Chapter Text
On the good days, her 'recovery' had begun to feel more like an extended holiday. Entire days spent in the garden, or curled up on a couch reading some new interesting book that had found its way to her.
On the good days, it barely felt like a prison at all.
Six and a half years of good days and bad days since Azula had been brought here, to where the Fire Nation kept the secrets they couldn't afford to let escape. The weak. The damaged. Those whom it would have been a greater mercy to kill.
On the bad day, the ghost of her mother suggested it would have been a far greater mercy to put down a monster like her as an infant.
Today was a bad day.
To her father, she was just a weapon. A tool to be deployed against his enemies. Weaponized into a war machine when she was just a child, and driven to the point of breaking when she was just a teenager. But at least his expectations were terrifyingly clear.
To her mother…Ursa hadn't even been able to stand her. Had taken one look at her own daughter and branded her in deed if not in word and had slipped into the night never to be seen again because Ursa was weak and Azula was strong.
Zuzu…her brother might have been the worst of the bunch. Pity. Raw, vile, contemptible pity from the weak new Fire Lord. She knew his policies had drifted towards sickening terms like reconciliation and cooperation. But that was just who her brother was. The same boy who had cried over turtleducks. Who had clung to the hem of his mother's dress - not their mother, some fractured part of her spirit thought - in fear of Ozai. Who…
…and that was the real root of it. She hadn't heard it from Zuzu herself. It had been, of all things, one of the sanitarium's kitchen workers who had spilled the tea. That Fire Lord Zuko, the Avatar, all of them - and gone to Kyoshi Island to perform a wedding. It was a bit of scandal, such relationships were frowned on in the Fire Nation, but not on Kyoshi Island. Never on Kyoshi Island. And Zuko's performing the ceremony was as much a message as a reunion.
Ty Lee and Mai's wedding.
The only two people that Azula could have ever credibly called friends. They'd both joined up with the Kyoshi Warriors after…her fall…and had found each other in a new way and had gotten married.
And Azula was so thoroughly discarded that she had to learn from a kitchen worker, not even from her former 'friends' or Zuko.
The 'ghosts' were relentless. Workers feared that Azula would need chi blocking if not outright sedation.
In the end though, they hadn't been prepared for her reaction. Aside from snapping the cafeteria tray in half, Azula hadn't resisted the orderlies escorting her back to her room. She'd then simply sat on the floor…and began sobbing. Letting the ghosts and all the spirits seeking to damn her in perpetuity at the age of 20 have their say.
Because they were right. She was a monster and utterly unlovable.
==
The knock on the door was courteous. Designed to draw attention, to be heard, but not to disturb.
This wasn't the kind of place you wanted to disturb the residents.
"Lady Azula" - the voice called out. Naoh had always been kind. Utterly beyond his depth, Azula had noted more than once. When I escape from here, I will take less joy in dispatching him than the others. "You have a visitor."
Every nine weeks, like clockwork. No matter the weather, no matter the season.
"Greetings, Azula. I hope that you are well."
"Hello…Uncle."
The discarded princess was of two minds concerning her aged uncle. He was a brilliant mind of unmatched tactical renown. When Iroh wanted to, Azula knew there was no one - perhaps not even herself - that could match his genius.
Why the doddering old fool had consigned himself to life as a tea shop merchant and not taken his rightful place as Fire Lord was utterly lost to her. Losing Lu Ten had broken the man.
Broken, I know. Is this what awaits me when I leave here? Agni, put me down now.
"You are looking well, my niece. Perhaps you might indulge your uncle in a nice cup of jasmine tea?"
At Iroh's gesture to the still open door, Naoh helped Iroh bring in a cart - a ceramic teapot and two cups and saucers.
They never let me have ceramics in here. Afraid I'll…
She hadn't had a real cup of tea served correctly in years. Whatever her opinion of her uncle, she was more than willing to indulge the old man. Just this one.
It'll be a cold day in the volcano before I'll ever let uncle know I actually like this stuff, Azula steeled herself.
Zuko only visited on the holidays and her birthday. No one else visited at all - at least not since the last of her father's pathetic hangers-on had tried to convince her to join their ill-fated revolution.
Give or take a day for the weather, Iroh always visited every ninth week. And as much as Azula despised it, saw it as her own weakness to be snuffed out - she was grateful that at least someone remembered her in here.
"It's a funny thing, Princess. Even now, in the calm of this relaxed season, the winds of fate swirl like leaves of tea. Have you given much thought to the shape of life once you leave this place?"
Azula knew the look on Iroh's face immediately. If there was one trait she shared with the old fool, it was a knack for scheming. And if there was one thing that over twenty years of being the niece of the Dragon of the West had taught Azula, one thing she'd been reminded of the hard way when she was once chasing him and Zuko, it was that it was best to let Iroh's plans play out before acting, before releasing her own trap.
"
===
Storms came and went. Time moved closer towards the change of seasons. Azula continued to have good days and bad.
Today was a good day, at first.
The day had turned when one of the residents down the hall had been visited by her daughter and son-in-law. Onga had fallen into a deep depression after the death of her husband and son. The unrelenting grief had ultimately been too much to bear, and the now-widow had been brought here by the very daughter who was speaking to her now.
Information was power, and Azula had made sure to gather intel on anyone who hung around long enough. Onga had been here for nearly a year - and Azula had made note of the woman's kindness as a strategic asset early on.
The 'strategic asset' was going to be a grandmother.
Wails of joy filled the halls at the announcement that the kindly woman's family was about to grow, rather than shrink. That a year after the loss of her husband and her son…
More delight pierced the halls as Azula could hear, even at a distance, that if the child was a boy they were going to name it after Onga's husband.
It was then the ghosts found Azula. Reminding her that the only joy that existed when she was born was Ozai's relief that a 'spare' finally existed. He'd told her as much shortly after Azula and Zuko's mother had fled in the night, banished and hoped dead. That her mother had looked down upon her even as a child and saw only a monster. That her father saw only utility.
To an outsider looking in, that she was named after her grandfather - Fire Lord Azulon - would seem a blessing. Ozai was not known for his blessings. Azula's grandfather Azulon had apparently not originally taken well to the notion that his granddaughter had been the one named after him.
While the Fire Nation was less regressive in that regard than some other lands, Azulon had still seen it as something of a slight from the second son that would ultimately engineer his death.
If Zuko hadn't been so weak, if she hadn't been so strong, they'd have hidden her away in the palace, expected her to be proper and ladylike. Quiet. Refined. And eventually then married off in a pairing she'd have no say in to some high status member of the ability in Ozai's good favor.
No one - save only Ty Lee and Mai - had ever wanted Azula around just for her own sake. And she'd pushed and snipped and angered and demanded to the point that both women had eventually turned against her. Slowly then all at once - to the point Azula hadn't even been told of their wedding.
No one wanted her around. For anything. And the ghosts made sure she knew it.
…Onga was a valuable asset to have around. Would her new status as a grandmother give her something to pull her out of this place? To leave Azula behind? Just like everyone does….
Nothing could have prepared her for the news that swept through the place by mid-afternoon, however.
Iroh was back, tea set in hand. It's only been seven weeks. Uncle comes to visit every nine.
His visits had been as precise as the reality of travel between the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation allowed. Two weeks early, however, that was a sign.
Azula's anxiety and paranoia crept up. Uncle didn't even wear the veneer of his usual tea-fueled joviality.
"Azula, we thought you should hear it from family. Zuko sends his regards but is currently packing. And…I believe our bond is such, niece, that I can say to you that he still finds speaking with you a challenge and he knows this is a sensitive topic…"
The disgraced princess was now on full alert. Iroh's tone and words were far more direct than the old schemer typically spoke to her with. And of course Zuzu wasn't willing to speak to her himself. Cowards. Her brother only saw obligation in her, not family.
Whatever it was, the Fire Lord thought it important enough to tell Azula - so important he was a coward to do himself.
"Some matters are too important to disguise in winding language or within the strategy of a nice game of pai sho. Azula, I have been named Fire Regent. Zuko is taking a leave of absence…it is your mother. She's alive, and Zuko believes…"
All else was drowed out by the squelch of nothing and everything upon Azula's senses.
Mother was alive. Zuko was…bringing her back?
The woman who thought her such a monster she left her to Ozai's clutches?
—
It was minutes later when Azula finally came to, the pure white shock of everything finally receding as Iroh stood patient but firm as a pair of orderlies arrived to make sure she wasn't injured - or in danger of lashing out.
When it was clear that her shock was so severe that Azula wasn't going to be lashing out at anyone - yet - the two attendants stepped back.
"The Fire Lord and the Water Tribe ambassador will be departing at first light tomorrow, and do not plan to return until Lady Ursa is found dead or alive."
Wait - Zuzu's taking the water peasant with him to find mother?
Azula wasn't stupid. The very last things she'd been witness to before something in her sanity slipped out of place had been her brother throwing himself before her to shield Katara from her lightning. And the peasant using her healing to save him - shortly after Azula's greatest defeat. Only defeat.
It had been a strategic blunder to split them up, she'd finally admitted once a couple of years ago. She'd even sent a letter to her brother last year apologizing for nearly killing him - though not the peasant.
The gossip had been brewing in recent times that Zuko and the 'ambassador' had grown close. Too close.
The workers of the sanitarium had seemed hopeful that the water peasant could improve their lot through her clear influence with Azula's brother. The families of the discarded nobility currently in residence here were far more caustic about The Lady Katara, more than one of them had spat.
If Zuzu is taking her to find mother, they are serious.
"Azula." Iroh's command pulled her schemic mind back to the present. Her uncle had remained, watching over her - a mix of something pretending to be love, and the clear unmistakable holding of someone bound by duty and obligation.
That was all she was to anyone. Obligation.
"Azula, the Avatar will be visiting the Fire Nation in a week's time to discuss a proposal regarding some of our more contentious colonies - and to sample a new tea blend."
Azula sneered. Avatar Aang was the snot-nosed brat that had reduced her father to a shell of a man. Made everything that she had sacrificed under his yoke been for nothing. Taken Fire Lord Ozai and made him into a sniveling mess still locked away in some cell somewhere.
"The Avatar wishes to speak with you."
This was it. The moment she had feared. It hadn't been enough that Aang had taken down their father, taken away the source of his pride as a firebender.
Clearly that little brat…Azula's mind caught on that word amidst the maelstrom she was feeling. Years had passed since she had seen the Avatar. Surely we would not be the little kid she had once, briefly, managed to kill.
Older or not, though, he was coming for her. Panic set in her bones.
The couple of hours per week - on the good days, on the good weeks - that she got to still practice her bending under heavy supervision had been the closest she felt to normal in all these six years. The closest she felt to the younger girl who had once been given the world, so prodigious was she at her element. The moments the ghosts that tried to pull away at the fringes of her mind were at their weakest.
The Avatar was coming.
Seeing that his niece had gone to a place that he could not follow, Regent Iroh excused himself, promising he would visit Azula again in a few days. Perhaps in a couple of weeks.
"After all, even if I am to be Regent for a time, I have a schedule to keep. Today was merely so that you would be treated with the respect you deserve and be told something in person. The rumor mill and conversations of one's staff can be useful, but I find joy in the personal touch. Until next time, Princess Azula."
===
In earlier years, a then-medicated sleep had been her refuge from the demons that haunted her. One doesn't dream when one is pumped full of sedative.
But as Azula's privileges had grown and the threat that those in charge - amidst her panic, some part of her mind had caught Uncle's line about 'one's staff' - saw her as seemed to diminish, her sleep had become unaided.
And now the terrors that haunted her came down upon her sleeping hours. When she couldn't push against them as easily.
She dreamt of being the one who had fought against the Avatar on the day of Sozin's Comet. That it was her bending he had taken away. Gloating, triumphant.
She dreamt of being a small child. Of watching her mother recoil in horror from her. And the more Azula begged Ursa's attention, the further away she pulled.
She once dreamt that Iroh was a great dragon, and laid waste to the Fire Nation. Their home. Everyone and everything she had once loved reduced to ash.
Sitting atop the throne of the Earth Kingdom once more, only to find snakes around every corner. Eventually coiling against her. Crushing her. Until she awoke in terror and pain.
Of a world where she had demanded Iroh take her to one of father's meetings. Where she had spoke against him. Dishonored. Where it had been her beautiful face that had been burned. Exiled. Snippets of a life unlived, of chasing the Avatar. And a moment of great triumph, when Zhao killed the moon spirit, of capturing the Avatar.
But instead of being pleased, Ozai was furious. Zhao had damned the entire world and Azula hadn't lifted a finger to stop him. Armageddon itself was all that stayed Ozai's hand.
The worst of the nightmares, though, was simply memory. Not exaggerated, simply the truth laid bare on replay.
The day that Fire Lord Zuko and the Imperial Court had sentenced her to imprisonment here. "To protect the world from your cruelty." That she would remain in her comfortable prison until the scar on his chest healed.
A life sentence.
No one had protested. Not even Iroh. She'd been thrown away and all but forgotten about. Iroh's visits a comfortable ritual of obligation. A single frayed thread all that remained of family and friends that so many others took for granted.
This dream, remembered in every detail, found her every night now. A reminder of how unloved she truly was.
It was only on the seventh night - desperately trying to push against the memory, to make a new fate for herself - that she caught a single detail. Perhaps it was just her mind taking creative license. Or perhaps it was something one would only notice if one were desperately fighting against the walls of reality and fate.
When Zuko ordered her commitment into this 'charming' facility that had been her home for the past six-plus years, it had been brief. Subtle. But the Avatar's face had tightened. Twitched.
At least in this replay, the seventh iteration of the memory of the end of her first life, that little boy then only thirteen seemed to halt. Just for a moment. Then the water tribe peasant grabbed his hand, and that was that.
…and then he did it again the eighth night. Exactly the same. If her fractured mind was dreaming this slight deviation from what had been a crystal clear memory, it was at least being thorough. As she thrashed, threatened, pleaded…she caught herself long enough to look upon the Avatar a second time.
Once again the water peasant grabbed his hand. Wait…had the Avatar's hand always had that thin red indention around the smallest of his fingers? Not a scar, more a sign of something pressed against flesh for too long.
It was also the first time she noticed the slight scorch mark against the stone floor. There had been a fight here, once.
The dream snapped, and once more Azula awoke in her comfortable prison.
Word spread through the facility that day. The Avatar would be arriving tomorrow.
Azula's mind twisted and turned. Would he be vengeful against the mad princess? Would he be soft and compassionate - and infinitely exploitable? Why was Avatar Aang coming to see her when so few other people were willing to do so? Why had he warned Iroh before visiting.
Azula had finally been granted a hairbrush after going three months without throwing anything.
Where she had once shattered the mirror in the Fire Nation's palace because she was being mocked by the ghost of a dead woman, now Ursa had found a new way to torment her daughter. A way Azula couldn't ever fully escape.
Azula clenched the hairbrush so tightly her fingers threatened to tear apart the cheap tool - if her flames didn't melt it first. They'd send chi blockers in quickly, sure, but at leasst then…
…at least then it still wouldn't do any good. For worse and for worse still, when Azula looked into the mirror - she was still her mother's daughter.
Given the resemblance Zuzu and their father shared, she wondered if her brother felt so thoroughly doomed by his own reflection.
Knowing that the best way to spite Ursa was to live - to try to fully live and to find a way out of this place one day - Azula kept going with the brush.
It was only near the end when she first spotted it. Around the base of the smallest finger on her left hand.
The same thin indention from her nightmares. The same thin indention of skin she'd recalled from the nightmarish memories of the Avatar. The depressed flesh had not been present the last time she had taken notice of her hands - where had this come from? Mirrored across dreams into reality, and from one hand to another, but banding her finger all the same.
Had her mind finally slipped away from her? Had she hallucinated an entire fantasy around sleeping against something wrong?
Aang would have answers. He'd better.