Chapter Text
95 AG, Coronation Day
Azula had not expected Father to summon her this morning.
It was not exactly rare for the Firelord to request to speak to his children, but when Ozai did ask for their presence the demand was made with short notice and even less indication as to the subject matter their father wanted to discuss. And lately, these conversations had been held in the throne room, the heat radiating off of the wall of fire constantly reminding them of the consequences of disobedience.
Azula had always welcomed, craved, even, the heat from those flames. She had envied the seat behind that burning wall since the moment she had been able to walk into the room, and though the punishment for disrespecting it would be stark, there had always been the possibility she may one day sit there herself. Her father had wished the same, she knew; although he was harder to read than most people his ambition had always been razor-sharp, a trait that Azula was proud to have inherited.
In truth, she had been rather surprised Father had asked Grandfather so blatantly for the throne. Boldness—and the unwillingness to compromise—was something she loved in him, but in this particular matter she thought there might have been more sophisticated ways for Ozai to get what he wanted.
Not that she would ever say as much to his face. It was enough that she had learned there was power in affection. Naturally being in Ozai’s good graces had granted her advantages she hadn’t even asked for, advantages that she had seen reflected in Grandfather’s treatment of Uncle Iroh before he died. There was a strength in being liked, and it cultivated respect.
But perhaps father had known better all along. After all, Grandfather had passed over Uncle for the crown in has last wishes, and this had proved to the princess that the most worthy child would rule the nation regardless of a parent’s whims. She had wondered whether Father was actually going to kill Zuko—not that she would have missed her brother terribly—but whatever Ozai had said to Grandfather that night had clearly changed the Firelord’s mind and saved the little brat’s life. And more importantly, it had ensured that her Uncle would stay as irrelevant as he was boring. Whatever remnants of respect the princess had had for General Iroh had vanished the moment she heard Firelord Ozai uttered within the walls of the palace.
Now that she was thinking about it, she didn’t half mind the sound of Crown Princess Azula, either.
She felt a strange excitement rising in her chest as she walked through the nearly silent halls to her father’s chambers. The muted sounds of preparation from outside of the palace walls were just audible to her, the voices of staff and rattling of carts drifting through the few open windows as the last details were put in place for the late morning celebration. Azula herself had already been thoroughly pampered and dressed in her royal armor for the occasion, with the matching gold-detailed headpiece that she rather enjoyed.
Her mother, who would normally supervise such a process, had felt almost conspicuously absent this morning. Not that this bothered the princess. Azula was determined that she would miss her mother as much as much as Ursa would have missed her had she disappeared in the middle of the night—as little as possible.
She reached her Father’s door early—they still had over an hour before guests would start arriving, but she prided herself on punctuality—and raised her tiny fist to knock on the ornate, engraved wood. The heavy door slid open almost immediately, and the pinched face of one of Father’s new attendants peered down at her for a moment before she was ushered inside.
Azula walked into the spacious sitting room, past the closed door of the bedroom and the servant who was polishing the sweeping shoulders of Father’s armor, which was mounted on its tall stand in the corner. She could hear the faint squeak of the cloth against the gold as the man worked.
Father was seated on his balcony, the remnants of his breakfast next to him. He had not yet donned the final layer of his regalia, but even without the entire ensemble his silhouette was formidable. It was a shape that inspired awe, fear, and a deep admiration in the young girl. She loved her father as she loved her country, wholeheartedly and without question; and she saw that love reflected back at her, faintly but surely, in Ozai’s praise and his rare smiles.
She knelt as she approached, bowing her head low. “Good morning, Father.”
“Azula. Rise.” He turned, and his daughter lifted her chin, heart quickening. She was slightly relieved by the set of Father’s brow, which only slightly creased—he was in a lighter mood today, then, as she had expected him to be.
“You asked to see me? I can help oversee the ceremony preparations, if the servants are making mistakes—”
“That won’t be necessary. Sit with me, Azula. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
She was warmed by the invitation, the chance to be on momentarily equal ground. Azula clambered up onto one of her father’s tall metal chairs, taking care not to disturb her own armor.
“I have awaited this day,” Ozai said, “since I was about your age. And now it has finally arrived, I am proud to have my children by my side to witness it. You remind me much of myself as a child, Azula.”
She did not reply, but she could feel her cheeks warming with the compliment.
“You have a dedication, a perseverance that your brother lacks. That is why I have summoned you here this morning. To speak of duty.” Ozai paused, and Azula met his gaze with a sense of apprehension. “I imagine you are wondering why your uncle is not being coronated today.”
Azula started, taken aback by the sudden change in subject. “Not at all, Father. I knew you deserved the throne.”
Ozai laughed at that, a dry chuckle that held no humor. “I am sure you did. But you need not lie to me, daughter. It is, I think, a fair question.”
The princess could feel the hairs on her arms standing up. Father so rarely spoke like this, so casually, as if inviting insubordination. She had heard him bait Zuko like this before, and it was almost always a trap, Ozai prompting him with leading questions until her brother said something that warranted fury. But his tone felt different this morning, softer, contemplative.
“I suppose I wondered if Uncle had…done something to anger Grandfather,” Azula replied, then tactfully added, “may he rest peacefully.”
“Oh, I am sure he rests very peacefully,” her father said, more to himself than to her, and he seemed to find something funny in the statement. “You would be wrong, Azula. This does not concern your Uncle at all. In fact, it concerns your mother.”
Her mother? Azula had wondered if he would ever speak further on the subject. The morning Grandfather had died Zuko had been acting very strangely, asking repeatedly where Ursa was. She had barely noticed her mother’s absence until later in the day, after all the commotion had died down—and Father had simply told them both that they would not be seeing her again and left it at that. It had been strange, of course, but there had been no occasion to ask more questions and Father had been so stern about it. Zuko had been inconsolable for days, little baby that he was, going on and on about how she might be in danger or hurt. Azula had assumed immediately that she was dead, and teased her brother about it until she had grown bored.
“I assume she’s not coming back,” Azula finally said, keeping her tone as light as possible. It was a statement, not a question.
“I should think not. She has been banished, for treason of the highest order.”
It took a moment before she fully comprehended the words. Azula almost stuttered, and took a second to compose herself before she found the words. “Father…are you saying Mother killed Grandfather?”
Ozai frowned, which the princess imagined was his best approximation of grief. “She wanted to save your brother’s life, you see, by eliminating the Firelord, who had given the order. I tried to stop her, but I was too late. By the time I arrived, your Grandfather was already suffering the effects of the poison.”
Azula did not know what to think. Mother, who only scolded gently, who had often been frustrated—or perhaps disappointed—in her, but never furious; Mother, who had never quite looked at her the same way she did Zuko. Mother, who she knew must love her brother more. Strangely, she felt her respect for the woman growing slightly at this new revelation. Azula might never have been able to earn Ursa’s true affections, but there was something deadly in her mother, after all.
“Your mother escaped before I could apprehend her,” Ozai was saying now, “but your Grandfather appreciated my efforts to come to his aid. He apologized for the ultimatum he had given that night, and stated that he wished me to be his heir. Do you understand, now, why I am telling you this today?”
Azula turned the story around in her head, examining it. It was certainly not what she had concluded from the events of that night, but she supposed it made sense. Her mother had clearly been desperate that night, enough to turn to treason—treachery arising from her closest family. And Father had wanted to speak to her alone this morning, the morning he was to become Firelord…
“Loyalty is rewarded,” the princess said.
“Precisely.” Ozai was smiling now, and Azula sat a little straighter in her chair. “You have always been quick to learn, Azula. As Firelord, I will need loyalty. No great leader survives without support—without reliable, efficient people behind him, who will do what the Fire Nation most needs. Your Grandfather used to tell me that this was how a great Firelord built a great dynasty. And now I am telling you the same.”
The princess could feel her heart leaping into her throat. She was trying not to leap to conclusions about the implications of that statement, but surely there was a significance in her father having this conversation with her, and her alone.
Azula swallowed, feeling the dryness in her throat, and bowed her head low. “I am here to fulfill any request you may have of me, Father.”
“You are yet a child, and have much to learn. But I expect, in the coming years, I will need a right hand…a most trusted lieutenant. Someone who will bring me solutions in the most difficult of times. Someone who will not falter. If you wish to fulfill this role, Azula, you will have to earn it.”
The girl lifted her head to look at the soon-to-be ruler of the country, a man that she was just beginning to truly understand. She looked and saw in his face a promise, a deal that she would have to sign in blood but would grant her the most exalted of prizes. Azula looked, and realized she was seeing her own future.
“I understand, my Lord.”
“Good.” Ozai nodded, and in the next second the moment had passed, and his features were unreadable once again. Her father stood, one fluid motion that raised him to his full height, and walked forward to rest his hands on the railing. “You are dismissed.”
Azula bowed once more as she slipped off of her chair. She was just turning to the door when Father spoke again.
“I would not share with your brother what we have discussed today. He would not take to it well.”
The princess smiled to herself. She was sure Zuko wouldn’t, and that would be precisely why it would be so fun to spill the beans. He would call her a liar, and she would laugh at how he always needed to believe she was deceiving him when the truth was so much easier. It was all so easy.
“Of course.”
“I will not repeat myself, Azula. This is a delicate matter, and there would be…a certain shame on our family if your mother’s betrayal were to be discovered. Only the necessary people must know if I am to make this a peaceful and smooth transition.”
Well, she did rather like the sound of being a part of the group the Firelord deemed necessary. It would be a shame not to rub it in Zuko’s face, but she supposed the not knowing could be just as torturous to him. She had never needed much to get under his skin.
“You have my word, Father.”
As his daughter walked out of his chambers, Ozai smiled to himself. The sun was shining brightly down upon the capital, and her rays had strengthened, their warmth reflecting off the roofs below him and warming his skin. He gathered fire into his palm and held it there, watching the flame dance, feeling the potential he held between his fingers.
He was building a dynasty that this nation would remember, and the first step was complete.