I wrote this awhile ago from Ozai's perspective.
When you're shown you can't trust anyone, you don't. Any word of dissent is considered the beginning of a rebellion, and a rebellion can and will overthrow you. When you've waited your entire life to be killed and thrown to the side, and suddenly you can kill and throw to the side, you're slightly confused. You wait for that moment when everything will be taken away, because you've been taught that it will.
But it won't. Because you're in control. You, for the first time in your life, have control. And it feels… exhilarating.
When you were young, you were obviously hated. You, who should've been respected, were thrown in jail for a week for trying to defend yourself. You, the prince. They who beat you and withheld food from you should have worshiped you.
But they didn't. Now, they're sorry.
When you were slightly older, people started listening to you. When you said something on their behalf, they didn't scoff at you or hate you. You began to make progress - people actually listened to you! They saw you for who you were. But then, you were sent away, and all that progress died.
Now, progress has returned. Your people see you even better than before. Did you have to steal and cheat and kill to get this far?
Yes.
But you never would have gotten here if you hadn't, and you're smart enough to know that. So, no regrets, at least for that. There are… There are some regrets, though.
Like your son, who's a constant embarrassment. Whenever your brother shows up, he dotes on the boy, showing him that this weakness has something you don't. It hurts something deep inside you, which quickly turns into resentment. If you could, you would send the boy away, perhaps to catch the Avatar. Anyway to get him away so you could at least be at peace. (A voice in your head says he's like you; that you treat him too harshly. But you don't know how else to treat failures.)
Your wife is another regret. If you had killed your father earlier, or had been more forceful, or had been less forceful, you wouldn't be stuck with her. She hates you, and she hates this palace life. She never wanted it, and if your brother hadn't told anyone who she was, she wouldn't be in the situation.
But that's less of your problem now. She's gone, probably traveling back to her old life. You're glad, because she thought she was in charge of your daughter. She wasn't. She never was.
But you did. You do. You've always been ready for the responsibility. You're smart enough and strong enough, and finally, all your work is worth it. Because you, for the first time you can remember, are in control.
It is hard to feel remorse when you're in control, you quickly realize. As time goes on, you begin to understand, just a little bit, where your father might have come from. Bruises form on rebellious servants (and your son), and you understand that he thought you were worthless.
Yet. You were not. Look at you here, in charge. You were able to get this far, alone. You had no support, helping you grow until you were finally able to succeed - you had to do this all on your own, but you did. The chance of your son being able to do that is… extremely low.
Also, your father refused to end the war. He sent thousands to their deaths, and you never understood why. Now, as you lower the draft age yet again, you are forced to accept that there may have been a reason. Perhaps all those small, insignificant towns meant something you simply could not understand. Perhaps not - you've studied the reasons - but as you read a complaint from a family who has now lost three children to the war, part of you understands.
War is war. Some people die. It's just the way it is. And you tell them such, and send them money to compensate for their loss, and do not change the draft. (However, you send their 16 year old boy to a safer place. He will not die, unless he is stupid enough to get himself demoted. You are not heartless, despite what your brother believes.)
And thus it goes, day by day. You kill those who stand up to you before they have a chance to overthrow you (which they will, a particularly nasty voice in your head whispers, and you won't even stand a chance), and you try to teach your children to be even better than you were. Your daughter is brilliant. She is a prodigy - not that your brother can recognize that. She will prove extremely beneficial in the days to follow.
But your son… he's soft. He does not realize that sacrifices must be made to succeed in war. It makes you wonder how you know this. Eventually, you decide that your father taught you and your brother that you were dispensable, so you already know. He hasn't dealt with enough pain to understand that the only way to survive is to inflict that pain on others.
(You change the draft age again. The war must be over by the comet if you are to lead a nation. More complaints come in, but you cannot read through them. You have too much to do and to work on, so they sit, ignored.)
And the war goes on. Eventually, you find an opportunity to dispose of your son, so you do. You're feeling desperate, so you just send him away quickly. If you are lucky, he will not return until you have won the war in about four years. You simply must win the war before the comet.
(You convince yourself that you still hold control, but somewhere, something is slipping. You're not quite sure how this happened. Where did it go? Who stole it? Why is it gone? Who stole it?)