Chapter Text
Azula was, by any measure, winning.
She had seduced the Avatar, borne him two children who were already bending air before they could properly walk, conquered postpartum depression in nine months through sheer force of will (although mainly with the power of support, therapy and medication), and was now — against every prediction anyone who had ever known her might have made — getting married.
Everything was, almost offensively, perfect.
Public opinion had shifted in ways anticipated. The general population was too busy crediting her as the woman who played a central role in restoring the Air Nomads to bother dredging up her past. She wasn't naive enough to think the hatred was gone. But it had grown quiet, and quiet was something she could work with.
Two small mysteries still lingered, though The first: why Aang perpetually smelled faintly of milk. The second: why Air Acolyte women were falling pregnant with such unusual frequency. When asked, every single one offered a different explanation. No pattern, no common thread, and — crucially — no sign of anything sinister. No evidence of coercion. No secret abuser lurking in the temple halls.
Just… babies. Lots of them. Azula had filed it under things that are strange but not my problem and moved on.
It was one of the few times in her life she could honestly admit she was happy.
Not performing happiness. Not constructing it as a strategic display. Actually happy.
She wasn't hated here. She wasn't being sharpened into a weapon or shaped into something monstrous. She was raising her children, and somehow — somehow — being quietly revered for it.
At this particular moment, she was doing what she had slowly, grudgingly learned to do: simply existing. She was settled against Aang's side, his arm warm around her, Zhan asleep against her chest with the boneless, absolute trust that only infants managed. Across from them, Yomi sat on the floor, deeply and inexplicably entertained by an empty bottle. She had a basket of perfectly good toys within arm's reach. She had chosen the bottle.
Azula had decided this was a sign of superior taste.
"I love you," she said, quietly, like it was still slightly dangerous to say.
"I love you too," Aang answered, like it wasn't dangerous at all, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Babies are amazing."
"They really are."
Then someone knocked.
Aang answered the door. There was a brief, hushed exchange. He closed it again and moved with quiet efficiency around the room, gathering items — a bag, his coat, something wrapped in cloth.
Azula watched him with the particular stillness that meant she was paying close attention.
"Why," she said carefully, "are you preparing to leave at this hour?"
"Rin's having her baby."
"...And Rin is?"
"An Air Acolyte. She chose to give birth at the temple, following the old Air Nomad tradition." He glanced at her, clearly deciding how much to explain. "Births were communal. Surrounded by the people who love you. I've been part of her support circle."
The silence that followed was very precise.
"So," Azula said, her voice pleasantly even, "you are telling me that you have befriended a woman — without mentioning her to me — and you are now leaving our bed, in the middle of the night, to be present while she gives birth."
"...Yes," he said, with the easy confidence of a man explaining that he was going to help someone move furniture. He kissed her forehead, murmured something soft to the sleeping Zhan, waved at Yomi — who waved back with the bottle — and left.
The door clicked shut.
Azula sat very still.
Zhan slept on, unbothered. Yomi chewed on the bottle.
She told herself it was nothing. She was not a jealous woman — she was a rational woman, and rational women did not spiral over—
He didn't come back that night.
Not by midnight. Not by the early grey hours before dawn. She woke twice, reaching instinctively across the bed, and found it empty both times.
By morning, she had almost convinced herself she was fine.
Then she heard it — through the temple walls, carried on the chatter of passing acolytes before she'd even had the chance to see his face:
The baby was an airbender.
Azula went very, very quiet.