Drastic Measures

It was only a few days after their return from Ember Island that the news came.

Ozai was still catching up on the backlog of work that had accumulated in his absence, silently cursing all the time he had wasted on vacation, when the courier brought him the letter from Iroh. But it was marked as personal rather than official, so he had sent it away without opening it. Let Ursa deal with whatever inanities Iroh wanted them to tell the children. He had more important things to do, and he spent the rest of the morning doing them, working straight through lunch without a word to anyone else, and thankfully without any interruptions.

That was how he was caught off guard in his audience with the Fire Lord that afternoon.

Ozai knew as soon as he set foot in the throne room that something was wrong, for the wall of flames before the throne was not lit, leaving the room in near darkness. For a moment, Ozai wondered if his father was even there, or if he had gotten the time for his audience wrong. But as he stepped closer to the dias, he could see the silhouette of the Fire Lord's form, seated on the throne - and hunched over.

"Father?" Ozai asked in alarm, making his way carefully up the steps to the dias and lighting a flame in one hand so he could see better. If his father was ill, or injured somehow…

The Fire Lord raised his head from where it had rested in his hands, his eyes livid - and, shockingly, wet with tears. "How dare you approach the throne without permission!" he bellowed, sending a wave of fire in Ozai's direction with a sweeping gesture of one arm.

Ozai scrambled out of the way, back down the steps, and hastily knelt as protocol dictated, letting his own flame go out and plunging the room back into darkness. "Forgive me," he said, pressing his forehead to the floor. "I was concerned…"

"If you had any genuine concern for me," his father's voice echoed in the darkness, stern and yet alarmingly tremulous, "you would have left me alone, after what has happened, rather than come to pester me with your inconsequential..." There was a strangled quality to the last word, and he did not finish the sentence.

Still kneeling, Ozai looked up at his father, barely visible once more. "But Father," he asked in confusion, "what has happened?"

He heard the Fire Lord take a deep, shuddering breath. "You really have not heard?" He gave a short, humorless laugh, which sounded almost like a sob. "My youngest child, clueless once again. I should not be surprised."

Ozai ignored the slight, and waited. He was hesitant to say anything more - he had never seen his father so openly distraught before, and was wary of provoking his temper again when he was in this unpredictable mood. Even in his vague childhood memories from all those years ago, when she had died, he could not recall anything like this…

Ozai wondered if there was any chance it was Iroh who had died this time.

Soon enough, the Fire Lord collected himself, and spoke again, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Prince Lu Ten has fallen on the walls of Ba Sing Se."

"I see," Ozai replied, smothering his own disappointment. "That is indeed a great loss for the Fire Nation." Though privately, Ozai thought the loss perhaps not quite so great. Lu Ten had always struck him as a dissolute youth, taking too much after his father, and lacking in the qualities a future Fire Lord ought to possess. And his death, after all, would mean that Ozai himself was now once again the heir presumptive…

"A great loss for the Fire Nation," his father repeated contemptuously, still hidden in the near darkness. "Is that what you have to say for yourself?"

Ozai was at a loss. What else did his father want him to say? It wasn't as if he could have done anything to prevent Lu Ten's death, for he had never been permitted anywhere near a battlefield, much as he had begged to be allowed to fight for his nation in his younger days. His father was well aware that he and Iroh's son had not been close, and would have seen through any false sentimentalism. "I am...very sorry, Father," Ozai tried, in a low voice. And it was true, in a way - he was sorry to see the Fire Lord so grieved.

There was a tense moment of silence before his father spoke again. "Get out," he said, not coldly the way Ozai was used to being dismissed, but with unveiled disgust.

"Father, I–" Ozai began.

"Out!" the Fire Lord shouted, the flames around the throne suddenly bursting into life to illuminate his haggard, tear-streaked face once more. Ozai found him far more terrifying that way.

He left the throne room without bowing, but just this once, he didn't think his father would care.

"You know what this means?" Azula asked after their mother had left the gardens to inform the younger children of the same sad news she had just shared with them - which Azar thought was rather pointless, since Shinzo and the twins were too young to even remember cousin Lu Ten.

"Yeah," Zuko replied in a subdued voice, sitting down in the grass by the turtle duck pond. "It sounds like Uncle Iroh's really devastated."

Azula rolled her eyes. "Not that, dum dum."

"It means Dad is next in line now," Azar supplied instead, twirling the arrow he'd been working on between his fingers. "For the throne."

"Exactly," Azula said, gesturing towards him with one hand as if to say yes, thank you, you get it. Not that she would ever say that with her words. "Now that Uncle has no heir, Dad's that much closer to being Fire Lord himself someday."

"I guess," Zuko replied with a shrug. "Unless Uncle remarries and has another kid."

Azula laughed, sitting down next to Zuko. "Please," she said sarcastically, giving Zuko's shoulder a playful shove. She was in one of her good moods today. "If Uncle was going to be bothered to remarry, he would have done it years ago."

Azar sat in the grass as well, on the other side of Azula. "Maybe he just didn't want to, so soon after his wife died." He dragged the point of his arrow through the shallows of the pond, watching the ripples spread across the surface of the water. Their aunt had died before he was born, and he had never been close with their Uncle, whom they hadn't seen in over two years at this point, but it seemed reasonable to assume that a sentimental man like Iroh would have felt that way.

"Yeah," Zuko agreed, picking at the blades of grass next to him thoughtfully. "But maybe Azula's right, though. If he was too sad to get married again after his wife died, he'll probably feel the same way now that he's lost his son."

Azar tossed the arrow aside. "It's different now, though," he pointed out, shifting so he sat facing his siblings. Azula was looking at him with one eyebrow arched slightly, while Zuko's eyes were still downcast. "Now he needs a new wife to give him a new heir. It's the responsible thing for a crown prince to do."

Azula laughed again, a short, dismissive chuckle. "You think Uncle will do the responsible thing?" She shook her head, then reached out and put one arm each around his and Zuko's shoulders. "Besides," she continued in a more conspiratorial tone, "he doesn't need another heir. He's got Dad, and Dad's got us."

Zuko glanced up, and managed a hint of a smile, but didn't say anything. "Right," Azar agreed on behalf of both of them. "Dad's got us." There was no arguing the fact that the line of succession was still secure, even with Lu Ten gone.

But privately, Azar wondered if his sister was really seeing the full picture.

Ursa had heard news before Ozai, for she had actually read Iroh's letter - a tear-stained missive written in a shaky hand which she handed to him later, looking rather distraught herself. "That poor boy," she said, wiping away her own tears.

"He was twenty-two," Ozai replied, frowning down at Iroh's letter and wondering why his brother had felt the need to pen it himself rather than delegate the task to one of his scribes who would presumably be less stricken with grief. "And he fell in the service of the Fire Nation. There is no nobler way to die."

"Of course," Ursa agreed, then sat down with a heavy sigh. They were in the sitting area of his apartments, where Ursa usually complained that the couches were not as comfortable as her own, but today she didn't seem to mind. "I doubt that will be much consolation to Iroh, though."

"It should be," Ozai said, tossing the letter aside on the table next to the couch. Lu Ten had been a man, not a child, and Iroh ought to have known the risks of war. "Such sacrifices have been made by countless other families in the cause of sharing our nation's greatness with the world."

"Ozai, really," Ursa scolded, but it was a mild, tired sort of scolding, and she reached for him with one hand at the same time. "No one doubts your patriotism, but you can't tell me if it were one of our children who had been killed over some Earth Kingdom city you would be so unmoved by it."

Ozai took her hand, and sat next to her. "I would be proud, Ursa."

Ursa gave him a long, searching look. Then she sighed again, and shook her head. "Let's pray we never find out." Then she shifted closer to him on the couch, resting her head against his chest, and they were both content to let the conversation end there.

Several more days passed. Ozai did not request any further audience with his father yet, and the Fire Lord did not summon him. There were no more letters from Iroh, but the official reports from the officers serving under him indicated that progress on the siege of Ba Sing Se had ground to a halt since Prince Lu Ten's death. His brother, it seemed, had lost the stomach for war.

It was disgraceful, Ozai thought. Iroh ought to be fighting harder than ever to subjugate the Earth Kingdom to the Fire Lord's will. If he gave up now, the entire siege, including his son's death, would have been in vain. What kind of father would dishonor his own child's sacrifice like that, would let his only son go unavenged?

But then came the word that Iroh was doing just that. The army had suffered heavy losses in both men and morale, and was unable to continue - that was the official reason given for why they were returning home, and Iroh was taking an extended sabbatical. Yet Ozai suspected the morale problem had started from the top. The army would not fight for a prince who no longer had the strength to lead them.

Surely, Ozai thought, now his father must see how weak Iroh was, how ineffectual he would be as Fire Lord. And now that he had no surviving issue - no legitimate issue, anyway - that branch of the dynasty was all but withered and dead.

Ozai's branch, on the other hand, was fruitful and thriving, more so than he or his father had ever wanted. Five firebending children, all potential heirs, not to mention Ursa's latest pregnancy - which he still did not intend to mention until he absolutely had to, preferably not until after he had persuaded his father to see things his way. And had Ozai not proved himself capable these past years, with all of the work he had done diligently to aid his father in the administration of their nation?

The Fire Lord had been grieved, of course, by the death of his oldest grandchild. That was his right. But he was a shrewd man, and once enough time passed, he could not fail to see the advantages of the proposal Ozai had to make.

Two weeks after the news of Lu Ten's death, Ozai decided enough time had indeed passed.

"Bring your elbow down a little more, Prince Azar." As he spoke this instruction, Master Jian pressed down on Azar's elbow with the end of his walking stick, adjusting the angle at which he held the arrow on his drawn bowstring. "Now release."

Azar let the arrow fly, and it hit the target soundly - closer to the center than his last shot, but still in the white ring around it. "Better," Master Jian said with a nod.

Azar frowned. "Let me try again," he insisted, pulling another arrow from his quiver. They were shooting from fifteen yards today, farther than he had ever been allowed to attempt before, and he was determined to hit the center of the target at least once before the lesson was through.

"Once more," Master Jian agreed with a nod, resting the end of his walking stick on the ground in front of him and leaning on it with both hands. Until a knee injury had forced him into an early retirement a few years ago, Master Jian had been the captain of the Yu Yan archers, and was therefore accustomed to excellence and approved of his royal pupil's desire to achieve it. "But," he warned sternly, "this time I shall not correct you."

Azar nodded in understanding, fitting the arrow to the string and drawing his bow again. He aimed carefully, adjusting his elbow without prompting this time, shifting his stance ever so slightly. The last shot had gone too far to the right, so he had to shoot a little more to the left this time. He took a deep breath in, then released it and the arrow in unison.

Another sound hit - still not dead center, but definitely on the red circle this time. Azar smiled in satisfaction.

"Good," Master Jian said. His praise was always curt, but Azar appreciated it.

"You'll tell my father, right?" he asked, plucking idly at his bowstring. "That I'm shooting farther now?"

"When your accuracy is sufficient to merit the update," Master Jian replied. Azar's face fell. "Now for our next lesson, I would like you to prepare the following arrows…"

Azar listened intently to his master's instructions, bowed when he was dismissed, and left the archery range. He intended to start on the arrows he'd been assigned to prepare right away, to get those done so he'd have more time to practice before tomorrow's lesson. If the next time he saw Master Jian, he could hit the center of the target from fifteen yards on the first shot, maybe then he would have earned a positive report to his father…

But as he left the archery range, Azar was met by his mother. "We have an audience with the Fire Lord," she informed him, taking his bow and quiver. "I'll put these away. You hurry and get changed - best clothes."

"What does Grandfather want to see us for?" Azar asked in surprise. He knew the Fire Lord met with his father regularly, but aside from official occasions, he hardly ever bothered with the children. Azar had last seen him at the memorial service held for Lu Ten, over a week ago, and of course he had not spoken to any of them at that time.

"Your father requested it," his mother replied hurriedly, already turning away. "Now go on, I've got to get the little ones ready."

This was to be an audience for the whole family, then, Azar thought as his mother walked away, and he headed to his room to change as he'd been told. How odd.

Ozai had initially intended only to bring the oldest of the children with him before the Fire Lord. But Shinzo had made great strides in his firebending recently, which Ozai felt bolstered his case, and ultimately he decided presenting all the children as a group was its own argument. He didn't think his father had seen them all together since the twins had been newborn infants.

The throne room was back in its usual state, bright flames surrounding the dias and illuminating the cavernous space with the Fire Lord's own light. The Fire Lord himself had also regained his usual composure. Ozai took all of this as a good sign.

He drilled the older children on their knowledge of Fire Nation military history first. Azula of course answered every question asked of her - and some that were asked of her brothers - without hesitation. Azar answered not only correctly, but elaborately, making unprompted comparisons between the tactics of various generals or the outcomes of certain battles. Zuko struggled with some of the more difficult questions, but came off not looking like a complete idiot, which Ozai supposed would have to do.

It was the firebending demonstration he had really pinned his hopes on. "Shinzo," he called, and the four-year-old perked up eagerly by his mother's side, now that it was his turn. "Let us see what you can do."

"Go on," Ursa added encouragingly, as she wrangled one squirming twin on her lap. The other one seemed to have fallen asleep leaning against her side, and Ozai began to regret having brought them.

But Shinzo got to his feet and stepped forward with pride. He held out both of his hands cupped in front of him, and after a moment's concentration, produced a little orange flame cradled in his palms.

Ozai grinned with pride. Most firebenders Shinzo's age were still only making sparks. On the dias, the Fire Lord remained impassive - but the boy was not done yet.

Carefully, Shinzo drew his hands apart, spreading them slightly wider than shoulder width. The flame remained in his right hand. He took a deep breath, then tossed the flame and caught it neatly with his opposite hand. He then repeated this exercise, tossing the flame back and forth several times, each time with greater speed.

"Such precision and control is remarkable at his age," Ozai commented as Shinzo extinguished his flame and bowed before the throne. The Fire Lord gave a noncommittal hum and waved the boy back to his seat. Well, Ozai thought, that was only the first act.

"Azula," Ozai called next. He did not miss the way Azula shot a glare at Shinzo as he went back to Ursa's side and she got to her feet. That was good, he thought. The more she wanted to outshine her brothers, the more motivated she would be. "Show the Fire Lord what we have been practicing."

If Shinzo had impressive potential as a firebender, Azula was old enough to have actual skill. The forms he had been teaching her in their one-on-one lessons were difficult for benders twice her age - and yet she demonstrated them now flawlessly.

"A true firebending prodigy," Ozai said proudly as Azula ended her demonstration. "Just like her grandfather, for whom she is named."

"So it would seem," the Fire Lord replied, waving her back to her seat as he had Shinzo.

Ozai had planned to give Zuko another chance next - not with anything so ambitious as what his sister had done, for he knew that was hopelessly beyond the boy, but if Zuko stuck to the basics he was at least competent. But to his surprise, his eldest spoke up before Ozai could even call his name.

"Shouldn't Azar have a turn, too, Father?" Zuko asked, nudging his brother with his elbow. At Zuko's urging, Azar got to his feet and stepped forward as well.

Ozai frowned as the boy stood before the dias, for Azar had nothing to demonstrate in this area. But his seven-year-old son looked up at the Fire Lord calmly and spoke in a clear voice. "I can make my own arrows, and string and draw my own bow, and I can hit the center on the target every time from ten yards."

Ozai knew all this was true, for the boy's instructor had told him as much. But it did little to support the case he was building.

Indeed, the Fire Lord did not look impressed. "We are not at the archery range, are we, boy?"

"No, Grandfather," Azar replied levelly. Then he too bowed and returned to his seat next to Zuko.

Before Ozai could get the audience back on track, the Fire Lord spoke again. "You are trying my patience, Prince Ozai," he declared. "What do you mean by parading your children in front of me like some kind of eel hound and pony show?"

Ozai sat up a little straighter. "I had hoped you would be pleased with your grandchildren's accomplishments."

His father scoffed. "Just speak plainly and tell me what you want." Then, with a sweeping gesture, he added, "Everyone else, leave us."

Ursa bowed and collected the children, carrying one twin on each hip, and telling Shinzo to hold Zuko's hand. As she ushered them out of the throne room, Ozai just caught her saying to Zuko in a low voice, "I'm proud of you for speaking up for Azar like that…"

"Well?" his father prompted when they were alone, steepling his hands. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"Father," Ozai began, bowing his head respectfully. "You must realize that Iroh has failed you. By calling off the siege of Ba Sing Se, he has turned what should have been our nation's greatest victory into our most humiliating defeat. With Lu Ten's death, his line is extinct. And to make matters worse, he does not even return to court to support you, but goes off on some self-indulgent voyage."

"Your point, Prince Ozai," his father warned from behind his wall of flames.

Ozai looked up at him. His father was old, but his wits were as sharp as ever. He had never been a man to live in the past, to let sentiment blind him to what needed to be done. "I am here, Father," Ozai said earnestly, all he had wanted to say for years. "I have always been here, and I have never let you down. My children are alive and well, and will serve our nation with dedication as I have." Taking a deep breath, he arrived at last at his request - his plea for justice, really, for it was only right that his father do as he asked on this matter. "Name me as your heir, and let me and my children serve you properly."

But as the flames around the dias flared higher than ever, and the Fire Lord leaped to his feet with surprising agility for a man of his age, Ozai knew at once that his request had not been well received.

Neither Azar nor Azula made a sound when the flames around the dias erupted, but Azar could see that Azula's knuckles had gone white where they clutched at the curtain they were hidden behind.

"You dare to betray your own brother like this?" their grandfather roared, shouting down at their father from the throne. "To suggest that I should disown my first born, immediately after the loss of his own beloved son!"

"Not disown him," their father hastily corrected, still kneeling. His back was towards the spot where they hid, but Azar could hear the frown in his voice. He knew what that sounded like. "Just alter the succession. It is what's best for–"

"What do you know of what is best?" the Fire Lord cut him off savagely. The flames had gone back down to their normal height, but their grandfather still sounded angry. "I think Iroh has suffered enough. You, on the other hand…" The Fire Lord resumed his seat on the throne, hands gripping the low armrests. "You have been coddled by fortune for far too long."

Azar wasn't sure whether he shifted towards Azula, or Azula shifted towards him, but either way the coldness in their grandfather's voice made him suppress a shiver, and he was glad for the close presence of his sister by his side. It had been her idea to stay and eavesdrop on this conversation, but he didn't think even she could have imagined this would be how it would go.

Their father said nothing, awaiting the Fire Lord's sentence. Azar had never seen him so humbled. At last, the Fire Lord spoke again. "You are proud of your pack of brats, and you imagine that their number is to your credit, even when I have expressly told you otherwise. Do you realize that it is mere dumb luck that not one of them has yet been taken from you?"

The Fire Lord paused, as if expecting an answer, so their father hesitantly spoke up again. "Forgive me, if I spoke carelessly…"

"Treacherously, you mean," the Fire Lord interrupted him once more. Azar heard Azula draw in a sharp breath beside him, but he felt like he could barely breathe at all. "If you think the loss of a child is such an insignificant thing," the Fire Lord went on, "then perhaps it is time you experienced it for yourself."

There was another pause, and Azar held his breath, waiting for his father to say something. But this time, he remained silent, his head bowed.

"Yes," the Fire Lord continued. "You will learn to respect your brother's suffering, when you have tasted it for yourself - a fraction of it, I should say." They were too far away to make out the Fire Lord's expression clearly, but Azar could see he leaned forward on the throne. "After all, you have so many children to spare."

Azar glanced at Azula in alarm, but her eyes remained fixed on the gap in the curtains, a grim expression on her face. Looking back, he saw their father bow once more. "Father," he pleaded, "I am your loyal son."

"Then you will do as you are told this time," the Fire Lord replied, unmoved. "My patience is at an end. By dawn you must decide which of your children you can live without - and make your choice wisely. Do I make myself clear?"

No, Azar thought. No, no, that couldn't be right, he couldn't mean…

"Yes, Father," his father replied.

The Fire Lord dismissed him, and then left the throne room himself shortly after, plunging it into darkness as the flames around the dias went out. As soon as the coast was clear, Azar burst out from behind the curtain, barely hearing Azula calling after him. He ran from the throne room, through the corridors of the palace, past confused servants and annoyed courtiers, not even thinking about where he was going until he got to the archery range.

It was deserted. Azar leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, then slid down to the ground and clutched his knees to his chest, hiding his face. Azula found him like that a moment later, kicking his foot without a word to alert him to her presence.

Azar looked up at his sister, blinking back tears. "Dad's going to kill me," he said, his voice little more than a strained whisper.

Azula scowled and set her hands on her hips, defiant. "No, he's not."

He should never have brought the children, Ozai thought bitterly as he slammed the door to his office following the disastrous audience in the throne room.

He should have met with the Fire Lord alone, as he always did, and informed him of Ursa's pregnancy, and left the question of succession for another day. His father would still have been furious, of course, but with his anger directed merely at Ozai's failure to follow his orders on limiting the size of his family, what was the worst he would have done? Forced them to get rid of it, most likely, a punishment which would have outraged Ursa, but compared to what he had ordered Ozai to do now…

Briefly, Ozai wondered if it wasn't too late. If he went to his father at dawn tomorrow and offered the life of his seventh child in atonement for his transgression, would his father accept it?

Probably not, he concluded with a frustrated sigh, pacing his office. It would look like an attempt to weasel out of his punishment, and would make matters worse, revealing his other transgression now, and cause his father to exact even greater retribution. No, the only way he was getting out of this with any shred of hope of restoring his standing in his father's eyes was to do exactly what the Fire Lord wanted of him.

And he did know exactly what the Fire Lord wanted him to do. Iroh was his father's beloved first born son, just as Lu Ten had been to Iroh, the fact that none of Iroh's subsequent children had lived long enough to be born notwithstanding. For disrespecting this sacred bond between father and firstborn, the Fire Lord's sense of justice would be satisfied with nothing less than the same sacrifice on Ozai's part.

Tired of pacing, Ozai sat down heavily in his chair, elbows resting on his desk and head in his hands. If it were Azar, or even one of the twins, it would be less objectionable. He supposed he should content himself with the fact that his father only wanted Zuko's life, and not Azula's or Shinzo's. The situation was desperate and unpleasant, but in Ozai's estimation it could certainly be worse.

But either way, that was not the real problem.

He had hidden it from his father, all these years, for her sake but also for his own reputation. He had let his father think him naive, incompetant, even disobedient, in certain matters, rather than let him know the truth, which was that he never had learned the lesson his father had warned him he would need to learn when he married her. For all her pious talk of submission to her husband, it was Ursa's will that held the final sway. He had never once been able to prevail over her.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ursa would never let him do this, even if it brought the wrath of the Fire Lord down upon their entire family.

Azula had attempted to convince him that it was Zuko whose life the Fire Lord expected their father to sacrifice, because he was the first born, but Azar couldn't bring himself to believe it as confidently as she did.

Their father had been told to choose which one of them he could live without, and Azar knew the answer to that question. He knew which of them Dad scolded the most, showed the least interest in, even looked at the least often during family gatherings. He knew Master Jian reported all his progress in archery to his father, and his other tutors gave good reports on his mastery of his other subjects, and yet Dad never said anything to him about it. Azar wasn't stupid. He knew the one thing he was lacking, that all his siblings had, that he never would, that made them all so much more valuable in their father's eyes.

But all he could do at the moment was retrieve his bow and quiver, take up his position fifteen yards from the target, and practice some more.

His hands were shaking, though, and his arrows kept going wide of the mark, even worse than his lesson earlier that day. He threw down his bow in frustration and marched over to the target to retrieve them, pulling them out roughly - one from the white circle around the center, three in the next red ring out from that, one more each in the next two rings, and the final one in the outermost white ring that Azar hadn't landed an arrow in for years, at any distance. Pathetic. No wonder…

He choked back a sob, and turned to see his mother standing at the other end of the range. Dropping the arrows, he ran to her.

His mother held him, rubbing his back and muttering soothing words as he cried. But after a moment, when he had calmed down a little, she crouched down to his height and held him at arms' length, and he could see the grave expression on her face. "I've already spoken to Azula," she said, shifting her grip from his shoulders to his hands. "She was taunting Zuko with some outrageous tale…" She shook her head, then fixed him with a firm look. "I need you to tell me if what she said is true."

Azar nodded, his breath still coming in hiccoughing gasps. His mother squeezed his hands tighter. "Did you stay in the throne room after the rest of us left?"

"Y-yes," Azar answered. He pulled one hand from his mother's grip to wipe at his eyes, trying to regain composure.

"What exactly did the Fire Lord tell your father to do?" his mother asked.

She didn't want to hear from him what his father had said, Azar noted. She trusted Azula to tell the truth about that much at least. "He said…" Another hiccough cut his answer short. "Dad has to…"

"Did he tell him to kill Zuko?" his mother asked sharply, her grip on his hand tightening again. So Azula had tried that story on her as well, and on Zuko himself, by the sound of it. His older brother would probably believe it, but of course Mom knew better, knew to be suspicious.

Azar shook his head, and for a moment his mother looked relieved. But he still had to tell her the truth. "He told him to choose."

His mother's face paled. "To choose?" she repeated, a hint of alarm creeping into her voice.

"Which one of us…" Azar's explanation broke off into another sob, and he threw himself back into his mother's arms, burying his face against her shoulder. "Don't let him choose me, Mom," he cried miserably, repeating it like a mantra. "Don't let him choose me...don't let him choose me…"

His mother stood, picking him up, and though he normally would have considered himself too old to be carried like one of his baby brothers, Azar did not resist. She held him tightly as she carried him back to his room, laid him in his bed, pulled off his shoes, and tucked the covers around him. "Don't be afraid, my love," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Nothing like that will happen."

It wasn't late - it wasn't even dinnertime yet - but Azar was exhausted. His mother stayed by his side, whispering soothing words to him again, until he drifted off to sleep. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was her face.

His mother was a nonbender, just like him. But in that final glimpse of her before sleep claimed him, Azar saw fire in her eyes.

When Ursa found him in his office that evening, Ozai had made no progress. He had tried to think of a way out, other suitably severe and debasing penances he could offer to do, even ways he could fake the death of one of the children. But he knew none of the former would appease his father, and none of the latter would fool him for long. What was there to be done?

Ursa, of course, had plenty to say on the matter - insults to hurl at him for his folly, which he accepted as his due, and then further outraged reproaches when he admitted his own helplessness, that he could see no way out of having to comply with the Fire Lord's orders. It was all as Ozai had expected.

But what she said next shocked him.

She reached out and grasped both of his wrists, pulling his hands to her, palms upwards. "If you have so little concern for blood on your hands," she whispered dangerously, "don't let it be the blood of an innocent."

Ozai stared at her for a moment as the implication of her words sank in. She couldn't mean...she wouldn't dare suggest… He leaned in closer to her, replying in a low whisper, as if he thought he could keep this conversation a secret even from Agni himself. "That would be sacrilege," he reminded her. Surely she with all her traditional ideas should know that much. "It is blasphemy even to suggest it."

"Don't you plead piety with me now," Ursa replied hotly, her nails digging into the soft insides of his wrists. It was true, this was a reversal of his typical role in these arguments, but Ozai would have thought it would be to her liking. "What do you think the spirits would do to a man who killed his own son?"

"Nothing so terrible as what they'd do to the one who killed their anointed," Ozai replied, his hands shaking with what he tried to convince himself was righteous fury at the mere suggestion of such an abominable deed.

"I can't believe you," Ursa muttered, dropping his hands abruptly. The look on her face as she turned away was one of unveiled disgust - not unlike how his father had looked at him, when he'd learned of Lu Ten's death. But she could not order him to leave, and so she had to content herself with storming out of his office instead.

He called her name after her, but she ignored him.

When Azar woke again, it was much later. The sky outside his window was dark, a moonless night, and all was still and quiet. But, perhaps unsurprisingly since he had slept through dinner, Azar was starving.

He slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the door, opening it cautiously, just a crack. He and Azula had snuck into the kitchens for snacks any number of times before, and it would be trivial to do it again now. Seeing the corridor deserted, he crept out of his room and made his way through the dimly lit halls.

It was more difficult to reach the kitchens than he had anticipated, for there seemed to be an unusual number of people about the palace halls for this hour of the night, and he had to keep ducking into doorways and behind tapestries to keep from being spotted. Everyone who passed by also seemed to be in a great hurry, however, and none took any notice of him, even when he was forced to use less than ideal hiding spots.

Azar wondered, a pit forming in his stomach, what was going on. His mother had assured him nothing would happen, but as servants and courtiers rushed by and he caught snatches of their hushed conversations, he kept hearing words like unexpected, another loss, and finally the dreaded phrase dead for mere hours.

By the time he made it to the kitchens, he wasn't feeling very hungry anymore. Still, he took some bread and dried fruit from the pantry, wrapped it in a linen napkin, and brought it back up to his room in case his appetite returned later.

Before he made it all the way back, however, Azar noticed someone else sneaking around the halls of the family wing of the palace - his sister. Azula spotted him as well, and put a finger to her lips. Azar nodded in acknowledgement. Of course neither of them was going to rat the other out. But he did wonder what she was up to.

He followed her all the way to the door to Zuko's room, which was ajar. From within, he could just make out their mother's voice.

"Never forget who you are," she was saying urgently, presumably to Zuko - which meant he was not the one who was dead. Azar wondered with vague horror if it was one of the twins, then. But he heard their mother speak again. "And never stop looking out for your brothers and sister."

A moment later, her footsteps approached the door, as hurried as everyone else who had passed through the halls of the palace that night. Azar and Azula scrambled away, hiding behind an ornamental wooden screen against the nearest wall just as their mother emerged from Zuko's room, drawing the hood of a dark cloak over her head.

She did not stop at any other door. Azar had a sudden impulse to run after her, but Azula grabbed him by the wrist with a vice-like grip and pulled him back. "Don't you dare," she hissed.

"I wasn't gonna tell on you!" Azar protested, struggling against her. The bundle of food he'd brought from the kitchen fell to the floor and was trampled underfoot as they fought, and Azar thought the noise of their scuffle was sure to attract more attention than anything he could have done on his own.

But no one came, and by the time he freed himself from his sister's grasp, their mother was gone.

In one final mad gesture on this night ruled by madness, Ozai went to the docks to see Ursa off, in violation of all protocol and good sense.

Ursa was clearly furious to see him there, even though she was still crying. "Are you here to make sure I really leave?" she spat at him, clutching her dark cloak tightly around herself.

"I am here to say goodbye," Ozai replied, reaching for her. She shrank from him, taking a step backwards, towards the boat that would soon carry her away for good. She had been angry with him any number of times before, but never like this. Never had she fled from his mere touch as if it were something hateful. And after tonight, he would never have the chance to touch her again.

In the end, for all their machinations, he was to know the pain of a great loss of his own after all. He wondered if it truly would have been worse, to have carried out his father's orders and made Ursa hate him, but at least to have kept her here, with him. Or perhaps it would have been just as painful, in a different way, and there had never been any way for him to escape.

"Banished traitors have no right to goodbyes," Ursa taunted him.

Ozai took a step closer to her, and she shrank back again, though her chin was still lifted defiantly. "The Fire Lord," he said pointedly, "can make exceptions."

"I see," Ursa replied, fresh tears falling from her eyes. She let them fall. "For this, you can make an exception."

"For this, yes," Ozai said, lunging forward again and seizing her hand before she could back away from his reach. "But not in all things." Ursa fought against his grasp, but he held on tight, gripping her hand in both of his. Just this once, she was not going to win. "There is, after all, a higher law even than the word of the Fire Lord."

Ursa stilled, perhaps in shock, but Ozai took advantage of the moment to press a kiss to her hand - not the back of it, like some antiquated gesture, prim and proper, but the palm, warm and soft. It was a true lover's kiss, the last either of them would ever know.

Ursa recovered her strength, pulled her hand away, and slapped him.

It was a crime to strike the Fire Lord. Ozai knew, his jaw tightening as he met her burning gaze, that Ursa knew this as well as he did. There was no need for him to point it out to her. Besides, as she would likely throw back in his face if he did, what was he going to do now? Banish her?

"Your ship has been well provisioned," he said instead, with a calm that amazed even himself. "And you will find an adequate sum in your purse, for wherever you choose to go, to set yourself up comfortably and...care for the child." This last he said in a lower voice, for still none but the two of them knew she was pregnant, and Ozai had resolved to keep it that way. "Which I know," he added, resisting the urge to take her hand again, "I can trust you to do well."

"Don't pretend," Ursa bit back, wrapping her arms protectively around her middle, "that you care at all about this child."

Ozai stood a little straighter. "Of course I do," he replied, voice rising in spite of his own desire for secrecy. "If I did not care about the child, or you…"

"I would be facing the traitor's death I deserve," Ursa finished for him, dark irony coloring her voice.

"Yes, you would," Ozai agreed, staring her down. Another tear fell, and as before she made no move to wipe it away. Neither did he, though he longed to - he would not allow himself to reach for her again. But, some small part of him thought quietly, if she reached out for him instead…

She did not. "And the rest of our children?" she asked, smoothing her hands over the folds of her cloak. "How will you care for them?"

"To the best of my ability," Ozai replied, bristling. He knew he had never been an ideal father in her eyes, but she certainly knew it had not been for lack of effort on his part. "As I always have."

Ursa let out a sigh that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, my love," she said softly, shaking her head. How dare she use that tone of voice, Ozai thought, so tender and sincere, when her tear-filled eyes were still burning with anger and hate. "You will have to do much better than that."

Then she turned and swept away from him, up the gangplank of the waiting ship, the hem of her cloak fanning out behind her and her head held high, as proud and regal as any Fire Lady, though she would never be acknowledged with that title.

Ozai watched the ship pull away from the dock and slip away into the harbor, still dark before the dawn. When it was out of sight, he reached up and rubbed the spot on his cheek where she had struck him.

Then he turned his back on her, and began the long walk back to the palace.

Thus concludes this story, though not this AU. I have plans - lots of plans - about what happens with all of those kids after this, but I don't know if I'll actually be writing them any time soon. This felt like a natural stopping place for now.

If any of the original dialogue or scenes in this chapter looked familiar, that's because I decided not to reinvent the wheel and cribbed from other fics I've written that covered similar ground, most notably The Tragic End of Fire Lord Azulon, which, while definitely not part of this AU, is probably of interest to any readers of it.