a few years…"
"Father please," I persisted, groveling before him and hating myself for it.
His brow raised; even he knew what a "please" out of me meant.
It meant desperation.
Panic seized my heart, but I wouldn't and couldn't show it.
I dropped all expression from my face at once, knowing he would analyze and question the slightest sign of any, knowing that I had to present total indifference when speaking about the most precious thing in my life, while feeling more passion and need than I ever had before.
Still, I sought to explain. I strove to convince this man, who hadn't even considered matrimony until he'd been Fire Lord for over a decade, that I was mature enough for this at nineteen and that a wife would stabilize and "distract" me enough to satisfy his fears.
"You know I would not waste your time with an impulsive request. I have known this lady for years—"
"What is this lady's name?"
I answered without inflection and with the deadest eyes I could manage, eternally grateful she couldn't see my heartless apathy in that room, doubting if even she could've seen anything I hid behind that mask.
"Lady Ursa from the House of Roku."
Azulon was speechless.
For a whole minute.
"The Avatar's granddaughter?"
"And Lu Ten's head governess, and my former Royal Playmate," I remind him casually, knowing he has probably forgotten.
Confronted by his own precedent of approving her participation in the lives of his family members, he spun on the High Sage instead.
"I assume that's why you're here," he accused, addressing the still bowing and previously ignored High Sage so he could rise and speak, "to somehow convince me that this isn't the most ill-advised match I could conceive within reason?"
A lesser man would have flinched, but he was High Sage for a reason. He coolly, respectfully explained that there was no noblewoman more loyal than Lady Ursa precisely because of her lineage. She had more to prove than anyone else, and she understood the consequences and shame of treachery better than most. He claimed she'd been raised to despise her ancestor's cowardice and devote her life to serving the Fire Lord in an attempt to balance out such a dishonor. He also expanding on her reserved personality, genuine humility, yet regal self-awareness. She was an "educated nonbender who found grace and strength in her humble history." From the tone he conveyed when speaking about her as an individual, she was the safest choice possible in a princess. After much study, meditation, debate, and guidance from spirits, many of the sages concurred with him that a combination of the two most powerful bending Houses would lead to the greatest of benders and leaders, guaranteeing an end to the war.
Even I was impressed by how convincing he was, and Azulon listened without protest to his arguments and evidence before turning on me.
"Is there a time-sensitive reason to marry?"
I'd predicted this question, but the implication boiled my blood none the less.
"I would sooner set myself ablaze than pollute such a sincere definition of purity and honor. There are no 'noble' women more deserving of that title than she, and only the basest of beasts would seek to corrupt her. I make this defense not because I want to dignify such a ridiculous accusation as worthy of a response, whatever you may think of me—"
"I made no accusation," he sighed calmly, allowing me to continue.
"—but because you force me to make it, and the truth of her modesty and reputation deserves a lifetime of defense."
There were many, many questions he wanted to ask, but even he couldn't seem to decide on one.
"Prince Ozai."
I continued with my mask of indifference firmly in place, trying to dismiss his concerns with a sense of simple disinterest, as if I simply wanted a yes or no to be done with the whole exasperating exchange.
"Before you question her motives or influence, I assure you that Lu Ten is better at manipulation than she. As I've said, Iroh and I have known her for years, and we've had plenty of time to compare and contrast all the other noblewomen, and we both agree that—"
"Leave us," he commanded to the sage and guards.
That awful, unspeakable word clenched at my heart again, but I knew better than to speak first or show my inner unraveling.
"Iroh supports this? You spoke to him before receiving my blessing?"
"He supports the choice, yes. I consulted him so, as I said earlier, I would not have to waste your time in the process of elimination—"
"You are too young," he repeated himself, something so rare and alarming that I couldn't breathe for several seconds.
If Azulon said no, I would lose her. I felt it in my bones, beyond reason or logic, knowing a Fire Lord never went back on his own words, once they were spoken, knowing that I needed a yes now or someone, somehow would keep us apart.
"Father, please," I made the mistake of repeating myself as well, the only outer sign of my true anguish as my forehead met the floor yet again, forcing the words out of clenched teeth and an icy tone. "I ask that you reserve judgment until—"
"I will speak to Iroh and meet her before deciding," he agreed as though my entire life did not hinge on this verdict.
"Thank you. That is all I ask," I replied, trying to appear confident as I began to rise, assuming I was dismissed.
He nodded.
"Send in your brother."