Archive of Our Own

Two People Under My Skin 

It goes like this:

Ty Lee enters the room without a hint of her usual cheer. Azula’s back is to her, but the little that Ty Lee can see of her cheek is pale. Ty Lee’s hands extend out indecisively, but she eventually pulls back. She knows her touch wouldn't be welcomed.

“Azula?”

The Fire Nation Princess doesn’t jump, because as a rule, Azula doesn’t jump, but Ty Lee thinks she comes very close. “You took too long, Ty Lee,” Azula says, snapping back into focus. “Report.” 

She doesn't turn to look at her.

“It’s… bad,” Ty Lee admits weakly, “the healer says he probably won’t be able to see out of his eye ever again, and—”

Azula stands up with a near-hysterical groan that could nearly be called a scream, now spinning around to fix Ty Lee with a fierce glare. “I don’t care about his injury. I want to know what else he’s being charged with. You do know?” 

Of course she knows. Ty Lee wouldn't be Ty Lee if she weren't so good at anticipating Azula’s questions. “Your uncle says the Fire Lord has all-but banished him,” she relays clinically, with not a single waver in her voice. “As soon as he’s well enough to be moved, he’s been tasked to reclaim his honor by returning home with — erm — the Avatar.” 

So you'll probably be named Crown Princess within the week. 

The full sentencing surprises Azula; Ty Lee knows it does. She watches helplessly as even more weight is added to her Princess’ shoulders. For a moment, Azula… pauses. A range of emotions flash across her face — shock, glee, a moment of guilt, perhaps; fear   — all of which Ty Lee’s expecting. Then she blinks, and that’s all gone. 

“I see,” she says then, face once again methodically blank. And then, “Anything else?”

Now Ty Lee swallows, loath to voice the rest of her promised message. Deep breaths; here comes the worst part. “...Yes, actually. You see, Mai has made a request to see you…”

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The decree that Crown Prince Zuko would be sent on a mission to seek out and capture the Avatar in order to redeem himself in the eyes of the Fire Nation is abruptly rescinded only three short hours after it is made law. 

The Fire Lord gives no explanation as to why, but rumors spread like wildfire, and he does nothing to stop them.

“The Fire Lord has gone soft,” some brave souls whisper to each other, in varying tones of disgust and hope alike. “He forgave his son, did you hear? He burned him, but he did not send him away. The Fire Lord has a heart.”

Even Iroh, decorated General and brother to the Fire Lord, isn’t able to find out the entire truth. When asked, Fire Lord Ozai adamantly refuses to speak on the matter, and so eventually Iroh gives up and takes the lucky draw. He’ll accept not knowing as long as Zuko is safe. After all, it’s too late for Ozai to change his mind again; one change of orders is fine, normal even, but two is the product of a weak Fire Lord. 

When no new information is brought to light, the rumors will eventually die down. Even the Crown Prince himself doesn’t know who intervened to spare him; secretly, he hopes it was his father’s decision alone, perhaps regretting being so harsh with him. Who else could it be?

Truthfully, the only ones who know the full story are the Fire Lord himself, the Princess, and her two handmaidens. You see, no one notices the way Mai stands just a tiny bit closer to Azula, after; how Ty Lee’s affection is a little softer than before. How the Princess withdraws further into herself, how she seems to sleep less. The new scar on Mai’s wrist is small, but it’s not meant to be for everyone to see, so that’s okay. 

Life debts are tricky to handle, but in rare cases, they’re worth it. 

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When Zuko is thirteen-and-a-half years old, he attends his second-ever council meeting. He spends most of it clutching the bottom of his chair and trying desperately not to pass out while blood surges in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He’s grateful for his uncle’s strong presence beside him, because without him there, he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to sit up in his chair at all. 

To his left, Father is sitting in his raised throne, like he had been last time, and Zuko tastes copper on his bitten tongue. 

This time, he will not speak. He has learned his lesson. He blinks and winces at the pain of his eye; the healers say it will hurt for weeks still, but it’s slowly getting better. They also say his depth perception will improve with time, though Zuko’s sure they’d say that even if it won’t. 

Uncle’s hand has not left his forearm since they sat down.  

“Focus, Prince Zuko,” he mutters into his ear. “You cannot be distracted.”

Uncle hadn’t wanted Zuko to attend this council meeting, but Father had insisted, and Zuko had agreed with him (of course). Father is right; he does need to learn this, Zuko thinks it’s better for him to get over his fear sooner rather than later. He’d been stupid last time. He won’t be stupid again. He needs to learn this. 

...Even if he’s still kind of waiting for the announcement that he won’t be Father’s successor anymore. Surely it’s only a matter of time. The Fire Lord isn’t that forgiving. 

Heeding his uncle’s warning, Zuko tries again to focus on the map spread across the table. It’s trickier seeing things, nowadays, but the healers say that squinting will delay his healing, so he tries not to. He can’t give Father another reason to accuse him of being weak. 

The problem currently being dealt with is a matter of where to put a rather large squadron of troops who are stationed in the northside Earth Kingdom. They aren’t going to be invading, just protecting, but they still need protection themselves from potential ambushes. Only problem is, most of the land they’re going to be in is dangerous flatland. Most of it, that is. 

He blinks. 

“You’d want to send them here, right?” 

Like an absolute idiot, Zuko doesn’t even realize he’s spoken aloud until everyone else goes silent; his right hand is outstretched, not quite pointing, but close to it. Uncle’s grip tightens painfully on his arm, but it’s too late. Maybe Zuko is stupid. 

Father’s silence is deafening. 

The General says, “Crown Prince? Where do you mean?”

Biting back panic, Zuko swallows. He prays to Agni that he hasn’t just horribly misunderstood the argument and points towards the spot he’d noticed on the map. 

“There,” he says, and he doesn’t have a death wish, so his voice doesn’t shake. “Why don't the troops go to Komaku? Nearby, at least. There's plenty of natural cover and no way to be attacked from behind. Not to mention, the soldiers would enjoy the cool winds coming down from the mountain.”

Iroh is the first to see where Zuko’s looking, and his grip softens, a pensive expression crossing his face. 

“The young Prince is right,” he says. “Komaku would be an ideal spot for your troops to lay low and recuperate.” 

General Maizam stares at the map for a very long time before he responds. “Why, yes,” he says, sitting back down in his chair in order to look closer. “Komaku would indeed solve most of our problems.”

The General’s almost-disbelieving tone bothers Zuko more than he’d like to admit, and he curls his hands into fists underneath the table. He cannot afford to blow up again, not if he wants to continue seeing through his one good eye. 

From above them all, the Fire Lord says, “If that’s all, then?” 

Zuko doesn’t flinch at the sound of his voice, but it’s very close. General Maizam pales, and he drops into a respectful bow, as do the rest of the men gathered around. They slowly file out of the room; Father says, “Iroh, leave us.”

Uncle looks very much like he wants to argue, but even he can’t disobey a direct order like that. He gives Zuko another look before he goes, full of something Zuko can’t decipher. “I’ll be right outside,” he says lightly. “Prince Zuko owes me a cup of tea.”

Father doesn’t respond. Zuko can’t. 

Then, when Uncle’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a thud, Father speaks again. “Zuko.” 

“Father.” Standing from his chair, Zuko bows; pretends that he’s not shaking. He hopes he’s too far away still, that the fire is hazing his father’s eyes too much to see how much his hands are trembling. 

And then Father says, “You will stay on this council,” and it’s not a compliment, but it’s maybe the closest to one Zuko’s received in years. He says nothing else, but nothing else is necessary; Zuko now has responsibility. Father is saying, This is how you will be better, because Zuko had been right about the map. 

Zuko has just proven he can be useful. 

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Zuko is thirteen-and-three-quarters and he has finally found his mark. Took him long enough. 

True to Father’s word; Zuko finds that he glances at a map and everything slots into place in his mind. Troop movements, places for the squadron to rest, places ideal to attack; it just makes sense, and for the first time in Zuko’s life, he's actually good at something. Good at something. Not neutral, not passingly okay, and certainly not subpar. He's talented, and Father notices. 

One day, he catches Azula watching him from the corner of her eye as he enters the war chamber.

In hindsight, he probably should have kept that in mind.

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Zuko finds that he gets angry now. He was never an angry child, but fire begins to burn into his veins much faster than it used to. He doesn’t like the rages he can fly into, now; he especially doesn’t like the guilt that usually follows them.

“Calm yourself, Prince Zuko,” says his Uncle. “Remember your breathing. To ten, remember?” 

Zuko resists the urge to scream at him, to hell with breathing, but Uncle never gives him a strong enough reaction when he yells, and—his scar always itches twice as bad when he’s upset. 

So Zuko sits down. Angrily. Uncle smiles at him and offers a cup of tea, but holds it out of reach when Zuko goes to take it from him. “First, your breathing.”

Biting back another cruel retort, Zuko forces himself to take deep breaths; in through his nose and out his mouth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight… By the time he reaches nine, he is loath to admit that he is already calmer. He hates that it works, maybe more than he hates anything else. Uncle smiles wider and hands him the teacup. 

“Princes must not lose their tempers over trivial matters,” Uncle warns as he sips. “Respect people, Zuko. Even those who do not deserve it.”

“But why?” Zuko asks. “I’m the Prince! People have to learn they can’t speak to me like that!” He’s got a reputation of being a pushover, he knows, and he has to break that image. It’s not one Father would approve of.

“Your father is a dangerous man,” Uncle says slowly; he’s always had a knack for pointing out the obvious. “More dangerous than you are, Prince Zuko. But you don’t have to emasculate him in everything.”

There’s a warning there, maybe.

Zuko shakes his head anyways. “I’m useful now, Uncle,” he insists, because he is, “that’s much better than being dangerous. Father doesn’t care if I’m dangerous or not, as long as I can be useful.” He scoffs. “Father’s already got Azula for when he wants dangerous.” 

Uncle Iroh’s smile wanes. He says quietly, “The breathing technique helps with fear, too, you know.”

Zuko doesn’t grace that with a response. 

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Sometimes, Zuko and Azula sit and meditate together in the morning; a habit formed from the years before Zuko could even firebend at all. Azula does it every day — beginning before dawn and only finishing up around breakfast time — but it’s rare for Zuko to join her these days. 

However, he’s only recently regained his firebending after his burn — a mental block, his tutors had called it — and he wants to reclaim every bit of his skill lost in the weeks; little as that may be. 

He doesn't know if she prefers it when he's here or not. He also doesn't really care. She doesn't own the gardens, and he can be here when he wants. He brings his own pillow and everything. 

They don't speak to each other, which is probably for the best. Zuko breathes deeply and thinks of sparking in his fingertips and feels…. not strong, but something close to his former self. He’ll never bend bluefire, probably, and he’ll never surpass Azula, definitely, but he can be a decent-enough firebender to not be useless. He can. 

It’s usually blissfully quiet for the duration of these sessions, with the occasional sounds of the guards changing shifts. But today, the peace is shattered only an hour in by familiar, hulking footsteps approaching from behind. 

It’s Father. Zuko stiffens; hopes it's not noticeable. Beside him, Azula opens her eyes slowly, as stone-still as ever. 

Zuko expects their father to completely ignore his existence as he usually does; often carrying out entire conversations with Azula and not even giving Zuko a second glance. But that's not what happens. This time, when Father walks around them to see their faces, he doesn't even look in Azula’s direction. 

He says, “Zuko,” and Zuko jolts at the sound of his name. “Your presence has been requested in the war chamber.”

“Oh?” Zuko’s voice nearly comes out strangled, but he manages to reign it in. Crown Princes do not stutter. 

“Apparently they want to see what you think on a matter of troop movement. You should be on your way,” Father says sternly. Zuko gets the point. 

“Yes, sir.” Still somewhat expecting to hear the joke, Zuko gets to his feet rather slowly. Azula is watching him with an unreadable amber gaze, and it sends a shiver down his spine. She's even scarier when he can't tell what she's thinking, which is most of the time.

When he leaves, Father doesn’t move to follow him. If he’s not busy this morning, he’s likely going to continue with Azula’s training; perhaps even lightningbend with her. She’s getting pretty good at it, apparently; not that Zuko’s seen it personally. 

Father had never even tried to teach Zuko. 

…But that’s okay. Now.

Because now, Zuko has an actual talent, and Father knows it. If he can’t be a feared Fire Lord in terms of firebending — assuming he’s still going to be Fire Lord — then he can be an intelligent one. Father’s not the best firebender in the family, anyway; Uncle Iroh is. So Father will understand. 

Zuko can still make him proud. 

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Father must regret burning him. It’s the only explanation; the reason why he’s less easy to anger, now. He hasn’t hurt Zuko in months. He hardly ever glares at him anymore. Zuko is still first in line to be the next Fire Lord. He hadn’t banished him. He’s his father. 

He must want Zuko to succeed; he sees a strategist in Zuko now; even if he can’t be the prodigious firebender like Azula is, he can be useful. As time goes on, he’s called into the War Chamber more and more often. Zuko keeps improving.

And, really, he should've known Azula wouldn't take it well.

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Of course, it isn’t a real Agni Kai. 

Not one in name, at least. Szeto knows that if either of them actually challenged each other, the Fire Nation would nearly collapse from pure excitement. Inside of the Royal Family, Agni Kais are rare—almost unheard of, and there has already been one within the year. This Royal Family cannot be seen as constantly fighting with each other, so nothing is declared. Appearances, appearances. 

So it's not an honor-bound challenge. But it might as well be. Zuko knows his sister, and so he’s not entirely surprised when Azula comes up to him one random morning and demands, “Spar with me,” nor does he entertain any illusions that it will be regular sparring.

At least they're in the gardens and not somewhere inside the Palace, he thinks. 

They exchange no words as they kneel with their backs to each other. Mai and Ty Lee are probably somewhere nearby, watching like good handmaidens would. Zuko wonders, vaguely, who Mai is rooting for. 

Then a blast of blue fire shoots directly towards his chest. 

His first thought is, annoyingly, I should remember my breathing, which is of course entirely unhelpful when applied to this context. He can't count to ten when he's being attacked. It’s just like Uncle to give him a calming tactic that only works half the time. 

At least he’s not panicking at the sight of flames anymore—his trainers had been sure to beat that fear response out of him very soon after the Agni Kai. Truthfully, he doesn’t resent them for it; if they hadn’t, he might not have ever bent fire again. 

Zuko and Azula’s flames collide one, two, three times, and blue wins against red every time. Zuko doesn't win, of course, but he doesn't go down without a fight, and Azula is angry and a little less polished than usual. By the time her fire finally manages to graze his shoulder — ow — half of the gardens have gone up in flames around them. Zuko looks around at the destroyed courtyard and thinks Oh no. 

Azula, who doesn’t look any happier, storms away into the Palace. 

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Though the fires had been quickly pulled into nonexistence by the countless firebending guards who had been observing, the Fire Lord is still notified, of course. It’s only a few hours later when Zuko is summoned to him, and when he approaches Father’s throne room, he finds Azula already waiting for him outside. 

There are no guards posted outside. Zuko tenses. 

Azula doesn’t look or speak to him as they both step inside, and Zuko follows her lead, standing up straight and fixing his gaze on Father’s shoulder, rather than his eyes. His heart is pounding. 

During the Agni Kai, Father hadn’t yelled, not really. He’d gotten quiet, and Zuko knows from experience that he is at his most dangerous when he is silent. Father is a terrifying mix of quiet and cruel. 

Father has been being kinder to him up until now, but Zuko is always the one who gets in trouble. He knows this; has given up on fighting it by now, so he cannot completely hide his surprise when Father steps forward, bypasses Zuko entirely — what? — and steps viciously into Azula’s space. He asks quietly (dangerously), “Have you finished with your temper tantrum?” 

He doesn’t actually want an answer, so neither of them speak. Zuko can’t believe Azula’s still meeting his gaze.

Then Father moves. From Zuko’s point of view from the side, it seems innocuous enough; a simple shifting of the shoulders so that the Fire Lord can stand even taller. But to Azula, who is scarcely an inch away from Father’s heaving chest and much shorter, it must look like something far worse.

Because Azula, who Zuko’s always known to be level-headed and above petty things like fear, to her clear horror, flinches. 

Zuko’s breath catches in his throat, and he finds himself stepping forward without another thought. “I started the fight,” he says. Father’s head snaps towards him, and he sucks a deep breath of air through his nose. One, two, three… “We must have gotten ahead of ourselves. I will personally oversee the repairs.”

Did Father notice Azula’s mistake? Maybe, maybe not. If he did, no amount of Zuko interfering will stop him from punishing her at some point for the sign of weakness. 

Zuko has been on the other side of many of those punishments. He'd never expected his sister to have the same issue. He feels… something, low in his stomach. Not anger, not quite, and not entirely fear, either. He doesn't know. 

“I am disappointed in you, Zuko,” Father snaps. “You should know how to control your fire by now. What if your sister had gotten injured? You are lucky that you are the one who got hurt.”

It's all stuff Zuko’s heard before. He's always been the second-best, and so it’s not surprising anymore. His scar itches when he dips his head. “Yes, Father. I apologize.” 

Father’s eyebrows furrow until they’re stretching lines across his entire face. “You will be confined to the Palace’s walls for a week, and you will train and do nothing else until you can control your flames, and then you will ensure the gardens are rebuilt.” He turns to leave, smoke following him in his wake. 

The door slams. 

With him gone, Zuko finally lets his shoulders relax. The punishment given is fairly lax by Father’s standards; he must be preoccupied with more important matters, otherwise Zuko’s sure his suffering would have been much extended. Azula, still staring straight ahead, hasn't moved. He thinks if it were him, there'd be fire creeping through her clenched fists, but she's always had more control than him. Better control and hotter fire. How is that fair?

Zuko swallows. “Azul-”

“Don't,” she snaps. He falls silent, and he doesn't go to follow her when she stalks away. 

(Not once during their fight did she ever aim anything even close to his face. He’d chalk that up to a coincidence if he had fought anyone else, but he hadn’t, so he doesn’t.)

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Zuko goes through the rest of the day on pure autopilot. He’s lucky that the servants are so tight-lipped, because if it ever got back to his father how many people he bumps into just in a matter of minutes, he'd be back to getting punished for being an embarrassment. 

Mercifully, the servants all look away whenever he stumbles. Nothing seen is nothing to report. 

He can't stop thinking about Azula flinching. Azula. He doesn't think he's ever in his life seen her make such a vulnerable movement. Not since she was three, at least. She'd flinched the way he flinches. The way he tightens his shoulders and tenses his neck whenever Ozai steps towards him a little too closely, a little too quickly. He’d learned the motion long before his scar, but it’s grown more pronounced since. 

Zuko… wonders.

The wondering leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

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He finds her in his room that same night, straight-backed and cold as ever. “I do not need you to take care of me,” she says firstly, near snarling. “I don't know what you think I owe you after this, but I'll tell you right now that you took that blame for nothing.”

Honestly, Zuko doesn't really care either way. He doesn't even know why he did it. If he really wanted to, he could argue with her on this matter, though—she likes to forget it, but she's only eleven. But he doesn't have the energy tonight to fight her on this, so he decides to take a page out of her book and deflect. 

“Not everything is about you, Azula,” he says. “I wasn't trying to take care of you.”  

Azula goes quiet and studies him for a long moment, as if he's puzzled her. But they both know he's not a good liar.

“Good,” she says finally. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

They stand there for a minute. It occurs to Zuko that this is probably the first time Azula’s been in his room in years. Probably ever since before the night Mother disappeared. The thought… hurts somewhat.

She turns to leave the room, and Zuko… pauses. 

It’s just… they’ve been surviving fine enough without each other, is all. But then he thinks of Azula flinching, and in the end, it's that mental image that loosens his tongue. 

“Before you go, could you show me that one move you did today?” Zuko tries half-heartedly to replicate it, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't think I've ever seen it before.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Of course you haven't, I made it up.”

“Really?” He’s genuinely surprised by that and sees no need to lie to her. “That’s really cool, you know. You should talk to Father and see if you can get it recognized as a legitimate kata.” 

She snorts, shaking her head like he’s very stupid. “Sure I could,” she says, tone surprisingly amicable, “but then people would learn how to counter it, and any advantage would disappear.” 

He thinks she's pleased, though she'll never admit it.

She shows him the move, too, because it doesn’t matter showing you—you’ll never be able to beat me anyway, and it’s the first time in years that they’re able to hold a conversation without Zuko snapping at her, without Azula deliberately provoking him. It’s weird. It’s… nice, too, maybe. 

Maybe. 

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Zuko… doesn't understand Azula’s relationship with Ty Lee and Mai. At times it seems like they're just glorified servants to her, moving only at her beck and call. Other times she acts as if they're the best two friends anyone could ask for. They’re certainly the only ones who can stand her for long periods of time. 

He sees them around often; Ty Lee braiding Azula’s hair and doing cartwheels all over the courtyards, Mai standing somewhere to the side, looking supremely bored, but always alert. 

Mai loves him; he knows Mai loves him, and he loves her in return, and… he doesn’t understand how someone can both love him and tolerate Azula. 

“Do you even like my sister?” Zuko finally asks, past the point of mere curiosity. 

Mai answers within a second. “She saved me. I'll always owe her for that.”

He knows about Mai’s family, of course, but he hadn't thought about it in that way before. Accidentally or not (and with Azula, it was likely not), Azula had taken Mai out of that stifling home-life and given her a Palace, a place to train, a place to learn without being someone who would despise herself.

Really, he should’ve known that it wouldn’t be as simple as a yes or no. Zuko accepts this like he accepts all of Azula’s bizarre traits; with dubious interest. 

“Does Ty Lee feel the same way?”

“Who can say? Only Agni knows what Ty Lee feels about anything. The girl has a smile for every emotion,” Mai mutters, not unkindly. Despite her tone, Zuko sees fondness in the slant of her mouth. 

He smiles. “Well, we have all known each other for a long time. It’s not that surprising you’re all still close. Even if Azula’s not very nice to you.”

Mai shrugs. “She’s nice enough. I don’t really care,” she adds, and despite Zuko’s previous lightheartedness, he finds the comment rubs him the wrong way. 

“But why don’t you care? She treats you so horribly sometimes!” He winces, realizing too late that there’s an almost whiny quality to his voice. 

Mai squeezes her eyebrows together in that way that means she’s beginning to lose her temper. “I don’t think I can explain it, Zuko,” she says finally, tone veering dangerously away from its usual bored tilt. “We all just work well together, okay? Nothing more.” 

Zuko takes the hint and drops the subject, electing instead to offer a walk through the courtyards. Mai accepts, and he is forgiven. 

But that doesn’t stop him from thinking. Maybe she’s right; maybe he’ll never understand, maybe he just can't. Maybe Azula simply does things for the sake of doing things. It still irritates him. 

And yet… Zuko wonders if there isn’t some real affection there, too. After all, both Mai and Ty Lee are nonbenders, and therefore usually regarded as less of a person, in some peoples’ eyes. But he doubts Azula ever saw them like that. She sees potential everywhere she looks, and she especially hates to see it wasted. As long as you’re useful to her, she’ll tolerate your presence. 

Of course, there are countless ways to be useful to someone. 

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Despite himself, he keeps wondering. 

He wonders if he's missed some things throughout the years. 

A little over a year after the Agni Kai, Father is pulling back some; he rarely shows his face outside of dinner, these days, too caught up in the war, and while Zuko is still sometimes called to assist in the war chamber, it’s much less often now. 

Zuko is… perhaps not as offended about that as he should be. As Azula would be. 

But with Father gone most of the time and Uncle constantly disappearing into the streets of the common Fire Nation and Azula training, Zuko doesn’t have much else to do but wonder—and wander. He has his own classes too, of course, but they never seem to occupy enough of his time to keep him busy. 

He wonders, even when the wondering makes his head spin and bile rises in his throat. 

Does Azula’s posture relax minutely whenever Father leaves the room like Zuko’s does? Does she ever breathe a secret sigh of relief when Father is indisposed for the day and cannot come and train with her personally? That had always been the worst of it, the training. Before Father decided he was a lost cause in firebending, his training sessions with Zuko had been brutal, always ending with him burned and trembling in order to stay on his feet. 

Does Father ever leave dark bruises on her arms, too? Probably not—she doesn't mess up enough to warrant punishment (but she’d flinched). Would Father burn her if she were to step out of line? The answer is likely no, because Azula is Azula, and she doesn’t step out of line—but she’d flinched. 

It always comes back to that, and he goes in circles.

One night, Zuko goes for a midnight stroll through the Palace and catches a flare of blue from underneath the doors of Azula’s chambers. Still training, even after all her tutors have long since gone to sleep. Zuko wonders how much sleep she gets in an average week. She never seems overly tired in the morning, but she never seems anything real in the first place. 

Zuko wonders if it's worth it, being Father’s favorite. At least Zuko doesn't have any real expectations anymore.

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He’s fourteen when he finally gains the courage to ask, during their morning meditations. “Do you ever think about Mother?”

It takes a very long time for her to reply. “Do you?” 

Of course she'd be difficult about this. “Of course I do,” Zuko says, and it doesn't feel like a confession. “Do you think she's alive?”

“I don't care either way. She’s probably not, though.” 

What a horrible thing to say. Zuko bristles, biting back unfriendly words. One, two, three… “Well, you should care,” he says in a carefully-controlled tone, ignoring the second part of what she’d said. “She was our mother.”

Azula sighs, as if the conversation is annoying her. “Why would I care that she's gone? It's not like her leaving changed anything for me. Mother always hated me, so I don't exactly miss her special brand of care.”

Zuko… pauses. It's a very Azula thing to say, but he can’t hear a single drop of uncertainty in her tone. She believes that wholeheartedly, and that baffles him. “She didn't hate you! How could you think that?”

“Didn’t she?” Azula opens one eye, pinning him to his seat. “I know you're slow, brother, but you're not entirely blind.”

He snarls at her and opens his mouth to argue, but then she stands up and leaves him there without another word. That only makes his anger burn hotter; breathing be damned, how could she say that? Of course Mother had loved her—Mother was love, was the only easy source of it, was who they would run to when Father’s training burned too hot, too painful. Mother’s love was healing, while Father’s was — is — hard to attain. Mother’s was consistent. 

Although… 

Azula had never gotten along with her, had she? Mother had been love, and yet…. he can't recall a single memory of Mother spending time with Azula. Just Azula. He remembers feeding the turtleducks with Mother because he liked them, but he doesn't know if she ever did something Azula liked. But does that mean she hated her? Surely not. Azula’s wrong. 

Mother wasn’t capable of hate.

.

.

.

To Zuko, it feels just like any normal day. 

Breakfast with Father and Azula can be either deathly silent or full of thinly-veiled insults, and he's not sure which one he prefers more. He wishes Uncle were here, but Iroh isn't meant to visit for another month or so. He doesn’t think Uncle Iroh likes it at the Palace very much, even though his presence usually makes Zuko feel more confident. 

However, Uncle’s not here today, so Zuko tenses his shoulders, straightens his posture, and prepares for a stressful meal. 

But just before he goes to enter the dining room, something catches the sleeve of his robes. When he turns to free it, he's shocked to see the stone-etched face of his sister. “Azula?”

Her eyes dart warily towards the open doorway he'd just been about to enter. “I'm thinking of skipping breakfast today, Zuzu,” she says in greeting, her voice quieter than usual. “Perhaps you could join me.”

Something cold coils in his stomach. Azula looks like she always does, but she hasn't yet let go of his sleeve. Zuko may be dumb, but he's not idiotic, and with a flick of his hand, there is a servant there to assist them.

“Please let our father know that we will be assisting with the guard rotations for the entirety of the morning,” Zuko orders, and then, as an afterthought, “but wait until he thinks to ask. You wouldn't want to bother him.”

“Yes, Prince.” The servant bows low and scurries off. She’ll be fine; she wouldn't be still serving under the Fire Lord if she couldn't judge his tempers well enough by now.

Azula finally lets go of his sleeve, now that she's seen he won't be a complete dunderhead about the situation, and he studies her for a moment. He sees nothing in her eyes, not even that spark of fire that his own supposedly lack; just the same shade of gold that he thinks their mother had (he wonders if he resembles Mother or Father more; it’s clear Azula is the spitting image of Mother). 

For a moment, Zuko hesitates; considers asking. But it would be far too vulnerable a thing. Azula is being lenient today, and showing weakness now could get her to change mind entirely about throwing Zuko to the wolves, per say. 

“Guard rotations,” Azula remarks then, the moment having slipped by. “Wonderful idea, brother. You did a remarkable job of remembering to use the most boring job as an excuse.”

Zuko smiles, and to his surprise, it’s not entirely fake. “Don't be like that, you love bossing people around. I'll even let you order them some laps if they're not up to standard.” He begins to walk back down the corridor, breathing deep through his nose. “It'll be fun.”

Even though he can't see her anymore, he can hear her lips curling in disgust as she follows him. “Wonderful.”

.

.

.

“You know,” he says, “I used to have a mantra that I would repeat to myself.”

Azula says, “We’re supposed to be meditating silently, Zuko.” 

He can't sense any real irritation in her tone, and they've been at it for almost two hours now anyways, so he takes that as an invitation to continue. “It was ‘Azula always lies.’ Whenever you would say something that I disliked, I'd repeat that to myself, over and over until I felt better.”

She cracks open one eye to glare at him. “I am honored to have made such an impact on my big brother’s psyche while so young,” she says dryly. 

Zuko shrugs, comfortable enough to let a small smile across his lips. “I was like, eleven,” he says, like she’s not just barely past that now. “Give me a break.”

“Yes,” she says impatiently, “I suppose you were particularly stupid back then, not that you’re much smarter now. What’s your point?” 

He doesn’t have one. “I dunno,” he says, “just thought you’d find that funny, or something.” When there’s no response, he accepts it, settling back into his meditation posture like nothing had ever happened. It’s like that with her sometimes; he doesn’t know if she’s particularly irritated today, if she’s really into meditation, or if she really just dislikes talking to him that much. 

But she doesn’t send him away anymore, so. 

They sit in calm silence as a few minutes pass. Zuko doesn’t open his eyes when he hears her shift beside him, assuming she’s just settling into a more comfortable position. 

“I suppose it is fairly amusing,” she says.

.

.

.

“How do you make your blue flames?”

“...What.”

Zuko smiles, settling into a standard kata in front of her. He holds out his fists in front of him and says, “Come on. I want to see how you did it. It’s not like I’ll be able to copy you, but I can try anyway.”

Azula frowns. “Well, then there’s no point,” she says dryly. “Of course you approach something from an impossible angle. Why would I show you if you think there’s no chance, dingus?

He blinks in surprise, but rolls with it. She’s been doing that, lately—hiding almost uplifting statements inside of insults. He doesn’t exactly hate it. 

“Okay,” he agrees, shifting his weight to stand more securely. “I will bend bluefire. Is that better?” 

She rolls her eyes, and he already knows he’s won. 

“...I suppose I could show you how I did it the first time.” Azula sighs pointedly, but he catches a not-quite hidden gleam in her eyes. She loves this; loves being the center of attention, and when she's not being horrible, he doesn't mind giving that to her.

The first time Azula had bent blue flames in front of their family, Zuko had been amazed, having not even known the color was possible. He had pestered Uncle about it for weeks afterward, but all he’d managed to learn was that Iroh had never once bent blue, and that he wasn’t going to try, either. 

Zuko also knows that had not been the first time Azula bent blue flames, though that was new information. She'd only recently told him the full story — of how she'd accidentally bent blue while training on her own in the dead of night, of how she'd studied her fire for weeks before she told anyone besides Ty Lee and Mai, how she'd made sure her bluefire was perfect before ever presenting it to Father. 

At the time, he'd just assumed she'd been naturally perfect with her blue flames. He supposes that had been what she was going for.

Even the illusion of effortless power is groundbreaking, and that’s the type of power she’s always preferred, the type of power he’s never been able to pull off. 

“So?” he says. “What stance did you use to bend bluefire, then?”

Azula raises an eyebrow at him. Then she sighs loudly and sits down on the cushion she usually meditates on, gesturing for him to sit across from her. “There's no stance,” she says in a tone that implies he is very stupid. “Not at first. Bending bluefire is different than bending regular fire. You can't do katas with it until you've bent it, dum-dum.”

“Okay,” he hums contentedly. “How, then?”

She holds out her hand and ignites a tiny, blue flame. “Start small,” she orders, eyes fixated on her palm. “Make a tiny flame, but concentrate all of your power into it. Don't make it grow, but make it burn.”

He doesn't know if he’ll be able to do that, but he’ll try.

Shaking away his nervousness, he summons a small, flickering flame. It’s red, and he ignores Azula’s dry look as he pulls more of his inner flame into his one hand, turning it orange almost immediately. Azula murmurs, “Keep going,” and he does; breath coming shorter now, fingers twitching in exertion. 

For a moment, it flares bright yellow. 

“Ow!” He quenches the fire immediately, shocked and ashamed by the stinging in his palm. Weak firebender or not, he hasn't been burned by his own flame since he was six years old. 

Azula’s eyes light up. “That's a good sign,” she says, extinguishing her own flame and taking a look at his hand. There's no burn, thankfully, just a slight redness to the skin. “Even with our naturally-resistant bodies, your hands aren't used to producing that kind of heat. That fire burned hotter than anything else you've ever created before.” She sits back; lets the smirk finally crawl across her face. “Get it now?”

Zuko is beginning to feel patronized, but that feeling is swallowed by the knowledge that he’s doing well. 

His fire is weaker than Azula’s. He knows this. It's very unlikely he’ll ever be able to bend blue like she can; he certainly won't ever be able to do it with the same level of effortlessness she can.

But the thought doesn't bother him as much now.

.

.

.

They don't talk about Father. Not ever. 

Their bond (and he hesitates to call it that) is fragile, and he fears obliterating it with a single stupid sentence. Zuko never asks who she'd choose if she had to make a choice between him and Father. He doesn't want to know the answer. He doesn't even know who he’d choose, if it came down to it. He wishes it were simpler; he thinks he's learning to love his sister again, maybe, and he hates his father, hates him for being so cruel, but—

He loves him, too. Father is his father. It’s Azula he doesn’t get. 

He doesn't understand how Azula can be so loyal when she can't even remember the good times. Zuko can. Zuko can remember when Ozai was third in line for the throne, behind his perfect brother and equally perfect nephew, and was less haunted. Not kind, really, but not cruel yet. And Zuko thinks Father had loved them more, back then. 

Azula was too young to remember when Father’s love was easier to gain. So, no, Zuko finds himself answering his own question. No wonder Azula loves their father so desperately—his crueler love is all she knows. 

He’d do the exact same. He does the exact same.

He’s just worse at it than she is. 

There is… also the fact that she has much more to gain if he were to die than he would for the opposite. Zuko knows she had coveted the position of Fire Lord as a child; that had been part of why she scared him so much, but she hasn’t mentioned it for years now. Does she still want to rule? What is she willing to do to achieve that goal? 

He doesn’t know if he wants to know. 

But he does know this: Azula is better at judging their father’s moods than he is. 

Maybe she’s just better at picking up subtleties, maybe it’s because Father spent more time with her. It doesn’t matter. If necessary, Azula will flash Zuko a warning glance whenever he starts to get too ‘preach-y’ (Azula’s words) for Father’s patience, and in return, Zuko sneaks her small gifts of food whenever the servants allow him to get away with it. 

(Azula is a better firebender than he, and therefore she uses up more energy, but she gets smaller portions than he does at meals. Fire Nation Princesses cannot be seen eating too much, you see, but Fire Nation Princes traditionally have healthily large appetites.) 

She never thanks him for the food, and he never expects her to. It’s a push-and-pull game of survival; every day is a new minefield, more tip-toeing through the dozens of topics that irritate Ozai at best and infuriate him at worst, but they make do. 

Sometimes they slip up, though. For all of Azula’s capabilities, their father can be unpredictable, and he acts quickly. The war is stressful at the best of times, and ever since Uncle’s fall from grace, the Earth Kingdom invasion has gone downhill. It weighs on Father—Zuko knows it does. 

(He wishes he could do more to help, but not even Uncle is allowed to leave the Fire Nation anymore—not that he would want to. Father says it’s to keep them all safe.)

Sometimes, Zuko slips up—says something stupid. He’ll make an inevitable comment about the way that Father doesn’t appreciate or he’ll accidentally make fun of a previous Fire Lord that he doesn’t remember even existed. Azula’s always quick to change the subject, though; skillfully directing Father’s rage into something more likely to fight back, like the war. Zuko appreciates it, though he’s sure she’s not only doing it for him. 

So, truthfully, they do talk about Father. They just never say anything aloud. They don't have to.

.

.

.

When Zuko’s fifteen, his duties begin to pile up. He still doesn’t understand how he’s still the Crown Prince, but it’s been long enough since the Agni Kai that he’s reasonably sure his status won’t change overnight, and future Fire Lords need to be trained in specifics. 

If Azula holds any resentment towards him about the extra classes that she’s not allowed to attend, she never lets him see it. He thinks she must, though. She must still dream of being Fire Lord, while Zuko himself is only mildly responsive to the idea. She should’ve been born the oldest. Maybe then, everything would have worked out better. 

.

.

.

Things slowly begin to change. They are all growing older, after all.

Most notably: Ty Lee leaves and joins a traveling circus. 

It’s one that is bound to circle back towards the capitol at some point, but not anytime soon. Mai would probably be leaving too, if she and Zuko weren't engaged. She cannot leave because is to be the future Fire Lady, but Zuko sees less and less of her as the days go by, and he knows she spends more time with him than she does with Azula.

He wonders if Azula’s lonely. She must be—he’s never seen her willingly hang out with anyone not Ty Lee or Mai — not that he can talk; they’re all he knows, too, besides Uncle — but she never shows it. She stays as cruel as ever, which is honestly a little comforting. Things are changing, but as long as Azula still snaps at him, the world will keep spinning. 

Still, she must be lonely.

So Zuko starts to seek Azula out a little more often, starts to meditate with her for an extra day of the week, tries to invite her to destroy him in Pai Sho (a game she loathes, but also one she is of course horribly talented at) at least once a week. He even spars with her, though that’s something he loathes; while his firebending prowess seems to have hit a wall, it seems as if Azula still improves with every day. 

She seems to spend every hour of every day on her feet—either running through katas or sitting in extra classes. She’d been busy even before Ty Lee left, and now… Sometimes Zuko wishes he was half as inspired as her. 

And he’s the one who will one day be the Fire Lord. 

.

.

.

“What use is the war to us?” Zuko asks her, one warm summer night. Azula stiffens, and he almost regrets asking, if only because she so rarely relaxes in his presence. They’ve been practicing their katas for the past hour or so, having finally found an empty room to do them in. Technically , they’re not supposed to be in here, but they’re the Crown Prince and Princess, so who is anyone to tell them no?

He doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He’s mostly curious; she understands the financial side of things far better than he does. 

Azula says, “What are you talking about?” and her tone is as it always is.  

“Are we gaining anything?” he asks. “Like, besides the land, I guess. Do the earthbending colonies we take over pay us taxes? Is that what fuels the war? Surely if we conquer everywhere then we’ll have all the currency in the world, right?” 

She scrunches up her face, like she can’t even begin to touch the level of dumb he’d put to words. 

“Where do I even start with that? You’re so stupid,” she says flatly. “Don’t you ever pay attention? Father’s shown us the records. What, can you not read?” 

“I can read,” Zuko says defensively, but she has a point. “You know those types of scrolls always make my scar itch.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Your scar itching cannot be your excuse for every single failure, Zuzu. Nonetheless,” she adds, as he opens his mouth to argue, “I will explain it in terms fit for a child.” To hammer home her point, she steps aside, folding her hands together a tad too dramatically for his tastes. “War is quite literally what everyone on the council is profiting from. Our armies pillage Earth Kingdom cities and take the wealth, which is distributed back through the Fire Nation’s economy.”

She doesn’t look at him. “Simply put, brother, the Fire Nation keeps fighting because that is what our money is built on—there is no stopping it now. We will fight on until the end.”

But that explanation is not enough to satisfy him. “That makes no sense!” he argues, slouching out of his form and turning so that he can see her better. “So, what, we can’t afford to stop now? Then why did Sozin ever start it in the first place, if war is so expensive? I mean, don’t you think it’s kind of pointle–” 

“Zuko,” she interrupts him with a hiss, gold eyes darting to his own in a flash, “shut up.”

He does. 

Not a second later, a maid pushes her way into the room, nearly tripping over herself when she spots them. “Oh, my apologies!” she cries, dropping into a deep bow. “I would have knocked had I known you were here, Princess, Crown Prince.”

Zuko is usually the one who speaks with the servants — he dislikes the way Azula can treat them sometimes — but he can barely breathe, so Azula rolls her eyes and says in his stead, “Yes, yes. We’ll be out soon, don't worry.”

“Please, take your time, your Highnesses,” the servant says. “I will return tomorrow.” She still waits for Azula’s dismissal, which she gives without another word. The servant scurries away, closing the door behind her, and Zuko swallows. 

“You'd think I was older than you, saving you like this.” Azula scoffs quietly. 

Blase tone or not, her shoulders are stiff. 

Zuko lets out a short breath and tries to calm himself, counting to three. The servants have always been kind to him, but what he'd said could have easily been misconstrued as treason. He’s not treasonous. He’s just curious. But he’s also not stupid. Curiosity can be dangerous, and he’s lucky Azula doesn’t seem like she’s going to rat him out. 

He knows he needs to be smarter. 

.

.

.

When Zuko is sixteen years old, the Avatar returns to the world with a powerful move; he sends an entire Fire Nation armada retreating from the Northern Water Tribe all by himself, and Admiral Zhao, one of Father’s most trusted men, does not make it back. 

The Fire Lord takes the return of the Avatar very seriously. 

The end of the war is approaching rapidly; Ba Sing Se has yet to fall, but Father has big plans on the day of the Comet, and Zuko believes they will work. And after Ba Sing Se finally falls… Well. After that, there’s not much more land left to conquer. That’s something that calms Zuko—by the time he’s Fire Lord, he will not have to wage war (instead, he’ll just have to rule the world). 

The Avatar is an obvious threat to the Fire Nation’s near-world domination, and he’s already caused casualties and setbacks. He must be dealt with, and soon. 

Zuko is a sixteen year-old Crown Prince and the future Fire Lord. He cannot be exempt from his dozens of training and duties that seem to multiply with every new week, and the Fire Nation cannot afford to lose him. He must continue in his training, especially now that the Avatar has reappeared; he must be prepared, if, god forbid, anything is to happen to Father. He’s indispensable, and so is the present Fire Lord. 

But the second heir is not. For the first time ever, Zuko’s not the spare. 

Father must be pleased by the way it all works out—Azula is sure to be more successful in this endeavor than Zuko would be, anyway. This means, of course, that Zuko will have to say goodbye to her; Ty Lee, as well, because she’d heard of Azula’s orders even in her circus and had shown up at the Palace only three days later with a demand to go along. Mai will stay, but only because Azula had ordered her to. Fire Lady training is more important than handmaiden-slash-bodyguard duties. 

When the day comes, he and Mai go with them to the docks to say their farewells. Ty Lee hugs him so tightly he thinks he’ll have bruises and then bounces off to give the same treatment to Mai. Azula is watching him.  

She’s already exchanged a loaded glance with Mai, and he doesn’t expect them to hug, so he steps up to her.

“Come back,” he says. He's not going to cry, he doesn't even feel the need to, but it feels as if there's something stuck in his throat, and he hates it. He reaches for her, and she doesn't pull away when he takes her wrist; holds it tight. “Come back, okay?” 

It's the only thing he can say.

Azula looks at their clasped hands for a long time before she responds. “I'll be back soon,” she promises (because it is a promise). “And I’ll be bringing the Avatar with me.”

She’s always been stronger than him. Once he’d hated it, and nowadays, he doesn’t care much anymore. But for the first time, he’s glad. He’s glad for her ruthlessness and firebending prowess, because if anyone is going to catch the Avatar, it's going to be her.

Plus Ty Lee is going with her, one of the only people he’d trust with Azula’s safety. 

So when Azula says I’ll be back, he doesn't doubt her for a second.

.

.

.

He and Mai both stand there and watch until the boat is completely out of sight. Then, silently, they turn around and head back towards the Palace. 

It feels… colder than it used to.

.

.

.

Months pass. Barring the hellish weeks after Mother vanished, they're some of the worst of his life. Mai is still there with him, but she's busier than ever with her studies — future Fire Ladies have just as much to learn as future Fire Lords — and they're both so caught up with their duties that they’re scarcely able to see each other for longer than an hour at a time.

He keeps up with his meditations, because if he doesn't he’s going to end up setting someone on fire. He also continues with the practice Azula had shown him; focusing deeply on one, tiny flame. He never bends anything resembling blue, but he almost makes it to white, once or twice. He wonders if Azula would be proud of him. She’d probably just say he was celebrating too easily. The thought calms him. 

Azula never sends him a letter, but Ty Lee does. She writes of their search; reports that the Avatar, despite being over one-hundred, still smiles and laughs like a young boy. Zuko feels… he’s not sure, but whatever it is, it twists in his stomach. He sees Azula in Ty Lee’s writing, though, which dulls the fear a small amount. Ty Lee writes It’s so cold here, I’ve never been anywhere this cold and Zuko can picture his sister’s annoyance, torn between using precious energy to keep herself warm or to let go of appearances and bundle up. He wonders which one she chose. Ty Lee says We’re very focused, of course, but it’s incredible out here, Zuko, you should see the Earth Kingdom, and Zuko wonders if Azula hates it out in the world or if she feels freer than she’s ever been. 

Ty Lee’s letters help keep him sane, honestly. Him and Mai both, buried in classes and etiquette. He remembers Ty Lee and he remembers Azula and he remembers what they’re all working for: the glory of the Fire Nation. 

.

.

.

Eight months after the Avatar’s reappearance and seven since Azula left home, a guard knocks on his door in the middle of the night. 

Zuko isn't sleeping, but he opens the door irritated anyways; he’s not often bothered at night, and when he is, it’s never good news. He doesn't recognize the guard who’d knocked; she's somewhat short, with light brown hair cut a little past her chin. She must be new, and he is endeared to her immediately by the fact that she barely gives his scar a second look. Very professionally, she hands him a letter and says, “For your eyes only, Crown Prince.”

Intrigued, Zuko takes it without fuss and sends her away. He hopes she stays on; the more people less inclined to stare at him nowadays, the better.

Setting alight the lamp above his desk, he sits down and rolls open the scroll. He’s expecting one of Ty Lee’s letters, perhaps, or maybe another foolish General writing to him in an attempt to coup the Fire Lord. That’s never happened to him, but Azula claims to have received such letters in the past—Zuko tries not to be offended that no would-be usurpers ever tried to contact him. But that’s not what this is either, instead, it says:

Brother,

When you next hear of me, remember your former mantra. 

Yours, 

The Blue Dragon

The letter perplexes him for weeks, and he never sees that particular guard in the Palace again. Zuko’s not stupid enough to think that a coincidence. 

.

.

.

Ty Lee returns.

Alone. 

She limps herself to the Fire Lord’s court, and without a single glance towards Zuko and Mai at his side, relays with a corpse-like intonation, “Azula is dead.”

The Fire Nation is strong. It is the most powerful force in the world—it is the force that is going to soon one day rule the world. Its leaders and people are clever and thick-skinned, and they’re not the type to crumble when faced with bad news. They’ve survived tragedies from Fire Lord assassinations to natural disasters and grown only stronger from those ordeals, and yet… 

Despite all that, it only takes three little words to fling the entire country into chaos. 

Father roars. Zuko doesn’t fall, but only because Mai seizes his arm, holding him so tightly that her nails tear through the cloth of his sleeve. The guards inside break their carefully-formed posture, the Generals turn white. No one speaks, and there’s nothing but silence until Ty Lee collapses down onto one knee, spent. 

Zuko doesn’t remember much of the next few minutes.  

Ty Lee is swept away by a few guards and sent to rest before she can make her full statement to the courts; Father orders everyone else out, and Zuko obeys automatically, Mai’s hand still bone-white and clutching at his forearm. They shuffle out of the room and turn into some half-abandoned entryway to get away from prying eyes, just for a second. The world itself sways around him, unable to comprehend the enormity of what he’d just heard. 

He tries to breathe. 

“She—” he says, tries to say, at least, but the words stick in his throat. “I—” 

Mai leans her head against the wall, taking slow, deep breaths. She does not respond for a very long time, and when she does, her voice is low, maybe not even meant for his ears. “She can’t be dead,” she says, and then, quieter, “she wouldn’t let me get out of this that easily.”

He doesn’t ask. Azula undoubtedly has trapped Mai in dozens of promises based on theoretical happenstance, just like she has everyone. Which one Mai may be talking about at this moment doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that Azula can’t be gone. His body physically repels at the thought, the sheer idea that he’d ever outlive her is laughable. She wouldn’t let Zuko off that easily, leave him to take the throne of the Fire Lord without her smile to tear him back down. She wouldn't. She couldn’t. 

The letter…

For the first time in years, as Mai stays silent beside him, Zuko sends up a prayer to Agni. 

Please let this be another lie. 

.

.

.

Ty Lee’s story is short and blunt. 

She reports that they’d tracked the Avatar and the rest of his group to someplace deep within the Earth Kingdom; they’d been underground, likely learning earthbending somewhere they’d thought they’d be safe and out of the way. Azula and Ty Lee had gone in with an entire squadron, taken out the earthbender first, and engaged with the Avatar until the the mountain began to crumble around them, likely due to the Avatar’s inconsistency with earthbending. 

Azula had been too far inside to escape the falling rock, but in a stroke of luck, Ty Lee had been near the exit. She was the only one to escape. She tells them that she’d tried to find her way back inside and look for the Princess, but with no bending, she had not been able to find an opening, and according to an imprisoned earthbender nearby, there was no longer a cave at all.

 With tears running down her face the entire time, Ty Lee is clearly convinced of Azula’s death. Zuko prays that she’s wrong. 

The Fire Nation will not have to worry for many years now—the Avatar is gone. There was no bigger threat than the Avatar, and now they won’t be a threat again for at least another decade—the Water Tribes will be carefully examined in the upcoming years, probably, but for now, the Avatar is dead. 

So is his sister. 

…This is not a trade he would’ve taken. 

.

.

.

Zuko believes Azula’s dead for exactly thirty-two hours and fourteen minutes before new information is brought to the light. 

But even before a funeral date can be arranged, an Admiral stationed on the outskirts of Ba Sing Se writes to the Fire Lord speaking of lightning curving against a Fire Nation raid — a raid stationed barely a stone’s throw away from Azula’s final resting place — and the universe changes again. 

Zuko knows this much: true lightningbenders are indescribably rare, so really, there’s only one explanation. 

What he doesn’t know is if this is worse or not. 

.

.

.

He’s called to a war cabinet—his first in some months. The air in the Palace has changed once again—there are still some that mourn, but most of the grief has been overtaken by confusion. Azula has always seemed too large to die, but to attack a fellow Fire Nation squadron? No one knows what to believe, Zuko included. Ty Lee is silent on the matter, too. He has not gotten to speak to her, and if what the rumors say is true, she hasn’t spoken to anyone since. 

The war meeting is hot, hardly-tucked flames blistering in closed fists and the sweltering fire of Father’s throne bears down on them all. 

“So. The Princess has betrayed us,” the Fire Lord begins, and Zuko feels the world shift. 

His blood surges. “What do you mean?” His voice comes out in a weak croak, but Father is too angry already to think to scold him. He knows what he means already, anyway. Ty Lee, he thinks, because he knows how his father works; knows he likes to make examples of people—knows that painfully well.

“Lightning, Crown Prince,” some General clarifies rather condescendingly. He’s sitting across the way and Zuko doesn’t spare him a single glance, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the angry lines criss-crossing his father’s face. “A lightningbender attacked our forces,” the General goes on, “surely you don’t think it could be anyone else..?” 

Azula may be dead. Even if she’s not, she may have just signed her death warrant. Even if she hasn’t, Ty Lee is in immediate danger. 

“It can't be true,” Zuko argues, head spinning. “It can’t be. Azula is your most loyal soldier—she would never dream of betraying you. It must be a lie, or some miscommunication.” He’s telling the truth—he has to be, he is. Azula would never dream of betraying them. They’d joked about this before—if anyone would be the betrayer… it’d be him. Everyone knows that. 

No one speaks. Father studies him for a long time. “Your judgement has not failed me,” he says slowly. “Yet. If you are wrong about this, Zuko…”

But it's an empty threat, Zuko realizes abruptly. Even if he's wrong — and he's sure he's not — then Ozai wouldn't be able to do anything to him, because he'd be the only Royal Heir left. Father is brash, yes, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't get rid of both his heirs in one swoop. Zuko’s completely free.

He's never had this much power before. He doesn’t know how to use it, but he does know what he has to do first: protect Ty Lee. 

Pushing down all traces of fear and presenting himself confidently, Zuko puts forward that Ty Lee be guarded around the clock by Imperial firebenders for now; for her own protection, yes, but also to keep her somewhere they can watch her until she’s ready to speak again. “Clearly she is not involved with whatever is happening on the outside,” Zuko argues when a councilman raises an objection, “but she may be instrumental in providing information later, if we keep her safe for now.”

“You may be right,” Father acquiesces with a serene tilt of his head. “Send someone to set her up in a room near your own, Zuko. You are in charge of her now, effective immediately.” 

That works. Zuko bows low when he leaves the room; tries not to let on how much he’s sweating. He’d done it. Ty Lee’s safe for now, at least, and he’d done the best he could do. 

Now he has more time. 

.

.

.

As much as Zuko had argued for Azula’s innocence, he still doesn’t get her. 

“What is she thinking?” he mumbles later that night, nose pressed deep into the shoulder of Mai’s robes. “I can't understand what she’s thinking at all. I thought I could, but…”

It's been too long, he doesn't say. Mai snorts, as if she hears it anyway. 

“Don't be silly,” she says, but her voice is not unkind. “No one can understand her, not even herself. Azula is doing what she always does, and it's what she thinks is best. Only Szeto himself knows what that is. Knowing her,” she goes on, “she’s just biding her time. She’s probably already got the Avatar in chains already, if he’s not dead already. It’s just taking some time to get back to the Fire Nation.” 

The sureness in her voice soothes him; slowly, focusing on the pass of Mai’s fingers on his back. He breathes deeply (one, two, three..) and slowly begins to calm. “You’re right,” he says, once he’s able. “She’s smarter than all of us. You’re right.”

“I am,” she replies quietly, resting her head gently against his. Yet—despite her apparent sureness, he hears the undercurrent of her voice—she’s confused, too.

He doesn’t call her on it. 

.

.

.

Ty Lee — having now been moved to a new area just downwind of Zuko’s own room, for her protection — still doesn’t say a word. She scarcely leaves her room to the point where her meals are delivered, and stares right through him whenever he tries to visit. Her expression is scarily blank, even when Mai tries as well, and they don’t know what to do. 

She just seems… broken. Whether it was the assumption of Azula being dead or her potential betrayal, no one knows. 

Zuko needs to know. 

.

.

.

“Hi!” says the Avatar, all bright eyes and a wide grin and in Zuko’s room. “You're Prince Zuko, right?”

“Um,” says Zuko. 

The Avatar is in his room. He’s not sure how to handle this information—wasn’t the Avatar supposed to be dead? Zuko’s firebending has improved drastically, sure, but he’s not nearly good enough to fight the Avatar and clearly he can’t call for help because then he’d be dead for sure, and—

“Whoa,” says the Avatar. He holds up his hands in a—placating gesture? “You're really freaking out, huh. I'm not that scary.” 

He’s wearing a guard’s armor, which explains how he’s been able to make his way into the Palace, but having pulled the helmet off, he’s made his identity abundantly clear. The airbenders are all dead, but their tattoos are something Zuko’s always been curious about. He knows, logically, that the Avatar is not actually over one-hundred years old. At least, not in maturity. But they’d assumed he’d be for so long… the fear is hard to forget. Nevertheless, he plants his feet more squarely. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks; tries to sound like a Crown Prince. Strong and steady. 

“Azula sent me!” The Avatar beams. “I’m here to bring you to her.”

…What?

.

.

.

Zuko stares. 

“Hello, brother.” Does she sound unsettled? What have these people done to her, he wonders. There are other people around, too—two from the Water Tribe (southern, by the look of them), a tiny earthbender with a frightening grin on her face and another girl with a past Avatar’s robes and a familiar gleam to her eyes. How long has Azula been with them?

Not to mention the present Avatar. He supposes anyone would change, after knowing the Avatar.

The question is: how much?

He steps close to her and asks in a whisper, “What’s happening?” What do you want with me? he adds silently. Why haven’t you brought him to Father? What are you plotting, and what part am I playing?

She tilts her head and darts her gaze towards the earthbender, who is staring at him with wide, dull-gray eyes. Ah. 

“I have much to tell you, Zuzu,” Azula says, and it's not a tone he's ever heard from her before. He can’t tell how much is for show or not. He feels off, here, in these hidden tunnels underneath the Palace. He hadn’t even known they existed, how had she? 

Only Azla would be brazen enough to bring the Avatar into the Palace without actually arresting him. Yet? Zuko doesn’t know. 

“Your letter,” he says, because he doesn't know how else to start. “You said to remember what you always do. You meant your death, because I would say you always lie. You were letting me know not to worry so much.”

Azula narrows her eyes at him, and oh, she's still the same. The same but not, and he thinks he’s a little happy for her. “Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t anything so stupid as to throw me a funeral,” she says dismissively. 

He hasn't seen her in well over a year, but even he knows that's not the full truth (Azula always lies). He wonders if she’s missed him. 

(He’s missed her.)

Zuko realizes, abruptly, that he wants to hug her. So he does. 

He steps forward slowly, allowing her to understand and watch his every movement. Then he raises his arms and wraps them around her shoulders. He gives her every second to pull away, and he wouldn't be hurt if she did.

Azula… doesn't. She also doesn't embrace him in return, but her head sags forward, rests against the shoulder of his robe. She must be exhausted. It's the most awkward embrace he's ever been a part of (not that he's been a part of many), but it's worth it, he thinks. He wonders if this is their first hug in a decade. It must be.

“Man, Ty Lee wasn’t kidding,” says one of the waterbenders standing off to the side, unable to fully suppress his chuckles. “You guys are weird.”

A few hours later, Azula and Zuko finally manage to get out of earshot of everyone — even the apparently-blind earthbender — and she tells him her plan. She tells him of an agreement made with Father—that she would be back with the Avatar before six months had passed, and how she had not been able to uphold that promise. 

“I cannot just simply return now,” she says, and he… agrees, somewhat. An agreement with Father must almost always be upheld. Although a part of his mind still wonders if Father would care—she is still the favorite. 

Officially, the plan is for Azula to wait until the eclipse, where she’ll turn on the Avatar and his friends with the help of Ty Lee and beat them into submission before presenting them to Father. “The day of the eclipse,” she says gleefully, her own blue flames illuminating her face and turning her eyes a sickly shade of green. “Beating them then will bring me honor like no other, but it has to be then.” 

Zuko… wonders. 

He wonders if she may not be telling him the full truth, wonders if Father wouldn’t just accept her now nonetheless. But he doesn’t ask, and nor does he ask about the firebenders in the Earth Kingdom who had been attacked by lightning. 

There’s time, you see, before the eclipse. He has two months to figure it out. 

.

.

.

Ty Lee must have been coached by Azula—or she’s just generally much more terrifying than Zuko had assumed. She’d known, apparently, known the entire time and had managed to fool the entirety of the Fire Nation, the Fire Lord, and the Crown Prince all in one go. Mai is offended when she’s told, but Zuko thinks she’s half impressed, too. Neither of them could have expected that of the silly gymnastic girl they’d known for years. 

But Ty Lee doesn’t know everything. Zuko asks her what her role in the plan is going to be and all she gives him in response is a shrug and a lilting, “Azula’s thought of everything, don’t worry!”

Don’t worry. Has she met him?

Zuko is allowed, once a week, to join Avatar and his group down below. They’ve taken up camp in the Fire Lord’s chamber with all the audacity in the world, and he can’t help but admire that. 

Azula’s companions — friends, even, because that's truly what they seem to be for better or worse — are almost disgustingly wonderful to her. Even the intelligent ones watch her with affection; to compare, they regard Zuko with distrust, but they still tolerate his presence. The earthbender — Toph — seems particularly fond of Azula; Zuko observes her on more than one occasion attempting to catch Azula off-guard by bending the earth directly underneath her boots, but he never senses malice in her actions—just curiosity, the want to understand. 

It’s… weird. 

He's terrified for her. 

He's terrified because she's stalling and he knows she is; hesitating like she's never hesitated before. The war rages on and Father demands the Avatar in his dungeon, brought to him by his daughter’s hand—the same daughter who is stalling. 

Zuko’s terrified for her because he doesn't know what she's seen, out in the not-Fire-Nation. He imagines there's not much to see in a world ravaged by war, but he wouldn't know, and she would. He's also terrified because he still has half a mind to go and report her to Father, report her stalling, and she knows it. Never before has he held so much power over her.

(Thing is, without the war, maybe Father will be kinder. Maybe if the Avatar is killed and the Earth Kingdom falls and Father finally gets what he wants, he’ll be like a real father again. 

Maybe if Azula is the troublesome one, then…. maybe then Father will finally love Zuko.)

He doesn't know what to do. 

.

.

.

Mai and Ty Lee corner him before he can make a decision. 

They find him in his chamber one night, and he doesn’t know how they know what he’s been thinking, but all he needs is one look at their faces and he realizes he's been figured out. He begins to say, “Mai—”

Then Ty Lee slams him against the wall, and Mai doesn’t lift a finger to stop her. Her face is deep and serene, but Ty Lee’s is screwed up with genuine anger. 

“You are such an idiot!” Ty Lee shrieks, right in his face. “How could you be thinking of betraying Azula like this? And—he gets the anger, he does. He knows he’s horrible for even considering choosing Father over Azula in this case. But they don’t understand—this could be his only chance to ever be the son Father wants him to be. 

So he snaps back. “It’s not like she cares about me! Why should I care about her? Give me one good reason!” 

Ty Lee’s face turns a sickening shade of red as she goes to shove him again. Mai has still not moved, but her face goes tight at Ty Lee’s next words. 

“She’s the reason you’re even here, you absolute moron!” 

Zuko… pauses. Then he says, with all the disbelief he deserves, “What in Agni’s name are you talking about?”

Mai says, "Ty Lee,” like it’s a warning, but Ty Lee’s beyond warnings. She shoves one finger into his chest, hard. 

“You were going to be banished after the Agni Kai that happened three years ago,” she tells him. “Your father burnt you and he was going to banish you, too, but Azula talked to him and managed to convince him to change his mind. For you. Because Mai asked her to try.”

He can’t reply. He can’t even breathe, even though she’s since lifted her finger. 

“I didn’t want her to do it,” Ty Lee goes on. He’s never seen her this quiet before; he doesn’t even know if he’s ever seen her without a smile on her face, but she isn’t smiling now. “All I did was deliver the message, and I did that because I liked you, and because I would die for Mai. But I didn’t want her to go through with it.”

“I don’t regret asking her,” Mai speaks up, meeting Zuko’s eyes with a steady gaze. “But I do wish things could’ve gone differently.”

Ty Lee shoots Mai a look that’s shaped like an old injury. They still don't agree on this, Zuko realizes with dawning horror. If it were up to Ty Lee, he'd be long banished. But Mai loves him, and so Azula spared him. He's never felt more unworthy of that love than he does now. No wonder Mai feels so indebted to his sister, no wonder she never snapped or left the room even when Azula was being cruel. She owes her for his life. 

“But—she hated me,” he says, grasping at straws, still unable to make the scenario fit in his head. “She would have killed you for that. It’d ruin her reputation forever, in Father’s eyes and her own.”

Mai raises one eyebrow. “Maybe not killed,” she says, “but there was… anger.” She holds up her left hand, bares the top of her wrist to him. There's a scar there; one he's always just assumed came from a regular training-knife. “This was from her, that night.” 

“She’s been getting punished for your screw-ups, you know,” Ty Lee says. “That was the deal she made. You got to stay in the Fire Nation and she had to keep both of you in line, not to mention giving up on her dreams of ever being crowned Fire Lord, a dream that had been in her grasp at the time.”

His stomach heaves. In the years after the Agni Kai, he’d hoped Father was being kinder with his punishments because he regretted giving Zuko his scar. This is so much worse, he thinks. He wishes Father had just kept punishing him instead. He’s never owed Azula in his life, except, apparently, he’s owed her almost half his entire life. Father had pretended to the both of them that he had a favorite child, and Zuko had been stupid enough to fall for it. 

“Ty Lee,” warns Mai, a little sterner than before. 

“No,” says Zuko. “I should know this. I have to know how much I owe her.”

His entire life at the Palace, he realizes, feeling somewhat sick. His life and his honor and his home and his fiancée and his strategic skills and, hell, his firebending, too. Everything that he gained or kept in those years after the Agni Kai. He owes her everything.

How many times? He doesn’t want to know; he needs to know. How many times was she punished because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut? How many times did Father exact his anger on her because of Zuko’s own inefficiencies? How many times was he stupid enough to think he got away with something—to think Father was being kinder to him, when he was really punishing Azula in his stead?

How does she not despise him? 

“She’s so scared, Zuko,” Ty Lee says, but she doesn't sound angry anymore. She no longer aims to hurt; just speaks the truth. “ So scared, all of the time. Her aura is naturally blue, but it’s been white practically nonstop for three years. Although that has gotten—better. Recently.” 

He'd wondered, once, if Azula stiffens the same way he does when Father enters the room. He'd been so stupid.

Just because she's a better liar doesn't mean she doesn't feel pain.

But something still isn’t adding up. “But—the Avatar,” Zuko says, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand that. Did you ask Azula to spare him? Is that why she’s hesitating?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, clearly, because the anger is back; Ty Lee glares at him. “I would never ask her to do something like that,” she huffs, offended by just the thought of it. “Not after she saved you. I know what she went through because of that decision, and I would never put that on her shoulders again.” 

“I'm not sorry,” Mai says, quiet and steady. Zuko loves her so much. 

Ty Lee smiles sadly. “I know. I wouldn’t want you to be.”

.

.

.

None of them have spoken for the last half-hour, but no one has moved, either. Zuko’s shaking has begun to die down, but he still feels vaguely nauseous. His head is in his hands, his vision obscured, but the room is so silent, he hears the first movement. 

Mai asks softly, “How is she?” 

It's quiet; probably not even meant for his ears, but Zuko can hear better than most. He looks up. 

Ty Lee smiles, then, and it reaches her eyes for the first time that night. “She's… better, Mai,” she says, just as softly. “She’s letting me hug her again.”

Mai doesn't respond, but expression softens, and Zuko swallows down the irrational surge of jealousy. There's still a part of him that wants to demand for her to choose between him and his sister, but he knows that the respect and love she has for Azula is not the same that she has for him. Less respect, more love, and vice versa. 

(Also, he's pretty sure Mai would actually kill him if he tried to do that, fiancée or not.)

When he doesn't turn away fast enough, Ty Lee catches Zuko looking, and she adds, a little louder, “She’s away from the Fire Lord, you see. For the first time.”

Oh. 

The jealousy is gone within a second, because that is something Zuko thinks he may understand.

.

.

.

The next day, Father is predisposed, and Zuko eats breakfast alone. Mai shows up halfway through, but not to eat; she places a small stack of scrolls next to his plate and stares. 

The servants have all discreetly slipped out of the room, she must have sent them away. Worried at her silence, Zuko quickly flips through the scrolls and swallows, his appetite gone. The stack is, of course, all the information for the day of the eclipse. The Fire Nation have known about its existence for decades, and they’ve never been a reckless country. There are so many plans, so many secrets. His very world spins on them. 

“Mai,” he says, and anything else catches in his throat. Are we really doing this? he thinks, but it’s not important enough to say aloud. Of course they are. Haven’t they always been, secretly?

“They’re copies,” she replies quietly, studying his face. “No one will know. It’ll mean more if it comes from you,” she adds, right as usual. “If you’re right about what’s happening, that is.”

So she’s worried, too. So is he, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t know Azula as much as he used to that gives him hope. He thinks he’s right, and now that he knows what she’s been doing all these years, he’s willing to bet on it. 

“Okay,” he says, standing up. He tucks the scrolls into the sleeve of his robe, meeting Mai’s eyes and trying to convey everything that refuses to leave his mouth. “Wish me luck?” 

She shakes her head. “If we’re relying on luck, then there’s no point.”

Well. He guesses she has a point. 

When he arrives down in the catacombs not ten minutes later, Azula is sitting next to a crackling fire, ordering the Avatar around with her chin resting in her palm. She looks… odd. Relaxed, almost, as much as she can be, at least. The Avatar beams when he sees Zuko, having likely been forty katas in and using his sudden appearance as a reason to take a break. 

“Hey, sparky!” says the earthbender, who seems to have an irritating compulsion to give everyone a nickname. Zuko tries not to be offended by the one she’s given him (nothing can be worse than Azula’s anyways, which is firefly), but he can’t help it. He can produce more than sparks… 

Clutching the strap of the bag in his hand, Zuko doesn’t know what to say. His mouth is dry; his palms sweating. Azula raises an eyebrow when he remains silent. 

“Has something happened?” she asks. Beside her, Katara looks suspicious. Which. Fair. 

One, two, three, four. “No,” Zuko says. “I’ve just—brought some stuff I thought you’d like.” He reaches into the pack he’d slung over his shoulder and pulls out the stack of papers Mai had gathered for him in the morning. He hands it to Azula, saying, “Guard rotations for the day of the eclipse, among other information.”

From across the campfire, Aang is still grinning at him. Katara narrows her eyes, leaning over Azula’s shoulder to read through as well. Azula doesn’t look at him, and Zuko sweats. 

This is by far the most dangerous thing he’s ever done since he spoke up at that war council three years ago. This is a test of Zuko and this is a test of Azula and how well they know each other and how different they’ve both become. This is a test of everything, and they both know it. Zuko holds his breath as Azula inspects the documents—until he has to breathe because she’s still looking and he’s about to pass out. Eventually, decades later, maybe, she hands the scrolls over to Sokka, finally looking back up to meet Zuko’s eyes. 

It feels like she stares at him for another entire year. Like she looks through him, even, past his scar and peeling apart his organs just to satisfy her own curiosity. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Toph, breaking the silence. 

Azula says, after another moment, “Nothing. It seems my brother has defected to our cause.”

He knows in an instant his gamble has paid off; she was never planning on delivering Aang to Father. Not since before they reunited, at least. He doesn’t blame her for staying silent, though. Sheer relief. Zuko cracks a wide grin, unable to hide the full extent of his cheerfulness. The fear will come later. 

“And here I thought it'd be me to be the treasonous child,” he says, reveling in the irritation that flashes across her face. She opens her mouth to respond—

“Oh, please don’t get her started on the ‘treason’ thing,” Sokka groans. “We’ve heard the spiel so many times I could probably reenact it by memory.” 

Azula curls her lip at him. “Technically,” she begins, and Zuko is fascinated at the way only one word causes everyone else around the fire to groan, too. “It’s not treason, because that would imply that we are acting against the best wishes of the Fire Nation. We’re not. The current Fire Lord is.” 

“Only you would be able to rationalize a forceful abdication,” Zuko says, unable to resist the tease. “Or—legalize it, I guess.”

“Trust me, it was a trip to get there,” Katara snarks, shooting Azula a playful look. “Months and months of practice.”

Azula glares back at her. “I wouldn’t say months,” she snaps; Katara rolls her eyes (is there a tinge of warmth, though? Zuko’s not sure, but he thinks so), and they both leave it at that. 

“Okay,” Zuko says, a little louder than he means to. Excitement is beginning to pool in his veins. There’s fear, yes, but pride, too, and exhilaration stemming from the mere concept of fighting back. “What’s the plan, and how can I help?” 

“By staying out of it entirely,” Azula says. 

.

.

.

“Look, Zuko—”

“No, you look,” Zuko growls, already over the conversation. They’ve relocated to another nearby tunnel to continue their argument—Toph can probably still hear them, but he really doesn’t care. “I want to help, don’t you understand? I’m going to be the next Fire Lord. If I’m not able to help in the coup against the current one, no one’s going to support me.” 

Azula scowls. “Maybe that’s my plan,” she snarks, raising her shoulders in a droll, uncaring shrug. “Maybe I don’t want anyone supporting you. Ever think of that?” 

Maybe he would’ve treaded that idea with more caution, months ago. Maybe even weeks. But now he looks at her and knows she’s simply putting on a show, twisting the knife in an attempt to get him so riled up that he can’t actually argue with her. But she’s not serious, he’s sure of it. 

So he stands his ground. “Listen. I have to be there if you win, and I want to be there even if you lose.” He grasps for something that would convince her. “I can help.” 

Azula leans back. Crosses her arms. Surveys him up and down with piercingly-gold eyes, then says, simply, “You’re too important.” 

Zuko hadn’t expected that. “What?” 

She snorts. “You staying out of is smart precisely because you’re such a key player in all this, don’t you get it? If we do lose, you live to tell the tale and make your move to assassinate Father later down the road. It’s an intelligent play.”

…No. 

“I will not let you be punished for me,” Zuko says fiercely. “Never again.”

Azula… pauses. A frown curls across her face, deeper and darker than anything before. It’s gone with a flash, but he’s sure it was real. “Who told you?”

He tells her the truth. “Ty Lee.”

“Of course. You were never supposed to find out,” she says flippantly. “Ty Lee knew that.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, shaking his head. “You’ve never shied away from telling me the worst in the past. But you kept this a secret. Why? I could’ve—”

She cuts him off. “You could’ve what? Stopped being so much of an idiot? You and I both know that had you known, you would’ve just acted even more strange and gotten me in even more trouble. Not telling you was the smarter move. Look at you now.” She gestures to him vaguely, disapproval glinting in her gaze. “You don’t even understand why you can’t be part of the attack.”

“I understand plenty,” he snaps. “You’re not understanding that there’s literally nothing you can do to stop me.” 

That gives her pause. Azula wrinkles her nose, studies him again for a long moment. Finally, with a short sigh, she gives in, something like grudging respect shifting through her sharp features. He tries not to let her know he’s noticed. 

“Fine,” she hisses. “As long as you agree to let me take the lead.” 

He doesn’t want the lead. “Deal.”   

She gives him a sharp nod, letting any lingering annoyance pass through her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Alright, then. Come and hear the plan.” 

.

.

.

The plan is almost disturbingly simple. The Eclipse, of course, is the time. Zuko’d known that even before he was told, because it’s the only time. The Eclipse is their only chance. If they fail there, the Comet comes too soon for another try. Everything rides on the fact that the firebenders can’t actually firebend. He’d be offended if he didn’t agree entirely. 

The moving parts, of course, are a little more complicated. 

There’s going to be a complete invasion; one that employs Water Tribe members and Earth Kingdom refugees, as well. Add in the Avatar, and it’s going to be the Fire Nation versus the entire world. Zuko supposes they deserve that. 

He’s going to still be in the Palace when the attack begins. Azula will meet him in the courtroom with the Avatar in tow, and the three of them will go below to face Ozai. The rest of the group will focus on the Fire Nation army above and try to take the capitol by force. With no firebenders, Zuko’s fairly certain they’ll be able to take it. 

The days before the Eclipse pass quickly. Ty Lee disappears from the Palace and Father is too preoccupied to even notice. Zuko sees him less and less every day, and he’s glad, because the knowing burns a hole in his chest every time he even makes eye contact with the Fire Lord. Mai, too, delves into secrecy; he doesn’t know how, but she manages to get her family to give up their claim on Omashu and flee to an island that they own instead. “For my brother’s safety,” she says when Zuko asks. 

During the Eclipse, the man is that Mai’s going to join Zuko, Azula, and Aang into the tunnels, but she’ll stay back to guard the chamber’s door as they all go inside to take down Ozai. Zuko had tried to get her to stay out of it, but it was a losing battle. She was steadfast in her decision, and he has to respect that.

“Are you ready?” Azula asks him, the night before. He’s about to leave, and he won’t see her until later the next day—when the sun has completely vanished. 

Zuko studies her. She’s standing tall, not a trace of weakness to be found (not that he expected there to be). “No,” he finally admits. “How about you?”

She gives him a shockingly wide grin. “Oh, Zuko,” she croons. “I’ve been ready for years.” 

.

.

.

“I believe, Father,” Azula says, slow and drawling, “that you may have miscalculated.” 

Zuko had, admittedly, thought the entire plan was a bust when Azula was the only one to meet him and Mai in the catacombs with no Avatar in sight. Apparently, though, in a last-minute addendum last night, Aang had been outvoted by the rest of the group and was now instead assisting with Toph’s earthbending attacks. Truthfully, Zuko’s glad about that. He hadn’t liked the idea of letting a twelve year-old try to defeat the Fire Lord. Plus, it feels more like his responsibility. He owes it to his Nation. 

Leaving Mai outside to guard the main corridor, they’ve burst into his safe-room easily; most guards were stupid enough (or, perhaps, scared enough of Azula) to take their word at face value and tell them the way, and the ones that weren’t were dealt with easily. Zuko’s nearly ashamed; clearly, the Royal Army needs better non-firebending training. If they win this, he’ll get right on that. Or Azula will, more likely. 

He’s never seen her like this. She’s always been slow and calculated, never like this, never grinning and wild-eyed, nearly feral. He’d be worried if he doesn’t understand where she’s coming from; he feels the same energy bubbling under his own skin, his fists. Maybe they’ve always been the same. The Eclipse is high overhead. He can feel the weakness in his bones, the spark in his chest that’s been smothered down to embers. He wonders how it feels for her, for Father. If it’s the same, or, maybe, slightly stronger than his own. Probably the latter. 

Fire Lord Ozai is standing across the room from them, watching the way they move with a scrutiny that makes Zuko want to shiver and hide. He tilts his head, resting his gaze on Azula. “You’ve returned to me, then,” he says. 

Azula’s grin grows wider. “I’ve returned,” she says. “But not for you.”

His eyes sharpen. “Zuko,” he rumbles, and Zuko tries not to tremble. “Why have you brought her to me?”

Zuko takes a deep breath. “To ensure the safety and prosperity of the Fire Nation,” he replies. He hopes the response hadn’t sounded too scripted—he has a feeling it had. “I’m sorry, Father.” He isn’t. “I no longer believe that your ideas on how this country is run are correct. Certainly not honorable.” 

Father snorts. “So, what, then? You’ve come to take me out of the equation? And here I was thinking you’ve gotten smarter over the years, Zuko.” His eyes flick towards Azula, then, and somehow, his sneer manages to deepen. “As for you, I’m hardly even disappointed. You’ve shown your true weakness over the years.” 

Her smile doesn’t falter, and a listless shrug falls off her shoulders, as if Ozai’s insults were nothing but a weak wind. “I’m done believing you. You never should have lived long enough to be Fire Lord, Father.” 

Father’s scowl deepens. “Clearly,” he growls, “I’ve been too lenient on both of you.” 

Taking a more defensive stance, Azula raises an eyebrow. “Well, here’s your chance to rectify that.” 

Zuko watches on, clutching his sword in his hands so tightly that his fingers go numb. He’s tense, ready to move if he needs to, but he doesn’t think that will have to happen. 

Ever since he insisted on joining the attacking force, he’s known that it won’t be him to kill Ozai. He thinks he could do it if he has to—if he’s capable of killing anyone at all, it’d be him, but he also knows that Azula’s been counting on doing it herself for longer than he thinks, probably. She draws her blade, and that, Zuko thinks, is when Father finally understands the entire gravity of his situation.  

So Zuko stands and watches them fight. It’s hardly a fight at all—Azula’s been practicing, he thinks, because he’s always been the swordfighter between the two of them, but she wields her gleaming rapier like it’s an extension of herself. Ozai isn’t defenseless without his fire, but he’s always been overconfident. Rightfully so, usually. 

Not this time. 

Azula slits his throat three minutes in. Without a word she leaps away from his following blow, watches him sink down on his knees in total silence. Zuko stands beside her, and together, they watch him bleed out on the stone floor. It’s almost eerily anticlimactic. 

“You will amount to nothing without me,” Father growls, clutching his neck. He attempts to say something else, but nothing but gurgles leave his mouth. 

It doesn’t matter. Zuko shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says, feeling Azula’s gaze on him, “I’ll take that bet.” 

A snort comes from the direction of his sister, but he doesn’t look away from the dying figure of the man that had tormented his entire life. He looks so… small, right now, gasping for air, fingers twitching, eyes wild. He doesn’t look frightening at all. Zuko thinks, maybe, that this was always how it was going to end. His scar itches. 

Ozai succumbs to his wounds not a minute later; his body goes limp and deathly still, and his final choked gasp imprints itself in Zuko’s head. He’s going to hear that for the rest of his life. Better, though, than his own scream from the Agni Kai. 

“Well,” Azula says, getting Zuko’s attention. She takes the already-red fabric of her cloak and begins to clean her blade with it. “That was awfully boring, wasn’t it?” 

.

.

.

The Eclipse lasts for eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds. The coup of the Fire Nation lasts for seven. 

After all is said and done, Zuko wears the crown of the Fire Lord. Azula stands at his right hand as his Royal Advisor, and Mai resides leisurely in a throne of her own on his left. They’ll be married in a fortnight. 

Not everything is perfect. The Fire Nation is in a bit of a disarray, and he’s sure that there’ll be several assassination attempts in the next few months; the war is not something the world will be able to recover from easily, and many fear the the Fire Nation—rightfully so. He has so many things he needs to fix. But he thinks he can do it. Especially since the Avatar is on his side, actively supporting his rule, and there are significant Water Tribe and Earth Kingdom politicians who fought alongside him as well. Iroh has completely disappeared, but he’s bound to show up again at some point. They have a lot to talk about. 

Zuko thinks that, maybe, the world can be fixed. And Azula will be at his side. 

He smiles. 

fin