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The Fire Lord's Guest

Summary:

"The first time Zuko asked Azula to have dinner with him, things didn't go as he had hoped."

Or: When Zuko, prompted by Azula's doctor, agrees to invite his sister to dinner in order to bound with her, he realizes how complex the task is going to be.
Can love and trust arise from the ashes of hatred, rivalry and resentment?
(Zuko POV)

Notes:

This "one shot" adds to a longer and deeper story called "Black Sun (Or The Taste of Ashes)" that is in process.

For those who have read it, see this story as a prequel, a little extra to wait until the next chapter! you will find some guests! I hope you will enjoy it as much as the main story.

For those who have not read "Black Sun", no problem: the story can be understood independently. But don't hesitate, if you liked it, to come and take a look! (It's a M rated story)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802443/chapters/78728599

Also : the text is a translation. My first language is French which is the orginal language of this text.
Thanks to DraughtJunkman for his help with the translation!

All comments are welcomed!

Work initially published in August 2021.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The Fire Lord's Guest


The events take place almost 4 years after the War.

Azula has returned from the asylum where Zuko had her interned during 3 years.

 

Pour les lecteurs francophones: vous trouverez la version originale en français sous le titre "L'Invitée fugitive"




The first time Zuko asked Azula to have dinner with him, things didn't go as he had hoped.

 

He had to admit that he himself had been rather reluctant when Taïma had suggested this absurd idea to him.

It was easy to say, as the princess' official doctor. How did she expect him to bond with his mute, depressed and antisocial sister when she spent hours alone in her apartments, refusing to speak to anyone, not even to her brother. 

Zuko was fuming. After all he had done for her! The Court was already whispering about him and criticizing his decision to bring her back.

The three years Azula had passed in a psychiatric institute on Ember Island were an absolute secrecy. Still, it seemed that there wasn't a soul in the Fire Nation that didn't know the princess was crazy.

Zuko wondered what they would all have said if they had known the true extent of her dementia. Indeed, the eighteen years young woman who had returned to live with him was far from the maniac, desperate and hysterical teenage girl he had interned three years ago.

The new Azula was sad, dark, and lonely. She spent her days sitting in her alcove by the window or curled up on her huge mattress in her four-poster bed, speaking to no one, barely feeding herself.

 

First, when she had returned, what he had felt was pity. But the princess had remained deaf and indifferent to his efforts to welcome her. She had barely thanked him when he enthusiastically showed her the new wardrobe, he had ordered for her. When he came to greet her at the palace gate on the day of her return, she had not hugged him back. He had only felt her tense against him and had failed to catch her fleeting gaze.

Taïma had advised him to be patient. Again, this was easy for a waterbender whose patience was the key to mastering her element. It was fire that burned in his entrails and ran through his veins. A fire that begged to arise, impatient and indomitable, especially when he faced his apathetic sister who seemed to challenge him with her stubborn silence.

Sometimes he wondered if Azula's inner fire was gone.

Then came another crisis and Azula grew out of control, destroying everything around her in a deluge of dazzling azure fire, as if the fierce element, too long contained, was exploding, threatening to transform the world around her into a heap of smoking ashes.

 

He sometimes feared that the sister he had known was gone. When she was not turning in fury, all that remained was that empty shell, those deeply sad and distant amber eyes, that impassive wax face framed by long, smooth black locks. Those scraped hands that he sometimes took in his to prevent her from scratching them bloody. Those lips moving silently to formulate inaudible words that were lost in the air. Sometimes he thought that there was nothing in the whole universe that was more distant than this sister who lived under the same roof as him. More often, he thought that all this was in vain. He had brought her back so that she could take control of her life, finally blossom, regain her long lost confidence. But she didn't seem happier since she had been here and he himself couldn't hide behind false pretenses to escape her presence.

It was after expressing his doubts to the healer that he came to this ridiculous situation. Taïma had assured him that Azula needed him to get better, that he was the key to her recovery and that it was essential he spent more time with her. She also was the one who had the idea for these face-to-face dinners, noting Azula's stubbornness in avoiding any social gathering. Zuko had long since stopped offering her to join him and Mai for dinner.

The first time, therefore, while waiting in the large dining room where Azula, himself and their parents had shared their meals when they were children, Zuko felt like an awkward teenager preparing for his first date. It was probably stupid to feel nervous or worry about your outfit and hairstyle when you got ready to have dinner with your sister. But he couldn't help it. Azula hadn't responded to his invitation and he still half-hoped she wouldn't come.

But of course, she did. Azula had always had a talent for surprising him or putting him in awkward situations, situations like this one.

She entered the room, escorted by Taïma who led her, holding her by the arm, gently but firmly Zuko noticed. He realized that his sister was at least as reluctant as he was at the idea.

Her golden-brown eyes met his furtively and she instantly lowered them. With an impatient gesture, she freed herself from the healer's hold and gave her a nasty look to which Taïma replied with a small encouraging smile, her large ultramarine blue eyes full of maternal gentleness. Zuko knew his sister well enough to know how much this benevolent attitude must exasperate her and could not help but admire the daring of the young waterbender.

Zuko remained standing as Azula walked over to the table and sat down, still refusing to look at him.

She didn't answer his greeting and curled up in her chair, glancing blankly at the seat where their mother once used to sit. Zuko swallowed hard, chasing from his mind the face of the woman he had been so desperately searching for four years now.

Taïma gave him a knowing look to which he responded awkwardly and left. Then he sat down facing Azula.

Neither of them paid attention to the enticing dishes that covered the large table, nor to the delicious flavors emanating from them. An uncomfortable silence had settled between the siblings, almost deafening.

What to say to a sister whom we had hated, envied, rejected and finally left to rot for three years in a madhouse? Watching her small figure gathered in her chair, her pale face, her trembling hands with cropped nails, pink lips, devoid of the scarlet makeup she once wore, slightly chapped from being bitten, Zuko felt something melt in his chest and settle in the bottom of his stomach. She was all the family he had left. And so was their relationship.

Grabbing a dish that contained strips of spicy marinated beef, he pushed it towards Azula: 

"Do you want some? These are your favorites. I asked the cook to make them for you."

She didn't even deign to look up and hunched her knees under her chin, in a position that would have made their mother scream in indignation. It was almost a heresy for a princess to sit at the table like this. But when had Azula ever heeded their mother's lessons?

Zuko released the dish, and, powerless to get her attention, he thought it best not to insist. He got up, poured her a glass of wine, returned to his seat to fill his, which he drank in one gulp. He then decided to eat.

In front of him, his little sister's waxen face remained impassive, her expression indecipherable. Then, dismayed, he saw two shiny pearls appear at the edges of the princess' eyelids. Totally stunned, Zuko watched the tears sliding slowly down to Azula's cheeks, drawing lines on her marble face.

Obviously mad at herself, Azula wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand and plunged her face into them.

Unable to think rationally, Zuko did nothing. Looking down on his plate, he resumed his meal, but the delicious food now tasted like ash.

In the large room, nothing was heard but Zuko's chewing noises, the tinkle of cutlery against the dishes and the light sniffles of the princess whose shoulders heaved at regular intervals.

After a while, forced to admit that all this was going nowhere, he offered his sister to return to her rooms if she wanted. No need to prolong this fiasco! Azula stood up hastily, pushing back her chair which squealed against the stone floor and rushed towards the double door which she nudged. She disappeared behind them, like a fleeing swallow in the twilight.

Left alone, Zuko put down his cutlery, feeling sick.

 

Things had not gone as he had hoped.

 

***

The second time he invited her to join him, a week later, she was late.

Zuko, who was getting impatient, sitting casually in his chair, his feet on the table, got up awkwardly when he saw her enter. He had time to see, behind his sister, the silhouette, and the turquoise eyes of Taïma. Azula, looking furious, turned to her, and shut the door in her face. Then she stood by the door, eyes resolutely lowered to the floor, hands crossed over her stomach. Zuko noticed how tense her fingers were and the way she compulsively dug her nails into the flesh of other hand, already streaked with scars, some more recent than others.

She looked as miserable as the last time, her long black hair fell over her shoulders, on either side of her livid face.

He greeted her ceremoniously and invited her to sit down.

Brother or not, he was still her king and Azula knew it. No one disobey a direct order from the Fire Lord. She walked slowly and settled herself in the chair he pointed out to her. Like the week before, he noticed her gaze wandered over to the empty seat next to her where their mother once would have sat.

Returning to his own place, Zuko took a deep breath and spoke: 

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation, Azula, and I thank you for coming."

He felt perfectly stupid. It was like talking to a wall. He watched her shift in her chair, shoulders hunched, black locks hiding her face. Zuko couldn't read the slightest emotion in it. He hoped with all his heart that she wouldn't start to cry this time. All week long he had reproached his own insensibility. He should probably have come to comfort her, put his hand on hers, perhaps even embraced her... but he just couldn't, and something told him he wouldn't be able to do it that night either even if the opportunity to console her again presented.

This time however, Azula did not burst into tears. Instead, she lifted her head and he blushed as she plunged her glowing eyes into his, a totally indecipherable expression spreading over her beautiful face. She opened her mouth to speak and Zuko only noticed then that she had painted her lips in a red hue. For some reason, this detail caused him a curious sensation, as if his heart had missed a beat.

“I don't know how to express my gratitude to you, O Merciful Lord. I am unworthy of the attention you are giving me,” she said humbly.  

Leaning back in his chair, both hands clinging to the dark wooden table, Zuko blinked stupidly, too stunned to react.

These were almost the first words Azula had spoken in his presence for weeks. He was surprised at the fluidity with which they had crossed her lips, the calm tone of her voice, the courteous inflection she had managed to use.

If he didn't know her so well, he could almost have thought she was sincere. But the fire burning in her pupils as black as a moonless night, the way her mouth twisted into a furious grimace, urged him to be careful He opted for wisdom and deciding to ignore her sarcasm, offered her some wine.

She nodded grimly and handed him her glass, holding his gaze. As soon as he had filled it, she did not wait for him and drained her drink in one gulp.

"One more," she ordered, holding out the glass.

 

He tried not to look too offended at her rudeness as he poured the wine into her glass. He bit the inside of his cheeks to hold back the angry words that burned on his lips.

How could she have the nerve to despise his hospitality and his efforts? She should have roasted in prison alongside their monster of a father. Maybe that was where she belonged, after all. He had been too indulgent with her. She had been defying him for months, ridiculing him by not appearing at the dinners and parties he organized so that she could find a place at court. She had not deigned to come to the sumptuous party he had organized for her eighteenth birthday, and he had had to accept, for her, the hypocritical compliments of the courtiers who thronged in front of him to offer him their presents, eager to enter into the good graces of the Fire Lord and his, deemed as cruel and unstable, sister. No one wanted to be the enemy of the Fire Lord, but many more were afraid of offending his dangerous sister. 

But she didn't scare him, and it was time she realized it. She had to learn respect. He was no longer just the Crown Prince, the stupid, stubborn older brother she had known. He was the Fire Lord and her? She was nothing! A disgraced princess, despised, hated by all nations, stripped of all her powers, a poor madwoman who was very lucky that he accepted her at his side when his wife and all his friends begged him to be reasonable.

He was making all these efforts, and she was all ingratitude.

 

“So, brother dear, tell me: how is business going? Does the whole Nation bow to your desires? Isn't the weight of the crown too heavy for your frail shoulders?" she asked, raising her glass to her lips, her gaze moving to the golden crown he wore on his head.

He noticed the red imprint her mouth left on the polished surface of the glass and struggled to take his eyes off it.

"Since when are you interested in it?" he retorted, grumbling. “This is no longer your concern.”

“Oh! Forgive me, Great Almighty Lord! I forgot my place. I am only your sister, and I must make sure to at all times maintain the honor of my king by remaining the sweet and pretty little princess he needs to prove how good and generous he is to his people! A pretty plant that enhances the decor, that's what you want me to be, isn't it?”

She didn't even bother looking polite anymore and Zuko could feel the air around them charging with electricity as Azula's anger increased.

He was determined not to be impressed.

"Exactly," he gritted between his teeth before returning his glass to his lips with an air he hoped was very dignified.

“So that's the reason of this comedy? These dinners you invite me to. Is it to give the impression to all your courtiers that you keep me under your thumb, that we get along perfectly, that you control the indomitable and crazy princess who threatens your crown since her return?”

Zuko couldn't believe his ears. So, is that what she was thinking? This crazy paranoid girl! And to think that he had believed her lucid for a while! All the efforts he had made for three years, the affectionate letters he had forced himself to write to her during his travels, when she was so lonely. Those long, silent days spent with her in the asylum gardens, trying to talk to her, to make her smile. All his little attentions on her return to the palace… So, it had all been for nothing? This was what their relationship was to Azula! Rivalry, jealousy, mistrust, again and again! Why bother being the perfect older brother to be rewarded like this?

He knew he should have denied her, reassured her, affirmed his unconditional love for her. This is what Taïma wanted from him.

But how could she expect him to succeed when Azula… He had never been able to remain uncaring to Azula's provocations and manipulations. And it was no different today. But he wasn't the same person anymore. He had changed. He had to show his sister that he had evolved and grown. He wouldn't be the loser in this relationship any longer, and if he had to, he would force her to realize it, even if he had to show authority and even cruelty.

“Azula,” he said in a tone he hoped would be confident and authoritative, “we are no longer children. I am the older sibling; the crown is mine. You had your chance and you lost. I know the throne is my destiny. Yours is elsewhere. I no longer fear your tricks or your shenanigans. I don't need to prove to anyone that you're not a threat to me. You are no longer a threat to anyone. All you're going to manage to do by not accepting this truth is make a fool of yourself.”

The contempt he read in his sister's eyes was evident and he was so eager to brush aside her smugness, to hurt her. He continued:

"If you think you still have support or any influence, you are seriously wrong. Everyone forgot you! You are nothing! Only a detail in our nation’s history. You weren't even crowned! Your name will never appear in the annals except as that of the Crown Princess of Ozai. As soon as Mai and I have a child, you will even lose that status! I have given my instructions and you have to know that if anything happens to me, Mai will take over the regency until our child is old enough to be crowned. And if I die before that, uncle Iroh will take the throne. You won't get anything! You are the only one here who still believes that you can be a rival to me!”

Azula said nothing more. She was just looking at him, her amber eyes wide open betraying her amazement and sorrow. Her ruby lips, pressed against each other, formed a perfectly heart wrenching painful grimace that split her lovely face in two parts. But Zuko was too angry now to feel bad. On the contrary, he took a deep pleasure in it. Instead of calming things down, he got up from his chair. Lightning flashed through his golden eyes, and he continued, pointing an accusing index finger at her:

"You are lucky! Lucky that I freed you from the madhouse you belong to! I was the only one here to wish you back! I had to debate for hours with the ministers and the Council to get you back! I've gotten angry with Mai countless times, and you, YOU… you can't see anything! You don't want to see anything! You only believe what suits you! You've been whining for four years, complaining that mom didn't love you enough, that nobody loves you, but when we put the proof of our love right in front of you, you are unable to see it!”

Azula's cheeks were as red as her lips. Eyes lowered to her empty plate, she said nothing. But Zuko could almost feel the rage contained in every cell of her body. He wouldn't have been surprised if smoke had started to come out of her lips, which parted as her breath quickened.

Guilt and jubilation washed over him in equal proportions. He was more than tired of sparing her. Azula was supposed to be doing better according to her doctors. He wasn't going to coddle her for the remainder of her life. The time of illusions was over, and she had to accept these truths.

He knew too well what she was thinking. Did he really believe that a dinner and a few dresses could repair years of mistrust and hatred? That all this would be enough to make her forget that he had stolen her crown, that he had sent her to live far away for three years, that he had let sadistic doctors mistreat her? That he had left her alone with their father after betraying and abandoning her?

But if Azula had, even once in their life, expressed a little gratitude towards him, if she had one day shown that she cared for him, that their relationship meant something to her, he wouldn't have had to play this ridiculous comedy!

As if to confirm his assumptions, Azula whispered in a very small voice that didn't sound like her:

"Don't pretend...”

It was too much. With the back of his arm, he swept away everything in front of him on the table and a loud crash was heard echoing in the silence of the room. Azula barely jumped and stayed in the same position, just closing her eyes tightly. Her fingernails dug a little deeper into the flesh of her hands, but Zuko was too furious to care.

"Enjoy the food!" he said contemptuously. “These are all things you like. I'm not hungry anymore.”

He pushed his chair back violently and he threw it back. Then without taking the time to answer the servant who had just appeared in the room to inquire about them, he sped towards the door, his cloak fluttering around him and left the room, leaving his sister alone at the table.

 

***



He had thought she wouldn't come back.

 

Yet when he asked her to come for the third time, two weeks later, she appeared on time.

He wondered how long they were going to play this comedy, pretend to believe in this parody of family that neither of them really wanted. He didn't know why he had accepted when Taïma had come back to him to beg him for a last attempt.

When Azula entered, the healer was by her side once again. But this time, she wasn't holding her by the arm, or pushing her towards the door. Azula dismissed her with a simple nod of the head and Taïma quickly slipped away. The door closed behind them.

He noticed that she had put on makeup again, and this time she was wearing one of the dresses he had offered her when she returned. Her hair was elegantly gathered in an elaborate bun, and she sported a flame-shaped ornament reminiscent of the crown he still hadn't returned to her. Despite his surprise and apprehension, he couldn't help but find her very pretty and he had to withhold the compliment that had almost crossed his lips.

They stood facing each other for a moment, both horribly embarrassed. Zuko deeply regretted his outburst from the last time. Azula hadn't shown herself to him since their argument. He looked down, trying to check her hands, but he noticed that she was wearing long leather gloves which covered her forearms, from fingers to elbow. Guilt squeezed his heart and he felt it sink into his stomach where it settled down, forming a leaden cap. He knew that this evening again, he would not do justice to the sumptuous meal the cook had prepared for them. He felt slightly guilty thinking about all this waste. He could have fed an entire Earth Kingdom village on just one of these dinners, and he remembered with a pang the generous family who had hosted them, Iroh and him, and from whom they had stolen the ostrich-horse.

He had changed. Why couldn't Azula?

"Azula...” he invited her in a voice hé wished was more confident, pointing to her seat.  

She sat down without a word. As he had expected, Azula's gaze wandered to the empty chair next to her before returning to her plate. She clasped her hands on her knees and waited for Zuko to sit down facing her.

“Please accept my excuses for last week. I was unable to make myself available for our weekly dinner. An emergency...” he apologized. He felt a little silly to use such a formal tone, but he felt like it was the only way he could talk to his sister without getting upset.  

Our weekly dinner?” she asked, visibly skeptical, looking up at him with two large, smoky eyes. So, it's a tradition?”

Zuko wondered how to interpret these words. She had spoken in a neutral, courteous tone. But he knew from experience that he couldn’t trust it.

"If you want it to be, then yes." He replied firmly, holding her gaze.

He was ready to receive her sarcasm, or to put up with that crystalline, affected laugh that exasperated him deeply and that she usually reserved for those she wanted to humiliate. For Zuko, most of the time. Then he remembered that he hadn't heard that laughter for almost four years.

Once again, she surprised him.

"Alright.”

 

Alright? Was that all? No mockery, no forced laughter, no contemptuous remark, or disguised insult? She hadn't even used that smooth tone he hated so much. A little distraught, he picked up the bottle of wine and raised his eyebrows in her direction, in a silent question. Azula nodded. Determined to show courtesy, he ignored the glass she was handing him and stood up, walked around the table, and moved beside her to serve her.

As he bent over her hair, he inhaled involuntarily a whiff of her perfume and felt a little dizzy.

"Thank you,” she said politely when he had filled his glass.

That too was new. He couldn't remember her ever thanking him before. Besides, had they ever exchanged anything other than harsh words, sarcasm, and insults? He remembered, for the first time in years, Azula's words of comfort as he struggled with guilt, after having ignominiously betrayed his uncle in Ba Sing Se. He remembered the light hand she had placed on his shoulder to give him support. It was probably the only time in their entire lives that she had shown him affection.  

He didn't want to count that weird conversation in his room, when he came to ask her why she had lied to their father about the Avatar's death. Every time he thought about it, an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine. And something else he didn't want to name.

That evening, leaning over her in the dining room, he wished he could return the favor. He raised a hesitant hand, ready to place it on her shoulder. But he held back this gesture. Why was it so hard? Just a hand, resting on his sister's shoulder, an innocent gesture that would express what he felt, far better than any words he could say. 

He had already taken her in his arms. But he doubted she remembered it. Most of the time, it was to contain her during a nervous breakdown, or even that time when he had to take her on his knees at the asylum to feed her, when she was too weak, too dazed with drugs to do it herself.

The tension around them was perceptible and Azula finally noticed. She turned in her chair and gave him a questioning look, raising her eyebrows.

"Something's wrong, Zuzu?” she asked.

He jumped imperceptibly.

"Don't call me that," he answered quietly, adding a little wine to her glass. Their hands brushed and he shivered.

He walked away and returned to his chair.

As she drank, he folded his hands under his chin, elbows resting on the table, and stared at her.

 

Zuzu. She hadn't called him that in years. He couldn't even remember it in truth. The nickname that had once infuriated him so much sounded very different in his ears today. And with it, the hope, the hope that, maybe, a relationship was possible with Azula. A relationship that would be more than hate, jealousy, and resentment.

He watched Azula now pulling a tray towards her and pick up some shrimp tempura and jasmine flavored rice. Feeling his gaze weigh on her, she lifted her head and their eyes met. She blushed slightly and Zuko felt the blood rush to his cheeks as well. To give himself some composure, he pointed to a dish, closest to him, and filled his plate with it, regardless of its contents.

They ate in silence, almost without looking at each other. But this silence wasn't so bad.

At the end, when it was time to leave, Zuko held out his hand to his sister to help her up. Seized with a sudden sense of courtesy, he walked her back to the door, her hand still in his.

“Next week?” she asked, looking him in the eye.  

“With great pleasure.”

Raising his other hand, he used it to wrap it around Azula's and he brought it to his lips, as he used to do with the ladies presented to him at court. He had never liked this stupid custom and would have been hard pressed to explain what had pushed him to do this time. His gesture seemed appreciated, however. Her cheeks blushed a little and a small, surprised smile curled her ruby lips. She looked at him one last time and quickly disappeared into the dark hallway.

 

***



They kept seeing each other like this, once every week, at dinner time.

Things were still going on the same way. Azula would appear, all dressed up in a new dress, a different hairstyle each time. He complimented her on her outfit and accompanied her to the table, made her sit down, poured her wine and they ate in silence. When it was time to leave, Azula accepted his hand when leaving the table and consented to let him kiss hers.

 

Taïma came to congratulate him. When he asked her why, she told him, a large smile lighting up her brassy face, that Azula was making great progress. She opened up more to her and even left her room several times a day to go to the gardens or to the royal library. Zuko wasn't convinced he had anything to do with it. He thought it was more likely a consequence of the treatment Azula was taking, every day, under the watchful eye of Taïma who made sure to adjust the dosage.

For weeks, Azula no longer seemed to suffer from hallucinations and her fits of rage grew rarer. She also seemed more alert, less introverted. She looked almost normal, which was not a word that spontaneously came to mind when it came to Azula. 

Finding it was hard to stand the silence in which they had their meals, Zuko began to talk. He avoided all sensitive subjects: their parents, her former friends, their Agni Kai, the asylum. He gave her some news of the nation, informed her of some minor political affairs, or court intrigues. She listened to him attentively and sometimes consented to giving him her opinion and even some valuable advice which, to his surprise, proved to be useful. 

He was starting to enjoy these conversations and was sometimes surprised by himself for looking forward to these dates. For the first time in his life, he felt like he truly had a sister, an ally, a person with whom he could talk about his doubts and weaknesses.

 

Azula was changing. She opened up more to him, sometimes she smiled and spoke in a calm, composed tone that he had never heard from her. She was no longer the calculating and cunning young woman he had once known. She was wiser, more measured than he himself had ever been. He never ceased to marvel at it, but also to worry about it. The feeling of being manipulated by Azula never left him completely but he decided to live with it.

When Azula didn't show up on their tenth date, he got worried. Had she forgotten? Had she fallen asleep? The treatment Taïma was giving her had this effect on her. She was doing better, it was undeniable. It seemed that the healer had found the ideal dosage. But deep fatigue and sleepiness were some of the side effects and it was not uncommon for Azula to go to bed after dinner was over, too exhausted to carry on the conversation.  

After half an hour, as she was not coming, he went to her rooms. To his surprise, he found the doors wide open. A great agitation prevailed within the room. He almost crashed into Taïma who was coming out, looking very busy and concerned. Both of her hands surrounded by a shiny and pearly blue bubble that she had no doubt made emerge from the leather bag she always carried with her, as did Katara.

"The princess has relapsed," she explained in response to his silent question. “Apparently, the dosage is still not optimal. I'm sorry, I didn't have time to warn you. I just gave her a sedative. It should take effect in a few minutes. Your guards are taking care of her.”

“Taïma, your hands?” he asked, too shaken to think of anything else. 

The healer looked down at the bluish bubble that glistened around her wrists.

“Oh that? It's nothing, she burned me a bit when I gave her the injection.”

“I'm sorry,” he apologized piteously as if it was he who had hurt her.

“Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Go to her, she needs you, Zuko. I will be back soon."

She looked at him with a rare intensity. Her ultramarine blue eyes were a little wet, and Zuko thought fleetingly of the ripples the waves made in the northern seas on rainy days. She gave him a sad little smile, then left, leaving him alone in the dimly lit hall. 

 

As he entered the room, he saw his sister, dressed only in the red silk kimono she was sleeping in. A guard held her down. She shouted incoherent words and sometimes a whole bunch of insults he would never have imagined crossing her ruby lips echoed against the walls. An acrid smell of smoke permeated the place and he noticed, at the foot of the bed, a heap of still steaming ashes.

Advancing cautiously, he knelt by her side. Her face, pressed to the ground, was contorted with rage. Big tears of anger blurred her gaze and her mouth, twisted into a grimace of fury, seemed strangely bigger in her face. Her black hair fell in disheveled strands on her forehead where large drops of sweat beaded and her cheeks were soaked with tears.

He called her softly and tried to meet her gaze. But when he plunged into her amber eyes, he didn't see the glimmer of recognition he hoped. She was gone, once again.

One guard stood at a distance, in a fighting stance, ready to shoot out a shield of flame in case of attack; the other held Azula, one knee resting on her back, and was busy tying her wrists behind her. His heart twinging violently, and feeling like his entrails were liquefying, he noticed on the bare skin of her forearm the long bloody streaks that stretched from her hands to her elbows. Scarlet drops had spread across the floral-patterned carpet she was lying on and sharp pieces of glass littered the floor. He also saw that, in her desperate attempt to extricate herself from the guards' grab, Azula had struggled so much that her dress was pulled up to mid-thigh, revealing her smooth and white porcelain skin. Zuko quickly looked away and turned to the guards:

"Leave,” he ordered, “I'll take care of her.”

“Your Highness, this is not safe!” warned the one who was on top of her and had just finished binding Azula's hands behind her back.

“Do what I demand! And let her go, right away, you are hurting her!” He yelled.

The two men didn't insist and immediately stood up, and left the room after a brief salute, fist to palm.

 

Left alone with Azula, he sat behind her and lifted her off the ground.

The sedative was starting to work. The heartbreaking sobs had turned into weak moans. He pulled her up and sat her between his legs, her back to his torso. He crossed his arms over her chest to keep her from quivering and bent his head to speak into the hollow of her ear. He whispered soothing meaningless words until her strength waned. At some point she froze and fell inert in his arms. Only her steadily heaving chest proved that she was still alive.

When he was sure she was asleep, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to her bed. He raised her silk sheets over her and waited near her for Taïma to return to heal the wounds she had inflicted on herself during her crisis. He left her in the good care of the young healer and went to find Mai.

He didn't sleep that night.

 

***

 

It was her last major crisis.

 

The following week he found, in the dining room, a calm and peaceful princess, wearing a red dress embroidered with golden threads, her hair pulled back in a half ponytail.

They didn't talk about what had happened.

They talked about politics, fighting techniques and Zuko's travels.

When it was time to leave, she held out her hand for him to kiss it, but instead he pulled her towards him and hugged her. She froze at first, but he felt her relax against him little by little. When she wrapped her arms around his waist in turn, he hugged her tighter, inhaled the scent of her hair and placed a kiss on her temple.

When he finally released her, Azula, with crimson cheeks, hurried away down the dark corridor, without looking at him.

A few weeks later, at dessert time, he slipped a small package wrapped in silk paper towards her. Azula looked up at him in astonishment and as he said nothing, she removed the ribbon that held the fabric. Inside she found a shiny, pointed object that had the shape of a trident.

 

"My crown," she whispered, more for herself than for him. “What does it mean?”

Zuko stood up and walked over to her. He held out his hand to invite her to stand up and led her over to the large mirror hanging on the wall at the back of the room. He stood behind her and, taking the ornament from her hands, he raised it above her head and put it on.

Azula remained silent and examined herself in the mirror, touching the crown lightly, as if to make sure she was not dreaming.

Zuko placed a hand on her shoulder to make her turn. He took her hands in his and spoke in a firm tone:

“From this day on, I give you back your title of Crown Princess of the Fire Nation. I restore your honor and the privileges afforded to your rank. For the moment you won't be allowed to sit on the Council and to vote, but you can attend as an honorary member."  

Azula listened intently, too stunned to answer. Zuko stared into her amber eyes for a predatory glow that did not come. She was no longer the power-hungry girl who had once dreamed of ascending the Fire Throne and ruling the world. He knew he could trust her. At least he wanted to. He was making this dangerous bet, against all common sense.

The other night, while she was calming down in his arms under the effect of the sedative injected by Taïma, this thought had occurred to him, like a revelation.

 

She needs you, Zuko.

 

If he wanted Azula to be devoted to him, he had to give her a chance. Maybe it wasn't up to her to prove her loyalty to him. She probably never could. Who would believe her if he, her own brother, the only member of her family left, refused to trust her? Aang had chosen to believe him when he introduced himself to him after deserting his own nation. Iroh had forgiven him for his vile betrayal, without asking for anything in return. Others had offered him board and lodging, without even trying to find out more about his past. And that had made him a better man. Why couldn't Azula follow the same path? What prevent her from that, if it wasn't him, with his mistrust and resentment?

He took in his fingers one of the long locks that framed the beautiful face of his sister and put it behind her ear. The hair slipped and fell back into its place, and Zuko smiled.

“The Fire Nation is changing. My friends and I want a more just, egalitarian, and united society. And I want you to be by my side while I build it. I need you and your advice. What do you say?”

Azula didn’t blink once as he spoke. He could see the small pulse in her throat that indicated her heart was beating at a frantic pace. She turned to the mirror again to readjust her crown and a smile lit up her features.

She was magnificent.

She turned to him and stood on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his intact cheek. He hoped the semi-darkness would prevent Azula from seeing how much he had blushed.

“I can't wait to put my skills and knowledge at your service, Fire Lord Zuko.”

A mischievous smile curled her lips and Zuko's heart skipped a beat. He wondered if he hadn't just made a huge mistake, but it was too late to back down anyway. The only thing remaining was to wait and see.

He smiled back at her and, taking her face in his hands, he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

 

At that moment, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Zuko shouted as he released Azula.   

A man in armor with a large build, tanned complexion and a brown beard entered.

"Fire Lord, Princess," he said, bowing to them. “Would you please excuse me, Your Highness, but an emergency requires your attention. Could you follow me?”

"Very well, General Kadao," Zuko replied. “Give me a minute, I'll join you right away.”

The General bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him. Zuko turned to his sister and took her hands in his.

"Will you excuse me? Tomorrow, I will officially announce your return to the members of the Council and to the Fire Sages. Don't wait for me if I'm too long.”

Azula gave him a smile and replied:

“Don't worry about me. I'll finish this wonderful cake and go to bed. I guess you want me at my best tomorrow."

Zuko smiled and kissed her on the forehead again.

“Good night, Princess Azula.”

“Good night, Fire Lord Zuzu.”

He was going to scowl but instead uttered an amused sigh and smirked. Then he turned his back to her and crossed the room to join Kadao who was waiting for him outside.

 

***

 

Left alone, Azula returned her attention to the mirror and gazed at the sparkling crown that the flames of the surrounding torches made shimmer. She pulled up her dark hair and amused herself with choosing which hairstyle would best match the precious ornament.

Her amber eyes wandered to her right, drawn to the reflection of the long black haired woman, crowned with the very same emblem, who was watching her from the table where she and Zuko used to share their meals.

Of course, Zuko couldn't see her, but she had been there, all the time, witnessing all their exchanges, sitting in the chair she once occupied, right next to Azula's.

As the princess let her ebony hair fall over her shoulders, the woman spoke:

"So, are you satisfied? You got what you wanted, right? Isn't that enough?”

Azula returned her attention to her own reflection and removed the crown she held in her hands and studied it from all angles, as if to make sure it was real. She played with the glint dancing on it and hugged it briefly to her heart. Then she carefully put it back on her head. A satisfied smirk stretched her ruby lips before she opened them to answer her mother:


"No. It will never be."

Notes:

If you want to know more about Azula's motivations, her relationship with Zuko and the fate of the Fire Nation, go to the page "Black Sun (or The Taste of Ashes)", or, in French (which is the original language of the story) on "Soleil Noir ou le Goût des Cendres"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802443/chapters/78728599

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