A/N: Terribly sorry about the slow update. Hope everyone's having a great start to the new year so far!

6

He is on the ledge, watching the moon as it watches the capital city. He thinks of nothing but Ursa, nothing but her golden eyes and the way her laughter sounded like bells chiming in the wind.

"You can see her again, you know," Iroh says from the doorway. "The prince's birthday."

"Lu Ten has already had his birthday."

"I meant yours, little brother."

Ozai sucks in his breath and breathes as if it were for the first time.

He sits in the study room, finding solace in the quietness of it. The large enough room was adorned with portraits of great battles and Fire Lords past, as though they were there to serve as a reminder to whoever came in that the nation was all-powerful, and that was the all the answer they needed. A lone candle sits before the Fire Prince, a gentle intrusion in the dimness of his surroundings. He'd purposefully lowered the flames of the lamps in the room; he did not want any intrusions tonight.

All except one he was willing to overlook.

The knocks on the door were hard to ignore and Ozai looks up from his desk, already aware of whom his visitor was. "Come in."

The ornate door, red and gold like everything else, swung open and let light from the outside flow in, illuminating the study for a moment. The officer, with eyes sharper than the dagger on her belt, scans the room almost confusedly before meeting Ozai's gaze. Her amusement is piercing.

"What, haven't you told them about wanting to write your own birthday invitations yet?" She closes the door behind her at the wave of his hand and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest and amber eyes glinting. She has a topknot, as neat and in place as it's ever been. It would be unlike her to show any sign of sloppiness, Ozai notes. Two long locks of hair frames her angular face, swaying as she moves towards him. She takes a look at the parchment on his desk and Ozai automatically moves his arm over it. "Don't be such a baby. Let me look."

"It's just one, and no. I just need you to help me, that's all." He doesn't know why he's feeling particularly small—he never has, especially not in front of her. "Just tell me what you think would be sincere."

"Well, that would depend on the kind of sincerity you want."

He raises an eyebrow, and considers believing her. "How about the best kind?"

She makes a face at him and the corners of his lips twitch. She raps her fingers on the desk, but not too unceremoniously. He still demands proper conduct and decorum from subjects, after all. "Come on. Give it to me."

"Give it to me, what?" he asks, just because he can. She works her jaw for a few moments and he watches her, a grin creeping onto his face. "Officer Sze Li?"

"Alright, I'm supposed to be the one putting you in a spot," Li sighs and heads for the door, "but it looks like you're trying to an ass, as usual. A façade for your embarrassment, of course; nothing I wouldn't expect from Prince Ozai."

Ozai rolls his eyes. He cannot deny the truth in her words. "A royal ass."

"A royal ass," she agrees, and stops to look at him over her shoulder. He sees the half-grin on her face and knows she would never pass up such an opportunity. She never has. And he is right to think so. "Well then, Your Wonderfulness, may I look at what you've done on that desk?"

He considers just sending her out there and then because his heart is suddenly at his throat.

And gives in.

"Alright, here." He withdraws his arms from the desk and she struts over, visibly pleased. He watches her as she scans his handwritten invitation. Her eyes are quick, or perhaps his message was too short, too rubbish to be considered 'good enough', and she hands the parchment back to him with an unreadable face.

"Well?" he asks, tapping the butt of his brush on the wooden surface. "You think it's crap, don't you?"

"Royal crap, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't."

She settles into the seat across him, trying to bite back what he knew was laughter. He sighs and retrieves a fresh piece of parchment and lays it over the old one. "Help me out here, will you? I've been in here for hours and nothing seems to sound right!"

Li shakes her head, smiling to herself. "I can't believe it. The Fire Prince finally loses his composure and no one else is around to see it." She laughs and clutches her sides, and Ozai feels himself shrink even further. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

"I shouldn't have asked you," he says aloud, but it only seems to make her laugh even more. "Agni, what did I do to deserve this? At the rate we're going, I'll only see her when I'm thirty."

"Relax, my prince," Li wipes the tears from her eyes and Ozai feels no more comforted than when he did the moment he began his first draft. "Just tell me… everything. Pretend I'm Lady Ursa," her eyes twinkle with more than just the light from the flame as she leans in, "and tell me everything you'd say to her."

So he does.

And he believes he's doing a good job, because Li is smiling and no longer just laughing. He finally puts it all down in ink. "Damn, that was… that took a while."

"No kidding," Li says, stretching as if she had been the one straining her mental capacities for the last three hours. Ozai gives her his dirtiest look and she responds with a sheepish grin. "I'm sure she'll like it, Ozai. I promise. Now stop looking at me like that—you owe me, remember?"

"I owe you," he nods. "I will keep my word."

She smiles like she can't wait for the day she demands for a favor from the prince himself. "I know you will."

"So I heard someone's been busy," Iroh says loudly as he walks in, Lu Ten in his arms. Ozai turns to face his brother and hides his displeasure at the ruination of sweet, sweet silence. "You know I'll tell Lady Ursa about this when you two get married, right? Your meltdown and the all-nighter in the study."

"If we get married," Ozai corrects Iroh, though he likes the sound of certainty. "And who told you I stayed up last night?"

"Can't say." Iroh settles down on the edge of Ozai's bed. Ozai watches his nephew instead of his brother. "The little birdie wants to keep her neck, I expect."

Ozai rolls his eyes. "I knew she'd tell you sooner or later. I'll have to talk to her about that."

"Well if she doesn't tell me, would you be the one?" Iroh asks, catching Ozai off guard. His gaze is no longer on Lu Ten, the gurgling, sleepy-eyed baby, but Iroh. Already, fatherhood has given him some grey hairs. Ozai hopes it will not one day do the same to him. "We hardly talk anymore, what with you disappearing for prolonged periods of time… what else have you been up to, my little brother?"

"Sitting in at meetings, the ones you do not attend. I feel the need to know more about what's happening in the war." Ozai shoots Iroh a stare loaded with accusation. "You are always nowhere to be found; I'm surprised Father hasn't said a word yet."

"I have Lu Ten, but not my wife," Iroh notes, sadness seeping in already. Ozai shifts uncomfortably in his spot. "I don't want Lu Ten to be without his father when he is already without a mother. Father understands. I was hoping you would, too."

"He will one day be without a father if you continue to be so thoughtless," Ozai barks, and feels only the slightest twinge of regret. "If I could fight in the war in your place, brother, I would. But Father disallows my participation. I do not know why." He lowers his voice near the end when he sees the hurt on Iroh's face. "I am not blaming you for it."

"Father only cares, Ozai. He will not send both sons out on the field to die, effectively ending his line there and then."

"He will not send me, because a military history will only gain me favor, it seems." Ozai tries not to sound too harsh, but he cannot help it. He clenches his fists. "He fears that I will become the popular younger prince and people will not take your ascension. Or that you will forever be in my shadow, even as Fire Lord."

Iroh's eyes fall and the older prince mulls over the words of his brother. "I have been absent ever since Lu Ten's birth," he agrees with an air of melancholy about him. "But I do not regret it. My son needs me. And you forget—inheritance of the throne is given from father to son. I am his son, and I am the oldest." Iroh tries to smile. "No public objection can break that tradition. Do not be so hard on yourself, Ozai. Father knows your potential. He will acknowledge it."

Ozai knows he should be somewhat reassured by Iroh's words, perhaps even elated because it meant his military participation would do nothing to offend Azulon, but he isn't happy. He tries not to resent Iroh, tries not to hate Lu Ten.

Because the fact still stands: he will not be Fire Lord.

"One day he will be glad of your love," Ozai says, rising to his feet. He looks long and hard at Lu Ten, who meets his gaze with a confused stare. "He will make a great Fire Lord, as you will before him."

He does not look at Iroh, and leaves the room without another word.