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froggyfics · 8 months

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The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 5

Your wedding day arrives.

Note: (09/15/23) PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. If you have read this series before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. Therefore, the original chapter 4 is now chapter 3. Chapter 4 is new. This chapter and beyond are up to date.

Btw y'all it's gonna get saucy in the next chapter lmao

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Word Count: 4,844

This is the closest you’ve been with him in weeks. The intimacy of the moment is warped however, with underlying feelings of inadequacy.

This is your wedding day. Yet, you feel as though you are imposter. You can feel the red-hot glares of the jealous maidens in the crowd. After all, you are marrying the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm. If only they knew that you felt sick to your stomach, and you wished that they were in your place.

You don’t even look him in the eyes. You stare at his mouth, as if you needed to do so in order to understand the vows.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

No, you won’t, you say to yourself. You led me to believe that we could be more, but you tricked me!

He places a ring on your finger. Your hand suddenly feels like it’s weighed down by a ton of bricks. You nearly choke on your vows as they stumble out of you. When you arrived in Gotham a month ago, you were admittedly excited for this day. However, Damian’s icy demeanor as of late has left you bitter. How could it be possible to be so close with someone one day, and then completely cold the next. It befuddled you. Damianbefuddled you.

Your vows were sealed with a chaste kiss. Cheers and whoops erupted from the crowd. Through the noise, you could distinctly hear your father’s booming claps and mother’s animated laughs. Of course they were happy! Their daughter was married off – to a prince no less. Your marriage ensured a lifetime of stability and wealth for them. Not bad for a baron and baroness.

You wobble to the great hall for the wedding banquet with Damian’s hand clasped in your own. It wasn’t your choice to make physical contact – he was the one that initiated.

“Weddings are the end of their lives as they know it. The beginning of a prison sentence. The end of youth.”

This is an act. You must admit, if acting was a respectable career choice, Damian would be a top-notch performer. The vows meant nothing. The kiss was expected. The hand holding was necessary for the performance.

You sat right next to your husband. Aristocrats, both strangers and now familiar faces, approach to wish glad tidings upon you and Damian. You accept their kind words as politely as you can. All the while, you twist your ring, round and round, underneath the table.

You light up when Rachel approaches the table. A genuine smile finally crosses your face.

“Lady Rachel!” you call out excitedly.

You jump when you feel Damian’s presence near your ear.

“How do you know of Lady Rachel?” he asks.

You gape at him while Rachel curtsies shyly. His question is not shocking – you chalk it up to mere curiosity. It’s the fact that he’s talking…to you! Willingly. And the conversation does not revolve around simple greetings or pleasantries.

You can’t even answer him. Anger bubbles inside of you. He almost completely ignores you for four weeks and now suddenly acts like you should be receptive to his conversation. You have half a mind to ignore him in favor of speaking to Rachel. However, the ring sits heavy on your finger, and you suddenly remember your place.

He is now your husband. He is the heir to the throne. If there is anyone you should hold your tongue towards, it’s him.

“We met one week ago,” you reply. Rachel beams at you while you recount how you met her.

“We’ve only become closer and closer, day by day.” You hold your hand towards her, and she takes it affectionately.

“The princess is right,” Rachel adds. “It is almost like we have known each other our entire lives.”

Damian speaks only after he gulps his entire drink quickly. “Well, wife,” he emphasizes when he grabs your hand, “I am glad you have made a friend in Gotham.”

He smiles menacingly. You can tell by the way his lips unnaturally stretch over his teeth and the reddening of his face.

Rachel glances at your conjoined hands and clears her throat. “Well, I just wanted to say that I wish for the two of you to be happy.” She raises her cup and you raise yours with your other hand in support.

“To the happy couple,” she concludes. The edge of the cup reaches her lips, but she does not drink. She instead curtsies once more and disappears among the crowd of people.

As soon as she leaves, Damian releases your hand, wiping his palm on his pants as if you were a leper. You clench your teeth so hard that they squeak in retaliation. You manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself – in and out, in and out, in and out. It’s truly an act for him.

Everyone looks to be so happy. Not for you, of course not. They are happy for their own selfish reasons. Guests are fed the most delicious food and drink that the realm has to offer. Your parents rub elbows with highly ranked aristocrats. Your siblings dance merrily along the aisles. King R’as laughs heartedly a few seats away from Damian while speaking to his friends. Even Talia seems to be in a cheerful mood, scarfing down her food.

Perhaps you can attempt to be happy, too. It is your wedding day after all. You inhale deeply to gather confidence.

“Husband.”

Damian doesn’t acknowledge you.

You clear your throat and repeat yourself once more.

He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

“Damain!” you half-shout.

His head shoots up immediately. “Yes, wife?”

You want to punch him in the throat. His polite tone seems genuine, but it sounds fake to your ears.

“Are you…” You scan the great hall. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

He nods his head slowly like he has trouble understanding your question. “Quite.” He returns to his plate.

You growl, but say no more. After all, there is no point making a concerted effort at conversation now when you apparently have the rest of your life to do so. You might as well take what little enjoyment you have now and ignore the glaring loneliness that dwells within you.

The wedding took place at noon, but the reception continues well past sunset. You did not even know that there existed so much food in the entire city. Drinks flowed like a river all night long. Some people fell asleep in their seats, despite the rambunctious behaviors of others. Some people danced and danced until you thought their feet would fall off.

You remain glued to your seat nearly the entire reception. There were a few moments where you stretched your feet, such as when the guests stacked cakes on top one another, so that you and Damian could kiss over them. You managed to peck each other’s lips without the cakes collapsing to the ground, which made the audience break out into cheers. After all, if the cakes fell, it symbolized bad luck for your marriage.

As if you needed any more of that already.

The reception seemed like it would never end. Your posture slowly deteriorated over the hours, until you were slumped in your chair. Muscle aches began to surface for sitting for so long. You wanted the night to be over.

“Damian!” R’as called.

Damian pushes the table to make room to get up. He travels just a few feet farther to his grandfather who whispers something in his ear. Whatever was said made Damian stiffen and glance at you.

You suddenly develop that prickly feeling when you feel like someone is talking about you. Damian’s glance made you certain that you were the subject of their conversation. The realization made you shift in your seat. You decide to study the wooden table to distract yourself from your insecurity.

A tap on your shoulder breaks your concentration. You find Damian looking down at you with a stoic expression. As usual, you can never determine what he’s thinking.

“Follow me,” he bluntly says.

He doesn’t move an inch and you don’t realize until a few moments later that he expects you to get up first. You push yourself from the table and slowly stand up. You’ve been sitting for so long that your knees crack upon straightening.

Damian maneuvers you so that you remain in front of him. He’s mere inches behind you and his hands fix themselves to your waist. He pushes you forward, directing you towards the door.

The once lively room suddenly quiets down, until cheers are erupted once more.

You peer behind you to see that nearly everyone is looking directly at you. Men are jeering, throwing their hands in the air. Your father kisses your mother’s forehead while she blows a kiss towards you. Women are clapping obnoxiously. You face forward once again in mortification when you realize that they are cheering for your consummation. Everyone knows that you are walking out the hall a virgin – only to become a true wife by tomorrow.

You look back again, scanning the crowd for Rachel. She has been one of the few sources of support you’ve had as of late. You just want to look at her, to search for comfort in her eyes. You find her violet eyes eventually, only for your humiliation to turn into sadness. Her eyes do not necessarily brim with tears, but they are certainly glossy.

You give her a comforting smile as the door to the hall opens.

Don’t be sad for me, you want to say to her, but the door of the hall closes before your message can be relayed through your eyes.

Damian continues pushing you from behind through the castle. You are eventually brought to an all-too familiar, yet unfamiliar room.

It certainly has changed since you were in here last, all those years ago. Damian’s room still exudes extravagance, worthy of an heir. However, small details have changed.

There are several arms-related items laying around. A full armor suit sits at the corner of the room. Several weapons – swords, axes, morning stars – are hung on the walls. Papers are strewn across the room. They’re on his desk and dresser and end tables. Most importantly, the room feels larger than it did when you were a child. Well, that was probably due to the fact that you felt smaller now than you did then.

The door behind you slams shut. You jump in surprise at the loud noise and see Damian leaning on the door.

You hate it. You hate that you feel so nervous. It’s all too much. This room brings back happy memories that you cannot – should not – dredge up in fear of living in the past. You stand in a room, alone, for the first with someone known as your husband. Someone who is actually a stranger to you still. You can’t help but look down. It may be due to submission or shyness; you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that your girlhood has officially ended, and adulthood is crashing upon you.

You see his shoes from your peripheral. He stands toe-to-toe with you. You can’t bear to look him in the face. No good could come from falling for those green eyes.

He cautiously raises his hands to your waist. You grow numb as he removes your belt. Your dress puffs out into a shapeless blob.

He grabs your shoulder and turns you around, your back facing him. You can feel your dress loosening as he undoes your corset, one string at a time. Your breathing quickens at the intimacy of the act. You’ve had maybe two decent conversations with this man, and now, he has full access to your body. The discomfort makes you twitch.

“Raise your arms,” he commands. And you listen. He reaches down to hem of your dress, and pulls upward. You become blind momentarily until your dress is fully removed, and all that remains is your paltry smock. You feel overexposed. Your shoulders, arms, and legs are bare. Bare! You instinctively cover yourself the best you can with your arms, but Damian, while still behind you, firmly grabs your forearms to place them at your side. You gasp when he places a quick kiss on the back of your head.

You remain stuck in place despite hearing the crumpling of clothes behind you and await for Damian to direct you. There’s a creak, and several more creaks, and the crinkling of sheets.

“Come.”

You turn around and are met with a shirtless Damian, already beneath the sheets. He pats the unoccupied space next to him, and you follow his orders. You slink underneath the sheets and lay flat on your back, burning holes into the ceiling. The only sounds that could be heard is your breathing and the crackle of the fireplace.

You await for his orders once more. And wait. And wait. And wait some more, even as he slips completely underneath the sheets completely. From your peripheral vision, you can see that he turns his back towards you. You bite your lips nervously and you dare lift your arm up in an attempt to touch him.

“Good night.”

His words make your arm drop back down onto the mattress. The finality of his words make you close your eyes. There is nothing to do, nothing to expect. He is an actor, and you are at the whim of his play.

The extinguished fire from the fireplace doesn’t wake you. Neither does the blearing sun peeking from behind the curtains. What does wake you are the stomps of your ladies-in-waiting.

Your eyelids instantly open, the crust that developed during the night making it difficult at first.

“Princess, it is time to wake,” Matilda says in a voice that it all too loud this early in the morning. She wretches the curtains open and sunlight streams in. You hiss at the light, still walking the line between unconsciousness and alertness.

Joan grabs your shoulders and heaves you into a sitting position. In a militaristic approach, Joan, Matilda, and Honora perform your morning routine. You’ve had a month to adjust to their “help”, but it has only become slightly easier to tolerate their grubby hands and rude shoves. You can only say – Ouch! – so many times until you realize they do not care if they cause you pain. You are a job for them. They may be your household staff, but they are certainly still Talia’s minions.

The hubbub of the morning almost makes you forget where you are and what had happened the night before. You glance at the spot Damian was sleeping just a few hours prior. In his place is the outline of his body on the mattress.

“Where has my husband gone?” You wince when Joan tugs your hair particularly hard while brushing it.

“You have been summoned by Lady Talia.”

It hangs in the air, but you don’t expect them to answer your original question. It’s the nature of your relationship with them. It only reminds you to formally add Rachel to your household staff. Perhaps an ally in the mornings would improve your days.

You’re prodded and shoved and squeezed until you are dressed. A green and black gown once again. An emblem of the house that you married into. You are no longer a daughter of a baron – you are now a princess of the House Al Ghul.

You’re led to Talia’s room within the castle. A guard stands upright outside her door, and opens it for you and your brood. Within, you find your now mother-in-law with a table full of assorted small plates. Fruits, cheeses, bread. Your stomach grumbles in hunger, but you doubt you’ll be able to enjoy your meal. Not with Talia.

“Lady Talia,” you politely greet.

She waves you over without looking up. As you approach her, she finally glances at you, but now before grunting in disapproval.

She is now your mother-in-law. You must remain polite. You repeat the mantra to yourself several times as you become situated in the seat across from her. Your ladies-in-waiting stand off the side, along with Talia’s servants.

A moment passes. Then two. Then several. Talia says nothing and continues to eat. You recognize that she will not speak to you first, and that you must initiate the conversation. You desperately want to your roll your eyes, but you remember your mantra.

“Ahem, Lady Talia,” you start. “I have heard that you summoned me. Might I ask why?”

She sharply glares at you. “Do I need a reason to call upon you? After all, you are now my daughter.”

“Of course not.” You smile as sweetly as you can while simultaneously wanting to burst. You stomach rumbles again to remind you that it is empty, so you swiftly gather some items to make your plate full.

“Will Damian be joining us for this –”

“No,” Talia interjects.

“Oh.” Silence befalls the room except for the occasional chewing of food. “Is it possible for my mother to come join us? She will be leaving –”

“No. Is my presence not satisfactory to you?”

“Of course it is, Lady Talia,” you grit. She feigns a smile at you, and her eyes sparkle.

She knows that she’s irking you. She loves it.

“Are you close with Lady Rachel of House Azarath?” you inquire. The best use of your time here with Talia is to at least introduce the idea of Rachel as an additional lady-in-waiting.

Talia sips her tea generously before answering. “Yes, she used to be quite close to my son.”

“Well, her and I have only recently met, but we have become incredibly close. She honestly feels like a sister to me –”

“You’re talking about Lady Rachel?”

You gulp and shakingly nod your head. “Yes, I am. Erm – like I was saying, she has become a true friend. Since my family will return to my birthplace soon, and I have left behind my childhood friends, I was thinking about having Lady Rachel join my household staff. As a lady-in-waiting.”

Talia stares blankly at you, her green eyes burrowing into your soul. Her façade soon begins to break as her lips twitch and her eyes crinkles. Soon, she releases out a howling cackle. She laughs and laughs, holding her stomach to support herself.

Joan, Matilda, Honora, and the remaining servants in the room look to one another curiously before they begin to laugh as well. Their laughs start as awkward chuckles until they are bellowing to match their master.

You sit in utter disbelief at the situation unfurling in front of you. There’s a joke hidden in Talia’s laugh, but you remain oblivious to it.

“Oh, oh, my.” Talia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why, yes, of course! Lady Rachel is free to join your household staff.”

Your face is red with embarrassment as the laughs finally die down. You’re not sure what the joke was, and you so desperately want to know.

The food no longer looks appetizing to you. The measly few bites you had appease your stomach for the time being. Desperate for the attention to be off of you, the course of the conversation is redirected.

“Erm – thank you, Lady Talia. Say, how did you enjoy the festivities yesterday?”

“Ahem, yes, it was fine.” Her joyful tone suddenly reverts to its malicious nature. “I presume you enjoyed your wedding night, especially. How very lucky you are to bed a prince when you are…” She points in your general direction. “Well, when you are…you.”

A forced chuckle exits your mouth. Never have you ever met someone as blatantly, yet simultaneously subtly, rude. It dawns on you that her status allows her to speak however she wants, and that social graces are only for those inferior to her.

“I am eternally grateful that Prince Damian chose me to be his wife.”

She waves your pleasantry off. “Yes, yes. After all, he chose you out of…every maiden. I am certain you will do your duties as a wife to ensure his happiness. As long as you bear him heirs, I suppose that is all I can ask for.”

The conversation feels unpleasant to you. After all, shouldn’t your marital relations with Damian be kept between you and him? Admittedly, you’re not sure whether you should alert Talia to the fact that you did notbed Damian last night. Sure, you slept in the same bed, but you are certain that is not what she cares about.

The question that she was dancing around finally is brought to the forefront. “Last night was…successful, correct?”

Your hunger has not yet returned, but you abruptly feel the urge to stuff food into your mouth to avoid answering her.

“Mmhm.”

She leans in dangerously close. She remains across the table, but it seems like she will pounce on you if you dare utter one wrong word.

“Did you bed Damian?”

You breathe in deeply, having had enough of the intrusion. “Lady Talia, I feel as though my relations with your son –”

“This is a yes or no question, dear,” she seethes. “Did you or did not do your duty as the wife of Prince Damian?” She slowly stands as she asks you her question, her anger palpable.

“Does it matter?” you counter. “Why is that any of your business?”

“So, you did not bed him.”

You eye twitches in annoyance. “Lady Talia, I did not say that.”

“You don’t have to.” She slams her hands on the table, shaking it. You jump in surprise and grab hold onto the arms of the seat. The other women in the room hold their breath in frightened anticipation.

“What was the point then? What was it?” She places her hands on her waist and circles you. “There were so many others – richer, prettier, friendlier. Some of them he grew up with. Why you if he doesn’t even want to bed you?”

You remain glued to your seat. Talia looks down at you with rage in her eyes, while you look back with confusion. You don’t know how to answer her question, because ultimately, you’re unsure of the answers yourself. If she had asked you a month prior when you first arrived in Gotham, you probably could have answered that you and Damian shared a sweet encounter from many years past, and that encounter led to your marriage. However, with Damian’s aloofness, you also are uncertain as to why you were chosen to be his bride.

Talia groans in frustration at your muteness. She stomps towards the door, but not before a servant rushes over to open it for her. You watch as she disappears into the hallway, presumably to confront Damian.

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Take me back to my quarters,” you order your ladies-in-waiting. “And send for Lady Rachel.”

You pace back and forth in your room, practically burning a hole into the floor. A loud knock disrupts your fervent strides, and in comes your rescuer, Rachel.

“Rachel,” you whimper as your nearly run into her open arms.

Her arms wrap around you tightly, like how a snake suffocates its victims, except her hug was full of love instead.

You’re shaken up by your encounter with Talia, but the culmination of the previous 24 hours bears down upon you. You sink to the floor, Rachel helplessly attempting to lift you back to your feet, but the energy is no longer within you.

“Everything is wrong.”

“What is?” Rachel finally sinks to the floor next to you, holding your head to her bosom, holding you like a mother would do to console her child.

“Everything. This cursed family has brought me nothing but misery. I will be miserable until the end of my days, I fear.”

Rachel gently quiets you and strokes your hair. “No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen.”

“It will!” you exclaim. “Damian hates me!”

“He does not hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Embarrassment sinks into your bones when Rachel asks you to explain.

“Last night was a disaster,” you murmur into her chest.

Rachel stops stroking your head momentarily. “Hmm? How so?” She starts once more playing with your hair.

“I am…still a virgin.”

She pulls your head backwards so that her eyes meet yours. “Do you mean…he has not bedded you yet?”

You cringe in embarrassment. Her shock has only solidified your insecurity – something must be wrong with you. That’s the only explanation!

“No, no, darling,” Rachel clucks. “Do not hide your face from me. It is not your fault – hey – look at me. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“Then, what is wrong?” You swiftly get to your feet and resume your pacing. “If not me, then what? It’s silly to think that there is another issue at play here.”

Rachel grabs hold of your shoulders and firmly shakes you. “Listen to yourself! You sound mad.” She looks around the room as if it isn’t empty and leans in close to whisper. “Understand that there may be other factors at play. The emotions of man can certainly affect his…libido. Take it from me, I should know.”

She releases her grip, but remains planted in front of your face. “I have had…prior relations.”

You nod at her wide-eyed. This is the first you’ve heard of Rachel speaking about her romantic life.

“Certain emotions can make it hard for a man to perform his husbandly duties. I do not think it wise to push the issue, as to not cause any embarrassment for him.”

You nod your head emphatically, whole-heartedly internalizing her speech. “But – what if he doesn’t bed me tonight either? Lady Talia is already speaking about heirs.”

“Again, do not push the issue. You would rather not face Damian’s wrath.”

A singular, harsh knock interrupts your discussion. In stomps in the subject of the conversation, the man of the hour, your lifeline and your ruin – Damian.

Rachel immediately curtsies out of respect and lowers her head. He opens his mouth to speak, but is seemingly stunned by the presence of another human in your room. He looks back and forth between you and Rachel.

“Husband,” you greet.

The sound of your voice brings Damian back from his trance. He nods his head towards the door and several servants, including your ladies-in-waiting, pile into the room.

“Wife,” he starts. He strides over to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. His lips leave a burning sensation on you, as his sudden display of affection jars you. “Pack your essentials. We leave soon for my father’s.”

“Damian,” you whisper. His face reveals his agitation: his lips are stretched into a scowl and his forehead wrinkles deeply. “Is everything alright?”

His palm reaches to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. You want to believe he does it lovingly, but your heart can’t take that risk.

“You should have called upon me,” he murmurs. “As soon as my mother disrespected you, you should have come to me.”

You look down in shame. So, he’s heard of your interaction with Talia earlier that day. “I did not think that was an option. I did not even know where you were.”

He lifts your head up with his index finger on your chin. He bends as best as he could to meet you at eye-level. “Of course, that is an option. You are my wife.”

You swallow hard. The way he’s looking at you, and comforting you – it’s too much. It’s too sudden. You shimmy your way out of his grasp and look to Rachel for support, only to find her back facing towards you and Damian.

“Lady Rachel has been consoling me.”

Damian stiffens and his jaw tightens. “Thank you, Lady Rachel,” he starts. He looks over his shoulder her, and she does so too ever so slightly. Neither face each other completely, however. “You may now take your leave.”

Rachel nods her head and without turning to say goodbye to you, she starts heading towards the door.

“Wait, no!” you call out. You circle around Damian to reach Rachel’s arm. “Lady Rachel is to be my lady-in-waiting. She must remain by my side.”

Damian’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Your lady-in-waiting?” he repeats brashly.

You huff in irritation. You’re not sure why everyone seems to be so astonished that you want Rachel to be a part of your household staff. “Yes,” you reply.

Damian clicks his tongue in disapproval. The amorous façade he performed just moments prior is now gone. It’s been replaced with the real Damian – the stoic one.

“Fine.” He pushes back you to reach the exit before stopping by the door. He doesn’t even turn around. “Remember, just the essentials.

#dc comics #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x fem!reader #damian wayne x y/n #league of assassins #loa!damian wayne #damian wayne

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iphigeniarising · 1 year

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Hailey Turner, The Prince’s Poisoned Vow

#the prince’s poisoned vow #bookblr #iphi.post #words words words #litblr #booklr #hailey turner #this book is written like a fic i wouldn’t finish

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ace-artemis-fanartist · 2 years

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Blaine and Honovi from The Prince’s Poisoned Vow!

I love their clan’s tradition of wedding choker necklaces over wedding rings.

#the prince's poisoned vow #tppv #hailey turner #lgbt books #blaine #honovi #Infernal War Saga #my art

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 6: Dawn]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @randomdragonfires @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain @darkenchantress @doingfondue @atherverybest @namelesslosers @skythighs @moonlightfoxx @partypoison00

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

She’s worse than you could have ever imagined.

She’s dignified and graceful and courteous, stunning like an opal or a pearl, a portrait in motion. She has hushed footsteps and large bright eyes that dart around taking in every detail. You can tell she’s intelligent, everyone can tell, and that’s worse than all the rest of it; as she and Aemond stroll together through the gardens, she asks him questions about history and hunting, and then has clever retorts to his answers. Their conversation has the seamless, pacific quality of language between people who have known each other for years. It’s just like the Duke of Hightower said it would be. She is precisely the sort of woman Aemond would have chosen for himself.

The Duke prattles on about various features of the palace and its grounds, inflating favorable attributes like a seller at a horse auction whose children are waiting hungry at home. It’s not difficult to imagine what fuels his freneticism. The king, unresponsive and reeking of decay, lies dying in his bedchamber. Rhaenyra is keeping a vigil there. She must genuinely love him, as there is nothing more to gain from cooling his forehead with damp cloths or clasping his feverish hands. The Greens have no such tender heartache brewing within them. They mourned King Viserys long ago, not his death but his dreadful, interminable absence.

Rhaenyra refuses to leave her father, and Daemon refuses to leave her here in London unprotected—though he should be riding north to command soldiers pledged to the Blacks—and so the two factions circle each other like snarling dogs. The second the king dies, the war will erupt, and everyone knows this. The court is a powder keg. Letters are scrawled, noblemen are dispatched to raise their banners, no one eats or drinks anything unless it is brought to them by a lifelong loyalist. In the past 48 hours, there have been twelve fistfights, seven sword duels, and no less than five deaths, six if you include the poisoning servant who (allegedly) threw himself from a window of the Tower of London before he could be racked. And for once, the Greens’ supporters know exactly what to say to you. They fawn over your health and mourn your losses, all four of them, as if they happened only yesterday. They never tire of expressing their horror. They vow that the treacherous, murderous Blacks must not be given any further opportunity to endanger you or the child you now carry. You are not just—at long last—a true Green. You are a beacon that draws ever more allies to their side. You are a talisman. You are an example of how mercilessly low Daemon will sink to devour his adversaries: a serpent, a wolf, a butcher who no man of honor could count among his friends.

You are walking behind Aemond, Kunigunde, and the Duke of Hightower with Nico and Daeron, trying to remember how to smile, how to speak about trivial things like fabrics and feasts. Nico is hoping that even considering the haste with which this wedding must take place, the kitchens will manage to whip up some famous Austrian dessert, cheese strudels or Linzer tortes or Marillenkuchen, a sort of apricot cake that is renowned throughout the Continent. You can’t follow her phrases; your hearing goes in and out like a tide. Late-April rain, cool and benign, falls in large sporadic droplets.

The Duke is rambling: “You’ll see that we have here in the gardens all manner of herbs, angelica, feverfew, St. John’s wort, betony, chamomile, rosemary…” He does not mention pennyroyal, a word that now brings tears to your eyes. “There are a plethora of roses, of course. Bluebells, daffodils, wisteria, tulips, lavender. And calla lilies, a symbol of matrimony, I believe. Perhaps you would like to use some in your wedding bouquet.”

“Do you grow any edelweiss?” Kunigunde asks in a voice like windchimes.

“Edelweiss…?”

“It is found in the Alps,” Aemond explains. “Small white blossom that thrive in rocky limestone soil. It cannot survive in England, regrettably.”

“A shame,” Kunigunde says with what you would guess is well-disguised homesickness. “It’s my favorite flower. That’s what’s used in my perfume, you know.”

“A splendid scent!” the Duke chirps, and he is not a man inclined towards chirping. He is a child on Christmas morning, a hound who’s found the trail of a fox. “We shall arrange to have edelweiss perfume shipped here directly from Austria for you.”

“Ah! But I see you have an infestation.” Kunigunde points at the grasping emerald vines that are spilling from the grey stone walls of the palace down into the gardens.

The Duke follows her eyeline. “Oh, ivy, yes. Well, there’s no stopping that. A stubborn weed. It would cover the whole world if it could.”

You and Aemond glance at each other, like a reflex, then immediately look away. His cheeks flush a deep hectic pink.

“But it kills,” Kunigunde says. “It smothers everything else. It must be tamed.”

“We’ll have it ripped down,” the Duke assures her, then leads you all into the royal stables to escape the rain.

Kunigunde drifts down the aisle, inspecting each stall. She moves swiftly past Caraxes; he kicks at the walls when she comes near, flattens his ears and glares with bulging black eyes. Kunigunde’s gown is not the sunlike gold of the Holy Roman Empire nor the green of the family she is marrying into. She wears a harmless unaffiliated color, a pale watery pink that makes you think of the organs of a gutter bear: a lung, a kidney, the deflated globe of a stomach. She’s not trying to prove that she’s anything. She doesn’t have to. Everyone knows exactly who she is: the only daughter of a kingdom far larger, wealthier, and more stable than England. As the wife of the second son instead of a third, she will outrank Nico. As a superior partner in every conceivable way, she will eclipse you.

Sir Criston Cole arrives, hauling Aegon along like an errant child. Your husband keeps running away and hiding in stairwells, in trees, behind curtains, under beds. He knows people are always searching for him now, wanting to meet the almost-king, trying to coax him into discussions of alliances and war plans. He sighs and bows to Kunigunde, his white-blond hair uncombed, his ocean-blue eyes groggy.

“Welcome to England, princess. And, uh, I presume you have a nickname of some sort…?”

Kunigunde blinks bewilderedly at him. “Why would I require a nickname?”

“Jesus Christ,” Aegon mutters, and wanders away to pet Sunfyre.

“We’ll purchase you a horse of your own,” the Duke of Hightower promises Kunigunde, papering over the mishap. Aemond has migrated to Vhagar, stroking the white blaze of her face, ticking her velvety muzzle with his expert fingers that you wish you could stop staring at. “A gift to commemorate your marriage. Any color and breed that you wish. Perhaps a golden Akhal-Teke like Sunfyre, or a mighty Percheron like Tessarion, or a breed from your native Austria if you’d prefer…”

Kunigunde stops at your horse’s stall. She marvels at her—gleaming black coat, vast muscles, defiant eyes—and gasps in delight. “Meine Güte! What is this one?”

“She’s an Andalucian,” you tell her. “From Navarre.”

“Your homeland,” Kunigunde notes gently, like someone who knows the pain of being exiled from the same earth that grew you.

“Yes, princess.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kunigunde declares. “Gorgeous. Formidable. What do you call her?”

“Midnight,” you reply, then steal a glimpse of Aemond to test his reaction. He pretends not to be listening, but again his cheeks color with a fleeting wash of scarlet. His betrothed—in a few short hours, his wife—observes this thoughtfully. It’s nothing as low as suspicion; it’s an intelligent, acute sort of awareness. One can look at her face and see gears and levers shifting, hear the ticking of a clock.

When the Duke continues the tour to show off the archery fields, Kunigunde insists that he begin without her; she will have you escort her there shortly. As soon as the rest of the group is out of earshot, she leans into you and takes your hand, painting the air with her fresh, lively edelweiss perfume.

“Is it awful?” she asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

You genuinely have no idea what she’s talking about. “What?”

“His eye,” she says. “Prince Aemond’s lost eye. A grisly thing, surely. The scar is bad enough, but the eye? I can’t imagine having to stare at it while…while…well, you know. While he’s lying with me. Fortunately, I have been assured that I won’t ever have to see it. But I’m sure you have. I’ve heard that you’re very good friends.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help to you. I haven’t seen it myself.” You’ve wondered about it, though never with such scandalized revulsion. There’s nothing about Aemond that could disgust you. And then you say to comfort her: “But he’s well worth it.”

Kunigunde smiles hopefully. It’s the first time you’ve detected genuine vulnerability from her, but it’s there. “Is he?”

“Yes. He’s very clever and chivalrous. He has no vices, drinking, gambling, idleness. He loves history and sword fighting. He always smells of smoke and leather and hard work, like a blacksmith’s forge. He always has ink stains on his hands. And he writes poems.”

“Poems? Really?” Kunigunde says. She’s pleased, but she’s something else as well. There’s that watchfulness in her face again, too many layers for you to sift through. “Have you read many?”

You reply briskly as you lead her out into the scant rain: “Only one.”

An hour later—when the Duke of Hightower has concluded his ever-so-slightly-desperate flaunting of Westminster Palace and turned his attention to the hurried wedding arrangements—you return to the royal stables to see Midnight. You brush out her coat, feed her handfuls of oats from your palm, wrap your arms around her colossal black neck and rest your head against her, feeling the radiating heat of her body and the thudding of blood in her veins.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you tell Midnight. She nickers in reply, a low sympathetic rumble.

You hear footsteps in the aisle. Anxious—you really aren’t supposed to be going anywhere alone until the Blacks have left the court—you step out of Midnight’s stall to see who it is. Aemond is waiting there, his silvery hair wet from the light rain, wavy and dripping.

“What do you want?” you pitch at him.

He speaks with hesitant, quiet words. “I just wanted to express…I’m aware that…I’m sure this is difficult for you.”

“What an astute observation. I hope your tutors were well-compensated.”

“Ivy, I know how you feel—”

“Do you?” you snap. “Have you ever had to feign pleasure as some drunken stranger was invading you? Have you felt that your entire worth was whether or not you could produce a living son—an endeavor that might kill you, by the way—and then been vilified when you could not do it because you were being poisoned, all that sacrifice undone like someone pulling out a loose thread from a tapestry, all those nights of forced smiles and premeditated moans wasted? Have you stolen seconds of happiness, your first in a year, only to watch the person who gave them to you marry someone who is not a pitiful failure by any possible metric but a godsend who surpasses you in every way? Have you felt what it’s like to carry one man’s child when you desire another? No, you haven’t, and you never will. You have no fucking idea what this feels like.”

“We need to end this,” Aemond says. “The Holy Roman Empire must support the Greens’ claim to the throne. All our lives hang in the balance. Yours, mine, Aegon’s, my mother’s, Daeron’s, Nico’s. Everyone’s.”

“Right,” you hear yourself tell him.

“My wife…” And you flinch as he says it, like he’s hit you, a palm crashing against your face, a wave of flesh and bone. “She has to be happy here. She has to have a real marriage.”

“Unlike mine.”

He closes his eye. “Yes.”

“Then go,” you say, biting back sobs. “Go and get ready for your wedding.”

“You don’t think I’m being ripped apart by this?” he demands, striking a fist against his chest. “You don’t think I’d like to have some choice in the woman I’m bedding? For once in my life? You don’t think I’ve spent hundreds of hours wondering how our lives would look if the timing had been different, if you could have been wed to me and Aegon given the emperor’s daughter?”

“She’s perfect, she’s…” Your voice breaks off, bitter and fracturing.

“Yes. She must be, everybody agrees. Even the Blacks are in awe of her. They’re petrified by the advantage this match gives us. But I can’t see it. Because I’m not the man I was before and I can’t get him back. Because now I’m covered in you.”

You clean tears from your cheeks with quick, aggravated swipes. “I’m sorry our momentary indiscretion has become such a source of regret.”

“I don’t regret it.”

You look at each other from across a chasm of silence like a miles-wide torrent of dark cold water, a river, a channel, an ocean.

“I’ve made something for you,” Aemond says, kindly now.

“You’ve had it made, you mean.”

“No.” He shows you his hands. He made it himself.

“I don’t want it.” But you’ve made something for him too: a tunic to wear as he takes Kunigunde’s hand in marriage, deep forest green with bears and horses and roses stitched into it with gold thread. You’ve already given the tunic to Daeron so he can present it to his brother this evening. You won’t be there when he’s getting ready. You wouldn’t be able to bear it anyway. “I won’t accept it.”

“Then I’ll leave it in the box where you keep your sword.”

“Aemond, you don’t have to pretend,” you say. “I know you’ll spend the rest of your life avoiding me. You can start now.”

He comes to you and lays his hand on your belly; you’re not showing yet, but everyone knows you carry Aegon’s child. And now that the sinister cause of your previous losses has been revealed, there is no reason to believe that this one won’t live. “I will always protect you. And the child.”

You reply cynically: “Because if it’s a boy, he might be the king someday?”

Aemond shakes his head. “Because whether boy or girl, it’s a piece of you.”

He turns away and walks out into the rain, a grey spring afternoon hurtling towards night.

~~~~~~~~~~

You hide in the stables for as long as you can. When it grows so late that you know people will start looking for you—Nico wanting your opinion about her dress and her hair, the Duke of Hightower ensuring that the vessel carrying Aegon’s heir hasn’t gone missing—you take Midnight and trek down to the edge of the forest. She’s as good as any guard who might escort you; she’s been known to bite and kick at anyone besides Aemond and Vhagar who ventures too close. You use the spade you keep stabbed into the earth there to dig up the pink ivory wood box your sword is stowed away in. The soil is already soft, recently disturbed. There beside the blade, on velvet the same color as the flag of Navarre, is a thin gold chain with a charm attached to the center. The charm is a leaf with three distinct points like little mountains, like a crown.

“Ivy,” you tell Midnight, showing her the necklace. “He’s carved a leaf of ivy.”

Midnight only peers at you, onyx-black eyes attentive, ears pricked forward, chomping on the mouthful of lush wet clovers.

You put on the necklace—feeling traitorous, feeling heartsick, feeling comforted somehow—and then pick up your sword. You take it to the base of the tree to carve the dates you’ve left there ever-deeper, keeping them alive in a way that your first four children never will be. You locate the small imprints in the bark, and then you stare at them in puzzlement, the sword in your hand abruptly unnecessary. Someone else has already revived them recently. Someone else has traced over the dates so they won’t fade.

Aemond’s words come back to you like rain after a spell of drought: Because whether boy or girl, it’s a piece of you.

You press your knuckles to your trembling lips and sink to the dark damp earth, embers burning in your eyes and your throat.

“I’m in love with him,” you say aloud for the first time. “I don’t want to be. But I am. And I don’t know how to stop.”

And you stay there for what feels like a lifetime before you return to the palace to ready yourself for his wedding to the Holy Roman Emperor’s daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony is almost ludicrously simple in its haste, in the Duke of Hightower’s urgency to get the marriage finalized before King Viserys’ death. Aemond and Kunigunde recite their vows in the tiny private chapel, the same place you found him after you lost your last child, after you read his poem.

It’s like I’m reliving everything between us, you think as you look down at the wooden floorboards, unable to watch him linked by the hands with the woman he will share his life with. The stables where we first spoke, the chapel where he gave me the name that only he knows, where now he pledges himself to be someone else’s husband. The beginning and the end.

Aemond wears the tunic you made for him. Kunigunde wears a delicate and impassive pale blue. You wear the gold ivy leaf necklace and a gown green like envy. There is no sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows today. Even if the sun had not already set, the sky is thick and churning with rainclouds. There is thunder somewhere, distant, ominous. Hundreds of candles illuminate the chapel like a pinpoint inferno in a world full of darkness.

In the Great Hall, the Greens sit at the high table together: the Duke of Hightower and Queen Alicent, you and Aegon, Nico and Daeron, Kunigunde and Aemond, Sir Criston Cole pacing restlessly, seeing threats in every shadow. No Blacks attend, nor would they be welcome to. Their great defender lies dying on the other side of the palace as the Greens stitch the final thread into their design. This is the Greens’ triumph to revel in. Everyone knows it will be their last glimmer of joy before the bloodshed begins. The English countryside is blooming with banners: green roses, black roses, but none in the proper color. You are the only one whose homeland is red. You have already written to Alonzo that the war is imminent, that the Blacks have slaughtered your children and risked your life. Soon ships, soldiers, archers, horses, and gold from Navarre will be arriving in London. You fold your hands together over your belly, wondering if the war will be over by the time you deliver your child, how many lives it will claim, what sort of king Aegon will be.

Beside you, your husband drains cup after cup of wine, but he cannot escape the inevitable. When the Greens wage war, it is his claim they are fighting for. And as long as he lives, it is he who must wear the crown. Aegon glances at you, smiles tiredly, dark patches around his eyes like a badger’s. He reaches over to touch you fondly, your hair and your cheeks. He drapes an arm across the back of your chair and rests his head on your shoulder, one hand on your belly. Aemond watches this, his eye sharp and glacial, then departs with his new wife to dance.

“How are we tonight?” Aegon asks. Meaning both of you, you and the baby.

You twirl messy locks of his white-blond hair around your fingers. “Well enough, all things taken into consideration.” And you wonder, as you do with increasing frequency, what sort of man he might have been if he hadn’t been beaten black and blue by the demands placed upon him since infancy. “Aegon, when are you happiest?”

“I don’t know,” he says, as if he hasn’t ever considered it. “Never.”

“Never? Really?”

“When I’m with Sunfyre,” he decides. “And when I think about the fact that I’ll always have you.”

He can’t mean that. He’s spent most of the past twenty-one months ignoring me.

“I miss you,” he murmurs. “I miss being with you.” He turns your face to his and kisses you sloppily. The Duke of Hightower rolls his eyes—this is far from decorous feast behavior—but is otherwise content to ignore it. Across the exuberant hall, the Montfords hang their heads in resigned disappointment. Aegon’s murky gaze skates over your body: green velvet, gold metal. “I was always uneasy about it because of the pressure to give the Greens an heir. But now…you are already with child. And neither of us were at fault for what happened before.”

He kisses you again, his tongue darting between your lips, wine and drowsy desire. And you think, through a fog of melancholy and self-loathing: Could I find some happiness with him? If Aemond will spend his life with Kunigunde, if Nico will know true passion with Daeron, if Rhaenyra will have Daemon’s single-minded devotion until it destroys them and their children too…could I have something for myself that makes the burden of existence lighter? Could I even learn to love him? If I tried for months, for years, for decades?

“I understand if we can’t lie together,” Aegon says. This is a stipulation you have been clinging to; it is more of a recommendation from physicians than a decree, a guideline that many couples break without consequence. It is a convenient excuse for an unenthusiastic wife to neglect her marital obligations. “But when you’re ready again…I want you. No one else. I want you so fucking badly it’s killing me. It’s all I can think about.”

It's just an escape, you think, you know. It’s a port in a storm for him. And yet…perhaps it could be the same for you. You push back his hair and touch your lips to his forehead. “You can have me, Aegon. If you’re gentle.”

He beams at you, dazed with wine and reckless optimism. “I always am.” And he’s right; he is. “Shall we dance, wife?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to. And I’m certain that you are not capable of it at the moment.”

He takes your hand and staggers to his feet. “Let’s walk then.”

Aegon accompanies you around the perimeter of the hall, clumsy and stumbling, yes, but also proud, his palm on your belly, presenting you to various Green-affiliated noblemen and their wives, daughters, sons. They are warm and compassionate to you, appalled by your now-infamous suffering, mindful of the fact that if their faction wins you will soon be the queen; and with a husband like yours, the people closest to him will be more influential than the king himself. Among the dancing couples, Daeron spins and giggles with Nico. Aemond revolves with Kunigunde—she’s almost as good a dancer as you are, almost, though as far as anyone besides you and Aemond know she’s the best at court—but his eye follows you and Aegon around the crowded room, betrayed even though he has no right to be, incensed by the only honorable choice you can make. Aegon’s wine sloshes out of his cup each time he trips over his own feet, leaving a trail of maroon puddles on the floor. You sip mead now, weaker than wine and sweet with honey. You cannot stand the thought of apple cider; even the scent of it makes you nauseous and unbearably sad.

The Duke of Hightower, red-faced with frustration, appears as Aegon clutches the wall to keep his balance. “For the love of God, go eat something! Sir Criston?” The Duke waves the knight over. “I command you to take Prince Aegon back to the high table and do not permit him to leave it until he has consumed no less than one full plate of bread and meat. Is that understood?”

“Does the apricot cake count?” Aegon slurs.

“Fine,” the Duke agrees, and Aegon is ushered away. You and the Duke of Hightower stand together without speaking, watching Aemond and his wife dance together, two flawless figures with their hands resting lightly, sheepishly on each other, speaking in clandestine voices that no one else can hear. It knocks the air out of your lungs once, twice, again. This is going to kill me, you realize. I can’t drown out the memory of his voice with Aegon’s. I can’t stop wanting him.

You say with dark disdain: “My beloved grandsire-in-law. Did even you ever dare to dream of a future this bright?”

“He should be groveling in appreciation for this arrangement and so should you.”

You glare at the Duke and echo something you once heard Aemond say to him. “You care nothing for love.”

The Duke of Hightower turns to you; his voice cuts like jagged, rust-laced metal. “I loved my wife more than you could fathom, princess. More than the future or the past. More than my titles, more than my children, more than myself. And yet over the course of five days I watched her die of fever—insane, in agony—and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. There was no amount of money to pay or men to cut down with a blade. The wheels of the world turn again and again, and we’re all just running on top of them until it’s our turn to be dragged screaming below and crushed into oblivion. None of us own anybody. Not even the ones we’d kill for. All we own is our legacy. That’s all we can salvage from the maelstrom of this life. And this…this…this affinity between you and Aemond? It has no place in a future where we could win.”

You study Kunigunde—the daughter of one emperor, the sister of the next, the wife to the man you love, the future mother of his children—and marvel at what you would give to be her. Anything, everything.

“If you love him, you will not imperil him,” the Duke says. “You will not jeopardize our ascension.”

“I love him,” you confess in a splintering whisper.

The Duke of Hightower frowns at you in disappointment, in disgust. “Learn to hide it better.” Then he sweeps away to make his rounds among the noblemen, to ensure their banners are rising and their loyalties unfaltering.

Nico, in exuberant spirits as always, finds you and joins you in observing the newlyweds. She reads the words in the lines of your face, the wonder in your eyes. The princess from Austria is beautiful, brilliant, flawless. She is entirely worthy of him.

“Yes, she’s certainly the next best thing, isn’t she?” Nico says cheerfully.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Second to who?”

Nico grins. “You, of course.” And then she sees your horrified expression. As usual, she’s hit just a bit too close to the mark, to the truth. Nico stammers an explanation. “I mean, you know, because you’re such good friends, and you understand him, he’s so odd to most people, so unnerving, but you like him as he is and he’s clearly smitten with you, and if you weren’t already married to Prince Aegon you’d be his choice for a wife, I’d imagine, but since it’s impossible…”

“Very impossible,” you say flatly.

“Right,” Nico capitulates, anxious. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended, Nico.” You lay a hand on her shoulder and then her flushed cheek, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’m very tired.”

“You have had a very eventful few days.”

“I’ve aged centuries.” Sometimes I think I’m already dead.

“Would you like me to come back to your rooms? We could read, or do needlework, or just sit and talk by the fire…”

“No, you stay. You’re having such a good time. I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“It’ll be ruined if I fear you’re unhappy.”

“I’m happy,” you insist. “I’m happy, Nico.” I’ll never be happy again.

Courtiers are beginning to tease the newlyweds good-naturedly, shooing them off to bed. Kunigunde flashes her audience a timid, demure smile. Aemond is stoic; he wears no emotion that you can decipher. He raises his wife’s hand in the air, and there are whistles and applause. Then the couple retires to Kunigunde’s bedchamber, flanked by a flock of servants who will ready them for the essential next step: cleansed bodies, prayers recited, blood on white sheets. The room is spiraling around you; all the air in your lungs evaporates; your vision is speckled with dizzying splotches of darkness. In the midst of the cheers, you flee unnoticed from the hall. As you pass by the high table, you see that Aegon has laid his head down beside his plate and is practically unconscious. You fly through the corridors and take refuge in your bedchamber, a sanctuary, a prison.

You don’t even let your ladies undress you. You send them away and kneel down on the bearskin rug and stay there waiting for nothing, time crawling over you, prickling and slow and murderous like ivy. As the bells toll and the hours pass you imagine what they mean, you envision it, though you wish you couldn’t. Now he is taking off her nightgown. Now he is combing out her long lustrous hair with his agile fingers. Now he is admiring the glow of her bare skin in the firelight. Now he is tracing the slope of her jaw with the lightest touch—entranced, reverent—and tilting up her chin to kiss her. Now his hands are on her throat, her breasts, her waist, her thighs that have never been stained with the blood of another man’s child, parting them, reaching between them, angling himself to enter her. But he won’t rush; he won’t want to cause his lover pain. For all of their innumerable differences, he and Aegon have that in common.

You stare into the flames until they blur and bleed together, your eyes brimming with tears. And suddenly it feels like the fire is inside rather than out: your throat, your lungs, everything you’re made of, searing through vertebrae and veins. It feels like you could burn until there’s nothing left but echoes, threadbare ricochets of memory, a murmur of ash. Aegon does not appear. He’s probably not fucking some Green loyalist’s daughter, you concede that much, but he’s gone nonetheless: passed out under a table, or in a stairwell, or in the garden, or in Sunfyre’s stall in the royal stables. Aemond is bedding his wife and Nico will dance with Daeron until the sun rises but you are here alone, alone, alone, and you always will be. When Aegon drinks himself to death you will be widowed. When your child is born it will be given away to wetnurses and governesses. Nothing here is truly yours. Even if the Greens win, there’s no scenario in which you do.

I should have gone back home to Navarre when I had the chance. I should have fled from here like a sheep from wolves. And now I’m trapped. I’m so fucking trapped.

You cover your mouth with both hands. You don’t want anyone to hear you sobbing and decide to investigate, to piece together what has caused you such distress. Tears pour down your cheeks like spring rain. And you know now that if you are ivy to Aemond, then surely he is the same to you: a merciless trespasser, vines that have grown through your palms and into your bloodstream, scraping along the path of ruby arteries until they strangle the heart. There’s no point in trying to rip him out of you. There’s no way to return to the person you were before.

The bedchamber door flies open and slams shut, so quickly it’s over before you register what’s happening; hurried footsteps travel across the wooden floor. You whirl to find Aemond standing in the stone-heavy silence, in the firelight. You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s still wearing his eyepatch, but his long silver hair hangs free and wild, strands obstructing his face. He is dressed in only loose trousers and a white sleeping shirt that has been unbuttoned down to his navel. He’s backed himself against the wall. He’s trembling all over.

You rise and go to him. “Aemond…?”

He pushes your hands away when they settle on his forearm. “Don’t,” he pleads in a whisper.

“Alright,” you agree immediately. He won’t look at you, his blue eye darting everywhere except your face. He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head, breathing rapidly. Perspiration gleams on his bare chest, etchings and basins and steppes you’d only ever imagined. You ask him softly: “What happened?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Aemond says. At last, his gaze catches on yours, as if he’s surrendering, as if a gap in a page has been filled. “Not with her.”

Oh God, what is going to happen to us? What the hell is going to happen?

Before you can ask him, Aemond’s palms are on your tear-streaked face, and he’s kissing you with an intensity that cuts through all the strings that were knotted around you just minutes ago: hopelessness and solitude and bone-rattling terror. Your hands debate stopping him; instead, they come to rest on his salt-damp chest, exploring hungrily, a feast after famine. He’s begging for you in every way but words. There’s no question as to what your answer will be. There should be, but there isn’t; you need him in a way that is inescapable, like the seasons, like time.

You take blind steps backwards until your bare feet meet the bearskin rug, downy black fur of a beast that was killed for you. You stumble down onto the rug together, Aemond on top of you and tugging impatiently at the laces of your gown, you pulling up the hem, unable to wait, unwilling to lose the mindless rush of this moment. The necklace he made for you is a stripe of frost against your sweltering skin. You nip teasingly, ravenously at his neck, tasting smoke and paper and ink and leather, leaving flairs of red that vanish within seconds like dissipating smoke. Your fingers snag in his long white-blond hair; you lift his shirt from his back, inhaling a split-second hint of his wife’s edelweiss perfume as you toss it away. Aemond yanks off his trousers. He’s big, you knew he would be; bigger than his brother, bigger than you are confident you can endure.

Please let this be everything I hope it can be, you think fearfully. Please don’t let it be the way it was with Aegon. Please don’t let it be nauseating, tiresome, lonely, painful. The trepidation must show on your face.

“I won’t hurt you,” Aemond swears. “I’ll never hurt you.”

He retreats, hooks his arms beneath your thighs, and drags you towards him, burying his face between your legs; you bite down on your wrist to keep from crying out in pleasure. Beneath the gathered layers of your gown, his lips and tongue—greedy, dominating, starving for you—find the place where you are most sensitive, most aching. He licks, circles, licks again, sucks gently until you can feel that powerful wave of heat, bliss, finality building in your muscles and your nerves.

Not like this, you think. I want him closer to me when it happens. I want him inside of me, one with me.

“Aemond, come back,” you moan. “Please, please, come back. I need you. All of you. I need you right now.”

He rises obediently, his lips and chin dripping with your wetness, and kisses you deeply, intoxicatingly; you can taste yourself on him, minerals and desire, love and earth. He’s positioning himself between your thighs, two fingers of his right hand slipping effortlessly inside of you, working to ensure that you are prepared for his thickness, his length. You’re nodding as your hips move with his rhythm, gasping in air like you’re drowning, lost in a lust-red haze of helpless desperation. “Are you ready?” he asks in a ragged whisper.

“Yes, yes, Aemond, yes.”

His lips traverse your throat, the arc of your jaw, your cheek. “Stop me if you need to, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’ll go very slowly.”

Kissing the side of your face, his left hand smoothing back your hair, Aemond begins to ease himself into you. There is pressure—tremendous, delicious pressure—but no pain yet. He stops to give you time to adjust; and perhaps it’s for him as well, shaking with euphoria and anticipation, trying to last long enough to please you. The first tentative rays of dawn are bleeding in from the slits between the curtains. And then there’s a sound that at first you don’t recognize: a creaking, a draft of new air. It’s the bedchamber door opening.

It happens too quickly for you to push Aemond away, to make any attempt to disguise your treason, your lethal weakness. There is only time to turn your face towards the open door to see who has discovered you. Perhaps it is the newlywed Kunigunde searching for her absconder husband, or the Duke of Hightower ready to drag Aemond back to consummate the marriage, or Daemon coming to murder you, or a servant or a guard or Queen Alicent or Sir Criston Cole. Each would be horrific in its own way, legacy-shattering, life-threatening.

But the intruder is none of these people. It is the one silhouette you didn’t even consider. You had assumed he wouldn’t be here. He’s almost never here.

The person in the doorway is Aegon.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

The Lost Dragon VII - Eliminate.

Summary:

Aemond and Vaelys mourn their loss and loyalties change.

Warning(s): Angst, Fear, Threats, Language, Blood, Murder, Death.

* OTHER WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT *

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: - 4462

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

T.W - Miscarriage, Attempted Rape.

Vaelys lay still, the room cloaked in gentle darkness. Her breaths were shallow, as if she feared disturbing the fragile balance of her body. The scent of medicinal herbs hung in the air, a reminder of her frailty. She was recovering, they said, but the road ahead seemed endless.

The poison had ravaged her, a silent assassin that had crept into her veins with deadly intent. It had stolen her strength, leaving her limbs heavy and unresponsive. Each movement sent a sharp stab of pain coursing through her, a cruel reminder of her vulnerability.

But it wasn't just the poison that had left her broken. It was the loss, the empty ache that consumed her from within. The child she had carried, a flicker of hope in a world shrouded in darkness, had been torn away from her. A miscarriage, they called it, as if the word could ever encompass the depth of her grief.

She traced a trembling hand over her stomach, a silent lament for the life that had been taken too soon. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the room into a haze of shadows and light. She had barely had time to embrace the joy of welcoming another babe before it was cruelly snatched away.

Aemond stood vigil by Vaelys' side, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her pain. Day and night blurred together as he watched over her, his heart heavy with worry.

He ignored the murmurs of concern from his advisors, the reminders of his duty as prince regent.

Otto, ever the voice of reason, approached him one evening, his expression grave. "Aemond," he began, his tone laced with urgency, "You cannot neglect your responsibilities to the realm. The council needs your guidance, your leadership."

But Aemond's gaze remained fixed on Vaelys, his features etched with determination. "Fuck the realm," he declared, his voice tinged with defiance. "Let it go to the seven hells for all I care. All that matters is Vaelys."

Otto sighed; his frustration evident "You are the prince regent," he reminded him, his words heavy with solemnity. "You have a duty to your people, to your family."

But Aemond shook his head, his resolve unyielding. "My duty is here," he insisted, his eyes never leaving Vaelys' pale face. "To her, and to our child. I will not leave her side, not for anything."

As the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, Vaelys' recovery was a slow and arduous journey. Aemond remained a constant presence at her side, his unwavering devotion a source of strength during her darkest moments.

Their daughter, Sovia, brought light and laughter into the room, her innocent presence a balm to Vaelys' wounded soul.

With each passing day, Vaelys grew stronger, her spirit gradually thawing the icy grip of despair. She found solace in the warmth of Aemond's embrace, in the gentle touch of Sovia's hand.

Together, they forged a path through the shadows, bound by love and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

But even as Vaelys' strength returned, so too did the spectre of the poison that had nearly claimed her life.

The maesters revealed the truth, their words heavy with solemnity: she had been poisoned with a very high dose of pennyroyal, an ingredient commonly found in moontea.

Aemond's fury knew no bounds. His hands clenched into fists; his jaw set in a steely resolve.

The thought of someone deliberately harming Vaelys, of stealing away their unborn child, ignited a firestorm of rage within him. He vowed, then and there, to uncover the truth and mete out justice to those responsible.

His eyes blazed with righteous fury as he stood before the council, his voice ringing out like thunder. "Whoever dared to poison my wife and kill our unborn child will pay for their crimes," he declared, his words a solemn oath etched in stone. "I will hunt them down, no matter where they hide, and they will face the dragons wrath”.

And so, Aemond embarked on a quest for vengeance, his heart consumed by a burning desire for justice. He would leave no stone unturned, no shadow unexplored, until he had uncovered the truth behind the poison that had nearly torn his family apart.

For Vaelys, for Sovia, for the child they had lost, he would stop at nothing to ensure that those responsible faced the consequences of their actions.

Aemond's determination to uncover the truth behind Vaelys' poisoning led him down a path fraught with tension and secrecy. Discreet inquiries were made among the kitchen staff and maids, their voices hushed and their gazes wary. Each question was met with evasive answers and nervous glances, but Aemond pressed on, his resolve unshakable.

It was Vaelys' maid, Ceci, who finally offered a glimmer of hope. With a solemn expression, she pulled Aemond aside, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There is one among the servants," she confessed, her eyes darting nervously around the room, "a mute boy who tends to go unnoticed. He may know something."

Aemond wasted no time in seeking out the mute servant boy, his heart pounding with anticipation. Alone in a secluded corner of the castle, he confronted the boy, his eyes flashing with intensity. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice edged with urgency, "what do you know about the poison that was used against my wife?"

The boy hesitated, his gaze flickering with fear. But under the weight of Aemond's unwavering stare, he relented, his hands trembling as he reached into the folds of his tunic. With a shaky breath, he produced a small pin, its delicate design shimmering in the dim light.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the pin, its shape unmistakable. It was a firefly, the emblem of Lord Strong. Anger surged through him like a tidal wave, his grip tightening around the pin until his knuckles turned white.

"Larys Strong," he breathed, his voice barely more than a growl. "It was him."

Ceci's eyes widened in shock as she watched Aemond's reaction, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with chilling clarity. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that festered with each passing moment.

Aemond's fury burned bright and fierce, his determination unyielding. Larys Strong would pay for his treachery, of that he was certain. And with every fibre of his being, Aemond vowed to ensure that justice was served, no matter the cost.

Aemond's footsteps echoed down the dimly lit corridor as he made his way to confront Larys Strong. His demeanour was composed, his expression unreadable, masking the storm of emotions raging within him. As he approached Larys' chambers, he smoothed out his attire, steeling himself for the confrontation ahead.

With a calm facade, Aemond entered the room, greeting Larys with a casual nod. The air hung heavy with tension, though outwardly their conversation remained mundane, filled with pleasantries and trivialities.

As the conversation shifted to Vaelys, Aemond's facade wavered slightly, a flicker of intensity flashing in his eyes. "It's been a trying time for us all," he remarked, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To see her suffer so-"

Larys feigned sympathy, his words dripping with false concern. "Indeed," he replied, his tone smooth as silk. "It's a tragedy that such misfortune should befall the Princess. My heart truly goes out to her, poison is truly awful".

Aemond's jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. He could sense the deceit in Larys' words, the calculated manipulation hidden behind his facade of innocence. "The thing is Lord Strong-" Aemond said, his voice cold and measured. "-I never said that she was poisoned."

Larys' eyes widened in surprise, a flash of panic flickering across his features before he quickly regained his composure. "I-I don't understand," he stammered, his facade crumbling in the face of Aemond's accusation. "What are you implying?"

But Aemond remained resolute, his gaze unwavering. "You know exactly what I'm implying," he declared, his voice low and dangerous as he slowly rose from his seat.

Before Larys could react, Aemond was upon him, his hands closing around his throat in a vice-like grip. The world narrowed to a tunnel of rage; his vision clouded by a red haze.

Larys struggled beneath Aemond's grasp, his face contorted in a silent scream. But Aemond's fury knew no bounds. He tightened his grip, his fingers digging into Larys' flesh with savage intensity.

The sound of Larys' choked gasps filled the air, a grim symphony to Aemond's rage. Each breath was a struggle, a desperate plea for mercy that fell upon deaf ears.

And then, with a final, guttural roar, Aemond unleashed the full force of his fury. He squeezed with all his might, his hands trembling with primal intensity. And as the life drained from Larys' eyes, Aemond felt a perverse sense of satisfaction wash over him.

As Larys Strong's life slipped away beneath Aemond's relentless grip, the air thick with the stench of death, a final whisper escaped his lips. It was barely audible, a mere echo in the tumult of the moment, but Aemond heard it, nonetheless.

"Alicent asked me too” Larys breathed, his voice barely more than a hoarse rasp.

Aemond froze, his hands still wrapped around Larys' throat, his heart pounding in his chest. The words hung in the air like a dagger, slicing through the haze of rage that clouded his mind. His own mother-how could she?

In that moment, Aemond's fury gave way to a cold, gnawing dread. Betrayal gnawed at his soul like a ravenous beast, tearing apart the fragile bonds of trust that had once bound their family together.

But there was no time for mourning, no room for doubt. With a heavy heart, Aemond released his grip on Larys' lifeless body, the weight of his actions settling upon him like a shroud.

As he stood amidst the wreckage of his fury, Aemond vowed to uncover the truth behind Alicent's betrayal. For Vaelys, for Sovia, for the family that had been torn asunder by treachery, he would stop at nothing to ensure that justice was served.

The air crackled with tension as Aemond faced his mother, Alicent, her eyes betraying the guilt that lurked behind her facade of composure. Anguish twisted Aemond's features, his heart heavy with the weight of betrayal.

"You did this," he accused, his voice a raw, trembling whisper. "You orchestrated the poisoning of Vaelys. You risked her life, all for what?"

Alicent recoiled at the accusation, her mask slipping for a fleeting moment. "Aemond, I—"

But before she could utter another word, Aemond's rage erupted like a tempest. He lunged forward, his hands closing around her arms with a vice-like grip. "How could you?" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the chamber. "You cost me my unborn child. You could have killed Vaelys, left Sovia without her mother!"

Tears welled in Alicent's eyes as she begged for forgiveness, her voice choked with remorse. "Please, Aemond," she pleaded, her words a desperate plea for mercy. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I was desperate-"

But Aemond's fury knew no bounds. His hand trembled as it hovered over the dagger at his belt, the urge to lash out nearly overwhelming. And yet, even in the midst of his rage, a flicker of hesitation stayed his hand.

She was his mother, after all.

With a heavy heart, Aemond released his grip on Alicent's arms, the fury in his eyes giving way to a steely resolve. "You will be confined to your chambers. Guards will accompany you at all times, and a septa will see to your needs."

Alicent's protests fell on deaf ears as Aemond turned to leave, her pleas echoing in the empty chamber. "You can't do that," she cried, her voice filled with desperation.

But Aemond's steps never faltered as he strode from the room, his voice echoing back to her with chilling finality. "I'm the Prince Regent," he reminded her, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. "And you will do as commanded, Alicent."

Aemond's loyalty to the Greens wavered like a flickering flame in a gusty wind, its glow dimming with each passing moment. He stood before his grandsire, Otto, the weight of recent events heavy upon his shoulders.

"It was no accident," Aemond asserted, his voice laced with bitterness. "My own mother was responsible for the loss of my unborn child, for putting Vaelys' life in jeopardy."

Otto's expression softened with regret, his gaze heavy with sorrow. "Aemond, I understand your pain, but Alicent was desperate. She thought she was doing what was best for our family."

But Aemond's resolve remained unyielding. "Desperate or not, her actions have cost us dearly," he countered, his voice tinged with frustration. "She gambled with innocent lives.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a silent plea for understanding. But Otto's response was measured, his tone filled with caution. "We cannot undo what has been done," he cautioned, his voice tinged with weariness. "But we can strive to make amends, to rebuild what has been broken."

Aemond shook his head, his faith in the Greens faltering with each passing moment. "You claimed crowning Aegon would prevent war," he reminded Otto, his voice tinged with frustration. "But it only served to start one. When is enough going to be enough?"

The question hung in the air, a bitter echo of uncertainty. For Aemond, the answer remained elusive, obscured by the shadows of doubt and disillusionment. But one thing was certain: his loyalty to the Greens was no longer absolute, its foundations shaken by the weight of betrayal.

After months of arduous recovery, Vaelys had finally regained her strength. She spent her days doting on Sovia, their daughter, and relishing in the company of Helaena. Laughter once again echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, a welcome respite from the shadows that had plagued them.

But with Vaelys' healing came a newfound sense of dread. Aemond had taken every precaution to ensure her safety, employing tasters for her food and drink, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

Yet, despite Aemond's vigilance, there was another threat looming on the horizon. Aegon had almost recovered from the injuries he had sustained in the Battle of Rook's Rest. His return meant that Aemond's time as Prince Regent would soon come to an end, a prospect that filled Vaelys with unease.

The thought of relinquishing Aemond's protection, of returning to the uncertainties of court life, sent a shiver down Vaelys' spine. She had grown accustomed to the safety and security that Aemond provided, his unwavering devotion a shield against the dangers that lurked within the walls of the Red Keep.

But now, as Aegon's recovery neared its completion, Vaelys couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. What would become of them once Aemond stepped down as Prince Regent? Would they be left vulnerable once more, at the mercy of those who sought to do them harm?

In the throne room amidst the flickering light of torches and the solemn silence of gathered lords and ladies, Aegon Targaryen stood tall, his regal presence commanding the attention of all.

His once-injured body now stood strong, testament to his resilience and determination. The whispers of anticipation filled the air as Aegon prepared to be recrowned as king.

With a swift motion, the gleaming crown of the Seven Kingdoms was placed upon Aegon's head, its weight a symbol of his responsibility and authority. His eyes, fierce and unwavering, scanned the room, meeting the gaze of each noble present.

"My lords and ladies," Aegon's voice resonated with authority, echoing throughout the hall. "I stand before you once more, not as a wounded king, but as a ruler reborn from the ashes of adversity. My recovery has not weakened me but strengthened my resolve."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle upon the assembled courtiers. Then, with a steely determination, he continued, "There will be no mercy for those who seek to undermine the peace and prosperity of the realm. Those who dare to challenge the authority of the Iron Throne will face the full might of my forces."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, the nobles nodding in acknowledgment of their king's proclamation.

"To war then," Aegon declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "Let our enemies tremble at the sound of our approach. Let them know that the one true King has returned, and woe betide any who stand in our way."

In a shadowed corners of the throne room, Vaelys stood beside Aemond, her fingers laced tightly around his, seeking solace in his touch. Her gaze darted nervously around the room, her heart heavy with apprehension at the weight of Aegon's words.

Vaelys felt a shiver run down her spine. The fire in his eyes, burned with an intensity that sent a chill through her soul, his determination bordering on something darker, something she couldn't quite name.

Her grip on Aemond's hand tightened further, seeking reassurance in his presence. Yet, even as she clung to him, she couldn't shake the fear that gripped her heart. The prospect of reigniting the war loomed large, casting a larger shadow over their future.

Aemond, sensing her unease, squeezed her hand gently, offering a silent gesture of support. His steady presence was a balm to her frayed nerves, grounding her amidst the turmoil of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

But still, as she stole a glance at her good brother, Vaelys couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that hung heavy in the air. The look in Aegon's eyes frightened her, a glimpse of something primal and untamed lurking beneath the surface of his regal facade.

The corridors of the Red Keep echoed with the soft shuffle of Vaelys’ footsteps as she made her way from the nursery, where she had just left her daughter, Sovia, in the care of the nurses. Her mind was still clouded with thoughts of her child, her heart heavy with the weight of a mother's love.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late. Suddenly, a shadow loomed before her, and she turned with a start to find herself face to face with her brother, Aegon.

"What are you doing out here—and so alone?" Aegon's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his tone dark and foreboding.

Vaelys' heart skipped a beat at the hint of the darkness that lurked within him.

"I-I was just-" Vaelys stuttered.

But Aegon's gaze bore into her, piercing and unrelenting.

"You were just what?" Aegon's voice was low, dangerous, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

“Returning to my chambers-Sovia is with her maids for the night” replied Vaelys, her eyes glancing nervously up and down the corridor.

"No need looking for my brother. I made sure he was busy."

Vaelys turned on her heel and hurried through the dimly lit corridors toward her chambers. Her heart pounded in her chest, a sense of unease gnawing at her as she quickened her pace, the echo of her footsteps ringing in her ears.

As she reached the entrance to her chambers and pushed open the heavy wooden door, she let out a sigh of relief, thinking she had finally found sanctuary. But her relief was short-lived, for as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

Before she could react, the door creaked open once more, and to her dismay, she saw her brother, Aegon, standing in the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor.

"You seem troubled, good sister," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "Tell me, what weighs so heavily on your mind?"

Vaelys backed away, her breath catching in her throat. "I-I'm just tired, Aegon," she stammered, her mind racing for an excuse. "I need some rest, that's all."

But Aegon didn't move. Instead, he continued to advance, his expression unreadable. "Rest won't chase away your troubles, Vaelys," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "But perhaps I can."

Vaelys felt a surge of panic rise within her as Aegon reached out to touch her arm. "Please, Aegon," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Leave me be."

“No-I don’t think I will”.

Vaelys felt a shiver crawl down her spine as Aegon cornered her, his intentions unmistakable in the predatory glint in his eyes. Panic gripped her heart as she realized the danger she was in, her breath catching in her throat.

"I've waited long enough," Aegon growled, his voice dripping with malice as he advanced towards her. "It's most unfortunate that you lost the babe. Perhaps I can assist in the creation of another—with any luck, this one will be a boy."

Vaelys recoiled in horror, her instincts screaming at her to flee, to escape the clutches of the man who threatened to defile her. But before she could react, Aegon was upon her, his hands reaching out to push her onto the bed.

She struggled against him, her movements frantic and desperate, but his strength in that moment was overpowering. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fought against the suffocating grip of fear that threatened to consume her.

His hand reached down and began lifting the material of her skirts.

“No-Aegon, stop. Please don’t do this”.

“I like hearing you beg” muttered Aegon his fingers caressing the smooth skin of her thighs.

“A-Aemond” sobbed Vaelys.

“My brother isn’t here to save you now-“ exclaimed Aegon gleefully.

“Aemond” whispered Vaelys, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I should never have let him have you-“ muttered Aegon, reaching down to unlace his breeches.

“Please-No”

And then, in a sudden moment of stillness, Aegon froze, his eyes widening in shock.

As Vaelys turned her head, her gaze met the chilling sight of Aemond standing behind Aegon, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, that was buried through Aegon’s neck.

Vaelys let out a shriek of horror, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she recoiled from the gruesome sight before her. Aemond's eyes were cold and unforgiving as he stared down at Aegon, his expression devoid of mercy.

As he pulled his sword free from flesh, the warm crimson blood cascaded over Vaelys in an endless wave.

Aegon’s body slumped forward, his hand going to his throat to try and stem the flow of blood.

Aemond released his grip on his sword, the sound of the metal hitting the stone floor echoed around the room, he slowly reached forward and pulled his brother’s body away from Vaelys.

"Vaelys, are you alright?" Aemond's voice quivered with concern as he reached forward and gently cradled her in his arms.

Vaelys managed a weak smile "I-I'm fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos around them.

Relief flooded Aemond's features, but his eyes still held a flicker of dread. "Did Aegon manage to-“

Vaelys shook her head faintly, her gaze meeting his with a reassuring gaze. "No-” she murmured, her fingers trembling as they reached up to touch his face.

Aemond let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with a mixture of relief and anguish.

"Aemond, are you-are you okay?" whispered Vaelys, her voice barely above a breath, her heart heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.

"H-He could've-He almost-" exclaimed Aemond.

"You saved me" whispered Vaelys.

Aemond's gaze met hers, haunted and weary. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words to reassure her, to reassure himself. "I-I had to protect you," he finally managed, his voice strained with emotion.

Tears welled up in Vaelys' eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close in a desperate embrace "He was your brother".

Aemond closed his eye, his jaw clenched "He left me no choice," he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I couldn't let him-do that to you”.

Vaelys turned her gaze towards Aegon, her heart heavy with sorrow and disbelief as she watched him twitching in his final moments of life. The air seemed to crackle with tension, his loud gurgling breaths had slowed to a quiet struggle as he pitifully clung to the last ebbs of life.

Vaelys reached out for Aemond, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his arm, seeking solace in his presence amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. Her voice was a desperate plea, filled with a raw vulnerability born of the fear and uncertainty that gripped her heart.

"Aemond," she implored, her voice quivering with emotion, "Please-erase what he tried to do to me. I beg you, don't let him be the last man to touch me."

Vaelys’ voice was barely more than a breath, as she reached out to Aemond, laden with a mixture of longing and desperation. She leaned in closer, her words a delicate plea amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

"Aemond," she whispered, her lips barely moving as she spoke, "Make love to me-slowly. Please, I need you."

Aemond's gaze softened at Vaelys' plea, his heart aching with tenderness and love for her. With a gentle nod, he leaned in, his lips finding hers in a tender kiss, filled with an unspoken promise of comfort and devotion.

With a shared gaze filled with tenderness and longing, Aemond and Vaelys began to slowly undress each other, their movements deliberate and unhurried, as if savouring every moment of intimacy.

Aemond's fingers traced the lines of Vaelys' blood soaked dress, his touch feather-light against her skin as he gently peeled away the fabric, revealing the beauty that lay beneath. Each inch uncovered seemed to deepen the connection between them, igniting a flame of desire that burned with an intensity all its own.

Vaelys mirrored his actions, her hands trembling slightly as she worked to rid Aemond of his garments, her touch lingering over the hard planes of his chest and the curve of his shoulders. With each article of clothing cast aside, the space between them seemed to shrink, until they were enveloped in the warmth of each other's embrace.

Their bodies entwined in a slow, dance of intimacy, each movement a testament to their deep connection and affection for one another. Aemond's touch was gentle, his hands tracing the curves of Vaelys' body with reverence and care, as if seeking to etch every moment into his memory.

As they moved together in the quiet sanctuary of their love, the world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the whispered murmurs of their shared desire. Aemond pressed his face into Vaelys' neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, his heart overflowing with love and devotion.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond smut #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #larys strong

43 notes · View notes

comradekatara · 1 year

Note

ozai keels over and dies due to tea going down the wrong pipe one morning before canon starts. what changes, and why does it end up with momo as fire lord?

This Ask Was Meant To Be A Joke But Oops I Wrote A Bajillion Words

otherwise known as my take on an "Ursa kills Ozai" AU

ursa poisons ozai at some point before the siege of ba sing se. she’s gotten fed up with him, and says “fuck it.” the only person who suspects foul play is azula, but she’s like 5 so no one takes her accusations seriously, just assuming she’s mourning her father and is fabricating explanations as a coping mechanism. eventually azula begins to believe this herself, but she never stops subconsciously resenting her mother. zuko feels guilty for feeling relieved, but ursa is there by his side to help him work through his feelings in a healthy(ish) way.

the siege of ba sing se fails when iroh’s son dies. he retreats into his grief, journeying through the spirit world and coming to terms with the great suffering he has inflicted on others. he returns to his father a changed man, tells azulon that he can no longer be crown prince, and instead retreats to a smaller village in the fire nation to set up a tea shop and live in isolated comfort and relative peace. he never finds redemption, but he is content in the knowledge that he is no longer actively causing harm either.

since ozai, iroh, and lu ten are all out of the picture, zuko becomes crown prince. azulon only has a few more good years left in him, so zuko’s education in matters of state is turboboosted. azula worries that her soft, sensitive brother who prefers theater to warfare (but is also far too stubborn to be puppeteered by someone competent, like her) isn’t equipped for the position, and voices this (deeply sincere!) concern to ursa, who assumes the worst and scolds azula for speaking ill of her brother.

azula tells zuko that she’s overheard people having doubts over his ability as the next firelord, and at first he’s defensive, accusing her of lying to him and trying to provoke him like she always does. but eventually he relents and admits that he has doubts too. he wants to be a good firelord for his people, but every time he tries to argue with the generals in war meetings over their plans to sacrifice their own troops for grander victories, azulon pulls him aside and gives him an earful about how he is disrespecting the court and isn’t worthy of the throne. azula rolls her eyes and says “you’re not supposed to argue with the generals, dum dum. you’re lucky father is no longer with us, or he would’ve done much worse over hearing you spout your little treasonous inclinations like that.” zuko’s cheeks turn red and he storms off with his hands balled into fists.

eventually azulon comes out with it, summoning azula for a private meeting to discuss her future. he tells her that she is the superior firebender, the superior tactician, and his perfect heir. zuko’s defects concern him, and he wants to make her firelord instead. only he’s afraid that what with zuko’s temper, naming her his successor might infuriate him to the point of rebellion, and they can’t risk that. so they devise a plan to send zuko to search for the avatar, claiming that since both azulon and sozin did so in the past, it is a rite of honor for a firelord, and only a true firelord is up to the mission.

zuko, who is desperate to prove himself, vows that he will not return to the fire nation until he has done what his forefathers could not, proving once and for all his true worth, that it is his destiny to rule. he is given a grand ship, the finest fleet the nation has to offer. since he is only still a boy, ursa decides to accompany him, leaving azula in the care of her grandfather and the many servants of the palace. azula pretends to be fine with this, since, after all, it was her idea in the first place. zuko’s full head of hair and unblemished skin signify that he has more to gain than to lose. but still, he cannot afford to fail.

that said, he is in great spirits, fully believing in himself, with his beloved mother there by his side to provide tireless support for which he is greatly appreciative. he is constantly gracious towards his crew, full of great scholars who tutor him in matters of state, history, and culture during his search, as well as revered generals honored to serve the future firelord. he is eager to have a goal. he gets to see the world. he’s happy.

and wouldn’t you know it—two years into his search, he actually does it. he finds the avatar, the one who neither sozin nor azulon could find despite their lifelong efforts. he's hiding out in a tiny water tribe village in the south pole, disguised as a child. clever. since zuko is decidedly not operating on WWOD (what would ozai do?) he and ursa decide that it would be best if they arrived as a peaceful delegation to this village of mostly elderly women and children, and used their resources to negotiate a trade.

sokka sees the fire nation ship coming from a mile away; after all, it's huge. he dons his warpaint. he's been waiting for this day. waiting to die defending his people. but the ship does not park itself on their shores; instead, a trio consisting of a boy his age, a middle aged woman, and an old man (one of zuko's tutors, an anthropologist who wants to see this water tribe village up close) approach their village wall and wait for an audience with whoever's in charge. they look harmless, unarmed, peaceful even. katara is curious, even eager to meet them. so many strange new visitors in one day! but sokka reminds her that they're still fire nation, and they must be seen as a threat.

despite their politeness, their request to trade the avatar for their resources is indeed quite suspect. for one thing, the avatar hasn't been seen in over a century, so why the hell would they think that they have him, and for another, if they did have the avatar, they obviously wouldn't hand him over to the fucking fire nation. sokka tells them that they're mistaken, they will find no avatar here, and to be on their way before things get ugly (this is an obvious bluff, since he's already outnumbered, but they don't have to know that).

meanwhile, aang sees commotion in katara and sokka's village. while he understands their reasoning for banishing him after he accidentally set off that flare and put them in danger, he didn't realize that it would happen so immediately. it's his fault, so it's his responsibility to fix it. after all, he's tired of running. it's what got him into this mess in the first place. he penguin sleds his way right into the heart of the village, in between zuko and sokka, and announces that he is the avatar, and if he goes with them, they must promise to leave the village alone. zuko's just like "of course, yeah. i mean i was willing to trade stuff, so this is a great outcome for me." he escorts aang back onto his ship, while katara watches with tears in her eyes, and sokka devises a plan.

aang still hasn't really processed the whole "fire nation is bad" thing yet. he believes katara that the ship they explored attacked their people, of course, but so far, everyone he's met from the fire nation has been super nice to him. this is the future firelord and his kind-eyed mother promising to bring him to the fire palace safely and smoothly, and offering him any accommodations he may need on their journey, nothing like the monstrous soldiers of katara's story. just to make sure, aang asks zuko what they plan on doing with him once they reach the fire nation. zuko pauses, tilting his head. "i.... don't actually know," he admits. "once we reach home, i'll hand you over to my grandfather azulon, and he'll see fit what to do with the avatar, since he's the current firelord." aang concludes that this sounds reasonable.

aang is sitting on deck, drinking a refreshing (yet slightly spicy) beverage when he is approached by one of zuko's tutors. "it is an honor to meet the avatar," he says in a reverent tone. ("thanks!" aang grins brightly. he doesn't really want to be the avatar, but he won't say no to being complimented.) "please heed my warning," says the scholar. "being in the firelord's custody will bring you and the world nothing but pain. i don't believe prince zuko knows what he is doing by bringing you to our shores, but you must escape while you still can." aang looks confused, so he hands him his glider, and a pai sho tile. "consider me a friend."

a large shadow falls over them. aang takes his glider and makes a run for it, landing on appa's back and flying away as zuko rushes on deck to see his guest of honor escaping. "how could this happen?" zuko asks. "weren't you watching him? how did he get his glider? why did he break his promise?" his tutor shrugs, explaining that airbenders are masters of evasion. and this one has managed to evade the world for the past century. "you're right," agrees zuko. "next time i find him, i will be far more vigilant."

zuko knows that other gloryseekers in the fire nation will attempt to capture that which is rightfully his, so he tries not to advertise it, but soon enough word gets out of the avatar's return, making the slippery little airbender that much more elusive. he refuses to go home without the avatar in hand. (if the spies aboard zuko's ship, either for azulon or for the white lotus, have a hand in dispersing this information, zuko does not question it.)

after an... educational visit to the southern air temple, aang decides to visit kyoshi island to ride the elephant koi. they end up staying longer than they intended to, what with aang's excitement over having an entourage, and sokka's excitement at actually meeting a girl his age for the first time in his life. it doesn't take long for the news to spread to zuko, who makes a beeline to the island. he manages to avoid the unagi as he makes it onto their shores, accompanied by some actual soldiers this time. "hand over the avatar, and no one will get hurt," he declares.

unfortunately, the villagers do not comply, instead sending their warriors to fight him. they're pretty evenly matched until aang shows up, using a pair of fans to knock zuko to the ground and run off on appa while the prince is distracted. since zuko has no further qualms with this village, he retreats to his ship, leaving suki and her village to pick up the pieces from their battle. thankfully the damage was minimal, and no one was seriously hurt, but it does inspire her to make a choice.

zuko is too late by the time he makes it to the prison rig, but he does find something useful: a necklace that could only belong to the water tribe girl helping the avatar. "that's a pretty bracelet you've got there," ursa remarks. zuko flushes. "i'm just tying it around my wrist for safekeeping," he scoffs. he can use it as leverage, he knows. he just hasn't figured out how yet.

zuko tells zhao that he isn’t allowed to try to capture the avatar, since this was his mission, as tasked by the firelord. zhao smugly replies that zuko had his chance, and now it’s anyone’s game. the man who brings the avatar back to the fire nation is sure to be handsomely rewarded, and so zhao will stop at nothing to make sure that man is him. so when he successfully kidnaps aang, zuko has no choice but to don his mother’s theater mask, strap his swords to his back, and break aang out of pohuai stronghold.

zuko wakes up to the avatar talking about life 100 years ago. since by now he’s pretty sure the avatar is literally a child, he wonders whether the kid is referring to his past life, or if he’s actually just demented. aang asks zuko if they could’ve been friends if not for the war. zuko firmly says, “no. i’m not friends with liars who break their promises.” (he’s also not friends with anyone besides his mother, but that’s neither here nor there.) he’s obviously referring to the fact that aang broke his word by escaping his ship, but that’s not where aang’s mind goes. he looks down, feeling guilty, ashamed. “okay,” he says quietly. “guess I’ll get going, then.” by the time zuko has actually considered capturing him for himself, aang has disappeared into the trees.

stowing away inside a giant fire nation ship with countless people was a smart move, but june's shirshu is smarter. zuko is outraged that she would dare to damage a ship belonging to the firelord himself to catch a simple petty thief, but he claims that if she can help him find someone, he'll consider them even. june decides that gaining the trust of the future firelord is surely a good investment, so she helps him track down his little girlfriend.

by the time zuko has located the water tribe teens, the avatar is no longer with them. he offers to trade the necklace for the boy, but katara firmly refuses, calling him a monster. zuko realizes that maybe one necklace isn’t actually worth a person, so he offers them money as well. (“well hang on a second, how much are we talking?” sokka says—as a joke, god—and katara smacks him.) june doesn’t have time to deal with futile negotiations, so she speeds up the process by paralyzing them and tracking down her bounty.

the nuns’ perfumes disorient nyla, so june peaces out asap. katara gets her necklace back, and wonders how zuko even stole it in the first place. zuko laments yet another loss. his tutors remind him that it is simply not the way of the world for ordinary people to win in fights against the avatar. but zuko isn’t an ordinary person. he’s the future firelord. so why isn’t he better than this?

zhao steps aboard zuko’s ship without his permission (he doesn’t need it; he has azulon’s). he informs zuko that he will be taking every eligible soldier for his mission, as per azulon’s command. zuko learns that he is leading an attack against the northern water tribe. but why? zuko wonders. has the northern water tribe actually attacked the fire nation? they’re famously isolationist, so it wouldn’t make sense to attack them without provocation. even the knowledge that the avatar will be there to master waterbending does little to mitigate zuko’s confusion. why bother harming countless civilians just to extract one person?

ursa warns zuko against voicing these treasonous thoughts to anyone else. treasonous? is it treasonous to question why the fire nation would attack a self-sufficient, isolated society that causes no harm to anyone else? of course the fire nation had to defend themselves against the air nomad army, and then the earth kingdom and southern water tribe, but he thought the northern water tribe had never been a part of the war. is it really just because the avatar will be there? he knows that zhao is a power-hungry monster, and admittedly, he does find his grandfather quite terrifying, but this seems needlessly cruel even for them...right? ursa sighs. maybe azula had a point. he really is hopelessly naive.

zuko decides that the only way to prevent this damage is by capturing the avatar himself. so he takes a jetski to the northern water tribe, alone, and waits for them to let him into the city. he is brought before the chief, who demands an explanation. zuko explains that the fire nation is planning an attack against them, which he personally does not endorse, but if they handed over the avatar, then the fire nation would no longer see their people as a threat, and have no reason to harm them.

everyone immediately objects, assuming that this is simply a trick to secure the avatar before they just attack them anyway. but aang vouches for zuko. “he wouldn’t lie,” he promises. he decides that he has no choice but to follow zuko’s lead if it means saving the entire northern water tribe. katara protests, but yue just looks on sympathetically. “it’s his duty,” she tells her, her voice heavy.

zuko brings the avatar before zhao, telling him that if he hands aang over, then zhao can call off the siege before any bloodshed is necessary. zhao says, “we have a deal,” and locks aang in a heavily fortified cell. then he knocks zuko out while he isn’t looking, and locks him in a cell of his own. “foolish boy. you really think i’d call off my invasion just for the avatar? i’m about to create a legacy. too bad you won’t be around to see it.”

katara runs to sokka, who’s off preparing for a secret mission, and explains to him what’s happened. sokka slaps his forehead. “if prince ponytail thinks that zhao would call off his invasion just for aang then he’s even dumber than i thought.” katara’s all like “that’s what i said!” but of course aang and yue and zuko were all too honorable to listen. “so what’s your plan?” katara asks. “it’s simple,” says sokka. “first, we go to zhao’s ship.” (“yes, absolutely, agrees katara.) “free aang.” (“uh huh, duh.”) “and then we kill zhao.” (“uhm...............”)

sokka assures katara that he’ll do all the killing and murdering and katara and aang don’t have to get their hands dirty. katara frowns but doesn’t protest. they take appa (underwater, thanks to katara’s recent waterbending upgrade) to zhao’s ship, easy to identify as it’s the nearest, biggest one.

they sneak on without issue. any guards who do notice them are immediately knocked out by katara before they can even protest. aang and zuko are being held in cells on opposite sides of the same room. they’re both chained so as to restrict their bending, but between katara’s bending and sokka’s arsenal of weapons, they’re able to break aang free. and then aang says something ridiculous. “i think we should free zuko too.”

sokka’s just like “absolutely not. we’re here to rescue you and ........incapacitate zhao, zuko is our enemy.” but then aang does his puppy dog eyes and before sokka can even protest further he’s broken zuko out anyway and katara, the traitor, is helping him. sokka sighs, knowing that this is going to complicate his plan significantly.

aang’s all like, “well why would zhao even lock zuko up in the first place if zuko didn’t have good inside him?? huh????” and sokka’s like “I don’t know maybe because zhao is an evil power-hungry monster and he doesn’t want zuko to get in his way????” and none of them can argue with that, because that’s exactly what happened.

they make a deal with zuko that they will return him to his ship if he promises to stop hunting them, and zuko is like, “what if i stop hunting you for like.... a week?” and sokka is like, “what if i murder you right now?” and zuko’s like, “okay FINE. two weeks.”

sokka decides he can murder zuko later and goes off to find zhao, telling aang and zuko to go find appa while katara follows him for backup. sokka has no idea why he trusted aang and zuko to listen to him, because of course they follow them secretly.

and sokka is SO CLOSE to slitting zhao’s throat with the edge of his blade while he was sleeping, it would’ve been SO EASY, when zuko lets out an extremely loud, involuntary gasp from the corner of the room where he and aang are hiding. technically it’s not actually zuko’s fault that zhao wakes up, because at the same time, aang cried out “NO!” which is definitely what actually awoke zhao, but sokka has decided to blame it on zuko anyway.

zhao’s eyes snap open and he firebends around the room, only managing not to scorch them all to a crisp because aang, katara, and zuko all immediately respond by using their bending to put out the fire. a fight breaks out, aang and katara trying to incapacitate zhao, sokka still hoping to kill him, zhao trying to kill all of them, and zuko frantically trying to deescalate the situation. he keeps blocking zhao by just. putting out his firebending. and he keeps blocking sokka by just pushing him out of the way every time he’s about to land a blow. which is quite possibly the most irritating thing that has ever happened to sokka in a fight.

zuko is so annoyed by this situation that eventually he’s just like, “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE STOP FIGHTING!” and he yells it so loudly and commandingly that they actually do what he says and freeze in place. “no one is killing anyone,” he says. “the avatar will be captured alive. and zhao committed high treason by imprisoning me, the crown prince, which means that he is to be sent to my grandfather so the fire nation can determine what to do with him.”

his air of diplomacy wears off after like five seconds though, and sokka just says, “that’s stupid. you’re not letting me kill him because you think the fire nation should be the ones to execute him? that literally doesn’t make sense unless you’re some persnickety imperialist bootlicker. i should kill you right now just for being so moronic.”

painfully, katara is forced to agree with sokka. she nods her head solemnly, “sokka’s right,” she tells zuko, “and you are a moron.” zhao is begrudgingly impressed. he’s like, “wow if i didn’t want to eradicate your entire race, i’d recruit you as my lieutenant.” sokka’s like, “that’s the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me but ok.”

this standstill is the perfect opportunity for aang to knock out zhao and katara to knock out zuko, which sokka tries to indicate subtly with his eyes and hand signals, but aang and katara are just like, “what? what are you saying?” and they’re mouthing to each other looking all stupid which is the perfect opportunity for zhao to just. slip out of the room and lock the door behind him, leaving them all trapped. he gathers the most important members of his crew and lets them know to move to another ship as quickly as possible, since there’s no way that door will hold the avatar for long. he lets the rest of his crew know that they’re about to be in for the fight of their lives.

aang tries to use airbending to kick down the door, which only dents the metal slightly. then katara tries to freeze the hinges, but the door only opens from the top, leaving an opening so small even momo couldn’t climb through (and momo is back in agna qel’a safely with yue anyway). then zuko uses his firebending powered kicks to try to pry the door off its hinges, leaving it rattled and slightly more dented. just as aang is about to try again, sokka’s like, “is it my turn yet?” takes out the knife in his boot, and picks the lock. katara smacks him over the head for not just having done that in the first place.

the entirety of zhao’s remaining crew is right outside the door, waiting to kill all of them at their admiral’s orders. it’s a brutal fight. they don’t hold back, no matter how many times zuko insists that he ranks higher than zhao and therefore they should be listening to him! katara knocks out most of them with a water whip, and aang takes out the rest with an airbending move that gives them all the concussion of their lives. they run back to appa as fast as they can, mowing down soldiers along the way. they don’t really have another option, so they let zuko climb onto appa too.

they fly back to the capital, where arnook is waiting for them. they explain the situation as quickly as possible, and that the secret mission to take out zhao was a bust. (sokka will later realize that he could’ve killed zhao before freeing aang, and regret everything.) yue suggests getting help from the spirits, so she takes aang and katara to the oasis so that aang can enter the spirit world and seek the guidance he needs.

meanwhile, sokka and arnook are debating what to do with zuko. on one hand, he did try to protect their tribe, which means he should get diplomatic immunity since he’s technically their ally against this invasion. on the other hand, he’s the crown prince of the fire nation, and if they hold him for ransom then the firelord will probably call off the siege. but also the message won’t be received in time for that, since zhao could be approaching any second, so maybe it would be more helpful to use zuko to fight against this army, which he could probably be convinced to do. meanwhile zuko is sitting in a little prison cell like, “i wonder how mom’s doing...”

pakku gets a message from the white lotus that the crown prince has been missing for a day, along with a jetski, and if he happens to know where he might have gone? with some light snooping, pakku finds out that zuko is being held prisoner, but they're probably going to free him since he doesn't really seem to be a threat. so he assures the white lotus that he's safe in their city, and not to worry. ursa worries.

sokka goes to visit zuko, giving him the option to fight in exchange for his freedom, when he sees a shadow slink into the wall. he pretends not to notice anything. "we've decided to release you provided you help us prepare and fight against zhao's invasion, which seems like something you'd be willing to do considering he just tried to kill you. the blue spirit can help too i guess," he says, gesturing to ursa in the corner of the room, who scoffs behind her mask.

zuko agrees that zhao committing high treason, going back on his word, trying to kill the avatar, and invading an isolationist society are all pretty good grounds for fighting that guy. he's very confused by what sokka means about the blue spirit, though, because he was pretty sure that he's the blue spirit...? ursa takes off her mask and waves. zuko lights up. "MOM!!!!!!!!!" he cries, and rushes to hug her as sokka unlocks the door to his cell. and ohmygod sokka hates this guy so fucking much.

ursa's like, "are you sure you don't want to apturecay the vataray?" sokka rolls his eyes at her assumption that he somehow can't hear and/or understand her. or maybe she just doesn't care. zuko's like, "ugh, i promised them a two weeks truce." ursa doesn't know whether to be proud of or annoyed by her son who refuses to go back on his word, ever.

sokka takes zuko (and ursa) to arnook, who can command them as he best sees fit, and then heads over to the spirit oasis so he can be there for katara, aang, and yue. aang is busy meditating, so katara and yue are just standing there keeping watch and hoping for the best. zhao enters through the door while aang is still in the spirit world. katara defends aang with everything she has, and sokka is torn between providing backup and making sure no one lays a hand on yue. they're sorely outnumbered. especially because while katara and sokka are busy protecting aang (and yue), they leave room open for zhao to pluck a certain koi fish out of a pond.

aang returns to his body a second too late. "why is the moon red?" he asks. then he sees zhao. "oh no." he begs with zhao, pleads him not to do this. destroying the moon wouldn't just hurt the water tribes, but the whole world. just put the fish down, and then they can negotiate. zhao slowly sets tui down. and then he roasts it. the sky goes dark. aang blows a gust of wind at zhao and his soldiers so powerful that it knocks half of them out. zhao knows that there's no winning a fight against the avatar, and runs out of the oasis. he got what he came for anyway.

yue starts crying. "there's no hope now," she says. "it's over." katara can't bend. the sky is black. she feels as sick as she did when she was born. "no," says aang, his voice echoing with his countless lifetimes. "it's not over." he steps into the pond, and emerges bonded with the ocean spirit. so that one solves one problem. the entire fire navy fleet is decimated in a matter of minutes, and the ocean drops aang off on the wall of the city once they're certain their mission is complete.

meanwhile zuko is fighting zhao on another bridge, more furious than zhao has ever seen him. "how could you could this?" he shouts, pummeling zhao with fireballs. even as zhao nearly trips trying to block zuko's attack, he sneers. "i didn't do anything your father wouldn't have done, had he taken his rightful place on the throne." zuko can't believe this. his father died when he was just a child. yes, he was somewhat cold and distant, but zuko has fond memories of him too, like when he would teach him history while sitting on the beach at ember island, or when he would play soldier with him in the garden (or... wait.... was that uncle iroh?). "if only your bitch of a mother didn't kill him."

zuko suddenly remembers something azula said to him, only once. his ears ring. he repeats what he had said (shouted) then. "you're lying!" his fireballs grow even stronger. suddenly, a giant glowing hand emerges from the canal. zuko ducks and rolls out of the way, but the hand wasn't after him anyway. without thinking, zuko reaches out to zhao. "grab my hand!" he tells him, and zhao nearly does it before thinking better of it and pulling away. the last thing zhao sees is the moon shining bright in the sky once more.

zuko wipes his eyes before teartracks can freeze his cheeks, and then goes to find his mom. sokka and katara go to find aang. they all find one another on the bridge, ursa already tending to aang who is slumped on the ground. "what happened to the moon?" zuko asks. sokka doesn't answer, his mouth set in a thin line. "what happened to zhao?" asks katara. zuko doesn't answer, merely looks down. "did you kill him?" asks sokka. since zuko doesn't respond, they take this to mean that he did. "oh man," whines sokka. "i wanted to do that!" he had already been prepared to kill zhao, and then yue... ugh. it's not fair! why does this idiot get everything good??

in the morning, arnook sends zuko back to his ship as a thanks for killing zhao (zuko doesn't bother to correct him). the gaang stays behind for a bit to help clean up the mess, but sokka insists that they have to leave soon to find aang an earthbending teacher (and if he doesn't wanna stay here another second longer for other reasons, he doesn't mention it). they go find a general who wants to help aang access the avatar state, while zuko and what's left of his crew travel to a spa to relax for a while, seeing as he can't attempt to capture the avatar at the moment anyway.

who shows up but azula, who zuko hasn't seen in years. "wow, zuzu, you look terrible," is one of the first things out of her mouth, but he can't even be offended because he knows it's true. he's barely slept since the siege of the north, and the only food he's kept down is plain white rice. ursa was hoping the resort would help improve his health, but he can't hide his declining state from his sister. he's haunted by images of zhao going under, pulling away from his hand in disgust, of his mother doing the same to ozai. he doesn't know who to trust anymore. he thinks he might hate himself. "don't call me that," zuko snaps. he hasn't seen his sister in years. she looks different. colder, sharper.

"hello, azula, it's really good to see you," ursa says calmly. she goes in for a hug, but azula blocks her. "you didn't even write," she says, refusing to look her mother in the eye. ursa frowns. "of course i did," she says. "did you not receive my letters?" she hadn't. azulon had intercepted them. he thought it best if he kept azula all to himself. azula thinks she's being mocked, but she holds back her tears, as she's been learning to do since she was born. "grandfather wants you back in the fire nation," she tells zuko. "his health is declining. you ought to prepare for your coronation."

zuko doesn't really want to return, but he doesn't know how he feels traveling the world with his mom anymore, and it's his duty to take the throne, so it's not like he has a choice. then one of azula's crew lets it slip that zuko is not their honored guest, but their prisoner, and all hell breaks loose. "of course grandfather doesn't want you on the throne!" azula taunts him. "your repeated failure to capture the avatar has been an embarrassment! not to mention, you aided the water tribe during the siege, and literally killed an admiral."

"i didn't kill him, i tried to save him!" zuko protests. "and the avatar is extremely powerful, even you couldn't catch him." (azula takes this as a challenge.) zuko and ursa barely escape with their lives, being given enough of a head start only because ursa pushed azula into the water below. she doesn't even make sure to check if her daughter is okay, she just grabs zuko's hand and runs.

they run and run until they reach a clearing in the woods. zuko throws up in the river. "i didn't kill zhao," he whispers, over and over again. "i didn't kill zhao... i didn't....." ursa hugs him as breaks down. "i know honey, i know." but zuko is shaking in her arms for another reason. "did you kill my father?" he asks. ursa tenses, and zuko backs away from her. "no," she says. "no, of course not. why would you think that?"

"you did.... didn't you....." zuko can barely control his rage. ursa starts crying, pleading with him. "you don't understand, zuko, he would've killed you. killed me. please, you must understand. i had no other choice. it was self-defense." zuko shakes his head. "i get why you did it," he says, because he may be naive, but he's not stupid. "but why did you lie to me? everyone acted like azula was crazy, but she was right all along."

ursa smiles sadly. "i lied to protect you," she says. "i couldn't let anyone else know what i did." zuko sees his mother for the first time. he unsheathes his knife, the pearl dagger uncle iroh gave him just before he disappeared. "cut. your. hair." honor never meant much to ursa, she knew it to be a hollow facade that hid ill-tempered husbands behind delusions of grandeur. but she knows how much it means to zuko. so she takes his knife and cuts her hair to her chin, too short to tie into a topknot.

zuko takes the knife back, and in the spur of the moment, cuts off his ponytail too. he doesn't even fully know why he does it. it's not like he murdered anyone. but he also knows that if it came down to it, he'd do anything for his mother, and maybe that counts all the same. "we have to keep moving," ursa tells him. "azula could be on our trail right now." zuko is about to protest that it's all a misunderstanding, that if he just talked to his grandfather he could clear his name, but another, newer part of him doesn't even believe that anymore. so he takes ursa's hand, and they head to the nearest earth kingdom town in search for provisions and a map that can lead them to ba sing se.

after weeks of traveling from town to town, depending on the kindness of strangers to keep them fed (or well, ursa fed. zuko still doesn't eat much), zuko can't take it anymore. "i'm the crown prince," he complains, "i shouldn't be living like this! i need to go talk to azula and make things right." ursa shakes her head. "what you need is to be patient," she says. "once we reach ba sing se, we'll find a roof over our heads, good jobs, and a steady life. a little hard work won't kill you in the meantime." zuko is about to complain that it most certainly will, but his mom has been doing so much for him lately (and his whole life), so he just sighs and acquiesces.

one night, while they're sleeping in someone's barn, zuko asks his mom how she knows how to do all kinds of manual labor. that's not the kind of thing you learn growing up in a palace. ursa explains that she wasn't actually raised as a noble, although she has noble blood. she grew up in a small village in the southern fire nation, where she likely would have spent her whole life if she hadn't been chosen to be ozai's bride due to her relation to avatar roku. zuko's just like, "uh....... hold up????? you literally never told me any of this?????????"

ursa says she figured it wasn't important. even zuko knows that's a lie. it seems extremely important. "elaborate. now," he demands. so ursa tells him stories of growing up on a small, quiet island, studying theater with her friends, firebending with her mom, and fishing with her dad. she tells him about how she was taken away, given no choice. she tells him stories of what ozai said to her, what he did to her. she doesn't go into detail or anything, but she figures zuko is old enough to know. she tells him more stories the next night, lighter ones this time. the story of where she got her favorite mask. the story of making sweet buns with her brother. stories about zuko and azula when they were babies. the night after that, she tells him the story of roku and sozin.

"i don't understand," says zuko. "sozin let roku die?? why would he do that?? roku was his friend!" ursa can't help it; she laughs. "roku was the only thing stopping sozin from spreading the glory of the fire nation across the world. he cared about roku, but he also cared about his nation." zuko scoffs. "it sounds to me like he cared about no one but himself." ursa would scold him for voicing such a thought if she hadn't been wondering the same thing.

the next morning, zuko slips away silently with his swords strapped to his back. he's tired of running. so when azula tracks aang to a ghost town, zuko appears moments later. "zuko?" exclaims aang. he's so tired, he wonders if he's hallucinating. they haven't seen zuko since the north pole, and despite his new haircut being quite flattering, he looks even worse than aang currently feels. he doesn't have much time to reflect, since azula uses this pause to attack aang, and zuko is trying to intervene for reasons unclear to both of them. katara and sokka show up to defend aang.

meanwhile toph has bumped into a woman about her mother's age on the side of the road. they have a long talk, and they both feel a lot better by the end of it, even if it makes toph miss her mom and ursa miss azula. toph returns to the gaang just in time to save their butts. zuko keeps yelling for azula to stop so they can talk, but azula's just like "can't you see i'm busy right now?"

what does catch her attention, though, is the arrival of ursa. the woman who brought her into the world, and, most recently, pushed her into the sea without a second thought. her hair is shorter. “azula," says ursa sternly, in that what am i going to do with this truculent child voice she has never once used on zuko. "we need to talk."

"yes, yes, mother," says azula. "once i've captured the avatar, then we can hash everything out." ursa grabs azula by the back of her collar as if she's a kitten. "now, young lady!" and she marches azula to the other side of the town, motioning for zuko to stay put. toph is suddenly far less regretful of the fact that this woman is not her mother.

"so...." says zuko, upon noticing that three familiar pairs of eyes are staring at him. he waves awkwardly. aang waves back, but feels so stupid that he puts his hand down after a single second of consideration. "okay," says sokka. "we're all thinking it, so i'm just gonna say it. you look awful." aang and katara both nod. he really does. "oh my god," says toph, "let's LEAVE."

out of the corner of her eye, azula catches the avatar and his companions just walking away, without so much as a fight from zuko, and she squirms in ursa's grasp. "but–" she protests, pointing at the receding blur of orange and yellow. "don't talk back to me!" ursa snaps as she continues lecturing azula on why she needs to be a better sister to zuko and it's clear she wants to take the throne but as a woman that just isn't her place and–

"that's rich coming from the woman who murdered her husband," azula says. ursa does not dignify azula's comment with a response. "also, i don't want the throne," azula continues. "grandfather wants me to have the throne. i'm just doing what he told me to." the fact that he own mother thinks so little of her, that she hasn't seen her in years, didn't even bother to write, and now all she wants to do is lecture her on not being good enough... azula does not cry. her lip wobbles a little, but she's fine. she's fine.

zuko walks over to them, disobeying his mother’s orders. he just doesn’t get why she would scold azula when she should know that she made azula feel as if she was crazy her whole life. shouldn’t she feel at least a little bit guilty for that? “i didn’t kill zhao,” he tells azula. “a giant spirit hand rose out of the ocean and dragged him down. i tried to help him but he wouldn’t take my hand. believe me or don’t. i don’t care.”

unfortunately, azula does believe him. because she knows her brother, and he cannot tell a lie to save his life. but this is a problem, because grandfather wants zuko out of the way, and without the precedent of treason, they have no good reason not to maintain his position as heir. but she’s always been good at thinking on her feet. “what if,” she proposes, “we work together to capture the avatar, but you take all the credit for it? then surely grandfather would be impressed enough with you that he wouldn’t mind giving you the throne. in return, all i ask is that when you’re firelord, you do everything i say, which is only fair because grandfather thinks i’d make a better ruler, and all my advice would be in your best interest anyway. do we have a deal?”

zuko doesn’t like the sound of being beholden to azula; he’s too proud for that. but he also wants his grandfather’s approval. there's also another issue... “i don’t know how i feel about capturing the avatar, to be honest,” zuko says. “at first i thought he was a scheming coward from a backwards culture, but he actually seems like a pretty good kid. maybe we could reason with him instead?”

azula resists the urge to smack her forehead. this kind of thinking is exactly why he shouldn’t be in charge of a fishing boat, let alone a global superpower. “were you born without balls?” she honestly can’t believe she’s related to him. (“language,” ursa warns.) “you know what, i feel bad even suggesting that we work together. clearly, grandfather was right about you, and if you dare set foot in the fire nation again we will have no choice but to convict you for the murder of that dumbass admiral guy. i mean personally i wish you did kill him, because it would be the only modicum of chutzpah you’d ever display in your pathetic little life, but of course you couldn’t even do that much. and mother, you can’t blame me for lack of trying. but i think you know as well as i do that your son is a lost cause. i’ll be going now. don’t try to contact me again.”

with that, azula walks away, and neither zuko nor ursa try to stop her. she finds mai and ty lee back in the woods by their mounts, damp and shivering and smelling unpleasantly of river water. this situation doesn’t stop ty lee from wrapping azula in a hug the moment she lays eyes upon her expression, poorly masked distress and red eyes threatening to spill over. azula just stands there, letting her clothes get wet.

“so............” says ursa. zuko stares at her. he knows she’s trying so hard not to say i told you so. instead she says, “ba sing se?” zuko reluctantly nods. so he’ll let azula take the throne while he hides in the earth kingdom like a coward. he’s fine with that! glad, even! his family is all kinds of fucked up. who needs them? not him! (he's always been a terrible liar.)

“i have some contacts who can help us get fake passports and tickets aboard the ferry,” ursa says. “i hope you know that this isn’t a dishonorable thing to do. there’s no shame in retreating from a bad situation before it gets worse.” zuko frowns. “like when you killed my father, you mean?” he asks. ursa nods. “something like that,” she agrees.

"i mean, honestly, zuko... do you even want to be firelord?" zuko scoffs. what is she even talking about? of course he wants to be firelord! it's been his birthright since uncle abdicated, he's been training for it since he was a child. it's honorable to perform one's duty by serving the most just and forward-thinking nation in the world. ursa sighs. "see, zuko, this is exactly what i'm talking about. do you even believe what you're saying right now?"

"okay, okay," zuko concedes, "so maybe great-grandfather sozin and grandfather azulon have been a little extreme in their views, but they needed to rule with a firm hand due to the pressures of the war and the power vacuum left by the disappearance of the avatar. now that he's back, i'm sure we can find negotiations with the other nations that satisfy everyone's needs, and–"

"oh my god. ZUKO. who do you think STARTED the war?" ursa all but yells. zuko pauses. he doesn't want to say something wrong. there are a lot of false starts, opening his mouth, and then promptly closing it, like the world's most thoughtful goldfish. when he finally does speak, he's quiet and to the point. "we did," he says.

ursa lets zuko grapple with this revelation all the way to ba sing se. some guy keeps trying to talk to him on the ferry but gives up after five minutes of realizing he's not paying attention, way too absorbed in his own thoughts and recontextualized memories. they walk through the lower ring, navigating the throng of refugees who have been displaced by the war. zuko doesn't know whether he wants to stay in this bubble forever, or if he's more determined than ever to assume the throne, and right the wrongs of his forefathers. all he knows for certain is that his mom managed to set them up with the coolest jobs he could ever hope for.

katara knows that ba sing se is a horrendous hyperstratified police state, but she's always been one to see the good in things, and ever since her fun little day at the spa with toph, she's been enjoying perusing the cultural resources ba sing se's upper ring has to offer. so she takes momo to a park, where he runs around chasing birds; she takes sokka to the library, where he complains that all their intelligence is outdated while she browses the romance section; she makes all of them go shopping with her, because they lost most of their stuff when appa was stolen, and she's sick of wearing the same outfit every single day; and she tries to cheer up aang as much as possible, which includes a matinee showing of some old earth kingdom play she's never actually heard of, but which got rave reviews in the ba sing se gazette.

during intermission (one of two, apparently this play is four and a half hours long???) katara whispers to aang, "is it just me, or does the lead actress look familiar?" aang is confused. "what do you mean by that? she's literally wearing a mask." katara shrugs. "i dunno..." she says, "i just get this creepy feeling like i've seen her before." they almost miss it, because they're jumping out of the seats by the time the play has finally ended, but thankfully katara remembers to look back when the cast members take their masks off, because holy shit she does know that woman.

aang and katara stealthily follow their marks, trailing behind a good distance while also making sure not to lose them in the crowd. it helps that aang has an aerial view. they finally end up in front of a lower ring apartment complex, where two of the most high-ranking members of the fire nation royal family are apparently.... living??? they're not exactly sure how to make their next move. aang offers that they wait for sokka to come up with a plan, since he'd know what to do, but katara is too impatient. she tells aang to wait outside, and that she'll signal to him if it's a trap, at which point he should get toph and sokka (she's fairly confident she can take a skinny dweeb and his mom on her own, but she doesn't want him getting his slimy fire nation hands on aang).

in a perhaps inadvisable move (since their landlord now expects her to pay for the damages), she kicks the door down, holding ice daggers in each hand. "all right, i'm onto you," she threatens the mother currently trying to pile more food onto the plate of her resisting son. "how did you infiltrate the city, and why are you here?"

zuko shrieks, and then realizes it's just the avatar's waterbender friend. "oh hey...........you." (it suddenly occurs to him that he never bothered to learn her name.) "what are you doing here?"

"that's none of your business," says katara, folding her arms. like she'd spill their secret invasion plan to the crown prince, or let it slip that appa is missing. yeah right. "well, it is kind of my business," replies zuko, "seeing as you're in our apartment." ursa hands her a fresh plate. "sit and eat with us. we can answer all your questions over dinner." katara complies with little fuss, since fire nation or not, she can't help but be charmed by any sort of maternal figure. not to mention she was enchanting in that play.

zuko and ursa explain to katara that they're laying low in ba sing se to avoid the wrath of his grandfather, who has declared him a traitor for helping the northern water tribe during the siege, and they actually quite like it here. ursa successfully auditioned her way into one of ba sing se's most elite theater troupes, and zuko was hired as assistant stage manager. they have no ulterior motive, zuko is just content to help his mother live out her lifelong dreams of becoming an actress, since he's currently too confused about everything to even know what stance he should be taking in this war anyway.

katara leaps at this. "what do you mean you're confused?" she asks. as much as sokka claims that zuko is the biggest idiot he's ever met (and that includes chong), katara can't help but harbor the mildest of soft spots for a guy whose best friend is clearly his mom. maybe this is her chance to finally Fix Him. "well," says zuko, "i always thought my role in this war and in the world was to help my grandfather and someday take over his role as firelord, but now it seems like my grandfather hates me, so i'm not really sure what to do about that. also you and the avatar seem really nice? but not your brother though, he's really mean and kinda terrifying. so... yeah. i'll probably just stay here with my mom."

katara's like, "okay, i totally get that, your mom seems dope, but what if, instead, you went full traitor and helped teach aang firebending? wouldn't that be fun? and don't worry about sokka, you can always just distract him with food or something shiny." and zuko's like, "suppose i agree to your offer, how am i even supposed to firebend in this city without getting arrested?" which is admittedly a pretty good point. but katara's like, "we'll be leaving eventually, and when we do, you can come with us and train aang then!"

zuko's torn, because on one hand he doesn't want to leave his mom, but on the other hand, being an official companion to the avatar seems like a more worthwhile use of time than assistant stage managing (even if it is really fun). ursa's also torn, because on one hand, her dearest wish has always been for her children to be able to lead normal, happy lives, but on the other hand, she thinks it might be good for zuko to finally make some friends his age, and on the other hand, she's not sure if those friends should be the anti-fire nation revolutionaries who are trying to kill his family? like, yes, sure, she's also killed his family, but it wasn't really a politics thing, it was far more personal than that. but zuko's always harbored lowkey treasonous political views, and she cares more about supporting her son's ambitions than she cares about whether or not the fire nation wins the war, if we're being completely honest. it's a real conundrum. ultimately, they're both just like, "we'll think about it," which is good enough for katara, who is convinced that anyone who thinks about it long enough will ultimately come to the obvious conclusion that it is far better to be Good than Bad.

so she leaves their apartment (struggling in a futile attempt to reset their door before finally giving up and leaning it against the wall for their landlord to fix), signals for aang to come down from the roof, and takes the monorail back to the upper ring, where she informs toph and sokka of the absolutely insane day she just had. sokka is immediately opposed to this idea. "you couldn't have found anyone else even slightly less annoying to teach aang firebending?? i really don't wanna spend more time around that guy than i've already been forced to." toph reminds them all that zuko didn't even actually agree to it. he said he'd think about it, which is the exact kind of thing you say to someone when you want them to leave you alone. sokka's like, "man i wish this was the end of it but if you think aang and katara aren't gonna follow up with him the next day and the day after that then you clearly do not know them well enough."

as it turns out, they don't have time to follow up with him the next day, because this is the day that katara runs into jet. (you really think that jet wouldn't find another way to cause a public scene protesting the inherent inequalities of the city, leading to his arrest by the dai li??? cmon now.) with his help, they make their way to lake laogai, where they free appa, but not before their frenemy's demise. they ride into the earth kingdom palace, mowing down countless dai li agents along the way, expose long feng's fraud, and inform the earth king of the reality of the war. all in a day's work.

they decide to go their separate ways for the time being: sokka to see his dad, aang to see guru pathik, toph to "see" her "mom," while katara stays in the city and "helps with the invasion" (ie, lets momo loose in an earth kingdom war room, uses king kuei's credit card to buy so many earrings, goes to see some more plays and then brag to the guy sitting next to her that she's friends with the lead actress). of course katara told sokka to go see their dad because she knows how much he misses him (and not at all because the thought of going to see her dad makes bile rise in her throat haha why would you even say that????), but she's also curious as to whether she can get to know zuko a little bit better in the meantime as well.

she shows up at his apartment and basically demands that they hang out. zuko has seen her waterbend, so like, what is he gonna do?? say no??? they have a very fun time wandering around the lower ring, sampling the food vendors, perusing the market stalls, getting lost in little winding alleyways. momo stayed behind with katara, and zuko is absolutely enchanted by him the entire night. it startles zuko to realize that he weirdly feels very close to katara, like they could’ve been best friends in another life. maybe they still have that opportunity. if he takes her up on her offer to join her group, then he can hang out with her (and momo!!!!) every day... but no, he couldn’t leave his mom, she’s done far too much for him for him to just abandon her...

he tries to communicate this sentiment to her, tries to tell her just how much his mom means to him. katara sighs. “i understand,” she says. “i’d give anything to be able to spend more time with my mom.” zuko stupidly asks where katara’s mom is now. katara very patiently explains. he’s shocked, so he asks a lot of follow-up questions, and katara is like “yes, finally, my opportunity to fully radicalize him!” and you know what? she does. and then she makes him buy her noodles even though she has the king’s all but unlimited purse and he only has the spare change he makes from his job as an assistant stage manager.

katara walks zuko home from their totally not a date and ursa invites her inside for dinner. katara is already extremely full from all the street food she ate, but she will not pass up the opportunity to eat food cooked by a mom. zuko’s mom, even. after dinner is over, ursa asks katara to help her with the dishes, and katara, who loves an excuse to show off her waterbending, happily agrees. sotto voce, ursa mentions to katara, as casually as she can, “look, you need to know something about zuko. i love my son very much, and nothing could ever change that, but.... he was born...... wrong. there’s nothing i could’ve done differently, so ive accepted it and protected him, but you should know that you’re not gonna get what you’re looking for from him.”

katara’s like, “what do you mean........ wrong?” frankly she has not met a more well-adjusted member of the fire nation. if he’s wrong, then what’s zhao??? ursa sighs. how is she gonna explain this to a wide-eyed teenage girl who has decided to pin all her hopes and dreams on her wonderful mistake of a son. ursa backtracks. “not, uh, wrong, per se, just different. he’s not.... normal.”

katara thinks about the fire nation’s standards for normality and decides that maybe that’s a good thing. ursa’s like “okay but just keep in mind what i said all right?” and katara nods with a wide, impassive smile and thanks her for dinner, the dishes all sparkling clean. she takes the monorail back to the apartment in the upper ring with a warm, tingly feeling in her heart and her hands.

ty lee walks into the lounge area where azula is reading a book on global trade sanctions during the yangchen era and mai is fast asleep. “i spied on zuko like you asked,” she says. “he was on a date with that water tribe girl. they were sooooo cute together.” she says that last part loudly and viciously enough to wake up mai, who simply blinks a few times before saying, “barf.” azula tries to hide how disturbed she feels upon hearing this. she knew that zuko was in the city with mother, pretending to be humble actors, she could tell as much from the single performance she had attended (and left during intermission). but befriending the water tribe peasant?? this was too much.

“i see,” she says. “clearly he needs our help.” in truth, she wants her family to come back home. grandfather is getting old, and despite the fact that her mother has been nothing but horrible to her, she still misses her, still wants her mother there for her inevitable coronation. and if she knows one thing to be true in this world, it’s that where zuko goes, ursa is sure to follow.

“he needs more than a little help,” ty lee agrees. “have you seen his hair?? that boy is due for a total makeover.” mai just rolls her eyes. she needs ty lee to stop acting like this. to just say what she really thinks for even one single second. ugh. whatever. she goes back to sleep. but azula does take ty lee’s words to heart. zuko’s hair is the shortest she’s ever seen it. it was already long by the time she was old enough to remember anything clearly. why is his hair short?

katara wakes up the next morning with an official summons from the kyoshi warriors to meet in the palace. she’s very excited. she doesn’t know suki all that well, but she respects her a lot, and is always happy to get to know her brother’s sort of girlfriend a little better. when she walks into the throne room, she sees three kyoshi warriors she doesn’t recognize sitting on the floor. “hey guys,” she says. it’s so hard to keep track of them with their matching facepaint. “where’s suki? isn’t she here with you?” the girl seated in the middle smiles. “suki is indisposed at the moment,” says a familiar, blood-chilling voice. “i’m afraid you’ll have to make do with us for now.” oh no.

katara draws her water, but ty lee has already backflipped behind her and blocked her chi, katara’s now useless weapon pooling around her as she lies helpless on the floor. she is completely defenseless as they throw her into an underground prison only an earthbender could escape from. elsewhere, aang gets a vision.

sokka is about to embark on his first actual mission with his father and prove himself as a warrior when he is interrupted by a bison and his boy. once again, he’s needed elsewhere. toph joins them on the way back. a dai li agent who doesn't trust the sudden regime change shows up at their apartment and informs them that katara is being held in the crystal catacombs under the city. sokka is torn between going with aang to rescue his sister or going with toph to save the earth king. as much as he wants to be there for katara, aang can master the avatar state now (or so he says), so he'll probably be fine on his own.

the avatar has been lured directly into azula's trap, and when he sees that the sheer number of dai li agents fighting alongside her are overpowering katara, aang has no choice but to go into the avatar state, which is when azula strikes. having successfully rescued the earth king (and bosco), sokka and toph fly on appa to meet katara, but it seems they are too late. aang is all but dead, and it is only when katara heals aang with her spirit water that he breathes once more. even then, he is barely conscious.

before they can go meet their dad and the rest of the southern water tribe fleet, katara knows she has one last pitstop to make. as she heads to the lower ring apartment, she pleads with the spirits that they'll be home. she really needs a win today. but when she opens the door to the apartment, the only people there are those horrible girls mai and ty lee.

"you!" she gasps. "what did you do with zuko?" mai looks characteristically bored as she responds. "we didn't do anything, azula came and told him that she killed the avatar, so he decided to go back to the fire nation. they left, like, an hour ago." katara is furious. "but she didn't kill aang! or, well, she did, but aang's– ugh! tell zuko to come back so i can punch him in the face!" mai rolls her eyes, but ty lee can tell that she's amused. "as much as i would like to see that," she says, "that's not in my control. so."

katara really wants to fight them, or anyone, really, but she has just enough sense to remember what happened every single time she's ever gone up against ty lee, so she leaves, slamming the (only recently-fixed) door so hard behind her that it breaks. she returns to appa alone with a silent shake of her head and tears streaming down her face. she spends the next few weeks tirelessly healing aang, pouring all her anger and frustration and and desperation into trying to get his eyes to open once more.

zuko is also on a fire nation ship, but not the one he spent the past few years on. he's finally heading back to the fire nation. now that his mission to capture and/or help the avatar is fruitless, he really has no other choice. looks like fate made that decision before he could. or well, azula did. he's not sure what happened to azula to turn her into a killer. it makes him feel somewhat guilty, for leaving. maybe she could've come with them, instead of being left behind with their scary grandpa. he's not looking forward to seeing azulon. how is he supposed to tell the most powerful man in the world that he disagrees with everything he's ever done in his life?

not to mention mai won't stop bothering him. he suspects azula has something to do with that too. mai keeps talking like the past three years never happened, and they can just pick back up where they left off, but zuko has changed so much lately. but as much as he tries to brush her off, she's always there. so he figures he may as well talk to her. she's hardly dumb, so maybe she can hear him out.

mai cannot stand all of zuko's borderline incoherent, flowery rants about "truth" and "justice." they're all "katara said" this, and "guru laghima said" that, and "then katara was like" oh my god SHUT UP ABOUT KATARA. mai obviously knew that azula and ty lee were lying when they were like, "i overheard zuko talking about how he has a crush on you, mai. you should totally talk to him," but she also knows that if she doesn't find a way to secure her position with him she will never live it down or be able to show her face in front of either of them again. so eventually she just gets fed up listening to him talk about how he and katara are totally, like, twin flames or whatever and just grabs his face and kisses him.

now this is zuko's first kiss (the date with jin never happened because ursa has more tact than iroh), so he kind of just freezes up and stands there, very still, long after it's over and mai has left the room, successful in her mission and once more bored and in need of a task. she lets him know that they're dating now and that he should bring her flowers, and zuko's just like "okay." he doesn't know how to feel about that. his first kiss. it felt... underwhelming? maybe if it had been set to a beautiful score, with better lighting, elaborate costumes... it was a very aesthetically mundane kiss. maybe that was the only the rehearsal though, and when they kiss again next time, it'll more romantic and elaborate.

zuko gets very in his own head about planning the perfect date so that he can stage the perfect (remedial) first kiss with mai. he brings her flowers, naturally. mai says, "thank you for the gift" and then drops them on the ground. zuko's like. "what??? did i bring you the wrong flowers???" he researched the flower symbolism and arrangement ahead of time so as to perfectly express this symbol of early love, developing feelings. mai's like, "oh, no, you did great, but i hate flowers." zuko has no idea what to say to that. she asked him to bring her flowers. mai's like "yeah but that didn't mean i wanted them." zuko asks mai what she does like, so that next time he can bring her that instead. she says, "knives," and then immediately follows up with, "but don't actually bring me knives. you'd be a bad boyfriend if you brought me knives. you're supposed to bring me flowers." zuko doesn't understand why he should go out of the way to bring flowers for someone who'll just throw them on the ground, but mai assures him that this is what good boyfriends do.

he resolutely continues the date he planned, even though it's clear that mai is not actually enjoying any of it. at the restaurant, she takes only the smallest bites of food, eating rice grain by grain. but every time he asks her if she wants to take it back to the kitchen and get something else, she assures him that she likes it and intends to finish it. they take a walk through a park at night, lanterns glimmering over the black water, and mai can't help but comment on what a cliche this romantic moonlit stroll is. zuko's like, "oh.... uh..... i think it's nice...." and mai's like, "of course it's nice. i love it." dessert is eaten on a picnic on a cliffside looking out at the full moon. mai comments on how full the moon is, but in a tone of voice that implies that she's fatshaming it. zuko blithely ignores her comment. once they finish their respective fruit tarts, zuko decides that this is the perfect moment to kiss mai again, this time with him in control so that it won't be all chaotic and boring like mai is. he still feels vaguely underwhelmed by the kiss, but this time he reassures himself that it's because he was kissing something he doesn't really like all that much, and not because the setting and ambiance and mood was off.

mai goes home extremely pleased with herself. if she has to date the crown prince to please azula, her parents, and whoever else gets their sick kicks from enforcing the heteropatriarchy, she'll at least troll everyone in the process.

meanwhile, ursa is adjusting to life back in the palace. zuko keeps remarking that he didn't remember the fire nation palace being so...... big and, like, foreboding. was it always this miserable here? ursa chuckles darkly. "believe it or not, it used to be a whole lot worse." zuko suddenly recalls the stories she told him in a barn in the middle of the night. he understands why she never told azula the truth.

it's weird. azula seems to actively be seeking ursa out, but she can't seem to go five seconds before picking a fight with her. ursa doesn't know how to communicate with azula. she never did. she assumes azula wants affection, but the more affection she shows her, the more azula pushes her away. but when she rises to azula's bait, azula says, "you haven't been here in over three years and now you want to criticize me???" eventually ursa just resigns herself into accepting that all fourteen year old girls are like this with their mothers; god knows she was, and she didn't even have to deal with being royalty.

aang wakes up, slowly but surely, and he isn't happy just spending his days on a fire nation ship. sokka assures him that this is the safest way for them to plan for the invasion, but aang can't take it. he let the world down. again. there's another storm at sea. this time, he washes ashore on a semi-active volcano. they find him, and from then on, they're hiding out in the fire nation until the invasion. they don disguises. aang goes to a fire nation school, and throws his classmates a secret dance party. katara impersonates a spirit and blows up a factory. sokka finds a master and forges a sword. they scam some people, fight some people, plan for the invasion. all pretty on-brand shenanigans.

azula is even more on-edge than usual. if she doesn't orchestrate this invasion counterattack perfectly, who knows what could happen. what matters most is that the avatar is really dead. she finds the perfect assassin to make sure of it. if the avatar is still alive, he won't be for much longer.

meanwhile zuko is so. bored. he thought being back in the fire nation, celebrated as a hero for finally killing the avatar (not that he actually did that, but y'know. everyone seemed to take azula's word for it, and it's not like he can expose her lie) would mean that he got to make more political decisions, but azulon still seems to treat him like he's some naive child. he traveled the world, he slew the avatar (allegedly), he has a goth gf! he's a man!!! but instead of letting him into important war councils, he's sending him off to ember island to go play kuai ball like he's some fucking kid. his only consolation is that azula's forced to go with him too, and she doesn't seem bothered with it, so maybe it's not a big deal.

it still sucks though. not only does zuko have to spend an entire weekend without his mom, but he has to put up with his annoying ass little sister and her annoying ass little friends, one of whom he is apparently dating, even though all she does is make fun of him to his face. no matter what he does there's no winning with her. she only seems remotely happy with him once he finally gets frustrated enough to dump her, but then five seconds later she's like, "okay i forgive you let's get back together," and he's like, "what??" she is dedicating her life to the bit, but he is the world's worst improv partner he is giving her nothing. ty lee wishes she could just sit there and enjoy the show but unfortunately she has to teach azula how to talk like a human. apparently azula spent all her time learning how to talk to generals, and never learned how to flirt with their dumb as bricks hot sons. they return to the capital and zuko goes to ursa and is like, "i don't know why you insisted that it would be good for me to make friends my age, teenagers fucking suck."

azulon finally lets him into a meeting, though not without azula milking those mindgames for all they're worth just to see if zuko's cheeks will puff up and he'll stomp his feet and clench his fists when he yells at her. he's so dramatic, it's hilarious. mai is waiting for him by the door when they file out of the war room. she asks him how the meeting went, and he stares into the distance and mumbles something inarticulate under his breath that sounds very much like a profound soliloquy, just based on like, the cadence and the meter. for all his enthusiasm for theater, zuko clearly never learned how to enunciate, so mai has no idea what he said. she just pulls her cheeks back into a thin-lipped smile and says, "sounds good, zuko."

zuko takes a day trip on his war balloon to the southern fire nation, and more specifically, a certain tea shop he had to beg his mother for the address to. at first, iroh thinks he is hallucinating the ghost of his dead son, or perhaps his dead brother, but then he realizes that it's just been six years since he'd last seen his nephew. he can replace that shattered teapot anyway.

iroh pours zuko tea as zuko tells him about how he spent the past six years. iroh is fascinated to hear of his travels, especially of meeting the avatar and his water tribe companions (and flying bison and lemur). he tells zuko that he's been living a humble life serving his community through teamaking and hosting pai sho game nights. of course, that's not the full truth, since he does receive frequent letters from the order of the white lotus, but zuko doesn't need to know that.

finally, zuko asks iroh what he came all this way to ask: "why don't you want to be firelord? you would have so much power to help people. don't you have a responsibility to use that power?" he could've stayed in ba sing se, safe behind the walls, but he knew it wasn't right. why doesn't his uncle? iroh sighs. "look, prince zuko. this may be difficult for you to understand, but i have caused a lot of harm in my past, and i am ashamed of what i have done. here, i don't have to worry about hurting anyone. tea may be a small joy, but it makes people happy. i would rather spend my life not harming anyone than having all the power in the world, even if it means helping the 'greater good.' this was the way of the air nomads, and i believe that if everyone adopted this practice, the world would be a better place." he places his lotus tile in the center of the board, beating zuko by a hair. with their tea drained and their pai sho game over (5 - 0), zuko hugs iroh goodbye and heads back to his war balloon with the promise to see iroh again soon. there are tears in iroh's eyes as zuko leaves.

the day of black sun is finally upon them, and everyone is prepared to meet their destiny. zuko remembers to scrawl a hasty letter to mai before removing his armor and undoing his topknot. where he's going, he won't need these hollow signifiers. while azula is distracting sokka, aang, and toph, zuko walks into azulon's throne room, swords in hand. he calmly tells his grandfather that he can no longer belong to such a cruel and violent system. there is no changing it from the inside, so he's leaving. oh, and also, he didn't kill the avatar. azula lied about that. he wasn't sure that he was alive until now, but turns out the avatar is part of the invasion force, so good luck with that. azulon is so shocked he actually passes out.

zuko runs to his mother's chambers to let her know of his somewhat sudden change of plan, only he can't find her anywhere. on second thought, he probably should've told her ahead of time. now he has no clue where she is and he needs to leave soon if he wants to follow the avatar. also, it's probably for the best if she stays behind with azula anyway. he leaves a note on her dresser and rushes to his war balloon, right in time to pursue their flying bison.

none of them want to talk about what just happened. the invasion should've gone perfectly, but instead it was a colossal failure. sokka suggests that they still have time to stick to the old plan, teach aang firebending in time for sozin's comet. zuko, who managed to sneak up on them with their backs turned (minus toph), offers his services. before he can even finish waving awkwardly, katara has nearly speared him 20 times, and it's only with aang and sokka holding her arms back that her ice doesn't penetrate his flesh and instead just melts midair and splashes on top of him just someone dropped a freezing bucket on his head, the force of which knocks him over.

zuko slips and slides a little before finally righting himself and repeating his little speech. "i can teach firebending. to you." he tells aang, while trying not to shrivel under the weight of katara's glare. aang's like, "yeah, i don't think that's a good idea. you should probably leave before our muscles give out and we can no longer hold katara back." he takes one look at katara, who is frothing at the mouth ready to rip zuko into a million little pieces, and is like, "yeah okay."

toph tells them that they're being idiots. they need a firebending teacher, but apparently the guy who offers to teach them firebending isn't good enough because he ghosted katara or something? after katara has tired herself out of yelling to toph about all the ways in which he betrayed her, and then sokka tacks on that toph wasn't there, she hasn't actually witnessed zuko's bad vibes firsthand (which conflicts katara because on one hand, she quite likes zuko's vibes, but on the other hand, she wants to murder him), toph calls them blind and stomps away.

zuko is having one of his typical nightmares when he's interrupted by a little green child he only vaguely recognizes. he is not fully lucid upon hearing her, so his instinct, to shoot fire at her, proves to be a disastrous mistake. toph crawls all the way back to camp with burned feet. hurting katara emotionally was one thing (as protective of katara as sokka is, he also recognizes that katara does often set herself up to get hurt emotionally), but hurting toph physically is another. toph assures the furious siblings that she startled zuko, and it was an accident, but to katara it's just fuel for the flames, and to sokka it's the worst thing anyone could do. absolutely no way are they letting that violent clown anywhere near their friends.

then who shows up but combustion man. they can't run from him anymore, not if they want to preserve what's left of the western air temple. zuko runs right up to his face. "my sister hired you, right??? well i can pay you double to stop!!!!" he doesn't listen, for some reason. (maybe it's a matter of pride?) he shoves zuko aside with one extremely large hand. it's like picking up a kitten. it's impossible to fight this guy head-on. but sokka throws his boomerang square in his third eye, which results in him blowing himself up, and zuko too. almost.

aang has no choice but to thank zuko. even though sokka was the one to kill him, hello???? but, it was noble of zuko to attempt to save them. katara is tempted to suggest that it was all staged to make him seem heroic, but then thinks better of it. no one is that insane. he launches into a (far more coherent) speech (now that he's not at risk of developing hypothermia), and gives them the full explanation of why he made the choices he did, and what made him change his mind. zuko then apologizes to toph for burning her feet. he acknowledges the destructive nature of firebending, but that he only wants to use firebending to heal and help people from now on. this promise shifts something in aang. maybe zuko does need to be his firebending teacher.

he asks toph what she thinks, and of course toph is all for it. she knows a sincere apology when she hears one, and besides, zuko seems like an all right guy to her. sokka acquiesces that aang does need a firebending teacher, so he'll do whatever it takes to win the war, even if it means putting up with this absolute schmuck. katara glares at zuko while admitting through gritted teeth that she trusts aang's decision.

sokka shows zuko to his room and zuko is so grateful and happy so sokka tries to be polite, but afterwards he goes to aang and is like "okay it is literally so hard to be nice to that guy." katara shows up in zuko's doorway the second he's done setting up a photo of his mom by his bed and she threatens him so terrifyingly he nearly blacks out. since he hasn't eaten all day, his hunger wins out over his fear of katara and he joins them for dinner, where he finds out that three other people he's never seen before in his life are also staying here?? before he can properly introduce himself, sokka's just like "zuko, meet haru, teo, and the duke. guys, meet zuko, he's the piece of shit i was telling you about who's gonna teach aang firebending." zuko's just like, "...............................hello?"

zuko excuses himself from dinner early. he was already scared of sokka from the moment he met him, and that was before he watched him kill combustion man with a boomerang. now he also has reason to be terrified of katara. he burned their friend's feet. things are still pretty awkward with the avatar. and there are three other teenage boys here too. is it too late to go work in his uncle's teashop and avoid all his responsibilities?

the next day, zuko does some pretty weak firebending demonstrations for aang. frankly, firebending has always been one of his weakest skills. aang claps politely, but zuko feels like a fool. but then he remembers something iroh said during his visit, that everything he learned about true firebending could be found at the sun warriors' temple. aang's like, "aren't they all gone?" but zuko just shrugs. he trusts uncle iroh.

katara accuses zuko of wanting to take aang to secondary location so that he can drug and kill and possibly torture and even eat him, but aang's like, "no, katara, zuko is many things, but he's not a liar. plus i'm pretty sure i can take him lol i mean look at how skinny he is a gust of wind could knock him over." this gets katara to smile. "you're right, aang," she agrees, "i trust you." zuko is just standing there like, "okay well first of all that was really rude. also i'm not a cannibal??"

they come back a few days later with a fire nation dance locked and loaded. katara and sokka have a lot to say about it, but eventually zuko relaxes upon realizing that them gently homophobically bullying him is actually far preferable to them talking about how they would murder him. with aang now fully onboard the zuko train, it's easier for everyone else to integrate him into the group. toph, teo, haru, and the duke (not that zuko actually remembers any of their names) all treat him like he's any other friend, katara limits her dislike to mean jokes at his expense, and sokka is pretty quiet and withdrawn in general.

one night, sokka pulls zuko aside. zuko tries to mask his terror as he oh so casually asks, "so what's up?" sokka asks him where high ranking prisoners of war would be held, and zuko is forced to tell him once sokka admits that he wants to know about his dad. of course he's also aware that this means that sokka will not rest until he has found his father, so zuko ambushes him as he attempts to sneak off. sokka's like, "look, no offense, but even if i did let you come, you'd only slow me down. i don't need some useless imbecile getting me caught." zuko's like, "okay, well, offense taken, also you need a firebender to operate a war balloon and that's your only viable mode of transportation." sokka points out that actually that isn't true, he did quite literally invent the mechanism that allows war balloons to fly, and zuko's just like, "oh my god what the fuck nooooo" and "how is that even possible????" but then he says, "if you don't let me help you i'll literally kill myself right now and then you'll have to explain to aang why his new firebending teacher is dead. my blood will be on your hands." he's fully bluffing, but sokka isn't willing to take his chances (mostly because killing himself just to spite someone else has always lowkey been his fantasy). sokka is like, "well your blood will be on my hands either way but whatever it's your funeral" and zuko's like, "what?" and sokka's like "what?" and off they go.

they return with suki, hakoda, and chit sang, sokka now of the opinion that zuko is somewhat tolerable. what he lacks in brains he makes up for in bravery and extreme sincerity. azula shows up to the temple a while later with a crazed look in her eye that does not bode well. zuko, mai, and ty lee all betrayed her. her mother has disappeared god knows where. azulon's health is failing but it's clear he doesn't want her to succeed him now that he knows she lied to him to bring zuko back. he keeps asking for iroh. azula doesn't know what to do. all she can hope for is that if she kills the avatar and zuko for good then maybe grandfather will be able to forgive her before he dies. of course it can never be that easy.

the gaang celebrates another near escape, but katara sees nothing to celebrate. even sokka accepts zuko now. how is he of all people not on her side about this?! zuko goes to confront katara. he doesn't understand why she won't just trust him. she reminds him that she was the first person to trust him, to offer him a spot in their group. and he abandoned her, betrayed her trust. he asks what he can do to make it up to her. she snarls, "oh, i don't know, maybe you can bring my mother back!"

zuko doesn't really know what to do with that, since she told him what happened to her mother. zuko barges into sokka's tent without a second thought and asks him what the flag emblem on the ships that raided them that day looked like. sokka tells him, as quickly as possible, so that he'll leave him the fuck alone. zuko waits outside katara's tent all night to share this information with her. they go track yon rha down, despite aang and sokka's concerns.

katara returns with a newfound understanding of herself, of her own humanity. of how to let go of the stories she told herself to survive, and instead better appreciate what's real, even when it's not pretty. she understands zuko better now too. she hugs him, and from that moment onwards, they are best friends.

they travel to ember island, where they spend their remaining days until sozin's comet. from his deathbed, azulon tells his granddaughter that she can't be trusted with the plan – her plan – to burn the earth kingdom to the ground. instead he'll send a delegation of generals on their airship fleet. he wants to keep her close, in the palace, where he won't have to worry about her screwing things up. guards follow her everywhere. no matter what she does or where she goes, she knows there are eyes on her, watching for any signs of further betrayal. she's a glorified prisoner, having to pretend she doesn't notice. needless to say, this situation is terrible for her already rapidly declining mental health.

informed of the plan to raze the earth kingdom, aang isn't sure what to do. zuko reminds him that azulon is in his final years, but azula is next in line to take the throne. aang isn't sure what's worse, having to kill an old man or a teenager. zuko reminds aang that this "old man" is responsible for the decimation of the southern water tribe and occupation of the earth kingdom. aang doesn't like being talked down to as if he doesn't already know that, so he leaves the room. he needs to be alone, to meditate and reflect on what impossible choice he must make next.

the next morning, aang is missing. they can't find him anywhere; they even search the entire island, but despite the fact that his glider is still in the house, he's gone. zuko takes them to june the bounty hunter to track him down, but she informs them that he's disappeared. for all intents and purposes, he doesn't exist. zuko refuses to lose hope. he gives june his mother's shawl. sokka's like "you just take that with you.... everywhere you go?" but katara and toph are like "awww no it's sweet shut up." she leads them just outside the outer wall of ba sing se.

they make camp there for the night, but are awoken by four old masters. they lead them inside the white lotus camp grounds, where it turns out that iroh, ursa, and about an eighth of zuko's former crew have been living since the day of black sun. as it turns out, ursa received a letter from iroh after zuko visited him, cryptically instructing her to meet him on the outer wall of ba sing se on the day of the invasion. zuko asks his mom why she didn't take him or azula with her, but ursa admits that she didn't know where they were and she didn't have time to find them. she could only hope they would remain safe in her absence.

katara is shocked. "you've been a member of the white lotus the entire time???" she asks ursa. she informs her that actually, she just joined in an official capacity. she kept regular correspondence with iroh, but she wasn't herself a member. then he invited her to participate in their mission to take back ba sing se for the earth kingdom. ursa has vital information on the city that was integral to their plans, being the only member of the organization who's actually lived there and all. besides, they could use another firebender, especially if they plan on striking during sozin's comet.

zuko is, of course, overjoyed to see his mother again, but he admits that he's worried about azula. they've left her behind in the palace once again, but this time she doesn't have mai and ty lee to rely on, and she's fallen out of their grandfather's good graces. they devise a plan. sokka, suki, and toph will take down the airship fleet, while zuko and katara go to the palace. they have to be careful. the palace is filled with guards, and they don't want to fight any more people than they have to. they find azula, sitting alone in her room with scissors in her hand and clumps of hair on the floor.

"what are you doing?" zuko asks. "is it not obvious?" azula retorts. "i'm giving myself a royal haircut. i have to look good for my coronation after all. any day now, grandfather will take his last breath, and i will become firelord. it's a shame that it has to happen after sozin's comet, since i would have done an excellent job of burning the earth kingdom to the ground, but no matter, i'm sure the generals will do a fine job as well. grandfather wants me by his side in his final days, you see. i find the sentiment a bit maudlin, but he is dying, so i can forgive him this." her words are slightly slurred as she rambles.

zuko merely scoffs. "you're not going to become firelord," he says. azula laughs, high and manic. "oh, you think you're going to become firelord? after you disgraced our nation by joining the avatar? you're hilarious." katara readies her water. "and you're going down," she snaps back. they get into fighting stances, but zuko puts his hand out. "wait, no," he says. "i don't wanna be firelord." all the fight is knocked out of azula out of sheer surprise. "but didn't you always say it was your destiny?" she asked. "i spent our whole lives trying to convince you not to be firelord and suddenly... you agree?" zuko nods. "yeah pretty much."

but suddenly another problem presents itself. who will take the throne? katara suggests ursa, but azula shakes her head. "she would never agree to it. she hates it here." same goes for iroh. "what about you?" zuko asks. "could you do it?" katara laughs. then she realizes he's serious. then she laughs even harder. "or sokka? sokka could be good." katara's like, "i know, let's get momo to be firelord. we can make him a little cape and crown." she's obviously being sarcastic, but zuko, who adores momo, puts his hand on his heart as he says, "i can think of no one worthier." meanwhile azula's like, "who the hell is momo?"

they explain to azula that momo is their pet flying lemur, and azula's just like, "you know what? fuck it. that's hilarious. i don't even care anymore. life's just a waste of time until you die anyway, right? so what the hell." katara and zuko exchange a look. gently, zuko asks, "um.... azula? do you wanna talk about it?"

by the time everyone else gets back to the palace (sokka with a broken leg, but everyone else relatively unscathed), zuko and katara are just like, "oh, good, you're all alive. and on our end, azula is taking a nap. yeah she cried so hard she eventually passed out. but now she's sleeping soundly :)"

ursa goes to check on azula, who is curled up in bed with her hair in a braid and a cup of half-finished tea on her bedside table. she decides not to disturb her daughter while she's resting. whatever conversation they should have can wait for tomorrow. then she goes to azulon's room, where he's slowly dying. she decides to speed up the process. meanwhile, zuko and katara inform their friends that they've decided that they're going to crown momo as the next firelord. aang, sokka, toph, and suki are all ecstatic. this the best possible outcome. (the only objector is appa, who maintains that he would do a better job, but his roar of indignation sounds a lot like his roar of agreement, so everyone just assumes that he's happy for his friend's new promotion.)

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