"I wish you didn't have to go," Ursa complained for the tenth time as Zuko waddled over to Lu Ten.
"I won't, if you say you need me," I reminded her.
"Azulon would set your hair on fire," she scolded, playing with one of my tendrils. "And I would miss it so."
Her joke did not deter me, nor did her smile as she kissed my widow's peak.
"I swear he's arranged this out of sheer spite. He realized, 'Oh. They've never have to spend a night apart before. That needs remedy. Let's spend a solid week in war meetings on an entirely different island even though we could make the palace just as private and even more secure.'"
"Never spending a night apart is a romantic sort of ultimatum, but it's not particularly realistic. Plenty of married couples have slept apart from each other long before being married as long as we have. We're just spoiled and might face some difficulty falling asleep."
Some impossibility rather, but I'll survive.
He pouted that worried frown of his.
"But what if…?"
"She won't come," I insisted, resting a confident hand on my rounded belly. "She's a patient baby. I can tell already."
"I'm trying very hard not to picture how ironic that statement will sound if she's a boy," he quipped coolly.
I struck him upside the head a little.
"I'm too pregnant for your snark. If you want to be helpful, go find some self-righteous noble and insult him in a way too twisted for him to realize it."
"But there are only self-righteous royals around," Ozai muttered under his breath as Iroh, who was playing with the little princes, burst into song.
She struck me upside the head harder.
"Maylin and everyone will be here to keep me company while you're gone. Besides, it will still be too early. You needn't worry about missing an opportunity to pass out completely this time."
He glared at me and went on some tirade about he was never close to fainting in the first place, and I drank in the delicious sound of his monologue.
"Daddy!" Zuko called, racing over like lightning, completely ignorant of a jutted out rock.
Ozai flew before I could stand, taking him up and tossing him into the air, granting the world with giggles instead of tears.
"What now, Zuko?" he sighed once the laughter died down, he was returned to the ground, and his hands continued to tug on Ozai's robe.
"Ducks, ducks!" our little boy insisted, holding out hands for bread.
Almost imperceptibly, my husband winced from some unseen pang. He held himself back, restraining and denying himself happiness again, and told Zuko, "Not today."
He pouted and ran back to join his uncle and cousin while Ozai avoided my gaze.
"We've talked about this."
"You've talked about this," he countered before excusing himself to go bend.
"Wanna watch!" Zuko said as his father began to walk away.
He tripped this time without a tear, picking himself back up and reaching for his father's hand.
Ozai softened against his own will, unable to say no.
"All right," I agreed and lifted him up into my arms, hugging him close as if I would never allow myself to again.
After all, he had my irresistible face and his mother's irresistible eyes. There'd been a time when I would've thought the contrast unnatural, even wrong—my fair skin and handsome but lethally sharp features combined with Ursa's kind eyes, cruel harshness and tender, all-consuming flames of amber. I would've thought my face too dead to be lit with so much life, but I couldn't steep in self-loathing and self-pity anymore. How could I hate any part of myself when seeing that self in Zuko, whom I loved more than my life whether I wanted to or not? How could I hate the man my wife and child loved?
In loving them, I had no time left over for hate.
Except hate for he who separates us, I thought in anticipation of leaving those whom I loved more than life.
The spirits love to play cruel tricks, and I went into labor the day before Ozai was to return home.
I knew something was wrong the second that first contraction came. I felt the wrongness in the core of my being, and it wasn't just because it was too soon. My pains shouldn't have been so severe. I knew I'd forgotten just how bone-shattering contractions could be, but I also knew these were worse, far worse, than what I'd experienced with Zuko.
By the time the midwives acknowledged this fear instead of laughing it off, I was grateful my prince was away. I was grateful he couldn't see me like this. Last time had been scarring enough for him, but this time… I was half certain each breath could be my last for hours, and I was entirely certain that I looked half dead to everyone else too.
Zhen and Maylin, pregnant with Ty Lee at the time, held my hands but rarely spoke, their faces paler and paler as the hours passed.
"What's wrong with her, what's wrong with her?" I kept asking, even when they knew and explained it to me.
Even when silence was the only answer.
No cries. No wails. Has any ever been so desperate to hear a child acknowledge pain?
"I'm so sorry, Ursa. She's gone," someone said at last. It must've been Maylin.
My baby. My baby. My ba—
More pains came. The midwives scrambled.
"Your highness, we need you to push again."
I couldn't wrap my head around it. What was the point?
"My baby."
"You've done so well, princess. So well. Just a little longer, I promise. Then you can sleep and sleep and—"
"Give me my baby."
They couldn't get me to understand that's what they wanted to do, that I'd been carrying twins, that there was another baby longing for me.
So they put my stillborn daughter in my arms, whom I cradled even as I gave birth to her sister.
No cries came from her either, not until they freed her of the umbilical cord wrapped around her precious neck.
She was so small and so fragile, a deep blue that made me want to weep just looking at her. Zuko had been so much stronger; she was the weak one. She needed me the most, but I lost consciousness before they could place her in my arms. The last thing I saw before darkness was my living baby girl taking her first breath and breathing out blue flame.
"She was born lucky, your highness," the head midwife told me once I came to.
Her nameless sister was gone. They'd pried her out of my arms and taken her away.
I'd needed surgery from the royal physician, but my daughter flourished even in her premature smallness, even when she hadn't been able to breathe for so long, and even when her twin…
Very lucky.
"Not just for surviving, of course, but for the date. It's the summer solstice, you know." New mothers lose all sense of time, even as we are painfully aware of it. "The sun reached its highest point in the sky just as the princess was crowning, and every firebending prodigy breathes flame on first—"
"Let me hold her," I pleaded. "I'm awake now. She needs me."
"She hasn't eaten yet," Maylin materialized and confessed, granting my request.
She was so small and so perfect.
So alone.
I tried not to choke on my tears, kissing my little angel's forehead and whispering my love.
"Zuko?" I asked someone at last.
"Zhen's watching him," Maylin assured me, at my bedside again.
Only she and the midwives remained.
"You're to tell Ozai that the birth went smoothly," I commanded. "That our daughter was born lucky in every way and caused me almost no pain. I'll tell him about… about her sister when the time is right."
"Of course, your highness," the midwives agreed and bowed their faces to the floor.
"The fire prince's ship was spotted recently. He should arrive within the hour."
"Where?" I tried to inquire without my soul shattering, tried to pretend that a part of me hadn't died, that I wouldn't always have an unfillable hole.
"Over there, love," Maylin nodded to a box, a very pretty box but still a box, that sat atop one of the nightstands.
It was against tradition to name a stillborn child, but I'd named her months ago. I'd never dared to say it aloud, and now I never would.
I looked away as soon as I saw it, trying to focus on the child in my arms, on this sleeping babe so ignorant of my heartache, so vulnerable and in need of my protection.
"I love you, beautiful. I love you more than my own life."
I nursed her despite the midwives' protests. No one save Ozai and myself thought it was appropriate for a princess to nurse her own children anyway, that it lowered my dignity and made me a commoner, but not even Azulon could've convinced me to share my baby with a wetnurse.
So small and so perfect. Sleeping more peacefully than anyone on the planet. So utterly beautiful and so utterly mine. This was my future, a part of myself, a part of my life, the result of pure love.
She needed me, and I need her.
In that moment, it felt like she was hope incarnate.
Before I could ask anyone to check on Zuko for me, the bedroom door flew open.
The energy and exuberance of his face made me realize my own exhaustion, but I mustered a weak smile to hide the turmoil I'd gone through without him.
"Good morning, wife," my prince beamed before crossing over to my bedside.
"Good morning, husband," I replied softly, so he wouldn't notice my failing voice, and watched him soak in our daughter's face.
His blissful ignorance and fatherly love for our little princess let my heart soar for a few minutes.
Ozai lifted her up and half-twirled around the room, introducing himself, reintroducing me, detailing half of what her life would be and how we would love her so deeply, repeating the promises he'd uttered a thousand times, spinning around and around until she fell asleep from confusion over such a silly prince.
"You have to choose her name, love," he teased without teasing, placing her in a basinet once I gestured for him to do so.
"Azula," she said with surprising certainty and peace, leaning back on her pillow as if everything was well enough for her to rest. "Azulon will appreciate it."
My brow furrowed in more confusion than genuine frown.
"Are you sure? You shouldn't feel any obli—"
"She's Princess Azula, Ozai. It's a pretty name. I didn't choose it to flatter him, but if it does soften him up for a few months…" she trailed off and closed her eyes.
"I'm sure you're exhausted. I'll let you—did someone bring a gift already? Whom?" I asked her when I saw the box on the night table.
I crossed over to it with a smile, Ursa unable to speak, and collapsed after opening it.
When I saw the look on Ozai's face, when I saw him fall to the floor, something in me finally snapped and finally let me mourn.
Two instincts washed over me. The first was to hold our baby, our nameless princess, and refuse to let her go.
The second was to consume her in an instant funeral pyre.
My eyes stung with fury, with sorrow and with grief, but I knew Ursa suffered so much more.
His eyes met mine, and I sobbed.
I sobbed as I never had before.
"I'm sorry," I whispered after her sitting on Ursa's bed and pulling her as closely as I could, cradling her head in my arms and stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
Ozai held me as I cried, whispering apologies and assurances, repeating my name, calling me, "Beloved, beloved, beloved." He wiped away all tears, both his and mine, from my cheeks with his hair, and he never let go.
When the rivers ran dry and we could both breathe again without breaking, it felt like hours had passed.
"We still have Azula."
"Do you think I need reminding of that?" I asked without real indignation, eyes darting to her basinet. "Without her, I'd be dead."
Without me, she would've never thrived.
Our survivor, our miracle, helped keep me alive through the next months of grieving and depression. The opportunity to love and nourish her, to watch her grow daily, made me get out of bed even more than Ozai did.
I resisted the urge to mention Zuko, suppressing that instinct for the thousandth time, and Azula cried for Ursa, as she would so frequently.
Baby Zuko always favored Ozai, but baby Azula demanded me, refusing to silence her cries until I held her and refusing to fall asleep without my lullaby until she could form complete sentences.
Ursa fed her, and then I held Azula against my chest, opening up my robe so my skin could warm her. I assumed her smallness was normal and healthy, given her circumstances, and I drank in every detail of her tiny limbs and digits, heartbroken that I'd missed her first fire breath but nevertheless attempting to picture it based on the midwife's description.
"She has your eyes," Ursa smiled with her soul of fire.
"Framed by your flawless face."
The combination seemed to make sense. On the surface, our child had all her mother's beauty and softness and all of her father's spirit. Our greatest traits made pure and whole, innocent.
Zuko bolted in, and I ached to hold him.
"Daddy!" he tried to greet once entered.
"Zuko, come here," I begged, holding out my arms for him.
My sweet boy obeyed, and I clung to him for dear life, rocking him back and forth until I finally heard his protests.
"Your sister's here," I told him with some sincere gladness, gesturing to his father.
I grinned from ear to ear and knelt down to show him.
"Meet Princess Azula," I whispered and held her so he could see. "Azula, meet your brother Zuko."
His eyes grew so wide, darting to me for permission to touch her. After receiving a nod, the little prince reached cautiously, gently to stroke her little hand and forehead.
"Hello, Azula. I love you."
Zuko kissed her cheek, and then we all climbed in bed with Ursa.
Once the kids, our kids, fell asleep, Ozai and I locked gazes in silence, playing with each other's hair and smiling, taking in this surreal moment with so much peace and hope and shock and grief… and joy. Joy in the face of everything.
Ursa and I. Two souls made of fire. Childhood sweethearts parenting children. So young and so experienced. So unable to imagine the future and so resilient from the past and present.
He seemed pained suddenly, and I reached out in instinct, but this furrowed his brow all the more.
"I'll never… be able to say all that you mean to me. How I'm so thankful, so sorry, so inspired… You're everything, Ursa. It grates my ears to hear myself say something so cliché and inadequate, but you're everything."
"I love you too, Prince Ozai," I said before drifting off to dreamland.
Our family was actually happy.
A long time ago.