*AzulaxKatara*
Summary: Azula's growth from loss to victory, one little step at a time.
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9399635/1/Measure-Each-Step-to-Infinity
Word count:208k(COMPLETE)
Chapters:22
Book 1
Prologue: Family
It was infuriating that after all these years of wondering where his mother was that Zuko's men finally tracked her to Ba Sing Se. It had taken months even after Ozai revealed her location to trace her from where she'd moved after her banishment. Now Zuko, with his heart pounding and a cold sweat on his neck, stood not three blocks away from his uncle's teashop in Ba Sing Se in front of a small clothier.
He'd been so close all along.
He took a deep breath that did nothing to compose his jittered nerves and stepped inside the shop.
As his eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior, the heavy smell of dyed fabric was not quite enough to overpower the soft, floral scent that immediately put him at ease—his mother's scent.
A voice, her voice, called from the back of the shop. "If you'll give me one moment, please, I'll be happy to help you."
"Mom." His voice cracked, and he had to repeat himself to be heard.
There was a thud and the sound of cracking pottery. Zuko stood frozen as a woman threw back the curtain that hid the back of the shop from customers. She burst from the back, started at the sight of his scarred face, and reached out to him with tears rising in her eyes. "Zuko?"
It was his mother. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, eight years old once again.
Only an hour later, they sat in Iroh's teashop. Ursa studied the interior, her tired face twisted into a rueful smile. It was strange to see her wearing rough linen instead of red silk and strange that her hair was streaked with gray. "I walk by this teashop at least once a week, but I never considered coming inside."
Iroh sat down at the table with them, glancing across the empty shop. He'd closed up early for the day. "I'm offended, Ursa."
Once again, Ursa reached out to touch Zuko's scar. He flinched from the touch. He wasn't ashamed, but the nerveless flesh transmitted disconcerting pressure. Ursa blinked back tears, but she looked angry, not sad. "Ozai did this to you. I can't believe… Is he still alive?"
"Yeah. He's locked up though."
"I hope you've done the same with Azula," Iroh said gravely.
Ursa turned a stunned look to Iroh, glancing back to Zuko. "Why would Azula be locked up?"
"She backed Dad in the war. She almost killed the Avatar."
"She's only fifteen," Ursa exclaimed.
"She's still a war criminal," Iroh replied.
It was strange to Zuko hear his uncle speak about Azula like that. He wasn't as sure as Iroh about Azula's…well, not her guilt. She'd done everything and probably would admit it and be proud of it. It was her culpability that Zuko sometimes wondered about. Even though he knew what she did was wrong, she'd done exactly what Ozai and probably most of the Fire Nation elite thought was right.
Not that he'd had much time to think about her at all while trying to restructure the Fire Nation government.
The fact she was crazy helped make his decision for him: she had to be restrained for her safety and everyone else's. Approaching six months after the end of the Hundred Year War, he wasn't sure what could be done about her in the long term.
"She's a child!" Ursa's face was tight with emotion. "She's my daughter, and your baby sister," she told Zuko, provoking a sting of shame. "If a coup has occurred, as you said, I don't understand why she isn't being reintegrated."
Iroh's voice was quiet. He was grave, despite his words. "She cannot be saved."
Ursa gave a soft cry. She put her hand on his arm beseechingly. "How can you say that, Iroh?"
Iroh stood so that he could round the table and press his hand over Ursa's. They shared a long unhappy look. "Ursa, if you saw her you would understand. Azula isn't going to be rehabilitated. Everything that she's done—"
"She's your daughter!"
Stunned silence crushed on them after Ursa's deafening words. Zuko finally gave a small moan. He couldn't process it, but he knew it was sick, it was wrong, and he would give anything for it to be a lie.
"No," Iroh said, backing up. His face had gone white. "No, no. It can't be."
"You know it's true," Ursa gasped, her voice choked by anger and tears.
"She was born early—"
"I lied, Iroh. Azula was born exactly when she was supposed to be. She weighed a full half-stone."
Iroh sank down into his seat. "No. She's Ozai's."
"She's yours," Ursa said firmly.
"My child," Iroh murmured. When he lifted his head, there were tears in his eyes. "My daughter? And you didn't tell me?"
"There was never a safe time. Ozai would have killed her, then he would have killed us; you know that."
Iroh pressed his large hand over his mouth. He looked at Ursa almost blindly; tears rose to his eyes. Zuko got up from the table and walked away, unsure whether he wanted to throw a tantrum or throw up.
Azula always spoiled everything. Everything. Even finding his mother again and having tea with her and his uncle—the two people he loved most in the world. He found hatred in himself and couldn't snuff it. Not right now, not about this.
Once again, Azula had stolen something precious from him. She'd stolen his Uncle Iroh away. He could see it now: Iroh, who had been dead set against returning to the Fire Nation, would come with them posthaste to see his…his daughter. Zuko put his head in his hands. Even the feeling of Ursa's arm around his shoulders didn't dampen his sorrow.
With every step closer to the asylum and to Azula's cell there, Iroh's dread sat heavier in his gut. This was not where he wanted to be, yet he knew he would stay. It was his responsibility now—one he'd unknowingly shirked for years. If he had known…things would have turned out much differently.
"Go away." The voice that emerged from the dark cell was low and hoarse.
Iroh was stunned at these living conditions. It was no better than the prison he'd been kept at for months. No bed, only a mat of straw; no privy suitable for a young woman, only a bucket in the corner. The room smelled like a stale body. Azula's clothes were a stained mess of what had once been fine silk; it looked like the soft tunic and trousers worn underneath bone armor. In all the months that she'd been here, had they never given her clean clothing?
Even had he not known that Azula was…was his…he would have been upset to see these conditions. He thought he'd raised Zuko to treat his family better than this.
His child. His daughter. The result of a beautiful mistake shared with Ursa. At that point in his life, he had loved her more than his late wife. He had loved her more than Ozai was ever capable. And Azula was the result of that love. This girl… This girl who had done nothing but obey Ozai, commit acts of war without thought of conscience. This girl who would never accept him as her father.
"Azula."
Those shoulders twitched. The dark head fell slightly. She shifted; chains rattled. Was she in irons? He saw that her hair was shorn uneven, and that it was tangled and greasy. Had she not bathed?
"What do you want, Uncle?" There was no acid in her tone, only defeat. He heard nothing of the madness Zuko had described.
Iroh hesitated, then he sat on the cold rusty floor. His knees popped as he settled and crossed his legs. "Your mother has returned."
Azula's shoulders flinched. "No," she said quietly.
"Ursa is here, Azula. In the Fire Nation. She wishes to see you."
"No," Azula repeated.
For the moment, he was completely at a loss for what to say or how to say it. He wished he had tea to calm himself and to center his thoughts. "Guard," he called. When the man came, he requested, "Tea, please. Two cups."
The man shot Azula a guarded look. "The prisoner is not to have utensils, my Lord."
"Two cups." It was a command, this time. He paused, then forged ahead. "Bath water and a tub, warm. Soap and scent. Fresh clothing fit for the Fire Nation Princess." He remembered Azula as a little girl and her childish pleasure with the sweet coconut teacakes that were popular among the lower class. He couldn't remember what proteins she enjoyed. "Soymeat with rice as well. And coconut cakes."
The guard hesitated. "To be served with chopsticks." He was surprised to hear royal command in his voice. It had been decades since he considered himself a Prince of the Fire Nation, but some things simply were not forgettable.
"The Fire Lord commanded—"
"I can handle whatever attack a weakened young woman may level at me," Iroh replied, his voice like iron. The guard no longer hesitated. He bowed and retreated from the room.
"I want to remove you from this place, Azula."
Azula's back was motionless. Iroh waited; there was no doubt the silence would coax her to speak. Finally, she said, "Why?"
"Because you're my—" niece, he was going to say. The word caught in his throat. "You're family, Azula."
She gave a harsh laugh. "You don't understand, old man. I lost. I lost to a waterbender. I lost the throne. I deserve to be in here. I deserve to die."
Iroh leaned back, allowing himself a rueful smile. "Oh, I don't know. I don't think things are quite that bad. No one died. Your brother is the Fire Lord—not a rebelling noble—and the world is at peace. You're alive; you can train and grow stronger and learn new things. See new lands. Taste new teas." He chuckled. "And, well, Azula, losing is a victory in itself."
"I suppose you would know," she replied. The echo of those words was sharp in his head: the old Azula would have said them with acerbic glee. This defeated girl in front of him had spoken with nothing but bitterness. She was far too young to know how to produce that tone.
Three armed female guards escorted the bathwater into Azula's cell. They unlocked Azula's arms and legs—chained in iron, Iroh was stunned to see—and he finally saw her state when she turned around. Her face was dirty from sweat and dust, her hands—dear Agni, they'd torn her fingernails off—were stained with old blood, and her ankles and wrists were raw and blistered from her iron restraints. Her hair had been shorn as short as he'd feared; it was uneven and ragged, only several inches long.
It was a practice he was angered to see occur in this situation: removing the hair and fingernails from conquered generals, the latter usually reserved specifically for women warriors bested in combat. Some heads would roll from this ill treatment of the Royal Princess. How had Zuko allowed his sister to be treated this way?
Iroh turned away as Azula removed her clothing. He sat and listened to the sound of water. The warmth of the water carried the soft scent of lavender soap. Iroh fell into meditation, listening to Azula bathe. She attended to herself for over half an hour. When she was dressed and the dirty water carried away, Iroh was stunned at the change.
He hadn't seen her in almost a year. And now when he turned, she sat facing him, her hands flat against her thighs. Azula's face and body were much too thin beneath the black silk robe they'd given her. Her eyes were bright gold, but not the sharp intensity of the past; beneath them were bruised shadows. Her cheekbones stood out against her face. Her dark hair was a mess, though now clean.
Looking at her face, Iroh finally saw Ursa and Zuko. And, shockingly, he saw a little bit of himself.
My daughter.
They both accepted tea, and Iroh watched Azula breathe it in, then drink it. She was savoring even this weak cheap brew. Clearly she'd been given nothing but water and gruel for months. Iroh's anger began to build, but he kept it to himself so he would not upset her. Finally, when a second pot of tea was delivered with their food, he spoke. "Your mother would like to see you, Azula. I think we would all prefer it that she not have to come to this place."
Half of the food was already gone. Azula ate quickly, though she was impeccable. How, Iroh wondered, did I father this creature?
"What do you propose?" she asked, her eyes on the floor.
"With some promises of good behavior, perhaps you might return with me to Capital City."
"And I suppose my father is not being offered the same option," Azula sneered back.
It hurt—twisted and wrong and Iroh didn't know what he was feeling. "Ozai has not afforded us a reason to offer it."
She seemed surprised—a fleeting emotion that she masked smoothly. Iroh realized that she hadn't known Ozai was alive; he was fool for falling into that verbal trap.
"And I have?" Azula said.
"Despite how this will insult you: you are a child, a child raised by Ozai in an environment that did not foster free thinking. I believe you may yet learn for yourself what is right and what is wrong."
"Go fuck yourself."
Iroh did not show her the surprise he felt. He refilled his teacup and removed a wad of rice from his bowl, placing the rice into the tea to soak its essence. Azula watched his action avidly. He could almost guess she now wished to mirror him. Zuko had never cared for kanzai—rice in tea—but Iroh had the sudden memory of Azula mimicking him as a child. She'd carefully placed her rice in her teacup, sipped gently until the rice was soft, and then drank it down—just like Iroh did. Back when Azula was a child, he'd not known what to make of her imitation. Would she break her pride to mimic him now?
Azula ate her last bit of rice and set her empty teacup on the floor. She demolished her teacake in one bite. Iroh smiled ruefully and offered her his cup of kanzai. "The choice is yours, Azula. Do you plan to sit in this cell for the rest of your life?"
Her eyes darted from his face to the cup in his hand. They were both motionless for a long moment. Then, slowly, she leaned forward on her knees and slid both hands in front of her in a low, respectful bow. Iroh gently set his teacup into her upturned palms.
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9399635/1/Measure-Each-Step-to-Infinity