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Azula was getting bored.
Watching Zuko was dreadfully dull, just like how everything about her brother was dull. Father always told them how he was useless, how he was ashamed that he was of royal blood, how he was lucky to be even born.
But she couldn't convince herself to go inside and do something far more valuable with her time. She wanted to, but she couldn't.
Father had gone a little overboard today, even Azula knew that. They were practicing firebending, something Zuko was admittedly bad at, but he was progressing. While she was mastering the fifth intermediate kata, he had finally gotten the hang of one, too.
Father had joined them, watching them with eyes so sharp Azula knew she couldn't afford making a mistake. Zuko, as always, was oblivious. She honestly didn't know how he could just not care and act the exam same way he was punished for time and time again. Was he that dumb? Or was it their mother who was stopping him from learning how to behave?
Either way when he'd move to learning another complicated kata, he'd slipped, his fire accidentally getting shot at their fathers' feet, not reaching him but still close. There was deadly silence as the prince waved his hand and put out his son's fire.
Azula watched their father as he started slowly walking towards a fearful Zuko, who was apparently frozen on his spot on the floor. The man extended his hand towards the boy when he got close, and Zuko, with that stupid hopeful and confused expression, hesitantly grabbed his hand (Azula didn't want to admit it, but she too was mesmerized by the mercy their father was showing, especially to Zuko).
Zuko was stupid. Stupid for not getting up sooner on his own, stupid for slipping and shooting fire everywhere. He was stupid and Azula knew he deserved whatever father dimmed a worthy punishment. She knew it was coming, and she knew it was deserved, but she just– didn't expect what happened next.
Father's hand was suddenly on fire, with Zuko's much smaller one still in his. He stared at the fire engulfing their hands for a moment, dumbfounded, but suddenly he could feel the heat, tongues of fire licking at this fingers, his nails, his skin. Azula didn't know when he started screaming and shouting, she could just watch with wide eyes as their father smirked and crushed Zuko's hand in his and her brother cried and pleaded and tried to get away.
Burning firebenders wasn't an easy task, even if they did lack the skill for bending like Zuko did. Father held Zuko's hand for exactly three minutes – Azula didn't know why, but somewhere in between Zuko's horrifying screams and thrashing she had started counting – and by the end of the third minute, she was starting to hear sizzling and smell cooked meat. She thought she was gonna puke if this horrendous punishment continued, but it seemed the moment – and, their father's focus and glee – was shattered by lady Ursa, who ran into the room like she was escaping the spirits themselves.
Azula had never seen their mother like that, and she literally gasped when the woman wrenched Ozai away. The man stumbled, his face lost it's excitement and replaced it with absolute fury, but it was like Ursa didn't even care in the slightest. She must've heard her son's screams and pleas as she was passing by.
Surprisingly, Ozai didn't hit their mother like he always used to when she misbehaved. He just watched as the woman started fussing and wrapping Zuko in a hug, ordering their firebending master – who was as shocked as Azula – to get a healer. She was almost screaming, holding Zuko's red and sizzling hand like it was a broken piece of glass, wiping his tears off and hushing his sobs with comforting words like, "it's okay, baby" and "I've got you, turtleduck, it's gonna be alright."
After that disastrous morning, here they were. When Zuko was tended to by a healer and had passed out, Father took ahold of mother's wrist and dragged her somewhere. Azula sat at Zuko's bedside and watched him sleep, his chest moving slowly with each breath, his hand wrapped in white bandages. She was gone by the time he'd woken up and ran to the turtleduck pond to cry, but it wasn't hard to find him.
He'd sat dangerously near the edge of the pond, holding his damaged and bandaged hand in the other, hunched over it like he was in terrible pain as he tried to smother his sobs. Azula hadn't been burnt even once in her life, so she didn't know what pain her brother might be feeling, but she still remembered how the hand looked as the healer was tending to it. How it had sizzled, how it had smelled, how Zuko had screamed like he was being skinned alive.
Zuko was full of burn marks, she knew this. Their father had left quite a lot of fingertip shaped burns on his forearms and shoulders, but this was going to be bigger, more noticable, more painful. There was hope it might heal a great deal, burning firebenders was hard and their father hadn't held him long enough for it to get too bad. But the skin was going to be different, even if movement was the same as always.
Azula was going to remember the moment it happened, the moment her brother sat at the edge of a pond and clutched his hand as though it was still burning. She would never admit it to anyone, but she stayed behind a bush until their mother finally came to collect her broken son. She would never admit it, but she was worried the mental impact of this particular punishment might make Zuko do something stupid, like jump in the deep pond with an injured hand and without the knowledge on swimming. She was worried that he might pass out from the pain again and fall into the water and drown. She was worried that he might lose his hand if she wasn't there to look at him and make sure nothing happened and no one bothered him while he was alone and crying.
Zuko was always crying, he was always hurt, but this time Azula felt the strange urge to protect him.
–
The scar on his hand had healed, somewhat. Azula noticed the slightly weird skin of his hand when he was holding a sword. Zuko was ten then, and that meant his hand had three whole years to heal. Still, the skin would never be the same. She watched from where she was perched on the grass. Zuko and his weird master their mother had hired for him have been going at this stupid sword practice for hours.
She had nothing to do that day, done with firebending practice and classes, so she thought maybe it would be cool if she sat for once and watched how Zuko trained with his dao. When Lu Ten had gotten him those for his birthday two years ago, father almost instantly banished him from learning how to wield them.
Azula remembered how he'd sat by the pond and mopped, and how mother and father fought so he could get to play with some swords he didn't even know how to hold.
Azula hated him a little for it, she would admit that. He was infinitely better at wielding the dao - or any weapon - than her. When master Piandao was finally assigned to teach Zuko the art, she asked her father if she could learn too.
She will never forget the look on his face from that day. Father got mad at her - at her - for even suggesting such a thing. He said benders using other weapons was a sign of shameful weakness, of worthlessness, of Agni abandoning them and slowly withdrawing their fire because they weren't competent enough to master it. Father had said that was who her brother was. An incompetent, weak bender who had to rely on some cheap metal sticks to not be considered completely useless as a royal.
She never spoke of it to him afterwards, and she made constant snarks about her brother's - admittedly impressive - swordplay. She, however, couldn't ignore the fact that it looked super powerful and cool.
She feigned boredom as she watched, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. Master Piandao was standing aside. Apparently this was an exam of sorts. Her eyes eagerly traced his complicated footwork, the way he was not swinging one, but two swords at once. He seemed so light as he moved, happy, unburdened. Azula wondered if this was how she looked like while she has firebending for her father and masters.
She was contemplating demanding Zuko teach her when nobody was around when she heard the footsteps. She turned and got up quickly, fear running in her veins and she looked at his father and his entourage approaching.
"Father," she said with a bow fit for the crown prince – even if he wasn't the crown prince – but when he didn't acknowledge her, her eyes moved to his only to see that he wasn't watching her.
There was pure disdain on his face as he watched his son perform perfect sets of his chosen weapon. His frown got deeper as he glanced towards her and she gulped silently. Father almost never was angry or mad at her, Zuko was the one who received scornful words and punishments. She didn't want to be perceived like him.
"Why are you here, princess Azula? Don't you have better things to do than watch your pathetic brother shamelessly show his weakness to the whole court?"
Azula masked her fear. She knew she couldn't show fear or hesitation, that was how Zuko got punished so much. She was better than him. "I assure you i was... on my way to my history class." Oh Agni, she hesitated. She couldn't count the nubmer of times that got Zuko into trouble, and she'd done just that.
Prince Ozai hummed and turned his gaze fully onto his daughter. His narrow eyes searching the eight year old girl attentively for a lie. "I'm glad to hear that, daughter. I would've been utterly disappointed have i found out you were growing... fond of this so-called mockery of training and art."
She could tell that he wanted an answer from her, but she didn't know what to say. What was she supposed to say?! "N-no father..." Oh, this couldn't be more terrible. Stuttering? Why was she stuttering?!
Her father's eyebrows drew closer. She remembered every time he frowned that way at Zuko when he made a mistake. How he looked at him like that when he engulfed his hand in fire, when he backhanded him for backtalking, when he told him he was useless, weak–
"Father!" Azula turned around in shock when she heard Zuko. He was running towards them – stupid. You should always show utmost grace when in presence of a royal – both his swords in each hand, a strange look on his face.
When he got near, he bowed awkwardly while holding his weapon, smiling nervously and standing close besides her. "I'm grateful you came to watch my training! I specially asked Azula to stay and watch, as I'm about to be named master of this technique."
No, he hadn't. She wasn't even sure if he knew she'd been watching him the entire time. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, how strands of his hair had escaped his ponytail and clung to his skin by sweat, how he was holding himself slightly infront of her, his whole body tense opposed to how he was while training.
She didn't know then, why'd he done such a thing, but she used the escape he provided her to compose herself. Father left them after he spoke of his disappointment at his son, completely killing the spark in Zuko's eyes. Zuko didn't tell her anything after Ozai left. He just turned around, nodded his head at her, and went back to training. Azula stood there stunned for a minute.
She realized three things that day.
Father was capable of getting mad at her. She wasn't as safe as she once thought she was.
Zuko was her shield. Even when he had the chance to get away from the hurt once, he'd jumped into it for her sake. He was shielding her by embracing their father's scorn and hate and rage, so she could be safe.
So, if father could get angry at her, and mother was terrified of every word that came out of her mouth, that only meant one thing.
She only, and only had Zuko.
Azula was better than him in every aspect – except, maybe swordfighting – and she was the favorite child of prince Ozai, but they had a camaraderie. Zuko would stand by her side even if they were constantly competing against one another.
She didn't have father's support like she thought, and mother thought she was a little monster. She felt a little lonely, then. An eight year old girl feeling abandoned by her parents. But she knew she wasn't completely alone.
After all, Zuko might be the only one who would stand by her side no matter what.
–
Zuko was the one who had stood by her side no matter what.
Azula only had Zuko in this forsaken, polished prison. Even after he was gone, he'd came back with her when he was given the chance. He hadn't murdered her in cold blood or in her sleep – not that he could – and he was holding back from injuring her when he'd shown he was pretty capable to fo so.
Maybe that was what had set her off. She couldn't best him, even with the power of the comet rushing in her veins. He was fighting differently than ever before, like when he was training with his swords all those years ago. He's body was no doubt littered with burn marks – the one on his hand, his face, the little ones all over – but he seemed powerful amidst his golden and white flames, hopeful, alive; and it was at her losing expense, not their father.
Zuko was treating her like she was Ozai, like she was-like she was some kind of monster he had to fight! He was weak, he was worthless.
He was supposed to always be on her side, no matter what.
He was supposed to be her shield, not shooting fire at her. He was supposed to be below her, obey her. He was not meant to be better than her.
Before she knew it, she'd shot lightning at the peasant water tribe girl. Let that remind Zuko of his weaknesses, of his soft bleeding heart. He was shameful, he should've been on her side.
Zuko was her shield. He was the one who had been on her side everytime to redirect father's fire and rage towards himself. Father would've never given her the title she deserved, the power she'd earned. Mother would've never not think of her as a horrendous monster carved by the devil.
Zuko was the only one she ought to protect, because he was always hurt, always crying, always sacrificing himself.
She looked at the spasming body laying on the ground. There was smoke coming off him, his breathless groans and cries cut short with lightning traveling through his heart and blood. There was the smell of burnt flesh, like the time father burnt his hand, his face.
He wouldn't stop shaking.
Azula had seen what lightning shot at the heart of an animal would do. The animals heart would abruptly stop beating after going in a frenzy.
Zuko was going to die.
He was always on her side, and he was going to die because her lightning had gone straight to his heart. She looked, with her un-evenly cut bangs stuck to her forehead and her makeup smeared by the tears she couldn't feel. Her hands were shaking.
Zuko was–he was the only one she had.
He was the only one.
He was...