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Azula might be young, but she knew a lot of things.
She knew that Fire Lord Azulon disliked her father, she knew Zuko was punished no matter what he did.
So it was only natural she knew what happened behind closed doors. Servants talked, and so did the walls, and Azula kept an ear out for any information. It had been one of the first things Father had taught her.
“Always be aware of your surroundings, valuable information can be found anywhere.”
Some might call her a gossip, or a nosy kid who did not know how to stay away from things that were none of her business.
The scent of her mother’s burning flesh disagreed.
Azula stood quietly outside the door to her Father’s study. It was slightly ajar, and gave her a perfect view of Ursa convulsing in pain. She wondered how it escalated to this point, but she knew that it did not take a lot to anger Father.
“Next time you want to say something—” Father hissed venomously, “—you wait outside like the obedient bitch you are, and speak respectfully.”
Ursa nodded her head, her face neutral despite the twitching of her body. Azula wondered how painful it was. Father let go of her, and Ursa cradled her wrist to her chest, breathing heavily.
Azula watched as Father waved his hand dismissively. She left for her room.
Later, Ursa took both her and Zuko to the turtleduck pond, and Azula looked for any signs that Ursa had suffered, that she was in pain.
Nothing. Except for the slight wince anytime her clothes brushed against the burn. She protected her hand, not applying any pressure to it or even moving it. She was a good actress.
Zuko remained as cheerfully oblivious as he always was, chattering excitedly about whatever his tutors had taught him. Azula stayed quiet. She wondered how long this had been going on. Since the start of the marriage? Since Zuko’s birth? She would never know.
(She didn’t want to.)
***
The second time had been purely by accident. She’d been walking to her room, and as she walked past her parents’ chambers, she heard shouting. Curious, she pressed her ear to the door.
“You can’t be serious—just a boy!”
“Don’t tell me what I can—you wretched woman.”
“What is wrong—you? Can’t you see—damaging them?”
A loud slap. Azula flinched. Ursa’s trembling gasps could be heard through the door, and Azula listened intently.
“It is not your place to instruct me, Ursa. It will do you good to remember that.” Father’s voice was cold, and Azula shivered.
“I will protect my children, always. I don’t care if your fragile ego-”
Ursa broke off with a cry. Azula did not know what was happening, but Ursa was crying and whimpering, and Ozai continued in his icy tone, spitting insult after insult.
Azula did not realise she was trembling until she lay in her bed, mind racing with thoughts.
(Azula had been terrified as listened to her mother’s pained cries, even if she hated the woman.)
Ursa came to Azula’s room, eyes red and puffy. “Hey ‘Zula, would you like me to braid your hair?”
Ursa looked frail and desperate, and Azula caved. She could tell Ursa needed something to ground her.
Azula did not comment on how Ursa’s hands shook as she brushed through her hair. She did not mention the small gasps of pain every time she twisted her wrist a little too far, or the new burn mark that could be seen in the mirror whenever her sleeves rode up.
Azula hated her mother, but maybe, just maybe, she could try to help.
.
That evening Ursa took the two of them to the garden. “Let’s look at the flowers, hm? Many new ones bloomed this season!”
Zuko excitedly skipped ahead, and Azula hated him a little for being so carefree. Did he really not know what was happening? He adored Ursa, surely he knew something was wrong?
She cornered him afterwards. “Dum-dum, did you notice anything strange about mother?”
Not the most tactful way she could have questioned him.
(But she was seven, her mom was suffering, and somehow no one did anything about it.)
Something flashed across Zuko’s eyes, but Azula couldn't grasp it. “What are you talking about?” He asked, confused. “She’s been the same as always.”
The look in his eyes had bothered her for days, and not only because it had suddenly made him seem much older and tired than he actually was. She had a feeling he knew, but his confusion had seemed genuine. She hated him a little more.
***
Once again, Azula found herself eavesdropping on her parents’ argument. Zuko was away for the weekend to train with Master Piandao, and Azula spied from behind a pillar as they screamed at each other.
They were in the garden, in public eye, which explained why Father seemed to refrain from being violent.
“What in Agni’s name is the matter with you? The boy is nine! Nine! He is far too young for war training. He’s still practising his swords. What on earth makes you think he’s ready?” Ursa shouted.
“The swords have to stop. He is wasting his time when he could be improving his atrocious bending. He’s a royal, and we are above such peasant things like weapons.” Father sneered.
Ursa shook her head. “His bending has improved tremendously, you just can’t see past your hatred for your son and bias towards your daughter! And if his bending is atrocious like you say it is, it would do him good to have a weapon he can fall back on if his bending fails!”
Father scoffed. “You are reiterating my point. His bending should be leagues better than it is, especially considering he’s the first-born. Look at Azula-”
“You’ve ruined her!” Ursa screamed.
The servants walking by stopped and stared, yet they did not interfere.
(Azula cursed them in her head someone should save her mother-)
(Azula wondered what Ursa meant by that. Azula was the perfect princess, a skilled prodigy. How was she ruined?)
Father’s eyes sharpened. “Ursa,” he said quietly, and Azula’s stomach sank. She knew that tone. He’d used it on Zuko too many times to count, when Zuko had really angered him and he was doomed.
Ursa’s eyes widened. She seemed to know what the tone entailed, too.
He stepped closer to her, and Ursa flinched. He whispered something that Azula could not hear, but Ursa paled drastically and stepped away. Father smiled cruelly.
“Am I understood?” He crooned, dripping with honeyed poison. Ursa nodded, turning her head away as Father leaned towards her ear.
“Good girl,” he whispered, loud enough to be audible, then walked away.
Azula watched Ursa clench her fists and fall to the ground. A choked sob rang out in the quiet, and Azula winced. She’d never seen her mother cry, and it was worse than just hearing it.
Ursa put a fist to her mouth to muffle her sobs, even as her whole body shook with the force of her cries. Azula was torn between walking away and approaching her, and her indecision annoyed her.
Azula walked towards Ursa. Ursa looked up in horror at her and quickly wiped her tears. “Azula, honey, what are you doing here-”
(Suddenly, her fear of Azula made a lot more sense. She was her father’s daughter after all.)
“Mother, I know.”
Four syllables. So small, yet so impactful. Ursa’s eyes widened, and Azula sat down next to her. Ursa inhaled shakily. “I’m so sorry, my beautiful girl,” she said, tears falling again. Her hands reached out to Azula, stopped, and fell back. Her mother radiated despair and helplessness. Azula’s throat closed up and she looked away, clearing her throat.
“How long?” She asked, desperate to know but terrified of the answer.
Ursa smiled without any warmth. Azula shivered. “Since our wedding night.”
Azula flinched next to her. “Why don’t you leave?” She asked, voicing the question she’d been asking herself since the first time.
Ursa laughed bitterly. “I have no choice.”
Azula scoffed. “That’s ridiculous, of course you have a choice-”
“Azula, please. You’re too young, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Ursa looked at her, and for the first time, Azula felt seen by her. Her eyes burned.
Her mother took a trembling breath. She closed her eyes. “Your father has too much influence, not only over me, but my family, too. Besides, he’s terrifying. He could hurt you two, he could hurt me, he could hurt my family.” She smiled shakily. “At least this way, it’s only me.”
(Years later, she was proven wrong. All Azula could do at the time was remember her mother’s words with scorn.)
Azula sighed. Hesitantly, she said, “I like it when you comb my hair.”
Ursa looked at her and smiled, a small genuine thing. But it made Azula feel a little better. That she could do something to help. Ursa hugged her then, warm and tight.
(Azula had forgotten what it was like.)
Two things solidified in Azula’s mind after that.
Fear is stronger than love. More reliable, and more efficient. Father’s words made perfect sense, and something cracked inside Azula that day.
She hated her mother, for being a coward, for favouring Zuko, for neglecting Azula. She hated her mother, but she would always try to help. If Azula let her mother style her hair more often than the hairdressers, that was between the two of them.
(When Ursa left, Azula had felt relieved that Ursa was finally free from years of abuse. Yet, her resentment overpowered it, and she went right back to sleep with complicated emotions and racing thoughts. She still did not know if Zuko knew everything, though she had a sneaking suspicion he did.)
Azula knew a lot of things. She knew her father was cruel, she knew Zuko was too stupid for his own good, and she knew the suffering her mother had endured.
Walls talked after all, and Azula was nothing if not a good listener.