The Challenge
The night was bitterly cold and the alleyway gave little protection form the biting, chilly wind. If one looked down the cluttered and dirty alley they would see what appeared to be nothing more than a street urchin, wallowing in her muck like a chickenpig. If they bothered to look closer they would've noticed her fierce, golden eyes and features that could only come from noble pedigree. And if, by some uncharacteristic curiosity, they stepped nearer still they would've realised several things at once. Firstly, this woman was not some street filth or even a soured aristocrat; she was Azula, Princess of the Fire Nation. The second thing they would notice immediately was that she was pregnant. And thirdly, that she was currently in labour.
Azula gritted her teeth and kept a moan from passing her lips. The wave of contractions passed finally, but they were coming quicker and staying longer. Soon she would have to push.
Who would've thought it would come to this? The great and fear-inspiring Azula, reduced to wretched poverty, exposed to abuse and humiliation and, now, birthing a child in a gutter. But, in the time since her downfall the Princess had learned that there were worse things to endure. This life now, as shaming as it was, was far better than the one she had escaped from. She shivered, remembering her time in the sanatorium. At least out here she was free.
"You're doing well, Azula," her mother assured her. "Soon now."
During her incarceration she had been told repeatedly that her mother was not there, that she was nothing more than an image Azula had projected. Perhaps that was true – her mother never seemed to change, no matter the circumstances – but Azula did not care. Real or not, Ursa was at least something she could hurl her anger at.
"You," she hissed fiercely, "are not helping."
Another spasm of contractions swept through her and Azula's back arched in pain. Ursa's eyes were flat and without sympathy.
"You were the one who thought it was a good idea to get with child," she levelled at her. "How did you put it? To 'gain sympathy from the stupid peasant rabble'?"
"It worked, didn't it?" Azula spat back. "We did well for a while."
The pain stabbed through her and she cried out. Ursa's face became a mixture of concern and disapproval. "And now you must live with the consequences," she said to her crying daughter.
"I never…" Azula paused to catch her breath, "I never meant to go to full term!"
"But you did, Azula," her mother replied.
Yes, Azula conceded, she had. Why? How many times had she found a backdoor physician that would remove her child only for her to back out at the last minute? Why couldn't she rid herself of it? Why?
"Azula," she heard her mother say, "it's time to push."
Panic swept through her but she nevertheless heeded her mother's call. Azula pushed and her mind screamed at her, demanding to know why she hadn't ended this farce sooner. What made this life different from the rest she had mercilessly taken?
"I can see the head!" her mother cried.
Her uncertainty left her for the moment as something instinctual and basic took control of her mind. It was a primal feeling and completely intuitive to what needed to be done.
"Push, Azula!" her mother urged and Azula pushed.
There might have been tearing, there might have been pain, but all that blanked from her memory when her final push released the child and she heard it scream.
"You did it, Azula," Ursa whispered, tears standing in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you."
Azula, soaked with sweat, pushed once more to clear the afterbirth and burned through the feeding cord. Then she laid her head back on the cobble-stoned ground and breathed a sigh of relief. A strange, peaceful feeling came over her and for the first time in a long while she felt…content.
"Azula, your baby is getting cold," Ursa chided.
Azula listened to the child cry without raising her head. "So you help it."
Asking her mother to do something which required physical interaction always caused Ursa a nervous pause; as if she became suddenly aware that she might not be real.
"You know I can't," Ursa said finally. "You must dry it and get it warm. Quickly now."
Azula stood up slowly, her legs like jelly beneath her. When she felt able she began to hobble up the alley, heading for the road.
"Azula?" her mother called. Her baby's cries grew more urgent.
"Azula, stop!"
When Azula kept walking on her mother appeared in front of her, blocking the path.
"Get out of my way, Mother," Azula said tiredly.
"You cannot abandon your child!" Ursa declared.
"Watch me," Azula replied and pushed past her.
"Azula!" and when her mother grabbed her arm she felt real enough. "You can't do this!"
"Why not?" Azula replied. "I have done the same to men before."
"But you will not be able to live with yourself if you do this," Ursa said and her face was fervently earnest. "Trust me, I know."
Azula glared at her. "Is that why you're here, Mother? To make up for abandoning me when I was just a little girl?" Azula laughed at her, a sound that jarred disturbingly with the wailing child. "You always viewed me as a monster, couldn't understand how I was born this way. Well isn't it funny that I'm actually just like you: willing to abandon my own children and never look back!"
For a long time Ursa said nothing. The baby's cries were getting weaker now, more desperate.
"You're right," her mother said finally. "You're right. I left you and you have no idea how much I wish I could take that back. But don't make the same mistakes I did, Azula. Don't make a decision you will always regret." She took hold of her by the shoulders. "I am here, Azula, so you can become a person – a better mother than I was."
And then she was gone, taken with a gust of wind. Azula stood still, any triumph she might have felt at besting Ursa in an argument fading as quickly as she had.
The baby's cries were low now and barely heard above the cold breeze. Azula stared at the pitiful creature; saw it turning blue in the cold. She wondered, in a detached manner, what sex it was. She would go and see; there would be no harm to her resolve in her checking.
Azula knelt carefully beside it, her hand laid gently on it. It surprised her that she could feel its heart beating under her fingers. The baby was a girl; a girl with black hair, golden eyes and a strong but fading heart.
Azula pushed the thoughts away harshly. She wouldn't have this child, she couldn't. She could barely care for herself let alone an infant. And honestly, how could she, Azula the Terrible, be any sort of mother? She made to stand, to leave and abandon this child altogether. But as she stood she felt something small and weak cling to her. She stared down at the child and, despite herself, felt her eyes widen in surprise.
It had grabbed her, one tiny hand wrapping around her finger, and it held on tightly, pathetically. It gave out a weak, painful sob and seemed incapable or anything more. Azula stared at it, stared at the hand gripping onto her, and she felt…something.
…be a better mother than I was…
It would be hard, maybe even impossible to care for her child. But a challenge to best her mother? That, Azula thought as she picked up her daughter, is always something I am willing to try.