Everyone Loves the Fire Lord
Summary: During the early years of Fire Lord Zuko’s reign, noblewomen from across the nations are summoned to court as candidates for Fire Lady, each expected to win the favor of a nation that now calls him its hope—while among them is Lady (Yourname) Weilian of Ba Sing Se, determined to uncover the truth behind her family’s massacre—and the prince whose voice set it in motion. Pairing: Fire Lord! Zuko x fem! Reader
“This is a terrible idea.”
Uncle Iroh continues drinking tea peacefully.
“You admitted it immediately.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Uncle smiles directly into his teacup afterward.
I pace restlessly across the Jasmine Dragon’s private upper room while dawn slowly begins brightening Ba Sing Se beyond the windows. The tea shop below remains closed this early, leaving only the quiet sounds of boiling water and distant morning carts outside.
Normally, being here calms me.
“I can’t continue the selection like this,” I mutter. “Half the candidates treat the palace like a battlefield while the council keeps adding more ceremonies every week.” I drag one hand through my hair tiredly. “I barely sleep anymore.”
Uncle glances toward me knowingly.
He notices everything. What an annoying old man. I stop pacing eventually before dropping heavily onto the cushion across from him. “I just want it finished.” Uncle pours more tea carefully.
“No,” he says calmly. “The problem is you are trying to discover who wishes to stand beside you… while most candidates only wish to stand beside the throne.”
The words settle heavily between us, because unfortunately, he’s right.
Most candidates do not look at me like a person.
They look at me like history.
Except— No. Do not think about her right now. Uncle hums quietly before setting down his cup. “There is one method.” I immediately narrow my eyes.
“That tone means danger.”
“Danger disguised as wisdom.”
Uncle looks entirely serious now.
“Announce privately through the palace servants that the Fire Lord has begun considering restoring the ancient royal harem tradition.”
“That is the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Not true. I once told you to redirect lightning.”
“And this might solve your selection problem.” I continue staring.
“You want me to pretend I’m building a harem?” Uncle shrugs mildly. “It was common for many former Fire Lords.”
“Yes. The terrible ones.”
Uncle watches me carefully now. “It is easy to promise loyalty to a kind ruler,” he says quietly. “But if the image changes? If power becomes uglier?” His gaze sharpens slightly. “Then you will see whether they desire the man… or merely the status attached to him.”
I hate when his schemes make sense.
Uncle smiles pleasantly. “Al,so yes.”
And somehow, against all reason…I agree. By sunrise, the rumor spreads through the palace like wildfire, which honestly feels appropriate. Apparently, palace servants possess spiritual connections to gossip because within two hours, nobles are already whispering dramatically through every corridor in the royal compound. By breakfast, one minister nearly faints after hearing “confirmed reports” that Fire Lord Zuko intends to restore ancient concubine traditions for “dynastic stability.” I never even said that phrase.
Impressive creativity, honestly.
The panic begins immediately afterward. One candidate demands clarification from the royal advisors before noon. Another leaves the palace entirely before lunch, claiming sudden illness within her family. Two more begin openly arguing over rank positioning among hypothetical future consorts inside the eastern garden.
This is deeply concerning behavior, and by evening, most of them are gone.
I stare blankly at the updated selection records inside my chambers while the head eunuch bows respectfully nearby. “…Repeat that.”
“Twenty-one candidates withdrew voluntarily, Your Highness.”
The eunuch hesitates briefly afterward. “…Several expressed moral objections.”
“Others feared political instability.”
“…And one attempted to throw tea at Minister Shinu.”
I lean back heavily against my chair afterward while exhaustion and disbelief battle equally inside my skull.
Uncle’s ridiculous plan actually worked.
“So,” I mutter tiredly. “Who remains?”
The eunuch opens the scroll carefully.
Yujin practically radiates ambition strongly enough to be visible from space.
The woman once described marriage alliances as “resource management.”
The eunuch shifts awkwardly beneath my stare. “…Your Highness?” I look away immediately. “No. Continue.”
I dismiss the eunuch shortly afterward before sitting alone inside my chambers while evening settles slowly across the palace. Twenty-one women fled because they believed I might become another Fire Lord with a harem.
They should leave if that possibility alone disgusts them, but one detail continues to bother me. She stayed.
Not because she wants power.
That much I already know.
If anything, Lady Weilian seems actively irritated by noble politics existing at all.
A knock interrupts my thoughts suddenly, then before I can answer, Druk bursts through the doors. The hatchling sprints directly across the room, carrying one of my royal gloves in his mouth before leaping onto the cushions dramatically.
Seconds later, Lady Weilian appears in the doorway.
“He stole from me,” she says immediately. I glance toward Druk. “…That is my glove.” Druk looks unrepentant. Lady Weilian folds her arms afterward before narrowing her eyes suspiciously toward me. “Why is everyone in the palace suddenly whispering about harems?” I nearly choke to death instantly. Druk watches with interest.
“I heard one noblewoman compare the selection hall to a meat market,” she continues flatly. “Another threatened to poison someone over hypothetical rankings.” Her expression darkens. “Please tell me this stupidity is not real.”
“…Hypothetical rankings?”
“That is the part you question?”
I look away awkwardly, which unfortunately tells her everything immediately.
Then narrow dangerously. “…You started the rumor.”
“You absolutely started the rumor.”
“There is no possible defense!”
Druk chirps loudly like encouragement. Again—traitor. Lady Weilian drags one hand down her face tiredly. “Spirits,” she mutters. “You really are related to Azula.”
“That is deeply offensive.”
“It was meant to be.” Despite myself, I laugh. Again. Then she sighs heavily before dropping into the chair across from mine. “…Did it work at least?” I hesitate briefly, then quietly answer, “Yes.”
“Most candidates withdrew.”
Her mouth falls slightly open afterward.
Then, to my horror, she starts laughing.
Not delicate, noble laughter either.
Completely uncontrollable.
“You terrified them into leaving?” she wheezes.
“You accidentally threatened them with becoming your father!”
“That sounds worse when you say it aloud.”
Druk curls happily into her lap afterward while she continues laughing helplessly. And spirits help me, I realize then that this is the most relaxed my chambers have felt in weeks.
Then, eventually, she quieted down.
“…You wouldn’t actually do that, right?”
The question lands harder than expected.
Because suddenly I understand.
She isn’t asking politically.
I meet her eyes fully then.
Silence follows afterward.
Like that, the answer mattered more than it should have.
And somehow, that matters to me too.
The Royal Council gathers exactly three days later.
I knew the peace would not last.
The palace has been far too quiet recently, which should have warned me that something disastrous was approaching. Ministers only behave calmly when preparing nonsense behind closed doors.
Today’s nonsense apparently involves my future marriage again.
Spirits give me strength.
The council chamber feels unbearably warm despite the early morning hour.
Sunlight spills through high volcanic-glass windows while incense burns slowly from bronze braziers positioned around the circular hall. Ministers sit arranged along curved tiers surrounding the central floor below, layered in crimson, gold, and black robes heavy enough to suffocate rational thought.
Uncle Iroh sits beside me.
I already distrust whatever expression that is. “With the candidate pool reduced significantly,” Minister Shinu begins smoothly, “the council believes final evaluations should proceed immediately.”
I lean back against the throne chair tiredly.
Another minister clears his throat carefully afterward.
“The remaining candidates possess excellent noble standing, but the court must also consider compatibility with the realities of the throne.”
I narrow my eyes slightly.
“That sounds concerning.”
Minister Haneul rises next.
Former military strategist.
Deeply terrifying when enthusiastic.
“The Fire Lord remains a political target,” he says firmly while clasping his hands behind his back. “And any future Fire Lady will naturally face similar dangers.” His sharp gaze moves across the chamber thoughtfully. “Historically, weak royal consorts became liabilities during instability.”
I already dislike where this is going. “The future Fire Lady,” he continues, “must therefore possess capability beyond court etiquette alone.”
Uncle sips tea quietly beside me.
Minister Haneul nods once before delivering the sentence I will eventually blame for my future headaches.
“We propose a combat trial.”
“Not lethal combat,” another minister adds quickly. “Merely a demonstration. Agility. Strategy. Defensive awareness.”
“Firebending proficiency,” someone else adds.
“Adaptability under pressure.”
“A future Fire Lady unable to protect herself would remain vulnerable.”
I press two fingers against my temple immediately.
Because somehow, against all reason, their logic actually makes sense, and I hate that deeply. The Fire Lord’s wife would become a political target instantly.
The Fire Nation has never exactly been gentle toward weakness.
I know that better than anyone.
“The selection is not becoming an underground fighting ring.”
Minister Haneul remains entirely unbothered by my tone.
“No one requests brutality, Your Highness. Merely truth.”
“The throne attracts enemies,” he says quietly now. “A Fire Lady must survive beside the Fire Lord, not merely decorate the palace around him.”
The chamber quiets afterward.
Because everyone here understands something unspoken.
My mother survived Ozai by enduring quietly.
That survival still cost her everything.
Uncle glances toward me carefully.
Then another minister speaks.
“One final challenge. Publicly observed. Non-lethal.” His expression sharpens thoughtfully. “It will reveal temperament under pressure.”
No, it absolutely will not.
It will reveal who panics when set on fire.
Unfortunately, before I can refuse, Uncle speaks. “I believe,” he says gently, “that courage is not shown by victory alone.” Every minister listens immediately, because Uncle Iroh somehow commands more respect sitting with tea than most generals wield with armies.
“A challenge involving controlled combat may indeed reveal valuable things,” Uncle continues calmly. “Not merely strength.” His eyes flicker briefly toward me knowingly. “But restraint. Mercy. Judgment.”
The room is still because now, they are no longer discussing fighting.
They are discussing character.
And spirits that hit too close to home.
I remember being thirteen.
Standing before my father.
I remember the lesson Ozai tried teaching me that day.
That compassion was weakness.
That mercy deserved punishment.
And suddenly, I understand exactly why the idea of testing people through combat makes my skin crawl, because I know what happens when power becomes spectacle. The chamber waits silently for my decision. Then finally— I exhale slowly. “One challenge,” I say carefully. “Strict supervision. No serious injuries.” My gaze hardens across the ministers afterward. “And the moment this resembles entertainment instead of evaluation, it ends immediately.”
Relief spreads instantly through the chamber.
Apparently, everyone feared I might actually set something on fire.
Minister Shinu bows respectfully.
“The remaining candidates will be informed.”
The meeting ends shortly afterward.
Ministers disperse through the council hall, discussing arrangements while scribes begin drafting official announcements immediately.
Uncle remains seated beside me.
He smiles mildly. “Not entirely.”
I rise from the throne heavily afterward before moving toward the open balcony overlooking the palace grounds below. Morning wind brushes against my robes while distant training fields glimmer beneath sunlight far beneath the royal compound.
Somewhere out there, three women are about to learn they must survive a combat evaluation to marry me. What an absolutely terrible sentence. Uncle joins me quietly near the balcony rail. “You are worried.” “Yes.” “About the challenge?” “No.” He waits patiently. I look toward the distant palace roofs thoughtfully. Then answer honestly. “She’ll stay.” Uncle’s expression softens immediately. “Ah.”
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? Lady Han Yujin will stay because ambition demands it. Lady Seo Rin will stay because power matters more to her than fear. But Lady Weilian— She will stay because running from danger has never once been part of her nature. And spirits help me— that thought terrifies me more than the challenge itself.
