A/N: Trying something a little different structurally with this chapter….bear with me.

Disclaimer: I'm not the white guy that came up with Avatar okay?

From the Fire Nation Royal Family's official records

Letter delivered to Princess Ursa during Autumn Festival, 69 AG

Sister,

It was a pleasant surprise to receive your message inquiring after my wellbeing and telling me of your travels so far. I appreciated your inclusion of the seashells from each island you've visited. Truly, you must be feeling much better to take the time to think of me and assemble such niceties.

Things are going as well as can be at the palace, although I'm sure they will be much better once you and my brother return to grace us with your presence again; Father misses you both dearly. The investigation into the Royal Guard has proven…complicated, to say the least. Apparently, the transition from the previous captain Jinpa to his successor Zhou was not as seamless as it seemed. Factions among the guards emerged, divided between the old and the new, and your clash with Tiron was the spark that set off the flame.

In any case, Zhou has been deposed in Agni Kai by none other than Jeong Jeong, the same guard who uncovered the plot against you in the first place. Jeong Jeong has wasted no time cleaning house as new captain, doing his best to restore the Royal Guard to its original glory with Father's full support. Despite the brevity of his tenure, Zhou made some drastic and rather ill-advised changes to the guards' routine: the power of ambition, I suppose.

I'm sure this will all be settled by the time you're back. This year's Autumn Festival closing dinner will be truly grand, considering how much there is to celebrate after Iroh's dragonslaying expedition. I hope he has allowed himself to enjoy the Autumn Festival despite these battles that have cropped up along the way; I assume you had something to do with him deciding to write to me as well, considering he's never done it before. I wish you the best for the last leg of your journey.

Sincerely,

Fire Prince Ozai

The ashes cover the carpet of Iroh's room, like an awful snow. Korzu knows what they are: the remnants of the portrait of his mother that Iroh keeps on his nightstand. And it's not that huge of a loss, really, because there are plenty of treasured paintings of the late Fire Lady carefully preserved somewhere in the bowels of the palace, but the point of this burning isn't to actually take something away. It's symbolic. It's to hurt Iroh. And it's working.

"What did you do?" Iroh is recently twelve, and still rather short for his age, but that doesn't mean anything when he's towering over his six-year-old brother and screaming. "What in Agni's name did you do, you useless little-"

"Iroh-" Korzu tries to stop him.

"Shut up! Shut up and get out, this isn't your business!" Iroh's eyes are wild. Next to Korzu, Piandao tugs at his elbow, shooting him a nervous glance that very clearly means 'let's go.'

There's some backstory to this moment - Ozai wanting to join the boys' play sparring in the gardens, Iroh scoffing and telling him 'when deer-pigs fly' - but this is an inordinate act of vengeance. Ozai doesn't even look like he's enjoying his revenge, not with tears streaming down his cheeks and snot dripping from his nose while he stands stone still beneath his brother's beratement.

"You're just a waste of air, of bending, of life, that ruins everything you touch, you-"

Iroh's fists are smoking, and that's why Korzu stops Piandao from leaving. It's one thing for Iroh to be angry, but as much as he hates his brother, he cannot burn him. Ozai is six, and Iroh has enough sense left in him to regret it once he calms down.

Piandao frowns, but he nods even though he doesn't like Ozai (who has already figured out that he is a prince and Piandao is a servant and that means power, but Ozai really only tortures him because Piandao is the one Iroh loves instead of his actual brother). Piandao knows this is a dangerous moment for Iroh.

So, Piandao who is braver than Korzu - probably braver than even Iroh - grabs the crown prince by the shoulder and shakes his head, staring at him with his piercing gray eyes. And for a heartstopping moment, Iroh silently raises his trembling fist like he's going to burn his friend now, but he's not that far gone. He sighs, and Korzu lets go of his own sigh of relief.

Then little Ozai begins to sob, maybe from the relief of the yelling being over or the realization of what he's done, and Iroh starts again.

"You," he snarls, "Since you won't even apologize, you sniveling little reptile, you are dead to me, do you understand? Dead to me like you should have been from the beginning instead of my mother. And dead people don't matter. Just like you."

Yuna finally arrives at the scene, the only person who has ever been able to somewhat smother the fire between the princes, but it's too late to soothe Ozai's wailing apologies and Iroh's grief-stricken anger. It's too late. Something has burned up, Korzu knows, something more irreplaceable than that portrait.

"And Iroh made good on that statement," Korzu finished telling his tale, bracing against the motion of the ship. "For years after that, Ozai might as well have been dead as far as Iroh was concerned. I'm not sure if it was any better than what they'd been like before, frankly. Back when they were both small, Iroh would sometimes be decent to Ozai if he was in a good mood and Yuna made him behave. But after the portrait incident, even that stopped."

"What changed?" Ursa pressed. "When did Iroh start being good to him again?"

Korzu sucked in his cheeks and blew out a breath. "A year, year and a half ago? Around Ozai's thirteenth birthday, something happened to him that shifted Iroh's perspective. I couldn't tell you what, though; the palace kept it very hush-hush."

I was nasty to Ozai, Iroh's ashamed voice whispered in her mind. And that lasted much, much longer than I care to admit. "Does he still get angry like that? Iroh?"

"Not these days, no. I think the most angry he's gotten lately was when you got kidnapped, and I'd say that was pretty justified. He doesn't like having that rage, you know, but it's something that's just built into powerful firebenders like him; 'inner fire' and all."

Her husband was naturally full of rage? Korzu must have seen that concern in her face because he nervously added, "I know that sounds bad, but he's very self-aware. He meditates like the old captain Jinpa taught him, and he really doesn't just lose his temper anymore. I think that was more of a poor grief response when he was younger."

Korzu's clear anxiety made her feel bad about cornering him in the ship's infirmary and basically ordering him to talk about Iroh and Ozai's relationship. After receiving that letter from Ozai - and the interesting tidbit that Iroh never wrote to his brother, until she'd suggested it - she'd wanted to hear from someone outside the family. But it was clearly stressing her friend out quite a bit. "Okay. Thanks, Korzu. You can go."

Still, her guilt lingering at bedtime didn't stop her from lying down next to Iroh in his cabin (really their cabin at this point) and raising the topic again.

"Iroh, will you really tell me anything I want to know?"

He turned onto his side facing her, the deeper neckline of his nightshirt exposing some of his chest. "Assuming it's something I know the answer to, of course I will."

"Ozai killed Tiron."

"That wasn't a question," he pointed out with a wry smile, "but yes, he did. He was thorough. I promise."

The reassurance was nice, but it wasn't what she was worried about at the moment. "Well, my question is…was that the first time he'd killed someone?"

Iroh's brow furrowed slightly. "No. A secession group from the colonies thought they could use the spare prince as a negotiation pawn with the Fire Lord. They tracked Ozai while he was on a school trip a few weeks before his thirteenth birthday. When they made their move, he panicked and conjured lightning for the first time. Nearly killed himself as well as his would-be kidnappers."

"Oh." Ursa had seen men die from lightning - men who'd been laughing about rape, men who'd arguably deserved it - and she couldn't deny that it looked excruciating. What would it have felt like to have been the person who'd inflicted such death, at such a young age?

"What's on your mind?" Iroh asked. "That's a grim thing to be wondering."

"Ozai wrote back to me today, so I suppose it just reminded me that he's very young for all the responsibility he has. You are too, of course," she added. "But Ozai killing someone, when he's only fourteen…that just stood out to me."

"He wrote back to you so soon?" Iroh raised his eyebrows. "Look at that. He's learned some manners."

"Be nice." The admonishment was a little harsh, perhaps because she was still thinking about Korzu's story and trying to imagine those burning words spilling out of Iroh's mouth like dragonfire. His half-smile faltered.

"You're right. That's a bad habit of mine," he said, rolling onto his back. "But in terms of age for his first kill, he would've been young anyway."

"Really? How old were you?"

"Freshly thirteen. A few days after my birthday, my father had me execute a rather dangerous war prisoner: a former general of the Earth Kingdom."

Thirteen. "Why? Why did you have to be the one to execute him?"

"Because we live in times of war, and I will soon be a leader in that war, and a leader can't hesitate to take a life on the battlefield. My father decided to cure that instinct to hesitate by getting my first kill out of the way in a controlled environment at a young age, just as his father did for him. The same would have been expected from Ozai, if it weren't for that kidnapping attempt."

The war was something that was just a given part of the world, but that explanation still rattled her nerves. "You were thirteen."

"I know," he said softly. "If it makes you feel any better, I really do hope my children will not have to deal with this war. I would like the world to be united by the time they come of age."

"Will you make them do the same thing?" she demanded. "Kill someone when they turn thirteen?"

What she was really asking was if he would make their children do the same thing, and he knew it. It was evident in his hesitation.

"Not when they turn thirteen," he said finally. "I think even if the war is still raging at that point, learning to take a life can wait a few more years."

Ursa wanted to ask if he really believed that - if it had bothered him at all when he'd executed that Earth Kingdom general, or if it had indeed cured him of hesitation - but she suspected those weren't feelings for him to dig into right now. Instead, she cuddled against him and voiced a possibly equally touchy question.

"When Ozai was attacked, was that what changed things between you two?"

Iroh heaved a sigh like he wasn't going to answer, but then he lifted an arm and drew her against him. "Yes," he murmured into her hair. "It was."

Ozai is unconscious. He smells a bit like copper where he doesn't smell like burnt flesh. His right leg is badly scarred from the knee down, where his own lightning forked into him. Iroh has no room to judge; sometimes, he can still feel the pierce of lightning bursting through his palms instead of his fingertips. He was eleven when that happened. Ozai is almost thirteen.

Iroh hasn't looked at his brother in years. He's seen him around the palace, of course, before turning his head and ignoring him, but he hasn't looked at him. When did he start resembling Father so strongly? He will be tall, Iroh thinks, if he continues this way. If the lightning doesn't find his bones and freeze them in place. Taller than Iroh, who has reached his full height despite still standing head and shoulders below the Fire Lord he's meant to succeed. That's what having a short mother does, but she is tall in his memory. It's hard to think that he's taller than her now, even though it's logically true, because his mother was always so much larger than life.

Until his brother.

The physician murmurs something about chi imbalances and the drugs the kidnappers used and "can't say for sure when he'll wake." It takes Iroh a moment to register his father speaking to him.

"Son, you don't have to stay. Coming to see him was more than enough." Father idly strokes his beard as he speaks. His presence at his second son's bedside would be mistaken for some sort of fatherly love by anyone who doesn't know better, but Iroh does. The Fire Lord is infuriated that some colonial secession group thought they could lay hands on a Fire Prince, but Azulon has no worry for Ozai.

"He's badly hurt," Iroh replies. He's my brother, he adds in his mind, but the words feel odd and foreign and wrong when brother hasn't mattered in years. "And the kidnappers were dangerously close to succeeding."

"I'm just astonished he was capable of conjuring such lightning. But of course he went and shot it into himself as well as his attackers," Father sighs. "It's always two steps forward, one step back with him. Don't trouble yourself about it, son. The physicians will make him good as new, just like they did with your hands."

Then the Fire Lord does something that shakes Iroh's entire perception of the situation; he reaches out and places his palm on Ozai's forehead.

"It's at times like these I feel an odd sense of gratitude that your mother has passed," he whispers.

"What do you mean?" Iroh half-demands, before remembering himself and biting his tongue.

"Ah, you were too young to know the whole story, weren't you? Back then…I didn't want her to have a second child. Birthing you took such a toll on her, the physicians warned subsequent pregnancy would risk her life, if she was even able to conceive at all." He brushes Ozai's hair back. "But she so desperately wanted to give you a sibling, and to give me a second heir. She argued that with the best physicians in the country looking after her, she could do it. So I agreed to try. And after years, when she was beginning to lose hope….it happened." He smiles at Iroh. "Do you remember how excited she was?"

Iroh nods, swallowing down the odd thickness in his throat.

"Oh, she was ready to do anything to make sure that baby made it into the world. And she did. I just fear that with the way Ozai is turning out, her efforts may have been in vain." Father removes his hand from Ozai, staring down at him with pensive golden eyes. "She wouldn't have been able to stand seeing her precious baby like this."

Maybe Iroh's wrong. Maybe there's a hint of fatherly something there. He looks back at Ozai's face, thinking of what his (their) mother would say, and finds a memory his mind has buried deep.

[Iroh, his mother says as he lays with his curious ear pressed to her belly, you're going to be a big brother. You have to take care of this baby with me. Okay?]

Ozai is not a baby anymore. He was awful as a baby and a toddler and a child, with his insistence on tagging along behind Iroh, and his crying like he wasn't the one who'd killed his own mother…

Ozai could barely kill anything if he tried, as evidenced by how badly this whole kidnapping attempt went.

Iroh hasn't known much of his brother in six years. After that blowup fight about the burned portrait, Father ordered Yuna to stop trying to make the brothers get along lest they blew up the palace next. Iroh had been free (finally, finally, free) to ignore his little brother to his heart's content after that.

His little brother is not so little anymore with how tall he's getting and yet still so little even now with the curve of his cheek and-

His heart doesn't feel all that content anymore.

[How can I take care of him, Mama?

Let's see…you can help me sing lullabies, and you can help your father with teaching firebending. But the most important thing is you have to be there for the baby when it needs you.

Okay, he says and the baby in her belly finally kicks and makes him squeal with delight at the novelty of the thing.]

Ozai wakes up the next day. He's unsteadily limping around by the end of the week. It's two months later that he's recovered enough to resume his training. Iroh's there when Ozai takes his first steps onto the sands of the training grounds.

His little brother freezes, skin almost white in the sunshine, when he sees Iroh. "Sorry, I'll go."

"Come here," Iroh replies, and the boy shrinks like a touch-me-not plant under the words.

"I said I'll go. I didn't do anything wrong."

"I know you didn't. I'm here for your lightning training. If you're going to blow yourself up as well as your attackers, clearly your instructors aren't doing a good enough job."

"Didn't the same thing happen to you?" Ozai points out, and Iroh resists the old urge to shove his head into the sand for the snarky but accurate comment.

"I didn't knock myself out. Now come on. The first time generating lighting after an accident is the hardest."

The bolt Ozai produces is pathetic, barely a shower of blue sparks, and Iroh starts thinking maybe he's gone temporarily insane, wasting his time like this-

[Dear heart, his mother whispers, do you promise you'll be there? Like a good big brother?

I promise, Mama.]

"Remember, you're guiding the energy. You're not controlling it, but you're not controlled by it either," Iroh says. "Again."

Ozai stares at him like he's trying to figure out what the trick is in this shift of the status quo, and Iroh can hardly blame him. Still, he takes up his stance and tries again.

The second attempt is not much better. But it's something.

Ursa stayed very quiet while Iroh talked, if only because she was worried that doing so much as breathing too loud would stop the flow of regret and vulnerability pouring from him. He'd started stroking her hair at some point during his story, but she was enjoying it, and it seemed to be soothing him as he recalled the painful memories.

"Anyway, the lightning training was one thing, but once I started paying attention to him again it felt wrong to stop. So I kept inviting him to spar with me, and then sometimes we'd go get food together afterwards since we were both walking towards the kitchen anyway, and…I don't know. We don't really talk about anything but firebending and princely duties, and he's an ass most of the time whether because he's a teenager or still rightfully upset with me or both. But it's more than what it used to be like." His chest rose beneath her ear as he inhaled deeply, his sigh ruffling her hair on the way out.

"Your mother would be happy you remembered your promise in the end," she said, once she was sure he'd finished.

"Or she'd be furious that I forgot it at all."

"Was your mother the furious type?"

"No. She was strict if I misbehaved - like when I shattered her favorite perfume bottle - but she wasn't quick to anger. It's my father who has rage. It comes with the royal firebending lineage, I think."

"So, you have it too?"

Iroh's warm hand stilled on her back. "You know, I did, and I'd been training to control it. I was trying to find the sweet spot of just enough rage to keep my fire alive without losing myself. But Sunook told me that using rage as fuel is a modern corruption of firebending. She taught me to pull it from a different source. And after that, I just don't feel the rage as much anymore."

After the dragons, he'd practically glowed with a new energy. Perhaps that was what fueled his fire now. Hopefully, it was a permanent change.

"Is that something you've been worried about?" Iroh asked, resuming his gentle petting.

"Maybe."

"I don't want to feel rage anymore if I don't have to. It's taken enough from me." His lips brushed against her hair as he turned his head. "You never have to worry about my anger, my wife. I promise."

Ursa propped her chin up to look at him. He was so close to her; it wouldn't take much effort at all to lean forward and- "What fuels your fire now? Instead of rage?"

"I don't know how to describe it. It feels…lighter. More joyful. Kind of like the Eternal Flame." A thumb traced along her jaw. "Or when you kissed me."

That was the first time they'd acknowledged that rushed little peck on the cheek. Her face immediately warmed, but she willed herself to not pull away from Iroh's touch. "Oh," she breathed, "um…"

"I liked it, you know. Not that I'm asking you to do it again or anything, but I did. Is that okay?"

"Mm-hmm," Ursa wondered if it was possible to spontaneously develop firebending with how hot she felt now. She lay back down again, listening to the soothingly familiar tempo of his heartbeat. It was a bit faster than usual.

"Maybe you fuel my fire, a little bit," he continued. "Like the spark that renews it, my phoenix wife."

Her, a spark of renewal. It was a sweet sentiment, once again delivered in a poetic fashion Ursa didn't know how to match. So, instead of trying to verbalize the odd stirring inside her, she looked up again and tentatively touched her lips to his nose.

The candle on the nightstand flared.

Ursa, cont.

The rest of the Autumn Festival, I'm grateful to say, gave me the peace and quiet I'd been needing. Iroh and I traversed the remaining islands at a leisurely rate, continuing our little courtship along the way. Every morning - after Iroh had risen with the sun and left me to sleep in - I would wake up to the scent of sandalwood on my pillow and fresh flowers on my nightstand. That was one of my favorite little rituals, because the flowers were always local and clearly handpicked during the journey, which made it all the more lovely to me.

We did indeed stop at Avatar Roku's temple on the way to Ma'inka Island. I wish I could say that this was a moment of revelation for me: that I stood in front of my grandfather's statue, in the temple that celebrated his power, and he bestowed upon me visions of how to fulfill my destiny in the world. But nothing like that happened, of course. It was just another small moment with Iroh, underneath the watchful eyes of the Fire Sages.

[

"You kind of look like him," Iroh whispered.

Offended, Ursa made a noise that was half-scoff and half-whine. "He's eighty and has a beard. That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny. You're related. Is it so crazy to say you might look alike?"

"It is when you're comparing me to an old man." Ursa focused on the banter and scrutinizing her grandfather's gold statue; it was easier than paying attention to the way the Fire Sages looked at her, like she was some exotic creature they'd successfully brought in from the wild…for breeding…she shuddered.

"Well, your mother kind of looks like him, and you look like your mother, so it makes sense to me." His arm went around her shoulders. "Are you cold? You're shivering."

There wasn't a polite way to say it was the beady eyes of the Fire Sages making her shake, so she just nodded and took advantage of the excuse to lean into him. "What's with the gemstone?" she asked, watching the curious light it cast off to the side of the room. "Why isn't its light centered?"

"The stone is positioned so the sunlight it refracts will travel across the room and back again over the course of the year. It aligns properly with Roku's statue at the summer and winter solstices." Ursa felt him to turn to address the Fire Sages. "Does anything happen in the temple on those dates?"

"We hold a small ceremony for the spiritual significance, but otherwise it's a regular day," the High Sage responded.

"Still, we could come back if you'd like to see it," Iroh said to her.

Ursa stared into Roku's golden face, both relieved and dejected that no strange visions were striking her now. Perhaps it took more than a week of spotty chi practice to develop a spiritual connection to an ancestor. "Maybe. Thank you for bringing me here now, though. It really is impressive. And you all do a wonderful job maintaining the temple," she addressed the Fire Sages.

They bowed. "We are honored to receive your presence and your praise, Princess Ursa. If you wish to return, the Fire Sages are at your service."

Considering these were the men who'd stolen her life with their prophecy, Ursa found their flowery sentiments hard to accept. But meeting Iroh's eyes, warm as they were, soothed that resentment.

]

We began exploring again as "regular people" instead of royals. It ended up being a habit we maintained years afterwards, both to move about the world and gather information undetected, but also to enjoy the simpler side of life whenever the palace proved to be too stifling. As luxurious as the official celebrations and the governor's mansions we frequented were, my best memories of the festival came from the moments in between: the times where we could just wander the towns in commoner clothes, finding markets to browse and local inns to sample. I felt happiest there, when I could pretend I was just a girl again, shopping and dining with a boy I liked.

[

The inn they'd chosen for today - a crowded outdoor dining place with a cliche name, Fire Fare - featured a clientele of several stray cats begging for food. Ursa, Iroh couldn't help noticing, was quite taken with the felines: she spent most of the meal tossing them scraps, admiring their colorful array of coats, and making soft pspsps sounds to draw them closer to her.

"I want to pet them," she complained, pouting in a way that tugged at his chest even though he knew she was purposefully being overdramatic.

"The last thing you need is an infection from a stray."

"I know, that's why I'm not."

Iroh chuckled, watching her examine a kitten with curious blue-gray fur and round, dark eyes.

"When we go back to the palace, can I get a cat?" she asked suddenly.

"You're a princess. You can have twenty cats if you like."

Ursa lit up, like he'd told her she could have the contents of the royal treasury instead of something as simple as a cat. "Do you like cats?"

Iroh glanced back at the blue-gray kitten Ursa had been studying, which had now identified her as a sure source of food and curled up by her chair. "I've never spent substantial time with one, honestly. My mother was more of a bird person, in the sense that she liked watching birds in the gardens from afar. Did you have cats growing up?"

"No. My father's allergic, so I could only feed the strays in the backyard."

The kitten meowed, making Ursa smile and drop another piece of her komodo chicken next to it.

Leaving the restaurant turned out to be something of a challenge, with how attached Ursa had gotten to her new companion within the span of their meal. Her face fell when she got out of her chair and it mewled plaintively.

"Oh…I'm sorry, I'm done eating." she whispered, tossing it another scrap. "But it was nice to meet you."

That didn't help. The kitten sat up and proceeded to direct its large, pleading eyes right at Ursa.

"Oh no." She grabbed Iroh's hand, making his heart jump a little. "Get me out of here before I stay with this adorable kitten forever."

Obediently, Iroh guided her away from the inn, back towards the governor's mansion. Despite his efforts to distract her with idle conversation, she continued peering back with clear distress, until Iroh turned and found the kitten trailing in their wake like a cloud of blue-gray fluff in a breeze.

Ursa moaned like a wounded cat herself, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, just take me back to the mansion and I'll be okay."

"For Agni's sake, my wife, why are you torturing yourself if you two like each other that much?" Iroh tugged off his vest and approached the kitten with it, mildly relieved that it didn't try to scramble away as he bundled it up. "Here, we'll get this little one a bath and a visit with a vet, and then you can keep it."

"Really?" she gasped. The kitten's whiskers twitched as it slow-blinked up at Iroh, like it was asking the same question. Admittedly, it was pretty adorable.

"Of course."

With a squeal, she flung her good arm around him and kissed his cheek. Perhaps, he thought to himself as she began cooing over her new kitten, twenty cats wasn't too bad of an idea if this was the reaction he got for each one.

]

Upon return to the palace, I found - to my relief - that my incident with Tiron combined with Iroh's supposed dragonslaying expedition had put Azulon in a generous mood towards me. The closing dinner of the festival was the most warmly he'd treated me since I'd joined the royal family.

[

"When my beloved Ilah passed," Azulon began his toast, "it left a hole in my family that could never be filled. But I knew that someday, Iroh would marry and another woman would take up the mantle of Fire Lady and Autumn Festival host once more. I confess, although I was thrilled with my son growing up and taking a bride of his own, part of me rebelled at the notion of my favorite festival changing from how my wife had left it.

"However," he smiled at Iroh and Ursa, seated a few feet away from the Fire Lord's position of honor, "the events of the past month have proven to me that change in my family need not be feared. My son returned home a mighty dragon like his father and grandfather before him, a feat he was only able to accomplish in protection of his bride. My daughter-in-law breathed new life into old traditions, persevering through the challenges of her new life to honor the legacy left by her predecessor.

"In recognition of my gratitude for your very fine work this year, Princess Ursa, please accept this token of my appreciation." The Fire Lord gestured off to the side of the ceremonial hall, where an attendant was carefully approaching Ursa with something on a red velvet pillow.

"These earrings have been in the royal family for generations," Azulon explained as the attendant presented the gift with a bow. "Legend says the diamonds were unearthed after the last eruption of the volcano that eventually became the site for our glorious palace. Now, they are yours."

The earrings were elegant in their simplicity, allowing the pure white diamond studs to truly shine. "I'm honored, my lord. Thank you," Ursa managed to overcome her awe long enough to say.

"You're most welcome, dear daughter."

Other gifts were presented to her throughout the night, a blur of fine jewels and cloths and luxuries that were so numerous Ursa thought she could never possibly use them all. Even Ozai had a present for her: a bracelet of golden seashells, resembling the ones she'd sent him. It was thoughtful, even if he didn't make eye contact with her and sort of shrugged when she thanked him.

Then, as she was starting to grow a bit sleepy amid the rich food and the festivities, Iroh nudged her. "You okay?" he whispered, speaking low enough for just them.

"Yeah…just don't let me fall asleep here. It's bad manners to nod off at your own party."

"Well, if you're planning to turn in soon, let me give you my gift as well."

"What?" she frowned. "I didn't know you were giving me another present."

"Come on, I can't spoil my wife a little?" he winked, before standing and signaling to the party that he was beginning his own toast. "As you all know, I've been traveling for the Autumn Festival by myself for a long time. In all those years, I thought I'd mastered the routine of the journey. I never imagined that the right woman would make all of it new again in the best way possible." Iroh smiled down at her, making her blush while the audience murmured admiringly. "So, although I can never give you enough for putting up with the whims of a crown prince, I wanted to at least try."

Another attendant presented another gift to her on yet another red velvet pillow. It was a necklace: a gold chain with a charm marked by a rose-gold chrysanthemum.

"A locket for my wife," he explained, "marked by the flower of your home, so you can hold your most precious memories of it close. After all, the Autumn Festival reminds us that the nation is built of provinces and islands united."

A louder murmur of approval rippled through the crowd as Iroh sat back down, his own father nodding in agreement with the notion as well.

"It's beautiful," Ursa whispered. "Thank you."

"You really like it?" he asked, motioning for the attendant to hand the locket to him.

"I do."

"Here," he clicked it open for her. "I thought you might like to put that white lotus tile from your mother in it instead of carrying it around in your sleeve. Keep it safe and sound, by your heart."

That was actually a very sweet idea. Iroh had clearly commissioned the locket for that exact purpose, as the Pai Sho tile she handed him fit perfectly in its new home.' She gathered her hair out of the way so he could clasp it around her neck, disguising her shiver as his hands brushed against her skin.

"I love it," she said, looking down at the new locket that was indeed hanging just by her heart. "It's a wonderful thought, Iroh. Thank you."

If it weren't for the audience, including the Fire Lord sitting not too far away, she would've happily kissed him again in gratitude; as it was, though, she leaned into his side and breathed in his sandalwood smoke.

]

With that, the Autumn Festival ended, and I truly felt like a phoenix reborn on the other side of it. I'd traveled into the Spirit World, met my long-dead grandfather, seen dragons with my own eyes, and returned to the palace feeling quite small in the world I'd found was larger than I could have ever imagined.

I also came back feeling a little more settled in my marriage. I knew there was still a chance everything might go askew, with the secrets I was keeping buried about the white lotus tile and my visions of Roku and the future Iroh. But the sweetness of Iroh's courtship, with the flowers every morning and the poetry in his words and the gifts he gave me that held so much more than just an effort to win my affection…it made me think there was hope. Hope that Iroh's sincerity could make this marriage something real, whenever I became ready for more than kisses on the cheek and bedtime embraces.

In the end, I was correct to an extent. Our marriage is certainly something real, and now, finally, Iroh and I have nothing left to hide from each other. But in terms of how much honesty our marriage could handle, back during its younger years…I'm not sure if I underestimated that, or if I was right to be cautious about it.

A/N: …review?

~Bobbi