From the indisputably lovely @wherethebuttercupsgrow :
((OOC: Just dropping by to say I love your fics and wanted to show my appreciation, so I wrote a small one-shot of Eldest!Azula! It became less an examination of her relationship with zuko and more that of hers and Ursa’s though, oops? I hope you still like it though!))
In this world, she is the eldest child, and so Ursa can see more than just Ozai when she looks at her- she doesn’t have an elder brother to live up to, who’s excessive compassion just highlights her own lack. In this world Ursa pats the flames out of her prized roses with one silken sleeve and the first thing out of her mouth is a question, not a rebuke.
“Azula! Why did you do that?” Azula looks away, frowning as the smell of burnt cloth fills the air. The act isn’t nearly as satisfying as she had expected it to be. She watches a passing butterfly with boredom.
“Why not? It wasn’t as pretty as the others.” She can see her mother’s thin expression and the crease between her eyes, and that isn’t a good face- that isn’t a good face at all.
“Azula.” Mother sighs, the name hissing through her lips like steam. Her father had told her that the name she had been given was a powerful one, after the Firelord himself; but Mother had a way of making it sound small. “How would you feel if someone broke one of your hairpieces, just because it wasn’t as beautiful as the rest?”
Anger rises in her at the thought of one of her golden hairclips, glittering like fine sand in her hands, in pieces at her feet. It comes sudden and vicious and all encompassing, and she doesn’t realize there’s fire licking at her fingers until her mother clears her throat. Feeling embarrassed over her loss of control, she wills the flames and the flush of her cheeks away.
“Angry.” She mutters- it’s an admission and an apology, and Mother smiles at her, pulls her close onto the safety of her lap. Long hair tickles her cheek.
“That’s right.” Mother says. She always did have the gentlest pair of eyes.
Her mother isn’t a firebender the way Azula and Father and Uncle and Cousin Lu Ten are- she can’t create curling waves of fire from her fingertips, doesn’t have smoke in her lungs and fire in her veins. But she’s still a dragon, and on quiet nights when Father isn’t around and the palace is quiet, the candles dim and brighten with her every breath.
She’s brushing Azula’s hair now, and Azula sits very still, almost afraid to break the moment. Her mother is humming a sad little tune as she pushes one finger against a painful knot in her hair, and in the mirror she watches as the knot easily comes undone.
“How do you do that?” Azula asks shrewdly, as Mother pulls her fingers through her hair and she can feel the heat seeping into her skin, her errant curls straightening as if afraid. It’s like her Mother commands every lock of hair with her fire- just as Father commands his soldiers. She wants to learn that too.
Mother pulls her hair up into a knot and weaves a golden comb into it, not pausing. “It is a more subtle form of firebending. I use it to get ready every morning.”
“Teach me.” Azula demands, crossing her arms. In the silence of the palace, Mother gives a little laugh, turning Azula around and pressing a kiss onto her forehead. It feels like a light spark fizzling out against her skin.
She knows Mother doesn’t like it when she burns things, but the ugly feeling welling up inside her needs to be purged. She watches the doll Uncle Iroh had sent her crumble apart at the seams, dirty black staining her fingers, and she wants to scream.
The door opens behind her, but she focuses on the buttons melting like wax and the way its mouth tears apart as if it is suffering. Good. She hopes it is.
“Azula.” Soft. Questioning. She refuses to turn around. “Azula, please look at me.”
She doesn’t deign that with a response. Maybe she’ll go away.
“The healers say the baby might be a boy.” Mother suddenly says. “I’m a little old to be having another baby, but I know that I have you. I know that you would make a great older sister, Azula. There’s so much you can teach him.”
The doll is just a lump of coal in her hand now. It’s not fun at all.
“I don’t know what to name him.” Mother’s arms wrap around her, and if she were a more stupid child maybe she would say she can hear a second heartbeat in her Mother’s stomach. “It has to be a good strong name. Worthy of your little brother.”
Azula drops what had once been a doll, and it smolders at her feet. She thinks about it for a little moment.
“Roku.” She suggests, and she can feel her mother smile against her hair.
“Azula, you know we can’t name him that.” Mother whispers in amusement. They both know that name is a cursed one in the Fire Nation.
“Fine.” She pauses, considers. “Zuko, then.”
Zuko’s birth is still difficult, but in another world Ursa is seven years younger and has never had a child before. In this world, she hovers between the edges of life and death long enough for even Azula to grow concerned.
Visitors are not permitted, but Azula has always been a prodigy. She sneaks in in the dead of night, keeping her breaths quiet and her steps light. Mother lies in a bed still and pale, and an unidentified emotion sticks in her throat. She hates it.
She stands over the cot next to the bed, home to a swaddled red faced baby. It’s unattractively chubby and extraordinarily small. She hates it already.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Mother whispers. Even now, her eyes look like they’re shining in the dark. “Our little Zuko.”
“He’s disgusting.” She says bluntly. She gracefully forgives her Mother for the illogical statement made when she’s clearly addled, feeling particularly merciful.
“He’ll grow up to be a handsome prince one day.” Mother continues.
“He’s drooling on his blankets.” Azula replies, and Mother smiles.
Picking him up is the absolute last thing she wants to do, and she feels like Mother knows that as well- but far be it for Azula to turn down a challenge. She reaches into the cot and lifts the strange creature up, mirroring the gestures Mother is making.
The baby blinks and opens his eyes, before he gives her a toothless smile. He babbles something unintelligible.
Little brother, Azula’s nonexistent heart says. He’s mine.
“Zuko.” Azula’s mouth says, testing the name on her tongue. It rolls off easily. “He’ll make a good minion one day I suppose.”
Mother pulls through, like Azula always knew she would.
“Come meet your little brother.” Mother says warmly from the bed, Zuko settled in her arms. She can feel Father standing at the doorway, and adjusts accordingly.
“I don’t want to.” She says coldly, but she meets her Mother’s eyes and sees her own secret amusement mirrored there.
“You will know the pain of losing your firstborn!”
She watches the Firelord walk away and Father’s stony countenance, and she knows- she knows that Ozai would do it. She can feel death creeping up on her already, slowly but surely, smoke crawling on her skin.
She waits until she’s sure Father is gone and then she runs, runs to Mother’s room, runs to mother, the way she hasn’t since she was a child. Mother is shocked silent as Azula enters and buries her face in her mother’s skirt, shaking.
“Azula? What’s wrong?” Arms around her. A hand cupping her cheek, thumb tracing gentle circles under her right eye. “Talk to me.”
(Azula, you must remember.)
(Your father is a small man trying to be big, and you musn’t let yourself be fooled. His heart has no space for anyone, not even himself. Do not allow him to deceive you.)
(I love you Azula. You’re my daughter, and I love you so much. Never forget that. Always remember that, no matter what happens. You can doubt my words however much you wish, but never doubt my love for you.)
(Azula, please take care of your brother.)
This is how Azula knows her mother- through the warmth of her hands.
This is how Azula will remember her mother- the way she stood straight backed and proud, all soft edges and demure court manners surrounded by a legacy of male violence and blood, but her smile had been a mouthful of needles as she looked Ozai in the eye and spat out a mouthful of poison.
And it makes a difference, this. Tomorrow will come and Azula will hear the servants whisper about Mother leaving without a word and nod; Azula will hear that Azulon is dead and nod; Azula will hear that Ozai is now Firelord and nod. She understands. She had watched.
Azula will light her fingers on fire and card it through her little brother’s hair without so much as a singe- a promise, an oath: “I won’t let anyone hurt you Zuzu.” She says to the sleeping child in front of her, and nods.
She sets the palace gardens on fire, but leaves the roses untouched.
And when she passes the new Firelord in the hall, she meets his eyes and smiles perfectly.
(People always did say Azula looked like her mother.)
