Chapter Text
It’s a bitter thing, dying on the eve of her coronation, at the hands of her upstart brother and the water tribe girl. More bitter that they hadn’t even intended on killing her- that they could kill Azula, Wielder of the Blue Flame and Soon To Be Fire Lord on accident. Worse still, they had the gall to try and save her from the brink of death when they were the ones who put her there in the first place.
But suffocating in ice then drowning on dry land had hurt, and the only good thing that came from it was the fact that she knew poor Zuzu would be shattered that he wasn’t the one to finish her off. Still, it was technically his fault that the girl was there, so he would still claim a bit of credit.
Bah. Azula banishes the thought from one part of that motley crew, and instead almost casts a sympathetic thought to the Avatar.
She can barely handle being fourteen going on two years old. Being thousands of years old and having to be reborn again and again?
She shudders.
“Don’t worry! Just do your best, Azula,” Her new birthgiver encourages from the patio, sat some ways away from Azula in the shade of an umbrella.
She’s a pale slip of a woman, demure and pretty, but altogether dull. If Azula had to compare her to anyone, she wouldn’t have picked Ursa, but Zuko as a child, or maybe Ty Lee. There was no cunning bone in her body, no killer instinct, no flame seeking fuel. Rei Todoroki is uninspiring, insipid, and airheaded.
“Show Daddy what you were doing earlier,” she continues, fists pumping in a cheer. “With the flames. You can do it.”
Her own father is looming over her, standing just beside her with his arms crossed and an expectant look on his face. He’s much stockier than the Fire Lord was- he’s built much more like an Earthbender with broad shoulders and rippling muscles.
Despite that, he is just as much fire as she is. Loath as she is to admit it, his mastery of flames outclassed her- and not just her, but the Fire Lord as well, with how he casually wreaths himself in flames, and bends without care for form or technique.
Azula, for all her talent, in this life and the last, is still bound by the limitations of all other benders. Squaring her breath and drawing her hands together, she takes the first step in her kata- the rote dance that all firebenders practice when learning to bend.
One hand down low, forearm across her stomach, where the fire in her belly roars to be released, the other held close to the body, bent at the elbow, like the head of a cobra-fish. Her front foot pivots towards the straw target across the backyard. Her back foot slides forward, almost clicking her heels together. A high knee, a lunging step. Her leading hand clenches, extending to a punch, then her back hand swings forward with her other foot, advancing.
She hears her father grinding his heel into the grass. He is a busy man. He has no time for foolishness or frivolities.
Azula dutifully continues the kata. Sweeping kick. Two punches. Any respectable firebender would have sparked flames with each step, and a half-decent one would have at least managed an ember by now but Azula is two years old and just as many years out of practice.
“Rei…” Her father says with his deep voice.
“Don’t look at me, you’re about to miss it,” Rei breezily replies.
Miss it he does not, as Azula finishes with a high kick. Blue flame bursts forth, arcing down with her foot crashing to the ground. The target is set ablaze, along with the grass in between and the fence behind it.
“Your fire- it’s blue,” her father states dully.
Azula turns to him, crossing her arms behind her back. She’d kneel down, but he’d told her not to do that anymore between bursts of smothered laughter. He has a strange expression on his face- a furrowed brow, a pursed lip, narrowed eyes. She asks, “Does that displease you, Father?”
“It’s blue,” he repeats again, with a little more strength in his voice. He holds out his hand towards the flame, taking in its heat.
“My ice is blue,” Rei says, as she trods across the grass to grab onto her husband’s shoulders from behind. “Maybe that’s why her fire is blue. That’s good, isn’t it? It’s marketable.”
“It’s not just marketable,” her father finally says, with a grin breaking out on his face. He bends over and sweeps Azula into his arms. “It’s powerful!”
She crosses her arms and pouts. “Of course it’s powerful. It’s mine.”
Rei manages to worm her way into Father’s embrace. He picks her up as well and spins them around in a circle. Azula’s hair flies wildly as she lets out an involuntary giggle. Rei too squeals and Father sets them down away from the fire after a few turns in order to grab the fire extinguisher nearby.
If anyone else were looking, they could’ve mistaken this for a happy family.
But a monster couldn’t ever be a part of one of those.
“I said my name is Azula,” she insists. She is three years old and suffering in day care.
The boy in front of her crosses his arms. His face is snotty and disgusting and pudgy. “I heard Ms. Sato say that your name was Touka, though.”
“It’s not Touka. Stop calling me that,” Azula has already fought this battle once before, and that was against fully grown adults, so this should’ve been child’s play.
“She says it’s not Touka, so it’s not,” another girl agrees with her, unbidden. She doesn’t need her help.
“But Ms. Sato is an adult so she’s right,” the brat argues. “So I’m going to keep calling you that. Touka, Touka, Touka,” he chants like he’s summoning a monster. If only he knew.
“Adults are wrong all the time, Haru.” Azula says.
“That’s not my name, Touka! That’s a girl’s name” the boy shouts. She’s not entirely sure he’s shouting because he’s angry or he’s shouting because he doesn’t know how not to shout. Little children are loud and screechy even when they’re perfectly happy. Especially when they’re perfectly happy.
The girl from before speaks up. “See! How do you like being called the wrong name, Haru?”
“I’m not calling Touka by the wrong name, you guys are!” He protests.
Azula callously shrugs. “Whatever you say, Haru.” She cocks her head in just the right way, with a malicious glint in her eyes perfected from years tormenting her peers.
The boy screams and moves towards her. If Azula had kept up with her training regimen, she’d easily dodge this, but seeing as she’s three years old and hadn’t, he pushes her down with two hands.
Azula snarls. How dare he lay his hands on her. How dare he lay his hands on her and succeed.
She salvages her dignity the only way she knows how- she topples him by shoving his legs. Haru goes down. His knees hit the floor first, then his face. Azula triumphantly gets back up, dusts herself off, and proclaims victory by sitting on Haru.
It takes five minutes for Ms. Sato to notice Haru’s crying, and another three to call Azula’s parents.
…
Of course, it’s Rei who comes. Father is a busy man. He has no time for Azula’s foolishness.
She hesitates to think on how Father will react. Unlike the Fire Lord, for whom a strong, assertive heir is ideal, Father is a ‘Hero.’ Father is one of the best Heroes.
Heroes and monsters are not on the same side.
Heroes kill monsters.
But Father is not here. Rei Todoroki is here, sitting next to Azula, across from Ms. Sato’s desk, in a tiny room with inane posters and childish decorations.
Azula doesn’t want to listen to their conversation. A lionhawk should not concern herself with the opinions of the sheepmice. But if the sheepmice have the ear of the dragonbird…
She listens.
“Your daughter had pushed over poor Hiro, and was sitting on him while he was crying to make sure he couldn’t get up. And she’d been calling him names,” Ms. Sato explains in a concerned voice,
“That sounds like normal three year old behavior to me. Three year olds play rough with each other.” Rei states.
Ms. Sato reaches a reassuring hand out to Rei. “I know this might be hard to hear, but this might be a sign of further bad behavior down the road-it may even be a sign of future Villainy.”
Rei does not take it- she leaves Ms. Sato’s hand hanging awkwardly across her desk, next to a cup of novelty pens. “That’s a rather harsh statement to make about a three year old.”
Ms. Sato takes her hand back, now awkwardly clasping them together under her desk. “She has a dangerous quirk. It’s-”
“Did you use your quirk?” Rei interrupts her and turns to Azula.
Azula jumps a little. “You’re asking me?”
Rei smiles. “Of course I’m asking. You were there, weren’t you?”
This is… unexpected, if a bit pointless. You don’t ask the monster whether it bit its prey or clawed out their heart.
“I didn’t use my fire,” she confirms. “I just pushed him.”
“And why did you push him?”
Again, a pointless question, but despite that it makes Azula hesitate. This… was supposed to be the part where she was called cruel. And if she admits that he pushed her first, she admits defeat.
Rei puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. “I won’t get mad. I promise.” Her eyes are… soft. That’s true, even if she is a dullard.
“He pushed me down first,” Azula begrudgingly reveals.
“And the names?” Rei prods.
“He was calling me Touka.”
“I see,” Rei nods knowingly. “How many times did he call you that?”
Azula shrugs. It’d be petty of her to keep score. “Four times.”
“See, Ms. Sato, it was just childlike squabbling. Now, if you’re done wasting our time, we’ll be on our way.”
Ms. Sato’s head droops accordingly. “I apologize, Mrs. Todoroki. Your daughter is free to return to day care.”
“I think you misheard me,” Rei says. “I said we’ll be on our way. Come along Azula.” She holds her hand out for Azula to take, without sparing Ms. Sato another glance.
Azula cautiously takes her hand and walks with her out of the office, then out of the hallway, then out of the building and into the parking lot before she summons the will to ask.
“That’s it? You’re not going to tell Father to punish me, are you?”
This was a pointless question. It was improper for a top hero’s daughter to be punished by someone outside of the family, so it was going to be done inside the family… but today was a day of pointless questions.
“Punish you? Everything you did, was just in return to something he did to you.”
Azula followed Rei into the car and remained silent on the drive back home. She’d gotten away with it. Rei was a dullard, after all.
She asks, anyways, once they are outside the front door. “I did sit on Haru for five minutes. Isn’t that bad?”
Rei stops and thinks for a minute, before laughing and rubbing Azula’s head. “You’re still thinking about that? Heroes, just like your father, keep villains locked up for much longer, you know. And it sounded to me like he started it.”
“That’s heroes, though.” She points out. “I’m not a hero.”
“You’ll be a hero one day, won’t you?” Rei smiles. “Come on, let’s go get some snacks.”
“That’s…” Azula stutters, as Rei retreats into the house.
That’s not right.
Monsters don’t just become heroes. Heroes have an intrinsic goodness to themselves that Azula’s never had. Never will have.
Azula walks inside for some snacks, anyways.
Azula is four years old and practicing katas in the backyard while Mom is inside making lunch. They were both outside taking advantage of the good weather, but this was a rare occasion when Father was able to join them for lunch. This left Azula alone while Mom made an extra portion for their surprise guest.
Backhand, forward step, sweeping hands- she wasn’t intending on setting any fires, not without anyone around to extinguish it. Azula’s fires had a nasty habit of staying alight for much longer than normal flames. Still, the forms were good practice- she had to build up her muscle memory and conditioning up from scratch. Moving with purpose felt much better than just running around until exhaustion.
The door to the backyard opened and Azula calls out as she front kicks. “That was fast, Mom. Did you just make him a peanut butter sandwich?”
Father clucks his tongue as he replies from the patio. “I sure hope she didn’t.”
Azula straightens her back and abandons her kata, turning to him. “You’re back early, Father. I thought you were coming later.” She doesn’t apologize for mistaking him. To apologize is to admit to an error, and she cannot afford to make mistakes. Azula does not make mistakes.
He bats a hand at her. “I wanted to surprise you, after all. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I came back on time?”
“It was a surprise to begin with.”
“It stopped being a surprise when I told you I was coming. And then it became a surprise again once I showed up.”
Azula bites her tongue in frustration. “I’m not sure that lunch is ready yet,” she mentions to change the subject.
“That just gives me more time to spend with my daughter, doesn’t it?” Father approaches her.
“Of course,” she agrees dutifully.
They stand there, looking at each other in the backyard. Azula isn’t nervous- but Father is a busy man, and to take time away from his duties as a hero means that his time with Azula must be worth more, and she doesn’t know how to make it worth it.
“Why don’t you show me how to do your katas?” He suggests gently.
Azula frowns. “But you don’t need them,” she acknowledges. “You can bend fire at will.”
“That’s true,” he admits, “but the firepower you’re outputting is a lot more than I was back when I was your age.”
It’s strange, to hear such a powerful man admit his own weakness so readily. But Azula has always been the obedient one, so she obliges him.
“The Flashspark is the beginner firebending kata,” She explains.
“Flashspark is a catchy name,” Her father rumbles.
It’s probably to help younger firebenders remember it. But that’s not relevant right now.
“First, you must center your breathing. Fire comes from the belly, through the breath.”
Father’s breathing is even, steady. He would already know where his fire comes from- but this is how they teach katas, in the first place. His face is blank, eyes closed. He doesn’t seem annoyed or displeased by her explanation, so she continues with them.
“The first step of the Flashspark is the Growing Ember. Feet shoulder width apart, hands in fists at your hips like this,” she demonstrates.
Father scoffs, and Azula freezes.
“Each move has its own name?”
“Yes.” She says. It’s no use lying to him. Who would name a single move and no others?
“They’re very good names for what you’ve come up with yourself,” he approves.
“Thank you, father. Shall we continue?” Azula hasn’t come up with these names herself, but the people who have are long dead and in another world entirely so this lie is believable.
Father is a dutiful student from that point on. He takes naturally to the punches and stances, but a few times Azula has to correct his form on kicks. He is not particularly good at low kicks or other movements that take him down low and force him to crouch down, but he does not complain when Azula gingerly tries to correct his form.
“And the Scorpion,” Azula finishes. “You’ll need to side step into this one. Guard your head with your back hand- raise that elbow- and extend your leading hand into a punch.”
Father’s form is good- not perfect, not even something that would be at Zuko’s level, but passable still.
“There weren’t any flames,” He noted.
She cocked her head. “You weren’t trying to start any.”
“Right…” He trailed off. “I thought it might feel natural at some point though.”
“Each form can freely ignite- you don’t have to do it in any particular order.” Azula runs two quick forms in demonstration- the Scorpion and the Viper. Since her father is here, she fires away freely, cerulean flames dancing from her fists and feet.
He ponders this, and repeats the Scorpion himself, flames in hand to mimic Azula’s.
“Your form is good,” She acknowledges.
He glances back at her. “It doesn’t feel any more powerful,” he admits.
Azula dipped her head. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Father.”
He hums to himself, thinking for a moment before he replies, “I imagine I’ll still be practicing these forms, if you’ll allow me to join you, Azula.”
“It won’t be of much use to you,” She points out.
He counters. “Not everything needs to be burnt down.
“You’re a busy man. You have more important things to do.” she tries.
“I’ll make time for you,” He replied.
“…” Azula stopped. Father said you. Not it. Not for any strategic purposes. For her. There was no subtlety, no hidden doublespeak. Father was as straightforward as a rock. “I won’t let you down.”
“That’s my girl,” Father replies.
“And I thought I was your girl,” Mom interrupts from inside the house. “Lunch is ready. Come on in and eat.”
Father looks at Azula, holding out his arm for her to take. “Shall we?”
Azula was a princess at one point. She knows what to do, even if the pieces are a bit unfamiliar and the players don’t seem to know how to play the game- no backstabbing or hidden meanings or political subterfuge. She’s a grandmaster against novices; a genius against dunces.
Maybe they’ve already hung up the game and started cleaning up the board.
(maybe she should stop playing, too)