My Worst Self
by englishwhaler
Author's Note: This is my first chapter of an ATLA fan fiction series motivated by r/thelastairbender's Fan Fiction Tuesday! event. I'll try to have (smaller) updates every other week but I can't promise anything. Hope you guys enjoy and, as always, feedback is always welcome!
Prologue
The sky above the capital city of the Fire Nation burned with the fiery colors of the great comet. The fireball – Sozin's Comet – had returned and was the herald of great things, or so the sages said. Though soothsayers and madmen are often one and the same, the words of the sages had rung true for the day had seen the ascension of Ozai, son of Azulon, from Firelord to Phoenix King. Harnessing the power of the comet, the Phoenix King aimed to bring about the ultimate victory in the war against the Earth Kingdom and take his place as the supreme ruler of a world reforged by fire.
The day was great indeed and should have been one of celebration and jubilance, but the streets of the capital city were deserted. The shops were closed, their doors shut and locked, and no birds sang, nor insect made noise. The air itself was lifeless, the standards of old and new lying limply against their poles. Only the windows of the Royal Palace burned unabashedly.
The palace was a fortress of obsidian towers and sharp protruding talons. It sat amidst the metropolis and towered over it, its tall battlements both majestic and terrifying. Now, though, the walls were cast in hues of somber red and orange and the palisades seemed to sag, pulled downward by an unearthly sorrow. Not even the fire within could lift its heavy walls.
But the fire burned still.
Azula awoke suddenly, startled from a fitful rest. She had barely been sleeping at all. She couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep. She didn't have the time. There was too much to do, too many plans to make, too many traitors to root out, too many – agh! Azula put a hand to her temple. It throbbed angrily and she pressed her fingers into the skin, willing the pain to lessen. She had no time for distractions, physical ones particularly.
The headache subsided slightly and Azula rose from the bed that had once belonged to her father. The bed was irritatingly soft, but she would excuse that, for now. She looked around the room. The chambers she occupied were massive. The ceilings were tall and the corridors wide. Expertly crafted pillars wrapped in gilded metal work lined the walkways and stood sentinel above the polished stone floor covered in the finest crimson carpet.
These were her chambers now, her chambers as Firelord. She smiled crookedly at the thought and pushed herself off the bed.
The stone was cold beneath her feet and she wondered why. Oh, yes. She had let the servants go who would have otherwise stoked the furnaces. Oh well, good riddance. She didn't need them, she didn't need anyone. She pressed the soles of her feet harder into the rock and reveled in the discomfort as the chill crept up past her ankles to her calves and then to her thighs. With a breath, a wave of heat swept down her legs, banishing the chill and returning their warmth. She laughed. As if the cold had any power over her; as if anyone had any power over her. Hah.
Azula tightened the sash of her robe and regarded the dark curtain of hair that had fallen across her face. "Must we be locked in constant battle, hair?" She asked, pushing the mop out of her eyes and back behind her head only to have the strands fall back down. "Ugh, very well. We will have to deal with your disobedience then."
The once princess shuffled down the length of the bedchamber and pushed through a heavy red veil into one of the adjoining rooms. It was similarly gilded and pillared, and covered by rich maroon carpet and curtains. Resting against the far wall was an ornate gold-encased mirror that rose nearly to the ceiling. The mirror was flanked by two red-tasseled lamps that threw long flickering shadows down the room as Azula's image grew larger on the surface of the glass.
Her mouth curled into a frown as she looked at herself, studying her face and the coppery hazel eyes that looked out at her. She scoffed. This will not do. Azula grabbed fistfuls of her hair and pulled them backward together, making sure no unruly strands escaped. Taking a ribbon from the table adjacent to the mirror, she wound the silken tie around the base of the bunch until its length had been exhausted and finished the maneuver with knot. Much better.
Order having been restored, Azula smiled and began to pull her hand away but couldn't: her finger had snagged within the knot. Her smile withered as she yanked her hand against the ribbon, rage building within her. Her finger came free and Azula let out a frustrated grunt. Fine, hair, if this is the way you wish to defy me…Azula grabbed at a pair of scissors and brought them to her bangs, the metal hovering inches from her brow…you have sealed your own destruction!
Snip. Locks of raven hair fluttered to the ground and landed at Azula's feet. She grinned, the lines of her face pulling tight and laying plain her exhausted state. Hah! Your hubris has cost you dearly, hair! Someone spoke, and Azula's smile vanished.
"What a shame. You always had such beautiful hair."
Mother.
Azula scowled . "What are you doing here?"
"I didn't want to miss my own daughter's coronation."
"Don't pretend to act proud," Azula snapped. Her mother's face drooped at the reprimand and for the second that Azula looked at her mother's sad eyes she felt…no! She brushed the feeling away and her eyes hardened. "I know what you really think of me," she turned her head away, "you think I'm a monster."
"I think you're confused," her mother said, her voice gentle.
Confused? No, she wasn't confused. She was Azula, daughter of the Phoenix King, Firelord of the Fire Nation! She was- she was- bah! Her headache returned in an instant and in an apathetic rage she let the pain roil through her temple and across her forehead. The pain was nothing to her. I am Azula…I am Azula…
"All your life you've used fear to control people..."
Azula looked at her reflection. A heavy frown rested on her lips and the brow that held her thick eyebrows was desperately furrowed. Her nose was scrunched and hard lines stretched underneath her eyes. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, blazed orange like the sun and were host to a gaze that could melt even platinum. Her eyes…they were her mother's…
She looked back at the other woman. Her face was warm but pleading, her eyes soft but desperate. Father was right; she is still weak.
"…like your friends, Mai and Ty Lee."
At the mention of the names, a storm rose within her, one of sorrow and pain and loss, and Azula fought to contain it, to keep the floodgates closed. She clenched her eyes shut, her mouth quivering from the effort. She would not submit herself to those feelings. They were not hers; she was not weak!
A wave of anger overtook the storm and she lashed out. "Well what choice did I have?" She ripped herself away from the mirror and stumbled backward, catching herself on the table. She glared down at the floor. "Trust is for fools! Fear is the only reliable way." Azula paused to collect herself but then looked up, a look of resolute satisfaction playing across her face. "Even you fear me."
"No," her mother said, her eyes pained and stalwart. "I love you, Azula."
Azula's legs buckled and she crashed to downward onto her knees, her body shaking from the anger that seemed to seethe out of her every pore. She would have laughed or screamed or cried but the maelstrom of emotions that swirled within her gave her no release. Bitter resentment began to eclipse all the rest and she felt her eyes begin to water. No! She rose to her feet and faced the mirror with teeth barred and hands clenched. She was done with this, done with her, this woman.
"Azula, my love-"
"Don't call me that!" Azula spat, hair falling in unkempt strands around her face. "It's a lie, it's always been a lie!"
"Azula-"
"Why won't you leave me alone? Leave! I am Firelord; I command you to leave!"
Her mother did not budge.
"Why must you torment me?"
"You know the answer, Azula," her mother said softly.
A half-growl, half-hiss escaped through Azula's clenched teeth. "I don't need you; I haven't needed you! Father was the one that taught me, the one who cared for me, the one who remained when you deserted us. I've grown strong without you!"
Her mother's face grew questioning. "Have you?"
Azula readied another venomous response but stopped mid-thought, her chest heaving and sweat dripping from her brow. Had she?
"What? Of course I have. Don't be ridiculous, mother."
Her mother's face remained placid.
"I am strong!"
Her mother shook her head. "That strength is an illusion."
Azula stood with her mouth agape, struck speechless by the insult. Despite all of her wit, her mind was suddenly blank and refused to form anything remotely resembling a retort. Into the void rushed the anguish and confusion that simmered beneath her skin and it coiled together like a wolf viper readying to strike. A scream full of rage boiled within her lungs and emerged so fiercely that it made her throat writhe, her vocal cords convulsing until they seemed like they would shred.
Her voice broke and then grew horse but the intensity of the cry did not waver or lessen. The room seemed to shake, cowering at the sound; even the air ran before the noise. Azula's right arm whipped toward the mirror, the palm of her hand open, and a bolt of terrific azure fire came forth and lanced toward the glass. The mass of plasma made contact with the mirror and it shattered, exploding outward in a brilliant cloud of pulverized glass shards.
For a moment, Azula stood panting and she listened only to the sound of her labored breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. She opened her eyes. The broken pieces of the mirror littered the ground and she stared at them until her pulse quieted, expecting any moment for her mother's face to reappear in one of the fragments. The seconds dragged on and her mother did not return. She saw only herself in the glass.
With a twist of her hand, Azula cleared the haze away from the smoking mirror, or at least what remained of it. She had blasted a hole straight through the glass and into the wall; the golden frame was singed black and charred and the wood beneath glowing orange as it smoldered. Wonderful. Another motion of her hand cooled the embers and the smoke disappeared altogether.
Azula turned to go; where, she didn't know, but she was exhausted and her back was all knotted and her muscles ached. Maybe she would lie down for a while…but a flash of something caught her eye. She stopped, and turned back. There was nothing there, only the black emptiness where the mirror once stood. Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head slightly. As she did, something glimmered in the dark. Sword!
Adrenaline poured into her veins and she somersaulted backward, seeing the blade of the assassin lunge toward her in her mind's eye. She landed, her robe fluttering around her as she assumed a defensive stance, her arms held outward and down with her palms open.
But no assassin charged.
Azula scanned the room, thinking perhaps the coward had taken refuge behind a pillar or one of the curtains. "Come and face me if you dare attack the Firelord!" Her challenge echoed off of the stone columns but no answer came.
With a cry, Azula sent a wave of blue fire away from her toward the edges of the room. The circle of fire engulfed everything in its path, setting on fire curtains and carpet alike. The fires burned until no hiding place remained and still no assailant appeared. Azula frowned.
Muscles relaxed and Azula stood, once again eying the blackness within the mirror. Nothing…but then she saw it, barely catching the shine within the darkness. She rushed forward, determined to catch whatever threat lurked within the murky void. Her feet were light on the stone as she ran, closing the distance in a flash and suddenly she was past the mirror and she fell, stumbling downward.
Azula rolled to recover and sprang to her feet. Somehow, she was inside the mirror. The sheer impossibility of that fact was puzzling, and, confused, she lifted her arm up and called a flame to her hand.
The light ate away the shadows and revealed that within the blackness was something after all: it was a room – a room behind the mirror. Now, this is interesting…
She fed the flame and soon the whole room was illuminated in its glow. It was a small room and simply decorated. A few small tapestries depicting landscapes and people she did not know hung on its walls. Chests of various sizes were placed neatly throughout and a small writing desk rested against the furthest wall.
Intrigued, Azula made her way over to the desk. It was of beautiful design, finely made out of dark wood and varnished so that it glittered in the light. So that's what it was. The desk was barren save a quill, an empty ink well, and some rolls of parchment. The scrolls by themselves were ordinary, made from typical yellowed paper and fastened with red ribbon, but, as she moved closer, she saw that the scrolls had been placed in front of two small portraits.
Azula moved the flame closer until the ink of the portraits glimmered and then stopped, frozen in place: the portraits were of her…and Zuko. Azula frowned deeply.
As the shock of the discovery subsided, she lit a nearby lamp and grabbed for the scroll in front of her own picture, tearing off the ribbon and unrolling it. Her eyes flittered over the characters…it was her mother's hand, without a doubt, but the words…the words didn't make sense. Her mind raced as she read and re-read each line, trying to understand, trying to hear her mother. Did it really say…?
Her legs gave out and she felt herself falling. She reached for the desk but it was a thousand leagues away and her fingers grasped only air. Time seemed to lose meaning and she watched each flicker of the lamp against the wall as she neared the floor. Her shoulder hit the ground.
Mother, I…
Darkness filled her eyes.
