Chapter Text
Princess Xian is 8 when her brother dies.
There are whispers of it in the palace, by maids and cooks and sages. Xian thinks it’s the typical gossip of the inner court, some little misplaced murmurs of glory and honour.
And then it isn’t just whispers.
Xian is alone when she hears the news, delivered by her maid. And then Aunt Ursa comes to her, to hug her, and then Cousin Zuko immediately after. Princess Xian does not know where his body lies, does not know where her father is, but she mourns, and she mourns in Aunt Ursa’s arms.
Her father returns shortly after, and he mourns too.
Her father settles back into his royal chambers and mourns. Mourns for so long that Xian does not see him for days. Dressed in white, in his own chamber, he does not accept visitors. Xian does not seek him out, instead she sits underneath the willow tree and something tugs at her heart. Something painful.
And then panic.
Princess Xian, daughter of Iroh, shall be named Crown Princess to the Fire Nation.
She is given no time to mourn, not properly. Not like her father, who disappears and cries so loud Xian can hear him sometimes, in the whispers of the night. She is thrusted into this position, the royal comb of the Crown Princess forced into her bun by the maids, and she panics.
She cannot mourn when she wears this comb. She will not allow herself to.
Instead she visits her willow tree again, with Lu Ten’s pendant, wearing his crown, and she sits. Sits for so long that the moon appears, for so long that Aunt Ursa comes screaming her name in worry.
Princess Xian is 8, and she mourns too.
Princess Xian is 9 when Aunt Ursa disappears.
Cousin Zuko comes running to her, the next morning. She is already awake, sitting underneath the willow tree and staring into the sunrise. But he comes and he panics and he’s stuttering and crying and he’s so confused, and Xian pats the spot next to her. Cousin Zuko sits, and they breathe in silence.
Underneath the willow tree, Cousin Zuko mourns too.
She is also 9 when her uncle ascends to the throne in place of her father.
Xian is angry at her father, angry because his birthright is stolen and he does not fight for it. She grows so angry that she does not speak to him for a week. But Iroh is patient now, and he waits. He waits for her to come to him, to apologise, and then she takes him to her willow tree. They sit there, quietly, until finally Xian falls asleep on his shoulder.
The next day, Xian will not admit to it, but she is pleased to hand her crown over to Cousin Zuko, who wears his royal comb, his shubi reticently. He looks at her, she him, and there is a fire in Cousin Zuko she has not seen since his mother disappeared. She does not have to be strong for the nation now, that is Cousin Zuko’s responsibility.
Now, Princess Xian can mourn properly.
She hates being 9.
Xian does not think much after Cousin Zuko celebrates his second year training with Master Piandao, or Cousin Azula taking up arms and training with Firelord Ozai. She feels absolutely useless, but she does not mind. Her cousins learn to fight with swords and fire and Xian sits under her willow tree quite happily. Sometimes she reads, most times she naps, and she accepts this as her life.
Xian does not enjoy tea. So when her father comes and drones on and on about jasmine and ginseng and the healing properties of herbs, Xian watches her cousins hold metal and tame fire. Her fire is weak compared to Cousin Azula, her palms uncalloused compared to Cousin Zuko; but she does not change a thing. She sits, and she listens.
Sometimes Xian will sit through Cousin Zuko’s tales of Master Piandao, of his own firebending instructor. Cousin Zuko even tries to teach her once, a kata he'd mastered years ago. But she cannot do it. She does not have the stamina, the motivation; Cousin Zuko stands confused and says “you really are useless”.
Xian blinks back at him, unbothered, “we’re cut from the same shroud, Cousin.” And he laughs, and she raises her brows, and the next day something similar happens.
Princess Xian sighs and watches Zuko train with his dual swords, watches as he sweats and works hard. She doesn’t remember the last time she sweat from hard work. Her days are languid and boring, consisting of waking up, praying, reading and watching her cousin. General Iroh says it's good for the mind to be so diligently relaxed, and XIan agrees.
Lazily, from her perched figure on a small grass hill in the palace courtyard, she flicks her eyes to a girl hiding behind a tree not so far away.
“Mai is looking at you again.”
But Zuko doesn’t stop his kata, he just clenches his jaw and swings again and again. Xian can see the determination gleaming in his eyes, sweat rolling down in pools.
“It’s annoying,” Xian remarks again, listlessly playing with the grass blades. “Tell her to go away.”
Zuko huffs as he loses concentration. “You tell her, I’m busy.”
Xian mentally counts the steps it would take to get to Mai, and then she wonders how much energy it would take to shout across the courtyard; too much, she surmises. So Xian sighs and flops down on the grass, bathing in the rays of Agni instead.
“I can’t be bothered,” she replies dully, yawning.
She can feel Zuko’s left eye twitching in irritation. “Then why did you bring it up if you couldn't be bothered dealing with it?”
Xian closes her eyes and enjoys the chirping of the birds, completely ignoring her cousin.
“You're a loafing pig, you know that?” Huffing, Zuko makes to restart his dual sword kata. “Anyway, watch this. I think I’ve got it mastered now.”
He does some elaborate movements, swords striking with impressive precision, but Xian remains in her lying position, eyes resting with the sing-song of the wind. She hears him stop and assumes he’s finished his demonstration.
“That’s great, Cousin.”
“You didn't even watch!”
“Of course I did,” Xian peaks through her half-lidded eyes, arms waving around idly as if to support her point. “I loved the flip you did at the end.”
Cousin Zuko stomps his foot on the ground impatiently. “I didn’t even do a flip!”
“Don’t stomp your foot Cousin, it’s unbecoming of the crown prince,” she remarks impassively, and then immediately returns to her relaxing position. She can feel Mai’s stare boring into them, and resist the urge to sit up and glare back at the girl. But then succumbs to defeat; if Mai can survive Azula then a measly glare from the languid Princess Xian will serve as entertainment more than anything else.
“Fine,” Cousin Zuko grips his swords harder, “I don’t need your input anyway. If you want to do nothing for the rest of your life, fine by me!”
Xian doesn’t acknowledge his shout, she just takes pleasure in the here and now.
It’s not until dinner time with her royal father, does Xian really start to mull Zuko’s words around in her head. He trains periodically with swords, and when he isn't holding his precious duals, then Cousin Zuko practises fire bending. Cousin Azula is well-read and clever, a prodigy in martial arts and fire bending, and she trains just as hard. Xian thinks of her days, slow and boring with the occasional forced firebending training and sighs.
Does she really want to do nothing for the rest of her life?
Xian knows she doesn't want to be a soldier, not like her father. Because that’s what got her brother killed. She doesn't want to be firelord, so thank goodness Uncle Ozai took that role from her father. She doesn’t want to teach, because who would willingly put themselves in a position to deal with nonsense students for the rest of their lives? So she gathers her options together. A housewife? No, she doesn’t want to marry some noble lord and bear him children. Why? Because she doesn’t want children. And if she marries she’ll be expected to have some.
With lots of thinking, Xian decides she just wants a quiet life. Cousin Zuko will become firelord one day, and when he rules Xian will simply sit by the sidelines and watch. She doesn't want a dramatic life, so with odd certainty, she foresees herself laxing and soaking up Agni’s rays at age 40 with a good book in her hands and pretty maids to keep her company.
Similar to the life her father holds, now that he is a retired general with nothing better to do that paint and drink tea.
As if the thought of him summoned his attention, General Iroh sips his tea and stares knowingly at his daughter.
“Are you well, Princess?”
“Very,” she replies, firmly believing she’d like a quaint, quiet future. No drama, no fire, just sleep and reading. “Cousin Zuko has mastered yet another kata with his dual swords.”
And that sparks conversation for the duration of dinner time.
Her father is a better one, now. Xian remembers the first few months following her brother’s death, how she spent more time mourning with her Aunt Ursa then her own father. His distraught was so severe that he hid away in his chambers for months. Now he’s better, Xian thinks. He’s lighter and appreciates flowers a lot more than he did before leaving for Ba Sing Se.
It’s nice.
Now that she’s thought over what she wants in the future, Xian doesn't mind very much that Cousin Zuko and Azula train harder than her. They can be great, as they so wish to be, while Xian can be good, and just there . Sitting quietly as they lap up their glory.
Her royal brother chased glory, and he got his head chopped off for it.
So Xian accepts that while her cousins work hard, her nonchalant attitude is justified. She tells her father this, and the retired general merely chuckles.
“A wise girl,” he titters slightly, a fond smile on his face. “Some chase glory, others chase power, but a good, kind man simply chases contentment.”
Xian doesn’t think she’s kind, given her impulsive urges to shove Mai away, to throttle Ty Lee’s neck and to stab her Cousin Azula. But she doesn't voice this.
Suddenly her father gains a forlorn expression, head tilted towards the dark night. “It’s much like the same situation as my Lord brother,” Iroh explains softly. “Firelord Ozai is a great man, and one day, if we’re very lucky, he might even be a good one.”
Xian eyes him curiously, big round eyes shining in her 9-year-old wisdom. “Is it possible to be great and good at the same time?”
She registers the surprise on her father’s face, and then his eyes crinkle in the corners as a smile.
“I’m not sure,” he replies, smiling at her like she was a blooming fire lily. Xian’s heart leaps, her father hasn’t smiled like that in a long while. “If there is, then it would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.”
Xian goes to sleep that night with a head full of plans. When she is 30 she’ll still be in these chambers, doing absolutely nothing with her life, and that’s fine with her. She’ll be happy. Even if her brother is dead, even if Aunt Ursa is gone, even if Uncle Ozai rules.
Princess Xian is 9 and finally, she has found peace within herself.
The Princess is 10 when Cousin Zuko asks her to visit Aunt Ursa’s shrine with him.
It’s a quiet and solemn affair, with Zuko regaling everything of his past two years in so much detail that Xian yawns, tired. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it, because Xian always yawns now. She is always lying around somewhere in the sun with her eyes closed and ears tuned into her surroundings. Because of her naturally lethargic tone, Xian was always better at mediating than him and Azula.
When Cousin Zuko steps aside, Xian moves forwards and takes her turn by talking to Aunt Ursa’s shrine.
It’s not as detailed or enthusiastic as Zuko’s two hour rant. She just tells her aunt about the shapes of clouds in the sky, how one looked like a turtle eating a fireflake; and Zuko snorts from the side. Xian sighs and promises to her aunt she won’t ever get married, she won’t ever bear troublesome children, she won’t ever train to become a soldier, she won't ever, ever teach children, and Zuko just bursts out laughing.
“What's left for you to do?” He asks in between his disbelieving scofs.
“Sleep,” she answers nonchalantly, completely serious. “Read. Sunbathe. Drink tea. Lots. I’ll write poetry in the sun and sip tea with maidens at night. It’s going to be quiet,” she tells him. “No drama. Just me.”
Cousin smirks in response. “When I become firelord I’ll force you to marry someone,” he says smugly. “And then you’ll have to suffer life in nuptial as I do.”
“Then I’ll bore my husband so much that he flings himself off the highest tower. Widows are so plentiful nowadays, just one more will almost go unnoticed.”
Zuko huffs and turns back to the photo of his mother, “your humour is warped for a 10-year-old.”
Xian chooses to ignore the comment and stare right at her aunt. Silently, the princess congratulates Cousin Zuko. He’s survived two years without his mother. It’s a good, strong feat.
“Come on,” Xian tugs on his robe sleeve, “you’ll be late for training with Master Piandao.”
Decidedly, she spends more time with her father. Iroh is good to be with. He doesn’t anger, like Cousin Zuko, he isn’t malicious, like Cousin Azula. Her father isn't as loud as Ty Lee, nor is he apathetic and gloomy like Mai. Simply, he’s an old man who smiles in the sun with his silly tea and stupid board game.
But finally, Xian asks him to teach her how to play pai sho.
She can’t forget the brightness of his face as he eagerly nods, telling a servant with haste to fetch the board. And Xian doesn't have time to regret her actions, because day in, day out she sits with him and learns.
Sometimes Cousin Zuko joins, sometimes he's off training and working hard, Xian doesn't mind. It’s a good game, not as great as her father makes it out to be, but good enough to occupy Xian’s ample time.
Now there's a schedule.
She wakes, the maids dress her and then Princess Xian meditates. When the sun is bright she eats, and following that she plays a game of pai sho with her father. Near noon she meets with Cousin Zuko and sits, watching him train and throw tantrums. When Cousin is finished, Xian would have had a nice, decent nap under the hot sun, before following Zuko. The cousins try to avoid Azula and her gang.
Sometimes they’ll go to a river, accompanied by a palace guard and play in the water. Well, Zuko plays. Xian simply sits and soaks up the sun. She naps again, if she can’t help it. And when Zuko wants to get an earful he splashes her with water. But Xian doesn't splash him back, which suits Zuko just fine. He knows his cousin can’t be bothered to fight back, so he uses her apathy to his advantage all the time.
When the day is sad, they’ll visit a shrine. Whether it be Lu Ten, or Aunt Ursa, or Xian’s mother, the cousins never know. But given that both Xian and Zuko do not know much of her mother, they visit Lu Ten and Aunt Ursa more.
And then Xian will read under a tree while Zuko practices his kata. When Zuko isn’t sought out by his personal guards, he’ll join Xian and Iroh for dinner, otherwise father and daughter play another round of pai sho. She admits that the game is hard, it makes her think more than she’s comfortable with. Xian knows she exerts way too much energy into that game, and no matter what, Iroh always beats her. But Xian isn’t bothered. It’s just a game, and she’s only ten.
“Your brother was horrible at pai sho,’ said Iroh one evening, 7 months after first teaching her how to play, and Xian pauses in her movements.
Her father hardly ever talks about Lu Ten.
“He was a dragon on the battlefield, a fair and kind boy to the people, but for the life of him, he just couldn't quite understand pai sho. It was too much scheming, and he was always too sincere for cunning maneuvers.”
Xian chuckles and pretends to appreciate how casual her father uses past tense on him. She gets uncomfortable, thinking of how her dead brother was shit at this game, but she doesn't show it.
“But Lu Ten was always patient,” she says and ignores how her father almost flinches at the brave mention of his dead son.
“He was,” agreed Iroh, nodding his head thoughtfully. “And while pai sho requires patience, it also requires cleverness.” He smiles and Xian watches as his eyes glaze over with far away memories. “Nothing like your mother.”
Xian doesn't know much about her mother, so the statement doesn’t bother her as much as it ought to.
“But you’re an honest man,” She says almost fervently. “How are you so good at it?”
“Experience,” he replies in the old, wise-man tone of his, “is the best teacher of wisdom there is. I’m an aged man, with many layers of mistakes, therefore, an equal amount of layers of wisdom.”
Xian remembers how he used to be a Great General, how he was feared as the Dragon of the West. Sometimes she forgets that he used to scheme and plan and lead armies, how he used to kill and fight and shine like the perfect warrior that he was. Because now her father is a fat old man who wanders the town outside of the palace, picking flowers from the street with commoners and drone on and on about his favourite teas. He’s a different man, a kind, light one. And it’s almost sad how it took the death of his son to realise how wrong and immoral his life beforehand was.
Xian thinks all of this but does not voice it. She’s ten, no one listens to the whims of a ten year old, however royal they are.
An hour passes of quiet playing, and again, like all nights, Iroh wins.
But Xian doesn't mind. She only plays to pass the time. And though she doesn't like the game very much, it does continue to grow on her. Maybe in the future, she might even add it to her list of future hobbies.
But before she can retire to her chambers, her father speaks up.
“You’re very good at the game, Princess”
She pauses in her steps.
“You have a clever mind.” Iroh stands, weaves his hands into the sleeve of his robes and approaches her with a light expression. “If you pursued a life of strategy, of diplomacy, I would not object.”
Xian stands still and watches as her father smiles brightly before kissing her forehead. “My clever daughter. So talented, please think about it. If I am to let you waste your mind on sleeping and reading, then let it be so. But sometimes, we all need a little motivation from the right person. And perhaps, you could become great, just as you have already become good.”
He walks away, guards falling into place behind him, but all Xian can do is stare.
She’s...good at playing?
But she’s not good at anything. Only mediating and sleeping. Cousin Azula is the one that’s good at everything, she’s the perfect one.
Xian takes a little pride in the complement and realises, this is the first time anyone has praised her for anything.
Warmth floods through her. And though she was dead set on having a quiet future, with books and scrolls, perhaps she can add a pai sho board to the list as well. Chasing a career of diplomacy isn’t her interest. It was too much of a bother.
So as she sits there, hair being brushed by her favourite maid, Xian thinks and frowns
Does she really want to do nothing for the rest of her life?
The Princess is 10 and doubts start to crawl through her veins like spiders on a hunt for prey. Maybe she could be more. Azula is pretty and strong, Zuko is handsome and hard working; maybe Xian could be useful after all.
Princess Xian is 11 and she picks up a book about politics and governance.
It’s stupid, Xian shouldn’t be doing this. She only picks up the book because her father may have mentioned she might have a particular proclivity for strategy, though she only really means to skim through it. It’s for adults, she reminds herself. She’s only 11. It will all be a nonsense, stupid book written by a dim witted moron desperately begging for a pathetic amount of attentio-
-Xian finishes the book in one night.
One moment the book is heavy with hundreds of pages to flip, and then the next moment Xian finds herself biting her bottom lip and wondering how hundreds of pages can be turned and read and digested without her even noticing. Now she sits in her chambers, alone, with the orange flicker of her candles and ponders how long it took for her to read the heavy tome. A few hours? Five? Seven? It's all unclear.
Now she spots the sun's peak beyond her chamber windows and sighs in defeat. She didn’t mean to stay up all night, and she definitely didn’t mean to finish the book. So Xian sits and stares at the book in her lap. For too long, apparently, because the next thing she knows a maid is walking through her room.
“Princess!” Says the woman in surprise, clad in red servant robes. “You’re up? I only meant to prepare your robes for the day, please forgive my intrusion.”
And Xian understands her confusion, because even for firebenders who rise with the sun, Xian is up earlier than most.
“You didn't wake me,” Xian tells the maid, who sighs in relief and bows respectfully before scurrying off to the princess’ wardrobe. The 11-year-old ponders the idea of sleeping then and there, as if to make up for reading all night, but eventually dismisses the idea. As a child of Agni, it would be a scandal to sleep when the sun is hot and bright.
Instead she makes special notes to nap three times. The first, under the willow tree where Zuko practices his bending. The second, in the scorching noon sun where Zuko will be in the river. And the third, in the palace courtyard where Zuko trains with his dual swords. That will take her to the coming evening, where she plans to dine early and retire to her chambers at the first peek of the moon. Tonight, she surmises, General Iroh won’t get to play pai sho with her.
But then Xian pauses, she reevaluates.
Perhaps she could play just one short, hasty game with her father after dinner. Very brief and passing, just one game. It wouldn’t hurt her, will it? It might tear her mind to pieces, or shred away what waning patience she has left, but Xian will be fine. Just one game. Just one. Because, why not? A little pai sho hasn’t hurt anyone before.
‘Just one game’ turns into three, and then five, and then eleven. Eleven! She plays eleven rounds of pai sho with her father, who sits there in his brooding wisdom and sips his silly tea. Eleven rounds of losing, eleven rounds of humiliation, and yet Xian would have played more had her father not sent her to sleep (given that she could barely keep her eyes open by the end).
This time she falls to a deep slumber, deaf to the hoots of morning chirps, unconscious to the maids fretting about the princess still sleeping because the sun has risen hours ago and Xian always rises with the sun. She always meditates.
When the sun is near noon, Xian wakes refreshed and decides she won't be with Zuko today. The maids dress her with worried expressions, feed her what was left of breakfast and then leave immediately.
Princess Xian walks out of her chambers and immediately, the guards at her doors feel obligated to stand straighter. She feels different today, the palace workers, the soldiers, everyone can sense it. Her gestures are still lax, they are still idle and shiftless, but today the Princess moves with purpose.
Today she stares at her two guards before pointing to the older one. “Zen,” she calls his name, “you’re with me.”
Zen, a palace guard with hard blue eyes, stares at the princess before nodding. He’s one of the older ones, a former battalion captain for the Western C division. Xian picks him because he doesn't speak much, because Zen, who is only slightly younger than Firelord Ozai, has a cold leer that is lethal. He reserves it for those who irritate him, like the younger guards stationed near Cousin Zuko and Cousin Azula quarters.
So Xian assumes with him behind her, no one will stop to ask what she's doing.
Because today she’s not going to waste time napping and cloud-gazing, she won’t spend it soaking up the sun and squashing her ever-present irritation at Ty Lee who, for once in her prissy life won’t ever shut the hell up. Instead, she is going to the palace library, and she is going to read.
Xian reads a lot, but it’s stupid tales of glory and honour. It’s Fire Nation propaganda, (a word Xian learnt recently from her father), and she swears if she has to hear one more ridiculous praise about her Great Grandfather Sozin then Xian will personally see to it that all books of him are burnt with the ashes scattered to the wind.
Now, everytime a noble passess through the palace to meet with her uncle, or when she crosses paths with Generals and Admirals, Xian stops and takes time to appreciate the intricacy of the council.
Now she wants to learn.
Not how to wield a sword, or how to burn people alive, not how to punch and block and battle like Cousin Zuko and Cousin Azula, but she wants to learn how to talk. How to talk properly, how to be persuasive, how to read between the lines, how to read people, how to read motives. Cousin Azula is good at it, and it’s the first time ever Xian wishes she’s more like her.
So today she goes to the library, picks books of politics, governance, human nature, diplomacy; and she reads.
People flitter in and out of the royal library, cleaners, servants, nobles with granted permission from the Firelord, and yet through all the gossip and distraction Xian does not lift her head. She reads and reads and wonders why she hasn’t done this earlier.
Xian finds it important to learn about Fire Nation governance first.
It’s the introductory step into basic Fire Nation processes, and her mind soaks up the information like how her body used to lazily soak up Agni’s rays. Willingly, eagerly. The inner court, the outer one, the monarch, the small council, the war council, the general council, the political hierarchy, noble houses and figures, how absolutely none of the Fire Nations' way of governing gives a crap about the people's opinions.
There are big words, ones she can’t understand. Xian is smart, but she is only 11. So with a brush and scrolls, Xian writes down the words that make no sense to her. Some are big, some small and entirely unique. Zen, her guard with whom she’d picked personally, just stands there and watches quietly. Sometimes Xian will ask him about the unknown words instead, because Zen is old and old people know a lot of things. But most of the time his lips are thin as he resists the urge to seem irritated.
She knows he doesn’t want to be here, and she wonders why he isn’t on the battlefield where most soldiers find their glory.
Night falls before long, and Xian finds her own father walking into the library, the tell-tale sign of worry on his face before finally relaxing at the sight of her hunched, reading figure.
“Princess,” he says, walking over. “And here I thought you had fallen asleep under the willow tree.”
Xian remembers a couple years ago when she did that, night had fallen but Xian was none-the wiser. After the incident where Xian stayed sleeping in the dark under a willow tree with the palace guards and maids fretting and worried for her, she was promptly assigned guards. And Firelord Ozai saw it fit to continue this trend with his own two.
“I’m sorry to worry you,” says Xian, shifting and rolling up the scrolls. “Is dinner ready?”
“Long since passed, my dear” General Iroh waddled up to her station, old eyes reading the titles to her scrolls and books with a looming knowingness to his stare. He does that a lot now, thinks Xian. He looks like he knows more than he ought to. Perhaps it comes with old age, she is not quite sure.
The general looks over to Zen and nods. “You are dismissed.”
Zen leaves with a respectful bow.
“Come,” Iroh smiles at his daughter who stands to follow. “We’ll walk down to the kitchens. It is always humbling to see those who prepare our food.”
Down the main hall lit with an orange hued setting, Xian realises how tired she really is. She hasn’t napped today.
Lazily, her amber eyes flicker across the portraits of former Firelords and wonders if Zuko will be hung there one day. She thinks about how her father was meant to hang there and imagines, for a small moment, her dead brother there. Xian averts her eyes and chooses to change the topic.
“Cousin Azula says some cooks try to poison my food.”
“No cooks are trying to poison your food, little Xian. Don’t listen to Azula.”
She drops the topic and glances once more at the wall of royalty. After a few short moments, she spots Firelord Sozin, standing regal with an undeniable glint in his eyes. Xian sees many portraits of many Firelords, but none as hideous as him.
“Were you born when Firelord Sozin reigned?”
Xian sees the gears twisting around in her father’s mind, how his brows furrow slightly before sighing.
“Yes,” says Iroh with an odd, reflective tone to his voice. For a very small moment, she catches her father frown. “I had just married your mother before he passed. Why do you ask?”
Because I don’t like him, Xian doesn't voice this. She’s 11, but not stupid. Walls have ears and portraits have eyes, if ever the wrong person hears her speak ill of the Great Firelord Sozin, then Uncle Ozai would have her head on a spike for treason. So Xian thins her lips and, as if he can read her mind, Iroh pulls back his curiosity in understanding.
It is here that Xian realises her father shares the same sentiments; and it becomes an unwritten rule between the two of them to hold their tongues.
She stares at his portrait a little longer before looking at her Lord Grandfather. Next to Firelord Azulon, she sees her uncle and Xian sometimes ponders if her father wishes he was there instead of Uncle Ozai.
“Do you ever regret passing up the throne?”
Iroh doesn’t need to think about his answer. Instead, the former general smiles down at her. “I am happy,” he says, brightly. “As I am, where I am, I am happy. I realise now that I do not need a throne to bring happiness. I have you, and tea, and pai sho.”
Xian feels warm, despite herself. Lately, she’s been wondering if she is enough for him, with her mother and brother dead.
“A throne with an abhorrent amount of responsibility seems radically unattractive, wouldn’t you agree?
She smiles slightly, sadly almost. “Yes,” she agrees, “yes, I know. When I see a throne I see extra hours of unwarranted work. I’d much rather live a quiet life,” she explains softly. “Just peace.”
When Xian says ‘peace’ she thinks of a quiet palace where Cousin Azula leaves her alone and Ty Lee shuts up for once. What goes on beyond the palace walls, Xian couldn’t care less. She just wants a quiet life of nothingness. Quiet. When Zuko rules she’ll just sit back and relax.
Both Xian and her father have come to terms with the fact that she is not ambitious. But that’s fine. And most importantly, Iroh is happy if she is.
So to see the usually laid-back Princess smeared with the ink of books and scrolls brings a certain surprise to Iroh. He thinks back to last night, to their game of pai sho and decides he should fester her affinity before it's extinguished by her laziness.
“Would you like to play a game of pai sho with me after dinner?”
With a final glance in his direction, Xian realises her father already knows what she’s been up to. What she’s been trying to do. Of course he knows, she thinks. He knows lots of things now.
He knows that she’s a naturally slack child, he knows she doesn't like her great grandfather Firelord Sozin and he knows the throne of the Fire Nation is the last thing she wants.
And he also knows she wants to improve at playing pai sho.
“Okay,” Xian nods and hides her excitement. “That sounds like a plan.”
Iroh brightens. “And maybe I can teach you how to brew the delicate sēncha tea leaves recently imported from the southern isles. They are rare and-”
“-no.” Xian interrupts him before he can finish. “No tea.” She draws the line at stupid tea.
“But-”
“No tea, papa.”
Iroh grins and ruffles her hair because she hasn’t called him papa since he left for the siege of Ba Sing Se six years ago. Xian is 11 and she’s growing up.
Princess Xian is still 11 and apparently, she’s going to stay that age forever. The year has dragged out slower than most. Xian thinks back to when she was 9, her most unpleasant year, and sighs. It’s not that being 11 is unpleasant, nor is it irksome. It’s just...busy. She’s busy now. Princess Xian, for the life of her, has never been busy before.
Being busy is troublesome.
She has to meditate in the mornings, to work through her school tasks afterwards and then, as if Agni has made it her personal mission to punish Xian, she now has to take mandatory firebending training. Frequently. Firelord Ozai sees it appropriate to intensify her tuition because now, it’s almost comical how much slack she is compared to Cousin Zuko. And that’s not even factoring in Cousin Azula, whose affinity for practically anything has Zuko and Xian eating her dust.
Though if Xian does recall, Firelord Ozai’s exact words to her father were something along the lines of Xian being a disgrace and disappointment to the family heritage because she is, as her dearest uncle described most ardently, Agni-forsaken-shit at firebending.
Which, if she were to be honest, didn’t bother her one bit.
But Xian obeys and meets with her trainer every morning, who hides his frustration because Xian yawns every 20 seconds, she’s slow, unmotivated and keeps her hands in her pockets when he’s giving her instructions. When given a 10 minutes break, Xian finds herself unable to resist a quick nap, which further irritates the trainer.
Cousin Zuko tells her to take training seriously as he sweats and swings his dual swords, for one day she will be sent out to the field of battle. But Xian only glares in response, gives him a rude hand gesture and continues to nap under the willow tree.
By early afternoon schoolwork, firebending training and meditation is complete, so Xian has the rest of the day off. Generally, Cousin Zuko will drag her with him to train (again, because apparently that’s what active people do), and Xian follows begrudgingly.
Except, now she reads as he trains.
It's the type of scrolls she read in the royal library with Zen all those months ago. The ones with big words, and although books and scrolls with big words are supposed to scare kids away, Xian stays, stubbornly, and writes down every single word she doesn’t understand.
“What's ‘caucus’?” Asks Xian one evening. Zen is standing guard at the library entrance, flicking his eyes towards her, annoyed.
When Zen-the-palace-guard doesn’t answer, Xian drops her scrolls and faces him directly.
“What does the word ‘caucus’ mean?” She tries again.
Zen, who typically strikes her as a hard, stoic man stares at her long and hard before responding.
“What’s the context?”
It’s practically the first time she ever hears him speak, so Xian perks up and leans forward in her seat.
“ ‘The small council holds a caucus assembly three days following the Firelord's initial inauguration.’”
Xian watches the corks spin in Zen’s mind, watches how he rushes in a composed manner to form a definition for her.
Most palace guards are stupid. Most maids can’t read. So to see Zen ponder about politics entices Xian. There is a harsh look to him, a wary one. This makes her curious as to the type of life he had before serving her at the palace.
When he speaks, it's low and neutral. His tone doesn’t move to suggest that he doesn’t want to be there, but it also doesn't suggest he would rather leave. Zen stares for a moment longer, and Xian is annoyed she can’t read him.
“A caucus assembly is when a group within a group meet in closed sessions to set legislation, select committee members and hold elections to choose various floor leaders.” He offers no more, and like the good soldier he is, returns to his post.
But Xian is intrigued, so instead of continuing with her reading, she abandons her post and approaches Zen. He pretends not to be bothered by her incessant ogling.
“How do you know what a caucus assembly is?”
He doesn't answer. Zen looks forward, beyond her small frame and resumes the guard post he had been holding previously for the past 2 hours.
“You’re well-read,” she deduces, ignoring how annoyed he seems by her presence. “Why is a palace guard so well read? Are you a noble?”
Zen stares, he blinks, then looks away with a scowl. Xian is taken aback, because what guard has the bravery (or stupidity) to directly ignore, glower and disrespect a princess of the Fire Nation so certainly? Zen, apparently.
“Who taught you to read? Does my father know you’re capable?”
Most soldiers and maids loitering around the palace are generally chosen specifically if they are illiterate. It is dangerous when a maid, who enters the chambers of top generals and royalty can read; because the documents left lying about may be confidential.
Xian huffs when he pretends she isn’t there. Instead, she drags her feet back to the table and plonks herself down. The sun prepares to set for the day, so Xian makes an executive decision to pack up and continue the mystery of Zen tomorrow.
This is Xian’s average day now, and just thinking about all the tasks and chores and work tires her. Before noon she meditates, studies and trains, after lunch she settles to read while Zuko (for some stupid reason) continues to practice and in the afternoon she retires to the library.
Now Xian spends every evening with her father.
And they play pai sho.
But it’s different now, the games are more intense and instead of thrashing her every round, Iroh takes his time to explain why he does what he does. He understands Xian wants to take this further, so Iroh reads between the lines and teaches her what he knows. It’s a lesson in patience, strategy and composure, she learns. Pai sho isn’t just a game, realises Xian as she bites her lip in concentration. It’s a lifestyle.
To add a bit of flavour, Xian tries to teach Zuko the game. But he ends up throwing a tantrum after five minutes so Xian quickly gathers her tiles and promises never to let him within five feet of them again.
But it feels good, she reflects. Xian has never put so much effort in her entire life as she has with her studies of politics and games of pai sho. It makes her work hard, it keeps her mind ticking and Xian finally thinks she knows how Zuko feels when he wants to train with his dual swords all the time. The adrenaline of learning something new, of developing something you know you're good at is addictive, and while Xian is still very much a drag and cynical girl, she walks around with more purpose now.
Yes, Xian still drives her firebending tutor insane, she still has sudden murderous tendencies towards Ty Lee, and Xian still would rather nap than fight, but at least passion is growing.
Seven days before Cousin Zuko’s 12th namedate, Xian has decided to actually give him a physical gift this time. For his previous celebrations, she gifted him with a blade of grass, fresh air from her lungs and a strand of her hair because who has the energy to go out of their way to get him something? It’s troublesome, it’s a drag and usually Xian forgoes the tradition of gifts. Zuko is the crown prince, what can she give him (with minimal amounts of effort) that no one else can?
But this year Xian decides to be different. She’s got long hair, she’s busy and she has a personal firebending master. In short, the complete opposite of what was initially intended this year. So Xian thinks ‘why not go all the way’ hence why she finds herself pondering about a gift to give him.
Nothing of sentimental value because Xian visibly cringes when something gets too emotional. Nothing expensive because Zuko is a prince and has lots of rich connections. Not books because when was the last time Zuko read something? (Somewhere in the back of her mind, Xian is disgusted she’s putting this much effort in)
She tries to put herself in the shoes of a rich 12-year-old boy, but comes up short.
He likes burning things, shrugs Xian. Maybe if she produces some wooden targets with Cousin Azula’s face painted on them, Zuko might appreciate the gesture? Even so, she doubts her uncle would let it slide. Firelord Ozai has always favoured Cousin Azula, he won’t like it that Xian and Zuko use her face as target practice.
Eventually all of the thinking bores her, and Xian does the one thing that will always guarantee entertainment.
Strike up conversation with Zen-the-palace-guard.
“What did you get as a gift when you were 12?”
Nothing.
“Come on,” she presses. “There must have been something.”
Zen has the audacity to glare at her like she’s an annoying leach and not royalty. But Xian doesn't mind, if anything, she finds it amusing.
“Your life can’t have been that depressing, I’m sure you weren’t born with those scowl marks.”
Xian is soaking up Agni’s rays in the palace courtyard when she says that. Zen is close enough to guard her but far enough to give her privacy as well. It’s a balance all palace guards must have. Zuko has one, Azula has one, and they stay out of your business.
Which is why Xian is predictably unusual when she pesters her personal guard constantly, grating his ears with questions about nonsense stuff that she can ask literally anyone. But now that Xian knows he is an unusual guard with very strong literacy skills, she can’t help it.
“Zen?” She waves her hands around in his face. “I can’t believe you're brave enough to ignore me,” Xian mutters it mainly to herself, but she suspects Zen heard her.
The princess flops back down to the ground, relishing the soft green grass and fighting the urge to whistle with the wind. It’s so peaceful, she thinks. It’s always peaceful here. Sometimes she wonders how destructive life must be beyond the palace walls, for her brother to die.
“If I was a 12 year-old-boy, what would I enjoy?” She thinks aloud, glancing to her right to see if Zen has shown any hint of reacting. He doesn't. Xian thinks harder. “What did Lu Ten like when he was 12?”
Xian was 2 when Lu Ten was 12, so unless she’s some genius child, (like Cousin Azula) then of course she wouldn't remember. Not a dagger or any metal weapons because Zuko practically lives in Master Piandao’s mansion if he isn’t hanging around her or her father.
And then an idea strikes her so severely she bolts upright, long hair swinging in the motion. Like a beacon in the distance, Xian remembers how all of the palace maids blushed and whispered about Lu Ten wistfully. How they wanted to be partial to him. How they wanted to be his.
“Girls.” Says Xian quitely, as if testing the waters. “I’ll get Cousin Zuko a girlfriend for his namedate.” Nodding resolutely with herself, Xian turns to face Zen with a triumph expression. “I’ll get him a girlfriend! I’m brilliant.”
Xian swears she sees Zen’s upper lip twitching.
“What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Zen doesn’t answer her, and this time, Xian gets impatient. “Answer me, soldier.”
“That’s not how romantic relationships work, Your Highness.”
He says it sternly, like the callous man he is.
“Sure it is,” she lies back down and stares up at the sky, content. Her plan is perfect. Minimal effort, effective and utterly flawless. “Girls swoon for princes. And my cousin is at that age. She’ll have to be agreeable, of course. Noble, well-read, capable and intelligent. But it’s perfect.”
“Some girls swoon for princes,” replies Zen as if he’s fed up with her 11-year-old logic, “but not all princes swoon for girls.”
“What are you suggesting, that Cousin Zuko is gay?” Xian lifts a brow and hopes the palace guard knows she’s only jesting. “You know Firelord Sozin illegalised homosexualism. Tell me, Zen, are you a sword swallower?”
“No, Your Highness,” she can see a vein start to appear near his temple as he fights to tame his anger. “I’m merely suggesting that there must be mutual...attraction on both sides to warrant a...relationship.”
He is so awkward speaking of romance to the princess, so much so that Xian simply can’t bypass the opportunity.
“And what would you know of romance? It seems to me you’ve been celibate all your life. Willing or unwilling, I try not to ponder on it too much.”
He sneers. “And you’re so wise? A loafing child of 11, barely grown?”
A pause.
And then another. The silence stretches long and thick, and for a moment even the trees stop their whistling. Everything is still as Xian stares at him wide-eyed.
No one...no one has ever been so blunt to her. Let alone a measly guard. And Zen seems to realise his mistake the same time Xian does too. Firelord Ozai has executed maids and soldiers for speaking out of turn. Cousin Azula has banished some for walking in her line of sight.
Xian watches as Zen swallows, preparing himself for that inevitable moment of either banishment or death. Royals are rarely merciful when servants speak out of turn. He was foolish, daft, an Agni-forsaken idiot to let his temper run so wildly-
-Xian laughs.
It starts off in a disbelieving chuckle, but then amplifies when Zen’s face twists in confusion. Princess Xian of the Fire Nation is laughing at him, and Zen stands there and blinks.
“Spirits,” she heaves after the laughter has faded, and the birds are back to chirping, “aren’t you a breath of fresh air.”
Zen just stares at her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Xian throws him a scornful look. “What, you think I’m going to hang your head on a spike for calling me a loaf? Do I look like Azula to you? For goodness sake, you’re so stiff.”
When Zen finally comes to the long winded conclusion she won’t kill him, he scoffs and turns away from her. He can’t believe he was worried in the first place, she’s the most listless, plodding fool of a child he’s ever met. Zen feels stupid and concludes he finds her more annoying than ever before.
“Have I hurt your pride?” She asks, but there is no concern in her voice. Xian is teasing and smug, lying back down on the grass. Instead, now her body is turned to his direction. “Tell me, is pride a fault or a virtue?”
Zen glares, and now he does it comfortably. Now he knows he can freely express dislike because she won’t go chopping off his head. For some ridiculous reason, she laughs instead.
“For someone who knows what a caucus assembly is, you seem to know little else. Like, for example, how to make conversation.” Xian says it sarcastically, already rolling onto her back and gazing once more at the clouds.
“I am entirely capable of making adept conversation, Princess.” He’s getting even more irritated, and Xian practically baths in the waves of frustration rolling off him. “You're not half as clever as you ought to be.”
Xian stares up at the sky with amusement in her amber eyes. “Still makes me twice as clever as you.”
Before Zen can ground out his heavy reply with a steady growl, they both hear a voice a yard away.
“Cousin!” The voice is Zuko’s, Xian knows. There is a distinctiveness to it that she will never forget. So she doesn't look away from her cloud-gazing, and instead waves lazily towards where she assumes he is. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Xian lifts her brows. “Clearly, not.”
Cousin Zuko watches her face, how it has remnants of heavy amusement, then looks towards the palace guard, who should be a lot farther away than where he is right now. He connects the dots, and stares seriously towards his cousin.
“You shouldn’t be speaking with him,” Zuko throws Zen-the-palace-guard a wary, dirty look. “You aren’t meant to speak to them.”
“And why, pray tell, is that?”
“Because father said.”
“No, not that I can recall.”
“Not your father,” Xian hears that familiar irritation in Zuko's voice, “my father, you idiot.”
Xian pretends to frown up to the sky. “Oh, I forgot you had one of those.”
“You’re awfully witty this afternoon.”
“Sorry, perhaps I should brood in silence like Zen.”
“Whose Zen?”
The princess smirks, and says loudly enough for Zen to hear; “my friend.”
Zen, who stands far enough away, hears the line and clenches his jaw hard. He knows she is only trying to purposely irritate him. But Zuko doesn't know who Zen is, and instead furrows his brows in confusion.
“You don’t have friends.” Zuko doesn't mean it as an insult, he’s being genuine.
Xian huffs instead, blinking lazily towards the sky. “That hurt way more than it should have.”
“Anyway,” continues Zuko, “I want you to come with me to see Master Piandao tomorrow. I get to craft my own dual swords and he said you can come.”
His house is just outside the palace walls, and though Xian knows she should go and support Zuko, it’s simply so far. Zuko makes the trip at least twice everyday, but Zuko is fit and trains all the time. Xian hates training, is an absolute slob and deduces it will take too much energy from her.
With much consideration, she turns to Zuko.
“No.”
He scowls at her, mumbling something about how he was stupid to ask a lazy blob like her anyway. She knows she should feel guilt. His mother is gone, his sister is a nutter and his father is basically non-existent, but Xian can’t summon the will to care. Her schedule is already far too busy than she is comfortable with, the last thing she wants to do is carve her way through some towns when she can be sleeping or sunbathing.
“Fine,” he bites back and stands to leave. “Go back to doing absolutely nothing, I don’t know why I bother.”
With that being that, Zuko stomps away and Xian watches as he leaves an angry trail of fire beneath his feet. She sighs, tired, and closes her eyes once again.
The next morning, Xian isn’t sure why, but she finds herself up at Master Paindao’s manor. She follows the noise of metal work and loud clanking sounds, Zen behind as her guard, and comes into an armory of sorts. Cousin Zuko is there, sweating and crafting his duals when he sees her.
His face, which was previously occupied by strife and frustration lightens with surprise, and as if seeing her there, standing for him, he smiles slightly before gaining an absolute look of determination. She willingly went out of her way to support him, so Zuko will make the best dual swords he can and name them after her.
Because it’s Xian.
It’s always Xian.
She’s always there for him. She always has been. Even if it's sitting under the willow tree as he trains, or reading scrolls in his chambers, Xian is always there. Sure, she doesn't say much. Or do much. She just sits and watches (or sleeps) but she’s there.
Master Piandao spots Xian from his observing position and bows respectfully. Xian reciprocates the gesture and moves to sit and watch Zuko.
Later that night Master Piandao gives the kids some dinner, and Xian admits to herself that today has been relatively fun.
Princess Xian is 11 and she realises she has a lot more people than just her father and Cousin Zuko. Now she has Zen, whom she likes to irritate every now and then and Master Piandao who sits and recalls his tales of training Lu Ten. Yes, her mother is dead, her brother is dead and her aunt is gone, but Xian’s fine with that.
Now she is, anyway.
Xian doesn’t give Zuko a girlfriend for his 12th namedate, because Zen and her father give her myriad of reasons why it’s both unethical and completely bonkers. So Xian sits and broods and promises to try and understand romance a little more.
She still thinks it would have made a great gift.