Princess Zura is nervous. Throughout all the formalities and the welcome-home revels and presentations to the people she has been stoic and hard, the picture of a warrior who has roamed the world and fought valiantly for her people.
Now she looks as though she would like to leap across the barrier of the Imperial Flame and snatch her ill-gotten child from the Firelord’s arms.
The Firelord does not deign to acknowledge this, but simply inspects his first grandchild in a perfunctory manner.
He can’t tell, just by looking, who the father is. That was perhaps the great scandal of the time, beyond mere defiance, beyond rudeness in the war-room that bordered on treason- one cannot have the royal bloodline being flaunted about so commonly, not only for the honor of the house but the example it sets the rest of the state. He finds the gold-coin eyes are common enough, the skin baby-fair and perhaps on its way to porcelain, if not browned in the sun first.
His daughter watches him, eyes like a dragonhawk’s and like a startled komodo rhino as well, the white ring showing all around in fear.
He smiles, and lets the little creature tug on his beard.
Azulon will not like that his sister has returned, with yet another barrier between himself and the highest place he can currently occupy, that of Crown Prince. Yet the prince smiles and preens, the happy brother and young uncle, and Ozai knows that this is the time to watch most carefully, for when Azulon gets frustrated he gets clever, and Zura is a walking ball of easy targets.
This child will never be closer to the throne than now, as she sits in his lap and shows no fear from the dancing flames- but he thinks that Azulon had better be very careful about how he goes about clearing his path. He is the one who controls life and death in this kingdom, in this world-
And for now, he chooses to allow his grandchild her life. Zura has bought a great deal of leeway, with the Avatar’s death, and that she chooses to spend it on the cause of half her suffering shows her stubborn loyalty, if not her wisdom in its placement.
He suddenly has to pat out sparks that singe his beard, and the dear little thing giggles.
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timeasmymeasure
Ozai Meets His First Grandchild (sorry, forgot italics)
Date: 2009-12-05 10:08 am (UTC)Now she looks as though she would like to leap across the barrier of the Imperial Flame and snatch her ill-gotten child from the Firelord’s arms.
The Firelord does not deign to acknowledge this, but simply inspects his first grandchild in a perfunctory manner.
He can’t tell, just by looking, who the father is. That was perhaps the great scandal of the time, beyond mere defiance, beyond rudeness in the war-room that bordered on treason- one cannot have the royal bloodline being flaunted about so commonly, not only for the honor of the house but the example it sets the rest of the state. He finds the gold-coin eyes are common enough, the skin baby-fair and perhaps on its way to porcelain, if not browned in the sun first.
His daughter watches him, eyes like a dragonhawk’s and like a startled komodo rhino as well, the white ring showing all around in fear.
He smiles, and lets the little creature tug on his beard.
Azulon will not like that his sister has returned, with yet another barrier between himself and the highest place he can currently occupy, that of Crown Prince. Yet the prince smiles and preens, the happy brother and young uncle, and Ozai knows that this is the time to watch most carefully, for when Azulon gets frustrated he gets clever, and Zura is a walking ball of easy targets.
This child will never be closer to the throne than now, as she sits in his lap and shows no fear from the dancing flames- but he thinks that Azulon had better be very careful about how he goes about clearing his path. He is the one who controls life and death in this kingdom, in this world-
And for now, he chooses to allow his grandchild her life. Zura has bought a great deal of leeway, with the Avatar’s death, and that she chooses to spend it on the cause of half her suffering shows her stubborn loyalty, if not her wisdom in its placement.
He suddenly has to pat out sparks that singe his beard, and the dear little thing giggles.