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Azula has a brother from the moment she’s born.
Her earliest memories are of gentle golden eyes, warm embers in cold nights. For the longest time, she thought they had been her mothers, filled with wonder and warmth. Later she came to realise that it had been Zuko holding her hand and playing with her at the beach.
----
Zuko would always sit by her and help her write. “Look”, he would say, “There’s ‘zu’ in both of our names!” And Azula would nod, delighted, of course there was ‘zu’ in both of their names, they were brother and sister after all. One day, when Zuko left - Azula was supposed to be taking a nap, but she didn’t feel tired - she sat by the candle and tried to write her brother’s name next to hers. No one had teached her the character for ‘ko’. She knew Ozai and Ursa and Azulon and Sozin and Azula, but she didn’t know Zuko.
“That’s not my name”, Zuko said when he came back. Azula knew that, but she still pouted and threw the brush on the floor. “But it’s okay”, her brother hurried to say. “It’s a good name.”
“Zuzu”, Azula tried and giggled. Zuko ruffled her hair affectionately, even when he knew Azula hated it when her hair got messy. She had the best brother, Azula thought as she listened to his stories of creating fire with his bare hands (Zuko was already six, he got to make fire, how cool was that?) and she wanted to be just like him.
She called him Zuzu even after she learned to write his name (and many other things). It was something that belonged to them , something that no one could take away.
----
Azula didn’t have a father until she was five and lit her first flame. Before that she had Ozai, a scary, tall man who looked at her as if she had something to prove. Azula learned what that “something” was one morning when the air was warm and lazy and gentle like her brother’s eyes. The little flame dancing on her palm was bright and full of life, a small golden spirit. Father was a too strong pat on her shoulder, hard eyes on her back and a word of praise. Perfect, he said, wearing a thin smile that told stories Azula couldn’t understand. Perfect. She felt high on that word - Mother had never said anything like that to her. But with her fire came Father, much like raging fire himself, and she sought warmth from where she could find it.
But sometimes fire burns too hot, she soon came to notice. She had wanted a gentle campfire, much like the one her brother warmed his heart in. She got a wildfire that burned her heart until there was nothing but ash left.
----
Father didn’t take her to feed turtle ducks or any animals for that matter. Father didn’t take her out on picnics or walks. Father didn’t play with her or talk to her about anything but fire. Father wanted fire, so Azula would give him fire.
Azula liked fire. Firebending felt like something she was born to do. She would practice and practice and sometimes, when she performed well enough, Father would smile. However, she didn’t like her teachers - they tried to hold her back. Couldn’t they see Zuko was almost two years older but Azula was already better than him?
Zuko didn’t smile. Zuko just got mad when he didn’t succeed and when Azula mockingly called him little Zuzu. Zuko didn't spend time with her anymore, he avoided her, so much that Azula barely saw him outside their shared lessons. It was unfair, she thought. Zuko said she was lucky to have everything come easy for her. She disagreed. Well, the katas were easy and she didn’t understand why Zuko kept getting them wrong, but Zuko didn’t see her practising after the lessons had ended.
Sometimes Father would watch her when she practiced alone. He wasn’t a good teacher, but it was alright because it was something. It wasn’t distant gazes or cold shoulders or eyes full of bitter gold, it was pain and scorching fire and eyes focused on her and her only. Back then, she thought that was what affection was. Later she realised there was no such thing.
Mother had always told her that hurting others wasn’t right. She shouldn’t hurt even the most delicate of turtle ducks: it was weaker than her and she should be kind. But Father told different stories, ones that Azula found easier to understand. Mother had lied, like she always did when she said “I love you” to her. Azula wasn’t stupid. Father knew that. And, as if to prove Father’s point, Mother finally looked at her when she lit her bouquet of lilies on fire.
----
It was hard to understand why Zuko acted like he did. Why he felt like he did. Azula wanted to know why he hurt, why he got angry when she said something very rude, why he smiled at the turtle ducks in the pond. She was sure she would understand if someone just explained it to her, she always did, because she was smart and better than Zuko in history and calligraphy and numbers. She was too afraid to ask Mother. Once, she asked Father.
“It is because your brother is weak,” Father had said. Oh, Azula had thought, so that’s what weakness looks like. Father hated weakness. Azula shouldn’t be weak. But if Zuko was weak, Father wouldn’t love him and his gentle golden eyes. Zuko will be sad like when that turtle duck died, said a little voice in her head. But Father won’t leave me for him like Mother did, she shot back.
Making Zuko weak was easier than anything she had ever done. Easier than firebending.
----
Observing others was something Azula was very good at. She'd sit on the fence near the Academy, just watching the people pass by. She noticed how influential adults, peasants and children behaved with each other and with different groups of people. She noticed how they reacted to different things and what kind of behaviour they expected from others. People were easy to understand, especially the likes of her brother. They just needed a push to the right direction and Azula would get what she wanted.
Azula soon realised that all the other children at the Academy treated her with respect - she was a princess, of course! - but didn’t want to be near her. They’d play with her, if she told them she’d have them killed if they didn’t, but only when they were afraid enough. Still, they weren't friends. And Azula didn't feel like playing nice to get friends.
In the end, Azula got what she wanted, like she always did. She had wanted to play hide-and-seek, and like most games, she couldn’t play it alone. As if by fate, she had found two girls sitting away from the crowds. One had a messy braid that bounced against her back when she ran, the other sat still, her raven hair neatly tied. Azula dressed up in her usual important attitude and asked for their names first - it was polite, wasn't it - and then suggested playing hide-and-seek together. Ty Lee said “of course!” before Azula could even threaten to execute her family. Mai just said “please do” when Azula threatened to execute hers. Azula wasn't used to such answers. They were interesting.
Ty Lee was soft, too much like Azula’s brother. She cried easily and laughed easily, fell over and over again but kept getting up. She was better than Azula when it came to doing tricks on the grass, and Azula wanted to be the best, so Ty Lee got punished for that. She caught on pretty quick - she wasn’t as stupid as she let others believe - and let Azula win, although Azula didn’t understand why. Fear, perhaps? Ty Lee was easy to manipulate and easy to hurt. But she was kind and sometimes Azula sought comfort in her kindness. She never knew why, but she didn’t disregard Ty Lee even when she did cartwheels better than Azula and asked stupid questions.
Mai got the hang of Azula’s games very fast. She was smart, although too cynical for a child her age. Her shyness and quietness made her easy to overpower, but Azula noticed her tongue could be sharp and her aim sharper. She seemed to be always bored, so Azula made sure to come up with the strangest and most dangerous adventures imaginable. Unlike Ty Lee, Mai stopped asking questions about Azula’s home, just about the secret tunnels in and out the palace. In turn, Azula didn’t ask about her home (unless she wanted to be mean or make Mai angry), just let her practice with the royal weapon instructor even when she was sure Mai’s parents could finance their own.
Somehow, they stuck by her. Even when Azula knew she didn’t treat them too well. She was grateful, although she didn’t understand it back then. She was so afraid of being alone again that she started sewing fear into the seams of their friendship.
----
Azula was taught to disdain the weak and the pathetic. Zuko, well, Zuko was both. At first Mother’s words were enough to restrain her: Zuko was her kind older brother, Zuko was trying his best, Zuko was perfect the way he was (even when Azula wasn’t). However, when Zuko never, not even once, fought back with words or fists or fire, Azula thought that was, indeed, how the world was supposed to work. Besides, the look on Zuko’s face when she mocked him with Zuzu, taunted him with petty lies and made him trip in front of Mai was absolutely priceless.
"Azula always lies", Zuko would say. And Azula would laugh because he could never tell. "Zuzu", she'd say with a grin, and he'd yell: "Don't call me that!" He'd storm away, trying to bump his shoulder into hers, but she'd sidestep easily. He would get a kick wrong and fall and Azula would mock him because she was always perfect. Zuko would try to fight her and always lose. "You're never going to catch up", Azula would say, and Zuko would lose his temper and yell and throw fire.
(Sometimes Azula would sneak into his room when he cried. She'd sit by him on the floor, burying her malice in the ash for the night. "He doesn't like it when you beg," she'd say, and Zuko would just hug his knees and cry. Sometimes she would feed the turtle ducks with him, when she knew it would be just the two of them. Sometimes Zuko would show her how he secretly practiced with his Dao blades and she'd tell him his swordsmanship didn't suck as much as his firebending did. She'd never tell Dad. Sometimes, when Zuko swallowed his pride, Azula would help him with that one kick he couldn't get right.)
----
"Dad's going to kill you! Really, he is."
"Ha ha Azula, nice try."
"Fine, don't believe me!"
Azula was strong and Zuko was weak. Mother was weak too. Azula shouldn’t feel for them - they were worthless. She kept telling that to herself, over and over again, after Mother disappeared. You need her, said the stupid voice. I don’t! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t. She wondered why it hurt when Zuko said Mother had told only him goodbye. Wondered why it hurt when she realised that in the end, Mother thought of her as a monster. When she realised that she had never had a mother.
----
Azula doesn’t like to think about the time after Zuko’s banishment. She was glad he was gone, glad that her father had done what he did - she did agree with Dad, Zuko was a little bit of a disappointment. The fifth form of their last kata together wasn’t difficult at all, why had Zuko kept stumbling and blushing and misfiring? But she found herself pitying her brother (she denied this, of course) and actually missing him and his short temper.
Ty Lee left too. Mai went shortly after her. In those three years, the only thing that made Azula happy was her fire turning blue.
----
She was nearing fifteen when she saw them all again. She refused to admit to anyone but the dark corner of her room that she was glad to have Zuko back.
----
Her world was very carefully built, a glass castle over fire. Everything had its place and its reason, she was content and satisfied. She was perfect.
If only he hadn’t left again. If only they hadn’t turned against her. If only Father hadn’t disregarded her. If only Mother hadn’t come back. If only she weren’t alone, the glass wouldn’t have started to crack over the heat.
----
I'm alone.
So what?
Fear didn't make them stay.
It's their fault! They should've feared me more!
Father doesn't love me.
Of course he does!
Perhaps Mother loves me.
She doesn't! She does not!
I'm a monster.
Good! They should fear me!
Monsters are slain.
Are you saying they're going to kill me?
Maybe you should try to understand them.
I'll make them suffer.
You're just making yourself suffer.
----
The sight of Zuko lying motionless on the ground isn’t pleasing. The voice in her head, stronger than ever, chants you killed him, you killed him, you killed him. She hates it. So what, she thinks, good riddance!
When she chases the waterbender girl - she can’t remember her name, her head feels fuzzy - she’s ridden by guilt of all things. Azula doesn’t feel guilt because everything she does is right and perfect. She doesn’t feel regret. But she does, when she thinks of her brother, dead, slain by her hand, gone like she always wanted him. Zuko should die because he got the only thing Azula had ever wanted. But, the voice says, you don’t want him dead.
Azula hates herself for longing for warm days spent safely tucked in the ocean’s side, chasing her brother around and playing in the waves. The last thing she wants is another ghost of the past haunting her shivering mind.
----
“You’re back”, she says lazily. He’s standing at the door, shoulders tense but eyes gentle. Silently he steps in and Azula is painfully aware of the distance he leaves between them.
“How do you feel?” he asks, and Azula lets out a hollow laugh.
“Horrible. Really, thank you so much for doing this all for me, Zuzu .” She seeks to hurt, like she always does, but Zuko doesn’t take it to the heart.
“I’m sorry”, he says, and Azula wants to burn him with fire and lightning.
----
Sometimes Azula wishes she were dead. She hates that in this white room she has nothing to silence her mind with except her own, miserable fire.
Zuko comes every day. At first, she curses him, mocks him, burns him with the little fire she has left, tears at her chains until her wrists bleed. Every time he goes away she feels the triumph of victory: he is weak, he is afraid, he is gone. But every day, he comes back, silent and sad.
----
When Zuko isn’t around, there’s not much to do other than think. She hates her mind, hates Mother who comes to tell lies, hates the stupid truths that she tries to avoid. She thinks that she should pretend to be better and kinder, lure Zuko in, twist his mind and leave him to rot. But when Zuko comes to stand at the doorway again, she doesn’t want to.
----
Zuko had tried to touch her once. She had been laughing hysterically - or crying, she could never tell, the pain didn’t change - and Zuko had moved in with a clumsy attempt to hug. Azula had burned him, spat on him, bitten him like a feral animal, told him to fuck off, to leave her alone, to disappear, to die, screamed until her voice went hoarse. She hadn’t understood why she had felt like a beast was trapped inside the cage of her ribs, tearing her lungs to shreds with sharp claws, eating her heart with sharper teeth and breathing scorching fire into her throat. She thinks she understands now.
----
"Hello again."
She doesn't stand up. Doesn't even turn to look at him. He leaves, like he always does, but she doesn't spit fire at him or tell him Dad should've burned the other half of his face too when he had the chance.
----
“Congratulations.”
To her and Zuko’s mutual surprise, her voice is free of malice and smouldering anger. Zuko blinks at her, confused.
“Sorry?”
Azula rolls her eyes.
“You and Mai. I heard. Congratulations.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Am I getting an invitation?”
Zuko smiles, genuinely smiles, failing to hide the faint blush decorating his right cheek.
“Perhaps you are.”
----
Zuko doesn’t stand next to the door anymore. He sits on the floor or leans against a wall. He makes sure that Azula hears everything important (and less important) directly from him and not from a guard passing by. He doesn’t visit every day anymore, but when he does he stays longer. Sometimes he walks in circles, talking about politics and losing his temper in meetings, and Azula tells him he’s going to be overthrown any minute.
Sometimes his presence makes Azula happy.
----
“We’re all just a sick bunch of unloved children”, she says one day. “You, me, Mai and Ty Lee.”
Zuko looks at her, sadly like he always does, with those gentle gold eyes that make Azula want to burn them.
----
“I didn’t know any better”, she says, thoughtful. She’s laying on her back on her hard bed, her wrists still bound together but her feet propped comfortably against the wall, free from iron.
“What?” Zuko asks from his place on the floor.
“How to be friends. I didn’t know any better. I’m still not sure if I know.”
Zuko hums. “They understand, I think. Mai and Ty Lee, I mean.”
She wonders if they do. She wonders if she understands them, even after years of thinking and trying to fix the pile of ash that was her heart. Betrayal was a funny thing, something she had been afraid of her whole life. She's still bitter, blames them for the loss of her sanity (she’s still not very good at admitting she’s not perfect), but maybe, maybe they were better people than she ever let them be.
“They should be glad I didn’t execute them on the spot.”
“Azula.”
“Right. Sorry. I’m glad I didn’t execute them on the spot.”
Zuko raises an eyebrow. Azula sighs.
“Fine. I’m glad I didn’t execute them at all. I’m really fucking glad they’re alive, as stupid as it sounds coming from me, and I really, really miss them. But if I were them - look, I’m showing empathy - I’d never want to see me again. And that’s okay, I don’t even understand how you of all people would want to see me. I’m not forcing you. I don’t think you’re afraid. So why, Zuzu?”
Zuko is silent for a long while. Then he looks at her, with the fire in his eyes, and burns holes through Azula’s armour. It hurts, but she refuses to give in and look away. Finally Zuko sighs and looks at his shoes.
“Because you’re still my little sister,” he says, “and I love you.”
----
“Mom didn’t love you,” Zuko blurts out. Azula’s head jerks back. He’s standing close to her bed, so close Azula could hurt him if she wanted to. Before she can say anything, Zuko continues. “Not like she loved me. She wasn’t the devil you painted her to be, but she said you reminded her too much of Father and she was afraid. That’s wrong. And you were very hurt.”
Azula just stares, her mouth hanging open. She’s not used to lacking words and fire to shoot back.
“I didn’t let myself believe that back then”, Zuko continues. “I wanted to believe we had a happy little family. I should’ve told you that no matter what Mom said, I cared. But I thought you’d laugh at me. In the end, I was afraid as well. Not afraid of you, not yet. I was afraid that if I said that, I’d break the illusion I had. I was just playing house.”
“Even when Father burned me, I refused to believe he didn’t love me. I refused to break my own little world where a perfect little family went on fun summer holidays. I thought I deserved to be burned and that I was the one ruining our happiness. I thought Father was the best person in the world. It took me three years of banishment, Uncle’s guidance and Earth Kingdom back alleys to realise that he was a piece of komodo rhino shit. It took me my whole life to realise that it wasn’t my fault. ”
Azula looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years. Takes in the fire that has at last returned to his golden eyes, the scar curling over his left eye like a palm, his hair he has grown out, his shoulders that have gotten wide enough to fit his armour.
“What I mean is that none of it was your fault. It wasn’t your fault that Mom didn’t love you, it wasn’t your fault that I was jealous of you, and most importantly it wasn’t your fault that Father...”
“I don’t think he loved me either.” Azula says with a small voice that doesn’t feel like her own. It’s Zuko’s turn to forget how to speak. Azula doesn’t continue, just stands up, but she knows Zuko understands. Ozai hadn’t loved her, no matter how she told herself he just had a funny way of showing it. The small voice that she had always tried to cremate had told the truth: Ozai didn’t love Azula any more than he loved Zuko, which was even less than nothing. Really, he loved fire.
Carefully, with movements that feel foreign and at war against everything she was taught to believe, she leans her head against her brother’s chest. Zuko tenses and Azula almost thinks she read him wrong, thinks that Zuko’s going to push her away or pull back in fear or laugh at her for being so weak and foolish. But Zuko does none of those things, just stands still for a solid minute. Then, mimicking Azula’s carefulness, he places his hands on her back. The beast claws at Azula’s lungs and bites her heart and spits fire in her throat but this time, she doesn’t try to kill it. She lets herself be embraced, lets herself be weak, for the first time since they were four and six, not yet ruined by their parents and the harsh world.