A/N: This is a story of recovery and love. It is not smutty, but there are moments I cannot justify as PG-13. I recommend this for readers 16 and up. This story will finish around Izumi's coronation. I have taken great pains to account for the canonical timelines and establish workable birth years for adults as far as official data from the series goes, shoving their birthdays earlier or later for compliance. I accept the general plot of The Search but play a little looser with specific scenes and the timeline, treating it as if it took place two years after the end of the war, instead of just one. I ignore Smoke and Shadow entirely.
Characters in the Fire Nation also communicate via poetry. I'll be using the classical 5-7-5-7-7 syllabic scheme of Japanese tanka, as well as using classical motifs. This is most prominent between Zuko and Azula, but it's not a character quirk, just a part of their culture. You'll enjoy it more if you have a background in classical Japanese poetry, but I wrote in English. Please note that based on canonical context clues, I have given Zuko a birthday in April and Azula in late September; per the traditional lexicon, this affects the metaphors I have chosen.
Significant Characters: Zuko, Azula, Ozai, Ursa, Iroh, Lu Ten, Azulon, Lu Sha (OC)
Pairings: Azuko (endgame), minor Maiko and Junko, Azulon/Ilah, brief Ozai/Ursa, Iroh/his wife (OC), canon pairings generally respected.
OCs: The most major OC is Iroh's wife (Lu Ten's mother). She disappears from the story somewhat early on for obvious reasons. Other OCs dot the story as needed.
Story TW: Consensual incest (Azuko), discussion of consent with regards to Azula's mental competence, sexual situations that do not involve sex acts (non-explicit), character death and mourning, classism and colourism by culture, minor body image issues, spousal abuse (Ozai to Ursa), child abuse (Ozai to Zuko and Azula), allusions to rape by coercion (Ozai to Ursa)
September 87 AG
The teenaged son of the Crown Prince hated most royal celebrations. He'd spent his last birthday greeting an endless stream of dignitaries he didn't know and ministers he didn't care much for. Prince Lu Ten could begrudgingly admit that the culinary staff always went above and beyond for important events; all the same, he would rather spend that time sparring or meditating. Or even reading foreign propaganda materials that avoided being treasonous by "virtue" of being so damn ludicrous.
Lu Ten smiled fondly at his little cousin. Uncle Ozai had been the handsome brother, a blessing both his children inherited. With her hair black as the seed of the blackberry lily and her face fair as the moon, Princess Azula would surely grow up into a beautiful young woman, winning the hearts of lordlings from lands near and far. For the moment, she was allowed to be ordinary two-year-old Zulya, the center of an intimate celebration she would not remember this time next year, away from the prying eyes of strangers.
By the little courtyard pond with the turtle-ducks, Lu Ten found the birthday girl's elder brother, quite forgotten by the adults, but happily helping himself to sweets.
"Evening, Zuko."
The boy couldn't help making a guilty expression, even though it had been his own grandfather - the reigning Fire Lord himself - who had plied him with the fluffy cake to stay out of trouble while the adults sipped rice wine and partook of the September moonlight through autumn foliage. Even Lu Ten's father - the Crown Prince - who typically favoured a number of teas and tea infusions happily imbibed as per autumn tradition.
"How are you doing?"
"Good. When is it going to be Zulya's birthday again?"
Lu Ten supposed the real question was "When can we have cake again?" The boy would turn five next spring; it would be his last private celebration before his birthday turned into yet another stuffy state affair.
"We'll be celebrating your birthday before that," Lu Ten laughed warmly, watching his cousin's eyes grow to the size of saucers. He wished he was young enough to be excited about birthdays again; in only a matter of years, the intimate fêtes would end even for little Azula. All the same, the heir to the Crown Prince looked forward to the days he would serve his beloved Fire Nation with both his cousins at his side - the greatest team ever to exist, he hoped. They would make their people prosperous and their ancestors proud together, and there was no time like the present to lay the groundwork for that dream. "Zuko, you're four years of age already. You have a big boy job now. It's a very important job, one that even I can't do."
"Really?" He asked, giving Lu Ten a regrettable view of chewed-up violet cake.
"Yeah! You're a big brother," Lu Ten said with an encouraging tone that suggested Zuko had a hand in that reality and belied the commonplace mundanity of the role. "That means you have a job to protect your little sister. Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh!" The four-year-old vowed solemnly, this time his mouth too full for words.
The young prince chuckled, knowing it was a lesson he would wind up drilling in his cousin many times more in the years to come.
December 88 AG
The final month of 88 AG was bitterly cold, even in the warmest climates along the equator of the globe. In the Fire Nation, heavy blankets and cloaks had been distributed by order of the Fire Lord. Fire-benders from the domestic forces patrolled frequently and conducted welfare checks on non-bender households to ensure all citizens' homes were heated within reason.
Within the bounds of the caldera, the elite residents were safe, if a little peeved to need to be bundled up in thicker layers than they were accustomed. The servants here were the fortunate ones, carrying out their orders within comfortably heated mansions. The villa closest to the walls of the Royal Palace was empty - out of an abundance of caution and against tradition, Fire Lord Azulon had ordered his younger son's family to stay in the palace until the winter passed.
The young Prince Zuko had initially been enchanted by the petal-like snow, raining over the Royal Capital like an unseasonal downpour of plum or cherry blossoms. He'd asked his mother if the volcano was spewing ash in anger at the Fire Nation; that had prompted a lengthy explanation about the winter season in other parts of the world, a conversation his father had unfortunately overheard. For his "insipid question" he had been forced to copy an anthology of seasonal poems five times over - once for each year of his age.
That had coloured Zuko's opinion of snow somewhat.
And while Zuko always put on a brave face, never wanting Prince Lu Ten to think any less of his future right-hand man, the creaking of the enormous palace with the fluctuations of temperature creeped him out. In his giant bed in the lavish sleeping quarters he had been given, he couldn't help envisioning wicked spirits every time the palace groaned. Though the thick brocade curtains and two sets of heavy double-fusuma doors kept out both cold and moonlight, they did nothing to quiet the howling of the wind, and he would swear he saw shadows moving about in the inky blackness. He hated being in the dark palace after sunset - not that he would have dared ask for the lanterns in his chambers to be lit.
On this day, Zuko rose as soon as he heard the first servants bustling about.
"Blessed be the Light of Agni and the Eternal Dawn," he murmured.
He quickly dressed and set to resuming his calligraphy. The sooner he finished what he knew to be the assignments for the upcoming lesson, the sooner he would be allowed leisure time outside, where creaks and groans would not haunt him.
In the early afternoon, the young prince was finally done with his scheduled morning lessons. During a meal with his family, his father had voiced his approval that his language and calligraphy tutors had praised Zuko's recent performance. Prince Ozai also sharply reminded Zuko not to slip in history. It would set the basis for his eventual governance lessons, and Zuko could hardly rub his aesthetic education in the lower-classes' faces if he wound up being a useless War Minister, or whatever position Iroh or Lu Ten could find for him. Then, he'd disappeared back to the War Room where the Fire Lord was planning both realistic efforts in the Righteous War - there would be no offensive on the Water Tribes this season - and in keeping their people alive through the wintry crisis.
With Ozai gone, Zuko and Ursa were able to relax, the former more visibly so. Ursa had to laugh at how quickly her elder child's posture slouched. She would have to remind him there was indeed a middle ground between "soul-strainingly stiff" and "spine issues by twenty" - but that could wait for the evening.
Azula too was aware of the change in atmosphere. Her chubby hands dipped her spoon into the lobster-crab bisque she had ignored earlier, painstakingly bringing the vermilion soup to her lips without dripping onto the table or even the outer edge of the low soup bowl. Her careful, precise fingers would not err in their course - but even if she had, at least her father would not have been here to witness.
At Zuko's ripe old age of five, he unfortunately had not been allowed to take his meal out of order. He understood well that Ozai took offence to a number of discourtesies he deemed unbecoming of royalty. To avoid his ire, Zuko kept his eating to a minimum before his father's eyes, taking a sip or bite less than half as often as his mother did and seemingly leaving just a little more on his plate than was proprietous.
When the three had finished their meal, Zuko would have free run of the palace until after sundown, when the Royal Training Grounds were vacant for his use - until he experienced his first flame, there was no need for him to train under the Light of Agni. Ursa reminded Zuko to warm-up and stretch carefully for his evening bending arts lesson. Even without the ability to fire-bend ("yet"), Fire Lord Azulon considered it prudent to acquaint Zuko with the fundamental and highly-applicable stances of fire-bending; if Zuko remained a non-bender by his sixth birthday, he would be an utter failure as a royal, but at least he could be of use in the military.
The deadline was only four months away; it was actually Prince Ozai's volatile reaction, should Zuko fail, that drove Ursa to sleepless nights since the previous spring. Next April, dignitaries would flood the palace for Zuko's first public birthday gala. Ursa was tormented by nightmares of strange officials openly musing over his curious lack of bending, mocking the Royal Family from between their polite, curated words, instantly triggering Ozai into a pyrokinetic rage...
"Do not worry," the Crown Prince Iroh had once reassured her with his usual warm smile. Loyal and self-assured, he outwardly held the same dreams of glory and ideals of exceptionalism but had none of Ozai's personal narcissism - a perfect heir to the Eternal Dawn, the royal throne. It was hard to believe he and Ozai were brothers. "Lu Ten was born of two of the Fire Nation's top warriors and he had his first flame late. No one doubts his prowess as a fire-bender now."
("Lu Ten was born of one elite warrior and one pampered prince," Princess Lu Sha had teased, the love and laughter in her family quite enviable.)
Iroh's words may well have been true, but they did not apply for Ursa's children. Fire Lord Azulon had specifically gone to great lengths to "obtain" Ursa as Ozai's Princess Consort for her blood - for her 'grandfather' Avatar Roku's blood. The Fire Lord was expecting nothing short of extraordinary brilliance, and Ozai always sought his father's approval - sought to step out from his elder brother's vast shadow.
After checking that he was dressed warmly enough, Ursa bade Zuko a safe adventure in the courtyard. Then, she slowly walked with Azula - not yet graceful - to her makeshift nursery for her afternoon nap. There was no rush; what was critical was that Azula walked the entire distance on her own, head held high, without letting anything distract her focus from her goal. Once she could be trusted to comport herself properly, she would be granted freedom to roam unsupervised. At least Zuko had had no issue sailing through this milestone; Ursa hoped Azula would follow in Zuko's footsteps. She didn't think she could bear it if both her children - unwanted, loved, beautiful, innocent - were subject to Ozai's capricious belittling.
Ursa knew fully well that it had not merely been the circumstances of their first meeting that had soured Ozai's opinion of her and, indirectly, the children she had borne him at his father's behest. He'd openly expressed distaste for everything about her without so much as a stilted, clinical hello. He had patently wanted to marry Ursa just as much as she had wanted to marry him - not at all.
And yet he had moments - moments where he almost seemed human. Moments where they might nearly have been an ordinary family.
Memory - February 87 AG
Ursa woke with a start, her head throbbing as if some spirit were hammering her skull from within. The prince's villa was silent, as it always was, but she felt something screaming and the image of a familiar cradle haunted her bleary mind's eye. She rose and stumbled, not wasting a moment to allow her eyes to acclimate to her unlit chambers or her body to find its balance. Blindly, she made her way to the door that adjoined her room to her husband's. With neither permission nor hesitation, she entered and hastened to Prince Ozai's sleeping form.
"Ozai!" She hissed, not too loudly - just enough so she would not be hit with a knee-jerk column of flame.
He cracked an eye open, vaguely making out Ursa's silhouette. "What?" He had retired long after midnight; the Fire Lord preferred to busy his younger son with all manner of petty affairs, freeing up the Crown Prince for critical matters like the Righteous War. Nonetheless, Prince Ozai diligently carried out his duties, hoping to one day be deemed deserving of a voice in his father's War Room. This had better be important.
"Our baby needs us."
Nothing further was said; grabbing only the bladed iron fan by his bedside, the prince allowed Ursa to lead him, both in their nightclothes, their hair undone, their feet bare, through the dimly lit corridor to Azula's nursery. As they approached their destination, Ozai used a single hand to wordlessly choke the dutiful greetings of the attendants stationed outside Azula's door as they formed in their throats. The two middle-aged women responded only to the distressed cries from the occupant of the nursery; in a fight, they were less than useless.
Inside, Ozai ignored the unlit lanterns and surveyed the dark room. All was still, save for Azula's soft breathing from the cradle. He took noiseless steps into the nursery, Ursa close behind, gripping a thick training pole made of ash as if her life depended on it. He side-eyed her, wondering if she was paranoid - and what in the name of Agni was she going to do with that stick anyway?
Then, a creak came from above, loud as thunder in the silence of the night.
The eaves. Ozai held out a hand, motioning for Ursa to quietly stay back and not be a liability.
The heavy fusuma slowly eased back on either side - multiple intruders, both realised - and the couple waited with bated breath as a wave of white moonlight flooded the edge of the room, flowing ever closer to the cradle.
As soon as dark figures stole inside, there was no chance for their eyes to adjust before they were suddenly met with intense jets of vivid golden flame, painstakingly lanced to avoid their faces. Both intruders lithely dodged, but Ozai's uncompromising lightning struck the one closer to Azula right in the stomach. He fell to the ground; there would be no interrogation later.
The smaller assailant moved non-stop, his footfalls light enough to leave no prints on snow. There was a flash of lights reflecting off metal; without thinking, Ozai parried the toxin-laced darts with his iron fan.
From her place by her daughter's side, Ursa swung her pole with all the might of a mother defending her child, her kind features set in a ferocious snarl. Unfortunately, the pole was heavier than she was accustomed; while she landed a solid blow, she hit her target far too low, with the impact mostly absorbed by the relatively padded back of the upper arm. Her large swing left her abdomen wide open; even somewhat winded, the intruder instinctively found his dagger and took his chance.
Before Ursa could suffer the consequences of her fatal, amateur mistake, Ozai had thrown his bladed iron fan unerringly true. Life left the assailant's eyes and the dagger harmlessly tore only at Ursa's robe as gravity exacted its impartial law.
Gasping from adrenaline, she kicked his arm away and flew back to the cradle. Their little princess slept on, unharmed and unbothered by the bumps and thumps of falling bodies.
Ozai confirmed the kills and tore off the cloth masks, carefully examining the assailants by the light of his pale yellow flame. Unfamiliar faces, unmarked bodies. He noted the fabric of their clothing had been dyed the darkest of blues and that, while their fighting prowess had been lacklustre, their training in stealth had been impeccable. Someone with a lot of money to burn was testing the waters.
"Praise Agni," Ursa sighed in relief, closing the fusuma and leaving the room lit solely by Ozai's flames. The headache finally subsided. After kissing Azula gently on the forehead, she said, "I will go check on Zusha." At the door, she turned back to Ozai, "Thank you."
He nodded, and she vanished.
With Ursa gone and the only other eyes in the room no longer seeing, Ozai gingerly plucked Azula from her cradle, taking care to wrap her blanket around her to stave off the chilly pre-dawn air. She can't sleep here tonight, he mused, understanding the sentries must have been almost wholly eliminated if no one had come to investigate the source of the flaming spectacle by now. A nervous hand stroked the baby's head.
Azula stirred. "Mama?"
"She was here," Ozai said awkwardly in a low murmur.
"Dad...dy…?"
He smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, Zulya. Daddy's here."
At the door, he collected his expression before rushing past the attendants, bound for his firstborn's bedchamber.
In the light of day, there were signs a second team of intruders had planned on abducting Zuko also; Ozai supposed the muffled clamour or bright flames from Azula's nursery had changed their minds. That, or additional lookouts signalled and bailed when Azula's abduction went up in smoke.
Prince Ozai neatly penned the line-of-duty death notifications for the villa's thirty-two nighttime sentries; after the ink had dried, he sent small units of the Royal Procession to deliver them to the families. Once the families had a chance to say their farewells, he and the Fire Lord would personally light their funeral pyres to honour their sacrifice.
Generations of the Fire Nation's royal family chose not to beget spares, chose to wager on a single Crown Prince or Princess. He suspected the crisis from the Camellia-Peony War lurked in every royal's subconscious. His father and his grandfather before him had both been sole heirs, and his brother appeared to be maintaining the tradition. His brother was supposed to have been an only child as well, as his father often unfairly reminded him.
Behind the walls of the palace with roving patrols of elite warriors from the Royal Procession, that may have been fine. But Ozai was a younger son and, upon marriage, he moved just outside the palace walls. The next crop of guards needed to be of a higher calibre, and the Fire Lord would provide if he wanted to protect his investment.
The investment. Ursa's blood had not yet borne fruit in either child, with Zuko born soft and Azula born small. Fire Lord Azulon had sacrificed more strategic, more beneficial marriage prospects in favour of Ursa, a gamble he'd had the luxury to take because he'd had a spare. Hadn't Ozai proven useful in that regard, even unwillingly sequestered away from the glory of the battlefield where his brother carried out noble deeds yearly?
And the woman herself was disappointingly devoid of any sort of bending capability. But the ferocity with which she had defended their child last night - if the children had inherited any of that, they may yet have the spark to be Children of Agni.
December 88 AG
Very few areas of the palace were off-limits to Zuko; in time he would appreciate the history built into the foundations and pillars. For now, he was not going to waste precious daylight.
It was the coldest, stormiest winter in decades, but the grounds of the royal estate were kept warm enough that the five-year-old noted only that his face was chilly. Peasants in the provinces fretted over their crops and merchants just outside the Royal Caldera wrung their hands over their fleets and salable goods. Parents worried for their families' survival and artisans whittled away their days with precious few commissions to fulfill. The domestic forces providing humanitarian aid kindly allayed the people's fears, though not without doubts of their own. Scattered throughout the vast Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation military leaders carefully rationed supplies to ensure the well-being of their men. For Prince Zuko? The fluffy snow clouds above his head were tinged just the faintest amount of grey below the unseen tropical sun. To the young boy, it was nothing short of exciting that everything in view from soil to sky looked like coconut ice cream.
He raced straight to the garden pond hoping to see the resident turtle-ducks. A few relatively thin pieces of ice floated in the middle of the pond, still unmelted from the night. Though the cold nipped at his exposed skin, it was plenty warm enough for the fat, feathery, naturally-sheltered waterfowl. Zuko's disappointment that none were out and about was palpable.
That's all right - he didn't need the turtle-ducks. He could make his own fun. Icicles dripped imposingly from wall eaves surrounding the garden; Zuko couldn't reach any of them, so he followed the perimeter wall until he found one that had broken off. With his ice dagger in hand, Zuko crept a labyrinthine path from behind a tree, to among the reeds, to between some large rocks; all the while pretending he was an elite commando on a 'stealth' mission.
"Tsshhhh!" He vocalised his own sound effects as he stabbed an imaginary enemy water-bender that had rushed him. Jabbing his little gloved fist at the air around him, he added, "Take this! This'll show you to steal from the Fire Nation. Let it be known, you have been defeated by Admiral Zuko, son of Ursa and Prince Ozai, the greatest military commander in the service of Fire Lord Lu Ten! Blessed be the Eternal Dawn!"
Zuko paused to catch his breath, exhilarated. Resuming his secret mission, he feigned a gasp as he envisioned another water-bendering master. "Yah!" He dodged a whip of water from his phantom foe and returned with a kick aimed right at the neck of his curiously short opponent.
Oh, no! A platoon of water-benders was threatening a group of innocent peasants! Admiral Zuko ran to their aid, hopping from rock to rock, evading blasts of water and taking out the enemy as he went. "Ka-pow!" His free fist knocked away a formidable foe. He whipped around to stare down a particularly savage water-bender. "I won't let you hurt anyone. Die!" Zuko ran at his opponent, preparing to land a roundhouse kick and -
Splash.
Zuko slipped on ice that had reformed on the rock from melted snow, and plunged into the glacial waters of the pond, spraying frigid water everywhere. The valiant battle scene evaporated.
Fortunately for the boy, the pond was not deep. When he got his bearings and stood, Zuko's head was well above the surface. He shivered terribly as he slowly exited the pond, his soaked winter-wear weighing him down and the water dragging at his laboured motions.
By the time he collapsed on snow-covered land, he had started to become numb from the shocking cold and his lips had turned blue. With numb, clumsy fingers, Zuko began to tug off pieces of his uselessly water-logged clothing - his koala-sheep wool-lined gloves, his dragon-moose boots, his hooded buffalo-yak outer coat. His heart beat furiously but he drew breath slowly and his eyes ran just as languidly over his surroundings.
A warmth flowed from someplace deep within Zuko, a place he did not know was there. The blood of dragons and the will of Agni, lying dormant his entire life, ignited and ran hot in his veins. He felt something that radiated heat leave his body and hover in front of him, but it did not leave him drained. In his confusion, it took him minutes to wildly look around, and process where to focus. And then he saw it.
Little Zuko could not keep his dilated eyes away from the miraculous golden flame above his primary sword hand. On its own volition, it floated a small distance away. Then, another appeared, and another, until he was surrounded by a ring of golden flames. Zuko tried to will them closer to dry off, but they resolutely spurned his advances. If he tried to near them, they moved away. He gave up and sat there, captivated, as the flames gently, slowly dried off his remaining garments and chased away the worst of the cold.
With only the thought that he would never have to sleep in a dark room again, he let his mind go blank as he bathed in the warmth - he was safe. Blessed be the Light of Agni.
By the time he was nearly dry, he recalled a troupe of entertainers on Ember Island back in May, and was struck with an idea. Zuko slogged across the courtyard back into the palace, his graceless little feet crunching through deep snow the only noise in this muted white scenescape.
He ran through nigh-empty corridors, nearly tripping a servant on more than one occasion. The palace was much larger than the estate his family normally resided in; it was all but impossible for the small child to navigate. Zuko barged into a number of empty store rooms and unused bedchambers; it took him eight tries to find Azula's nursery.
Zuko reached into the crib and softly patted his sister's shoulder. "Zulya! Psst, Zulya!" He theatrically whispered, in that indiscreet way that is cute only when children do so.
"Mm?" The three-year-old groggily opened an eye. "Zuzu?"
"Come on!" Zuko excitedly tugged at his sister's arm as she blearily pushed herself up. "You gotta see this!"
He helped her out of the crib and pulled her to the middle of the open area in the nursery, far from any furniture; all the while, she slurred "Best be ligh… ni enn ternaldun."
Fighting the wide, ecstatic grin pasted on his face, Zuko drew a deep breath, focusing with all the dignity he could muster to recreate that magical moment. A small orange-yellow flame obediently appeared.
"I got my first flame!" He eagerly anticipated Azula's reaction.
"Oh?"
Zuko had been hoping the fire alone would impress Azula a bit more, but he supposed she had already been spoiled by the intricate displays Uncle Iroh and Cousin Lu Ten often performed for them. Undaunted, he used his entire body weight to shove several lacquered stands in front of the wall, then balanced one of the paper divider screens on top of them. He painstakingly moved several of the Enshû andon lanterns in the chamber, careful not to spill the manatee seal oil, and lined them up between the screen and the wall. He lit them one by one, then positioned himself right between the lacquered stands, on the opposite side of the screen from Azula. It took a moment for him to remember the hand puppets he had learned.
When his hands and fingers were positioned as correctly as he could manage, he raised his arms on his side of the screen. "ROAR!"
Azula gasped, then giggled at the silhouette of Zuko's misshapen platypus-bear.
He withdrew his arms and reset his fingers. "GRRRR!" A wolf with a flat face, courtesy of Zuko's stubby digits.
"MEEEHH." A very lumpy puma-goat.
Silence. Zuko exhibited his crown jewel rabaroo silhouette, the most difficult one the shadow puppeteers had taught, but completely blanked on the sort of noise live rabaroos made. "WOOF!" He guessed at random.
Nonetheless, Azula shrieked in delight, inching toward the screen, determined to contribute a cat-owl that had been deemed simplistic enough for the younger children.
Neither child paid any attention to their mother's noiseless entry, having been drawn from three rooms down by the laughter from what should have been a quiet nursery. Ursa hugged the shadows of the unlit room, fondly observing the little prince and princess taking a moment to just be children naïve to the true cost of war. If the trajectory of Lu Ten's life as he had related it to her was any indication, these innocent days were surely numbered. So lost in thought was she that it took her three full minutes to realise the implication of the lit bamboo andon lanterns.
At long last, the young prince had experienced his much-awaited first flame.
Her Zusha was a fire-bender, a trueborn dragon-blooded Child of Agni.
Most importantly, he would not be outcast as a failure.
A/N: I went with a Russian diminutive scheme for the Fire Royals because I struggled to create a nickname for 'Azula' - it just doesn't truncate in a fashionable way. I couldn't even use alternative readings for the kanji because the official kanji suggests the names are actually Chinese. I came up with 'Zulya' and then created 'Zusha' and 'Tenya' to match. The only character who uses 'Zuzu' is Azula.