"Agree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him; lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison. Verily I say unto thee, Thou shalt by no means come out thence, till thou hast paid the uttermost farthing." -Jesus

There had been many coup attempts in the years after the war ended. He was involved in or at least used as a symbol by most of them. A few actually got into contact with him in his cell. All were thwarted by the combined efforts of the Avatar and his friends. But he had patience.

He knew that there were many who had become rich off the war, and he could count on their self-interest to want to get a peaceful man like his son off the throne. There was the possibility that they would go for someone easier to control, but he knew that businessmen abhorred risk. He was the surest bet to get a coup off the ground. And the military had been indoctrinated for so long in the divine right of Ozai's family to rule, that any who had hubris enough to want power for themselves would not find much support among those itching for change.

All in good time.

His son suspected his treacherous plots, but he couldn't bring himself to end his father's life. Ozai had planned on that. He didn't push him, for after his initial breakdown upon losing his bending, he had gathered his wits. He could wait for the day that he was back in power. Then he would make the avatar pay (although probably not in a one on one fight), and thrash the traitors.

He did allow himself one gloat. As his son came to him one night, whining about the war hawks in the country, Ozai came up with a thought to goad him. "As long as the people want war, you will not be able to bring peace. This nation has become rich and great off of the war, and there is no reason to think that they will ever want anything different." Zuko had scowled, and left. Ozai smirked, but then wondered at how far he had fallen that a little dig would bring a smile to his face.

He had not thought of Azula for months. In all of the plots, no one had brought up Azula, so he assumed her dead. It didn't bother him much. Failure of this magnitude should be rewarded with death. (In his case, he felt that the Avatar and his son were being a bit malicious in denying him that.)

After months with lessening contact with his fellow conspirators, he began to chafe at his imprisonment. When they had kept him apprised of all that occurred outside of his cell, it had been bearable. But now, he began to be more aware of his situation, and his patience wore thin. He finally grew desperate and demanded that a guard inform him of what was going on outside. Among inane bits of gossip and speculation, he discerned that Zuko had begun transitioning the war factories to produce mercantile goods. Ozai felt a dark premonition about this, though he was not able to articulate what he feared.

As time went on and the Fire Nation become more rich, in peace time, than they had even know in war, and months continued to pass without contact from his so-called "friends", he forced himself to face the unsavory truth. The malcontents who might have started a coup had been appeased by prosperity under Zuko. The Factory Owners preferred the peace time work, for they had less to fear from an enemy attack, but they could still draw in money hand over fist.

As far as the military, war crimes tribunals helped ease most of the hardened holdovers to retire and seek jobs in the new manufacturing boom or escape with a cushy pension. The truly loyal, of course, were imprisoned as he.

It had been a few years since he had been the center of so much talk and hope (at least, on his part). He began to rage at his son almost incoherently whenever he came. Iroh never came. His mind began to wonder after Azula. What had happened to her?

And it rested more and more, as it had wont to do, even in his height as Phoenix King, on his absent wife, Ursa. He knew it was foolish. He knew she was either dead, with another man, or living some pathetic life somewhere. But it was like a mental itch he couldn't scratch. He was secretly surprised that she hadn't returned after Zuko became Fire Lord, but he kept that to himself and goaded his son whenever he asked about her.

It was one evening, while engrossed in these morose thoughts, that he felt his eyes start to sting. He bid the tears back, but they welled on the edges of his eyelids until at last they fell. He had turned himself to the back of his cell, so he let them fall and didn't wipe them away, in order to not give himself away. But gradually he felt the pain well up in him and his shoulders started to bounce. His breath came in gasps and sobs, but he kept himself quiet.

At this time, he felt the most oppressed of all men. He thought of his father, Azulon. The old bastard. He had been more like a grandfather to him than an actual father. It had been a time of war, and Iroh proved himself in battle. "Stupid Father, I could've proved myself in battle!" By the time he had come of age, Azulon was clingy and kept Ozai at the palace. Yet he hardly ever spent time with Ozai's new family. Ozai had just wanted to be noticed. It was in his childhood he had learned about the chasm between first and second.

Unbidden, scenes from his past began to flash into his memory.

It wasn't my fault. Azulon was the one who wanted me to do it. It would've been his fault.

Ursa, you were so useful, in the end. But why did you go? I would've protected you! No one even knew what really killed him! Why did you leave!

Why did you leave me to take care of our children! You horrible woman! You horrible mother! You knew I couldn't handle them. You knew I couldn't give them what they wanted! That's what you were there for!

By this time, Ozai was gasping and hiccupping as he clutched himself. He allowed himself to drop the flawless fire lord act, and feel sorry for himself. No one understood him. No one had tried. He hadn't been close to any member of his family. It was all his father's fault. No, it was Iroh! He had taken Father's love and turned Zuko against him! No, it was Zuko, who had thrown away all of the love he had tried to give him at last, and a place at his right hand, to help the avatar destroy his life's work, and then take his place! A part of him was actually in awe of his son's political maneuvering, but he scowled as he decided that his son had shown himself too womanly to have actually planned it that way.

What about Azula? If she had just done her part, he wouldn't be here now. He shouldn't have been surprised. He had seen her start to slip before he left for his (unbeknownst to him) fateful encounter with the Avatar. But he had been surprised. Very surprised. Azula had always been the picture of perfection. The only annoying thing was occasionally it seemed that she looked to him for some kind of acknowledgment. It was a foolish weakness. He had received no such treatment from his father, and it had made him strong. It was also why he had pitted his children against each other. They couldn't count on each other, only on themselves.

(It didn't occur to him that he had never learned to show support, so he couldn't have even if he wanted to. And it also didn't occur to him that his preferential treatment of the superior but overlooked younger sibling had anything to do with his relationship with his own sibling. He didn't think about Iroh much at all these days. He was past that.)

Finally spent, he leaned against the wall. He breathing slowed and went back to normal. It felt like a dam had burst. He had had no idea that all of that had been pent up inside of him. It felt mortifying, but vaguely refreshing, to have taken that burden off his shoulders. And after looking in the face of all that pain and anger and resentment he had carried, he was able to face the truth. It was his fault. It had always been his fault. If he had been stronger, he would have been able to keep his family together. If his priorities had been in the right place, maybe he would still have his children with him. Maybe he would still have her…

He pounded his fists against his temples. Why?! Why had it taken so long for him to see this? Thoughts of the coup attempts came to his mind unbidden. As long as they had curried his favor, he had felt important. Even rotting in a cell, he had clung to his delusions of grandeur in favor of a son who had spared his life and continued to spare his life, against all reason!

He writhed on the ground. Oh the shame! He burned with self-loathing. If he had had anything at hand, he might have hurt himself. As it was, he banged his head against the floor until it rang. Sweat soaked his clothing. He clasped his hands together in anxiety, mumbling apologies and curses. Finally he lay still, exhausted.

He was completely wrung out. Totally exhausted, body, mind, and soul. He quickly slipped into unconsciousness and lay as if he were dead.