In the summer, Fire Lord Azulon allowed Ozai to vacation on Ember Island with my family. We still had to live under the constant watch of royal guards, but they became our friends and went out of their way to make my parents feel more comfortable. Hiding Ozai's identity as prince was no easy task, considering the fact he still insisted on receiving all that he wanted and tried to order other children about when I wasn't around.
Still, Ember Island was freeing to Ozai. His firebending mentor instructed him each morning at daybreak but left him alone every other hour, and the hated tutor never set foot on Ember Island. There were few servants to quake at his shadow. There were no nobles who could watch his every move and report back to the Fire Lord. He could be sad. He could be mad. He could be happy without fear of punishment. He could scream, he could cry, he could sing, and Azulon would never know or care. He felt his father's absence less, on that island, because it seemed like less of a choice on the sovereign's part. At home, his neglect was palpably obvious. At Ember, his neglect was the only possibility.
Every once in a while between his missions, Colonel Iroh would join us also, doing his utmost to amuse the boy and leave him with sweet memories. For some reason, the little prince would dread his brother's presence at home yet leap for joy when he came to the island. It was as if he thought they were two separate men: Palace Iroh and Ember Iroh. To some extent, perhaps they were. At the capital, Iroh had a thousand other duties and obligations pulling him every which way, forcing him to be the perfect prince and advise Ozai to do likewise. At the capital, Ozai would watch him put on one mask after the other, leaving the boy to wonder when he meant what he said, when it was an act, when his jokes were a front, etc. At the island, Iroh could be his easy-going, wise-cracking, and tea-loving self. He could devote all his time to playing with and teaching his brother, doing his utmost to make the prince's childhood something sweet and... healthy.
Ember Island softened his heart and turned his life into something so much happier—turned him into someone so much happier. It was said that just as her waves washed away footprints on the sand, the island gave everyone a clean slate, revealing your true self, breaking down your walls, and melting even the hardest of hearts.
Those summers contained the most precious memories of my childhood.
The sands, the palms, the waves, the smell of the sea... They were burnt into my mind more than any set of bending forms. Each detail, each remembrance brought such intense nostalgia and yearning... Decades later, the sight—or smell—of a one feature still made me feel wistful. What I wouldn't give to relive those days. What doubt or paranoia could taint such perfection? What could be more uplifting—even in my lowest of lows? What could be more sacred than Ember Island?
Looking back, only one experience brought mixed feelings. Sometimes, it was as dear to me as any other isle remembrance. Sometimes, I would laugh over it until my sides split. Sometimes, I would ponder and frown over it for hours, trying to determine why it bothered me even when I knew full well.
It was the day Ursa saved my life.
Ozai was nine years old when he learned to swim. At the time, there were no decent pools or beaches at the capital, and everyone assumed he'd been taught already. For the first couple vacations, even I'd assumed his pride and stubbornness alone kept him from swimming when "I don't want to" or when he decided "water is weak." He still would build sandcastles, play in shallow water, collect seashells, and play kuai ball with me so I didn't notice much. I would swim while he practiced firebending with his sifuor ran errands for my mother.
Then one day, I pleaded with him to go out in the water and was refused.
He'd never done that before. He'd dismissed my ideas before, of course. He'd annoyed me and refused me, but not when I held his gaze and requested calmly, coolly, and in a way that turned his iron will to mush.
Iroh, visiting with us for the first time, was watching us and heard our argument. Once again, he couldn't help expressing his surprise for a half-instance; he knew how I always caved when Ursa was being... Ursa. Glancing out over the ocean in thought, it only took a few seconds before my brother struck himself upside the head and rushed over.
Ursa, being Ursa, figured it out a second before him.
"Ozai, do you know how to swim?"
"Do you think I'm done?" I deflected, careful not to break my vow of honesty. "Who doesn't know how to swim?"
Despite my scoffing, she made no sassy retort. She softened and reached out to me, gently smiling, melting away my wounded pride and attempts to defend my "honor."
"It's okay if you don't. My daddy never learned either. I bet Iroh would teach you, if you let him," she suggested, turning to the approaching prince.
Iroh started to call out to me but then thought better of it, bowing to us formally and asking if he might "have the honor" of teaching me to swim.
I grunted my reluctant acquiescence because Ursa's eyes shone their encouragement so brightly, irresistibly.
With my presence to prevent him from resisting, Ozai learned to float and blow bubbles in a few short minutes. As with everything else, swimming came easily to the prince. It helped, of course, that the waves were almost nonexistent. It also helped that Iroh sought to reassure him that each person learned how at different paces, that he himself couldn't stroke properly for weeks. Ever eager to best his brother in everything he could, Ozai was swimming like a koi fish in under an hour.
Iroh chuckled as I swam after Ursa to return her massive splash, reminding us to stay close to shore and knowing how reckless my pride could be. She nodded, and I ignored him, but before he could say another word, a messenger called out his name and ran towards us, letter in hand.
"Out," Iroh ordered with a kind-yet-firm authority, and we obeyed. "Stay on shore," he said, crossing the sand to meet the young soldier while Ozai and I played tag.
After giving the message a stern frown for several seconds, Iroh told us that he had to leave immediately, leaving the terrified messenger to watch over us. I waved farewell to the supposedly future Fire Lord, and in my distraction, I was bumped by Ozai.
"You're it!" he declared before bolting for the water.
"Iroh said we—"
"Does that mean you give up? I thought you never quit!" he taunted, knowing we were equally stubborn.
After all, we'd been playing the same game of tag for years. Neither one of us was willing to lose so we'd been taking some very long "breaks" that lasted until one of us remembered who was it.
She ran in after me, and I swam further out to evade her reach.
"P-p-prince O-z-zai..." the messenger stammered so faintly I almost couldn't hear him over the waves, which were growing more powerful by the minute.
"Come and get me, Ursa! Don't be a scaredy-cat!"
"Ozai, the water's too deep! You could get caught in a riptide!"
I couldn't help but laugh at her concern, sincere as it was.
"A rip-what? Don't be silly! I'm too strong to be in—"
"Being strong and being a strong swimmer is not the same thing!"
"Prince Ozai, please!" the messenger called, walking into the water. "Come back! I can't swim!"
He practically cackled at the man's plea.
"What kind of soldier—umph!" the prince cried as the ocean pulled him out.
"Don't fight it, Ozai!" I warned, stroking in a panic. "I'll come get you!"
He did fight it, of course. He was Ozai. That's what he always did. That's all he knew. Surrender was never an option. It went against everything in his nature. He struggled and splashed against the rip until it sent him spiraling underwater. I screamed at the top of my lungs and kicked with every cell in my body.
I wasn't under the water long before her touch stilled my mad frenzy and cooled my boiling blood. I went limp and floated to the surface under her guide, coughing and sputtering salt as she whispered in my ear.
"Swim this way. With me."
Obeying blindly, trusting her more than the rising sun, I swam parallel to the shore as she did, breathing in fresh air and flowing with the current. I couldn't see her well with my eyes stinging so, but her touch never left me. And in a few dozen yards, we were free.
"That was... fun," I joked only to receive a glare and a punch as we swam for the beach, which held the messenger sobbing in relief.
"You're welcome, by the way," Ursa sighed as we collapsed on the sand.
His only response was to frown, deeply disturbed by something, looking at me as though I were some impossibly obstacle in his path.
"What?" I asked in confusion.
"How am I...? How am I supposed to...?"
I wanted to repay her, but I couldn't. She had saved my life. Without her, I'd be dead. Nothing could erase a debt like that. Nothing could place us on equal footing again. Everything I did, everything my life was from then on, was because of her alone. I'd always prided myself in my independence. I was a prince. I was strong. Indestructible. But I owed her everything. Even if I someday had the chance to save her life, she saved me first. She wouldn't want thanks. She wouldn't want me to feel this burden of obligation, but I did. Nothing could change that.
She was no longer my equal.
She was my savior.
And someday, I would be her betrayer.
"Let's go home," she encouraged with that soft smile of innocence and friendship, amber eyes alight.
With one look, she could cast off my every worry and care. With one touch, her small lifted my spirits to a plane of true freedom.
"Thank you," I muttered under my breath as we walked back hand-in-hand.
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
So much for no heavy-handed foreshadowing. R&R please! I appreciate feedback SO much!