Requiem For the Lost
Azula Part I
Don't be scared. I'm here.
Azula's heart pounded as she sat up straight in her bed. For weeks, she had been awakened by nightmares filled with faceless demons and unknown terrors. The princess couldn't say what exactly she was afraid of, but for the first time in her life, she was well and truly afraid. Fear was such a foreign thing that she wasn't equipped to handle it. Not once—never, even when the Fire Nation was crumbling at her feet had she felt an ounce of fear. Fear was weakness, and Azula had not been weak until she had been locked in this hell hole.
Tossing a robe over her bare shoulders, Azula walked to the window and stared out at the inky water surrounding her prison. High walls of stone surrounded her little island, so high that she could barely see the moon peeking over the top. The Avatar had made this fortress himself. Her "home" was a nearly barren island with only her small house and tiny garden on it. There were no guards nor any sort of locks or bars. Aang had made sure that she would spend the rest of her miserable existence in isolation. She knew that he kept her alive only out of respect for her brother's final wish.
Zuko. Funny, but she had thought about her brother more after his death than she ever had while he was alive. Azula spent a lifetime seeing him as nothing more than a road block and an annoyance. Zu-Zu had never posed the threat the Avatar did. Her contempt for her brother had paled in comparison to her hatred of the Avatar. Zuko hadn't mattered until he'd died.
Azula shuddered as she pictured Zuko's face as the Watertribe boy's sword pierced his gut. She had been so close to death that she was confused by just what had happened at the time. It took a moment for her to realize that Zuko had stepped in front of her. Her brother saved her life and gave his own. Zuko fell into his sister's arms with blood pouring from his lips. Azula had wanted to ask him why he had done such a stupid thing, but all she did was hold him in shock as his eyes closed.
She stopped fighting. The Fire Nation princess surrendered right there. Her hands still bore Zuko's blood as she was placed in irons.
"You were a fool, Zuko," Azula muttered into the lonely night.
Tasks that Azula had always thought beneath her now took up the majority of her days. From fishing to fixing the thatched roof above her head, there were no servants now. In the morning, Azula pulled a few weeds from amongst her scraggly looking garden. She had never grown a single thing. It simply wasn't in her nature to nurture anything. Even though she knew that Aang would appear in a few days with food and other supplies, she refused to rely solely on his charity. The indignity of not being able to survive without his pity grate on her last shreds of pride.
In the evenings, Azula spent her time sitting before a loom working feverishly on a tapestry. Aang brought a spinning wheel, the loom, and other supplies a few weeks into her exile. He said that it would give her something to do. Out of spite, she had let it all collect dust for nearly a year. She wasn't sure why she had decided to give it a try. It took months before she was able to do much of anything with them, but finally she began to weave red and black threads into a pattern she knew quite well. Weaving agreed with her. It gave her time to clear her head of everything but the task at hand. Soon, it became an obsession. Tapestry after tapestry lined her walls until she had no more room. Aang never said a word about her choice of pattern; he simply brought more supplies.
If Azula thought it was odd that the Avatar didn't seem to object to Fire Nation flags hanging about, she was dumbstruck a few weeks later when he inspected her work. He held up one of her better works and examined it closer. "What would you want in trade for this?" he asked quietly.
Azula leaned back in anger. "Why? So you can keep it as a trophy to prove how low I've fallen.
"No," he replied calmly. "I wish to put it on your brother's memorial."
A tight ball of regret lodged in Azula's throat. "Take it. I have no need of it."
Aang nodded and turned to leave. It wasn't his practice to say much or stay long on his visits. Azula wasn't surprised that he did not say goodbye. Nor was she surprised when he returned the next day with a fine comb and scented oils—assumedly this was what he had deemed the tapestry was worth.
Azula no longer felt the need to weave the Fire Nation insignia. These days, she had moved on to memorializing the things she missed. Her first attempt at a portrait had been one of her father. He had been cold, taught her to be colder, but she did miss him. Each strong line and hard detail came to life before her as she worked. After she hung him on the wall, it was almost as if he were watching her. Next came Ty Lee and Mai. Then Uncle Iroh. Finally, Zuko's face began to take form on her loom.
Zuko's face was more difficult than the others. The scar itself became a problem, but not nearly as much so as his expression. She wasn't quite sure how to portray her brother. First, she tried to capture the angry, young man she knew so well, but that image fell flat. She spent more time ripping out threads than she did in weaving. It was an arduous task, but one that she was compelled to do night after night.