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A cold or downcast day was a rare occurrence in even the most distant regions of the Fire Nation.
Every day, no matter the season, the sun rose high in the sky and warmed the nation from dawn till dusk. The strength of the sun’s light would wane throughout the day, of course, cycling from a soft glow in the morning to searing heat during midday and then back to a warm embrace as night fell.
The moon supplied her fair share of light, reflecting borrowed rays from the sun through the coal-black air, but the soft beams that trickled down red roof shingles were still foreign; and unlike their nation’s element. Far too cool and unconstrained to be considered comfortable.
So, during the hours where Tui took Agni's place in the sky, many subjects kept a placeholder of sorts until Agni and his light returned to them at daybreak. For some, this took the form of candles lit at local shrines, lanterns hung outside doorways, or even crystals imported from the Earth Kingdom if caring for a living, breathing flame was not possible.
As could be expected, fire benders were the main participants of the custom. The compulsion to demonstrate their devotion to the spirit that granted them their blessing engrained from the first day they produced sparks from their palms, a token presented to Agni in thanks of the gift he had given them.
Prince Ozai, third to the throne, second only to his father in terms of overall bending ability, did not keep a flame during the night, as his wife, Princess Ursa, discovered early into their marriage.
Every night, before collapsing unceremoniously into his bed, Ozai would flick his wrist and sufficiently snuff out all candles and lanterns within his and Ursa’s shared bedroom, leaving her in a much darker bedroom than she anticipated at the start of their union.
About a week after the wedding, Ursa finally felt brave enough to inquire about his, to her at least, odd fire-extinguishing habit before bed. Ozai mumbled something about needing a break from fire for once and dropped into unconsciousness as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Ursa left the subject alone after that, content to learn and adore all the quirks her royal husband had as they appeared without question. Fortunately for her, his tendency to cuddle followed shortly after the discovery of his need for a dark bedroom.
Ursa accepted the trade of one source of warmth for another.
Now, five years accustomed to Ozai’s clinginess, Ursa found she could not sleep without her husband. Without the protection of her husband's larger frame, a strong draft against her back tore Ursa from her sleep.
Ursa blinked awake clumsily at the feeling, skin erupting in goosebumps as her sleep-addled mind caught up to how cold she was. She patted around the bed for a moment, finding nothing but tousled sheets. In vain, Ursa squinted through the darkness to find what had woken her, or better yet, the location of her husband.
Turning her head, Ursa caught the faintest sliver of orange light spilling from the gap of an unlatched door. Hurried muttering carried through the same space. A low and resigned noise left her chest.
After a breath, Ursa grabbed the robe beside her bed and wrapped it around herself as she stood and slid her feet hastily into a pair of slippers, moving towards the source of the light.
Ursa padded through the expanse of their bedroom and the connected dressing room, sliding open the door to Ozai’s study quietly.
“Ozai, what are you doing up?” she yawned softly, a robe-covered hand patting over her mouth as she closed the door behind her with a dull thud.
Heavy eyes fell on her husband, and the place in her chest dedicated to him ached, flooding through her stomach and welling up into her throat, the way it always did when she found Ozai like this.
Ozai sat with his arms braced against the desk, one hand pressed to his temple, fingers tangled close to his scalp, knuckles white against the jagged curtain of black pulled out from the braid, or the remnants of it, thrown over his shoulder.
A brush occupied his other hand, the bristles splaying outward with the force he applied against the parchment. He growled, jaw flexing in frustration as he abandoned the scroll he was working up and threw it violently across the room. Ozai tore open a new one just as quickly, resuming the horrid scribbling that would leave several ruined brushes and a stained desk in its wake.
Ursa stepped forward lightly, thankful that the slippers further dampened her movement, not straying far from the doorway as she spoke.
“Ozai,” she called.
The frantic string of consciousness that had drawn her to Ozai’s study in the first place answered her. Ozai’s voice strained through clenched teeth: sharp inhales the only reprieve in the speech addressed to no one but himself, the scroll beneath him growing more water stained with every sentence.
The ache swelled again.
“Ozai,” Ursa tried again, a bit louder this time.
Ursa watched her husband for another moment, taking in the state of his desk, the way his robe hung unevenly off his shoulders and the curve of his spine that reminded her dreadfully of messenger-hawks when they were a handful of flights away from retirement.
“-that won’t work, s’not good enough-” Ozai hiccuped to himself, scratching out whatever he had written.
The sound of tearing parchment spurred Ursa out of her observation.
Ursa crossed to the other side of the study, borrowing a chair from one of the tables meant for tea breaks and rounding back to Ozai’s desk. She set the chair down carefully, nearly flush with Ozai’s, and sat down beside him.
“Hey, turtleduck.”
Ozai jolted, shoving himself away from Ursa and his desk, and nearly falling out of his chair in the process. Staccato flames erupted in his palms, panicked golden eyes flitting every direction before settling on his wife. Ozai exhaled harshly, the fire cradled in his hands going out with his breath.
“What are you-?” he heaved, stray sparks dripping off his tongue.
“It’s just me,” she soothed. “Give me your hand, please.”
Before Ozai could protest, Ursa plucked the wrecked brush out of his hand and set it down in the inkwell. Ozai watched her move, opening and closing his mouth a few times before words finally formed.
“Stop it,” he snapped, “I’m working, go back to bed,” pulling his hands out of Ursa’s reach, Ozai returned to his scrolls. Ursa shook her head.
“You’re not working unless your new job is destroying stationery supplies,” Ozai met her with a sideways glare, although not a very intimidating one, the red and still puffy skin around his eyes lessening the effect. Ursa leaned forward, covering his hands in hers, ignoring that she was getting ink all over both of them.
“You need to take a break, Ozai.”
Ozai shook her hands off his but didn’t push away from her this time. Instead, Ozai dragged the sleeve of his robe across his face roughly, a barely-there sniffle still audible through the fabric.
“No, I don’t,” he ground out, voice growing choked again. “I can’t. Go back to bed.”
“Ozai,” Ursa said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing, “I’m not going back to bed until I know you’re alright.”
Another squeeze to his shoulder was enough to break the dam.
Ozai collapsed into her hold, breathless sobs clawing their way out of his chest, hot tears finally allowed to shed streaming down his face. Ursa guided Ozai to her, bridging her arms up to cradle his head against her neck as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her in as close as physically possible and keeping her there.
Ursa let Ozai cry, murmuring sweet nothings and stroking his hair the whole time, and Ozai let her hold him, ridding himself of the anger and heartache he’d been attempting to distract himself from until she came into the study.
The two held each other until Ozai’s sobs ebbed into soft hiccups, and his chest returned a steady rise and fall with every breath.
Ursa withdrew first, pulling back just enough to slip her hands from Ozai’s hair to his jaw. Ozai leaned into the touch, eyes closed, and made a soft noise in the back of his throat as Ursa gently cleared away the mess of snot and tears soiling his face.
Ursa kissed his cheek when she was done, smiling at the blush that rose in her wake, and dropped her hand down to his waist.
“Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable,” she whispered, standing up slowly and bringing Ozai with her.
Ozai let himself be led to the sofa Ursa frequently inhabited in the back corner of his study, giving her a perfect view to watch him work while keeping him company, occupying herself with her own projects that needed completing. Once they were close enough, Ozai nestled himself into the corner of the sofa, grabbing one of the plush red pillows and settling it against the armrest before laying against it, his legs stretched out in front of him. Ursa made herself comfortable at his side, settling her weight against him the way he liked, curling around him so that they were touching shoulder to toe and holding out her hand.
“Let me see your hand, turtleduck,” Ozai obeyed willingly, placing his right hand into Ursa’s presented palms. Ursa brought his hand up to her lips and kissed across his knuckles, the gesture did nothing to really soothe any pain there, but Ozai smiled weakly at the gesture all the same.
Ursa turned Ozai’s hand over in hers for a moment, tracing gentle patterns over the back of his hand while Ozai watched. Seemingly satisfied with her work, Ursa pressed her thumb down lightly between his knuckles, moving down between each bone, and then back up again to worry each of his fingers between hers.
She repeated the process several times on his right hand before moving on to the other. Around the third repetition, Ozai spoke up.
“Did I wake you?” Ozai asked, his voice quiet. Ursa shook her head.
“No, I woke up on my own and was very confused as to where my wonderfully warm husband scurried off to in the middle of the night,” she said, turning his hand over and coaxing the muscles in his palm into relaxing with small unyielding circles.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what happened,” Ozai sighed, his eyes sliding closed as he leaned back against the rest of the sofa.
“Same thing as usual,” he grumbled, “I don’t understand why I get so scared, it was years ago, and my mind finds it necessary to make me relive everything at least once a month. For fucks sake, it’s not enough I see the bastard every day: I don’t even get a reprieve when I sleep. You’d think I’d be used to it, to him, by now. They’re just stupid nightmares, and I end up like this,” Ozai waved his free hand towards his face, letting it drop down to the back of the sofa with a thud.
Ursa clicked her tongue, brow furrowing as she turned to face Ozai, planting her hands over his chest and forcing him to meet her eyes.
“It’s not stupid, Ozai, don’t think that,” Ozai rolled his eyes.
“It feels stupid,” the pressure on his chest increased as a warning.
“I know, but they aren’t,” Ursa urged, emphasizing her point with a playful rap to his wrist. Ozai’s lip curled at the teasing as Ursa continued.
“I’m sorry they keep happening, love,” Ozai shrugged, offering his other hand again for Ursa’s attention.
“Not your fault,” Ursa cupped his jaw again, stroking over the rise of his cheek with her thumb.
“It’s not your fault either,” she reminded. Ozai nodded, brushing her nose with his before leaning in further and pressing their lips together for a chaste kiss.
“Do you want to talk about what happened in the nightmare?” Ursa asked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Ozai’s hair. Ozai shook his head.
“No, I don’t- I don’t want to talk about it. Or think about it. Later, maybe,” Ursa kissed him again.
“We can do later,” she promised.
“Could you move here, please?” Ozai asked, eyes darting to his chest and then back to Ursa.
“All the way?” Ursa asked, drumming her fingers on his collarbone. Ozai nodded, putting one arm over the back of the sofa to give Ursa room, eyes wide and expectant. Ursa lifted herself onto her elbows, giving Ozai another quick kiss, this time on the nose, before raising herself completely to position herself between Ozai’s legs, her weight settled on top of him and head on his chest.
“Thank you,” he purred.
“You’re welcome, turtleduck. Are you feeling any better?” another pleased noise rumbled through Ozai’s chest and his eyes fluttered closed.
“Yes, this is helping,” Ozai carded his fingers through her hair. “You’re helping.”
“I’m glad to.”
“We can keep talking, my eyes are just tired,” Ozai said after a moment. Ursa poked his arm.
“That’s what you get for working under weak lighting,” she scolded. “How long had you been up before I found you?”
“At least an hour, I don't know, I didn’t check the candles when I got up,” cracking one eye open, Ozai tapped the hand resting on his chest and offered his own. Ursa took the silent request for what it was and resumed massaging his hand. Satisfied, Ozai closed his eyes again and continued to play with Ursa’s hair.
“Had you been working the whole time?” Ursa asked.
“No,” Ozai huffed, “I checked on Zuko and Azula before coming here,” Ursa’s brow raised, lifting her head to rest her chin on Ozai’s chest, still carrying on with playing with his hand. It would still be sore in the morning, but she would do her best.
“And how were they?” Ozai let out a long breath.
“They were both fine. Azula had her blanket. Zuko’s turtleduck fell out of his bed, so I gave it back to him,” Ursa smiled.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate you doing that. He’s always so upset when he wakes up to him on the floor,” Ozai hummed in agreement.
“I know.”
The couple lapsed into a calm then, their own soft breathing and the flickering candle still burning on Ozai’s desk the only sound in the study. Ursa watched the candle melt further and further down. Once the wax reached the socket of the candle, she squeezed Ozai’s hand.
“Ozai, it’s late. We should both go to bed,” she whispered, pushing herself up to sit between his legs. Ozai followed her blindly, draping his arms around her neck and dropping his head to her neck with a groan.
“I don’t want to,” Ursa nodded, raking her fingers over his scalp with barely-there pressure, drawing a muffled groan from her husband.
“I know, you don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. But at least come lay down and close your eyes for me.”
“That’s what you say to Zuko when he doesn’t want to take a nap,” Ozai murmured against her neck. Ursa grinned.
“Yes, it is, and he always falls asleep. Hopefully, the same trick will work on his daddy. Let’s go,” Ursa pressed, taking Ozai’s hand and pulling him from the sofa. Ozai whined as he was dragged out of his study, snuffing out the candle on his desk out of habit.
“I won’t fall asleep,” he grumbled. Ursa ignored his protest.
“Zuko says that too,” she laughed, closing their bedroom door behind them and pointing towards the bed.
“Go on, in bed,” she ordered. Ozai crawled into their bed begrudgingly, if he didn’t get into the bed himself Ursa was not above forcing him.
“Does he really say that?” he huffed into his pillow, pulling back the covers next to him so Ursa could slip into bed next to him.
“Yes, I wonder where he learned it from. I swear you two are so similar sometimes: he is definitely your son,” Ursa said fondly. Ozai snorted, pulling his wife flush against him under the covers.
“For now,” he muttered, “he seems to favor you lately,” Ursa placed a hand over the arm around her waist.
“Oh please, all he does is talk about what you do all day. I mourn the day he finds out meetings aren’t as interesting as he thinks they are.”
“He won’t for a while if I can help it,” Ozai sighed.
Ursa made a quiet, sleepy noise then, closing her eyes and snuggling back into Ozai’s chest, fully enjoying the warmth radiating from her husband. Ozai tightened his hold around her waist.
“Before you fall asleep,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Ursa yawned. Ozai nuzzled the back of her neck, planting sleepy kisses there as he spoke.
“For listening to me ramble in the middle of the night, and for everything else you do for me,” he murmured.
“Oh, you must be exhausted to be this sappy,” she giggled. Ozai rolled his eyes.
“Hush and enjoy it before I’m well-rested and sensible,” he warned, fighting through a yawn of his own.
“Oh, I will,” she assured, “but Ozai?”
“Mm?”
“Wake me up next time, please,” Ozai’s breath faltered for a moment.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Very sure,” Ursa nodded.
Ozai sighed.
“Alright, I’ll wake you up next time,” he yielded, giving Ursa a final kiss behind her ear. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“Good night, turtleduck.”
“Good night, fire lily.”