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“You’ll exhaust yourself prowling about like that, brother. Come and have some tea, it will ease your mind.”
“My mind will be at ease when my heir is safely delivered. It’s been hours already, what are those blasted women on about!”
“Spirits willing it will be soon, but one can no more rush a birth than the changing of a tide.”
“If you were going to spend the day repeating platitudes you could at least have done me the courtesy of choosing a wider variety!”
“I only meant that the first child is often less than punctual in their arrival-”
Azulon closes his eyes and breathes in the fragrant steam curling up from his tea, allowing his sons apparently tireless banter to wash over him like heat over a stone.
It’s a pity Ozai won’t allow his elder brother to coax him into having a cup to settle his nerves. His heir has chosen a xaisha renxiang for the occasion; pale, fruity, and wonderfully soothing.
He himself isn’t particularly on edge but he’s still glad for the calming nature of the blend.
Dawn’s call to duty is less than seven hours away after all, and much like the red-eyed officials hovering along the edges of the hall he's hoping that there might yet be time for some sleep before he must return to his work.
The boys are, of course, occupied by other concerns.
"-ail to see how trite metaphors are helpful!"
"Personally I find them soothing; it's a comfort to know that our forebears both faced and overcame the same trials that we encounter in our own lives, don't you agree?"
As always Iron's attempts to soothe the sharp edges of Ojai's temper with his own calm are only serving to exacerbate the issue at hand and little Lu Ten frowns, beginning to stir from his place flopped bonelessly over the table as their bickering turns sharp once more.
The child needs his sleep if he’s to be at all attentive to his classes in the morning, so after indulging in a long sip Azulon firmly cuts into the budding argument.
“Enough Ozai. Ursa is a strong woman, you need only have patience.”
He can admit it doesn't sound much different from Iron's reassurances but it's true. Putting the unfortunate fate of Lu Ten's mother aside, the fertility difficulties of their line generally lay in the conceiving of dragon-blooded children rather than the delivery of them. Having been carried to full term Azulon is confident that his second grandchild will enter the world without issue.
Ozai’s frown deepens as he dips his head in appropriately filial deference.
“Of course father. I am simply…uneasy.”
The stiff necked not-quite-apology is typical of his second son but Azulon will not take him to task for it on this occasion.
Childbirth is a risky business and Ozai’s only real experience with it was Su Lan trading her life for Lu Tens. The boy has naturally been on edge ever since Ursa retreated to her chambers this morning, and has only grown more so as Agni slipped beyond the horizon.
For all that Ozai scoffs at his older brothers fascination with the spirits he's not entirely unaffected by the superstitions of their people. A birth in the depths of a midwinter night is less than auspicious, though it's hardly as pressing an issue as it might be if the child were in the direct line of succession.
Setting his cup down with the disciplined precision he always tries to model for his people Azulon cuts a glance at his younger son.
“If you find the anxiety too much to bear you may as well turn your energy to more useful pursuits. Perhaps reviewing your bending forms.”
It’s what he occupied himself with when Ilah was in labor; the familiarity and control of it centering an overactive mind handily.
Iroh had preferred to occupy himself with work, drafting impractically complex strategies for the siege of various 'impregnable' enemy strongholds during the early hours of Su Lan's labor, but he's hardly about to suggest Ozai review the latest intelligence reports in front of minor officials simply to calm his nerves.
He sees the boys jaw tighten with familiar stubbornness and is already bracing himself for the usual brand of sullen deference with which his second son’s displeasure is so often accompanied when the door to the chamber bursts open.
Ozai surges to his feet, petulance forgotten as one of Ursa’s attendants rushes forward and flings herself to her knees a short distance from the low table where the royal family is gathered.
Azulon catches only a brief glimpse of a face aglow with awe before she drops into a full ceremonial obeisance.
“Congratulations to the Firelord on the birth of a royal grandson!”
Immediately the handful of guards, servants, and minor officials hovering around the edges of the room drop to their knees and form the flame, their voices ringing out as one to echo the formal homage.
“Congratulations on the birth of a royal grandson!”
The roar startles Lu Ten awake, Iroh alternately soothing the bleary-eyed child and showering his brother in delighted congratulations. Azulon eyes the uncharacteristically open grin pulling at his normally dour son’s face and sets his cup down. Rising to his feet, he makes a calming gesture at his eldest.
“Your brother and I will go ahead while you tend to Lu Ten.”
Turning away from the table he sweeps toward the door.
“Come Ozai. It’s time we met your son.”
The boy is at his side in an instant, barely willing to wait for the attendant to scramble to her feet and hurry ahead of them. Fortunately for him the girl seems to be nearly as eager as Ozai himself to return to her mistress' chambers and her steps as quick as they may be without devolving into unseemly haste. Even the cool red flame she summons to light their way through the midnight-dark corridors flutters and leaps with the anxious speed of a humming-larks wings.
Ozai doesn't appear to take note of her barely contained frenzy, and were she merely a young midwife or novice sage present only for the birth Azulon would likely dismiss it as well.
But the girl is a palace maid and more than that one of the personal attendants assigned to directly serve Ozai's wife. It cannot be simple dithering over a royal birth. Even if by some strange chance such an individual were to receive a placement among the staff, Elua would never assign anyone with an excitable temperament to serve even a married-in spouse.
A particularly close companion of Ursa’s then?
His daughter-in-law was originally common born. She may have sought companionship on more familiar ground, forging unusually intimate ties with the women who serve her rather than risking the subtle treachery of court politics.
Or is it the child himself who has somehow elicited this reaction?
He can't think of any way a babe might have managed to do so, but his fathers campaign to elevate his line to near mythical status had produced some unexpected successes at the oddest of times. The first time a ten year old Iroh managed to spit sparks the servants had spent nearly three months convinced that he was a dragon-spirit in human skin and serving him a truly staggering amount of meat and fish.
Azulon is still busily trying to calculate what manner of oddness might occur around a newborn that could set off a similar bout of superstition among the staff when they arrive at the door to Ursa's chambers.
The warm, clean light of good oil lamps floods from beneath the door and he can already vaguely hear the bustle of a busy birthing room from the other side. No crying infant though, so the midwives at least had the sense to clean, feed, and quiet the babe before coming to fetch him.
Tradition and ceremony give him the right of first presentation but when Ozai hesitates beside him he waves the boy forward. He's seen plenty of new children in his time and at the moment he's more interested in observing the attendants.
“Go on then.”
For once the boy doesn’t make a show out of insisting on deferring to him, instead throwing open the doors and making directly for the bed. The rushing bustle filling the room stills as the maids, midwives, and lady sages bow as one to the newly arrived royals. The usual homage echoes with the same undertone of excitement the young attendant had shown.
“Congratulations to the Firelord and Prince Ozai on the birth of a royal grandson!”
Ozai himself doesn't even acknowledge them, his full focus on his wife. Azulon too keeps silent, though his preoccupation is more focused on assessing the unusually bright eyes and upturned lips of even the older women present.
Given that many of these women had also been present for the disaster of Su Lan he might have passed it off as simple relief. But relief would hardly explain the touch of reverent anticipation lingering at the edges of their expressions. Agni, the senior sage is all but hovering by the far side of the bed; openly attentive in a way he's never seen at a simple birthing.
Something had definitely happened during the birth then. More likely some kind of 'omen' rather than anything concrete, but interesting all the same given his hopes for Ursa and Ozai's union-
His musing is cut short when Ozai comes to an abrupt halt ahead of him, mere steps from the bedside. Azulon frowns. That hardly bodes well. A physical oddity perhaps? Whatever it is can’t be too outrageous, the attendants would surely have been more anxious and less anticipatory if something was truly-
Ah.
He doesn’t allow his stride to do more than falter slightly as he steps past his son and up to the edge of the bed. His daughter-in-law stares up at him in exhausted pride, robe fresh and clean but hair still plastered to her face and neck by sweat.
The babe curled up on her chest is a tiny, wrinkled thing with a thick shock of ink-dark hair.
Unremarkable, if only one could manage to overlook the way the red of newborn skin gives way to a swathe of grey, black, and white spreading over the upper left side of his face.
They're not the repulsively discolored tones of dead or dying flesh, but the crispness of thick paint. Even through the distortion of the childs still slightly squashed face the sharp, dramatic lines of a fierce pheonix eye and upswept sword-brow are clearly recognizable.
Well. That neatly explains the servants excitement and the sages reverence.
The mark of a spirit-bond.
Not precisely one of the outcomes he’d anticipated when he’d arranged Ozai and Ursa’s marriage, but not entirely unwelcome either. A good political statement can be as deadly as a general if applied properly, and having one hardly precludes the obtainment of the other.
If anything this is an excellent sign for his hopes being born out; the power of an avatar’s bloodline is clearly already making itself felt in this new branch of the clan.
Setting aside the warm crackle of vindication curling in his throat, Azulon examines the mark clinically.
He may not be quite as culturally curious as his eldest but he knows what he’s looking at.
The stark blacks, whites, and grays where his own people's theatrical traditions favor bold, vivacious colors.
The heavily stylized shapes meant to convey traits through symbolism where the Fire Nation prefers exaggerating natural features to emphasize an actor's facial expressions.
The classical Earth opera mask sweeping up over the babe's eye and temple is unmistakable.
The first spirit-bonded born to the Nation in over three hundred years, not only of royal lineage but bearing a foreign mark.
Challenging to work with certainly but they have plenty of colonies along the Kingdom coast now and colonist loyalty could certainly stand some reinforcement beyond the annual fire festivals-
This will require careful handling.
Distantly he begins running through a mental list.
He recognized the senior sage; Malai, a reliable woman known for both her integrity and her sound political instinct.
She’ll likely advocate for a more traditional approach to the childs future, but can almost certainly be counted on to ensure that word of his birth doesn't spread to unsympathetic ears before arrangements can be made.
The other sages present will follow her lead, so he's unlikely to have to put forth much effort in that direction
The attendants and midwives will be trickier.
The midwives can be temporarily assigned to the palace medical staff under the pretense of being nearby in case of any issue. They'll be neatly contained and the doctors there know better than to speak out of turn when it comes to their royal charges.
The maids are a different matter though.
Palace servants are known for their discretion but a matter of this scale can hardly be trusted to something as flimsy as a peasant's honor. Not to mention that they have to roam to complete their duties. Limiting or even monitoring who they come in contact with will be impossible.
Perhaps a boon.
Some time to return to their home domains in celebration of the spirits blessing on their nation; most of the women on staff come from the outer islands.
Domains whose lords are too distant from the jockeying of the court to bother planting spies in the palace.
Sending them home for their gossiping will spread the news first among the more superstitious outer domains whose loyalty and morale are more likely to benefit from such news, while also giving him time to handle the more reactive nobility of the inner isles.
Yes. Yes, that should do nicely.
Azulon is pulled from his lightning-paced planning by his son's voice.
“What is this?”
Ursa’s face twists in confusion at the sharp tone, the atmosphere in the room drawing tense as she instinctively curls a protective arm over the infant.
"Ozai...?"
Azulon glances at the younger prince and nearly clicks his tongue at the disappointed anger he sees in narrowed eyes.
He doesn’t get along with this son particularly well but he can sympathize with the boys frustrations.
For all that the drab marking validates Azulon’s belief that the avatar's line will strengthen his own the unfortunate fact of the matter remains that Ozai’s firstborn is non-viable as an heir.
Still he and Ursa are young. They’ll have other chances, and this child will be useful in his own way.
Before Ozai could reply with one of his signature cutting remarks Azulon quiets him with a hand on his shoulder.
Almost instantly Sage Malai is stepping forward, iron-streaked hair gleaming in the firelight as she inclines her head in a perfect blend of respect and dignity.
“Worry not, my prince. Paleness and exhaustion are a natural consequence of the birthing bed, but Her Highness is in no danger. She merely needs rest.”
Azulon makes a noise of vague agreement, easily picking up the thread and making a mental note to find an excuse to delay Malai’s rotation back to her temple from the palace posting. The woman is far too useful at court to lose her to the petty concerns of consoling the fearful at such critical juncture.
“Indeed, your mother was much the same. She’ll likely be recovered enough for the presentation to Agni in the morning.”
Ozai was still stiff-jawed, but he knew better than to make a scene and already the excited bustle was beginning to return to the room as the majority of the attendants went on about their tasks of freshening the room and preparing supplies for mother and newborn.
Malai was skillfully smoothing over even the memory of the moment of tension, inquiring about names and any thoughts the new parents had on the blessings for the presentation ceremony given the unusual privilege of time to consider their options before Agni would once more return to the sky.
Ursa was clearly fighting to keep her eyes open. Azulon doubted she’d last much longer given the way her head kept slumping back into the pillow with every slow blink, though she startled back to alertness when Iroh arrived with Lu Ten dozing against his shoulder and all the boisterous enthusiasm that the prospect of younger relatives always seemed to elicit in him.
As for Azulon himself he quietly withdrew shortly after Iroh began fussing over the new mother and child, marveling over the mark with a delight that seemed to soothe the last of the uneasy tension from Ursa's shoulders.
The two guards assigned to him peeled off from their place outside the doors as he slipped into the hall, following a silent half-step behind him as he began the unfortunately long trek to the dragonbone catacombs.
He was relatively certain of the general reactions he could expect from the most vocal domains, but best to check the records of the last bond-marked royal born to the nation before he begins drafting his announcement and considering future arrangements. It wouldn't do to be caught off-guard by an unexpected precedent.
It would seem there would be no sleep for him tonight after all. There are plans to be made.
Hathai smacks Jiran’s hopeful fingers away from her grill with a smile and a giggle.
“These last are promised I’m afraid.”
He sits back on his heels with a mournful look at the abalone-crabs sizzling merrily over the flames.
“Hathai! You know how I feel about your yam tian! How can such a beauty be so cruel to me?"
She rolls her eyes at his dramatics, determinedly ignoring the heat of the blush rising in her ears as she retorts.
"It's not as if you've an extra coin for another anyway. I didn't spend the morning diving for these just to give them away you know! Besides, my cousin’s visiting and third aunt wants her well fed."
Jiran's big dark eyes widen until they're as sweetly pleading as as an otter-fox kits.
"She wouldn’t miss just one, would she?”
She reddens further, forever weak to that particular look. Fortunately for her heart Old Li comes to her rescue and cuffs the younger glassblower's shoulder with a goodnatured grumble.
“Ai, quiet down you little delinquent. You eat well every day, but who knows what they’re even feeding that girl off in the capital?”
Jiran’s comically over-blown protests draw amused ribbing from the other workers who’ve gathered around her grill for lunch today, the conversation so lively that she doesn’t notice Umi’s approach until there are fingers tugging lightly at the faded purple prayer shawl tied around her still-damp hair.
“Room for one more? I’ve brought chilled spice tea and chet chien!”
Hathai grins up at her cousin and gestures for her to sit.
“You know I always have room for sweets.”
Umi cuts a knowing look at Jiran cheerfully scooting over to make room between them.
"Mm. You certainly do at that."
Hathai briefly chokes and resists the urge to hiss at her as she easily folds into the sort of graceful half-seiza that looks like it belongs on a stage or in a lords residence.
At first glance she looks out of place among the sun-browned crowd with her bender-pale skin, smooth hands, and unfaded pink sabai, but she snatches a still sizzling abalone-crab from the grill with the same ease as the rest.
“A good haul today?”
Eager to redirect Umi's attention from her maybe-suitor Hathai taps the empty bucket at her side with an only slightly flustered smile.
“Just so. La granted me a smooth dive, Agni guided me safely back, and most importantly everyone’s bellies emptied my grill!”
Old Li snorts.
“You mean Jiran’s belly emptied it.”
There’s another round of good-natured laughter and Hathai ducks her head slightly, bracing for Umi’s usual teasing about their childhood friends clumsy but increasingly enthusiastic attentions to her. She’s surprised when her mischievous cousin lets the opportunity pass with no more than a nod.
“That makes sense. I imagine the spirits will be favoring our people a bit more from now on.”
Hathai blinks at her in confusion, while the rest of the group exchanges bewildered glances at the odd comment.
Zihan, a weaver recently come to the area with her children after receiving notice that her wife was killed in action, frowns in slight disapproval.
“It’s unwise to say such things, the spirits don’t appreciate humans making assumptions about them.”
Chariya, who lost her navy husband several years back and has taken the younger widow under her wing, rests a sympathetic hand on her arm even as she moves to smooth over any tension.
“Don’t worry so. Umi’s a good, respectful girl. She wouldn’t say such things thoughtlessly.”
Umi beams, apparently so caught up in her news that she doesn’t even notice the gentle reprimand in Chariya's words.
“I wouldn’t, but I have the best reason! Oh Hathai, you will never guess!”
She's barely opened her mouth to ask what Umi's on about when Old Li beats her to it, his stoic expression not quite enough to hide the intrigue gleaming sharply in his eyes.
“There’s news from the palace then. Well go on and spit it out girl, I’m too old for gossip.”
Hathai and Jiran exchange a wry look over Uma's head at the affected nonchalance. As if everyone and their grandmother doesn't know the old veteran is the most informed gossip this side of Zaitsu.
Umi however has no time for the distractions of irony.
“It’s the most wonderful thing! Lady Ursa finally had her baby! That’s why I was granted leave, as a reward for attending in the birthing room!”
That gets everyone's attention pretty quickly. There's more than a few automatic infant blessings automatically murmured and everyone pretends not to notice the bitter twist of Zihan's mouth as she turns her eyes away.
Old Li however makes a show of being unimpressed, sucking the last traces of spice from his fingers and giving a disinterested grumble.
“The second prince’s child? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten so caught up in the officials nonsense that you think the spirits work themselves into a tizzy over every last royal born. What's one more noble to the likes of us, eh?”
He's just fishing for a juicier tidbit and they all know it, but apparently Umi is more than happy to give it to him.
She leans in, face alight with eager excitement.
“Ah, but the little prince isn't just any royal.”
She glances around to make sure she has all their attention, though Hathai doesn’t know why when they’re all clearly hanging on her every word.
“He has a bondmark!”
There’s a collective soft intake of air, murmurs of astonishment filling the air. Hathai drops her saibashi with a clatter, twisting to catch her cousin's elbow in shock.
“A mark? Umi are you sure?”
Chariya chimes in before she can answer, eyes now as sharply intent as Old Li’s.
“Was there an official confirmation from the temple? Birthmarks can look a little odd sometimes, or if something happens during the pregnancy a spirit-touched baby might carry the mark of that...”
Umi makes a sound of impatient denial.
“I’m sure. There was a senior sage right there in the birthing room, and even if there wasn’t I saw it myself! It wasn’t an ember birthmark or a scale pattern or anything like that. It was the eye of a mask, clear and vivid as a painting from here to here!”
She runs her fingers over left side of her face in a broad angled sweep up the side of her nose, over her eye, and across her temple.
Hathai gapes and the entire lunch group bursts into astonished chatter.
Everyone is talking at once; about how long before the search for the little prince's bondmate is announced, about who his match might be, about what his birth means for the nation. The speculation is flowing thick and fast enough to make her head spin but her own focus is on Umi with her shining, hopeful eyes.
“Isn’t it wonderful Hathai? Like something out of the old stories! I’m so happy for Lady Ursa.”
Hathai hums dazedly, her hand finding its way up to twist at her prayer scarf in a habitual request for luck and guidance.
“Mm. Like one of the stories.”
Perhaps they’ll live to see the end of this war yet.