Archive of Our Own ^beta

Unfortunately, Azula’s first memory is Zuko.

The details are hazy. She is two, maybe three years old. Holding something. He quickly snatches it from her hands. Pushes her forcefully into a bow, head to the floor.

Then Father is there. He grabs the object Zuko took from her. Raises his voice. Smacks Zuko. Leaves. Zuko cries.

It’s a rather dull first memory. Not even about her.

Her second memory is much better.

She is almost four, watching Zuko’s lessons. She’s figured out how to firebend for a few weeks now, but hasn’t told anyone. Instead, she is watching. Waiting.

Zuko runs through the same kata he’s been trying for days. The same steps, same motions. Azula can see acutely where he falters. Can see Father’s eyes narrow, his mouth mangle in distaste.

She hops to her feet and strides onto the field, beside Zuko. Father barks her name, but she ignores him.

“Like this, Zuzu,” she says, and performs the motions, but turns her foot where Zuko keeps it planted.

Fire bursts from her hand, a perfect blast.

When the light dissipates, Father is smiling. Father has never smiled before. A thrill rushes through her.

Azula is five the first time she realizes just how stupid her brother is.

Unlike Zuko, she has never been struck by Father. It’s actually quite simple. If you make Father happy, he won’t be angry enough to hurt you.

Zuko, for some reason, still hasn’t figured that out. And he’s had two years on Azula to get there first.

They’re at family breakfast. Zuko drops his fork under the table. He crawls under the tablecloth to get it. Father scowls.

“I’ve mastered my intermediate forms, Father,” Azula says, “I begin advanced training today.”

Father turns his gaze to her, a smile forming.

There’s a thud. The table shakes. Father frowns, and puts a bored hand over his glass. Azula does the same - quick and calm enough that it seems she did it on her own.

Zuko scrambles out from under the table, holding his head where he undoubtedly hit himself.

“But I’m still learning the intermediate forms!” He says desperately. Azula fends off a cringe. She just played the biggest card in her hand to make Father happy, and Zuko is wasting it.

“Zuko,” Father says sharply. Zuko flinches. Azula wants to strangle him; he should know that Father hates displays of fear.

“It’s okay, turtleduck,” Mother says softly, but urgently, “Sit down.”

Azula wants to strangle her too. Father hates-

“What did you just call the boy?” Father asks, voice dripping with venom.

Idiots. Azula thinks fiercely. Shut up.

“It’s nothing, Ozai,” Ursa says placatingly. Azula wants to tackle her and melt her lips closed. “Zuko just-”

“Zuko,” Father cuts her off, “Needs to behave himself at the table. Or else he won’t be allowed to eat at all.”

He stares at Ursa with hatred that could melt steel without fire. Ursa, to her credit, doesn’t buckle and blubber like Zuko would. She nods tersely and returns to her breakfast, only shooting a discreet look of urgency to Zuko.

It’s messy, but passable. Azula would have actually responded with words, and with dignity, but Azula would never let herself draw so much ire in the first place.

Zuko finally, finally takes a hint and starts to return to his seat.

“Azula,” Father turns back to her pleasantly, and the slight tension in her shoulders vanishes. Her card is still in play. “Perhaps I will join-”

SCREECH

Azula snaps her head to the noise. Zuko is frozen in place, halfway through scooching his chair on the marble floor like a fucking dog-monkey.

“Father is speaking,” she practically spits at him.

Zuko’s eyes widen.

“Azula!” Ursa exclaims. Azula whips her head to her, too, fresh vitriol ready on her tongue.

“ENOUGH!” Father’s voice booms, echoing off the high ceiling.

The table shakes, more violently than before. Azula primly covers her glass with her hand. There is a searing flame of rage in her chest, hotter and fiercer than any chi she’s ever had. She had been crafting this moment for a week, and Zuko ruined it with his incompetence.

“Take the boy and get out of my sight,” Father orders Ursa.

She stands and gathers a petrified Zuko, scooping him up gently from the chair. Like she has all the time in the world to-

“Now,” Father growls, and Ursa drops the gentleness, practically dragging him from the room.

“Should I leave as well, Father?” Azula asks.

Father sighs.

“No,” he says tiredly, cutting into a sausage and popping it into his mouth. “Someone should remain to enjoy the morning.”

He puts the cutlery down and dabs at his lips with a napkin, despite the fact that Father has never let a stray crumb or droplet of any kind touch his face since the day he was born.

“I was hoping to watch your lesson today, but it seems like I will be too busy teaching the boy manners.”

Father stands, dropping the napkin atop his half-eaten food.

“Perhaps tomorrow, Azula.”

“Of course, Father.”

When the doors close behind him, she is alone in the massive room. After ten seconds, when she is sure he’s gone, she snatches a piece of toast off Zuko’s plate and coats it in searing flame, burning it to a puck. With a shout of pure, unadulterated rage, she throws it at the wall. It shatters into a shower of burnt gluten and embers.

The hall is silent, and her angry heaves of breath are deafening.

Then she remembers herself. Azula is five years old and a princess, not a tantrum-throwing toddler. With a wave of her hand the debris are smothered, and she shoves away from the table. The chair doesn’t so much as squeak.

“Clean that up,” She snaps at a servant. “Bring a fresh plate to my room.”

At seven years old, in the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, Azula realizes the entire rest of the world is stupid too. Many of them are even worse than Zuko.

People crack absurdly easily. Her title makes them nervous, but even with that accounted for, she’s disgusted how often they make mistakes and how quickly they fold under pressure. Both the students and the tutors.

She meets exactly two marionettes that aren’t tripping all over their strings. And she figures out how to pull them.

The first is a quiet girl with horribly tacky bangs. Azula corners her stealing cutlery from the kitchen late at night. Most people in that position would fall to their knees and beg for mercy.

The quiet girl looks unimpressed. She stares boredly at Azula, like she’s patiently waiting for her to leave the doorway.

“Something to say for yourself?” Azula asks.

“About what?” She says in a monotone.

“The steak knife in your pocket.”

The girl looks boredly at the knife, then back at Azula.

“Not really.”

Azula raises a single eyebrow.

“I could get you kicked out for this.”

“Okay.”

Azula searches her blank stare, calculating.

“I could dishonor your whole family for this.”

“Okay.”

Azula recalculates.

“I could kill you here, and make it look like suicide.”

The girl snorts. “You can just come with me to the bathroom if you want the real thing.”

Ah. Azula finds the strings. She grins.

“Sure. I’m curious how many cuts you can take.”

The answer is 5, before fainting. But Azula dumps “Mai” in the infirmary before she totally bleeds out, and threatens to imprison the doctor’s family if he reports the injury to the school. Can’t have anyone cutting this puppet free.

Her second marionette is a bit trickier.

Ty Lee is very popular on campus. The most popular, in fact, which Azula cannot abide. Girls love Ty Lee to the same degree that they fear Azula, which is dangerous.

So after dark one night, she binds and gags Ty Lee and drags her out the dorm window by her stupid braid. In the center of the Agni Kai court, Azula hooks a perfectly-manicured, razor-sharp nail under Ty Lee’s gag and slices it off.

Mai sits in the stands nearby, watching disinterestedly.

“You’ve been garnering a little too much attention lately, don’t you think?” Azula says, looming over her kneeling form.

Ty Lee, in nothing but short-shorts and a camisole on the cold stone, stares up with big puppy dog eyes. Not even shivering from the cold or fear.

“Oh, no, I hadn’t noticed!” Ty Lee says, and her voice is so genuine that Azula’s almost taken aback. Almost. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. You should be careful. Popular girls often succumb to accidents.”

“Hm. Seems like an odd correlation,” Ty Lee ponders, “But you’re very smart, Azula! You’re probably right. How do I protect myself?”

Azula sees it now. Ty Lee’s strings are the same as everyone else’s; she’s scared. She just knows how to dance without tripping on them. She’s… actually using some of the same tactics Azula does, but with an underlying fear that makes her weak.

Ty Lee is stupid, but not in the way she wants people to think.

“Well, I am a very benevolent princess,” Azula drawls, playing along. “So I’ll help you out. I know a way to protect yourself.”

“Oh, thank you! What is it?”

“It’s simple, really,” Azula says, inspecting her nails. “I’ll just shave your head for you.”

Sure enough, Ty Lee’s eyes flash with fear for the tiniest fraction of a second, but she stamps it out so quickly and thoroughly it’s almost impressive. In its wake, her big watery eyes sparkle with admiration.

“You’ve already done so much by warning me, Azula, you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense. We’re friends after all. Aren’t we, Ty Lee?”

“Of course. Yes. You’re so right as always, Azula,” Ty Lee flashes a brilliant grin.

Azula snaps her fingers and Mai is there, handing over a knife. She’s upgraded from kitchen cutlery; Azula gifted her some combat-grade throwing knives.

Ty Lee holds her breath as Azula pulls her in close by her braid, and without hesitation chops it off. The hair drops unceremoniously to the ground, and Ty Lee flashes a shaky smile.

“I feel safer already!” She lies through her teeth.

Mai scoffs behind them. Azula doesn’t stop, bringing the knife tight against Ty Lee’s scalp and shearing the beautiful brown hair to a buzz.

When she’s done, she tosses the knife carelessly over her shoulder, and Mai snatches it easily out of the air.

“Wow,” Ty Lee breathes, ghosting her hands cautiously over her head. And Azula’s blood chills, as she realizes Ty Lee’s hands aren’t bound anymore. She slipped the rope, without Azula noticing. Azula notices everything.

“My head feels so much lighter!” Ty Lee says, a massive smile on her face. Only a slight watery shine on her eyes in the moonlight gives her away. “So much easier to move.”

Ty Lee does an easy back-handspring, subtly giving herself a few feet’s distance from Azula.

“Thanks so much!” She chirps.

“You’re very welcome,” Azula says flatly, giving Ty Lee one more quick once-over. “Keep up the acrobatics, too. Could be a very… useful skill.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at the comment, but is smart enough not to say anything.

“For avoiding accidents?” Ty Lee asks innocently.

“For avoiding accidents,” Azula confirms, turning heel away from her.

The next morning, Ty Lee’s buzzcut is the talk of the school. She clearly cleaned it up later, as it’s perfectly even despite the careless shear Azula originally did to it.

Infuriatingly, Ty Lee has thoroughly spun the narrative in her favor through sheer charm and confidence.

“Isn’t it cute?” She says when girls ask about it. “I really felt the need for a change. And it accentuates my cheekbones!”

Sure enough, they’re all cooing over how cool, how ahead-of-the-trend Ty Lee is. Azula overhears two girls contemplate shaving their own heads and incinerates her pencil.

She plans an execution all morning. Until, at lunch, Ty Lee walks straight past her usual table of friends without so much as a glance, and sits down casually across from Azula at the princess’ reserved table.

“Thanks again for your advice,” Ty Lee gushes, unfolding a cloth napkin into her lap. “I really don’t know what I would do without you, Azula.”

Azula tilts her head ever so slightly. Ty Lee isn’t suicidal after all, it seems. She’s handing over her own strings willingly.

“I’ve signed up for more tumbling lessons too,” Ty Lee prattles on, “and some fighting classes. ”

“Wonderful to hear,” Azula says. “We won’t have to worry about any accidents.”

She waves the attendant off to fetch their meals. For the rest of the lunch, Ty Lee’s eyes dart over to her old friends exactly once. And she’s smart enough not to do it ever again.

Father is going to kill Zuko.

It’s logical, Azula must admit. Win Grandfather’s favor and take Zuko out of the picture in one fell swoop.

She’s grown to resent Zuko for his stupidity. Time has made him better, but he’s still always a dozen steps too slow. It’s infuriating to watch. At this point, putting him down is a much-needed mercy to escape his constant failure. He’s just not built for palace life.

Still, Azula is… curious. This may be her last ever chance to toy with him. How would he react to knowing he’s about to be culled? Crying, she assumes. Maybe even tattling to Mother, as if Ursa could do anything against Father.

To her surprise and delight, he goes into denial. He’s developed an adorable little mantra since she returned from her first semester of school, “Azula always lies.” This is untrue. She lies a normal amount, whenever it suits her, and it just so happens that Zuzu is fun to lie to, because he’s dumb enough to believe it.

Unfortunately, the truth gets through to him eventually, and he runs off crying as she originally predicted. A shame; part of her had been hoping he’d finally snap and attempt to fight her. Actually grow enough backbone to be worth keeping around.

But that’s too much to hope for. Father has too much to gain from killing him anyway.

Zuko lives, and Azula’s blood boils. He didn’t even do anything to deserve it. Mother protected him, and for what? That cowardly woman has never had a spine around Father in her life, but she’s suddenly ready to kill for him when Zuko’s life is on the line. She didn’t even get anything out of it except a quick death for her trouble.

And so Zuko - useless, pathetic Zuko - is left alive, holding a crown he didn’t earn. A crown that should belong to Azula.

Ha! Maybe that’s what Ursa wanted; to screw her over one last time. She always resented that Azula could take care of herself, that Azula knew how the world worked while she and Zuko stumbled blindly. Called Azula a monster for it.

Pathetic. Good riddance.

Before all this, Azula wanted to keep Zuko alive in a novel way. Like a cat might keep an injured mouse-vole for future enrichment. But now, the novelty is gone. He should die, and she should pluck the crown from his corpse.

Father hasn’t even hinted at a plan, unfortunately. Azula suspects it’s a point of personal pride, keeping Zuko alive to spite Grandfather. And if that’s the case, Azula can’t just murder him.

So instead, she grits her teeth and bears it. She pushes him off buildings and refuses to pull punches when they spar, but she doesn’t kill him, because Father didn’t order it. And for years she lets the anger fuel her flames, but she never, ever steps out of line. She stays perfect. She earns the crown, over and over and over again.

Zuko continues to be insufferably stupid. At least he finally learns not to cry, and his displays of fear become fewer and far between. But his bending is still weak, he trips over his words, he has no mind for political maneuvering or military tactics. He still can’t earn his crown like Azula does.

The only mercy is that Father knows this too. Of course he does, he’s the only person in the world smarter and stronger than her. So Azula is treated with the real responsibilities and privileges of an heir. He personally teaches her politics, strategy, and manipulation. Even some firebending moves, when he stops in on a lesson. Her private tutors drill her on royal affairs much more seriously than they do Zuko. It’s an open secret in the palace walls that regardless of laws, Azula will succeed her Father one day, and Zuko won’t.

Azula was wrong. Zuko losing the Agni Kai is much more satisfying than killing him. It’s vindicating, watching him demonstrate just how unfit he is to rule, in front of a crowd of witnesses. He drops to his knees and begs, and Father burns half his face off for failing to learn the rules after 12 whole years.

Once Iroh toddles after him into banishment, Azula feels transcendent. In a private ceremony, she is designated as the legal Heir to the Dragon Throne. Father places the crown on her head and smiles.

When word reaches the palace that Zuko is pursuing a very much alive Avatar, Azula’s curtains burst into flame.

He’s not allowed to do this. Father loved to tell Zuko that Azula was the one born lucky, but she has no illusions. Every single step she took to the top was earned, by being smarter and better than everyone else. By never, ever, slipping up. Zuko tripped and fell into being crown prince thanks to Ursa, and he’s about to do it again thanks to the Avatar.

The room is covered with ash by the time the servants put it out, but she isn’t there to see it. She’s already in the training field, hurling fire at anything in her line of sight. It’s coming out blue, which she’d been secretly attempting and failing to produce for months prior, and that just enrages her further, until the field itself is completely scorched, dotted with tiny dancing blue tongues of fire.

“Azula.”

She whips around, snarling like a feral cat-badger, and flames curling from her nostrils.

“Princess Azula,” Father repeats.

Horror washes over her as she realizes who witnessed this little tantrum. Instantly, she snuffs out all fire in a kilometer radius and stands at attention.

“Don’t smother it, Azula,” Father insists, mercifully ignoring her unbecoming behavior. “You’re a wielder of the blue fire. It’s your nature to burn.”

Blue fire, she realizes distantly. She- she has blue fire. Of course she does. She’s the greatest firebender of her generation. It was inevitable. Father certainly thought so.

She bows and gives the sign of the flame as a belated greeting, then holds out her hand. Sure enough, the flame is a brilliant bright blue.

“Spar with me, Azula,” Father says.

Azula very carefully keeps her expression the same. Father doesn’t spar with Azula. That’s what her tutors are for. Father watches.

This is a test.

“I would be honored, my Fire Lord,” Azula bows again. They turn apart and pace, duel custom.

“Begin,” Father’s voice rumbles.

Immediately, Azula arcs a hand over her head, encasing herself in a dome of fire. As expected, a burst of heat breaks through the moment it’s up. Father always attacks first. But with her shield, she’s able to keep any flames off her.

He’ll likely be closing the distance now, so that she can’t block so broadly. She sends a massive cone of flame in front of her, forcing him to take to the sides or-

A wake forms in her cone, as Father forces his way through effortlessly, head-on.

Azula sidesteps when he comes into arm’s reach and does a back-handspring to get away, kicking an arc of fire from her toes to keep him back. As she lands, she sends out several rapid bursts from her fingertips, which he parries easily.

He continues to move in to her again, and Azula backs up, diverts her power to larger bursts from each hand, sending volleys in curves towards him and forcing him to track several angles at once.

Father simply moves faster, batting them away just as easily.

“Have you read the latest report from Commander Zhao?” He asks casually.

He knows.

She sends the volleys faster, messier, stretching the limits of her power. When he continues to approach, she lets him swing with a fiery palm and ducks smoothly beneath it. If she were fighting anyone else, she would sweep his legs from beneath him to set his skull alight. But she’d never dream of physically touching Father, and he’s likely too strong for her to trip even if she could.

Instead, she slides through his legs, sending a stream of blue fire upward towards his jaw, and he leans back just enough to avoid it, but no more.

“I have, Father,” she replies, darting out of close range for some breathing room.

Rather than follow, as he usually prefers, Father lets her move back. But punishes it by slamming a tidal wave of fire at her. She uses both hands to block it from her face, and as the downpour dissipates, Father is not in melee range as she expected. Instead, he is in a wide stance, scooping the air with his fingers.

Azula’s heart stops.

Lightning.

The air cracks and Azula is deaf and blind, diving as far as she can, rolling with all her weight. Her only indication that it missed is the fact that she’s still alive.

She lands on her knees in the grass when her vision finally returns and the ringing in her ears subsides. The radial scorch where the lightning grounded is just a few feet left of where she stood before. But the message is clear; if he’d intended to hit her at all, she wouldn’t have been able to dodge.

She’ll have to get in close, then. Not give him space to-

“Match decided,” Father announces.

Azula freezes. She’s already moving for her next attack, why would he-?

She landed on the grass. There was no grass left on the training field. Azula is out of bounds.

A stupid, sloppy mistake. A technicality. A proof that she’s not as good as she should be. She failed.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as she stands, savoring the half-second of darkness to collect herself before she has to open them and face Father’s judgement.

But Father isn’t moving. Instead, he nods at her coolly.

“Report to the throne room tomorrow at sunrise. You’ll begin training with lightning.”

Idiots and morons, the lot of them.

Zuko and Iroh were already on the ship. Walking of their own volition. But because a naval captain can’t remember his lines for an elementary school play, she had to fight the Dragon of the West.

Zuzu, she can handle with or without compliance. His bending is so abysmal she didn’t even need fire to put him on the defensive, just some well-placed blocks and kicks. She was even going to show off her new lightning. Let him know just how far she surpassed him.

But Iroh. General Iroh. A soft-bellied idiot in the tattered shoes of a conqueror. Agni help the Fire Nation in a world where he took the throne; another fool protecting Zuko despite his worthlessness.

Azula left herself too open while showing off. He threw her into the water like a rag doll. Decimated the worthless little soldiers too. But she can learn from this. Practice her generation stance. Make it faster, more adaptable. And she won’t pull it out in front of Iroh until it’s perfect.

It’s only been two years, but from the look on Ty Lee’s face, she assumed she was free.

Adorable. As if Azula would discard such a finely-rigged marionette. All it takes is a few string pulls and she’s right by Azula’s side again.

Mai is, as always, easy. Azula is her whole world, after all.

The Avatar doesn’t stand a chance.

She decides to take Ba Sing Se, while she’s at it. It’s not even that hard. Behind those big scary walls is an obscene power vacuum. A thousand idle soldiers begging for someone to issue orders.

This is the city that cost the Dragon of the West three years of siege and his only heir? She knew he was bumbling, but that’s comical incompetence. Azula and her friends take it within a month.

When it comes time to kill the Avatar, though, things get messy. She decides to play Zuzu one last time, so he can preoccupy the Avatar’s water girl. And it works, mostly. The Avatar state leaves him wide open, and her lightning has gotten faster.

Her plan falls apart when there’s no corpse to confirm the kill. She can’t imagine facing Father without it. And Zuko is a horrible liar, so it’s clear he has reason to believe the Avatar might survive.

So she adapts. Luckily, Mai and Ty Lee can put on a better act than that naval captain. Zuko is coming home a hero! How lovely.

She still hates it, though. Every moment of his homecoming is like chewing tacs. Once again, Azula does all the work, and Zuko benefits anyway.

But if the Avatar is alive, she can’t take credit for killing him. It’s a waiting game, for Zuko’s pathetic guilt to force out whatever information he’s hiding, or for the Avatar to show his face and Zuko to take the fall for it.

For now, Azula is patient. Watching. Waiting.

Zuko leaves. The ungrateful welp.

He had it all. Everything he ever wanted and more. Every luxury and approval that Azula has earned for her entire life, given to him despite his countless unending failures. Even when it‘s served to him on a silver platter, he still manages to fuck it up.

Helping the Avatar. What a joke. If the Avatar has any sense at all, he’ll kill Zuko before he can explain himself. But she can only dream. Zuzu has the survival rate of a cricket-roach.

Her “friends” are nothing but traitorous scum. Useless puppets wielding their strings like chokewire against her.

Just like Ursa, they suddenly value Zuko’s life over their own. But he still hasn’t earned it. Perhaps she could understand if it was only Mai. Mai has no reason to live, and Zuko - a waste of life - is perfect for her. She’d be stupid enough to believe she’s more than a human weapon if he tells her he loves her or something.

But Ty Lee... Zuko barely speaks to her. Now all of the sudden she cares about him more than she fears Azula?

Ursa’s stupidity lives on in some kind of curse. Everyone in the world suddenly laying down their lives for Zuko, an objective failure! Azula has done everything right. She has never, ever fallen short of perfect. She has made herself indispensable and inescapable. The greatest firebender of her generation. Youngest wielder of the blue flame and master of lightning. Conquerer of Ba Sing Se. Heir to the Dragon Throne.

But they all still choose Zuko. Over and over again, everyone picks the worthless, pathetic worm over her. Just like Mother.

Ha! Fire Lord Azula! The youngest to ever take the title. The power of Agni’s blessing all to herself.

Ursa can’t die to keep her off the throne this time, either. Ha! Ha ha! It’s finally over. She did exactly what she needed to, and she was rewarded. Azula is finally reaping what she sowed.

No one is going to take this from her. No one.

Fire spews from her mouth. She’s sopping wet and chained but she will never stop fighting. Her anger will never fade, her flame will never go out, she earned this crown. She earned it! Zuko, that filthy cheater, and that little water tribe bitch can take it over her dead body.

He couldn’t take her down without help. He has no claim to the throne, since this wasn’t a true Agni Kai. And when Father returns he will burn them to ash and Azula will explain. She’s so good with words, she can twist this so it was impossible for her to win. He’ll forgive her. No, he won’t need to! She’s still perfect! He doesn’t have to know. She can still kill them now. Zuko is too weak to stand, the girl is occupied trying to heal him.

The water is blurring her vision. There’s some sort of noise coming out of Azula’s mouth. The chains bite at her skin. Ursa is standing over her silently, a slight frown on her face like she’s “disappointed.” As if Azula has ever cared about the opinion of that cowardly little weasel-dove.

Zuko and the water girl ignore her. What, is Ursa going to keep her subdued? No chains have ever held Azula, and a weak-willed sniveling non-bender like Ursa provides the same security as a wooden standee.

She roars louder, fire hotter. Her throat hurts, but she’s never let a little pain stop her. The water rolling down her face evaporates sticky, like saltwater, but keeps coming back. Some waterbending trick, no doubt. They’re only pretending to ignore her.

Azula screams for more flame, but this time it doesn’t come. Instead, something in her throat tears, and she coughs up liquid onto the grate. It’s blood, and that startles her into another fit of rage.

She thrashes against the shackles. They’re bound to the grate beneath her! If she can loosen it, she’ll be able to move. She starts bashing her skull against the metal, the only part of her body with enough leverage.

“Stop!” Ursa yells. No- it’s just the water girl, running towards her; trying to foil Azula’s plans.

She spits fire to keep her at bay, except all that comes out is a spray of blood. She bashes her head again in hopes that the grate will finally move.

“Azula, stop!” Zuko is here now, because despite his best efforts no one has ever just put him down.

“I need to heal her now, but if she keeps moving, I’ll hurt her,” Ursa says.

“I’d like to see you try!” Azula snaps, but it comes out as a wet gurgle. Frustrated, she yanks on the chains again. There’s a crack and a lance of pain up her arm. It’s suddenly a lot looser in the cuffs. Ha! HA! If she breaks the bones in her hands, she can slip out.

“‘Zula!” Zuko’s voice breaks, and he dives on top of her. Trying to strangle her to finish the job, then. Seems he only has the stomach to kill when the opponent is restrained. She attempts to squirm out of his grip but he’s using his full body weight and she doesn’t have the leverage. Her broken wrist is under her, buckling with every attempt.

“Hold her as still as you can,” says Ursa. Then she starts glowing.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy spirit!” Azula screams. Admittedly, it’s not very articulated.

“Is it hurting her?” Zuko asks.

“It shouldn’t!” Ursa replies nervously. “Her chi - I thought yours was bad.”

“Is my sister dying, or not?!”

“I’m working on it!”

Ursa is trying to rip her into the spirit world. This is why she saved Zuko so long ago. To kill Azula. She wanted to disgrace her first. Make sure Azula was at her very lowest. A long con, but Zuko was finally useful to her.

“…head injuries first… might be able to put her to sleep…”

Oddly enough, Azula relaxes at the realization. It makes sense, suddenly, why Ursa would save Zuko despite his worthlessness. She needed a loyal pawn for her plan, and she got everyone else in on it. That’s why Zuzu has so many protectors. It’s a conspiracy. Her mother has been out to get her since the beginning.

A stillness settles in her soul now. The world makes sense. It makes sense…

“You use that word a lot,” says the doctor.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Azula drawls, dangling sideways off the armchair. It’s uncivilized. It’s unbecoming. But it makes her seem just a bit crazier than she really is, which will lend well to her escape attempt.

Not that Azula is crazy at all. She puts on a great act. Her mind is as sharp as ever, actually. As Zuzu loves to remind her, this is a mental institution, not a prison, and the former is much easier to escape from.

She’s just biding her time. No reason to escape without a plan, anyway. Zuko says Father is imprisoned as well, and he’s a bad enough liar that she believes it. She’ll just have to wait for a signal once he’s ready to break out. Besides, this place isn’t offensively uncomfortable, and if she ever gets sick of the doctors talking to her like she’s stupid, she can just destroy a room or assault them, and everyone is too scared to have sessions with her for a few days.

“‘Stupid,’” says the doctor in front of her, “Almost everyone you talk about, bar your Father, you’ve called ‘stupid’ or some variation.”

“Because they are,” Azula says flippantly, examining her nails.

“Even me?” The doctor asks.

Azula snorts, “Particularly you.”

“Why?”

Azula pauses to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“One of the reasons is that you expect me to answer that.”

“Alright, then. Generally, what makes someone stupid?”

“You can’t read a dictionary?”

The doctor shrugs. “I’m stupid, remember? Explain it to me like I’m stupid.”

“Stupid people don’t get explanations,” Azula snaps.

“Then how am I supposed to learn? How would I get… less stupid?”

“It’s called smarter,” Azula corrects him, sitting up in her chair. “And you won’t. Stupid doesn’t change. Only smart ones learn.”

“So, what? Smart people are just born that way?”

“No,” she says acidly, “that’s-”

“Stupid?”

With the speed of a pit viper, Azula launches out of the chair and wraps a hand around his neck. “Never interrupt me,” she growls.

To his credit, he doesn’t seem fazed. But Azula hasn’t properly practiced combat in 7 months, and she knows he likely has a few emergency sedative syringes on his person.

When he doesn’t react to the threat beyond an unimpressed glare just like Mai, Azula releases him in disgust, flopping back onto her chair with a scoff.

“Myself and my Father are the only people who understand how the world works,” Azula sneers. “I never needed an explanation, it's obvious. But the rest of the world is simpletons who can’t keep up, and don’t learn no matter how much it’s beaten into them. They just keep flailing, over and over, in the same way. It’s infuriating.”

The doctor considers this. Azula has decided this man is in Mai and Ty Lee’s bracket of stupid. He may not get it, but he isn’t constantly making a fool of himself.

Of course, Azula knows how they turned out, in the end. Traitorous eel-snakes.

“You hate them,” the doctor states. It’s not an inquiry.

“Yes, obviously.” Azula rolls her eyes.

“Why?”

She curls her lip in disgust. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“If they’re beneath you, why bother hating them?”

Azula stares, unable to answer such an unfathomably stu- crude question.

“It’s okay if it’s an irrational feeli-”

“I have never been irrational in my life,” Azula snarls, fire curls from her mouth.

“Fair enough,” the doctor shrugs. “That’s all the time we have for today, anyway. You can think on it and let me know if you ever find an answer.”

For the first time since coming here, Azula didn’t storm out of the session before it could end.

That doctor sticks around.

Probably because Azula doesn’t attempt to kill this one. But in her defense, he’s interesting. A potential puppet, maybe.

The next time Zuko comes for a monthly visit, he suggests visiting the palace for her birthday in a few weeks. She throws a fit over this for a number of reasons.

First, as with all the violent outbursts, it’s merely an act. Azula is perfectly in control of herself at all times. The destruction is cathartic, but she could choose to restrain herself at any time. This is strategic.

Second, it’s the way he words it. “Visit” the palace, he says with a tentative smile. As if it’s an invitation. As if it doesn’t rightfully belong to her. He still hasn’t beaten her in a true Agni Kai, and she certainly didn’t abdicate.

(This is the main point she’s screaming about while he wrestles the straightjacket onto her.)

Third, she knows Ty Lee and Mai will be there. Zuko has mentioned those backstabbing broken dolls exactly thrice in the past seven months. The first time, only two months in, he tried to tell her what they were up to after the war, which she responded to by shattering the tea set he brought. The second time, he implied that they wanted to come visit her sometime, to which she immediately left the room without a word. And last month, he accidentally mentioned Mai while chattering on about his daily activities, then poorly attempted to cover it up. Azula, who knows how to pick her battles, didn’t attack him for it, but instead asked a perfectly innocent question about what type of cutlery Mai uses these days.

That time, it was Zuko who stormed out.

But he kept coming back anyway, didn't he? And now he’s trying to take her to her own palace for a visit.

She’s still shouting profanities when the orderlies come in with a sedative. Perhaps bending lightning at him was a bit over the top - this is the first time they’ve drugged her in nearly a month.

Once the sedative takes, she’s too exhausted to do anything but scowl. Zuko prattles on about Uncle’s stupid tea shop in Ba Sing Sē and the turtleducks he added to the gardens. They pretend he didn’t mention a visit at all.

She gets a visitor call less than two weeks later, which would be much too spontaneous for Fire Lord Zuko’s busy schedule. But she’s never had any other visitors. Her curiosity is piqued.

They lead her in, jacketed, to the social room where the Dragon of the West sits with a tea set.

“Thank you very much,” he tells the orderlies with a warm smile. “You can leave now.”

They exchange an uncertain look.

Iroh chuckles. “Azula is not a prisoner. And if she has a reason to get violent, it would be safer for you not to be here.”

He doesn’t have to tell them again. The guy on the left is still recovering from second-degree burns on his ankle.

Once they leave, Iroh’s smile drops, and he looks evenly at Azula.

“There’s no need for the jacket. I assume you can take it off yourself, but if you would like help-”

“I don’t need help!” Azula snarls, wriggling free of the straightjacket with practiced ease. She crosses her arms in front of her.

“Why are you here?” She asks flatly.

“I am heading to Caldera for a few weeks for-“

“In the asylum, old man.”

Iroh sighs. “It really is a rehabilitation facility, you know. Zuko dismantled the remaining asylums-”

“Why. Are. You. Here.” She grits out.

He looks resigned.

“It’s your birthday.”

Azula nearly hesitates. She… forgot. She shouldn’t forget. Her mind is a steel trap.

“And what does that have to do with you?” She sneers.

Iroh’s brow knits and he turns to the tea, pouring a cup for each of them.

“Nothing,” he replies, “but I wanted to come.”

“Zuko put you up to this.”

“No, Zuko does not know I am in the nation yet. He would have tried to come.”

She narrows her eyes. Searches his face. It doesn’t seem like he’s lying, but he can be crafty if he wants to. He ran some sort of spy network under Father’s nose, after all.

Iroh slides a teacup over to her. He drinks first. Bad manners, unless your guest is wary of poison.

Satisfied, Azula raises it to her lips and pauses as the smell hits her.

“This isn’t tea.” Her voice drips with malice.

“It’s not,” Iroh says placidly, “it’s hot chocolate.”

He remembers. Of course he does, the sentimental hack he is. Azula’s favorite treat as a child. Emphasis on child. She stopped having favorites and calling things “treats” when she turned five.

She scowls. It’s the doll souvenir all over again, Uncle pretending she’s anything other than a hyper-competent bloodthirsty monster. Treating her like a baby. Like Zuko. He knows nothing about her.

Azula lowers the cup without a sip. Lets it clatter and spill a few drops in disrespect.

“They said no caffeine, it reacts with your medication,” Iroh’s voice is flat.

Hm. That would explain why Zuko quietly stopped bringing tea, aside from the fact that he mostly hates it and Azula only drinks it to spite him. It’s more in-character that the orderlies asked him to stop than for him to give up on it.

At least Iroh doesn’t have that same sparkle of joy in his eyes that he had with the doll. He’s not expecting her to be grateful or excited.

“So hot chocolate was your solution,” she sneers.

“It was all I had in my travel set,” he shrugs. “You don’t have to drink it if it displeases you.”

Azula grabs the shitty little cup and throws back the scalding liquid in one gulp, out of spite. She doesn’t let herself taste it on principle, but the sugar leaves an oppressive coating in her mouth.

“Would you like another cup?” Iroh asks wryly.

“Why are you here?” She snaps.

“I already told you.”

Sure, her birthday. But she doesn’t understand what he wants from her. Azula isn’t some kind of political pawn, like Zuko. Both in the sense that her current influence is limited and she’s not nearly as gullible.

“Give me the real reason.”

Iroh smiles sadly. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Azula. I’m just here.”

She scowls.

“Good luck getting anything out of me, then.”

“Ah, asking an old man to carry the burden of conversation? Well, don’t complain about the method. Let’s see…” he strokes his beard thoughtfully, “I’ve recently gotten in touch with some nice young waterbenders from the Great Swamp, who have a rather unique method for growing tea-”

Iroh chatters on about buying spirit tea from hobos or something. And he keeps talking. Azula now knows where Zuzu learned it. The only difference is that Zuko’s stories are always accompanied by an intense awkwardness, because he knows they’re boring and stilted and clearly wishes he could just be done. Whereas Iroh is perfectly content to waste as much of her time as possible.

Unfortunately, the past few months of idleness and drugs have made Azula… susceptible… to tolerating inane stories.

She never suffered pointlessness before. Ty Lee - and Iroh, before he left - would talk a lot. Ty Lee she could either shut up or ignore, and Iroh she would interrupt or walk away from. Certainly no one else dared to speak to her without express purpose, and if they tried, she would have them flayed alive.

But the asylum is nauseatingly boring. They drug her if she tries to practice combat bending, which used to constitute about 6 hours of her daily routine (2 official hours with tutors, and 4 self-imposed in the secrecy of her room to ensure perfection). A librarian comes by weekly to take book requests, but there’s no reason to research legislature or battle strategies when she’s stuck here. And the orderlies isolate her when she tries to goad other patients to suicide.

The only other things to do are eat, sleep, or attend group therapy sessions (the mere thought of which goads her to suicide). Plus the daily doctor visits, when they’re able to find one that isn’t visibly afraid of her.

Her only break from the monotony of staring at walls is Zuko. And now, Iroh. She’s not stupid enough to pledge her loyalties to them, but she’s not opposed to using them for entertainment

So she lets Iroh prattle on. He occasionally asks inane questions about her favorite tea or whether she “can believe” a troupe he saw changed the ending to some Earth Kingdom play. She doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t notice anyway.

Eventually, his demeanor shifts into something more serious, and Azula quickly sharpens herself. He’s going to let his motives slip.

“Visiting hours are ending soon,” he says, reaching over the table and cleaning up the tea set.

That… that can’t be right. That would mean Iroh has been here for four hours, which is double the time of Zuko’s longest visit.

“I have business in Caldera for a few days, but I plan to visit again at the end of the week. I was wondering if there is anything in the city - or from the palace - that you would like me to bring for you.”

“You can’t buy my loyalty, old man,” she snaps. “I still have my pride.”

“I am not trying to do that,” Iroh says tiredly. “I just asked if you wanted anything. Snacks, or sentimental thi-”

“I’ve never been sentimental in my life,” She interrupts, chin high.

Iroh sighs. “Okay, then. I will have to guess. I’m very good at picking out gifts, don’t worry.”

“Shut up.” He’s baiting her, obviously, but she doesn’t care. “Just bring me fireflakes. The food here tastes like sand.”

The old fool smiles, which disgusts her. She bares her teeth in a growl and slips her arms back into the straightjacket. He finishes putting the porcelain away.

“I will see you soon. Have a good week, Azula.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

To her surprise, Iroh does come back.

He brings a comically large carnival sleeve of fireflakes, which she pointedly doesn’t thank him for. He also brings a small velvet-lined case with a dozen tiny jars of dried peppers and spices.

“Perhaps you can turn your meals into well-seasoned sand,” He says sagely.

She glares, but doesn’t outright refuse the gift.

“My visit to the capital was uneventful,” an obvious lie, “So I’m afraid I don’t have many new topics to discuss. I thought we could instead play a game.”

He pulls an old pai sho board from his bag.

“I don’t play games.”

“Zuko shared that sentiment,” he chuckles. A lick of resentment flares in her chest. “But I had hoped you had an affinity for battle simulations that he does not.”

That gives her pause.

“What are you talking about.”

Iroh does a double take, as if trying to assess whether she’s serious.

“Fire Nation pai sho is a war game.”

She stares at him, waiting for him to explain.

“The pieces and board were adapted long ago as a way to test battle strategies. The rules have changed over time, but its roots are not subtle. Tacticians today still use it to develop new formations - I am surprised you didn’t know that.”

Azula is also surprised she didn't know that. Father spared no resources when training her in the art of war. If this tool could have been useful in any way, there is no reason he would have excluded it from her curriculum.

Unless it was out of spite for his brother. Father’s only blind spot is his pride. He kept Zuko alive because he refused to bow to Grandfather. He might have kept Azula from pai sho because he refused to acknowledge that Iroh’s favorite game provided legitimate strategic insight.

If Father had just killed Zuko when he was told, Azula would still be Fire Lord. If Father had let her study pai sho…

“Teach me,” Azula orders. She viciously ignores the dopey smile forming on Iroh’s face.

Iroh absolutely decimates her for the first four games. His knotweed positioning is clever. By the fifth game she’s figured out how to counter it, but his red dragon takes her by surprise.

On game six, she notices he hasn’t been playing with his white lotus at all. It’s not extremely integral to the basic strategies she’s picked up, but there have been three moves where placing it would have won him the game.

So she crafts a strategy that will force him to use it. It’s reckless and unwinnable, but she beats him back to a corner where his options are to play it or end in a draw.

He smiles. “You noticed.”

“Play it,” she demands.

“You are so determined to get what you want, you’ve forgotten something very important.”

“You have no other moves. Play it.”

“Your opponent is human.”

“Play the lotus!”

“I don’t have it.”

Azula pauses.

“I lost the tile,” Iroh explains. “Over a year ago, at sea. I wasn’t playing around it for any reason except that I don’t have it.”

She stares at him. Her mind can’t parse what he’s telling her.

“That’s a draw, then.” Iroh shrugs. “Another game?”

Her anger makes her play even worse for the final two games. They’re about to start another when an orderly comes in. Azula doesn’t even pretend to be in the jacket.

“Prince Iroh, apologies for the interruption.” They bow absurdly low. “But it is an hour past the visiting window. The matron requests that you leave soon.”

Iroh blinks in surprise. “I did not realize it was that late! Send my apologies to the staff. Give us a few moments to finish up.”

The orderly leaves. Iroh turns to Azula.

“Keep the set. I should be back in two months, and if you have no use for it, I can take it back.”

“That’s pointless,” Azula says irritably, “I have no one to play against.”

“Play yourself,” Iroh replies, “or recruit a fellow patient here. I know you are quite persuasive, Azula.”

“What about your uncle, Prince Iroh?” The doctor asks.

“What about him?” She replies boredly.

“Do you think he’s stupid?”

Despite herself, Azula considers this.

“I think he’s a sentimental weakling. A fat, lazy fool. And a coward. But no, he’s not stupid. Though he does try very hard to convince you he is.”

Azula’s every waking hour is dedicated to mastering Pai Sho.

The hours she can’t spend firebending are instead spent playing matches against herself again and again. She imposes random tile handicaps that force her to get creative. She orders the librarian to bring every strategy book in the catalog. She learns the tactics and then learns to counter them and then learns to undermine the counters.

When she decides she needs to play against someone else to improve, she conscripts the most isolated patients in the ward - the ones she formerly would have just suicide-baited - and bullies them into matches. They’re all very bad, but they at least think differently than her (if at all), which gives her new approaches to counter.

Zuko visits a few weeks later, and she forces him to play a match too. He’s probably played the second most games of anyone in the world, by virtue of living with Iroh for four years. At first, he thinks she’s making fun of him - a safe assumption, in general.

“What, I can’t have hobbies?” She asks, twirling a tile between her fingers.

“No.”

Then Zuko realizes what he’s said.

“I mean, you can! I just - you’ve never had a hobby in your life. You think they’re a waste of time. You set me on fire when I practiced mine.”

“That’s because a crown prince shouldn’t need swordplay if his fire is good enough.”

“But mine wasn’t. And I like dao.”

“No one cares what you like, Zuzu.”

He looks like a kicked puppy-cub, but doesn’t argue, silently watching her set up the board.

“Why pai sho?” He asks as she sets down the first tile.

“It’s a war game,” She says testily, waiting impatiently for him to place.

“It’s… it is?”

“What else don’t you know?” She rolls her eyes.

Frowning, Zuko places a knotweed on the edge of his territory. Excitement rolls through her. It’s a fine opening, but it’s an Iroh opening, and she’s been studying those.

“Why now, though? You’ve been here for months with no change. And now you’re actually speaking to me without screaming or violence. What happened?”

She inconspicuously places an amber cricket. It’s not a direct counter, but she can use it if he tries to set anything up.

“If you miss the violence, I can bring it back.”

“Please don’t,” he says tiredly, “I hate seeing you in the jacket.”

Interesting that the straightjacket was his point of contention with being attacked.

His face is still all scrunched up in confusion, but he places a blue lotus. Either he’s too distracted to play seriously or he doesn’t notice her counter.

“This isn’t a trick, right? Some kind of taunt before you stage a coup against me or something?”

Azula sighs. “Zuzu, if I cared enough to unseat you from your illegitimate throne, I’d have killed you myself on your first visit.”

“You did try to do that.”

She rolls her eyes. “If I really wanted you dead I would have succeeded.”

He doesn’t look satisfied, but he doesn’t ask any more stupid questions either. They continue the match in silence. Zuko plays… disappointingly disjointed. His moves are all solid, perfect reactions, but it’s clear he has no strategy. He’s not building towards victory, he’s just playing enough to stay in the game.

It’s actually sort of difficult to play against, she realizes towards the end of the match. Normally, at this point, she’d have the next seven moves to endgame for a clean win. But she has no clue what he’s going to do next. And it’s not like the unpracticed patients who put down random tiles. Zuko has clearly spent years learning how the tiles interact, he just doesn’t plan ahead like it.

In the end, it’s a draw. She would have won, except he had the final move and managed to hold onto a tile that screwed her over.

“Huh,” he says as he places it.

“What?” She snaps.

“Uh, nothing. I just… usually lose.”

She glowers at him.

“I’ve only ever played against Uncle, so-”

“I don’t care. Reset.”

“Wh-? Okay…”

Azula has already cleared the board. Despite her frustration that she managed to be Zuko’s first ever non-loss, there’s a flicker of satisfaction in her gut that she managed to draw against Iroh when Zuzu never could.

“Move first this time,” she orders. Zuko doesn’t begin, he just stares owlishly at his tiles. He flicks his eyes to her and then quickly back to his tiles as he catches her glare.

“What?”

His cheeks go red.

“I’ve never gone first before. Uncle always sets it up. I don’t know what’s legal-”

“You’re worthless.”

“It’s not like I like pai sho!”

“Then you’re a moron. All tiles but the dragons.”

“I-! What?”

“You asked what’s legal,” she hisses. “You can play anything except a dragon, idiot. Play.”

He looks sideways at her but reaches for his rack.

“And place in your own territory,” she adds. Because one of the inexperienced patients tried to place in the midground and she nearly took their head off for it.

“I know that! I’m not stupid!” Zuko huffs.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she replies breezily.

He slaps down a jasmine, scowling.

It’s Iroh’s most used opening. She has no idea if Zuko actually knows how to execute it.

As she mulls over her options, he mutters something under his breath.

“Oh, what now?” She snaps.

“…I said thanks,” he mumbles, “for telling me.”

Azula stares blankly for a moment, processing that. She’s not sure if anyone has ever thanked her outside of groveling or ass-kissing.

“Whatever,” she replies, placing a knotweed. It’s a middling move, but it’s not like she needs to play well against Zuko anyway.

By the end of the visit, Azula wins three games and draws two. The draws were, of course, whenever she let him move second.

Zuko stays longer than he probably should, considering the level of babysitting that his little peace campaign requires. But before he goes he hesitates at the door. Azula can tell he’s dithering.

“If you’re going to say something, either spit it out or leave already.”

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot.

“I think you should consider letting Mai and Ty Lee visit. They want to talk to you.”

This is maybe the last thing Azula expected. A familiar sting sharpens at their names.

She can’t imagine what else they could want from her. It’s clear they don’t want to be her puppets anymore, and she has no power to lend or lord over them in this place. There’s not even anything left for them to take from her, if that’s their motive. Ursa has already won.

“They can do whatever they want. It’s not like I can stop them anymore.”

“They’re not-”

“I just said I don’t care. Leave before I electrocute you.”

Ty Lee visits two days later. When Azula walks into the visitor’s room, jacketless, Ty Lee is beaming up at her, face radiant like Azula wasn’t throwing her in a cell the last time they spoke. She’s wearing… the under layer of a Kyoshi warrior uniform. No paint or armor, just the thin padding and dress that she called “cute” when they all put them on the first time.

She distantly remembers Zuko mentioning Kyoshi warriors in the palace during his ramblings.

“So, did you join another matching set? Or are you just finger-fucking one of them for the clothes?” Azula asks from the doorway.

Ty Lee’s face hardens. The smile vanishes. Azula feels a lick of satisfaction.

“I want to be friends with you, Azula,” she says, “Real friends. But you’re not allowed to treat me like that anymore. I’m not here to be miserable for you.”

“Why would you want my friendship?” Azula asks, eyes narrowed. “Zuzu is currently a much better candidate for a royal friend. You already have him.”

Ty Lee looks at her with an odd expression she’s never shown around Azula before. She’s not sure what it means.

“You and Zuko aren’t, like, interchangeable, Azula.”

“Of course not,” she turns up her nose, “I’m better in every way.”

“…I wouldn’t say that’s true but since we’re actually doing the friend thing I'll let you have it.”

The comment stokes a flame of irritation, but she doesn’t press further. If Ursa has managed to convince Ty Lee that Zuko isn’t totally worthless, Azula can’t exactly undo that in an afternoon.

“Alright, then, what do friends do?” Azula asks pointedly, finally taking a seat across from her.

“Talk!” Ty Lee says, smile wide.

“I can talk to anyone. That doesn’t make it friendship.”

“Not like that. Like, about things you enjoy! Either stuff you have in common or anything you’re excited about!”

Azula’s expression remains unimpressed. “You know what I enjoy. Winning. Firebending. Murder.”

Ty Lee’s nose scrunches up.

“…maybe. But that’s, like, work stuff. I was thinking more like hobbies!”

“I don’t have hobbies.”

Ty Lee’s eye sparkles and Azula realizes she’s walked into a trap.

“That’s not what Zuko told me~!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Azula mutters.

“He says you’ve been playing Pai Sho! And that you’re super good at it!”

It’s clear that Ty Lee is dangling bait in front of her. Unfortunately, Azula has nothing better to do than bite.

“Obviously I’m good at it. I’m good at everything.”

“We should play some!” Ty Lee kicks her legs gleefully, “And I can tell you all about the Kyoshi warriors while we do. There’s soooo much more to it than the clothes, Azula-”

Which is how she spends a full afternoon wrangling Ty Lee’s attention span long enough to slog through a single game of Pai Sho. Despite her eagerness to play, Ty Lee spends ten minutes gesturing with each piece to punctuate her story before actually placing it. And despite the multiple hours she’s there, they only finish the one match.

“That was fun!” Ty Lee declares as Azula calmly plays out her final four moves in a row. Ty Lee has no playable tiles remaining. It’s an easy and frankly brutal win.

“If you say so.”

“Let’s do it again soon! My shift starts in an hour but I haven’t even told you about Hani and Yzora’s breakup yet. There was glue involved.”

Azula honestly can’t remember if those names are from the roster of warriors she rattled off at the start or the characters from her pulp serials.

“I must know,” She says flatly.

Ty Lee beams ear-to-ear.

“Great! I’ll come back next week!”

Mai takes her time, but comes by a month later, the day before Zuko’s visit slot.

Azula is already in the social room waiting, jacketed and accompanied by an orderly - the most security anyone has requested since the start of her internment. Mai enters but lingers in the doorway.

“You can save the sappy speech,” Azula drawls. “Ty Lee-”

“Shut up,” Mai cuts her off. Which is new.

Intrigued, Azula raises an eyebrow and lets her continue.

“I’m not Ty Lee. I don’t want to be friends with you. You made my life a living hell for eight years, even when you weren’t around.”

Honestly, the sentiment is refreshing. This is what she expected from them. Mai is just going to gloat at her for an hour, maybe berate her a bit while she's a captive listener in the jacket.

“I only came because I care about Zuko, and he needs you.”

“HA!” She can’t help it, that caught her off guard. The laugh punches out of her.

“What’s so funny?” Mai growls.

“Zuko needs me? Please. He’s under Ursa’s protection. I’m shocked she hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”

Mai’s rage twists into confusion.

“Ursa? Your mom?”

Of course Mai would fall for Ursa’s plan without even noticing.

“Who else could have put Zuzu on that throne?”

Azula rolls her eyes.

All of Mai’s anger is gone now, replaced by disturbed bafflement. Her eyes dart to the orderly in the corner.

“It’s not like he knows anything,” Azula waves a dismissive hand at the attendant. “He just works here. They all genuinely think I’ve gone insane. Honestly, I’m shocked you and Ty Lee don’t know. You played right into her hands. That betrayal reeked of her.”

Mai is staring at her like she’s grown a second head, despite the fact that Azula has spelled it out for her.

“You… wow, you’re actually crazy.”

The attendant clears his throat. Mai ignores him.

“Ty Lee made it sound like you were normal, so I thought this was a bluff to stay out of prison. But you’re serious.”

Azula narrows her eyes.

“Azula, your mother’s dead. That’s why I’m here; you’re all the family Zuko has left outside his uncle.”

“The fact that you’re so certain is what makes you a fool, Mai,” Azula says lowly, “I thought she was dead myself. But no one found a body. How else could Zuko have possibly survived this long? Become Fire Lord? She’s always protected him.”

“Ozai was a firebender, you psycho. There was no body because it’s ash.”

“Lady Mai-” the orderly starts

“Hold on,” Azula interrupts. “‘Was?’”

Mai’s eye twitches by the tiniest degree.

“Zuzu told me that Father was taken alive for a life sentence. That the Avatar is a pacifist. Why the past tense, Mai?’”

“L-Lady Mai,” the orderly stammers.

Azula has had enough. She slides one arm out of the straight jacket and grabs the orderly by the face, slamming him into the ground. He tries to shout, but her hand is perfectly covering his mouth and nose, suffocating him. Her legs keep his struggling body pinned.

“All the family Zuko has left, hm? Like maybe he executed Father?”

“It’s not like that,” Mai says through gritted teeth. She has knives readied in her knuckles, the door open behind her for an easy out, if she’s willing to risk this random man’s life.

“Oh really? Just a slip of the tongue, then.”

Azula pulls her palm away for a split second, letting the orderly gasp for breath. As soon as he does, she snatches his tongue between her fingers with the accuracy of a heron-crane catching a fish.

She sends heat to her fingers. His tongue starts to crackle and smoke. He screams in pain around it.

“HIS BENDING’S GONE!” Mai shouts.

Azula drops the tongue. The orderly messily stabs a syringe into her thigh and she’s too stunned to care.

“Fuck you, Azula,” Mai says lowly. “Aang took his bending away. Fuck. You.”

Her head is swimming. The drugs shouldn’t act this fast, but the world is suddenly off-kilter.

“He- he can’t do that. That’s not possible.”

“He didn’t even fight after it was gone. Just let himself be dragged to prison.”

“No,” Azula whispers. “No, that’s weak, he wouldn’t…”

The orderly shoves her off and makes a break for it. Azula lets herself fall to the floor, and doesn’t even try to get back up.

“The avatar can’t take bending. You’re lying.”

“I want you to listen closely,” Mai says, “Because I no longer care enough about your opinion to lie to you. Ozai is in a dinky cell under a volcano, guarded by two nonbenders. His days are spent spitting curses at Zuko and the literal child who bested him, because he has nothing left to live for without the power to hurt other people.”

Azula’s vision is blurring. The sedative- it must be the sedative. It must be.

“You spent your whole life becoming your father, Azula. So I suggest - for Zuko and Ty Lee’s sake - that you fix yourself before you get exactly what you worked for.”

Shut up! She thinks viciously. Shut up, stupid! Shut up, just stop talking!

A pathetic noise wrenches out of her. Some kind of scream, or maybe a sob. Azula is a child at the dinner table again, desperate to control the world around her but not smart enough to do it yet.

She throws out an arm, fanning fire into the room. No aim or practice to it, just a mindless attempt to get anyone away. But Mai has already gone. The flames only lick open air.

Azula is alone in the visitor room, slowly waiting for the drugs to take her, with no one left to fight.

Zuko comes the next day. Azula, freshly-drugged and unable to walk by herself, is wheeled in by a random Kyoshi warrior.

Instead of being scowly, Zuzu looks sad, like when they were kids. Some still-working crevice of her hazy mind supplies the detail that Zuko hates seeing her in the jacket.

Unlike his usual visits, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares sadly at her. Azula doesn’t have much to say herself. Her tongue is like a wad of hardening glue with the sedative.

They sit in silence for a while. Time is hazy, but it feels like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.

When Zuzu seems on the verge of tears, she forces her mouth to work.

“I lied about the Pai Sho,” she says clumsily.

Zuko tenses.

“I started because I saw Father’s hubris. I refuse to make his mistakes.”

Zuko doesn’t move, still strung tight.

“I don’t understand…”

“I’ve known for some time that Father was fallible,” the words slur a bit, but she forces them out before her mind can wander again. “Before Mai told me. I’m not stupid.”

He’s staring at her, bewildered. His stupid scar stretches with his wide eyes.

“I just don’t get it,” she bites out. “He lost. He should be killed.”

Zuko softens.

“I want him dead too, sometimes,” he whispers. “What he did to me, to us-“

“No,” Azula interrupts. She tries to swat at him but the jacket causes her to just slump forward a bit. “I don’t want him dead. He’s a failure. Failures die. I don’t understand.”

“…I don’t either,” Zuko says, clearly more confused by her explanation than anything.

“Failures die!” She says more forcefully. “You, Ursa, Father, you should be dead!”

“You… want me dead?”

“No!” Some spittle comes out thanks to the meds but she ignores it. “You’re so stupid. You should be dead. But you’re not. And I don’t get it.”

She watches the gears turn in his head. Something finally seems to click in there.

“What about you, Azula? You lost against me and Katar-”

“Shut up!” She snarls, “that wasn’t real. And I’m not done. Not like Father. I can- I will still come out on top. I’m not a failure.”

Zuko’s brow furrows.

“It’d be ok if you were, ‘Zula.”

“Never say that to me,” she spits, “I don’t fail. I can’t. I’m perfect.”

“We used to think that about Ozai.”

“I am not him. I just told you this, I will not make his mistakes. I’m going to be better.”

There’s a pause.

“…By learning Pai Sho?”

“Are you incapable of critical thought? That’s just the start, dum-dum.”

Zuko eyes her appraisingly for a moment. A few beats of silence pass.

“Just the start,” he says quietly. “Okay, yeah. It’s a start.”

Exhausted from the effort of articulating through the drugs, she collapses into the wheelchair.

They sit in silence for a while longer. Maybe even a full hour. Azula dozes a bit, but she’d never admit it. The sedative is strong.

Eventually, she jolts awake at the sound of Zuko’s voice.

“Does this mean I can insult Father without you attacking me?” He asks, unprovoked.

She narrows her eyes.

“I could attack you at any moment, regardless of reason. But no, I am not interested in defending the honor of that failure.”

“Good, because Ozai is an idiot for making Zhou an admiral.”

Despite herself, Azula snorts. And then, Agni help her, she starts to giggle. Her body can’t stop, the drugs tumble laughter out of her like a snowball down a mountain. It gains momentum, and she’s on the ground, laughing so hard she’s crying.

Thankfully, Zuzu is also too busy laughing to notice, and he doesn’t have the excuse of drugs