A little warning for a mildly graphic description of character death. I tried to keep it tasteful though.
Also going to note that in this fic, Azula (and her family) are not royalty.
Blood seeps between her lips, she doesn't know exactly where it is coming from. She does know that she has a blade in her belly, it leaves her queasy and shaky. She does know where her fellow combatants are. She thinks that they thought she was already dead, so they have left her to actually die. Or maybe they knew she wasn't dead yet but have deemed her as a lost cause and left her anyways.
No matter, they are right.
She will be dead soon.
Azula clutches her middle as the pain flares to a higher intensity. She doesn't want to die. She isn't one to blabber on and on about how she is to young to die. But she is the youngest on her team. The youngest and the smallest. She considers that this is another reason they have chosen to leave her. But this doesn't add up, she is the youngest and smallest but she has respect. Respect and authority. She was a battle away from becoming a general.
It becomes apparent that they truly had thought that she was already a corpse.
She is starting to feel like one.
She hopes fervently that someone will come back for her.
That a lone traveler will spot a dying girl and provide aid.
An hour or so passes and not a soul comes by.
The meadow is vacant and Azula knows that no one is coming.
She has seen it before. The battle has turned the place into an unusable wasteland. Farms can't be grown on soil so charred and bloodied. The vegetation that was there is dead. Flowers have been burned to the root and those that haven't, have been sucked dry of water. Where the ground isn't blackened, it is cracked beyond use. There isn't a body of water to utilize.
There is no reason for anyone to weather the stick of dead bodies.
They have always romanized death on the battlefield. They told her stories of war heroes, immortalized by their final acts. They painted it as this glorious and honorable thing. As an empowering, brave sacrifice. But she feels anything but. She is terrified. Terrified and dirty. Far from glorious, blood coats the lower have of her. Her face is clammy and muddy. She smells like death and defecation. The pain has turned her stomach enough for her to heave a mix of blood whatever else was in her body. It isn't empowering, it is silently humiliating, even if no one else is around to see it. She doesn't feel like a hero. She feels like a frightened child.
She is a frightened child.
She doesn't feel strong.
She feels weak. Right to her very core.
And she grows weaker still as her blood wells around her.
She cries to herself because she doesn't want to die. She'd departed from her family on awful terms. She wanted to one up Zu-Zu in front of father, who constantly flashed all of his wartime badges. She wanted to make her mother feel guilty for not caring for her as much as Azula thought she ought to.
She is going to feel guilty alright.
Because her daughter isn't coming home.
Though she wants to, Azula can't even cry out. It hurts too much. She thinks of sending a lightning bolt to her chest. But she is too weak to produce anything more than a tiny spark. A spark that she very well might have imagined. Her body shudders.
Breathing is becoming a task and she is certain that her eyes are glossing over.
Still, the pain doesn't relent.
There is nothing noble or bold about this.
But Azula doesn't die so soon.
Her body holds on for another three days.
She wishes it didn't.
She feels a warm hand cup her cold cheek. She is shivering violently. The quivers of death. A part of her still isn't ready. She still doesn't want to die. But the pain is unbearable and the discomforts of laying in her own filth and clotting blood are even worse. She wants to die as much as she wants to live. She doesn't want to die, she realizes, she just wants someone to take her out of this miserable state. She wants someone to save her.
The same hand brushes hair out of her sticky face. She doesn't know how this person can stand to touch her. "It's going to be okay."
But Azula knows that it isn't.
"It'll be over soon."
Azula squints, trying to focus on the girl talking to her. But what she sees doesn't make sense and she decides that what she is seeing as a hallucination brought about by her dying brain as it shuts itself down. A final defense mechanism to distract her from what is about to happen.
It is a good distraction, she must admit. And she doesn't mind succumbing to it. The fingers stroking her cheek seem to shimmer with white-gold light. The light doesn't seem to come from within so much as it looks like the light is pouring onto the hand.
"Who are you?" Azula tries to choke out, but she doesn't think that she has managed anything tangible. Somehow the girl still knows.
"My name is TyLee." She takes Azula into her arms. Azula has the awareness to feel bad for probably dirtying the girl's white gown.
Azula reaches out and brushes her fingers against wings that look like they are made of diamond and pink pearl. But they feel like they are made of silk or...it is like a fabric she has never felt before. "It hurts."
"I know." TyLee nods. She can see the sorrow in her eyes. "Are you ready?"
"Ready?"
TyLee offers a sad half smile and Azula knows.
She wasn't ready, but she nods anyways.
"You're going to feel a lot better soon." She holds her hand above Azula's chest. The glow on her hand seems to double in luminosity. And then she stops, seeming to hesitate. "You took the blade for someone else?"
Azula nods, the motion ails her.
"You loved her didn't you?" She leans in closer and Azula detects the scent of fresh rain on summertime hay.
Azula's lower lip quivers and her eyes burn.
"She made it out alive." TyLee notes.
Azula tries to smile. At least she isn't dying for nothing at all. She doesn't know how TyLee can stand to do so, but she brings her lips to Azula's. The taste is like vanilla and sugar. The feeling is like being wrapped in silk and bathed in warm light. Her stomach flutters pleasantly as pain is enveloped by a gentler feeling. Like brushing up against the wool of a koala-sheep or finding oneself in the middle of a swarm of butterflies.
She supposes that dead isn't so dreadful.
.oOo.
When she wakes her body feels lighter.
Weightless.
Perhaps it is because she doesn't have a body at all.
She looks down at the one she once had. It looks even smaller than she had imagined. Her eyes are closed. She almost can't recognize herself, death had hollowed her cheeks and paled her skin so much. Her hair is matted with blood and grime. Her body isn't as elegant as it had been before the war. A raven is already making use of the wound that ended her.
A lump forms in her throat and she thinks that she might cry all over again.
TyLee takes her hand. "You don't need to see that."
She doesn't want to.
TyLee sweeps a hand through her hair. Silky, black hair that smells of burning sage. TyLee takes Azula's hand and holds it up for her to see. It has the same radiance that she has seen on TyLee's but with a blue tinge instead of gold. Her skin is still very pale, but in a lively, glowing way.
Azula feels celestial.
Divine.
And she supposes that there is a reason for that. She is somehow still afraid.
"That will pass." TyLee notes. "It's kind of hard to adjust at first…" She trails off, following Azula's gaze to her ravaged physical self. TyLee cups Azula's cheek again and turns her head. "Don't look at your human body, it's better if you don't."
TyLee is right. Her physical form has been lost to her and there is nothing to gain from staring at it and making herself ache more. Nothing to gain from putting more fear into her...does she have a soul anymore? Perhaps she is only a soul now. She shouldn't be afraid still.
"That will pass." TyLee repeats herself. "You still have a good part of your human mind with you. Eventually it will fade and you won't be afraid anymore." She takes Azula's hand.
"Will I remember?"
"Your human life?" TyLee nods. "Of course. But you won't long to have it back, that will pass too."
Azula doesn't know if she believes her. The girl drifts closer and pulls her into a hug, her wings folding around Azula's new form. A form she is not yet familiar with. Not yet comfortable with. She doesn't know if it suits her aesthetically. But it can't be any worse than what is down there.
"You're beautiful." TyLee notes, stroking her wings.
Wings that Azula is now aware that she has. Wings that she has been using wholly instinctively. Wings of a radiant blue. Wings of blue feathers that end in fire not unlike the kind she had mastered in life. Perhaps this form will suit her after all. "Can we go somewhere else, this place is depressing."
TyLee smiles. "Let me show you your new home."