Azula hated the way her father behaved in public.
It wasn't because he drank to excess, or because could barely control his temper. Those were only issues that surfaced while they were at home, in the privacy of their royal apartment. In public he was perfect. And that's why Azula hated it.
The gala was in full swing. Azula was wrapped in her finest silks, her head laden with heavy braids and jewelry. The orchestra played, the buffet table was well stocked, and important guests mingled and chatted.
Azula followed her father around as he greeted the guests. He kissed the hands of the ladies, and congratulated the men on the advancements in their careers. He remembered the names of his officers' children and asked about their well-being, though he didn't know the names of any of Azula's childhood friends. He flirted, joked, charmed. By Heaven and Earth, did he charm.
Before the meal began, he stood, and called Azula to his side. He wrapped his arm around her warmly while he made his toast, and he kissed her on the cheek when he was finished. He never did that at home. He barely spoke to her at home. The paternal affection was for the crowd and not for her, and Azula hated that she enjoyed it anyway.
As the evening wore on, he consumed more and more alcohol. Ozai was a a well practiced drunk. It was something he did every day. "A fire lord should know how to handle his fire water," he had told Azula once. It did little to impair his perception. However it did relax him, opened his mouth, animated his speech. Intoxicated Ozai was even more popular than his sober counterpart. People gathered around to listen to his stories and occasional crude jokes. He enraptured the audience, inducing them to laugh and guffaw on his command. He danced with the noblemen's daughters and flirted with with their wives. The ladies knew him to be delightfully cheeky, though he never crossed the line into impropriety.
He made Azula dance too. He picked out his favorites from among the officers and their sons, some of whom were more than twice her age. He pushed her into their arms one by one, putting her to work. She danced till her feet were sore, smiled till her cheeks gave out, and endured agonizing small talk till she felt her brain would fizzle to a crisp.
"You have a lovely daughter, Lord Ozai," said one of them when the dance was finished. He put Azula's hand directly into her father's, as if returning a rented ostrich-horse to its owner at the end of the harvest.
"If you like her, you can take her home with you," her father said. "I have her dowry counted and bagged in the coat room, on the condition you promise to give me grandsons."
Azula rolled her eyes, and then wondered off to the buffet table before her father could tell her not to make herself fat.
The celebration continued into the night. Azula felt like she was going to fall asleep where she stood, but she was not allowed to retire. But eventually the last few drunken guests wandered back to their guest rooms, the orchestra packed away their instruments, and the staff began to clean. And then to Azula's great relief, the Fire Lord announced his departure.
Azula followed her father on tired feet to the royal apartments. Up the stairs, down the hall, past the two guards who were always stationed at the door. The doors closed behind them.
Azula watched her father's face change. The charm melted. He took off his crown and untied his hair, and then slumped onto a couch. His eyes closed and brow wrinkled in distaste at the world around him.
"Bring me the bottle of Sake from the cabinet," he said to her.
She paused. Her first impulse was to obey, but her better judgement stopped her. "I think you've had enough," Azula said. "You have to meet with your war council tomorrow morning."
Ozai opened his eyes, and looked at Azula directly. His gaze was like an archer on a target. Her breath caught in her throat. There were very few things Azula was afraid of. That gaze was one of them.
"You are almost as insufferable as your mother was," Ozai said. "I told you to do something."
She could fetch the bottle. It would make her life easier tonight. But tomorrow there would be consequences. Being woken for a war meeting when he was hung over would make him angry. Finding out he was out of liquor would make him angry. And Azula would have to deal with that.
She turned and walked toward her room. She needed to take these damnable jewels from her hair and bathe the sweat and perfume from her skin.
He got to his feet and followed her. His hand reached forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
They were doing this, tonight apparently. She braced herself.
"You humiliated me, tonight? Do you know that?"
Azula didn't answer.
"Stuffing your face like an animal, barely speaking a word, refusing to dance with my most decorated officer..."
She remained quiet. Sometimes silence was an effected strategy.
"Answer me!"
"You didn't ask me to dance with him, nor did he,
"You could have asked him yourself!"
"He's 35 years old."
"That makes no difference."
"It makes a difference to me!" Azula said. She had had enough. She twisted her arm free of his grasp and turned to face him. "But what I want doesn't matter, does it? What I think doesn't matter. What I feel doesn't matter."
"No," he said, stepping forward. She could see the pores on his nose. His breath stunk of smoke and alcohol. "It doesn't. You have a duty, Azula, to your nation, and more importantly, to me. All through the party, I deal put up with your shameful wanton behavior. And then I come home to this... this..s absolute insubordination!"
He was like a boulder rolling downhill, accelerating and impossible to stop. Poison spat from his mouth, and his drunkenness became more obvious.
Azula had to think quickly. How would she compose her face? To look away would be cowardice, to meet his gaze would be confrontation. To not react was indifference, to tear up was weakness. Her heart sank as she realized for the first time she had no options. All she could do was wait for him to finish. The ending was beyond her control. She prepared for the worst. She wondered if she could defend herself if he attacked her. Maybe her youth and her sobriety would give her an edge.
"An absolute disgrace!" he said. "With you, Azula, I had hope, that at least one child would be useful to me. But with your brother gone, I see you. You're as useless as he is!"
Water formed at the corner of her eyes, she could no longer block it.
"Stop that!" he said. "Don't come to me with your tears now! Not after what you put me through!"
"It won't happen again, sir!" she said, her voice weaker than she hoped it would be. She didn't understand what she had done, but maybe an apology would work.
"By the Spirits, Azula, it better not!" he said. "You know what happened to your brother. You know what I'll do if you give me no other choice!" He backed her into a chair, and pushed her down.
She stared up at him. Her fingers gripped at the arms. She didn't want to be sent away. The threat had hung in the air since the day of the Agni Kai. She hated living here, but she had no idea how she'd survive anywhere else.
"Of course, I can't banish you," Ozai said, his face inches from hers. "You are the only heir I have left. You are my only option. And I can't burn your face either. I can't have a damaged heir sitting on my throne. I can't have that mark of shame in a portrait hanging on our walls."
She tried again. "I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you!"
"But I can still teach you a lesson. Maybe not for the world to see, but one that you'll see," he reached forward and grabbed her leg. Hot fingernails dug into her thigh. "And one that Admiral will see when your dowry is paid and he disrobes you on your wedding night. He'll see what you've done, what he's going to be stuck with, what I've been stuck with these past fourteen years. He'll know exactly what type of person you are."
Her skin blistered under his fingertips. She gritted her teeth against the pain. Her tears continued, and so did her fear. But then came the anger, deep anger she couldn't hold back. She corrected her father. "You mean he'll see what type of person you are!"
She didn't see the slap coming. Perhaps she could have blocked it otherwise. The skin on the side of her face swelled and pulsated with pain. He looked down at her.
There was a moment of silence. She waited for what would happen next.
"Get out of my sight," he said.
With relief, Azula stood and hurried to her room.
She closed the door behind her, and saw her ladies in waiting who had come to prepare her for bed. They stared at her. One look and they knew. This was not new for them.
Azula sent them away, mostly so she could cry in earnest without anyone around to hear.
She had a bottle of burn salve in her washroom, a necessity for any fire bender. The burn was not bad enough to scar, but it still needed to be bandaged and it stung mercilessly.
She pulled the jewels from her hair, wiped off her cosmetics, then removed her dress to examine in. Five singe marks in the shape of finger prints, but they were small and light. The dress could be worn under other layers. However she would not wear it again. She didn't want any reminders of this incident. She threw it on the fire place so she could destroy it later.
Azula tried to calm herself with deep breaths. It didn't work. She needed something to break. She chose a bottle of perfume, and hurled it against tiles on the the washroom floor. She felt a little better, but not much. She left the mess for later and collapsed on the bed, and her mind wandered to Zuko.
She wondered if he still had the ship he and Uncle had left in. She wondered how many different places he had visited. She wondered if he was homesick, and if one's face and honor and claim to the throne was a fair trade for freedom.
She thought about when they were younger, when he still lived at home, how Father's drinking had escalated after mother disappeared, how his rage had gotten worse. But with Zuko around, Azula had been safer, there had been a second body for him to throw his anger at. Sometimes when Azula was about to get in trouble was the exact moment Zuko chose to pick a fight.
It was his own fault he was burned and banished. Maybe if he had just kept his head down, done exactly as he was told, none of this would have happened to him. If he had just tried harder to be perfect, he would be okay. But he was gone now, and Azula was the only target left. Was she going to be okay?
Her exhaustion made it easy to fall asleep. She woke early with a pounding head.
She reapplied her make up, tied back her hair, and dressed herself to appear before the court as she normally did. The burn on her thigh ached, but it would heal.
Servants were trying to wake her father for the meeting with the war council. He had spent the night on the couch in his party clothes, having fetched the bottle of Sake himself. He ignored them. She pushed them aside, and shook his shoulder sternly.
His hand swung at her, but missed "Don't you touch me. I'll rise when I please," he growled.
Azula sighed. "Leave him," she said to the men. She went into his study, retrieved scrolls and papers from his desk, and carried them to the throne room herself.
The officers, already dressed and gathered, looked concerned that their Fire Lord was late. Azula sat down at the head of the table and began the meeting herself. The officers looked each other. This was not the first time Azula had led a meeting, and they knew better than to ask questions. She took notes on her Father's behalf. She pulled from her knowledge of strategy and history to give the officers advice, but she had no right to give them orders.
She would receive no thanks for this, no credit. It just had to be done.
And when the meeting was over, she looked out the window at the still-rising sun. One day perhaps she'd be sitting on the throne in her own right. Or maybe she'd be married off to an admiral who was refreshingly boring and kind. Or maybe she'd have the freedom that came with banishment herself. One day she would live in a home that was happy. The kisses her children received would be genuine. Their evenings would be peaceful. When she touched them, her hand would be cool and kind.
Today she would grit her teeth and endure. But she knew that it was only temporary.