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so hesitate no more;
Summary: Drabbles from 31 Days prompts.
12. blind man for a watchdog
She slammed down her foot, and mountains moved. She pushed out her hands, and the earth melded under her fists. She yanked back the stone and grit of the shifting, beating earth, bending them to her will, sending ripples like water on the granite floor, destroying enemies and friends alike. She could sense the world from miles away, hear ever cricket, feel every slimy worm wiggling in the dirt.
She didn’t need help, and so shoved them all away. But she hated the helpless feeling, a sense of loss and disproportion. She hated to stand on the hot sands burning on her feet, blind anything even around her. She hated to plunge her hands into the thick walls, and feel Appa being stolen away. The air was her worst enemy, the sense of lingering fear of dangling through the skies, unable to see left right down up and she floated on uneasy ground.
And so she especially hated it when they were running on the airships, lost and unable to even help, crumpling the metal uselessly, at the very risk of the metal underneath her giving way into the floating air. And she knew what was down there for her—death.
She didn’t need help.
She could do it on her own.
She didn’t need to be babied.
But she still found herself clutching to the hand that held her above certain death, because when she grabbed that hand, she could feel the pulsations rumbling in her hand, to the heartbeat that could be her own.
7. I’ll undo what heredity’s done to you
He has grown, wizened, and old. He wakes up in the morning, only looking forward to a cup of fresh green tea. Sometimes jasmine, other times rosemary. Each has a delectable, flavored taste, which he had never tasted before in his years as a general.
He used to own the world. The Fire Nation held the world in the palm of its hand, and how small and tiny the world had been! Ba Sing Se, the unconquerable fortress, could have crumbled easily in his hand. He had grown up as the general, the Dragon of the West, breathing fire upon the quivering soldiers before him. His blood had lineage to the Fire Lord, and would perhaps one day he would have sat behind those fiery curtains.
But something else had crumbled first at Ba Sing Se.
When he gazes upon his nephew, he does not see the scar on his face. He watches from afar, unable to help him in his struggles. His son had not been much older, the name of general blazoned across his chest, name born from every lip. His son's fate would not be his nephew's. No, his nephew had a chance to free himself from the fire that burst violently in his blood. But his scar showed all his history, years of hatred lined in his nephew’s young face, desperation, fear. Yet, when he gazed upon his nephew, he did not see those lines of hatred.
He only saw the possible future ahead.
13. prison and palace and reverberations
“You are too honorable for games, Zuko,” his uncle used to say. “A good tactician has a sharp mind and clever wiles, but only a true leader has such honor. And that is who will always win.”
But it’s ten years later and Zuko stands atop a frigid boat for a futile search, hands chafed from cold and face burned from the fire. He isn’t so sure of his uncle’s words anymore. When he stares into the deep ocean, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.
--
“Such talent! She truly deserves to bear the lineage to the Fire Lord.”
“She has mastered what others would take years to even begin to learn.”
“Her new style has created an even more efficient method of firebending.”
Zuko sulked. There wasn’t much else he could do, while his little sister basked in the praise. Since she was born, it felt like nobody ever paid attention to him. After all, he was only plain Zuko, who learned slowly, and wasn’t very good at the twisted sort of thinking. But inside him, Azula had already unknowingly planted the seeds of discontent.
They lived in a castle shielded by mountains, and the entire city was their own. The gray stone walls were flourished in red, where the Fire Nation’s banner displayed prominently. Red decorated every carpet, every pillar, every simpering noble. Only the highest nobility lived in the small houses, but even they all bowed before his very footsteps. Always, they were desperately begging to serve him.
The smell of soot and ash always lingered in the city.
He had been practicing in the courtyard, bursting flames from his palm. His movements were swift, but the fire spluttered in his hands, and died only a short distance away. Sometimes, when he remembered his teacher’s discussion with him, how he should be trying harder since his little sister was even better, the flame would rise a little longer and a little higher. But not enough, never enough.
“How pathetic.”
He stepped forward in anger, fist clutched in front. “Azula! What are you doing here?”
She stood on the crimson hallway, leaning against a pillar. When she smirked, her entire face changed subtly, into something resembling a snake. Slowly, she wound her finger in her long, long hair.
“Oh, Zuzu. I just came to watch my precious brother practice. You can’t accuse me of that, can you?” Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth slowly smoothed upwards.
“Why would you need to come see me practice?” He turned away and walked to the fountain, before splashing cold water onto his face. It chilled him as it ran down his neck and hands. “Aren’t you busy being special?”
“Being special? Oh, you mean what comes naturally for me? Yesterday they were trying to teach me this spinning firebending technique. It was so boring, since I’ve already mastered it—oh, I’m sorry, Zuzu,” she said sweetly, slowly dragging her finger from her hair. “That’s what you were trying to do, weren’t you?”
His fists tightened against the stone until his knuckles turned white. The raspy surface cut his fingers. “I was just practicing,” he said.
“I’m just being concerned for you. There’s no need to get so defensive.” But the smile on her face said otherwise.
“Yeah, well, if you came here to help, you’re not being very helpful.” His own reflection on the water shattered as he plunged his hand into the bottom.
“No, really,” she said, “I am. Because I have just heard of a most delicious secret.” She paused. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”
“What?” he growled, under his breath. He finally turned to face her, and caught her eye.
“Father doesn’t like you.” She smiled. “Father doesn’t like you at all. And he doesn’t want you as his son, Zuzu! Isn’t that wonderful?” She gasped lightly. “Oh! I forgot, it’s not wonderful for you at all!”
“You’re lying!” he barked sharply.
“Why would he want you, Zuzu?” she asked sweetly, lightly skipping down the stone steps. She landed inches away from his face, until he could see her golden-slit eyes. She was challenging him, and he knew it. “When he has me.”
“What about it?” he said, stepping away, looking away first. She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Because he only needs a successful firebender,” she said warmly, “And that’s certainly not you. You’re not going to inherit anything, Zuzu! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Go away!” Suddenly, he smashed the stone fountain to pieces, flames searing his hand and the water as it splattered and sizzled on the ground. He breathed heavily, and watched the singed leaves fall to the ground. Azula hadn’t even moved, smirk not inching away from his face.
--
He only remembered his childhood in bits and pieces, but he still remembered that night when Azula stood in his doorway, smile etched on her face like a carving knife had slashed it, and whispered, “Father’s going to kill you. Really.”
Azula always lies.
--
Lying was the best technique of any tactician. Lying, cheating, scheming, and sacrifice. He sat with his palms on his knees at the general’s meeting, watching their plans intently with his eyes. They darted back and forth between the long-moustached generals, in their suits of armor which smelled like oil, to the crinkling yellow map with its little toy soldiers.
His father, the Fire Lord, presided over them. At the thought, his heart beat a little faster in pride. Though his presence was all encompassing, it was a good type of pressure on his shoulder, the strain between his shoulder and in his neck. The smelly general stood up and cleared his throat, and began to talk in his deep-throated way. This way and that, he moved the soldiers, and the smog was choking Zuko as he watched.
“. . . send in the novice troops, and while the enemy is distracted, send the real forces to take them out.”
“But the troops,” someone said. “What would happen to them?” It was the question that Zuko had been thinking, so he was surprised that somebody else would voice his thoughts.
“Be sacrificed, of course,” the general said, looking slightly surprised. Glancing sideways at the Fire Lord, he added, “for the good of the Fire Nation, of course. They should be honored to even be chosen.”
“You can’t do that!” Zuko found himself standing up, fists slammed onto the table. The toy soldiers rattled for a moment, before they all fell with a clatter. That voice had been his, and he was all the more surprised.
“Can’t?” The general chuckled nervously, eyes darting to the others to ask for help. He stroked his beard. “My boy, these are my troops to order—“
“You can’t just send them in to die!”
“It would be their greatest honor—“
“Honor? What honor is there if they die?” With one powerful sweep of his hand, he pushed all the toy soldiers off the map. He was faintly aware of Uncle Iroh attempting to whisper some words to him, but the heat boiled within his blood.
He was stupid. He was stupid because he was honest, and because he could not understand why these tactics would even be presented. The technique was too realistic for the little paper map, and he refused, he would refuse to the end of his life. Which was what he thought he had done, when he threw down the Agni Kai.
And it had been.
--
He felt his skin burble and burn under his father’s heavy palm.
--
Azula always lies.
Her words were like slithers of snakes, but they poisoned him in his blood. Little by little, on the empty, quiet metal ship, he felt himself fading away. His flames burned brighter, but his future, all the more bleak. It was cold on the ship, so cold that he could warp himself up in blankets and still feel the cold penetrate him.
The Avatar was not a lost quest! He knew it! All he needed to do was to find him, and that poisoned hope lay like an apple before him. He needed to regain his honor, even if the cold grew so bad that his knuckles felt numb, and his fingers, senseless. The Southern Water Tribe only lay ahead, and he could see the frigid icebergs that drifted restlessly across the sea. It had been a long time since the raiders had come, and taken the waterbenders away.
“You look cold, Zuko,” his uncle said, offering a warm cup.
“I don’t want it,” he said. “Are we going to train now, or what?”
“Patience. Do not overwork yourself,” his uncle warned, sipping the tea now, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He gave a happy, contented sigh, and patted his belly. “First, you must—“
“I don’t care what I have to do first! I have to learn how to firebend! And I have to regain my honor!” He swiftly smashed the foot of the cabinet, and it collapsed. The small trinklets lying on top flew across the room and smashed against the metal walls, resounding sharply but hollowly. His hands slowly curled into hard fists, and he breathed unevenly.
He turned abruptly, ponytail whipping. Screams caught into his throat, and relentlessly he headed up the stairs, leaving his old uncle behind. When he climbed, the rage simmering within had not left, and the rails were bent with heat. Yet when he opened the portal door, only a brisk, cold wind washed over him.
Azula always lies. His father wanted him back, he knew it. All he needed to do was find the Avatar, even in this cold, barren land. Shivering, he stared at the cold, blue wasteland before him.
And he screamed.
--
The Avatar slipped through his fingers like water, because he did not understand these techniques and tactics, lies that filthied his hands. He was stupid because he could only look forward, and because he could not turn away.
“Go into the barricades,” he shouted, staring at the line of ships ahead. He would give up nothing to get the flying Avatar, who darted away from his grasp like the fish in the sea, or like his honor from his own being.
--
He was dense, so he believed her words, when she appeared again. She had grown older since he had last seen her, but not so much that he could not tell the difference in her eyes. Something had grown stronger in her, just as his own anger had built up within him.
“Father wants to keep his family close,” Azula said. And the smirk had curled on her lips. “You’ll accept, won’t you, Zuzu?” The old familiar name felt like an old criss-crossed scar.
“She has no reason to offer you this,” his uncle said, sitting on the dirt floor. Zuko stared into the tea cup, which simmered from the heat emitting from his hand. Her face had spoken words, and he wanted to believe her.
Azula always lies.
Since they were children, in that castle that smelled like soot and ashes. Now they were on an island, where the trees grew plenty, where the air breathed into the dirt, and the dirt breathed into the earth. But the idea of regaining his honor was too much for him, and it tasted like sweetness and poison in his mouth, even if he drank down the burning water until it scorched his throat.
“Don’t do it, Zuko,” his uncle warned.
“This is a great chance,” he heard himself saying. He found his voice to have a tinge of desperation, and he despised it, but wanted it, at the same time. Honor, his own honor back, like a shield. Azula wouldn’t lie to him. He knew it.
“I will go where you go,” his uncle said, defeat in his voice.
“It’s a great chance,” Zuko said, almost hastily. “See? Father has accepted us! He finally understands!” And the fire beat within his heart had finally soothed, into a frantic serenity within himself. He could not sit still, and stood up, and paced around.
“I can—“ The words overwhelmed him for a moment. “I can go back! I can regain my honor, and be my father’s son!” If his uncle’s eyes were sad, he ignored them. “And you can come back too, Uncle! And we’ll be together!” The hope swelled up and almost choked him, more than even the glimpse of the Avatar that had sent him through anguish and rage. Those nights spent alone in his room, feeling the fire within his stomach destroy and scorch his livers and kidneys and stomachs, they were over.
Slowly, uneasily, he sat back, and felt the strange smile on his face, because he was blinded by his own honesty, that he always saw in others.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Uncle?”
--
Azula always lies.
--
The fever took him, wrapped him in pain, and he lay still. He could see the fragments of reality, to see his own childhood, and the Avatar’s bison before him. He had freed the bison, perhaps, and there were two dragons! One good, with the voice of his uncle, and the other, wily, the voice of his sister. He stared at them both, crown heavy on his head.
Could he find happiness, within the peace? And he finally caved, following the blue dragon into the darkness above.
--
“I need your help, Zuko,” she said. “I can’t do it without you.”
So he killed the Avatar.
Apparently.
--
Dreams. That was what they were, nothing but dreams, and he was back in the palace, though he couldn’t remember everything exactly. He remembered a cavern full of crystals, called a prison, and he remembered the Dai Li who had used their earth to destroy him. And he remembered his uncle, captured, with the look in his eyes.
That was all he remembered, actually. The look in his eyes.
Azula was leaning on his doorway, as if they were little children. He had been sitting on his bed, staring into a small glass mirror that reflected only his scar. At the sound of her voice, he stood up, letting the mirror softly fall onto the bed.
“Azula.”
“Zuzu,” she said affectionately, hair tied up prettily. She smirked, and even at fourteen, she invoked a strange feeling within him. Not fear, but something else. He stared into her golden eyes, and could only see himself, dressed up in the nice robes, with the crown on his head.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can’t I visit my brother?” she cooed. She crossed her arms and stared at him, never moving. “Hero, who killed the Avatar?”
Azula always lies. She couldn’t have done it from her heart, and he knew it (now), he knew it because he should have known it before he was trying to board her ship, and his uncle had been so hesitant, while he so desperate.
The room was quiet, and smelled like soot and ashes.
He had been pampered, waited on, by the servants. They looked at him with admiration, as an honor to even serve him. His clothes were laid out, washed by seemingly themselves, and they urged him to try the next delicious exquisite meal the chef had laid on the table. He saw the generals who bowed down to him, and to even the sooty streets that bore the Fire Nation symbols even more flagrantly than before. The country loved him. But still, he was discontent.
“What do you want?” It angered him, but what he had, she had. The honor that he had regained lay like a plate of rotting armor on his chest. He stared at her, who seemed hostile even in her sleeping clothes. Unhappily, he stared down at the mirror again.
“I don’t want anything,” she purred. “I only want to see you. Make sure you’re fitting well, that sort of thing. Why? Don’t you believe me?” She waved her hand ambiguously in the air, and stared at him with a curling, crispy smile.
“You lie.” He stood against her. “You always lie.”
“Only to those stupid enough to believe me. But you’re more clever than that, aren’t you, Zuzu? Yes, you’re very clever,” she said, staring into his eyes, challenging him. “Very clever indeed. Or else you wouldn’t belong here, Avatar-slayer.”
Each word was followed by another, and he was confused. There were hidden messages in her letters, but he had no keys to answer them. He only wanted to believe her, but even just looking at her face, he knew there were tricks.
“Don’t call me that,” he said.
“Why?” Azula tossed her wisps of hair back. “It’s true, isn’t it? I’ve given you the credit, everything. Now you’re Daddy’s Little Boy again. Isn’t that wonderful?”
It was. He thought it was. Now he sat beside his father, now he was rewarded with acceptance. It was as if they were children again, standing outside in the courtyard, and his cousin was still alive, and Iroh had lived on the warfront, not in a prison, and his mother had been there. But it was all different, and twisted, and it made his head hurt.
“Go away.”
“Is that any way to treat your sister?”
“I said, go away!” He slammed his fist by the bed post, and turned on his heel to face the outside wall. He felt anguished, even more than in the cold nights on his boat. Now it was warm, in the room of soots and ashes, but he felt too cold to even embrace the heat. Azula always lies. He had learned the lesson over and over again, until it was carved into his scar.
But now, he wanted to trust her, so much that it hurt.
“Why?” he asked, for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Why did you tell Father it was me who killed the Avatar?”
“Because I care about you, Zuzu. I want you to have your hard-earned… what was it? Honor? You shouldn’t complain, Zuzu. After all, everything should be well,” she said, “If the Avatar really is dead, of course.” The glint in her eyes was a challenge, all over again.
“The Avatar is dead,” he said.
--
Perhaps those times were happy. They were certainly brightly lit, and he felt angry, recklessly angry. Vases were replaced in his room at a constantly, and not even stone pillars were safe from his rage. He screamed at Mai, Ty Lee, Azula.
It wasn’t as if there weren’t happy times. There were times where he would try to remember if the old days had been anything similar.
“Mother thought I was a monster.” Azula smiled. “Of course, she was right. But it still hurt.”
Azula always lies.
--
But the Avatar did not.
--
The empty prison still echoed in his mind, as he sat on the bison, watching the scenery flip by, like the trees blurring together, and the earth smells rising with the sun. Katara sat on the left, and she was arguing with Sokka, who sat on the right, and Toph was hanging out the seat, and the Avatar, so close that it almost hurt, sat in the front, and they were all arguing, and it was honest.
It was strange, he thought, how very honest this entire scene was.
“Where should we go to train?” Aang asked, mildly.
“I know a place,” he said. Where his family had once been happy.
--
Surprisingly, he felt happier now that he had finally let go of the betrayals, of Azula’s poison within his very being. He felt almost serene, though he knew that he was permanently marked with a letter on his chest, not from his country who he still loved, but from his uncle. And he bore that mark with stronger passions than even his exile from his country. This time, it was a rightful exile, one that he accepted.
But there is a small, peaceful discontent within him, and he stares at his former house, broken and burnt, not with longing, but with questions.
--
He wondered if his father would die.
--
He is honest, and accepts the Agni Kai. He didn’t think he could take on Azula, because she was powerful, and he did not have secret weapons or secret abilities, because he was honest and he accepted that part of himself. But her hair was untangling, and her smile was unraveling. She slowly twirled her hair around her finger and let it slide out, and the curls bounced back into place so swiftly. She smiled, and then she laughed, and challenged him.
He agreed, even if it was to the death of him.
But even if it was the death of him, it couldn’t be the death of her, who was only watching the battle from afar, and all he remembered was the lightning entering him and it never did go out the other side, it just stayed in him and his muscles twitched and he could not move and all he wanted to do was breath again
He had finally found happiness
He had finally found honor
He had finally lost it all
Azula always lies.
--
It was so dark.
--
It was light again, and the burns acted up again, and his stomach hurt. He slowly raised himself onto one elbow, and saw her eyes, and looked for Azula. And she was screaming, screaming so loudly, screaming from across her chain, broken for all, trickery and lies and deceit and paranoia surrounding her intensely, and lightning shooting from her mouth like hot burns.
Even if she had lied and tricked, she was done for now. And he was still standing.
--
The coronation of the Fire Lord was swifter than he thought it would be, and more glorious than he could ever have imagined. He stared down at the ravages of the country, and looked upon the honesty of his new friends, and then descended down the steps he had known too many times. Prisoners lived in prisons, and the stone walls were meant to keep them in and him out.
He knew this too well, and counted the steps that he had taken when he visited his Uncle. This time, the guards parted like water at his visit, and the door creaked open softly. The light still shone from the flickering fire outside. His own shadow was deeply elongated in the cold, bitter room. He drew his cloak even closer, and looked at her.
Her eyes did not focus on him long, both wincing and staring at the light simultaneously. Her teeth were bared, and her slanted hair dangled from her head. She stared at him, and she began to shriek with laughter.
“Fire Lord Zuzu,” she said, in a tone that was too shrill. “Fi-re Lord Zu-zu!” She smilred queerly, and stared at him. She barked out a sharp laughter, that sounded more like a blood-filled cough, and suddenly strained at him with her chains rattling.
“I’m going to find Mother,” he said.
She froze, and then looked at him, smile etched on her face insanely. “Mother? We had no mother,” she said. “Don’t you remember, Zuzu? Don’t you?”
“She doesn’t think you’re a monster,” he said. “She never did.”
“Don’t lie to me, Zuzu,” she said, staring at him with the smile so wide that it crinkled her entire face. “Zuzu, Zuzu, Zuzu.”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “I’m not good at it.”
“Then where is she? Tell me, where is she?”
“I’ll find out,” he said. “The Avatar took away Father’s powers. He’ll tell me.”
“Then Zuzu will be happy,” she sang, but then abruptly stopped. “Mother’s pet,” she hissed.
He turned to the bright exit, where his cape swirled over the cold floor. He looked at the bright fire on the wall. “I’ll bring Mother next time,” he said, “and she’ll tell you for herself. She doesn’t think that way of you, Azula. I know it.”
“Why are you doing this?” she screamed, suddenly, shrilly, and her chains rattled against the stone walls. He paused before the doorway, hand still resting on the metal handle. He looked away for a moment, into the dark hallway.
“I hate you,” she said, softly, quietly. Her head was hung, not in despair, but something far more fearsome. He let the door slam behind him, but even after, he could hear her voice, softly chanting, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
Azula always lies.
14. when the darkness falls under your hair, there’ll I’ll be
She feared nothing. Oh, filthy maggots, how she watched those little worms scrape away at the skin of skulls, to see hundreds burn by her fingertip—oh, but that was too bloody and left an awful smell. She much preferred lightning. It left such a crisp scent.
She feared nothing, but, oh! What a wonderful look when they stared up at her, eyes as large as grapes that she could just pluck out (if it wasn’t that disgusting, of course). Every line of their face would be etched in fear. Oh, but, no, no, she loved to see their frozen look. Yes, that was even more delicious, a hesitation and then that false smile on Ty Lee’s face, the slight swallow in the throat, the high-pitched voice. That was when she knew she was in control, the world at her fingertips.
Who was she to care about the starving parents, the dead sons littering the battlefield? Who was she to even acknowledge those children who wanted nothing more than a toy? Her cloak would be made from raven feathers, still ripped from their warm, beating bodies! She would dye them red in blood, from those poor pathetic traitors and prisoners! She’d burn them all, because she could. She was the princess of the world. She feared nothing.
But sometimes, at night, when the darkness dampened her hair, and she stood in front of the mirror and watched as the wispy shadows formed the picture of her mother.
Monster
She feared
almost
nothing.
19. held a lunar synthesis
And they were only children. They did not understand their clumsy love, or shy glimpses of the other, or excited heartbeats, or kisses. But fate had already entangled them in its sticky, gooey web, and there was no escape. When he looked back on the incidents, he still hesitated and wondered about their future. These things were too sad to dwell upon for long, because when he gazed into them too long, he wondered if she still would have loved him twenty years from then, or if they were only children, and she had thrown away his ugly little carving because she saw no future ahead, or just not future ahead with him.
1.
This sort of thing didn’t happen to him. Turning girls into goddesses, anyway. He was numb when he saw his sorta-coulda-shoulda girlfriend slowly turn transparent, the colors of the world slowly twisting and fading, ebbing and rushing, like the waves of an ocean. She had turned to look at him, and he didn’t really understand or want this—was this even possible? Could people really turn into goddesses?—and she had kissed him.
He’d still been numb when color suddenly rushed into the world, face and hands, and the sickly red color and the bad black color faded, like the froth of the ocean.
He’d gotten his first kiss (that wasn’t from Gran-Gran) and then his girlfriend turned into a goddess, all in less than a second.
And his day just couldn’t get any better.
2.
And he’d been angry. That would be understandable, angry, because he’d just met her a few days ago, and he’d already loved her like ages had already come and gone. He’d brag about his non-existent titles, fall into freezing rivers, and meet her on secret bridges like any teenager, and then she would die.
“I’m so, so sorry, Sokka,” Katara said.
“Sorry? Sorry for what?” It felt like he couldn’t stop talking, or waving his hands around, or feeling the mounting anger and irritation. “It’s not like it’s your fault. Just the fates above decided to turn Princess Yue into a moon. Which everybody apparently already knew about it, except me, because I’m always left out of everything.”
She cast him a strange, sad look, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s probably for the best. I mean, she probably was going to marry that jerk anyway,” he said. “That was pre-planned, anyway. So any way you look at it, the whole world was just saying, ‘No, Sokka, you can’t be happy!’ Which is great! Just great!”
“You know that’s not true.”
He’d always trusted in Katara the most, so he didn’t say anything more. He suddenly felt ashamed of his only words he spat out and so didn’t look her in the eyes, but he still felt resentment boiled up within him.
“I know it’s for the best—“
“You don’t have to say that.” Katara studied her hands. “Don’t bottle it up inside. If you don’t let it out, you’ll only feel worse afterwards.”
He wanted to shout at her, too, but the words died when he looked at her. Finally, he grabbed a handful of snow into his thick gloves, and then with an aggravated cry, he threw it at a tree. And then he threw another, and another, then another, until his hands were soaked wet and raw, and his breath was too heavy and loaded.
“This is . . . This is so stupid!”
It wasn’t the best way of putting it, and he slept fitfully that night. It was, after all, a full moon. From then on, he wouldn’t sleep well on full moons. It felt her presence was even greater, if it was even there at all. He wanted to ask her if she had actually loved him, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer.
3.
But he knew why he was angry.
It was because it hadn’t been him, and it had been her. It hadn’t even been her, it had been his father, it had been all the men in his tribe, it had been his mother, and it had been the Avatar, even before all that. It was the icy moment where he stood on the port and looked into the glaciers floating against the dim sun, which gave little warmth, as the ships glided so far into the distance that he wanted them to return.
He wanted them to take him. He wasn’t too young, he could fight just as well as any of them, and even if he died, he would die with the warriors with his tribe. The lost feeling in his heart sprouted its roots deeply on that day, and it only tightened until the day Princess Yue disappeared, and then it grabbed his rotting heart and squeezed.
“You didn’t protect me, Sokka,” she had said, her voice echoing in the swamp. He had heard her, and he had understood that it was true. He hadn’t. He had failed.
But he would give himself up a thousand times if it meant he could save her life.
4.
They always said he was a slow learner, and he was. When he was younger, he used to become more silent and sullen during full moons, and hide himself in his tent. There was some mingled acceptance of his failure, the knowledge that she was still—theoretically—the moon, even if he couldn’t see her.
But that didn’t stop the crushing sadness within him, to think about the possible futures ahead they could have had. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have broken up like normal teenagers, because that would have offered some closure. Or if their stations separated them, and she married and had three kids and a goldfish, and he would have been painfully happy for her.
It was those sorts of thoughts that lead him through his gloomy, restless nights, where sometimes he would step outside the tent, look up, and be unable to see the moon.
5.
He eventually ran against a stone wall, the circuitous thinking becoming a line. The failure was inevitable, just as much his part as the world’s, and the blame would be difficult to distribute. The Princess Yue at the swamp was his dream, though he never accepted it, really, as a fact. He could only accept the knowledge because that, at least, meant he had seen her physically. Even though she promised she would always be with him, she never seemed to appear in her childhood form, the one he remembered too well.
“Daaaad, are you coming in?”
“Don’t bother him, honey. He’s going senile.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said loudly, not turning around. He heard some soft giggles and the soft fading of footsteps, and then a slight pressure on his shoulders.
“You don’t seem like yourself today,” Suki said.
“It’s a full moon.” He stared up at the moon almost sullenly. “I feel like remembering stuff tonight.”
“Would you like me to leave you alone?”
He put his hand on hers briefly. His love was different for the two of them, no less stronger, no less weaker. But tonight, he felt especially sentimental, non-meat-eating and non-sarcastic. He never had given up those ways from childhood. Then again, he hadn’t given up a lot of things from childhood.
Suki seemed to understand, and with another slight press, she left him. Her footsteps rustled in the grass. He wasn’t used to lamenting, so he stared at the moon. She was there, and he had to believe it. Even if it had been some twenty years, he still believed in her.
But he still wondered if they had been only children, playing in the snow, or if it had been love. His doubts and fears ebbed like the waves, and with the full moon, it came on full blast. His hand slowly rose, until he had placed his palm in the sky, so it blocked out most of the moon. The gentle rays still shone down on the empty field, through his fingers.
“Would you still love me now?” he asked.
He felt something suddenly smash down on his palm.
It felt hot and it stung his palm, so after some quiet sounds of pain, he pulled back his hand and opened it. He blinked, and then looked around him for a moment, and then up at the moon. And then he laughed, because that was what he was best at doing.
So even if it was his imagination, he would like to imagine that some twenty years ago, she had fished out the ugly little sculpture that he had carved, and put it in her dress, and after twenty years, it had finally came back to him.
20. a ghost in me wants to say I’m sorry
Everything ended in happily ever after.
The celebration, against Zuko’s protests, was held for seven days and seven days. The tables were full with sweetened tarts, glistening with honey, and lion-turkeys basted and cooked to a crisp brown. Cabbages were served in salads, dipped in sauces, or even raw, to the delight of a cabbage merchant, who all of the cabinet members agreed looked familiar, but could not quite place his face. Festivals were held in the courts, prisoners and natives alike being embraced, and the Avatar statue adorned with flowers, with a group of wanderers playing a nonsensical song at his foot.
New orders for the government were also slowly being placed in order.
Katara drank another cup of berry-wine, and then rose from her chair. Aang turned in question, but she only shook her head and motioned vaguely away. It was too loud to hear any sound, but the trustful look in his eyes dawned again before he turned to pull away a cabbage from Sokka’s mouth. She walked past the drunken happiness, and even past where Appa and Momo were chomping down on their big meals, and into the dark hallway. She closed the door behind her.
“I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”
“Who’s there?” Her fingers had already uncapped her water bottle, and water glided into the air, transparent and flexible like a whip. But a small light appeared in the darkness, and she could see it was fire in Zuko’s hand. He wore a cloak that covered most of his face.
“Oh, it’s you.” She slipped the water back inside. “You surprised me.”
“Are you sure you can do this?” He looked at her intently. “I would feel better if Aang knew about this, too.” Even without context, she knew what was lingering on both their minds.
“No,” she said, “I have to do this alone. You can’t tell him.” Her eyes narrowed intently at him. “I won’t forgive you if you do.”
“There’s no shame if you ask him,” he said, stepping forward. The sounds of the distant party still echoed through the wooden door, the slits allowing broken light to fall through.
“I’m not ashamed,” she said, “or afraid. But he’ll misunderstand, and think it’s for revenge. But this isn’t! I want to do this. I need to do this. Alone.”
“But this isn’t the time to be thinking about yourself. We need this to be done in a responsible manner,” he said. “We need the prisoners treated fairly, and we need their safety.”
“It wouldn’t feel right if the Avatar was in charge, right?” She looked at him in the eyes now. “He’s the Avatar of peace. But we’re here to pick up the pieces.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said suddenly. “I’m afraid what you might do. You’re not the Katara that I knew.” He studied her for a moment. “I wonder if I ever knew you at all.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she snapped. Her water bottle resonated in her anger, but she calmed herself down. Her tone shifted to something like attempted friendliness. “Besides, why are you so concerned about me? I’m sure you have better, and more important, matters to attend to, Fire Lord Zuko.”
“That sounds weird.” He smiled briefly, but the smile faded. “I can be an honorable Fire Lord. But I’ll have to try my best.” Uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck, and the light dimmed when the fire transferred to only one of his hands. It seemed the darkness had surrounded him.
“But I’m an honest person, and I think everyone around me is honest. That’s why Azula is so powerful.” He raised the fire to his eyes. “That’s why I’m afraid of you.”
“I’m honest,” she said, extending her hands. “And I’ll be safe. Really.”
He contemplated this for another moment, and finally seemed to accept her. With a small tug, he drew back his hood, and placed his fire onto a nearby torch. Its blaze was nearly blinding for a moment.
“I need to go talk to some people,” he said. “I was just on my way there. I’ll see you back at our usual meeting place. Right?” They usually attended a small after party in a small, stone house near the castle, dressed informally, talking informally.
“Yeah,” she said.
She didn’t come that night. Or the night after, or the night after, or the night after, for six days.
--
She had volunteered to be in a special section of reconstruction. While Aang was in charge of projects such as the protection of the Air Temples, Katara understood her task and her pride as a waterbender. They called them the Wardens, but that was a misleading term. They were jailers, but they would also review each case to send to the juries.
For some reason, she thought of Mimi, but she shook her head. There would be no more days of black snow. Instead, she drew on her armor, and began through the dreary patrol of the system. Zuko lead the way, footsteps plodding through the metal chambers. Water buckets trembled at every corner, just another precaution.
There was no fire in the room, so it was dark.
12. blind man for a watchdog
She slammed down her foot, and mountains moved. She pushed out her hands, and the earth melded under her fists. She yanked back the stone and grit of the shifting, beating earth, bending them to her will, sending ripples like water on the granite floor, destroying enemies and friends alike. She could sense the world from miles away, hear ever cricket, feel every slimy worm wiggling in the dirt.
She didn’t need help, and so shoved them all away. But she hated the helpless feeling, a sense of loss and disproportion. She hated to stand on the hot sands burning on her feet, blind anything even around her. She hated to plunge her hands into the thick walls, and feel Appa being stolen away. The air was her worst enemy, the sense of lingering fear of dangling through the skies, unable to see left right down up and she floated on uneasy ground.
And so she especially hated it when they were running on the airships, lost and unable to even help, crumpling the metal uselessly, at the very risk of the metal underneath her giving way into the floating air. And she knew what was down there for her—death.
She didn’t need help.
She could do it on her own.
She didn’t need to be babied.
But she still found herself clutching to the hand that held her above certain death, because when she grabbed that hand, she could feel the pulsations rumbling in her hand, to the heartbeat that could be her own.
7. I’ll undo what heredity’s done to you
He has grown, wizened, and old. He wakes up in the morning, only looking forward to a cup of fresh green tea. Sometimes jasmine, other times rosemary. Each has a delectable, flavored taste, which he had never tasted before in his years as a general.
He used to own the world. The Fire Nation held the world in the palm of its hand, and how small and tiny the world had been! Ba Sing Se, the unconquerable fortress, could have crumbled easily in his hand. He had grown up as the general, the Dragon of the West, breathing fire upon the quivering soldiers before him. His blood had lineage to the Fire Lord, and would perhaps one day he would have sat behind those fiery curtains.
But something else had crumbled first at Ba Sing Se.
When he gazes upon his nephew, he does not see the scar on his face. He watches from afar, unable to help him in his struggles. His son had not been much older, the name of general blazoned across his chest, name born from every lip. His son's fate would not be his nephew's. No, his nephew had a chance to free himself from the fire that burst violently in his blood. But his scar showed all his history, years of hatred lined in his nephew’s young face, desperation, fear. Yet, when he gazed upon his nephew, he did not see those lines of hatred.
He only saw the possible future ahead.
13. prison and palace and reverberations
“You are too honorable for games, Zuko,” his uncle used to say. “A good tactician has a sharp mind and clever wiles, but only a true leader has such honor. And that is who will always win.”
But it’s ten years later and Zuko stands atop a frigid boat for a futile search, hands chafed from cold and face burned from the fire. He isn’t so sure of his uncle’s words anymore. When he stares into the deep ocean, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.
--
“Such talent! She truly deserves to bear the lineage to the Fire Lord.”
“She has mastered what others would take years to even begin to learn.”
“Her new style has created an even more efficient method of firebending.”
Zuko sulked. There wasn’t much else he could do, while his little sister basked in the praise. Since she was born, it felt like nobody ever paid attention to him. After all, he was only plain Zuko, who learned slowly, and wasn’t very good at the twisted sort of thinking. But inside him, Azula had already unknowingly planted the seeds of discontent.
They lived in a castle shielded by mountains, and the entire city was their own. The gray stone walls were flourished in red, where the Fire Nation’s banner displayed prominently. Red decorated every carpet, every pillar, every simpering noble. Only the highest nobility lived in the small houses, but even they all bowed before his very footsteps. Always, they were desperately begging to serve him.
The smell of soot and ash always lingered in the city.
He had been practicing in the courtyard, bursting flames from his palm. His movements were swift, but the fire spluttered in his hands, and died only a short distance away. Sometimes, when he remembered his teacher’s discussion with him, how he should be trying harder since his little sister was even better, the flame would rise a little longer and a little higher. But not enough, never enough.
“How pathetic.”
He stepped forward in anger, fist clutched in front. “Azula! What are you doing here?”
She stood on the crimson hallway, leaning against a pillar. When she smirked, her entire face changed subtly, into something resembling a snake. Slowly, she wound her finger in her long, long hair.
“Oh, Zuzu. I just came to watch my precious brother practice. You can’t accuse me of that, can you?” Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth slowly smoothed upwards.
“Why would you need to come see me practice?” He turned away and walked to the fountain, before splashing cold water onto his face. It chilled him as it ran down his neck and hands. “Aren’t you busy being special?”
“Being special? Oh, you mean what comes naturally for me? Yesterday they were trying to teach me this spinning firebending technique. It was so boring, since I’ve already mastered it—oh, I’m sorry, Zuzu,” she said sweetly, slowly dragging her finger from her hair. “That’s what you were trying to do, weren’t you?”
His fists tightened against the stone until his knuckles turned white. The raspy surface cut his fingers. “I was just practicing,” he said.
“I’m just being concerned for you. There’s no need to get so defensive.” But the smile on her face said otherwise.
“Yeah, well, if you came here to help, you’re not being very helpful.” His own reflection on the water shattered as he plunged his hand into the bottom.
“No, really,” she said, “I am. Because I have just heard of a most delicious secret.” She paused. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”
“What?” he growled, under his breath. He finally turned to face her, and caught her eye.
“Father doesn’t like you.” She smiled. “Father doesn’t like you at all. And he doesn’t want you as his son, Zuzu! Isn’t that wonderful?” She gasped lightly. “Oh! I forgot, it’s not wonderful for you at all!”
“You’re lying!” he barked sharply.
“Why would he want you, Zuzu?” she asked sweetly, lightly skipping down the stone steps. She landed inches away from his face, until he could see her golden-slit eyes. She was challenging him, and he knew it. “When he has me.”
“What about it?” he said, stepping away, looking away first. She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Because he only needs a successful firebender,” she said warmly, “And that’s certainly not you. You’re not going to inherit anything, Zuzu! Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Go away!” Suddenly, he smashed the stone fountain to pieces, flames searing his hand and the water as it splattered and sizzled on the ground. He breathed heavily, and watched the singed leaves fall to the ground. Azula hadn’t even moved, smirk not inching away from his face.
--
He only remembered his childhood in bits and pieces, but he still remembered that night when Azula stood in his doorway, smile etched on her face like a carving knife had slashed it, and whispered, “Father’s going to kill you. Really.”
Azula always lies.
--
Lying was the best technique of any tactician. Lying, cheating, scheming, and sacrifice. He sat with his palms on his knees at the general’s meeting, watching their plans intently with his eyes. They darted back and forth between the long-moustached generals, in their suits of armor which smelled like oil, to the crinkling yellow map with its little toy soldiers.
His father, the Fire Lord, presided over them. At the thought, his heart beat a little faster in pride. Though his presence was all encompassing, it was a good type of pressure on his shoulder, the strain between his shoulder and in his neck. The smelly general stood up and cleared his throat, and began to talk in his deep-throated way. This way and that, he moved the soldiers, and the smog was choking Zuko as he watched.
“. . . send in the novice troops, and while the enemy is distracted, send the real forces to take them out.”
“But the troops,” someone said. “What would happen to them?” It was the question that Zuko had been thinking, so he was surprised that somebody else would voice his thoughts.
“Be sacrificed, of course,” the general said, looking slightly surprised. Glancing sideways at the Fire Lord, he added, “for the good of the Fire Nation, of course. They should be honored to even be chosen.”
“You can’t do that!” Zuko found himself standing up, fists slammed onto the table. The toy soldiers rattled for a moment, before they all fell with a clatter. That voice had been his, and he was all the more surprised.
“Can’t?” The general chuckled nervously, eyes darting to the others to ask for help. He stroked his beard. “My boy, these are my troops to order—“
“You can’t just send them in to die!”
“It would be their greatest honor—“
“Honor? What honor is there if they die?” With one powerful sweep of his hand, he pushed all the toy soldiers off the map. He was faintly aware of Uncle Iroh attempting to whisper some words to him, but the heat boiled within his blood.
He was stupid. He was stupid because he was honest, and because he could not understand why these tactics would even be presented. The technique was too realistic for the little paper map, and he refused, he would refuse to the end of his life. Which was what he thought he had done, when he threw down the Agni Kai.
And it had been.
--
He felt his skin burble and burn under his father’s heavy palm.
--
Azula always lies.
Her words were like slithers of snakes, but they poisoned him in his blood. Little by little, on the empty, quiet metal ship, he felt himself fading away. His flames burned brighter, but his future, all the more bleak. It was cold on the ship, so cold that he could warp himself up in blankets and still feel the cold penetrate him.
The Avatar was not a lost quest! He knew it! All he needed to do was to find him, and that poisoned hope lay like an apple before him. He needed to regain his honor, even if the cold grew so bad that his knuckles felt numb, and his fingers, senseless. The Southern Water Tribe only lay ahead, and he could see the frigid icebergs that drifted restlessly across the sea. It had been a long time since the raiders had come, and taken the waterbenders away.
“You look cold, Zuko,” his uncle said, offering a warm cup.
“I don’t want it,” he said. “Are we going to train now, or what?”
“Patience. Do not overwork yourself,” his uncle warned, sipping the tea now, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He gave a happy, contented sigh, and patted his belly. “First, you must—“
“I don’t care what I have to do first! I have to learn how to firebend! And I have to regain my honor!” He swiftly smashed the foot of the cabinet, and it collapsed. The small trinklets lying on top flew across the room and smashed against the metal walls, resounding sharply but hollowly. His hands slowly curled into hard fists, and he breathed unevenly.
He turned abruptly, ponytail whipping. Screams caught into his throat, and relentlessly he headed up the stairs, leaving his old uncle behind. When he climbed, the rage simmering within had not left, and the rails were bent with heat. Yet when he opened the portal door, only a brisk, cold wind washed over him.
Azula always lies. His father wanted him back, he knew it. All he needed to do was find the Avatar, even in this cold, barren land. Shivering, he stared at the cold, blue wasteland before him.
And he screamed.
--
The Avatar slipped through his fingers like water, because he did not understand these techniques and tactics, lies that filthied his hands. He was stupid because he could only look forward, and because he could not turn away.
“Go into the barricades,” he shouted, staring at the line of ships ahead. He would give up nothing to get the flying Avatar, who darted away from his grasp like the fish in the sea, or like his honor from his own being.
--
He was dense, so he believed her words, when she appeared again. She had grown older since he had last seen her, but not so much that he could not tell the difference in her eyes. Something had grown stronger in her, just as his own anger had built up within him.
“Father wants to keep his family close,” Azula said. And the smirk had curled on her lips. “You’ll accept, won’t you, Zuzu?” The old familiar name felt like an old criss-crossed scar.
“She has no reason to offer you this,” his uncle said, sitting on the dirt floor. Zuko stared into the tea cup, which simmered from the heat emitting from his hand. Her face had spoken words, and he wanted to believe her.
Azula always lies.
Since they were children, in that castle that smelled like soot and ashes. Now they were on an island, where the trees grew plenty, where the air breathed into the dirt, and the dirt breathed into the earth. But the idea of regaining his honor was too much for him, and it tasted like sweetness and poison in his mouth, even if he drank down the burning water until it scorched his throat.
“Don’t do it, Zuko,” his uncle warned.
“This is a great chance,” he heard himself saying. He found his voice to have a tinge of desperation, and he despised it, but wanted it, at the same time. Honor, his own honor back, like a shield. Azula wouldn’t lie to him. He knew it.
“I will go where you go,” his uncle said, defeat in his voice.
“It’s a great chance,” Zuko said, almost hastily. “See? Father has accepted us! He finally understands!” And the fire beat within his heart had finally soothed, into a frantic serenity within himself. He could not sit still, and stood up, and paced around.
“I can—“ The words overwhelmed him for a moment. “I can go back! I can regain my honor, and be my father’s son!” If his uncle’s eyes were sad, he ignored them. “And you can come back too, Uncle! And we’ll be together!” The hope swelled up and almost choked him, more than even the glimpse of the Avatar that had sent him through anguish and rage. Those nights spent alone in his room, feeling the fire within his stomach destroy and scorch his livers and kidneys and stomachs, they were over.
Slowly, uneasily, he sat back, and felt the strange smile on his face, because he was blinded by his own honesty, that he always saw in others.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Uncle?”
--
Azula always lies.
--
The fever took him, wrapped him in pain, and he lay still. He could see the fragments of reality, to see his own childhood, and the Avatar’s bison before him. He had freed the bison, perhaps, and there were two dragons! One good, with the voice of his uncle, and the other, wily, the voice of his sister. He stared at them both, crown heavy on his head.
Could he find happiness, within the peace? And he finally caved, following the blue dragon into the darkness above.
--
“I need your help, Zuko,” she said. “I can’t do it without you.”
So he killed the Avatar.
Apparently.
--
Dreams. That was what they were, nothing but dreams, and he was back in the palace, though he couldn’t remember everything exactly. He remembered a cavern full of crystals, called a prison, and he remembered the Dai Li who had used their earth to destroy him. And he remembered his uncle, captured, with the look in his eyes.
That was all he remembered, actually. The look in his eyes.
Azula was leaning on his doorway, as if they were little children. He had been sitting on his bed, staring into a small glass mirror that reflected only his scar. At the sound of her voice, he stood up, letting the mirror softly fall onto the bed.
“Azula.”
“Zuzu,” she said affectionately, hair tied up prettily. She smirked, and even at fourteen, she invoked a strange feeling within him. Not fear, but something else. He stared into her golden eyes, and could only see himself, dressed up in the nice robes, with the crown on his head.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can’t I visit my brother?” she cooed. She crossed her arms and stared at him, never moving. “Hero, who killed the Avatar?”
Azula always lies. She couldn’t have done it from her heart, and he knew it (now), he knew it because he should have known it before he was trying to board her ship, and his uncle had been so hesitant, while he so desperate.
The room was quiet, and smelled like soot and ashes.
He had been pampered, waited on, by the servants. They looked at him with admiration, as an honor to even serve him. His clothes were laid out, washed by seemingly themselves, and they urged him to try the next delicious exquisite meal the chef had laid on the table. He saw the generals who bowed down to him, and to even the sooty streets that bore the Fire Nation symbols even more flagrantly than before. The country loved him. But still, he was discontent.
“What do you want?” It angered him, but what he had, she had. The honor that he had regained lay like a plate of rotting armor on his chest. He stared at her, who seemed hostile even in her sleeping clothes. Unhappily, he stared down at the mirror again.
“I don’t want anything,” she purred. “I only want to see you. Make sure you’re fitting well, that sort of thing. Why? Don’t you believe me?” She waved her hand ambiguously in the air, and stared at him with a curling, crispy smile.
“You lie.” He stood against her. “You always lie.”
“Only to those stupid enough to believe me. But you’re more clever than that, aren’t you, Zuzu? Yes, you’re very clever,” she said, staring into his eyes, challenging him. “Very clever indeed. Or else you wouldn’t belong here, Avatar-slayer.”
Each word was followed by another, and he was confused. There were hidden messages in her letters, but he had no keys to answer them. He only wanted to believe her, but even just looking at her face, he knew there were tricks.
“Don’t call me that,” he said.
“Why?” Azula tossed her wisps of hair back. “It’s true, isn’t it? I’ve given you the credit, everything. Now you’re Daddy’s Little Boy again. Isn’t that wonderful?”
It was. He thought it was. Now he sat beside his father, now he was rewarded with acceptance. It was as if they were children again, standing outside in the courtyard, and his cousin was still alive, and Iroh had lived on the warfront, not in a prison, and his mother had been there. But it was all different, and twisted, and it made his head hurt.
“Go away.”
“Is that any way to treat your sister?”
“I said, go away!” He slammed his fist by the bed post, and turned on his heel to face the outside wall. He felt anguished, even more than in the cold nights on his boat. Now it was warm, in the room of soots and ashes, but he felt too cold to even embrace the heat. Azula always lies. He had learned the lesson over and over again, until it was carved into his scar.
But now, he wanted to trust her, so much that it hurt.
“Why?” he asked, for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Why did you tell Father it was me who killed the Avatar?”
“Because I care about you, Zuzu. I want you to have your hard-earned… what was it? Honor? You shouldn’t complain, Zuzu. After all, everything should be well,” she said, “If the Avatar really is dead, of course.” The glint in her eyes was a challenge, all over again.
“The Avatar is dead,” he said.
--
Perhaps those times were happy. They were certainly brightly lit, and he felt angry, recklessly angry. Vases were replaced in his room at a constantly, and not even stone pillars were safe from his rage. He screamed at Mai, Ty Lee, Azula.
It wasn’t as if there weren’t happy times. There were times where he would try to remember if the old days had been anything similar.
“Mother thought I was a monster.” Azula smiled. “Of course, she was right. But it still hurt.”
Azula always lies.
--
But the Avatar did not.
--
The empty prison still echoed in his mind, as he sat on the bison, watching the scenery flip by, like the trees blurring together, and the earth smells rising with the sun. Katara sat on the left, and she was arguing with Sokka, who sat on the right, and Toph was hanging out the seat, and the Avatar, so close that it almost hurt, sat in the front, and they were all arguing, and it was honest.
It was strange, he thought, how very honest this entire scene was.
“Where should we go to train?” Aang asked, mildly.
“I know a place,” he said. Where his family had once been happy.
--
Surprisingly, he felt happier now that he had finally let go of the betrayals, of Azula’s poison within his very being. He felt almost serene, though he knew that he was permanently marked with a letter on his chest, not from his country who he still loved, but from his uncle. And he bore that mark with stronger passions than even his exile from his country. This time, it was a rightful exile, one that he accepted.
But there is a small, peaceful discontent within him, and he stares at his former house, broken and burnt, not with longing, but with questions.
--
He wondered if his father would die.
--
He is honest, and accepts the Agni Kai. He didn’t think he could take on Azula, because she was powerful, and he did not have secret weapons or secret abilities, because he was honest and he accepted that part of himself. But her hair was untangling, and her smile was unraveling. She slowly twirled her hair around her finger and let it slide out, and the curls bounced back into place so swiftly. She smiled, and then she laughed, and challenged him.
He agreed, even if it was to the death of him.
But even if it was the death of him, it couldn’t be the death of her, who was only watching the battle from afar, and all he remembered was the lightning entering him and it never did go out the other side, it just stayed in him and his muscles twitched and he could not move and all he wanted to do was breath again
He had finally found happiness
He had finally found honor
He had finally lost it all
Azula always lies.
--
It was so dark.
--
It was light again, and the burns acted up again, and his stomach hurt. He slowly raised himself onto one elbow, and saw her eyes, and looked for Azula. And she was screaming, screaming so loudly, screaming from across her chain, broken for all, trickery and lies and deceit and paranoia surrounding her intensely, and lightning shooting from her mouth like hot burns.
Even if she had lied and tricked, she was done for now. And he was still standing.
--
The coronation of the Fire Lord was swifter than he thought it would be, and more glorious than he could ever have imagined. He stared down at the ravages of the country, and looked upon the honesty of his new friends, and then descended down the steps he had known too many times. Prisoners lived in prisons, and the stone walls were meant to keep them in and him out.
He knew this too well, and counted the steps that he had taken when he visited his Uncle. This time, the guards parted like water at his visit, and the door creaked open softly. The light still shone from the flickering fire outside. His own shadow was deeply elongated in the cold, bitter room. He drew his cloak even closer, and looked at her.
Her eyes did not focus on him long, both wincing and staring at the light simultaneously. Her teeth were bared, and her slanted hair dangled from her head. She stared at him, and she began to shriek with laughter.
“Fire Lord Zuzu,” she said, in a tone that was too shrill. “Fi-re Lord Zu-zu!” She smilred queerly, and stared at him. She barked out a sharp laughter, that sounded more like a blood-filled cough, and suddenly strained at him with her chains rattling.
“I’m going to find Mother,” he said.
She froze, and then looked at him, smile etched on her face insanely. “Mother? We had no mother,” she said. “Don’t you remember, Zuzu? Don’t you?”
“She doesn’t think you’re a monster,” he said. “She never did.”
“Don’t lie to me, Zuzu,” she said, staring at him with the smile so wide that it crinkled her entire face. “Zuzu, Zuzu, Zuzu.”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “I’m not good at it.”
“Then where is she? Tell me, where is she?”
“I’ll find out,” he said. “The Avatar took away Father’s powers. He’ll tell me.”
“Then Zuzu will be happy,” she sang, but then abruptly stopped. “Mother’s pet,” she hissed.
He turned to the bright exit, where his cape swirled over the cold floor. He looked at the bright fire on the wall. “I’ll bring Mother next time,” he said, “and she’ll tell you for herself. She doesn’t think that way of you, Azula. I know it.”
“Why are you doing this?” she screamed, suddenly, shrilly, and her chains rattled against the stone walls. He paused before the doorway, hand still resting on the metal handle. He looked away for a moment, into the dark hallway.
“I hate you,” she said, softly, quietly. Her head was hung, not in despair, but something far more fearsome. He let the door slam behind him, but even after, he could hear her voice, softly chanting, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
Azula always lies.
14. when the darkness falls under your hair, there’ll I’ll be
She feared nothing. Oh, filthy maggots, how she watched those little worms scrape away at the skin of skulls, to see hundreds burn by her fingertip—oh, but that was too bloody and left an awful smell. She much preferred lightning. It left such a crisp scent.
She feared nothing, but, oh! What a wonderful look when they stared up at her, eyes as large as grapes that she could just pluck out (if it wasn’t that disgusting, of course). Every line of their face would be etched in fear. Oh, but, no, no, she loved to see their frozen look. Yes, that was even more delicious, a hesitation and then that false smile on Ty Lee’s face, the slight swallow in the throat, the high-pitched voice. That was when she knew she was in control, the world at her fingertips.
Who was she to care about the starving parents, the dead sons littering the battlefield? Who was she to even acknowledge those children who wanted nothing more than a toy? Her cloak would be made from raven feathers, still ripped from their warm, beating bodies! She would dye them red in blood, from those poor pathetic traitors and prisoners! She’d burn them all, because she could. She was the princess of the world. She feared nothing.
But sometimes, at night, when the darkness dampened her hair, and she stood in front of the mirror and watched as the wispy shadows formed the picture of her mother.
Monster
She feared
almost
nothing.
19. held a lunar synthesis
And they were only children. They did not understand their clumsy love, or shy glimpses of the other, or excited heartbeats, or kisses. But fate had already entangled them in its sticky, gooey web, and there was no escape. When he looked back on the incidents, he still hesitated and wondered about their future. These things were too sad to dwell upon for long, because when he gazed into them too long, he wondered if she still would have loved him twenty years from then, or if they were only children, and she had thrown away his ugly little carving because she saw no future ahead, or just not future ahead with him.
1.
This sort of thing didn’t happen to him. Turning girls into goddesses, anyway. He was numb when he saw his sorta-coulda-shoulda girlfriend slowly turn transparent, the colors of the world slowly twisting and fading, ebbing and rushing, like the waves of an ocean. She had turned to look at him, and he didn’t really understand or want this—was this even possible? Could people really turn into goddesses?—and she had kissed him.
He’d still been numb when color suddenly rushed into the world, face and hands, and the sickly red color and the bad black color faded, like the froth of the ocean.
He’d gotten his first kiss (that wasn’t from Gran-Gran) and then his girlfriend turned into a goddess, all in less than a second.
And his day just couldn’t get any better.
2.
And he’d been angry. That would be understandable, angry, because he’d just met her a few days ago, and he’d already loved her like ages had already come and gone. He’d brag about his non-existent titles, fall into freezing rivers, and meet her on secret bridges like any teenager, and then she would die.
“I’m so, so sorry, Sokka,” Katara said.
“Sorry? Sorry for what?” It felt like he couldn’t stop talking, or waving his hands around, or feeling the mounting anger and irritation. “It’s not like it’s your fault. Just the fates above decided to turn Princess Yue into a moon. Which everybody apparently already knew about it, except me, because I’m always left out of everything.”
She cast him a strange, sad look, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s probably for the best. I mean, she probably was going to marry that jerk anyway,” he said. “That was pre-planned, anyway. So any way you look at it, the whole world was just saying, ‘No, Sokka, you can’t be happy!’ Which is great! Just great!”
“You know that’s not true.”
He’d always trusted in Katara the most, so he didn’t say anything more. He suddenly felt ashamed of his only words he spat out and so didn’t look her in the eyes, but he still felt resentment boiled up within him.
“I know it’s for the best—“
“You don’t have to say that.” Katara studied her hands. “Don’t bottle it up inside. If you don’t let it out, you’ll only feel worse afterwards.”
He wanted to shout at her, too, but the words died when he looked at her. Finally, he grabbed a handful of snow into his thick gloves, and then with an aggravated cry, he threw it at a tree. And then he threw another, and another, then another, until his hands were soaked wet and raw, and his breath was too heavy and loaded.
“This is . . . This is so stupid!”
It wasn’t the best way of putting it, and he slept fitfully that night. It was, after all, a full moon. From then on, he wouldn’t sleep well on full moons. It felt her presence was even greater, if it was even there at all. He wanted to ask her if she had actually loved him, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer.
3.
But he knew why he was angry.
It was because it hadn’t been him, and it had been her. It hadn’t even been her, it had been his father, it had been all the men in his tribe, it had been his mother, and it had been the Avatar, even before all that. It was the icy moment where he stood on the port and looked into the glaciers floating against the dim sun, which gave little warmth, as the ships glided so far into the distance that he wanted them to return.
He wanted them to take him. He wasn’t too young, he could fight just as well as any of them, and even if he died, he would die with the warriors with his tribe. The lost feeling in his heart sprouted its roots deeply on that day, and it only tightened until the day Princess Yue disappeared, and then it grabbed his rotting heart and squeezed.
“You didn’t protect me, Sokka,” she had said, her voice echoing in the swamp. He had heard her, and he had understood that it was true. He hadn’t. He had failed.
But he would give himself up a thousand times if it meant he could save her life.
4.
They always said he was a slow learner, and he was. When he was younger, he used to become more silent and sullen during full moons, and hide himself in his tent. There was some mingled acceptance of his failure, the knowledge that she was still—theoretically—the moon, even if he couldn’t see her.
But that didn’t stop the crushing sadness within him, to think about the possible futures ahead they could have had. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have broken up like normal teenagers, because that would have offered some closure. Or if their stations separated them, and she married and had three kids and a goldfish, and he would have been painfully happy for her.
It was those sorts of thoughts that lead him through his gloomy, restless nights, where sometimes he would step outside the tent, look up, and be unable to see the moon.
5.
He eventually ran against a stone wall, the circuitous thinking becoming a line. The failure was inevitable, just as much his part as the world’s, and the blame would be difficult to distribute. The Princess Yue at the swamp was his dream, though he never accepted it, really, as a fact. He could only accept the knowledge because that, at least, meant he had seen her physically. Even though she promised she would always be with him, she never seemed to appear in her childhood form, the one he remembered too well.
“Daaaad, are you coming in?”
“Don’t bother him, honey. He’s going senile.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said loudly, not turning around. He heard some soft giggles and the soft fading of footsteps, and then a slight pressure on his shoulders.
“You don’t seem like yourself today,” Suki said.
“It’s a full moon.” He stared up at the moon almost sullenly. “I feel like remembering stuff tonight.”
“Would you like me to leave you alone?”
He put his hand on hers briefly. His love was different for the two of them, no less stronger, no less weaker. But tonight, he felt especially sentimental, non-meat-eating and non-sarcastic. He never had given up those ways from childhood. Then again, he hadn’t given up a lot of things from childhood.
Suki seemed to understand, and with another slight press, she left him. Her footsteps rustled in the grass. He wasn’t used to lamenting, so he stared at the moon. She was there, and he had to believe it. Even if it had been some twenty years, he still believed in her.
But he still wondered if they had been only children, playing in the snow, or if it had been love. His doubts and fears ebbed like the waves, and with the full moon, it came on full blast. His hand slowly rose, until he had placed his palm in the sky, so it blocked out most of the moon. The gentle rays still shone down on the empty field, through his fingers.
“Would you still love me now?” he asked.
He felt something suddenly smash down on his palm.
It felt hot and it stung his palm, so after some quiet sounds of pain, he pulled back his hand and opened it. He blinked, and then looked around him for a moment, and then up at the moon. And then he laughed, because that was what he was best at doing.
So even if it was his imagination, he would like to imagine that some twenty years ago, she had fished out the ugly little sculpture that he had carved, and put it in her dress, and after twenty years, it had finally came back to him.
20. a ghost in me wants to say I’m sorry
Everything ended in happily ever after.
The celebration, against Zuko’s protests, was held for seven days and seven days. The tables were full with sweetened tarts, glistening with honey, and lion-turkeys basted and cooked to a crisp brown. Cabbages were served in salads, dipped in sauces, or even raw, to the delight of a cabbage merchant, who all of the cabinet members agreed looked familiar, but could not quite place his face. Festivals were held in the courts, prisoners and natives alike being embraced, and the Avatar statue adorned with flowers, with a group of wanderers playing a nonsensical song at his foot.
New orders for the government were also slowly being placed in order.
Katara drank another cup of berry-wine, and then rose from her chair. Aang turned in question, but she only shook her head and motioned vaguely away. It was too loud to hear any sound, but the trustful look in his eyes dawned again before he turned to pull away a cabbage from Sokka’s mouth. She walked past the drunken happiness, and even past where Appa and Momo were chomping down on their big meals, and into the dark hallway. She closed the door behind her.
“I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”
“Who’s there?” Her fingers had already uncapped her water bottle, and water glided into the air, transparent and flexible like a whip. But a small light appeared in the darkness, and she could see it was fire in Zuko’s hand. He wore a cloak that covered most of his face.
“Oh, it’s you.” She slipped the water back inside. “You surprised me.”
“Are you sure you can do this?” He looked at her intently. “I would feel better if Aang knew about this, too.” Even without context, she knew what was lingering on both their minds.
“No,” she said, “I have to do this alone. You can’t tell him.” Her eyes narrowed intently at him. “I won’t forgive you if you do.”
“There’s no shame if you ask him,” he said, stepping forward. The sounds of the distant party still echoed through the wooden door, the slits allowing broken light to fall through.
“I’m not ashamed,” she said, “or afraid. But he’ll misunderstand, and think it’s for revenge. But this isn’t! I want to do this. I need to do this. Alone.”
“But this isn’t the time to be thinking about yourself. We need this to be done in a responsible manner,” he said. “We need the prisoners treated fairly, and we need their safety.”
“It wouldn’t feel right if the Avatar was in charge, right?” She looked at him in the eyes now. “He’s the Avatar of peace. But we’re here to pick up the pieces.”
“I’m worried about you,” he said suddenly. “I’m afraid what you might do. You’re not the Katara that I knew.” He studied her for a moment. “I wonder if I ever knew you at all.”
“You’re not making any sense,” she snapped. Her water bottle resonated in her anger, but she calmed herself down. Her tone shifted to something like attempted friendliness. “Besides, why are you so concerned about me? I’m sure you have better, and more important, matters to attend to, Fire Lord Zuko.”
“That sounds weird.” He smiled briefly, but the smile faded. “I can be an honorable Fire Lord. But I’ll have to try my best.” Uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck, and the light dimmed when the fire transferred to only one of his hands. It seemed the darkness had surrounded him.
“But I’m an honest person, and I think everyone around me is honest. That’s why Azula is so powerful.” He raised the fire to his eyes. “That’s why I’m afraid of you.”
“I’m honest,” she said, extending her hands. “And I’ll be safe. Really.”
He contemplated this for another moment, and finally seemed to accept her. With a small tug, he drew back his hood, and placed his fire onto a nearby torch. Its blaze was nearly blinding for a moment.
“I need to go talk to some people,” he said. “I was just on my way there. I’ll see you back at our usual meeting place. Right?” They usually attended a small after party in a small, stone house near the castle, dressed informally, talking informally.
“Yeah,” she said.
She didn’t come that night. Or the night after, or the night after, or the night after, for six days.
--
She had volunteered to be in a special section of reconstruction. While Aang was in charge of projects such as the protection of the Air Temples, Katara understood her task and her pride as a waterbender. They called them the Wardens, but that was a misleading term. They were jailers, but they would also review each case to send to the juries.
For some reason, she thought of Mimi, but she shook her head. There would be no more days of black snow. Instead, she drew on her armor, and began through the dreary patrol of the system. Zuko lead the way, footsteps plodding through the metal chambers. Water buckets trembled at every corner, just another precaution.
There was no fire in the room, so it was dark.