–

Succession.

Ozai was in something of a quandary.

The destruction of his armada had been... unfortunate. The death of the Avatar notwithstanding, he had to admit that his reign had seen more successful days than that.

He was without men, without money, stranded in the Earth Kingdom, and he didn't even have a shirt. And there was only one thing he could do.

He had to get back to the palace. Azula was waiting for him. Ever the dutiful daughter, he was certain she would do as he directed.

He just had to get there first.

–

He'd commandeered a small fishing ship. And by 'commandeered', he meant he had barged onto the ship the second he had seen it, and demanded that they take him to the Capital. When they had asked him who exactly he was, he had told them. By which, of course, he meant he had killed them all and dumped their bodies in the ocean, and simply taken the ship himself.

Too late, he realised he should have kept one of their shirts. The stiff breeze and sea spray were conspiring to make sure his royal nipples were absolutely freezing.

Too late again, he realised that he had absolutely no idea how to pilot a sailing ship. Still, it couldn't be too hard. After all, those barbarians from the Southern Water Tribes managed it all the time, didn't they?

–

Six weeks later...

A half-starved, half-mad Ozai barged into his palace. Around him, guards and servants dropped plates and walked into columns as he tore through the corridors. Most ran from him, which he considered only right and proper, but some of the braver souls rushed up to him and tried to direct him away, presumably to give him a shirt.

He slapped them aside, and kept moving. He had no time for shirts. He had to find Azula and make her send his armies to exterminate with extreme prejudice the son of a bitch that had flattened his glorious armada.

The doors to his throne room were sundered with a mighty kick, and Ozai strode in, propelled only by manic fury and terrible pride.

Squinting up at the figure sitting cross-legged on his throne, Ozai wondered dimly why Azula had not greeted him yet.

Then he wondered when exactly Azula had started to grow a beard.

The figure looked up at him, and Ozai noticed for the first time the way the firelight flickered and caught on a mass of scars that dominated the entire left side of his child's face.

The Fire Lord spoke.

"Hi, Dad."

–

"Oh for fuck's sake."