Chapter Text
"Mother, I -" He peers at her, taking in the darkness under her eyes, watching as creases form between her brows. The curve of her sloped shoulders makes her look like anything but a member of the royal family, the expensive silk pooling around her folded legs powerless to counter that. A small voice at the back of his mind can't help but blame Azula for this. "I don't think we should be talking about her."
"How could I not, Zuko? She is my daughter," his mother says quietly, like the words barely fit in her mouth. He can see the expectation behind her eyes, pained and broken, but just as persistent. She knows what she is asking for, and she is ready to be wounded by it. Zuko wishes he didn't have to be the one to twist the knife. "I need to hear it from you. It has been days, you promised me."
He sighs, pulling his feet toward himself, allowing his posture to match the one of his younger self, of the boy who would sit here with his mother when the world still made sense, long before it all began to fall apart. His grandfather was still alive back then, and his father didn't have chains around his feet. Azula was there too, and they would play together, like actual siblings. There were no scars, no departures, no asylums. Life seemed promising. It does still, but in a different way — more grown up, heavier. Gone is the innocence of those old days, the sense of wonder unique to childhood, the insistence in believing everything would always turn out fine, like in the stories his mother used to read him. The real world isn't as merciful.
They used to sit here, on this same spot, under this same tree. His eyes move through the garden, and he can almost see himself walking beside his mother, can almost see her smiles, and feel the gentleness of her presence. She always made him feel so safe. Zuko has many fond memories of this place, but they feel so distant. His gaze falls on the pond, and he is reminded of Mai, leaving the water red-faced. He remembers Azula's laugh too, as she put her hand on Ty Lee's shoulder and boasted about her childish plans. Always full of schemes, even then.
Zuko used to be afraid of ghosts when he was a child. He would run away back then, and hide behind his mother, or his uncle. But he no longer has that luxury. This place is haunted, and he finds himself facing ghosts anywhere he goes. He feels it when he finds himself too close to the Agni Kai chamber, and the scar on his face burns. In the throne room, too. And the courtyard. Sometimes he sees them around the table when he is having breakfast, as glimpses of an unlived life flash right before his eyes. They live in Azula's bedroom, and Zuko can feel their presence when he passes in front of her door. They weren't close before, but it's odd to know she won't be there if he knocks. He doesn't even know if she is still alive.
Ghosts linger, and they are cruel beings that demand to be recognized, to be remembered. To poke at unhealed wounds and pick at scabs, until blood is being spilled all over again. Zuko has been bleeding for a long time.
"What would you like to know?" he asks carefully. "It's been a long time... There's a lot."
"What happened after I left?" Her words are slow, dragged out, but the reply is immediate, and he realizes how much thought she has put into preparing for this.
Zuko frowns, confused. It's not the first question he was expecting. But one look at his mother and he can see she is trying to start small — hesitating to ask the same questions he will hesitate to reply. Part of Zuko wants to reach out and offer his mother comfort. But it's been too long, and as much as he dreads to admit it, the bond they shared is another thing he might have lost. "When I woke up, Azula told me Grandfather was dead, and you were nowhere to be found. I didn't believe her, but... I guess that's one time she didn't lie. I cried the whole day when I found out."
"Oh, Zuko..." He can see she wants to reach out too. Zuko follows the twitches in her fingers, the motions, as if she is about to raise her hands, and he expects the comforting touch of his mother. But nothing comes. Ursa looks down as if she is disappointed with herself, with the way everything has turned out. He is too. "Did Azula... React to it?" she asks quietly.
Zuko averts his eyes. "Not in front of me." She looked happy, is what he wants to say, but doesn't. "But I don't think Azula would do something like that in front of anyone."
Part of him doesn't even think she is capable of it. Azula has always been such a puzzle to him. So ruthless and composed, so perfect in such a vicious way. Zuko isn't ashamed to admit he barely saw her as a person sometimes. He is still unsure if he can. It's hard to imagine Azula having emotions like he does. Like his friends, his mom, and regular people do. Always so full of lies, and schemes, and words on the tip of the tongue. Nothing shook her or made her hesitate, nothing made her second-guess herself. She didn't look like the kind of person who could even be hurt. Zuko doesn't understand her at all, and part of him believes it's better that way.
And yet, when he is reminded of her screams, of her cries of despair, he wonders if he might have overlooked something. Stable people don't behave that way, and instability doesn't come from nowhere. Losing might have tipped her towards the edge, but it didn't start it. That began even before Zuko got there, and he only entered that Agni Kai believing he had a chance because of that.
One of the first things he was notified of when he ascended to the throne was that half of the palace's staff had been banished, including her allies and teachers. The mirror in her bedroom was broken, and chunks of hair were spread all over the floor. When he asked about it, no one knew how to explain it. "The princess went crazy," they would say, amid mentions of threats and accusations of treason, of screams and cries coming from the princess' chambers. Zuko can't figure out what would gauge this kind of reaction from his sister. Azula was perfect. She had everything she could want, everything he spent his life trying to accomplish. What in the world could even have the power to break her in such a way?
"I wish I could have been here to see you both grow up" she laments quietly, voice heavy with grief. Zuko wants to feel bad for her. He should. But his grief seeps through, and it's all he can focus on. "I keep thinking about how it must have been for you, to be with him for so long."
He smiles sadly at that, finding it hard to look her in the eye, but still trying to. "My world was over when you left. I cried for months and slacked so much that my teachers had to cover for me. I prayed to Agni every morning, and... I think I expected you to come back home." he admits quietly. "When I accepted you wouldn't, I thought no one else in the world would love me, and I became even more obsessed with pleasing Fa- Ozai. But Uncle Iroh did. When my face was burned, he didn't leave my side. He showed me the right way and stood by me even when I didn't deserve it," and he didn't a lot of the time. But Uncle was there, like the father he never had. "I even betrayed him, and he still gave me another chance. I wouldn't be who I am today without him. Living with Ozai wasn't easy, but I wasn't alone."
Her gaze shifts into something pensive, and Zuko has a feeling there's something else she wants to say. When her eyes find his scar, he understands.
"A few years after you left, I was banished from speaking up at war meetings. I accepted an Agni Kai, and-" he gulps. "Father was the one I was meant to fight," he explains, making sure to speak before she can ask.
Ursa gasps. "Zuko- You scar, it wasn't-"
"It was him."
Zuko tenses when she begins to reach out, but he doesn't pull away. Her touch is as gentle and as warm as he remembers, and as she cradles his face, he feels her thumb pass over the creases stamped on his skin. For the first time in Agni knows how long, Zuko feels safe. Her fingers move against his cheek, and he only takes notice of the intent when Ursa begins to dry his tears with the back of her hand. He raises his eyes, and the image of his mother, trembling as she holds back her sobs, makes him want to curl into a ball and never get up. She finally pulls her son into a hug, embracing him like the protective mother she has always been, as if she has the power to protect him from all evil and misfortune. Zuko hides his face on her shoulder, and weeps.
How dare Ozai take this from him? He could have grown up with a mother — with love and care and a haven to run to. He could have spent all these years knowing she was safe and sound. It isn't fair. This reunion shouldn't be happening now, after so long. It shouldn't even be happening at all, because his mother was never supposed to leave his life.
"He said he wouldn't hurt you," she cries. "He said you would be safe. I'm so sorry, my boy."
"It's not your fault. It's his."
Ursa holds him tighter, and they both lose themselves in the embrace. Things could have been so much different. He imagines what she would have said when he started dating Mai. How she would have defended him when he was banished. Zuko imagines her enveloping into a hug when he came back home, a single good thing among a nest of vipers. He could have had this all along.
"I thought I was doing the best for you..." she murmurs just as he begins to pull away. Zuko feels bad for doing so, but he has been spending most of his days holed up in his office, and his back is burning up. He barely had the time to meet her today. Being Firelord is... Different than what he expected.
"You did," he insits. "You saved me, mother. You gave everything away for that."
"I wish I could have done more," she says, and he can't help but notice how her eyes keep landing on his scar.
"You did what you could," he reassures her, fighting the urge to hide half of his face. It has been a long time since he felt the urge to, and he isn't ashamed, he just wishes he could offer his mother something better. A family that wasn't so broken. A son she could look at without having to be reminded of his father's violence.
Ursa hesitates, folding her hands atop her legs as Zuko himself tries to regain his composure. "You told me your Uncle was there for you... Was there anyone there for Azula?"
Zuko falls silent, unsure of what she is even asking. As unfair as he knows he is being, it annoys him that he has to talk about Azula now. It has been years since he’s had the chance to have a proper conversation with his mother, and even then, from wherever she is, Azula manages to ruin that for him. Just like she always ruined everything else. He thinks about his uncle's words, and settles on a firm, yet gentle, response. "She was too far gone, mother."
Ursa looks uncertain.
"There was no trying with Azula. She wouldn't have listened. She would never choose to leave Ozai's side, no amount of trying can change that.
"That's not what I meant, Zuko. I heard- She lost her mind. Is that what happened? Did no one see she was unwell? Did anyone ever try to check on her?" there's a slight rise in the pitch of her voice, and once again, Zuko finds himself blaming his sister for this.
"She wouldn't let it."
"Did you try?" she repeats, and although her voice is small, the significance behind her words isn't.
That's what she means. That he should have tried. That he should have approached Azula and treated her like some kind of poor, delicate thing when he was the one suffering. He doesn't owe her that. It's not her face bearing a scar. It wasn't her under their father's scrutiny. Azula never had to try — she was born lucky, wasn't she? His sister never had to learn the meaning of resilience or to feel the weight of real suffering. Life was kind to her, and even then, Azula never bothered being kind to him. It was not his obligation to try, nor was it anyone else's.
"You didn't try either" it slips out, and his eyes widen as soon as he registers what he said. "Mom, I didn't mean-"
His words fail him, and Zuko opens and closes his mouth a few more times before giving up. What can he say? He did mean it. If Azula was, in fact, a troubled person who needed help, she failed her even more than he did. My own mother thought I was a monster, he remembers. Even back when they resembled anything like a family, the two of them didn't get along. He never tried to get closer to her, but their mother didn't either. It's not fair for her to push that responsibility onto him, not when his sister was actively trying to get him killed.
"I'm sorry," is what he settles at.
Ursa won't look at him, her face twisted into something he can't decipher, hands curled into something that almost resembles a fist. She doesn't seem angry, but pensive, troubled in that special way mothers tend to be when they are concerned about their children. Lines have settled in between her eyebrows, and he tries not to look at it, not to think about how old she is now. About all the years they have lost.
"I asked for her asylum records" is what she says instead of recognizing his apology, but Zuko can see she doesn't do so out of malice. "I haven't opened it yet, I wanted to speak with you first."
"Mom-"
"Son," she pleads, and Zuko feels his heartbreak once again. He was hoping he could hide this from her. "Is there anything I should know before reading her files? I'd much rather hear it from you."
Zuko visibly pales. So much for protecting his mother. Of course, it would go back to Azula. It always does. Always has. And even if he understands why, he can't refrain from resenting her. The perfect princess. The golden child. The girl whose grip won't falter, even now. She is still here in the palace, even if she isn't. Her presence sits right beside them — both a comfort and a torture. Part of Zuko wants her to go away, but another refuses to let her go.
"I'll tell you what I know."
.
“I know I promised not to pry, and I wish I didn’t have to” she begins, looking into Azula’s narrowed eyes as the girl makes an effort to keep herself still. She tries not to look at the shadow lurking in the corner of the room, to ignore her loud footsteps circling them both. “But I need to know what happened.”
Azula stares at her almost defiantly, following the invisible thing taunting her out of the corner of her eye. Has she finally gone off the deep end? Did she do this to herself or was it… a product of whatever she found in her dreams?
That old sensation comes again, now a constant in her life, this mixture of impotence and humiliation. She feels smaller — too fallible, and frail, and out of her mind. What is she even good for, when she can’t do the most basic things, such as being aware of her own actions? It wounds her pride, and her barely existing dignity feels its impact, making Azula feel even more frustrated with herself for harboring these feelings. Shame fills her lungs, inflaming her heart and impelling her thoughts to follow its beat. She wouldn’t have any explanations to give, and she has nothing to declare, since she doesn't know what is or isn’t real.
Azula doesn’t want this woman meddling in her business. She feels imponent enough as it is, and there's no need for a retelling of her time at the asylum — with wannabe doctors poking and prying into her mind and trying to get her to talk about things she has no desire to verbalize. It was funny, how they thought they stood a chance, as if she would allow them to.
“I’d like to hear your own speculations.”
Ryoko eyes her wearily, but oddly enough, she doesn’t look angry. Disappointed, maybe, but not affronted. It makes Azula relax, just enough so that she can appreciate having one less thing to concern herself with.
“I’m not your enemy here” Ryoko says, as if guessing her thoughts. “I want to help you, but I need you to be honest with me so that I can do that.”
“Where do you think they come from?” she inquires, modulating her voice as to personify her old self. Azula misses her, and she feels a little more in control through that action alone. It felt good to be the princess — powerful, and important, and not abandoned by a life that has gone on without her. “You could have just assumed I burnt myself by accident, but you didn’t. If you are asking me all these questions, I presume you must suspect something.”
She hopes Ryoko does. That she gives her something to hold onto, to prove there's still something functional in her broken mind. Something salvageable.
“I’m not privy to details, but… It has been docummented.”
Her eyes narrow. “By whom?”
Ryoko sighs, and Azula realizes she is avoiding her eyes. “I will tell you, once you are out of danger. No sooner than that.”
Azula has to bite down on a few words she has for this woman, knowing they would land her back on the streets. Ryoko seems well aware of that, but her resolve remains, which only makes her angrier. She hates being treated like a child. She did and endured things most adults wouldn't sustain for half of the time she had to. If there is someone who shouldn't be here, being babied by some stranger with misguided notions, that someone is her. Insufferable woman.
They sit in silence for a few heartbeats, neither willing to give in, and Azula can feel her frustration steadily growing. She doubts she will get anything else out of Ryoko like this. If there’s a chance this isn’t a result of her madness, that she didn’t do this to herself, maybe she can bear to tell her about the dream, if she is careful with her words.
“I had a nightmare. My arms got burned in there, and they were like this when I woke up. I don't remember anything else,” she says simply, making a point of making herself brief. Ryoko won't be getting much more than that, unless Azula gets her answers.
Ryoko nods, her gaze growing heavier as Azula enunciates the words. “Can you tell me… Who did it?”
She fights the urge to say no, to remind her of who she is and put her back in her place. This is none of this woman’s business, and she shouldn’t be trying to make it so if it will be of no use. But Azula can tell she is holding something back, and she isn't one to undermine the power of a good sob story.
“My father did.”
Her jaw tightens, and she hates the look she receives in return of her confession. Ryoko's gaze is softer. Azula finds no pity in it, but there's concern, etched on her features, turning the lines on her face into wrinkles. It's the same way some of the servants looked at Zuko after he was burned, the way they looked at both of them when their mother left. As if they were both made of glass. As poor things in need of care, lost children with some melodramatic tale to account for. It's demeaning, and she wants none of it. Azula is no victim. She might have lost the war, along with everything else, but she refuses to be regarded as such.
“If you want to talk about it-”
“I don’t.”
Ryoko nods, dropping the subject of her father at once. “That’s alright,” she says quietly, pulling up the blankets to cover the girl as a shiver goes through her. The gesture is oddly maternal, and it makes Azula feel sick. “In your dream, did you see anyone else?”
“Just people I knew,” she replies, following the gesture with a quizzical gaze.
“Nobody else?”
The thing laughs, and Azula catches herself just in time to avoid looking directly at it.
“Who else did you expect?”
Ryoko hesitates.
“You wouldn’t be asking if there wasn’t something else,” Azula insists.
The woman’s eyes drop to the burns on her arm. “I think you know.”
“Well. I want to hear it,” she demands, raising her voice imperiously.
The tip of the blanket is still in Ryoko's hands, Azula notices, and it’s only then that she lets go of the fabric, resting her hands atop her thighs, as if trying to get herself to behave properly, to say the right things. As if she was threading carefully. “Did you happen to see yourself in there? Or maybe something else, something that didn’t belong?”
She is seeing it now, approaching Ryoko in hasty steps. Azula holds her breath as its hands hover over her head, and exhales once it goes right through her. The thing grunts angrily, and then it laughs again, as if it could feel Azula's terror. As if it found it amusing.
"I saw a shadow. It became-" she pauses, as the thing looks directly at her. "-myself."
“Do you still see it now?”
Azula tenses up. The woman in front of her is the only one who has an idea of what is happening, and the only person in this world who might both be willing and capable of helping. She should be honest about this, but- What if she is wrong? What if it isn't real? What if she is as crazy and deranged as she is said to be? Azula has a chance to have something akin to a home here, to be treated like a person. Not a beggar, or something that deserves to be locked away. It's a lot more than what she is used to, and it's unlikely she will find anything as good as this out there.
"You wouldn't be the first one to," says Ryoko in a surprisingly gentle voice. "And I wouldn't judge you if you do. But I need to know what the problem is if we are to find a solution."
The judgment of the likes of you is of no matter to me, she thinks. But by now, Azula can admit to herself that isn't as true as she wishes for it to be. It often stung when she would catch fragments of gossip about the crazed princess, the perfect girl who was driven to insanity and proved herself to be anything but that. She tries not to think about what will be written and taught about her, but sometimes when it's too hard to fall asleep, she wonders, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
The shadow glitches, and Azula sees glimpses of herself, of the girl she wishes she could still be. She is lying, you fool. She will kick you out as soon as she realizes what an utter wastrel you are.
"They are mirrors," Ryoko continues, raising herself to pull the chair under her closer to the bed. "Manifestations of our worst qualities, and our worst fears. Our shadows. They reflect our deepest wounds and our most destructive tendencies. Our nastiest beliefs about the world and ourselves. Those are the darkest parts of our beings, and they are constantly telling us lies."
Sounds plausible enough. Azula had no doubts in regards to the creature's pretenses, their relation to each other being clear from the get-go, but she isn't sure if that makes a difference. Even if the source of the princess' taunts is malice, or self-preservation, even if those are in fact lies, that doesn't mean her words hold no truth. One can claim something will happen without knowing whether it will or won't, and still turn out to be right. Azula isn't convinced this isn't the case here.
And isn't that just great? That thing is fueled by her feelings. She barely remembers the last time she felt anything other than rage or despair, if not sheer hatred. If it feeds on resentment, she has plenty of it to give. If it wants fear, she can offer it a feast. Or she can simply allow it to go around poking at her bruises until it's satisfied. If it ever will. If she even has a choice.
"I don't see anything."
She swears Ryoko's shoulders drop a little, but once again she nods, leaning back on the chair. Her amber eyes shine in the dim light, doubtful and fatigued, and the lines adorning her face both showcase her worry and make her appear a lot older than she might truly be. "... If you ever do, don't hesitate to tell me."
She doesn't look like the kind of person who would turn someone away like this, especially not in such a time of great need. But Mai and Ty Lee didn't look like traitors, and her brother didn't look like the kind of person who would throw his sister in a mental institution knowing she would either leave worse for wear, or not leave at all. Every single person in her life has turned out to be a disappointment, and Azula has always been the one at fault for allowing them to affect her in such a way.
"Of course", the lie slips out with ease. "If anything arises, you will be the first to know."
Ryoko smiles, clearly unconvinced, but kind enough to pretend. Azula is starting to feel more secure in predicting her reactions. She isn't a reactive person, or a stupid one. But she does suffer from a severe case of bleeding heart, and that's clear, it's all over her. Even now, Ryoko keeps looking her up and down, searching for wounds, looking for signs Azula might be hiding further injuries under the clothes she has been given. It disgusts her, to be looked at with compassion by some misled peasant when not even her mother could look at her like that. But Azula can exploit that. If she tugs at the right strings at the right times, it might just work.
"If that was my shadow," she begins, trying to pretend not to be terrified, "why did it attack me? And why am I wounded, if I got hurt in a dream and not in the real world?"
Ryoko peels her eyes away from the burn, shifting her weight on the chair, and Azula gets a feeling the woman expects her to be offended by what she is about to say. "I have my own theories. Our negative feelings aren't always solely turned outwards. If that's the case, if they are too strong... I suspect they gain the power to cause physical wounds. But it can't kill you, and most of the injuries might fade away with time."
That's... Not as bad as she was anticipating, but it's still concerning. The creature wasn't the one to hurt her, the distorted image of her father did. Can that happen again? Can anyone appear in there and demand a fight? She isn't sure what to make of it, but it's her mind, and she wonders if she has some leverage in there. If that means she can give herself boons, or create escape routes. If her father appears again-
"Will this keep happening?" she asks, antsy, her voice almost going up a pitch.
"Yes, for a time. But it'll pass" comes her gentle reply. Ryoko watches her carefully, as she usually does. As if dealing with another person this closely was unusual for her. "I can't tell you when, but the girls you met might."
From what she heard of their conversation, there's a lot they can tell her. As Azula imagines the kinds of things she might ask, glimpses of her time alongside her old companions flash before her, and dread sinks to the bottom of her stomach, nesting itself there."Weren't you with them when it happened?" she asks.
"No, we only started collaborating later on." She finds the statement strange, but says nothing.
Ryoko covers her mouth, in an attempt to stifle a yawn, and that seems to motivate her to begin to stand. "It getting pretty late, and you seem tired. I'll bring you a bowl of soup, and send the girls home. We can talk once I'm back, if you have any more questions," she hesitates, as if evaluating her own words, and once again Azula wonders if this woman is at all used to people.
She wants to argue against it, but as her own lips begin to part and her hand goes up to mimic the gesture, she knows it's a lost battle. She could still push, but, as much as she wants to, it doesn't seem wise to. Some things demand patience, and Azula is no stranger to playing the long game.
"Speaking of them, who are those?" she asks, changing tactics.
Ryoko cocks her head to the side, pulling the chair away as she heads towards the door. "They help me around here with cooking, tending to the crops, and making things to sell at the market. There's a festival coming up next month, so our hands are full."
She doesn't say their names, and Azula wonders if it's purposeful. But she supposes that's fair. She hasn't said hers either (which is something she will have to fix soon enough), and this woman might be trying to respect their privacy. Or to propel introductions. She almost rolls her eyes at the notion.
"I see. I won't keep you any longer, then" she voices, before Ryoko can suggest such things.
Azula watches as she leaves, waiting for her to cross the threshold and close the door, for the sound of her footsteps to become distant. When she calculates she is far enough, she leaps off the bed, supporting herself on the nightstand, and then on the walls, dragging her own feet forward until she reaches the wall beside the door. The room is much cleaner, she notes. Long gone are the books under the bed, sorted into neat piles, accompanied by a few statues lined up on the desk. She wouldn't say they did an impressive job, but it's not as dusty as it used to be, and that's good enough for now.
She presses her ear against the wall, closing her eyes in a frayed attempt to hear something.
"How is she doing?" asks one of the girls. The annoying one, she recognizes.
Ryoko's voice is quieter. As much as she tries to strain her hearing, Azula doesn't understand much of what she says.
"That's good. I- I wasn't sure if she was going to wake up," the girl comments, her voice followed by footsteps, as if she was walking in circles. "When can we meet her? We didn't talk much, I think everyone was kind of freaking out."
Azula rolls her eyes. She has already suffered enough, no? The last thing she needs is a Ty Lee stand-in.
"It's been a long day, I don't think she'd be up to it now. But she asked about you."
"She did?" she beams at her. "See? I told you we would get along."
"I'm not so sure about that..." says a third voice, uncertain. This one seems to have enough common sense.
"You don't like her?"
"I have nothing against her. I don't think she likes us."
Ryoko chuckles, as if that was a foolish notion, and Azula wonders how these people might be seeing her.
She listens as they exchange pleasantries, powering through their chit-chat until they begin to exchange farewells and Azula hobbles back to the bed, allowing herself to fall onto it, pulling the covers over herself so that she can settle on a position that feels right as she thinks of the questions she might ask, and she laments for how long she went on without this simple comfort. It embraces all the achings in her body, and wraps her up in a world that feels far fairer than this one. She is thinking about the second question when her conscience gives away, covered by the tender touch of the peasant's blanket, lulled by the sound of rain hitting the roof, the soil, and everything else.
.
Golden eyes snap open, and, once more, Azula finds herself out of breath. She was screaming, she is certain of it. Shaky hands come up to dry droplets of sweat gathering at her hairline, and she notices how heavy they feel. Her arms were moving too, and the effort was considerable if it caused this much strain — there isn't a lot of it, but they still feel more tired than they should.
There's a creaking sound, and she turns her head just in time to see the door to the room open narrowly.
"Are you alright?"
Obviously not.
"I'm fine," as convincing as she looks, the crack in her voice betrays her.
"I heard screaming."
Of course she did. Apparently, Azula can no longer sleep without exerting her vocal cords. She is about to say something very unkind when her eyes land on the bowl of soup on the nightstand. It's still full, untouched, and she assumes it was put there for her to take in case she woke up before dawn. Azula takes a deep breath, reminded of the fact she is relying on this person's goodwill. There's no telling how much she can push yet. She bites down on the offense, and levels her voice to something intended to sound more neutral.
"A nightmare."
Azula is sure that comes as no surprise to her, but she proves to have enough social grace not to mention it. "Are you hurt?"
She hasn't checked yet, but nothing seems to hurt too badly. Even the burn marks on her arms only ache mildly. If she does have new ones, that's none of anyone else's business. "As much as I've been."
It's all coming to her now. The crown. The heat dancing inside her lungs, as electricity flew through her limbs erratically, honing in on its target. It felt... So cold. She can hear her own screams, her deranged cries as she struggled, led astray by her own madness. Azula shivers, and it's as if she is there again, stuck in the ice, paralyzed and stupefied as she takes notice of everything falling apart.
"If you need-"
"I said I'm fine," she snaps.
.
The third time it happens, it's already morning. As sunbeams intrude into the room, passing through the space between the curtains and landing on her distraught form, there's a knock on the door. Azula grunts, fists clenched around a handful of hair, eyes tightly shut. What does that peasant want now?
She lets go of her hair, and pushes it back into place, making minimal effort to look put together. She is about to ask what she wants, when she is once again reminded of how much she doesn't need to get kicked out. "You may come in," she croaks.
The door opens far too slowly, and Azula has to hold back a snide remark. Ryoko remains outside for an extra second even then, making no attempt to come closer, and Azula barely refrains from rolling her eyes. After her horrid night, she has no tolerance for wastes of time, and the gesture tips her off way more than it should.
"Can I help you?" she asks impatiently, once she is already inside.
"I brought you breakfast," comes the tired reply, as Ryoko pushes her fingers through her own matted, damp strands of hair. Was she outside? The rain has stopped, and she is still wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday, so Azula can only guess she left in the middle of the night.
Her gaze follows the cue and trails downward, revealing another bowl in her hand. Azula tries to not feel disappointed with herself for not having realized it sooner. She always had a keen eye for detail, big or small, and this feels like another little thing to add to her list of failures. A familiar feeling takes over, and she can't help but feel dejected.
She reaches out to accept the food, thanking Ryoko as she does. She wonders if there is even a point in maintaining her politeness now that she is to live as a commoner, but it's a small comfort amid all the losses, a little fragment of herself she can still keep. Despite everything else, royal blood still courses through her veins, and that's something she ought to remember.
"The girls and I will spend most of the day preparing some things. Would you like to join in? We should start in a few hours, all gains are shared among ourselves."
That's the last thing she would want, but Azula is in no position to deny money. She will need something to fall back on when this arrangement begins to crumble. Even if food isn't a concern, she might want to make her own purchases too, as she is in need of far too many things. And besides, this woman took her in. Even with no compensation, Azula would still feel inclined to pull her weight and find a way to offer some kind of compensation. Not out of gratitude, mind you. But she is no freeloader, and she has no intentions of increasing her debt to Ryoko. She was given something, and so she must give something back. It's how the world works.
"I would love to," she says, without meaning it at all.
Ryoko looks at her funny, but does not comment on it. Azula waits for her to leave the room, taking the chance to approach her own emotions, now that she is finally alone with them. The night terrors are still fresh in her mind, and she suspects they aren't the only issue she will be dealing with. She takes a deep breath, trying to ground herself, going through some of the lessons from the nuthouse. Most of it was useless, but she has found value in their breathing exercises. She closes her eyes, just in case the shadow decides to come back, and tries to turn her horror into something more productive. She can overcome this. She can. She will.
It's quite the predictment, but there must be a way for her to turn it around. Azula wishes this could be a political conflict, or maybe a war, a rebellion, something in her area of expertise. That she can win, with cautious observation and calculated steps. She can fight as well. But this falls completely out of her scope of abilities, and Azula is afraid to admit she doesn't know how to proceed. She is vulnerable to whatever this is.
The morning goes on slowly. Azula takes the time to reorganize the room to her liking, in tune with the sounds of footsteps going around the house as birds chirp outside. When the sounds get too close to the room, she finds herself holding her breath, muscles tight and eyes attentive, ready to be greeted by danger. But then, the steps begin to move away, and she tries not to feel ridiculous for her own reaction. Being in a house often meant stealing, which could mean being chased by guards if she wasn't attentive to the sounds around her. She will have to get used to this.
She never had to tidy anything up before. There were servants in the palace, and her room at the asylum was basically a prison cell, small, bleak, and mostly empty. The few belongings she was allowed to possess didn't deserve the attention, but the ones here just might. She takes a look around the room, taking a deep breath. It doesn't belong to her — not really —, but it feels good to pretend it does.
It pales in comparison to a life at the palace, but it's her best shot now. No chains weigh her down here. There are no cages to entrap her, no doctors, no one documenting her breakdowns to tell her brother about it. She can be a person now. She can dress, and eat, and sleep like one, and exchange words with someone who doesn't look at her with disgust.
She picks up a book from the pile, and sits down on the bed. Azula never thought she would find so much comfort in such a mundane act, but she hasn't read anything in so long, and the mattress is soft and inviting.
The book turns out to be surprisingly decent.
.
The two of them are on time, knocking on the door by the time the sun touches the horizon. It's early still and there's plenty of time for them to work, but Azula just wants to get this over with. Ryoko invites them in, and the duo enters carrying two big craters with them. As the chirpy peasant settles one of them down, and Azula notices it's empty.
"We brought some leftovers," the short-haired one smiles at them, offering the second box.
Ryoko eagerly accepts it, reaching for it without needing to be told twice. "Oh, I love it when you do. Not a lot of movement?"
She shrugs. "More vendors are popping up. Most of them sell cooked meals, I guess that's more practical than raw fish."
Azula refrains from asking why they don't do the same. It would only be logical if they are after profit, and the meat would last longer. But she has long learned not to underestimate an individual's stupidity, and she supposes she can extend the courtesy to these girls.
"We didn't introduce ourselves last time," she says, coming to stand before her. "It's Azu, right? I'm Arnaq. It's so nice to meet you."
As soon as she hears it, Azula feels the impulse to grab her things and find the nearest escape route. By the end of the day, she could be far from here, she could leave this village and never set foot here again. But no, none of that. She can feel her own paranoia reaching out, trying to close its hands around her, but she won't let it get to her. With a firm hand, Azula pushes them down. The girl is smiling at her, and Ryoko seems engrossed in conversation with her friend. She isn't being regarded as a treat, which can only mean they remain oblivious to her real identity. She is safe — for now.
"It's nice to meet you," she returns the greeting, hating the way it sounds. She has to be mindful around these people, even more so than she is used to. It is unpleasant — to be unable to express herself using her own words, her own vocabulary, to have this one more thing distancing her from herself —, and she often slips when she deems it safe to, but that's not the case here. Feelings are negligible, her survival isn't.
If this girl knows this much of her name, there's no denying it, lest it raise suspicion. With that in mind, her lips curve upward, mirroring her expression. "I don't remember telling you my name."
"You woke up a few times while we were cleaning. That's what you told us when we asked," she offers, still smiling, still waiting for... Something, apparently. Well, this is awkward. Is there anything else she is supposed to say? Maybe an unspoken social rule she should be aware of?
"You are not very talkative, huh?" she laughs. She seems to consider saying something else, but instead, her face smooths out in a subtle, gentle smile. "We are glad you are here. You can count on us if you need anything."
As if.
"I'll keep that in mind, thank you," she forces out a smile. By the look on the girl's face, she isn't sure if she succeeds. "Actually, there's something you could help me with."
Arnaq perks up, ever so helpful, eager to offer something to the girl she so obviously wants to befriend. She looks nothing like Ty Lee, but Azula swears their smiles are the same. It makes her feel sick. "What is it?"
She takes a quick look at Ryoko, still chatting with the other girl, and turns back to the Ty Lee impersonator. "I've been experiencing nightmares. I was told you could tell me about your experiences with that. I'd like to know what to expect."
She realizes far too late how denouncing are her manners. Her words might be simple, but they still stand out among peasants, which is only heightened by her accent. She is better at this than she used to be, but sometimes the wrong intonation will still roll out her tongue, familiar and comforting, and terribly dangerous. They already have a piece of her name, and it won't take much for them to realize she is royalty, considering the fact Azula barely knows how to cook the most basic meal. She should at least try to sound humble, lest someone decides to check on her background.
The smile falls off the girl's face, and something haunted takes its place. It's clear that the question took her by surprise, and she staggers, eyes wide and mouth half-open. But soon enough, Arnaq is smiling again. Azula can see the strain, the emptiness behind her eyes as she looks between her and Ryoko. "I can tell you more, but... Not here. I don't think it would be good for her to hear about this. When we are done here, let's take a walk outside," she mutters.
She nods, intending to call out the pleasantries and speak out, so that they can turn their focus towards the work. But Ryko has already stored the crater somewhere in the kitchen, and the other girl is heading towards one of the colorful cushions set around a circular table, where resides a mass of paints, strings, clay, and wood, along with brushes and sculpting tools. There are pieces of fabric too, some already cut, others folded in a neat pile. The one on the top is a rich red, as beautiful and vivid as it's supposed to be. Despite its low quality, it's close enough to what she used to wear back home. Her stomach churns, and she looks away, willing the feeling to leave her.
Azula heads towards it wordlessly, and Arnaq follows her. She reaches it just in time to come face to face with the other girl, who eyes her curiously. She doesn't miss the way her eyes scan her, or the small furrow of her brows, and it takes an extra second for the girl to snap out of the daze and take a step back, bowing politely. She has a bad feeling about this one.
"I'm Aiko. Pleased to meet you."
She retributes the gesture, bowing relatively quickly, and lowering her head no more than she has to. A glint blossoms in the girl's eyes, brightening her features up, and the princess finds the corners of her mouth slightly upturned. But her stance is friendly enough and, despite the suspiciousness in her demeanor, she looks more distracted by her than anything. Azula will be keeping an eye on her.
"Azu. I'm glad to make your acquaintance."
Aiko nods, taking a step back to turn to her seat. There are no more words, no smiles after that, nothing more than a brief glimpse of bewilderment that crosses her face. Azula tries to ignore the dread pooling up in her guts, considering her options. But Ryoko is sitting down already, and so is Arnaq. With no choice, she sits down herself, intending to approach her after speaking with the water tribe girl. If Azula leaves today, at least she will have the information she seeks.
Soon enough they are all gathered around in a circle, each atop a cushion. Arnaq has her elbows on the table, and Aiko her hands. Ryoko is reaching for a piece of cloth, pulling it back towards herself as it unfolds and she sees the piece for what it is, a blue kimono, with open seams at both sleeves and an uneven hole near its hem. It looks more sophisticated than anything else in this house, and it sticks out amid their own garments, clashing with their sleazy clothing the same way Azula would often clash with commoners, standing out as a point of contrast. There are pieces of wood too, lying near three smaller knives "Pick your pieces, girls, and let's get to work," Ryoko declares, tilting her chin to indicate she should come to sit by her side.
She could have done that before, no? Azula sighs, but follows the instructions without further complaints. They start with small patches, and Ryoko walks her through the basics of mending. She is perceptive enough to memorize and follow the patterns of movement, but her abilities with a needle leave a lot to be desired. It's decent, at best, which means it isn't enough. The two other girls are engrossed in conversation, fixing actual clothes as they chat, mentioning people, parties, and the fish they intend to catch tomorrow. The first third of her day goes on like this, and something about this idleness, this sense of peace, feels terribly out of place.
Azula learns quickly, and she doesn't take long to ditch the rags and move onto actual clothes. Ryoko accompanies her progress, spilling empty words of praise at each new improvement, but they fall on deaf ears. She can judge the quality of her work by herself, and she isn't pleased with what she sees. It's no worse than what the other two have been doing, but that isn't good enough, and it makes her want to try harder, despite knowing it's a useless effort. As long as it isn't too mediocre, she doubts there would be any complaints, or that their clients would even notice the difference, but Azula feels compelled to get herself to do this one thing right. To make it perfect.
They stop before she can. What follows is a quick meal consisting of fried fish and rice, amid rushed words. They haven't begun working on the pieces for the festival yet, and they only will once they have finished the prior orders. There are no more than a few pieces still waiting to be repaired, so it's unlikely that alone will take all day. Azula isn't surprised when they mention working on the soil or feeding the cattle, and she wonders what the outside of the house might look like.
It takes around an hour for them to set the remaining pieces aside, all properly sewn and folded, almost as good as new. Azula can feel the eyes of the girl on her. Aiko is discreet about it, but Azula is attentive enough to notice it, and she makes a colossal effort to push her trepidation down once again. There are talks of masks and carvings, and food they will have to harvest and buy to prepare some of the dishes they intend to sell. She listens quietly, feeling no more than a sluggish, distant interest. It's not the kind of conversation she would care for, but it's not like her will matters much these days.
They end up deciding to take a longer break, given the amount of work and how much they've already tired themselves, and Azula takes the time to observe, to pick them apart, and try to understand the dynamics of this strange group. That's always the first step to anything. Ryoko is the easiest one — a woman burdened by grief and guilt, moved by her feelings. Judging by her awkwardness around them, she doubts she is accustomed to people. Even with these two, their interactions are superficial at best, courteous the same way one might be with someone they do business with. That's what they are to each other— people who exchange favors. There is some level of care, of respect, but she doubts they lead to anything deeper than that.
She hasn't known Arnaq for long, but from what she heard that night in the room, and from what she has seen today, it's clear enough she is desperate. She might try to hide it behind chattery and smiles, but Azula can see the instability in the way she presents herself. Her nails are terribly unkept, and bloody, like she's been picking on them, and there is a franticness to her movements that reveal far too much. She can barely stay still in the same place for long, often shifting her weight around, or fidgeting, as her eyes take on a blank state. She seems insecure too, one of these people who are eager to please, to give, to serve, and Azula imagines it might take very little to get what she wants from her.
Aiko is a bit more of a mystery. From what she gathers, she is polite enough, and self-assured in a way that doesn't allow her posture to indicate any kind of weakness. But there is playfulness there too, in the way she teases Arnaq, and in the boldness of her stare. Her smiles are wide, and she isn't ashamed to take up space. There is no despair or hesitance in her, she emanates intensity. This one will be harder to manipulate, Azula will have to be careful around her.
"It's not so bad, you know," says a voice, pulling her out of her thoughts, as she turns to find Arnaq sitting down beside her. "We work a lot, especially when it's nearing a festival, but there are good things to do around here too."
This is her chance. The other two are still in the house, but they both know what this is about. She can ask her questions now.
"My concerns go far beyond working," she punctuates. And then adds, in a nicer sounding tone: "You promised me answers."
The girl tries to hide a grimace behind a smile, but it ends up looking like something even more twisted. Azula appreciates how much of an open book Arnaq is, she barely needs to make an effort to figure her out. She hesitates, and then slowly pushes herself into a standing position and beckons Azula to follow her outside. She acquiesces, taking a look around as she moves towards the door. Ryoko is nowhere to be seen, and Aiko seems to be almost falling asleep as she hovers over the table. And yet, her eyes still follow Azula the whole way.
She pulls her eyes away from the girl, feigning non chalance, and as she closes the door behind her Azula is greeted by bright shades of green. Tree branches entangle themselves on one another, and vines grow along the walls of the house, right where sunlight settles on. In the distance, Azula can make out the beginnings of a plantation. It's a large property, and it seems to be isolated enough for Azula's tastes. She follows the girl until they reach a small bench made of heavy stones stacked together, trails and trails of moss growing along the empty spaces in between them.
Arnaq sits down, patting the space beside her with a tentative smile. She is tense, and it feels like she doesn't want to be here at all. But she is still, and as long as she gives Azula the answers she is looking for, she doesn't really care about her feelings.
"Have you already seen it?" she asks, shifting her weight from one side to another, uncomfortable. "I mean, have you seen... Her?"
Azula is about to answer, but the girl beats her to it, and she realizes blue eyes have landed on the burns peeking through her sleeves. "Ah, that's a stupid question. Of course you have," she mutters in that frantic manners Azula has come to associate with her. Arnaq radiates uneasiness, and Azula can almost feel her nervous energy surrounding her, trying to cling to her own forced, artificial sense of calmness. "So, hmm, what do you want to know?"
"How long will I have to deal with this?
She hesitates. "The first few weeks tend to hurt a lot. They did for Aiko too, and for... Ah, never mind. It just... Hurts. Your body aches all over, and it feels like it's the end of the line, but it goes away... Eventually. The nightmares haven't stopped yet, but I still hope they will," she mutters, looking up at Azula. Arnaq wants to say something else, but she seems afraid to do so, out of consideration perhaps, or maybe out of fear. "It's crucial to keep your emotions under control, it feeds on that. The more unbalanced you are, the worse it is. And the more susceptible you are to lose control."
That piques her interest.
"What happens when you lose control?
Arnaq lowers her gaze, avoiding her eyes. "Believe me, you don't want to know."
Azula wants to prod, but she is smart enough to recognize that's not an option here. "Is that all?
"We don't know. We- We were dragged into this mess, and now we are- this," she laments, letting out a bitter laugh. "None of us know exactly what it is, or where it comes from, or what the consequences are. We don't know if we are gonna make it, or what the purpose of all this even is. I only know that... They are planning something big. It has been done many times and soldiers keep covering it up. They won't report or do anything about it, because they are following orders from someone else. Whoever is behind this has a bigger purpose, and I doubt it will stop here. This is just the beginning.
Azula reconsiders her thoughts on the girl, and it becomes easier to detangle her idea of her from the image of her old companion. She is not like Ty Lee at all. There's something sharp and jagged hiding just under the surface. Something wounded. She wonders if what she has seen until now has been a cover-up, but she doesn't seem to care about tricking Azula into believing or doing anything. Arnaq could be luring her into something else still, and that possibility prevents Azula from simply listening, and instead she focuses fully on the girl, trying to gauge her intentions.
"What do you know about them?"
She shrugs. "I don't think the guards are working for them, but they turn a blind eye to whatever they are doing. They have a few outposts spread over the region, some abandoned, others not so much. Ryoko told us they started doing that a few years ago, but it wasn't as often as it has been, and... There were no survivors." She leans back, and the corners of her eyes wrinkle as if she was trying to figure whether she should continue or not. Whether she wants to even keep talking about this, or to feign ignorance. "Villagers used to have a contract with spirits. People here would protect the land, and the forest, and only hunt when necessary; In exchange, the spirits would provide safety and abundance. But since their activities started, they disappeared.
Azula evaluates her words. If Ryoko told her that, that means Arnaq wasn't here to see any of it herself. And if it has been happening more often, with better results, that means they are learning from their mistakes. That they are working towards developing something big. "Have you visited any of the abandoned outposts?
Arnaq shrinks into herself, and her eyes find a very interesting spot on the ground. "I observed some of them from afar, but... I never went there myself."
"How did you even know their locations?"
Her eyes widen, and she bites her lips in that anxious manner from before. Gone is the girl Azula had been conversing with, the one she could see pieces of herself in. In her place, stands a coward. It's fine, she tells herself. It's a ridiculous display, but she can work with this.
"It's okay," she coos, allowing her voice to take on a softer pitch, to flow in a way that is far kinder than any of Azula's intentions have been. "I won't say anything. I just need to know what to expect from all this."
It seems to disarm her suspicions well enough. The girl scoots closer to her, taking a cautious look around before leaning forward. She hesitates, her eyes scanning the area once again for good measure, and then she mutters, her voice barely audible: "I found it among Ryoko's things. I don't think she is involved, but... There's something she isn't telling us."
She thought so too. Her guilt was clear from the beginning, and the longer Azula spends here the more obvious it becomes. She wonders what the connection between her involvement and her daughter's death might be, if such a thing exists. She finds it hard not to. The girl died from the same condition she bears, possibly during the time it was still in its experimental stage. That alone suggests association. Maybe there's something else among Ryoko's things to tell more of this tale. If there is, Azula will find it.
Can you show me where the outposts are?
Something changes in the girl's demeanor, and this time around Azula finds herself staring at a perfect blend of her pathetic self and the angry, bitter girl from before, as courage and fear come to stand side by side. Arnaq straightens up, and her face takes on a determined semblance. Azula knows what the answer will be even before she says it.
.
"Aang!"
The Avatar groans, supporting himself on wobbly arms as his meditation pose is broken once again. He can hear Katara's rushed footsteps approaching, and her presence brings him a much-needed sense of comfort. "Aang, you need to stop. You've been on it the whole day."
Strong arms lift him up, and he gets room to unfold his legs, to relieve the tension born out of his extended practice. Aang rests his head on Katara's shoulder, and then on the nape of her neck as he tries and fails to put himself back together. "I can't find them, Katara," he murmurs, breathless. "I was almost there this time, I could feel it. They were calling out to me... But something pushed me away."
Katara barely knows what to say. She wants to comfort him, to offer words of reassurance that will console them both, but she isn't sure either of them would believe it. She holds him instead, wrapping her arms around his shivering frame as Aang loosely embraces her back. "They are hurting. I feel it. They are asking me for help, but... I can't do it."
"It's not your fault, Aang. You are trying your best, we all are."
They have been working on it for months — almost a full year now —, with no results. Spirits are disappearing all over the world, and Aang has been getting pleas for help, both from spirits that have come to him and from sources he can't track. Katara has witnessed his determination, the all-nighters and the frustration that came after each failure. Again and again, he'd get himself up wear himself out, in an unending chase for answers. And, without a fault, the outcome would remain the same.
"It isn't enough just to try," he insists, gathering enough strength to look Katara in the eyes. "I need to find them."
Katara is about to start the same conversation they've probably had a thousand times by now, when the door opens and Sokka barges in, followed by Toph trailing right behind. She groans, shooting her brother an unamused look, but he seems oblivious to it. "We asked around. Some local spirits disappeared some months ago, but no one saw anything."
She sighs. It's always the same. No one heard, or saw, or knows about anything. They never do. At this point, she wonders if Sokka or Toph still believe they might find anything. She doesn't know what to think herself. And Aang doesn't seem to know either, torn between wanting to believe and having no reason to.
"Welp. To the next town then."
Toph groans. "Ugh, already? We just got here."
Katara rolls her eyes, but doesn't comment on it. She is tired too, and arguing with Toph would only add to her fatigue. "Anything about Azula?
"No. No one saw her either," Sokka frowns, leaning against a wall. "Do you think she's still, you know, alive?"
"I hope so. Despite everything, she's still his sister. His mom will be devastated if she isn't."
They haven't gotten anything from Zuko in some time, but last they spoke he asked them to try and track Azula down. They agreed to it, of course. But Katara would be lying if she denied being apprehensive over it. Azula is dangerous, and one slip from them could come to be fatal. Her eyes trail down the scar on Aang's back, and she tries not to think about that day. Besides, now that his mother is back, she isn't sure if Zuko's priorities are still in the same place. Until now, they intended to lock her up. She hopes it stays that way.
Katara barely realizes Aang has begun to move, as he takes a deep breath and detangles himself from her, pushing himself up on unsteady feet. "I'll take a look myself."
"Aang-"
He shoots her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Katara," he says, his voice as tired as she feels. "There has to be something, somewhere. And I have to find it."
"We'll go with you."
His eyes linger on them for a moment, but Aang shakes his head. "I'll be back when I'm done."
All Katara can do is watch as he walks away, and pray for the answers they seek to exist. She doesn't know what will be of him if they don't.