The ghost of him haunts me. The lonely takes the place of him, and he makes every room empty.
Loving him is involuntary, all-consuming, and it empties me.
Emptiness was something I never knew until I shared a bed with this stranger.
Silence was something I could always break before, but this one is too heavy. It soaks my lungs, coats my vocal chords in tar and cinder. My mind cannot end it, much less my words. There is no fight left in me, or in him, and if there were, we would still lose. Our inability to fight back is the only reason it doesn't crush us.
Sometimes I think I would kill to end the silence, but then he speaks with that voice worse than nails on a chalkboard. That sinister oil I do not recognize, and it's all I can do not to scream. When I look into his eyes, I no longer see gold. I only see the obsidian pits that are his pupils.
On the worst nights, when the silence is overwhelming, we come together in loneliness, but this only leaves our bed colder than before, reminding us of all we have lost, of the impassable space between us.
The tether of our souls has been frayed beyond repair. We can only wait for the inevitable last snap.
I could no longer feel Ursa. I knew her, in my head. Understood her even. But my heart… My black heart felt nothing. Not even what I'd feel for a stranger. Just… nothing.
If it weren't for my children, I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed. They were the hopes, the lights of my life, and I cherished every moment with them…
I thought about leaving our bedroom, about using the bedchamber that was supposedly mine all along. And one night, after he fell asleep, I climbed out. The memories were too strong, and his body was ice now, pulling and destroying the heat it once radiated, threatening to freeze me and everything we had been.
I woke not long after, well before sunrise, because everything felt wrong, as if I'd lain on jagged rocks.
When I felt for her and realized she wasn't there, I shot up like a madman, bursting through the doors and ready to shout for the army itself.
I stopped when I saw the other bedchamber door ajar, flaring out my nostrils in relief but marching in with just as much force.
The slamming door woke me, and before I knew it I was in the air, my head on his chest, his left arm against my back, his right supporting the backs of my knees.
I drank in the moment, weightless for an instant, held for once.
He carried me back to our bed, dropping me on it carefully but powerfully.
She didn't protest. She didn't smile. She just looked up at me with those sad eyes, silent. Some part of her wanted to treasure this small sign I wanted her, needed her, couldn't sleep without her. The other part of her saw the possessiveness of such an act, the preoccupation with what gossip and rumors the servants might whisper if they had to start changing two royal beds. She saw that I had to control every aspect of how I was perceived, our marriage included, to achieve what I desired.
He didn't say it, but the message was clear.
Never again.
"Good morning, wife," I said to solidify this and, yes, to hurt her in a way no other words could.
"Good morning, husband," I managed to reply, without emotion, without moving, as he turned for the door.
He halted but didn't turn around, reluctant to meet my gaze, reluctant to see me stare at him with emotionless eyes in an immobile position.
So he left.
There was a time I would've longed for him to sweep me up like that, longed for him to touch me just in absentmindedness, massage my feet without a thought, much less a reason.
I no longer wanted affection from the stranger. I knew it wasn't real. I knew all I could do was spur and provoke him in the hopes that he might recognize his own destruction, that he might wake up and realize he was the only one who could save him from himself.
Most of the time, I knew that. Most of the time, I only looked for that, stayed strong for my children, did the best I could to protect them, guide them, raise them well in a happy childhood, was independent and living for more than just him.
Most of the time.
"Do you have to look so amused by everything?" Iroh snapped at his brother one particularly hot and long day.
The mask of amusement.
Iroh could never tell, could never recognize what it was. He thought everything amused his brother.
I knew nothing did.
"If you fight fire with fire, the whole world will burn, Iroh," Ursa reminded my brother while she played with Azula's hair.
Azula sparked a bit of electricity and stole a furtive glance at her father, relieved when she saw that he wasn't paying attention to anyone.
Iroh noticed me feeling the opposite of relief and whispered.
"The greatest fear of loss can only belong to the man who has everything."
I wasn't sure why he thought that'd be helpful or relevant, but I replied, "And the woman."
This oversight of his frustrated me a bit, perhaps because it was just another symptom of how often he did overlook what was best for me in favor of what was best for his brother. Being his family, I couldn't entirely blame him, but knowing how much morality meant to him…
"Are you done yet, Mom? I want to hear the new story."
Out of more boredom than curiosity, I glanced at them, wondering which story that could be.
"Almost. I'll tell you in the garden," Ursa said, glancing at Iroh for some reason.
She was baiting me, and I knew it, calculating her every word and action to pique my interest.
I let it work because I knew how rare it was for her to manipulate me like this. When she wanted something that desperately, it was best to find out what it was as soon as possible.
I left and timed out when I should "happen to walk by" them in the garden so as to hear the story.
My timing was perhaps too perfect.
I had Azula sit on my lap, which somehow decreased her interest in the story, but she listened anyway. I spoke with barely any inflection in my voice and pretended not to see the stranger standing in my periphery.
The more she spoke, the more I walked towards them.
"Once there was a girl who loved a river, and the river loved the girl. She sat by its shores every day to wash her clothes and hear the music made by its waters. She had a voice more beautiful than any bird's, which the river fell in love with, and she always joined in the river's song.
"They were perfectly happy until the drought came. A volcano erupted, and its heat descended upon the land. The girl sang to the river every day, but its song grew softer and softer.
"When the river dried up, the girl wept. She wept until her tears filled the river once more, but something was wrong. Her river was not the same. Its song had changed. The river flowed, but it was bitter from the salt of her tears. It became scalding hot and would no longer sing. The girl tried to sing for both of them, but its angry waters were too loud, drowning out the sound of her voice.
"To save her river, the girl travelled across the land to the volcano. After many years, she reached its top and begged it to stop, to cool down so she could swim in its waters once more. She sang for the volcano, and hearing her voice, the lava relented and finally retreated, freeing the land from the oppressive heat.
"When the girl, now a woman, returned to her river, she was so overcome with joy that she didn't realize how hot its waters still were, how much it still burned. She loved the river and dove in once more. For the last time. The girl drowned, and the river raged even more, boiling in fury and heartbreak until it overflowed and destroyed everything it touched."
At this point, I could hear him fuming.
Azula frowned at me, quite puzzled, and said, "Well, she was stupid."
I smiled a smile that could not reach my eyes, a smile as empty as I had been since the night his masks came off.
"Yes, darling. Yes, she was."
Glancing up at him, I watched his obsidian pits blaze in outrage and indignation.
And I realized what she wanted.
I wished he would grab me. I wished he would strike me. Jerk me by the arm and drag me away from her, shoot lightning at the ground next to me, threaten me with a flame in my face.
I wished he would feel something. So I could feel something. He hadn't showed emotion in weeks, perhaps months, and I couldn't take it that day. His ghost was haunting, and I couldn't be what little fraction of myself still remained.
She wanted me to react so desperately that even violence would've satisfied her, which would've horrified me to my core if that total lack of expression on her face hadn't disgusted me so much, if she wasn't in front of our daughter, using her to appeal to my humanity that wasn't there. Her depression annoyed me. Her need to feel something by making me feel something sickened me.
I refused to indulge it.
He held my gaze for several seconds, stoic and totally indifferent, just long enough for those daggers to stab and twist in my stony heart.
And he walked away. Silent as the grave.
Enough, Ursa.
Enough.
My children deserved better than this, and so did I. He deserved nothing, but I would put on the masks for them. I would juggle the roles and be a good machine for them.
It was the last time I tried. It was the last time I looked to him for anything real.
Until Lu Ten died.
He delivered the news to me himself, knowing me well enough that I'd prefer to find out alone, from a family member, though he was halfway gone before he finished the sentence.
"What?" I stammered, needing him to repeat it, somehow still unable to comprehend how such a thing could be true while he showed no signs of grief.
"Prince Lu Ten has been killed at Ba Sing Se. Iroh has ended the siege and is on his way home."
"Oh, Iroh," she gasped, sitting down, and I stepped into the room to make sure she didn't… faint or something.
The world hasn't changed that much.
I gave her a few moments to cry, resisting the urge to tap my foot, but she recovered enough to speak.
"Was he with…? Was he able to…?" Ursa shook off her questions, resigned to wait until Iroh had returned to worry about them, and stood up in a desire to be useful. "What can I do?"
"I have requested an audience with Azulon. The children will need to be in the throne room in thirty minutes."
Her confusion was evident, but she was grieving too much to question it and merely nodded.
He was gone before I could figure out how to speak again.
I had a few more tears to shed before I fetched the children. Lu Ten was so young. When he left to fight, I could barely fathom how the little toddler I watched over could be old enough to fight in any war. I was still getting used to his sideburns, and now…
Azula already knew, I was sure. She had almost as many spies as her father. The first thing she would do would be to rub it in Zuko's face, and I felt a pang of guilty gratitude when I realized they probably wouldn't need to mourn that much. Lu Ten had been more of a concept of late than a true friend or mentor. They couldn't remember when he would play with them that well, but Zuko would empathize the most, I knew. If only for Iroh.
Azula… Azula might feel nothing, I worried but tried not to think sincerely.
"Your father has requested an audience with Fire Lord Azulon. Best clothes, hurry up!" I said once I was in the doorway, knowing there was no time to see what they knew and praying they were more ignorant than I thought.
Zuko sped past me, but Azula dragged her feet.
"Fire Lord Azulon… can't you just call him 'Grandfather?' He's not exactly the powerful Fire Lord he used to be. Someone will probably end up taking his place soon."
"Young lady!" I scolded, angry but not surprised. "Not another word!"
She rushed past me looking satisfied.
"What is wrong with that child?" I asked once she seemed out of earshot.
It wasn't said in despair or disgust, just in the exasperation all parents felt at times.
Still, it wasn't something I wanted to make a habit of, however justified I might be.
Perhaps if Azula comes home now, if I let Ty Lee and Mai visit often, I can help her better. I can… understand her more and help her understand others and learn… I began to think as I escorted them into the throne room and tried not to think of the distance between that stranger and myself.
He started quizzing the children in front of Azulon for some reason, and my thoughts returned to Lu Ten and Iroh.
Azula demonstrated some new moves for her grandfather, and a quarter of a smirk tugged at her father's lips.
It stabbed my heart to see that smirk fall at Zuko's request to do the same.
Zuko fell repeatedly, and I irrationally blamed his father for willing such a result before rushing to Zuko's side.
"I failed," he muttered.
"No," I insisted. "I loved watching you. That's who you are, Zuko. Someone who keeps fighting even when it's hard."
How many times had I told him? The one who falls and gets back up is so much stronger than the one who never fell.
How could I explain that to Azula too?
Azulon lost his patience and ordered us all, guards included, out, disgusted by what he saw his failure and by his son's blatant appeal to the emotions and familial affection he didn't have.
I obeyed and tried not to think of what he could be after, so distracted by not thinking about that that I didn't notice my children failing to follow me.
I sensed something was wrong. I felt like a part of me was unraveling, but I couldn't determine what or where or why.
I walked about the villa in a haze until I heard the unmistakable sound of Azula taunting someone.
Zuko was in his room, responding in anger and more than a little fear.
"You're lying! Dad would never do that to me!"
"Your father would never do what to you? What is going on here?" I demanded.
Azula feigned complete innocence.
"I don't know…"
"It's time for a talk."
I pulled her into the hallway, and it didn't take much prodding for her to confess what she'd overheard.
Black, red, and gold spun swirled around me. My vision spun with up as down, her words ringing and ringing even though I was running before she'd been able to finish.
Unable to speak, unable, I bolted for the throne room as something more precious than my own life depended on it.