#firelxrdsdaughter

@firelxrdsdaughter

“Well I’m not,” she said curtly, gathering her knees close to her chest, “…Besides it’s not like I was realistically going to have any more friends here than anywhere else. Or like I need any to begin with.”

She tore at a patch of grass with restless fingers, scowling into the ground, purposefully avoiding looking Zuko in the face.

“That’s okay. Maybe I’m wrong,” he said calmly. It was feasible. Maybe Azula just didn’t want company? If Azula was a lone wolf, he had no objection to that. He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself a lone wolf but he was without any doubt an introvert. Some people just don’t feel the need for company all the time, others not at all. 

But just in case she was covering...

Azula’s cool demeanor was now officially getting on Toph’s nerves. For all that her girlfriend (?) was a prodigy at firebending, Azula sure had a gift for throwing up a wall of ice. Well, Toph wasn’t about to take the bait on that little pride comment. A hand went to her temple, an attempt to soothe the pounding headache that had surfaced with her damnable tears. 

“How are you so annoyingly calm, huh?” she griped under her breath, embarrassed. Here she was making a spectacle of herself while Azula hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow. More annoying still was the way this refusal to rise to Toph’s level of agitation helped cool her heels.

There was a pause as her frown deepened.

It had happened the night of his going-away party. Kanto and a few others had been called to station in Omashu to round out the fledgling metalbending force there, and the academy folks wanted one last hurrah to mark the occasion. 

Kanto had always been an incorrigible flirt. But it was innocuous, she’d told herself. He was nice but too slow-witted for her taste, and his bending was passable but by no means impressive. So she had her fun turning him down every chance she got and he always took it good-naturedly. It had become a running gag, even. Until that night. The sake was flowing, she wanted to feel wanted, and he wanted her. And yeah, maybe a small part of her wanted to stick it to Azula too. 

Mission accomplished, she guessed.

Why else would Azula even ask her that? After months of assurances that there was nothing between her and Kanto, the fact that she’d fallen into bed with him just weeks after her and Azula’s latest split...well, Toph knew how it looked. 

“You are heir to the throne! It is your duty to keep yourself safe!” Azula cracked the gold tipped end of her ebony cane on the hardwood floors, barely flinching at the explosion that shook the walls and rattled the windows.

“These people will have little care for what your duty is and far more interest in carving your heart out of your breast, nephew. But there is someone in this room that has a duty to the royal family who is of far less consequence than your royal self.” She let out a steadying breath, levelling him with a look which brooked no argument. “So you will come with me, and be reunited with your mother at the rendezvous point —“

There was a commotion in the adjacent hall. Azula looked quickly back over her shoulder.

“Now,” she said with finality, turning back to her nephew and indicating their escape route with a nod of her head.

Battle was in his blood, in his beating heart.  Looking down that ancient hallway, desecrated by cruel and hateful intruders, nothing felt more natural than a reckless rush at the enemy, to blast them into ash.  The second felt like an eternity, Azula’s voice fading into the background as the steel peeked from the scabbard.  Finally, though, he wrenched his gaze away, sliding the dagger back.  

Azula almost immediately regretted interceding on behalf of the advisor. She should have left well enough alone and let the man be punished for his ineptitude, but no. She’d been feeling generous, brave even. As her father’s attention turned to her, however, and his anger did not immediately abate (perhaps she would receive a smack for interrupting — that wouldn’t exactly be something new, just something that she had managed to avoid for some time now), Azula felt the tension rising in her own limbs.

She made a conscious effort to remain cool and collected, though she did look at her father sidelong from the corner of her eye, waiting to see what would happen. His temper soothed. The temperature in the room lowered somewhat. He smiled.

The second undesired effect was that her father’s goodwill seemed to land her in an even more difficult position.

Of course. I have no doubt you will handle it.

Her father’s new favourite phrase these days, it would seem. Azula nodded, smiling back at her father with an ease she certainly didn’t actually feel at the moment.

“Of course. Zuko and Uncle Iroh have been making a spectacle of themselves, and if what was reported about their movements in the North Pole is true…?” She shrugged, nonchalant, “I’m sure it won’t take much to remind either of them of their place. If you’ll permit it, then I’d like to take a ship and sail to where they were last sighted. We can’t let them just walk around without a trial.”

At least he had one good child.

...His only child, as far as he was concerned. 

He could only imagine Azula’s pleasure--actually being treated as a princess of this nation instead of a spare to be pulled out in case of emergencies.  He trusted her unlike his father ever did him.  

“Of course,” he stated, voice even.  “Take whatever crew you wish.  Ensure they are brought to justice...”

He paused a mere moment, before amending his statement.

He hated that it had to be—to FEEL—this way. Each and every time, no matter how long had passed, what had happened, where they were in their respective lives away from each other (because how could they ever hope to coexist otherwise; Azula, he figured, didn’t much care or strive for the POSSIBILITY). He hated how the atmosphere became stifling and bore weight it hadn’t mere seconds ago—simply because they were there in a room together, alone with nothing but their thoughts and GLOWERING looks. The latter mainly from his sister’s side. Fire Lord Zuko himself did all in his power to keep his expression BLANK, give her not even an inch she would turn into a mile.

But with enough nonchalance of one implying the WEATHER, she drawled the very topic a ball and chain in his ruminations, and instinctively his face screwed up just so. His fingers twitched involuntarily at his sides as if desiring to FIST; Zuko didn’t let them.

He on his own side hadn’t yet discovered how to handle the news—EMOTIONALLY, that is (formally... sure)—and yet with barely a breath of hesitation Azula addressed what was a poison in his veins, and one more thing to hate...? How well she could at least PRETEND it didn’t matter. Their father was as much of a tyrant to her as everyone else, in his own way, in his own MANIPULATIVE behavior. Her suffering was the QUIETER kind behind a veil of aggression (bestowed by Ozai himself). She had to... had to feel SOMETHING—

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Zukaang: Struggle

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Fire Lord Zuko’s life is one of struggle. He claws his way into the world, weak, barely breathing, nearly killing his mother. He fights for the love of a man who will never truly see his value. He is scarred. He is neglected. He is defined by drive rather than talent.

It is unfair, leaves a bitter taste on the boy prince’s tongue. He fights through his exile and he fights his way to the throne. And when he finally sits upon it, when he has defied all those who would doubt him, what does he find?

Crisis after crisis. More struggles; more hurts. He is Lord of a country which despises him, ambassador to a world which hates his country. He’s never been trained for this. He does not understand politics or courtroom decorum or military matters…

Zuko is lost. Zuko is exhausted. Zuko is alone.

He sits by the turtleduck pond, dark hair loose about his shoulders. It’s too hot for his formal robes; he’s too tired to go change. The still surface of the water reflects his face back to him. Dark bags rim his eyes. His face is more sallow than he remembers.

It’s a strange thing to say but he feels Aang’s presence before he hears him. The young man is still light on his feet even if he’s gawkier than ever. In the past few years he’s come into his height all at once. Aang is tall. There’s not enough weight on his frame to evenly distribute, leaving him looking lanky. He’s still moves with an effortless grace. A lopsided smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he searches the garden. It falters, only briefly, when he sees Zuko.

The Fire Lord raises one hand. The listless gesture is barely enough to pass for a wave. Aang leaps to his side, dropping into a crouch. It’s perhaps more dramatic than the situation merits. His friend’s hands settle on his shoulders, “Zuko! What’s wrong? Have you been sleeping? Are you eating? Are you ok…?” The endless stream of questions makes his head hurt and also...relaxes him. It’s a familiar ritual. Aang frowns at him, rocking back on his heels, “This isn’t funny! You look terrible.”

Zuko chuckles, “Good to see you too.”

Aang grumbles, sitting cross legged beside him. He counts the airbender among his closest friends even if he’s never really understood him. Aang is lightness; Aang is tactile. The young man regales him tales of his travels, absently plucking at his robes, Zuko’s hair, setting every supposed wrong to right. He’s in constant motion, unable to stay still until he finally does.

Aang looks at him, really looks at him, concern written across his features, “You haven’t told me how you’ve been. Zuko, is everything alright?”

He thinks about lying. His family...they don’t tell the truth. Not about their feelings. Zuko swallows, meets the young man’s eyes. There’s no judgement there. He won’t use this information to undermine or to hurt him. He’s genuinely curious, “It’s been...rough.”

“You’ve been alone, haven’t you?” Aang’s eyes are deep and soulful and feeling. He reaches out, clasping the Fire Lord’s hand between both of his own. It should be strange. It isn’t. “I’m sorry, Zuko. We should have stuck around longer. All of us. We’ve just been out…”

“Living.”

“Yeah,” the monk frowns. He glances around the garden. It’s silent. Zuko isn’t sure why. Maybe he’s bitter; maybe he’s been conditioned to expect horrible things. But he half expects everything to come crashing down around their ears. Someone will burst into the garden with a new crisis. Another assassin will drop down from the rafters. Something will ruin this.

But nothing happens. There’s only silence. Aang sighs, adjusting himself until they’re seated beside each other, shoulder to shoulder. The young man frowns, leaning his head against the Fire Lord. Zuko finds he doesn’t  mind that either. Aang is a soothing presence. Aang smells like spring and fresh gusts of wind.

“Hey. What if I stayed at the palace for a while?” Aang nudges him in the ribs, smiling again. He’s grinning ear to ear and Zuko can’t help but return the expression. “You know? I can help with your work. Or... just. I dunno. Run errands. Do Fire Lord’s have errands?”

Zuko chuckles, “We do.”

“Great! Then I’ll do those!” he nods sagely, as if the matter is decided. “What do you say, hot man?”