Work Text:
Abditory: /ˈabdɪt(ə)ri/
noun
- A place into which you can disappear, a hiding place
*
Her favorite memory with her father goes something like this:
She is 8 years old and has spent hours upon hours of her life perfecting a single kata. She has spent days, flinging her body into the air, and then trusting it to move in just the right way so that she’ll land on her feet instead of hitting the ground.
(More than once she’s failed. More than once she has landed on the cold stone of the courtyard, chin scraped, blood dripping from palms and knees. Her nurse tuts in disapproval when Azula returns from her training sessions, but does not comment as she cleans the gashes. Her touch is gentle but firm and Azula can’t help but wonder if that is what her mothers would feel like. )
(She is 8 years old and her father says that she could be the youngest fire bending master in decades. )
The morning sun is not yet hot enough to warm the world but it does not bother her as she waits, body rushing with adrenaline.
( Concentrate, the voice says, you have spent too much for it all to be for nothing .)
The mist from the sea is chilly against her skin, and the cool silk of her training uniform leaves goosebumps on Azula’s skin.
Keeping her eyes closed she, once more, inhales in and out.
( Focus .)
Opening her eyes she shifts her weight to the balls of her feet and launches into the kata, chi thrumming through her body.
(Flames the color red. Fate might’ve called her name but it does not need her yet.)
She jumps high into the air and tucks her knees into her chest, turning head over heel as she spins once, twice, allowing her chi to follow the flow to her feet. When she has spun 3 times she extends her body to it's full length, orange flames tinged with blue coming out in a large fire ball.
She lands on her feet, breath escaping her in quick, short, puffs, and pride is quick to roar in her chest when her teacher gives her a nod and a rare smile.
He begins to move towards her from where he was watching her with a careful gaze when a familiar voice reaches her ears,
“Azula.”
Her name is said in a deep, commanding tone and Azula freezes before turning toward it as both she and her teacher bow low.
“Prince Ozai.”
“Father.”
Her father dismisses her teacher with a wave of his hand and Azula watches hesitantly as he strides over to where her teacher was, not moments ago.
“Do it again.”
He orders and Azula nods, backing up a sufficient distance.
(Concentrate.)
She takes a deep breath in, and then launches herself into the air the same way she did less than 3 minutes ago.
When she lands on her feet, finished, she knows she did it perfectly.
(But is it perfect enough for her father?)
She stays, crouched on the ground, as silence lays thick in between them. When enough time has passed for her to want to fidget she risks a glance at her father, and when she sees his face is unreadable, lowers it hastily.
Two seconds later out of her peripheral view, she sees his shadow as he walks toward her and feels a hand on her shoulder,
“Stand.”
Her fathers order is quick and Azula is rising before her brain has processed it.
( Land on your feet.)
She keeps her chin bent in submission but the hand not on her shoulder tilts it up, and Azula’s heart is in her throat.
(Fear, love, fear, love, fe-)
Twin gazes meet and for a moment all Azula can hear is the pounding of the blood in her veins.
And then he smiles, a small, proud thing, that releases Azula’s heart from its cage in her throat.
“Good job my daughter.”
8 year old Azula beams up at him pride fierce in her chest, as her father grins down at her,
“I believe you're ready for the next one.”
Forbidden hope is leaping to her throat (is thundering in her ribs, and she wants, she wants, she-) as her father sheds his outer robes, and stands in front of her in a thin undershirt.
“Copy me.”
He commands, and Azula quickly mimics his form, heart thundering in joy.
When they are finished, he backs up and tells her to do it again. She does it best she can and when she messes up he corrects her with a gentle but firm hand.
By the end of it, sweat coats both of their bodies, and Azula’s muscles ache in a familiar way but pride and love stands thick in her throat.
“Good,” Her father says in some rare pride, as he continues, “excellent job my daughter.”
*
When she thinks of her father, she first thinks of a man that loved her when no one else would. She thinks of firm hands before she thinks of burning ones, and she thinks of gentle smiles before she thinks of disapproved frowns.
Is it really so wrong to see her father as her father first?
*
There are 2 nightmares that she knows intimately.
(More than once she has awoken to a stumbling heart and a scream on the edge of her tongue. More than once she has stared at the ceiling in the dark, hoping they will not haunt her.)
(It was better when she was with Mai. When she was with Ty lee. Something about them helped calm her mind.)
(But she doesn’t care about that now because it hurts just a little too much.)
They go like this:
She is somewhere in her younger years (never exact) and she is on her knees, head bowed in a dogeza, the flames of the dragon throne hot enough to feel on the back of her head.
The world beneath her is pure black, a pit of obsidian, her knees and forehead laying on an unknown surface.
Each nerve in her body is wracked with fear, and a single fact lays clearly in her memory every time she wakes up: she’s in white.
(The color of the dead. The color for the gone.)
At this moment she doesn’t know what she fears, only that it will hurt, that it will burn, that it will take her to her knees and maybe keep her there.
Time passes, and Azula’s body trembles with exhaustion but she stays in the position.
(Whether it’s out of fear or respect she does not know.)
2 more degrees pass and then she feels the flames in front of the throne flare, before parting, as a figure walks down black steps their steps echoing ominously.
The figure speaks in a booming voice that reverberates throughout the empty chamber, and his voice stops Azula's heart in its tracks,
“My prodigious daughter.”
Her chin is forced up then, and she looks to the man she spent all her life trying to please, as he continues, not even sparing her a glance.
“You were so great once.”
Fear sparks in Azula’s mind, sharp and cold as she opens her mouth to refute the claim, to please him, to try and stop whatever was happening but no sound escapes the mess of letters in her throat.
(So much for a silver tongue.)
The throne behind him has disappeared like a mirage, it's hazy form dissipated, leaving only the impression of it somewhere in her mind.
It leaves, making only her and him things in this world of darkness.
“You have displeased me.”
And finally, finally her father is looking at her, golden eyes cold,
“I have no need for broken things. You will learn this lesson, and suffering will be your teacher.”
Fateful words spoken, dream Ozai reaches out a single flaming palm, toward her and she’s frozen, she can’t move, she can’t do anythi-.
His palm cups her face, and finally her voice box works, and she’s screaming, she's screaming, it hur-.
*
The Fire Nation feels like coming home.
(Sort of. Maybe something like it.)
It feels like ants crawling under her skin, like a storm raging in her chest, like waiting for blood to be drawn.
Coming back is a noose tightened around her neck while the ground beneath her shakes.
(You can’t land on your feet if there’s a rope around your throat.)
She called the Fire Nation home once.
It could be again, she thinks, it has to be.
*
(Duty, the voice says, this is your calling. This is all you have been made for.)
*
The easternmost islands that she lands on are the most fortified of all of them due to one simple fact; they lay closest to the Earth Kingdom.
(The only world left to oppose them. One lay gone (decimated). One on the brink of it. One hiding away. The world had fallen without a sound as the people on it watched with bated breath.)
She leaves the ship, Storm of Fire, in the port without looking back.
This is coming home, she reminds herself when the shadows look bigger and the buildings emptier, this is finding yourself.
She walks back into a world that she has known since forever, with eyes wide open, trying to find something, anything, worth staying for.
(It’s the same but it’s not.
It’s more shattered here, more cracked along the edges, more haunted by old ghosts and old wars.)
(But that’s familiar.)
She walks. She walks until it hurts; and then she keeps walking until it doesn’t.
(It’s familiar.)
Past old walls, old watchtowers, and old strongholds. People pass and people fade and Azula continues because she is done running from.
She’s searching now.
This is home, the voice says in a strange tone she can’t quite place. She does not have the energy to wonder if it is right.
There are 26 islands the Fire Nation claims. Surely she can find herself on one of them.
*
Her head says, there is nothing here for you.
Her heart says, you will find something worth staying for.
*
Her father, in her dreams, says, you are destined for greater.
*
26 islands. 26 chances.
All she needs is one that fills the cavity in her chest and quiets the ghosts in the shadows.
*
The nights are what hurts the worst. The dark plays tricks on her and the loneliness pangs louder and Azula is tired.
*
Island after island.
Salt has imprinted on her skin by this time, she can taste it on her tongue, in the back of her throat.
Make it , the voice whispers, this can’t all be for nothing.
*
She passes town after town. Weeks have passed.
She is stronger now, she thinks.
(She still feels broken.)
*
It’s a kingdom for a kingdom but one was filled with ghosts and the other left her empty.
Her head says, leave.
Her heart says, home.
*
How far can she go before all she can do is lay down and die?
*
So this is peace, she thinks as she walks. (Wanders.)
So this is peace, she thinks as she watches men and women alike sit with dead eyes and shaky hands.
So this is peace, she thinks as she watches them stumble out of bars, a bottle in hand, eyes glazed.
So this is peace, she thinks as she watches them anger, watches them erupt like a volcano and then break like glass.
So this peace, she thinks.
I don’t think this is peace.
*
(So this is solid ground. It feels wrong.)
They waged the war. They paid the price.
Grief winds its way into Azula’s ribs and stays there.
*
Something has reignited in her chest.
It terrifies her more than she thought it would.
(Something has fanned the flames behind her ribs, and Azula has read all the stories, has sat in enough theaters to know that ambition is one of the greatest flaws the protagonist can have.)
(She survived it, once, just barely.
(Broken minds and jagged shards. Cutting chains and nooses tightening. Ash and dust, forever imprinted in her memory.)
Can she survive it again?)
(Does she even want to?)
*
6/26.
She has seen enough of the eastern islands.
She has seen enough dead eyes and skeletons walking. Enough of ghosts and corpses.
She isn’t sure what she’s looking for but she knows it’s alive.
*
Her soles have become calloused. Muscles have grown over bone, and when she breathes she no longer feels like her ribs will collapse into her lungs.
Her body has strengthened itself.
You’ll make it, the voice says , you have come too far for it to all be for nothing.
*
Sleep beckons when Tui sits in the sky but her mind doesn’t stop running and Azula wonders if it ever will.
(Maybe when she’s dead.)
*
She wanders inwards from the eastern islands, stopping occasionally to watch people ( her people ) as they struggle through a world that does not care.
(Sometimes) The clothing gets nicer, the people (always) become more suspicious, and everyone seems like they are hanging by a thread, like they are waiting to disappear into the wind.
There is something ironic about this and Azula would laugh but it hurts.
(This war took something from them all.)
*
This is peace, her head reminds her, when her skin crawls and the people look like nothing more than figurines in the fog.
This can’t be, her heart objects, when she watches a man shed a tear as he holds out a trembling palm that barely lets off sparks.
(Anger will always fade. Azula learned that lesson long ago.)
Duality exists and Azula is beginning to hate it.
(Embers mean chance. Ash means gone. Azula knows which sits behind her rib cage and thinks that she is still not ready.)
*
When does something become not worth saving?
*
When she was young she thought the Fire Nation was something of a great flame. Something that was honorable, something that was worth burning for.
(Something worth dying for.)
But she’s older now (colder, wiser but still as torn as the day her father decided to burn half her brother's face off) and she is beginning to think that maybe it isn’t.
She thinks that maybe the world she gave her life to wasn’t worth it. Maybe that world of honor was rotten and broken from the inside out.
It’s your duty to fix it, the voice says coldly, and Azula does not respond.
(Her father never gave her a chance to be a child- she was a forest fire set before she could ever be the forest.)
Zuko might’ve been burnt, but it was her that didn’t make it out alive.
*
Sometimes you don’t come back whole.
Sometimes you don’t come back at all.
*
(Which one would she be? Only time would tell.)
*
She’s on the edge of her world.
She is watching flames take everything, burn it to the ground, wondering if that is to be her fate as well.
(She’s on the edge, trying not to become a ghost, trying not to be smoke or ash or any other thing that is destined to be nothing.)
*
15/26.
Grief finds its way underneath her ribs and Azula tucks it in with her nostalgia, her anger, the feelings that take her by surprise and leave her empty.
This is home , the voice says.
(She has identified the tone: it is the same one her father uses when she falls. The same one her mother used when Azula was not the picture perfect daughter: it’s cold.)
*
This can’t be, her heart refutes.
*
You could make it better, her veins call.
*
This can’t be peace, she thinks as she watches children younger than her work in fields, work on docks, work until their eyes look broken and their childhood looks stifled.
This can’t be peace, she thinks as she watches brawls break out over anger, over sadness, over grief.
This can’t be peace, she thinks as she watches abandoned people search for faith.
For once her head and her heart are in agreement.
The embers in her chest feel stoked and Azula still does not know if she is ready.
*
Can she make it out again?
( Born lucky. Land on your feet. One step ahead of disaster.)
Her head says no and her heart stays silent.
*
The Fire Nation feels like it’s on the edge of two things; something that feels like saving, something that feels like falling.
The Fire Nation is on the brink of catastrophe and a single breath will tip the scales.
*
It’s the 19th island where she finds something.
(Something more than ghosts. Something more than ash.)
It goes like this:
It’s raining.
The drops fall like the sky itself is angry. The clouds cover the blue and sun until all that is left is an ominous, dark gray.
(The color of ash.)
Azula has her hood up, to protect herself from the downpour, but it does nothing to shield her as rivulets of water stream their way down her face.
Instinctively she knows that Agni is setting, and the urge to find somewhere safe, somewhere to settle, grounds itself in her skin.
(Home is where the heart is, her mother used to say. If her heart is empty in her chest then where was home?)
The path beneath her is muddy, and as she slips every other step, Azula is reminded of how much she loathes the rain.
Her feet keep moving nonetheless, in hopes of finding shelter but she’s deep into the pit of nothing and there is not a soul in sight.
Until her eye catches the shape of an old post. The sign that sits on it is crooked, and worn from the weather but it means human and she would rather take her chances with man then the spirits of nature.
(It’s funny.)
The path it points down is not particularly well kept but Azula is wet (and desperate) enough that it does not matter to her.
( How many roads will this wash away? How many boats will this delay? The numbers run in her head, and Azula knows the chances are not good.
You could do something, the voice says and Azula banishes the thought.)
(Not now. Not yet.)
She stumbles her way down the muddy trail, occasionally shaking her head to get rid of the water that gathers on her eyelashes.
When she sees the first signs of the town there are three things that stand out.
(Three things that leave her on edge. That leaves her all too ready to run or war.)
The first is the infrastructure. Or more specifically, part of the infrastructure. Some of the houses are too short, too spread out, and their roofs are built with eaves.
That’s how they build in the Earth Kingdom, her mind categorizes and she narrows her eyes at it, but decides that the blending of culture was not enough of a reason to run. (Yet.)
The second stands out like the sun in the sky. (Or a warrior on a battlefield.)
There is no one in sight. Which, on one level, is not much of a surprise, considering the storm that is only a few raindrops short of being called a monsoon, is going on, but rain couldn’t drive away the homeless.
So that either meant they housed the homeless when rain fell ( preposterous, the voice scoffs) or there was no one homeless.
( Even more preposterous, she thinks and the voice does not respond.)
The third and final sign (and easily the most damning) is the sight of a tiny child, who has appeared out of nowhere, holding a very sharp sword pointed at Azula’s stomach.
She blinks at this, automatically fighting the urge to draw upon her fire, to take down the threat before it takes her down.
(It’s a child, she reminds herself, the most threat it posed was one of accidentally stabbing her.)
She has hardly stopped herself from instinctively disarming it, when a much taller figure sweeps in, taking the sword from the child’s grasp and levelling it at Azula's throat this time.
They usher the child toward a house roughly 12 feet away where a group stands.
“Hello.”
Azula says pleasantly, eyeing the blade less than 3 inches from the soft skin of her neck.
(She resists the urge to disarm this person (taller than her, stands like a man, has used weapons before, protective) but her body still thrums in anticipation.
“What do you want?”
The voice demands, hand not wavering, and Azula is taken by surprise because that is a female's voice.
More specifically a female teen voice.
(Careful, the voice cautions, watch your step now.)
Azula raises her hands slowly in the universal, I’m surrendering gesture as she purposely keeps her voice light.
“Just looking for some shelter.”
She says, and the other girl doesn’t move.
Play polite, a voice that sounds suspiciously like her father warns and she agrees mostly because they are the only town within a 20 mile radius, and a little because something new sits in her stomach.
(Something like interest. Something like intrigue. It might hurt, but Azula thinks it might be worth the risk.)
(Besides, she is used to it hurting.)
She waits patiently in the still pouring rain, as slowly the girl lowers the sword,
“We don’t take in strays.”
The other girl says gruffly, and Azula used to this, responds,
“I can help.”
“We don’t need your help,”
She shoots back immediately and Azula raises an eyebrow at her defensiveness.
“I don’t need yours. Just some shelter.”
The girl is silent for a long moment debating and Azula shifts her weight imperceptibly, before the girl comes to her conclusion, saying,
“Follow me.”
And walking toward one of the larger buildings in the town. (Vertically taller, red roof, this one is Fire Nation through and through.)
The group that was attempting to inconspicuously watch their interaction is herded into a building by a different figure (too stooped to be an adult) and Azula follows the girl because something is rippling in her that is not grief, or anger, or nostalgia.
*
She’s dripping water onto the floor. Azula shifts hesitantly in the doorway, unsure of whether to follow the girl farther into her house.
(Well decorated, full of knick knacks, smells like dirt and smoke, from the fire roaring in the fireplace.)
She is well aware that her social skills are perhaps not the best , but her social etiquette is perfect, so she waits.
The girl disappears into a back room, reappears with a towel and a new set of clothes which she throws at Azula, and then disappears again.
( She left you alone in her own house, the voice notes, confused.
Azula narrowed her eyes at it as well, because it could mean any part of 3 things.
a.) the girl figured Azula was harmless
b.) even if she didn’t, she thought that she could take Azula in a fight
c.) Azula wouldn’t steal anything, and then make a break for it.
It’s a test, the voice says, and Azula is inclined to agree.)
She wipes herself down best she can with the towel, before wringing out her hair and changing into the offered clothes.
(It’s not the silk of her childhood nor the armour of her teenage years. It’s peasant clothing, and Azula is used to it.)
She takes the towel then, wrapping her dirty clothes in it.
( Careful.)
The girl has reappeared in the doorway now, dressed in new dry clothes, (well worn, but also well made) and she raises an eyebrow at Azula standing in her doorway.
(Golden eyes. Black hair. This girl is a fire national through and through and one wrong move could reveal Azula.)
(One step ahead of disaster.)
“You can come in, you know.”
Her voice is dry, lighter than originally thought and Azula takes a few steps in.
(Her face is familiar. Azula’s head swims, trying to figure out if it is because she is the ghost of someone from her past or if it is because she reminds Azula of someone.)
(She has been wandering the Fire Nation for the past 3 months, and when lines blur and shadows grow she catches familiar faces out of the corner of her eye.
She has seen her mother, her father, Mai, Ty lee and Zuko in all parts of the Fire Nation, on all types of bodies until Azula wonders if she really is being haunted.)
Before her mind has the chance to dive (spiral) into it, the girl pats a pillow on the floor and Azula sits on it gingerly.
“I’m Kotei.”
She introduces herself, sitting on the pillow opposing Azula, and Azula nods her head in acknowledgment.
( Lie, the voice says, there is something not right here.)
“Illah.”
Azula responds smoothly, and Kotei shifts on the pillow.
(Lying was a hard art to master, but a necessary one and Azula can do it as well as the sun rises.)
“So what were you doing out in the storm, Illah?”
Kotei’s voice is deceptively light but she sits too stiffly, and Azula tucks this information away for later, before blinking at her innocently and shrugging,
“Got caught in it. I was making my way to Caldera.”
(Ba Sing Se fell to nothing but pretty words and fake promises. Iroh, the grand lotus did the same. Azula is a master at her art and this is a peasants game.)
Kotei nods,
“By yourself?”
The delivery is too forceful and Azula forces herself not to react.
(She is sure she can take Kotei, but that would mean destruction and Azula is tired of that.)
She smiles grimly instead,
“No one else to travel with.”
Something in Kotei’s face softens and she grimaces apologetically,
“Sorry.”
She says and Azula shrugs once again,
“I was fine with it long ago.”
(Fine enough, at least.)
“Me too,”
Kotei offers a moment too late, and Azula raises an eyebrow,
“My parents,” the other girl clarifies, “died in the war.”
“I’m sorry.”
Azula repeats diplomatically, far too aware of her (lack of) social skills.
They are silent, and Azula fights the urge to fidget (the habit was kicked out quickly by her father and the court), unsure of what to do as Kotei attempts to strip layers of Azula bit by bit.
( Good luck, she thinks bitterly, I can’t even do that.)
The silence grows stifling, and exactly 5 degrees later Kotei yawns deceptively as though she didn’t spend the past few degrees staring at Azula with a penetrating gaze, and gets up,
“You can sleep out here.”
She offers, bowing, before turning and walking to the back of the house.
Azula blinks in surprise at the quick dismissal, watches the girl carefully until she disappears and then slowly attempts to go through the things that stuck out to her.
(That left her all too ready to run or war.)
Tui rises.
Azula stays up.
*
She awakens the next morning to the girl, Kotei, banging around the kitchen.
(She awakens with fire at her fingertips, azure flames ready to consume, to halt, to threaten.)
Wiping her eyes she tries to shake the grogginess of sleep from her.
Kotei looks down at her guiltily after a particularly loud bang that makes Azula wince, and when she notices that Azula is awake, offers,
“I was going to wake you but you seemed tired.”
Azula nods, both in acknowledgment and thanks as Kotei sets a plate down in front of her.
“Thank you.”
She says scanning the food. Kotei smiles friendly, and they eat in silence.
When they both have finished, Kotei leans forward.
“Last night,”
She says, and Azula’s eyes fly up toward her,
“You offered to help,” Kotei raises an eyebrow, “is that offer still open?”
Azula nods and Kotei stands, taking both her and Azula’s plate.
“Let’s go.”
She says when she has set them in the sink and Azula prepares herself warily.
( Duty, her father had declared in her dream. Fate, her mother had whispered in her dream.)
*
“Is everyone a… child?”
She asks Kotei hesitantly, and it is hard to keep the astonishment from her voice but she tries her best to.
(All children. Few of them could claim to be into their teenage years and something in Azula’s stomach twists unpleasantly.)
(How many towns are like this? How many are held together by kids little older than Azula? By the seams, by the stitching, by hands that are too small to hold the world but hold it anyways?)
Kotei side eyes her, shrugging lightly,
“Some are orphans. Some are war children.”
Azula nods at the non-answer, deciding not to pry.
(Her mind wonders if she could’ve stopped this. If she were stronger, faster, more ruthless like her father could she have saved the Fire Nation from this fate?)
(The world at her feet. In her palms. On her shoulders. Azula held it once, and this is how it ended. Guilt and duty sit like a stone in her stomach. )
Kotei walks her up to a communal fire, where one of the oldest boys Azula has seen in the village so far, sits. He sits shoulder to shoulder with a younger girl that looks strikingly like him and Azula’s stomach rolls because that boy is Earth Kingdom.
(She could already read the protectiveness on the curve of his shoulders. The weariness that Kotei holds in her back, he holds on his shoulders.)
(He is Earth Kingdom and she is Fire Nation, and Kotei might also be Fire Nation but Azula is unknown. Unknown is dangerous.)
She braces herself for narrowed eyes and biting words as Kotei, unaware of her inner toil introduces him with a smirk,
“Here’s our village elder.”
( Careful, careful, careful, the voice chants and Azula draws back her shoulders, preparing for battle.)
But the boy does nothing but rolls his eyes,
“I’m Antov,”
He says standing and bowing and Azula bows back after a split second pause, as the younger girl (sister?) looks between the two of them with a calculating look.
(11? 12, maybe. Azula cannot remember when she was that young, only that that was the time her brother burnt and her mother fled and her entire world tilted on its axis.)
(Antov is tall. Sturdy. His features are from the east but his eyes are too yellow to be fully Earth Kingdom.)
( He is one of the biggest threats , her fathers voice warns, look carefully now, he’s a bender. He stands too flat footed for fire, so earth it is.)
(Green caps and stone gloves. Backstabbing, her prepared once, her unprepared another. Don’t flatter yourself, you weren’t even a player. You miscalculated, I love-.)
“Illah.”
She says and Kotei claps Antov hard in the back,
“I was thinking Illah could help out with the new barn?”
She suggests and Azula’s bracing herself once again, but Antov merely eyes her up and down, before nodding,
“We need someone to haul things up to the roof. How good are you with heights?”
(Land on your feet.)
“I’m not scared of them.”
( Falling isn’t the scary part.)
Antov nods appreciatively, before focusing his gaze on Kotei,
“Where will you be?”
“Anywhere I’m needed.”
Kotei answers, already wandering away and Antov waves goodbye to the girl by the fire, before turning toward Azula and gesturing for her to follow,
“Right this way.”
*
Antov, it seems, is a man of few words, and Azula appreciates his quietness as they make their way to a half finished building by the edge of the village.
(They pass more children. Some are already working on chores, others stumble out of tiny houses rubbing tiny eyes. Antov smiles gently at them, and Azula wonders when the world becomes too far gone to save it.)
When they make it to the barn at last, she observes it with a scrutinizing gaze, and Antov busies himself with unwrapping a tarp on the ground.
( Gentle, the voice says, this world does not need war.)
It’s mainly skeletal, and the rain from last night sits in small puddles around it. Azula finishes her inspection, once she is satisfied it won’t collapse under her weight.
(It's well built. Someone spent a lot of time and care into making sure it would meet the needs of the village.)
She clambers onto the roof carefully, and Antov watches from below, hands outstretched to catch her if she were to fall.
(And that’s new. Is this how Zuko felt, she wonders. Scared of falling but knowing that there is someone below?)
When he catches her confused gaze he shrugs,
“Kids.”
He says as explanation and Azula nods, still somewhat reeling from the unexpected kindness.
(Her childhood made her strong.
If you catch someone every time they fall, then they will never learn, her father had taught.
She agreed once, but the brittleness of her bones and the emptiness in her chest make her think twice now.)
When he is sure she is stable, he hoists a plank of wood from a large pile and carefully feeds it up to her. She takes the plank and secures it, before hammering it down with careful hands.
( Up and down. In and out. Azula has never worked like this before (it was beneath the crown princess) but it feels the same way it did when she assisted the couple in the Earth Kingdom. Something like closure, something closer to okay.)
( You are to be greater, her father's cold voice bites in her ear and she ignores it.
Up and down.)
It goes like this for a while, and they work in comfortable silence. So comfortable, that before she knows it they have passed midday, and the roof is beginning to take shape underneath careful hands.
(This is creation. This is construction from her own bare hands. Her palms ache, and blisters have formed but it is nice, she thinks.)
“You can come down now,”
Antov calls up at her, holding a hand up to block the sun and Azula is startled out of her concentrated focus, to glance down at him.
She looks at him, then at the unfinished roof.
“But I’m not done yet?”
“We weren’t going to work until you were done. I’m no fire bender but I know it’s past noon, and I’m sure you're tired.”
She pauses at this, unsure if he is joking.
Finish what you started, her father warns in her ear, what are you worth if there is nothing as proof of completion?
Another part of her is focused on the fire bender part, analyzing the tone, the casualness of how it was spoken.
(He gives no hint as to if he knows she can bend, and Azula once again sits on the edge of unsureness. He’s from the Earth Kingdom, the voice hisses, he should hate and fear fire benders equally.)
(Scared of fire, I see. That’s good- you should be.)
She contemplates her choices with a narrowed gaze but eventually climbs down gracefully until finally, she is at his level.
“Do you not want me to finish it?”
She asks, trying to keep the disbelief from her voice.
Antov glances at her and then sets off, leading them back to the village,
“I do. But I think you falling off a roof is a poor way to show you that.”
Azula nods slowly, accepting it as reasonable as she walks alongside him.
( If you drive things until they break, you cannot complain of their uselessness later.)
Once they made it back to the main part of the village he turns towards her, saying.
“The rest of the day is yours.”
And bowing, before ambling away toward a group of children.
Azula falters again, rocketed into a land of unsureness. She watches him walk away in stunned silence.
Where is the debt? Where is the price? What is the cost so I can pay and then move on?
He has scarcely taken 4 strides before he pivots on his heel and walks back towards her, like something has occurred to him.
“Would you like assistance in hauling water up from the river?”
He asks, eyes serious, and when she just watches him, he mistakes her silence for confusion,
“To bathe?”
He clarifies and Azula is once again baffled, trying to find what the gain is, what the loss is, why he is offering help to a girl he does not know.
(An acceptable loss, her father had said when she had gathered the courage to ask about the 41st division.
She understood this of course, knew enough battle strategy and politics to know how foolish her brother had been to suggest the plan.
Her father had focused on her then after a second, asking,
‘Do you know what an acceptable loss is?’
Golden eyes pinned her in her spot and she blinks, and then answers as though her heart is not shaking in her rib cage,
‘How much you can lose before it becomes irreplaceable.’
Her father had nodded then, stroking his goatee slowly,
‘Correct.’
And Azula releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.
‘Your dismissed.’
She bows again, turning to leave.
(Something like disappointment echoes in her chest when he doesn't call her back but she shoves it down. She had training anyways.)
Acceptable loss. How much damage can you sustain without it becoming irreparable?)
(A burning ship. A solemn man. He was my best friend. I would’ve died for him. Save yourself.)
She shakes herself out of the flash of memories quickly, deciding that she will take advantage of his kindness. (Or his deceptiveness. Whichever revealed itself first, she would be ready.)
(She feels dirty. Sweat and dirt gathers on her skin and Azula might not have the royal spa, but she has enough dignity to want to look presentable.)
She nods,
“Okay,”
Antov says, continuing with,
“Follow me- there are buckets this way. I’m sure Kotei won’t mind you using her bath and soap.”
She follows him as he leads her to a pile of buckets, and then takes the offered one. He takes one as well, and then-.
“This way,”
They have barely taken ten paces before a child runs up to Antov practically vibrating with energy.
It’s a boy, she notes, that barely looks past 8 and he looks up at Antov with a wide, curious gaze.
“Where are you going?”
Antov cracks a small smile at the boy,
“Down to the river to get water so Illah can bathe.”
At the mention of her ‘name’ the boy glances at her, and then his eyes widen,
“You're the girl from last night!”
He exclaims and Azula nods, unsure of what to do with this child. (Or children in general.)
He bounces up and down in excitement at her nod,
“Hi! My name is Bastien, I’m 8 years old and I like to draw. Do you want help?”
Azula blinks once at this stream of words and then flits her eyes to Antov, unsure of how to answer and Antov shrugs.
“Sure.”
She says after a moment and Bastien smiles even wider, before running off toward where they got the buckets throwing a, “Wait for me!” Over his shoulder.
“Are there really no adults here?”
She asks, and the some of the lightness in Antov's eyes disappears, as he nods.
He opens his mouth but is cut off by the boy from before, Bastien and a horde of children.
Her eyes widen slightly, at the mass of them all because Bastien, it seems, has gathered other people to his cause and 5 other children all around the same age clump up around Antov and Azula.
“Are you all done with your chores?”
Antov interrupts their giggling and side eyeing of Azula and their attention is directed at him, as they nod enthusiastically.
“River!”
One exclaims and the other children follow this tangent of a thought as they begin to walk away. Their enthusiasm is near contagious and Antov smiles a real, large smile as he leads them.
(Nothing like the half quirks he gives her. It’s real, blinding, and Azula wonders when she last saw someone smile like that.)
Something worth saving. If children weren't innocent, then who was?
*
Duty. Responsibility. This is not your world, her father says in her ear, and Azula pushes it away.
*
She should’ve known that the plan to get water would be upheaved by the good intentions of children.
They have scarcely been at the river for 3 minutes, when a child has stripped off his clothes and jumped into the river with a loud shriek.
(Fun will not win wars. Playing will not save the starving. There is a time and place for those. Duty is a heavy burden, my daughter, but you must bear it with grace.)
(This was not their burden though, Azula’s head counters.
It should not have been yours, a voice whispers in her ear, too soft to be her own, but too kind to be her mother's. Azula ignores it, ignores the memories and the question that has haunted her ever since it was asked.)
(What are you looking for?)
The other kids watch with rapt attention as the boy emerges from the water with a high pitched squeal at the cold.
It only takes one second of them glancing at each other, glancing at Antov, and then back at each other for Azula to realize what they are going to do.
Antov comes to the same conclusion less than 2 seconds later and he opens his mouth,
“Wait don-.”
He barely has time to get out before 5 kids are stripping off shoes and shirts before plunging their way into the water, also shrieking at the cold.
Antov sighs, and shakes his head as he watches them, with a fond look in his eye.
(It is foreign to see children act like children. She wonders when that happened.)
They have barely splashed for 30 seconds before they have tired of that game, and 3 of them clamber onto the bank and grab Antov’s arms.
“Come on!”
They urge, tugging him with all their might. Antov resists them easily, an easy smile on his face as other children climb out to assist the first.
She sees the exact moment he gives in, and then he’s taking off his shirt, grabbing the closest child and running into the water before completely submerging the two of them.
All of the children squeal in delight at this, splashing in after the two.
Azula watches from the sidelines in amusement as they team up against Antov, splashing him with all the joy in the world.
(Her father burnt 65 paper swan cranes in front of her, and as she watched the flames consume them he handed her the last one,
‘Burn it.’
He demanded, cold, golden, eyes meeting expressionless ones and she takes it in a tiny hand, letting a small flame consume the paper slowly.
‘Good’
He says when only ash sits in her palm,
‘Duty comes first.’)
“Illah!”
Azula glances at the boy (Bastien) that called her name,
“Come and play with us!”
He demands with all the authority of an 8 year old and immediately a response of no, is on the tip of her tongue along with reasons.
The water is cold. Azula is warm. And dry. Also the water is cold.
But then Bastien is pouting, and other children are climbing out of the water to drag her into it like they did Antov and the word gets caught in Azula’s throat.
Their tiny, chilly hands cling to her and before she knows it, a real, genuine smile curls at the corner of her lips.
(It’s unfamiliar. It feels odd to wear her joy so openly. But she does not hate it.)
They smile back at her, eyes light as she strips off her shirt and shoes and then lets them drag her into the water.
(She doesn’t know why she allows it. Maybe because she is tired of ash. Maybe because she is tired of her fathers voice in her head. Maybe because she wants something in her chest to fill.)
( Save yourself first, Kaza had said.)
The water is freezing .
It steals her breath from her lungs, and immediately goose bumps are erupting on her skin.
(Cutting chains, water soaked armour. Red bathing the courtyard and her mothers voice, I love you, Azula, I do.)
But then the children are splashing her and laughing in joy and Antov is splashing them back and he is a solid weight beside her as he looks over with an expression half mischievous half, are you okay.
She doesn’t respond to the unspoken question, but cups water in both palms before flinging it at the nearest kid. He smiles at her then, something gentle, and real, and fragile and the stone in her stomach no longer feels like it will drag her into the depths.
She splashes children in a river far from the place she called home, and feels the most whole she has in years.
Before she knows it the children have surrendered one by one to lay on the bank, and when the final child finally stumbles to the shore, Azula and Antov haul themself out as well.
They sit there in the sun, staring up at the clear sky, as they try to recuperate their energy.
(Children should be allowed to be children, her heart says, and Azula does not refute it.)
9 degrees later she watches in amusement as they attempt to redress themself, one pulling a shirt on, only to have it be backwards.
She herself had put her clothes on quickly after leaving the water, unperturbed by the loose clothing sticking to her.
Antov stands abruptly from where he was putting his own shoes on,
“Oh no,” he says, exaggerated panic clear on his face as he glances up at the sun.
He focuses on one of the dressed children asking,
“Sola, what time is it?”
Sola blinks up at him,
“Past 5,” she lists (firebender, Azula’s mind categorizes) and Antov groans dramatically.
“Kotei is going to kill me,” at Azula’s raised eyebrow he explains,
“I was supposed to help her with dinner.”
Bastien walks up to him then,
“It’s probably best that you missed it then, for our sake.”
The other children giggle at this and Antov narrows his eyes,
“Are you saying I’m bad at cooking?”
Bastien grins at him (free and unburdened and something in Azula’s chest simultaneously lightens and tightens) as he shrugs innocently,
“No.”
He says after a split second hesitation and even more giggles erupt at that.
Antov rolls his eyes fondly, before kneeling in the dirt, gesturing for them to gather around.
They do, faces wide open, as Antov lays out a plan.
“Okay, here’s what's going to happen: we’re all going to fill our buckets with water and then when Kotei asks us why we’re late, we say we were getting her water for a bath.”
The kids nod determinedly at the plan, before grabbing their tiny buckets abandoned on the bank, and scooping up water.
Azula grabs her own larger bucket and fills it before propping it on her shoulder.
She and Antov exchange glances and Azula’s chest feels the lightest it has in years.
*
Duty calls her.
Fate beckons.
Azula waits because for once she is choosing herself.
*
They have barely entered the village premises when Kotei is marching up, a faux frown on her face, real worry in her eyes.
“Where were you?”
She demands, hands on her hips and Azula watches as the kids giggle and shove each other, water sloshing out of the buckets.
Bastien recovers first,
“Getting you water for a bath!”
He says, holding his bucket up proudly and the other kids are quick to agree as Kotei softens.
She smiles gently,
“Go dump it in the tub and then wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.”
The kids brighten at the mention of food and scamper off quickly, leaving Kotei alone with Azula and Antov.
She raises a single eyebrow in expectation and Azula shrugs as Antov gives her an innocent smile.
It lasts a second longer and then Kotei is rolling her eyes,
“Go wash your hands,”
She glances at Antov up and down,
“It’s probably best you weren’t here to help prepare for dinner anyways.”
Kotei saunters away then, and Azula has the sneaking feeling that she’s smirking as Antovs mouth drops in offense.
(This was what she was looking for wasn’t it? Something worth saving?)
*
This will not be your future, the voice warns, and then softens, but enjoy it for now.
*
The meal is the best she’s had in months.
(A kind couple. What are you looking for? )
The kids eat the prepared food with gusto as they talk to each other around the communal fires, and night falls peacefully.
Eventually the younger ones are herded to bed until only Kotei, Antov and Azula and a few of the oldest kids are still up.
The girl that was at Antov's side earlier, moves to stand, as yawning, and Antov gets to his feet as well,
“Well that’s my cue.” He says. “More roofs tomorrow, Illah?”
Azula nods as Antov bumps the 12 year old girl gently on the shoulder.
The fire dances in the night and Azula watches it with careful eyes.
(Is this peace?)
*
Kotei hands her clothes, blankets and a pillow and Azula wonders if running was worth it.
*
The next day is more of the same.
She wakes and eats breakfast with Kotei (there is still something in her head that sits wrong but it does not warn of her danger and so Azula stays), before assisting Antov with the barn roof.
When he has deemed they have done enough, she helps the younger kids with chores and they run around, eager to accept her.
(So many children. War children, Kotei had said. Orphans.)
The bulk of the kids cannot be above the age of 10, and the rest sit comfortably somewhere in their teenage years.
All in all there are around 30 of them in this village, and not one of them past the age of 21. But they are the happiest people Azula has seen in the Fire Nation and Azula knows that this is worth saving.
(There is an innocent joy she hasn’t seen in a long while and her heart is beats the steadiest it has in years.)
(But then there is another part, wondering who was suffering for this joy. How many children were starving, or dying, or in the midst of both? How many could she save?)
(Duty, her father had said, our first duty is to them.)
That night she catches Kotei glancing at her every so often, and her thoughts keep her up long after the fire has burnt out.
*
It takes her 2 days to figure out the dynamic of the village, which is 1 day longer than usual.
(Kindness in spades. Happiness and love intermingled. Azula wonders if this was what peace was.)
Kotei and Antov are the clear leaders of the village but instead of clashing, they work together in peace. Their dynamic plays off the other well, and Azula has never seen a pair so used to working together.
The other, older kids mix with the younger ones, herding, guiding and occasionally telling them what to do.
(There is no separation of benders and non-benders. There is no clear hierarchical system, so different from Azula’s own formative years and maybe, she thinks much better.)
(Ty lee, face uncharacteristically sad. Mai, face stone cold. Them, 8 years old and already hardened by the world her father called great.)
The entire village is a perfect unit.
(Like the 3 of them once were.)
Azula does not know where she fits in.
(She doesn't know if she can.)
(She can’t help but wonder where the cracks are, where the hidden feelings lie. Where she is missing, or misreading, or miscalculating.)
(Something has settled in her chest, has clasped onto her heart. They call her ‘Illah’ and she feels guilty.)
*
That night she dreams of corpses reaching toward her with rotted hands,
You could’ve saved us, they hissed, duty was your fate but you ran and look where it left us.
She awakens with her heart in her throat and dark circles under her eyes. Neither Kotei or Antov comment and for that she is grateful.
*
Where did we go? She wonderers sometimes. What happened to the three of us, to the girls that could’ve conquered the world?
(But she knows now. She split them apart, broke them into shattered shards.)
(She knows better now, she thinks. Ruling through fear only worked for a time. Kotei and Antov didn’t use that, and they were perfectly fine. (And possibly even better.))
*
After she completes the barn roof, Bastien loudly complains of a leaking ceiling within earshot of Azula and then quickly glances to see if she heard.
Antov looks at her with dark, dark eyes and Azula has always been able to read glances.
(It’s an invitation. Stay, he’s saying, we don’t need you but it would be nice.)
She raises an eyebrow, but offhandedly says that Caldera can wait.
Bastien lights up, and drops all subtlety as he runs away to spread the news that she is staying for a while longer.
( Okay, she’s saying back, I don’t need you either, but something worth protecting is something worth saving.)
She fixes his roof easily.
But then Antov is casually mentioning his own had sprung a leak. And after him, there’s another. And somehow all of the roofs in the village are too leaky, or too rotten, or need replacing and the children beg Azula to stay and she does.
(Something worth saving. Something worth while staking her heart in.)
(5) Weeks have passed, and Kotei smiles at her freely, and Antov softens when he sees her. When Azula dreams of the future she dreams of what the Fire Nation could be.
(Her chest no longer aches with the anger of embers. Her head no longer screams at her for every little thing. This feels something like her childhood did and Azula thinks she understands why she came back.)
*
Something that felt like childhood.
Which is to say, nothing she can remember, but she knows she loved it once.
*
It gets hard, sometimes. Sometimes that same heaviness drags her, and the urge to stay in bed becomes overwhelming.
She forced herself up once when it did happen, and Kotei took one look at her before sending her back to bed.
“We don’t want you to fall off any roofs now, Illah,” and then her expression turns serious, “call if you need anything.”
It gets hard, sometimes. But it’s easier here.
*
She stays and she learns and she still does not sleep well, but the children have enough excitement for her 3 times over.
They laugh freely in this scrapped up village they’ve made, unshackled by duty and angry men and Azula thinks that she understands.
(I love you, Azula, I do.)
(There’s a stone in her stomach, and an anchor around her heart.)
*
They’re kids enjoying themselves, enjoying their childhood and her father would narrow his eyes and spit poison, but Azula is not him, so she laughs alongside them instead.
*
Her second most common nightmare goes something like this:
She is 8 years old again and she is chasing someone through the Fire Nation palace, laughing in joy.
Or something like the Fire Nation palace. The tapestries are wrong. The pillars are too tall, the ceiling warped and the torches that line the walls flicker menacingly white.
8 year old Azula does not recognize this as she runs, the smoky figure in front of her keeping only a few steps ahead. Delight curls in her stomach at the simple game.
But then the figure turns around and recognition sparks in her mind. It’s 13 year old Zuko, (face unscarred, unsure of his place in Fathers world but knows he belongs in it) and he is terrified.
( He looks the same way he did when Fa- Oz - the Fire Lord burnt off half his face.)
He takes off again and Azula stumbles for a second, her body morphing into her 16 year old one, then once again gives chase but this time urgency and confusion urge her forward.
(His fear was tangible, and Azula has felt it more than enough times to know how it tastes.)
His vague figure turns a sharp corner and if she had been paying attention, she would’ve noticed how the pillars had grown taller, dwarfing the two of them, but she doesn’t.
He has disappeared into one of the palaces many ballrooms and Azula skids to a stop as she searches for him in a throng of people.
(If she had been paying attention she would’ve noticed how no one in the crowd had a real face.)
Her eyes dart around, and when she catches a glimpse of gold etched on his sleeve, she is immediately making her way towards him.
He does not move from where he stands, back towards her and she’s reaching for him, reaching for her brother, wants to know why-.
And he disappears into dust.
Azula pauses in shock, hand extended, as a different figure turns toward her.
Immediately she freezes, ice water in her veins, because she recognizes that face, knows it like she knows her own because it is her own: it’s her mother.
Ursa looks the same as she did when she appeared to Azula in hallucination, and Azula watches with wide eyes.
(She still wants to claw her skin from her cheeks and rip apart bone and flesh.)
(A lean figure, tall, the same face that haunts Azula everytime she looks into the mirror.)
”Oh Azula,” Ursa starts, reaching out to her daughter, eyes wide and open, “I hate you, I do.”
Her heart drops to her feet and Azula unconsciously takes a step back, as her mother steps forward opening her mouth again-.
She bumps into a different figure this time but turns just as quickly, fire on her fingertips only to realize it’s Li (or Lo maybe),
“Almost perfect”
the old woman croons and beside her, her twin steps up,
“One hair out of place.”
The two crones move forward as one and Azula side steps, knocking into someone else.
When she turns, it is like she has been plunged into a vat of hot oil. It’s Mai. Of course it’s Mai.
Her eyes are cold,
“You miscalculated. I love Zuko more than I fear you.”
Azula swallows in anger then and steps forward into the taller girl's face but before she can do anything she feels two fingers dig into her chi points.
The ground beneath her drops out into a large gaping hole and she’s grabbing the edge, just barely halting her descent into the inky void.
Ty lee is watching her, (sweet, innocent, lethal Ty lee) and she opens her mouth,
“You’re a monster, Azula.”
Azula is still holding onto the crumbling edge of the hole, arms trembling in effort, praying one person, (all she needs is one, please just help he-.) will step in and help.
It’s a fallacy.
(Of course it is.)
4 other figures step forward (Father, Uncle, 16 year old Zuko, dead Lu ten), but they make no move toward helping her, just watch with cold, dead eyes as they open their mouths as one,
“You’re a monster, Azula.”
Their combined voices are a terrible screech, dig into Azula’s brain, and her grip strength is waning.
“You’re a monster, Azula.”
They continue the chant as one and Azula thinks it will never end. That she will either listen to this chant for the rest of life or fall into the void beneath her, when it cuts off abruptly as a small shadowed figure steps forward.
They all step back as one and disappear into smoke, as Azula waits in cold fear for the face of the figure to finally solidify.
It's her.
11 year old her to be specific.
Thick, salty tears are dripping down her face, but she smiles coldly (all teeth and no warmth) and it makes for a terrifying picture as she looks down on Azula.
“Why didn’t you save me?”
The girl asks, voice trembling and lonely and Azula is watching with wide eyes,
“Why didn’t you save me?”
She repeats mournfully and Azula opens her mouth, wants to say,
(I’m sorry) (I tried) (you can’t always land on your feet)
When no sound comes out, the girl’s makeup stained face grows cold, tears disappearing.
“You're a monster, Azula.”
The girl's cold voice says, and she raises a single foot, stomping down on one of the hands that was keeping Azula from falling.
“You’re a monster.”
Younger Azula whispers, ever so softly, raising her foot once more before stomping down, and Azula is falling, falling, fall-.
*
She awakes with a scream on the tip of her tongue, heart trembling and stumbles out of Kotei’s house with a kind of desperation she hasn’t felt in weeks.
(Run, get out, leave, go, her head chants, and it’s not the calculating one that she is used to, it’s the one that took control when the water tribe girl beat her, the one that made her run from the Fire Nation with half a plan and half a self.)
(It’s the one that makes the soft voice in her head (of an Earth Kingdom wife) twist in sorrow, as she whispers, I’m sorry you never had the chance to be a child.)
The night sky is clear, and Tui shines brightly as the forest does not sleep, and usually that is enough to calm her but she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she can’t fucking brea-.
She stumbles down a random path out of the village, one hand clutched to her chest (a knife stabbing down, a knife inches from her heart) the other held in front of her to stop an imminent threat.
(Run, run, run, run, ru-.)
Her breath catches in her throat as she’s coughing suddenly, choking, and she falls to the ground on her knees.
( You’re a monster Azula, I love you, I hate you, almost perfect, born lucky, you miscalculated, I think your confused, he needed me more, I would’ve died for him, I love Zuko more than I fear you, monster, monster, mon-.)
Her head is spinning and so is the ground beneath her and that would worry Azula except she can’t fucking breathe.
The sound of her heartbeat floods her ears and it drowns out everything as her vision tunnels, narrowing on a single point in front of her.
( She’s on her knees in the throne room, in a courtyard , in a small cell, she’s in a straitjacket, she’s in shackles, she’s in a small metal room on a small metal ship and she can’t breathe, she can’t bre-.)
Someone's choking, she can hear and it sounds terrible, like they're going to cough their heart out, like it’s painful and she would look but her chest is seizing and her vision is going fuzzy.
I’m going to die, she thinks, near hysterical, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, is this dying, why does it hurt so mu-.
Calm, the voice interrupts her spiraling but it sounds a little too frantic, a little too scared, calm down, in and out, in and out, in for four-.
Someone’s shaking her.
“Illah, Illah, Ill-.”
That’s not my name , she thinks, that’s not my name, that not my name- so fast it’s slurring in her mind.
A hand is on her back, she realizes distantly, rubbing up and down her spine-.
I hate you, save yourself, trust is for fools, don’t flatter yourself-.
“Azula.”
Her name is like a bucket of ice water has doused her and Azula’s train of thought screeches to a halt for just a slight moment and she hangs on to this second of clarity like a lifeline.
(The real question is, is someone else on the other side?)
(For the past 4 and some months she has been ‘Illah’. Her own name was too recognizable, and now, hearing it for the first time, makes something in her chest twinge.)
“In and out,” the voice from the mysterious person soothes, “in and out.”
And Azula is releasing a choking breath, the one that got caught in her chest.
“Breathe with me.”
The voice says gently but firmly and Azula does her best to follow.
In and out, her inner voice soothes and it sounds calmed now, in and out.
( She has bit her lip. There’s blood in her mouth, too thin to be saliva, coppery and warm and so, so familiar.)
She keeps taking choking breaths with her mysterious savior and slowly, ever so slowly, panic releases its hold on Azula’s mind and her senses come back to her.
Her chest has loosened its iron grip on her heart, and the sounds of the living woods breathes in Azula's ears.
When her vision has cleared enough she looks to the girl beside her, none too surprised to see Kotei, in a hastily tied sleeping gown.
“You know who I am.”
(Azula, Azula, Azula, Azula-.)
She says tiredly and she waits for Kotei to turn cold, to tell her to leave, to hate her for her fraud.
(Kotei might’ve helped her now, but that means nothing when the air has cleared.)
The other girl looks at Azula closely, examining her the same way she does a child when they scrape their knee. (Like she is taking stock, like she is making sure the wound is not deadly.)
“Come with me.”
Kotei offers instead of answering and hauls herself to her feet. She holds out a hand to Azula and waits.
(Azula stutters for a second here, unsure of what to do. She feels the same way she did all those weeks ago when she first stumbled into the village. On the edge of something unspoken, the edge of waiting.)
She takes her hand.
*
Duty, her head hisses.
Shut up, she thinks viciously.
*
Kotei leads her to, of all places, the barn.
Is this symbolism, she wonders and doesn’t have time to question before Kotei is hauling herself up on top of the roof.
Azula blinks, wondering if Kotei is planning to shove her off the roof that Azula built, then climbs up anyway.
(She’s (almost) always landed on her feet.)
When she crests the top, she finds Kotei on the edge, dangling her feet into the open air beneath them.
Sitting down hesitantly beside her, Azula turns her gaze to the sky as Kotei glances at her with glowing tawny eyes.
(Something is pressing against her ribs, maybe a fist, maybe a gentle palm, maybe the ghost of two girls who didn’t stay.)
“I knew who you were the second I saw your face.”
Kotei admits, and Azula glances at her out of the corner of her eyes.
(This isn’t her fate. This won’t be her future, she knows, but it calms her beating heart and quiets ghosts so she has stayed . It will hurt when Kotei kicks her out but it will not kill her. )
(Nothing has managed too yet, anyways.)
“Why didn’t you do anything?”
Azula asks, pressing an open palm against her ribs absentmindedly.
(Something like a sword, something that feels dangerous, like turning your back, like asking someone to stay.)
Kotei is silent for a long moment, debating,
“You were my princess.”
“That’s not worth anything now.”
Azula counters quietly .
(Months ago she wanted to know why, but did not want to know the answer from an old man in an old city. Now, she thinks she is prepared.)
(Run, her head whispers.)
“I’m going to tell you a story,”
Kotei begins and Azula raises an eyebrow at the non sequitur but gestures for her to continue.
“I’m 10 years old, and I’ve gone to the same school for the past 4 years of my life. It’s a good school, the best in the nation in fact, and it’s so good that we get news that the princess of the nation is going to attend.”
Kotei glances at Azula then,
“The day the princess got there wasn’t actually anything impressive. She’s 3 years younger than me so our schedules never lined up.”
Azula interjects then, the missing piece of her puzzle slotted in,
“You attended the Royal Fire Academy for Girls.”
Kotei nods,
“I don’t remember you.”
Azula says and then winces because she knows that this is absolutely not what you say to a girl who could push you off a roof.
To her surprise Kotei cracks a small smile,
“Like I said, our schedules never really intersected. Except once.”
The moon above them rests in its crescent shape, and Azula waits.
“I was 11 and there were rumors spreading around the school that you were going to jump off the roof.”
The edges of Azula’s lips curl up at this as she is reminded of the memory, and Kotei sees this and rolls her eyes.
“You would’ve been 9 at the time, and I was convinced that you were going to kill yourself and then your father would kill everyone in the school.”
(Her mother had been gone for less than 3 months, and her father was Fire Lord but never looked at her, and her brother didn't either. She had shoved Mai and Ty Lee away with biting words and cruelty that left her heart panging in her chest, and training dummies burnt to the ground. She had felt all too close to the edge. All too close to wanting to ruin herself, to wanting to burn, to light herself on fire if only so people would watch.)
(This feeling she knows intimately now. It’s chaos under her skin, it’s blood on her tongue, it’s smiling gleefully as the Fire Nation burns and the world does too.)
(Control.)
Azula raises an eyebrow in response, and Kotei scoffs,
“Oh please, everyone knew you were your father's favorite even then.”
(What was that worth?)
Kotei must see the fight within her eyes as she continues hastily,
“So the second recess let out, I ran to the roof, only to find a crowd of girls all cheering you on as you stood on the edge.”
She remembers sharp pride in her chest, the wind ruffling her hair, girls older than her waiting to see if she will do it, if she will push herself over the edge.
(Commit, her father had said, if they call your bluff you must answer.)
And then her mind catches a part she forgot, a part that was so near inconsequential she barely remembers it.
A girl older than her shoving her way through the crowd, hair messed up, looking frantically at Azula.
‘Wait don’t jump, it's not worth it-.’
“-and then you looked me straight in the eye, smirked, and said ‘don’t worry. I was born lucky.’”
“And then I hurled myself off a roof.”
Azula finishes the story, her lips curled in nostalgia.
“And then you hurled yourself off a roof.”
Kotei agrees dryly and lays back against the roof.
Azula also lays back, her mind spinning.
“I remember you.”
Azula says, rescinding her earlier claim and Kotei turns, shifts onto her side to watch her as Azula keeps her eyes pinned on the night sky.
( Is it still a tragedy if she runs? Or is that what makes it one?)
“Eldest daughter of a prolific general and spy, well respected throughout the school, a non bender,”
she lists things easily and Kotei raises her eyebrows through the entire thing,
“Left halfway through the year because-.”
And then her mind catches up with her mouth and Azula is pausing, unsure of how to continue.
“Because one parent died in war and the other never returned.”
Kotei finishes and Azula glances at her, unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry?”
She offers and Kotei waves it away with a lazy flick of her fingers, as she turns back to the sky.
“I was over it long ago. My father, anyways.”
But it’s family , she wants to say, and then thinks, right, it’s family.
(Cold smiles and cold anger. Azula burns.)
The silence hangs in the night air, as the two sit on the roof.
Kotei interrupts their silence 17 degrees later,
“Angry men don’t make good fathers.”
She offers quietly as an explanation, and Azula pauses then, her mind turning the statement over and over again.
Angry men don’t make good father’s.
She bites her lip, reopening the wound, and blood floods her mouth as she hums low in the back of her throat.
They sit there until the sun rises.
*
Angry men don’t make good fathers.
She supposes she agrees, but he is still the only father she had, so she will hang on.
*
Kotei says nothing the next day, and Antov glances between them but does not ask and Azula stays.
*
Duty, her veins call.
Not yet, she thinks, not tonight.
*
Her heart says, I am glad you have stayed
Her head says , I hope this won’t kill you.
*