Bwaha! Time for a Toph/Azula chapter before Katara meets Koh!... Don't have a whole lot to say for this one, other than that I love Toph dearly, and I'm very, very sorry for this horrible ordeal I'm putting her through. :'(
Many thanks to KataangLover138 for your helpful and logical ideas!... Even though they didn't really end up changing anything, lol. And also, Jomounti, I think you're gonna appreciate this chapter (I want to point out, though, I was planning this chapter long before you wrote your review, but I'm glad you did anyway). ^_^
Mai: "Is this where I'm supposed to make a snarky comment?"
Rain&Roses: "Sure! Go for it!" :D
Mai: "Hm, I'm not really feeling inspired at the moment. Sorry."
Rain&Roses: "Aw. Well, that's okay. Later. Anyhoo... How's life, Mai?"
Mai: "... I wouldn't really know." -_-
Rain&Roses: "Oh, right. Sorry... Want a custard tart?"
Mai: *shrug* "Sure, why not?"
STRIKE TWO
Two or three days away from the North Pole, the ship pressed onward beneath a dismal gray sky through increasingly icy waters. And at some point early in the dull afternoon, a listless drizzle began to fall.
It fell over Toph, where she still hung, limp and barefoot and barely alive, in the frigid air. She didn't notice the rain.
It fell over the ship, and over the hole, the crucial gash in the deck – and down inside, pattering languidly on the metal floor below. But the hole was empty, for now; no one was there to be rained on.
It also fell across the broken glass of the wide window in the ship's bridge, high above the deck, where Azula leaned against the window frame and let the raindrops dribble down her face, her sharp eyes transfixed on the vacant hole below her, everything within her silently churning with uncertainty and anxiety, wondering where they all were, and trying very hard not to think about the upsetting person who might or might not be lurking right outside the door at that moment and rapping her knuckles against the wall.
And outside the door, the rain fell over Ursa, where she sat leaning against the wall and halfheartedly rapping her knuckles against it, wondering if she ought to stop now, and meanwhile contemplating many unhappy thoughts and fears and regrets, gathering her courage, smothering her bitter feelings of treachery and shame. In her hand was a small scrap of paper, delivered to her (by Momo) several hours ago. She'd been reading and re-reading the words hastily scrawled on it. They didn't appear to have much significance – no, they didn't appear to. But, she supposed, that was sort of the point, wasn't it? She burned them into her mind, and swallowed her shame.
"my beautiful girl"
That was all. That was everything.
After tracing out the shapes of the letters with her eyes one last time, Ursa finally ripped the note to shreds, letting the pieces drift to the ground beside her, letting the rain wash the words away. Then she rose to her feet, aching with a numb pain that was too deep for her to even acknowledge yet, and leaned against the bridge door. It was open only a crack – the space was too small for her to even get her thumb through – because Azula had pushed something heavy up against it to shut herself inside. But Ursa gazed through the narrow opening, and finally spoke quietly.
"Azula," she said. "I'm still out here. I haven't gone anywhere."
Azula remained silent.
Ursa breathed deeply. "See? I told you, I'm not with the others. You have to believe me, sweetheart. I promise, I'm not going to do anything to you. Will you please let me in?"
ONE DAY EARLIER
When Ursa had left Toph hanging in the air after the first lightning strike, she'd planned to come back.
"Toph!" she called. "Don't worry! You'll make it through this! We'll figure this out. Just – don't give up! I'll be back later, all right?"
Toph hadn't replied. And after hesitating regretfully, Ursa had turned and left her there. She'd sincerely planned to come back – though what she could do to help Toph, she didn't know. But, at least she could come back to talk to her, to let Toph know that someone was there; at least to make sure the poor girl stayed alive until something could be done.
At that moment, though, she believed it was her first priority to try to deal with Azula, to try to get inside the bridge. Inching her way toward the metal staircase that led up there, she kept herself flat against the wall and out of sight from the windows above. True, Azula had spared her life earlier when she could have easily killed her (Ursa was still puzzled by that), but she still dreaded that Azula might hurt – or kill – Toph, if she spotted Ursa roaming freely out on the deck. Not only that, but she would probably force Ursa to go down below with all the others, thus robbing her of this one meager advantage she had.
She had an advantage. She hadn't been trapped like all the others. But what should she do? She had no idea what she was going to do once she got up to the bridge. All she knew was that she had to do something, since she was the only one who could now. But what could she do? She was no match for Azula in a fight; there was no doubt about that. She had no weapons at all, and – more importantly – she doubted that she could even bring herself to hurt Azula, if it came to it. Even if she knew, logically, that it was necessary; even if she knew it was best for her to take Azula out. She wouldn't be able to. And the idea of somehow overpowering Azula without killing or hurting her seemed ludicrous; Azula would snap her neck in an instant, or kill Toph –
That thought made Ursa hesitate for a long while. Did she even dare approach Azula at all, with Toph in such a vulnerable position? Should she even risk it, already knowing that she wasn't prepared to do whatever it took to subdue Azula? Was it too dangerous for Toph?
But she couldn't just do nothing. She was the only one who could get close to Azula. She had to do something.
Looking back on that moment hours later, Ursa would realize how foolish she'd been, to try to get into the bridge and confront Azula without any real plan at all. But at the time she'd simply been confused with the whirlwind of emotions stirred up by the situation: fear for Toph's safety, fear for the others, fear for herself, fear for Azula – responsibility for everyone, the sense of duty and protection she believed had fallen on her now – and, most of all, that one enormous emotion without a name, which hadn't diminished in the hours to follow (had only gotten worse, really). The overwhelming, indescribable emotion that came with facing her long-lost daughter who was also a mad, ruthless murderer, and who might very well be that way because of something Ursa had done to her years ago.
No, it hadn't been easy to keep track of logic amid all those feelings.
Also, in all fairness, Ursa had woken up from a head injury only minutes before, so her mental faculties probably hadn't quite been functioning at their fullest potential.
So, without any clear plan at all, she had made her way to the narrow metal staircase, and had carefully climbed up to the thick iron door that led into the bridge. The wild notion of bursting through the door and tackling Azula to the ground passed through her mind. She would have to be quick, take Azula by surprise – that was the only way. She was the only one who could; she had to try. And if Azula killed her... Well, at least she'd tried.
This is insane. She's going to kill me. There's no way I can...
But her hand was reaching for the door. She was slowly turning the handle.
Taking a deep breath, she commanded herself to do it, and very abruptly threw all her weight against the door, bracing herself for the certain chaos to follow –
But the door jolted hard against something large and heavy, opening only a tiny crack. And Ursa realized immediately that Azula had barricaded herself inside.
Her heart raced with panic – Azula must have noticed her failed attempt to open the door. In blind fear, she instantly aborted all her foolish ideas and retreated, turning and bolting back down the stairs so fast that she nearly tripped and tumbled down.
At the bottom, she pressed herself against the wall again – out of sight – panting in breathless terror.
But nothing happened. If Azula had heard her try to open the door, then she didn't do anything about it.
Ursa forced herself to breathe.
So, she thought, Azula barricaded herself inside.
Of course she would. Of course she would! Ursa should have expected something like that. How could she have imagined that she could just barge in there and save the day? That was absurd. What had she been thinking?
What am I doing? What am I supposed to do?
She couldn't get into the bridge. And even if she could, what would she do? What could she do against Azula?
And she couldn't do anything to help Toph. There was no way to get Toph down from the crane without setting off the bomb. And she couldn't do anything to remove the bomb itself – she knew nothing about explosives, and no doubt she'd only blow up herself and everyone else if she attempted to do anything with it. Besides, she couldn't even get near the crane without Azula spotting her.
And the doors were all welded shut. She couldn't do anything to let the others out.
What was she supposed to do?
Hastily, she turned away from the staircase, from the direction of the crane and the great hole, and ran in the opposite direction, following the wall until she came across one of the sealed doors. Then she began to pound on it, as loudly as she could, hoping to get the attention of someone inside. She had to tell them she was out here; she didn't know what else to do.
At last, after pounding on the door for what seemed like hours (though it probably wasn't), someone's voice finally called out from inside:
"Who's out there?" – It was a man, probably one of the soldiers.
"It's Ursa! I'm out here!" she cried. "Please, I need to talk to someone – let me talk to Iroh! Tell everyone I'm out here, hurry!"
His footsteps pounded away frantically, and several minutes later, she heard more footsteps inside. And then Iroh's voice spoke to her through the door:
"Ursa! We've all been looking for you! How did you get out there?"
"It doesn't matter," she said quickly. "I was out here before she sealed up the doors, and I saw her and she hit me on the head, and I only just woke up a few minutes ago. But I don't know what I should – "
"Sen!" came Yonten's voice suddenly. "I'm so glad you're all right! I was so afraid that – "
"Can you get into the bridge?" asked another voice – Suki's. "Have you tried going up there? If you could just – "
"No, she's barricaded herself inside," Ursa explained breathlessly. "What should I do? I have to do something! I don't know what I should do!"
"Ursa," Iroh said gravely, "listen to me! Stay calm. You have an opportunity that none of us do. You can get close to Azula and change the situation, if you are very careful. You must talk to Azula and persuade her to trust you – "
"Persuade her to trust me!" Ursa scoffed, collapsing against the door hopelessly. "Won't she just kill me, or Toph? How can I talk to her at all?"
"You said you ran into her before all this, but she didn't kill you?"
"Yes," Ursa panted. "I don't know why, but – "
"Then I think it's probable that she doesn't see you as a real threat, Ursa," Iroh went on. "Which means you might have more of a chance than anyone else. But you must use great tact. Be very cautious. I have faith that you can navigate the situation. But no matter what, you must try. You must try to get inside that room. You're the only one who can get close to Azula now."
"And what am I supposed to do if I can get inside?" Ursa asked in despair. "I don't think I – I don't think I can do anything to her, Iroh. I know someone needs to stop her, but I – I can't hurt her. I just can't."
"I know, Ursa, I know," he said gently. "You won't have to. I have a plan. All we need is an opportunity to diffuse the danger without Azula stopping us. But it's all going to depend on you. It'll all depend on you getting into that room."
Yonten spoke up anxiously, "But Iroh, what if...? I mean – then she'll be locked in the same room with Azula when we... What if something happens? What if Azula turns on her?"
A long silence. Ursa simply breathed. Then Iroh spoke to her again.
"Ursa," he said softly, "this is going to be very risky. If you don't want to do this, then – "
"No," she interrupted him, shuddering, but gathering her resolve. "No, I'll do whatever I have to. What's your plan, Iroh?"
The wide bridge room, with all its controls and contraptions, had been utterly, deadly silent for several hours by that point – though it was far from devoid of life – and the air had been quivering with tension. The officers (the ones who were still alive) had all been chained up to chairs around the room – all except the helmsman, whose hands were chained to the helm. All of them free enough to get the ship where Azula wanted it to go, but restrained enough not to revolt. They still might have revolted, perhaps, but none of them felt any urge to now. None of them were trained soldiers, or Firebenders – their job was running a ship, not fighting – and Azula had stripped them of any possible weapons anyway. Not only that, but she'd already demonstrated her power and ruthlessness effectively enough to terrify them into submission: all of them had been severely burnt in the initial struggle, and they all now trembled at the thought of more. On top of that, the room itself was growing sickly with the bodies of four of their dead fellow officers, who'd been foolish enough to try to resist Azula's takeover. The only consolation was that the window had been broken in the fight, so at least some fresh air was coming in; but just the presence of the corpses was sufficient torture to discourage any further resistance.
Even still, Azula had been keeping her back turned warily away from them. She leaned against the frame of the broken window, body facing the room, head turned in the direction of the jagged hole in the deck below. She was watching the room out of the corner of her eye, but her gaze was more intently fixed on that hole – fixed as if her life depended on it (which, essentially, it did). Her heart had been racing in intermittent spurts, bursting with strange convulsions of thrill and paranoia: the thrill of successfully, singlehandedly commandeering a ship full of some of the most powerful people in the world; the terrible paranoia that something might go wrong at any time between now and the North Pole.
But there were no mistakes, she reassured herself. I thought of everything. Of course I did – I always do. It's all perfect. Completely under control. Nothing can go wrong.
A sharp chuckle burst out of her suddenly. It relieved her anxiety for a moment. And she liked the way it made the captive officers jump.
Am I mad? Yes, I suppose I am. But could a madwoman have done all this so brilliantly?
She honestly didn't know the answer. But she enjoyed the question.
That was when a voice spoke to her through the door.
"Azula?... Can you hear me?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Azula sensed all the officers in the room cringe in terror, anticipating her violent reaction to the presence of someone just outside the door – someone who wasn't trapped or under control in some way.
But Azula didn't react violently. Her heart did jump wildly when the voice first spoke, startled at the broken silence and the abrupt surge of panic: the terror that she'd overlooked something, that she'd made a mistake. But she recognized the voice instantly, and after the first spurt of anxiety, she exhaled and calmed herself. It was a voice she'd grown quite used to hearing over the years, and these days it just made her feel exasperated more than anything.
"What do you want now, mother?" she demanded irritably, without turning her gaze away from the hole.
The woman didn't reply for a long while, and Azula grew impatient waiting for her. When she did at last speak again, her voice sounded pathetically timid and feeble.
"Could... M-may I come in, sweetheart?"
Azula furrowed her brow, again without turning her head or taking her eyes off the hole for a second – without even blinking. "What's stopping you?"
Ursa once more took several moments to answer the question, as if she were puzzled by it.
"Well, uh... You've – you've blocked the door, darling," she finally said, in a gentle and (Azula thought) almost condescending tone, as if Azula was too simple to understand the concept of how doors worked. "I can't come inside unless you let me in."
Azula frowned more deeply. Something was strangely confusing about that – the fact that her mother was trapped outside and couldn't come in – though she wasn't sure, yet, what it was that troubled her. It just didn't make sense in her mind, for some reason. The door shouldn't have stopped her, if she really wanted to get in. Ursa had never had any difficulty appearing to Azula in unlikely places before. But Azula sighed in aggravation, and pushed those ideas out of her mind, focusing her attention once more on watching the hole, getting her priorities nicely back in line. Her mother wasn't important.
"Look, mother," she said fiercely. "I don't know what you want, but this is really not the best time."
"I just – I just want to talk to you."
"Well, you're talking to me now, aren't you? So what is it you want?"
Ursa fell silent for a third time. And Azula didn't say anything more, concluding (with an odd mixture of triumph and resentment) that the woman clearly didn't want to talk to her all that badly, since she had so little to say. She comforted herself with the bitter idea that at least Ursa would disappear, as usual, once Azula ignored her long enough.
But, strangely and frustratingly, Ursa didn't just quietly cease to exist this time.
"Azula," she began again, hesitantly, just around the time Azula was starting to make herself forget about her. "I – I know you probably don't trust me. I understand. But I just wanted to say I'm... I'm sorry."
Azula frowned, resisting the urge to take her eyes off the hole and glance back at the door. "Sorry for what?"
"For whatever I did to you. And for leaving you, all those years ago. I only want to make it up to you, sweetheart – "
"Stop calling me that," Azula snapped. "I don't care that you left. I don't even know what you're going on about. Why don't you just leave, mother? You're bothering me."
It suddenly vaguely occurred to Azula that the officers in the room must be rather puzzled, listening to her talk to a woman who wasn't even there. Of course, they must have already thought she was insane. After all, she was, wasn't she? She liked them to think so, anyway. Perhaps this would only make them fear her more. Azula felt rather satisfied at that idea. Perhaps she ought to keep talking to her mother after all, to solidify the impression of her madness on them.
Then it suddenly occurred to her, vaguely, that all of them had jumped when her mother had first spoken. As if they could hear her too.
And that idea – that her mother might be existing outside of her head – felt wrong, instantly perilous. That wasn't how it was. So Azula quickly did her best to snuff it out, before she gave it too much consideration. Perhaps they hadn't jumped, after all. Perhaps she'd only imagined it.
But then – she wasn't sure. She didn't like not being sure. It made her feel angry.
"Azula," Ursa tried again desperately, "please, I wish you'd stop what you're doing. This is wrong – look at all the suffering you're causing! I know somewhere deep down – "
"No, you don't," Azula scoffed, almost laughing with fierce disdain. "You don't know anything. You're not even real. You can't tell me what I should or shouldn't do. You can't possibly understand. You're not even real."
Ursa paused again. "I am real, Azula."
"No, you're not!" Azula insisted, very rapidly rising to furious boil. "I already know you're not! There's no point in pretending! I've always known! See? See, I know you're not! I'm not mad! I know what's real and what isn't, mother! I can tell the difference!"
"I didn't say you were mad, darling. But I think you're confused – "
"No! I'm not confused!" Azula suddenly shrieked, as if Ursa's words had been some kind of trigger. She at last tore herself away from the window and rushed back towards the barricaded door, pounding violently on the walls to try to scare her mother away. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not! Don't tell me I'm confused! You're trying to confuse me! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!"
There was another brief silence, and then Ursa said sternly, "I won't leave you alone, Azula!"
"Why not? Why not?" Azula screamed, slamming wildly against the walls, pulling savagely at her hair. "Why won't you leave me alone? I don't want you around! I don't want you!"
Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be watching the hole. Erupting with cold panic, she raced frantically back to the window, scanning the deck below desperately – certain that someone, someone must have escaped from the hole in that brief moment when she wasn't watching. She didn't see anyone on the deck; but now she couldn't be sure. They might already be out of sight, hiding, waiting to undo everything. She couldn't be sure now.
It was her mother's fault. She'd done it on purpose. She was trying to distract her – she was trying to make her doubt.
"Azula – " Ursa tried again, more forcefully.
"You're trying to trick me!" Azula shouted. "You're trying to distract me! You want to ruin everything! I know that's what you're doing – I know your tricks! I know exactly how you think. You think I'm mad – you think I'm foolish enough to fall for it, but I know you! You're just looking out for Zuko, aren't you? You don't want me to get to the North Pole, because you're scared for Zuko! Well, you're not going to trick me! I know what you're doing, and it won't work! I'm going to get to the North Pole, and you won't stop me!"
"Azula, listen to me!" Ursa cried. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm only trying to help you!"
"You always say that!" Azula shrieked. "That's what they always used to tell me, but it's a lie! I know it's a lie – I know how things are! I don't believe you!"
"Please, this isn't – "
"Shut up! Shut up!" Azula scratched at her arms and tore her fingers through her hair. "Stop talking to me! I won't listen to you! I don't believe you!"
Ursa hesitated again. "What can I do to make you trust me? Please, Azula – I don't want anything to happen to you. I just want you to trust me."
"You can't do anything," Azula declared bitterly, after a brief pause, forcing herself to settle into a shuddering calm. She was calm – she was in control. No reason to panic. "I won't trust you. You're not even real. Just go away."
It was silent for a very long time after that. Azula kept expecting her mother to speak again, but she didn't. And she didn't. And she didn't.
And all at once, Azula was seized with another uncontrollable burst of anxiety. Had her mother really gone this time? Where had she gone? Suppose she went and talked to the others? Suppose she was conspiring with them, to undo all of Azula's carefully crafted plans and ruin everything?
No – but she wasn't real. She couldn't do that.
But – what if she did?
Azula listened. Her mother still wasn't talking.
Hesitating restlessly, Azula suddenly turned away from the window again and dashed towards the door, shouting frantically through the narrow opening, "Mom!"
"Yes! I'm still here!" said Ursa eagerly, and Azula could just glimpse her figure, standing just on the other side, gazing in through the slender crack between the door and the frame.
"Stay here!" she demanded severely.
"Oh!... A-all right, I will. But – ?"
"I know you're working with the others! You're trying to outsmart me, but I won't let you – "
"No, I'm – I'm not with the others, sweetheart – "
"Don't lie to me! You're going to stay here, so I know you aren't talking to them. That way I know it's safe."
"But – "
"Don't argue with me! Stay here and talk, or make noise or something, so I know you haven't left."
"Won't you let me inside?"
"No. Stay out here, and don't go anywhere. I'm not falling for your tricks."
That was the day before. It was today now, and the rain was falling miserably, and Toph was still hanging from the crane silently, and no one was anywhere, and Azula watched the hole in the deck, letting the rain wash over her face, thinking about how much she didn't want to think about her mother.
The woman was still out there, hitting her knuckles against the wall for some reason now – faint and slow and weary. Just rap... rap... rap... Azula didn't know why she wouldn't stop making that noise, but she wished the woman would just be quiet for once. As long as she kept doing that, Azula couldn't make herself forget that she was still out there (if she really was). And Azula didn't understand why it was taking so long for her to disappear again.
All Azula really knew was that she was getting thoroughly sick of her mother's existence. Or non-existence. Whichever it was.
No one was in the hole now. It was empty. The rain fell there, but the people were all elsewhere, in places where the rain – and Azula's savagely sharp eyes – couldn't reach them.
She let the dreary raindrops dribble over her face, and watched the hole. She hadn't taken her eyes off that spot for – who knew how long now? Days, probably. She was glad of the rain; it kept her alert. It felt unquestionably real.
We must be nearly there now, she thought. It couldn't be much farther to the North Pole. And all had been so quiet on the ship for such a long time now. So quiet. It was nice, that it had been so quiet.
And yet, it wasn't nice at all. It was horrible. Azula almost resented the quiet. She wished she knew where the others were. She didn't like not being able to see them, though she knew it couldn't be helped. As long as she could see, she felt in control. But when they were out of sight – who knew what they might be doing, down below? Who knew what they might find, what they might be planning, without her knowledge? She just had to trust that she hadn't made any mistakes, that she'd done things carefully enough that it wouldn't all come unraveled. But she hated leaving any details to blind trust; she didn't even trust herself, at the moment, and it was making her increasingly tense and unhappy.
If she couldn't trust herself, what was there to trust?
Her mother's haunting her hadn't helped at all. In fact, Azula could easily blame all her recent doubts and troubles completely on Ursa. Azula had been wondering now – wondering and wondering – if the woman might actually be real, after all, and not just the figment of her imagination that she'd grown so accustomed to over the past eight years.
And that idea, that Ursa was really there, made Azula question everything.
Had Ursa ever been imaginary, then? All these years, had it really been her, in the flesh, following Azula everywhere, haunting Azula, just making Azula think that she was losing her mind, when really her mind had been fine all along? And all those hallucinations had never really been hallucinations to begin with?
Azula couldn't handle that. She knew who she was – she knew. She knew that her mother wasn't real; she knew that she was mad – but by knowing it, that somehow made her less mad. Because she recognized it – she understood herself. Because at least she was in control. How many truly mad people understood that they were mad? – But Azula did. She was exceptional that way. She was in perfect control, even in the midst of her chaos.
But this disturbed her – this idea that maybe it really was her mother lurking outside that door. She particularly didn't like the idea that her mother might actually have been following her all these years, showing up at random to trouble her, to claim that she loved her, to try to stir up all her guilt, to try to make her think that she was crazy, to play with her head in ways Azula couldn't even fathom. She couldn't bear to think that someone – or everyone, perhaps – might have been playing with her head all this time: all this time that she'd believed she was playing with their heads. She couldn't stand the idea that her hallucinations might be real. It made her uncertain about everything else.
They'd all been saying she was mad for years. They'd brushed her aside, swept her under the rug, tried to pretend she was nothing, by telling her she was crazy, by telling her that they were confining her in order to help her. Help her! Of course – that was just what they wanted her to think. But she knew how it really was. She knew much more than they thought she was even capable of. She knew they were all just trying to send her into oblivion, where she wouldn't trouble them anymore, where she wouldn't disturb their happy, orderly, delusional worlds anymore. They were the ones who were really delusional. They wanted to enjoy their fake lives – at the expense of hers – without having her around to put them in their place, and force them to face true, brutal reality.
They think I'm mad.
She thinks I'm a monster.
And Azula knew she was; she was both of those things. She'd heard it all a million times. She'd known it was true. She preferred to think of herself that way, these days. She'd accepted those labels as truth, and run with them; they were identities, notions of herself, that had been present in her every action and word and thought, for years now. The monster – the predator – because it's the predator who always wins. The madwoman who understands her madness – who drives them mad with her madness – but who always, always knows – who's always in control. That was who she was now. What else did she have?
What else did she have?
But now her mother was threatening to be real, and it was all falling apart. Slipping out of her grasp. Now she didn't know – she didn't know anything for sure – she didn't know herself as well as she thought. And if she didn't know, then she wasn't in control. And then who knew what might happen?
Had they all been tricking her, all this time? Had they all been tricking her into believing she was mad, when she really wasn't, and she'd just played right into their game, thinking that she was in control, when it was really them all along? And all this time, she'd thought they were her puppets – but really everything she ever did was because they'd tricked her? All this time, when she'd delighted in how well she could frighten them, make them run, bring them to their knees, make them sorry, make them take notice – how easily she stripped them of their agency, of all that defined them, and watched them crumble... All this time, perhaps, it had just been a show, and they'd all been secretly laughing at her and despising her more than ever, rolling their eyes at her sad delusions of power?
Azula's fingers tugged at her hair fretfully, subconsciously. She anxiously grinded her teeth, gnawed at her lip, clenched her fists, clawed at her arms, dug her fingernails viciously into her skin, as if she meant to tear herself to pieces.
But perhaps her mother was just imaginary, still. And perhaps all the frightened officers in this room were also imaginary. Perhaps Azula was herself. Azula actually thought she could handle that idea – that none of them existed. It was easier than accepting the notion that her mother was real again.
Or – even worse – perhaps, all this time, Azula had been assuming that it was herself who was real, and Ursa who wasn't – but it was really the other way around. And Azula was only a figment of Ursa's imagination, entirely at the mercy of Ursa's whims. And all semblance of control really was utterly and absurdly delusional.
Azula's fingernails drew blood from her arms. She trembled uncontrollably.
She didn't know. She couldn't know – that was the worst part. There was no way to know for sure. But she wanted to know; she needed to. Not knowing was like not being able to see where everyone was; it meant that somewhere, below the surface, where she wasn't looking, things might be happening – things she couldn't control – and then everything might come undone. And that couldn't happen. It couldn't. The idea of it filled Azula with cold, hysterical, unbearable, crushing terror.
Her mother hadn't spoken for a long while. And the tapping sound had stopped now. Why was she so quiet all of the sudden?
"Azula," Ursa spoke up softly through the door.
Azula jumped at the sound of her voice – but an eerie giddiness passed through her. She got the feeling that her thoughts had somehow willed Ursa to speak. Perhaps Azula was still in control, after all.
"I'm still out here," Ursa said. "I haven't gone anywhere."
Azula didn't reply.
"See?" Ursa went on after a moment. "I told you, I'm not with the others. You have to believe me, sweetheart. I promise, I'm not going to do anything to you. Will you please let me in?"
"You're still asking to get in?" Azula tried to scoff, but her voice shuddered against her will. "Why don't you give it up already? I'm not letting you in here. You'll only ruin everything."
"No, I only want to talk to you," Ursa insisted. "How many times do I have to say it? I've been sitting out here for such a long time – "
"Why haven't you left yet?"
"You... you told me to stay."
Azula frowned, still watching the hole, and shook her head fiercely. "No, I didn't," she argued. But she wasn't sure.
"Yes, you did, darling. Don't you remember?"
"But – why would I ask you to stay?" Azula stammered fiercely, trying very hard to convince herself that she was right. "You – you're just trying to confuse me again."
"No, I'm not," Ursa said gently. "I promise, I'm not. You asked me to stay here so that you knew I wasn't talking to the others. And look – I'm still here. I'm not going to leave you, no matter what. But it's raining now, and I'm cold. Could I please come inside?"
One of the officers in the room suddenly spoke, whispering very tentatively, "You did ask her to stay."
Azula fixed him with a glower savage enough to incinerate him on the spot, and she raised her hand to do what her eyes couldn't on their own. The man flinched, bracing himself for the fiery punishment.
But Azula hesitated; her mind whirred and snapped frantically, scattered and discordant and uncertain.
So he knew Ursa was there. He could hear her too.
Then all of them must know. All of them must have known she was there, this entire time. Just as Azula dreaded.
Her heart pounded in a wild, bewildered frenzy.
That proved it, then. Her mother really was there. It was really her.
Quivering violently, Azula dropped her hand and fell back against the wall, beside the broken window, and the rain poured over her, and she breathed and breathed and breathed.
"Azula?" Ursa said again.
Azula grasped at her hair, yanked on handfuls of it so brutally that a few broken strands came loose in her fingers. She felt as if she'd been struck with an earthquake – a foundation-shattering kind of quake. The way her mother kept saying her name made her livid and hysterical. She suddenly blazed with a consuming, raging desire to run outside and punish her mother for existing, to make her stop talking, stop talking to her, leave her alone once and for all.
Hardly knowing what she was doing, Azula suddenly darted across the room, towards the door, and began to shove aside the heap of crates, chairs and equipment that she'd piled in front of the door. At last, she made just enough room to open the door, and pried it open fiercely. She thrust out her fist, poised to launch a stream of violent flames directly into her mother's face.
Ursa jumped back in surprise, and stood there, panting, gaping at Azula's fist as it trembled just inches from her nose. She could feel bursts of heat radiating from Azula's knuckles, but the flames didn't come immediately.
For a few seconds, Azula wrestled with the urge to incinerate her mother right there – to destroy her and make her stop being real, so that order could be restored and everything could go back to normal. And Ursa merely focused on breathing, slowly, carefully – transfixed on her daughter's fist, frozen to that spot in the falling rain. She closed her eyes and grimaced, waiting for Azula to hit her with a deadly barrage of fire.
But Azula didn't. And she didn't know why. And that only added a new layer to her bewilderment and paranoia.
"What are you carrying?" Azula demanded suddenly, quivering with rage and confusion. "You've got weapons, don't you? You want to kill me?"
"No, no," Ursa stammered breathlessly. "I'm not carrying anything. See? Nothing in my hands."
"Empty your pockets."
Ursa went through her pockets, her shoes, all the places where anything might be concealed, showing Azula that she had nothing – nothing but the necklace she'd found on the deck a couple of mornings before. Azula snatched the necklace from her hands, looked it over, then gave it back.
"Come inside," she finally said, lowering her fist at last and stepping aside to allow Ursa to come in.
Ursa blinked in astonishment for a moment, as if she couldn't believe Azula was actually letting her in; then she let out a slow, shaky breath, and stepped quickly inside before Azula changed her mind. And Azula shut the door behind her, and replaced the barricade in front of it, then hastily resumed her post at the window. She'd spent far too long not watching already, and felt even more furious at her mother for distracting her so much.
Ursa lingered by the door, letting her eyes wander over the room, taking in the sight of the captured officers, the navigation instruments, the dead bodies that Azula had left on the floor. She shuddered violently, and, strangely, two small tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks.
"What are you crying about?" Azula snapped at her impatiently, still shaking uncontrollably despite her efforts not to. "I thought you wanted to come in."
"Oh, I did, I – " Ursa shuddered again, brushing her hands across her face and collecting herself. "Thank you for letting me in."
"Just as long as you stop bothering me."
"Azula," Ursa said carefully, "we need to talk."
"Haven't we been talking?" Azula scowled. "What else could you possibly have to say to me that you couldn't say outside the door?"
Azula had once again taken up her post by the window, fixing her eyes on the hole in the deck, where no one was. Ursa watched her, and stepped carefully across the room – and all the officers watched Ursa, with expressions that wondered if she was there to liberate them, or if she was going to do anything at all. But Ursa didn't meet any of their eyes. She instead let her gaze drift across the equipment, and finally spotted the communication device, near the helm.
"Is it really necessary for you to keep these poor officers tied up like this?" Ursa asked quietly, walking across to the helmsman and examining the chains around his hands. His face had been severely burnt, she saw – boiling red blisters swelled across his left cheek. He watched her carefully.
"Don't touch them!" Azula shouted ferociously, turning a piercing glare upon Ursa, trembling, and beginning to regret now that she'd let her mother inside. "Get away from him right now! You go anywhere near any of them, and I'll kill you right now! Understand?"
"I wasn't going to do anything," Ursa said quickly, calmly, backing away from the helmsman and raising her hands in surrender. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Azula, I promise."
"Well, stay away from them," Azula commanded her again, still clawing nervously at her hair. "Just stay in one place, and don't cause any trouble. You wanted to be in here so badly – don't make me chain you up too."
"I'm sorry," Ursa said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."
As Azula turned her eyes anxiously back to the hole down below, Ursa hastily reached for the communication device, and flipped the little switch beside the speaker tube, stepping quickly, casually away from it.
"I just want to talk," she said.
"I just want to talk," Ursa's voice drifted faintly over the speakers.
Everyone down below immediately jumped to attention at the sound.
In one of the ship's storage rooms, Iroh – who'd been waiting there for several hours now with Suki, Yonten, Ashiro and a number of Ashiro's soldiers – sat up and gave them all a grave look.
"It's time," he said.
Suki nodded at him, then glanced at Yonten. "Ready?"
Yonten rose to his feet wordlessly, stepped behind a pile of crates, and re-emerged carrying a long, crudely-fashioned staff: a new glider that he'd cobbled together during the long waiting period, out of materials in the ship. He looked at Suki and nodded.
"I just want to talk."
The sound of Ursa's voice suddenly crackling over the speakers revived Toph from a delirious stupor. She hadn't been asleep, really, though unconsciousness had been creeping up on her here and there during her time up in the air. But not asleep – just elsewhere. Her attachment to reality had deserted her, for some indeterminate amount of time (minutes? hours? days? decades?). It came and went now – reality did. Mostly it went.
"Then talk," said a voice that sounded like Azula's.
Toph wondered if she was imagining the voices. They didn't seem real to her. Then again, nothing felt all that real to her now – except the rain, which she suddenly noticed was falling, drizzling over her, reminding her that she still existed. She was still hanging up here in the air, still blind, helpless, hungry, weak, and throbbing with a numb pain more thorough and pervasive than she'd even thought possible. Her arms had lost all feeling long ago, and her head felt as if it were going to burst, and her lungs labored for air. And now, she realized, she was also cold. Very, very, unbearably cold. She couldn't feel her bare feet anymore, thanks to the cold. She'd lost her arms, and now her feet – what was next? She was nothing but a torso, tied up on strings, beating with a heart that had to toil desperately just to get its usual job done.
"It's been so long since I left," Ursa's phantom voice went on, in a hazy dream. "What happened to you in all that time, Azula? Tell me everything. I want to know."
"You want to know? You want to know what you missed out on?"
"I want to know everything. I just want you to talk to me."
Was something actually happening now? Or was she just imagining it? Toph had long ago lost the energy to wonder when something was going to happen. She'd started to accept the idea that the others might no longer even exist – that maybe they'd never existed – that maybe her entire life had only been a happy, delirious dream, some feverish fantasy brought on to escape the horrible reality of hanging up here in these ropes, without relief.
"There isn't much to talk about, really," Azula's voice replied. "But maybe if you'd been here, you wouldn't have to ask."
It was getting colder now, Toph's thoughts observed, with faint indifference. It was colder than it was before. They must be getting close to the North Pole now.
Well, that was all right. The North Pole was probably a nice place. And at least something would happen when they got there. At least this nightmare would end, one way or another. She didn't much care how it ended at this point – just that it ended.
"I'm sorry," Ursa's voice sighed faintly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you, sweetheart. I didn't want to, you know. I just didn't have a choice."
Toph resented the rain, though – and she resented those disembodied voices. She resented them for reminding her that she still existed. She would have preferred to remain forgetful until this was over.
"I don't care," Azula's voice scoffed through the speakers. "It made no difference to me that you left. Honestly, nothing really changed."
Down at the small opening in the side of the ship, near the bow, where the anchor hung from its thick chain, two figures silently waited and listened.
Suki shivered in the icy wind that drifted inside, but she braced herself against it, glancing out through the narrow space beside the anchor. The side of the ship dropped steeply down to the frigid, choppy waves below. She looked up, and saw the edge of the upper deck and the railing far above.
Behind her, Yonten waited, fastening a small pouch at his waist, shouldering a thick blanket, and clutching his improvised glider tightly. Silently, they both listened to the voices crackling over the speakers, both breathing anxiously and feeling the frantic pounding of their hearts.
"I think you do care," Ursa said softly.
"Oh, fine. If that makes you feel better, then sure. I cared. But it makes no difference now, does it?"
"Here, give me the thing," Suki whispered to Yonten, though she had no real reason to whisper.
He frowned at her for a second. "The thing?"
"You know, the thing," she said impatiently, waving her hand. "The hangy-uppy-thing we made. You brought it, right?"
"Oh, that." He shook his head distractedly. "I was afraid you meant something else."
"Azula, you know I didn't want to leave, don't you?"
Yonten reached down, picking up the "hangy-uppy-thing" from where he'd dropped it at his feet: it was nothing but a very long rope with two iron bars tied at either end. He coiled it into a manageable bundle and handed it to Suki.
"Are you certain you can hold on to it?" he asked her.
She nodded swiftly. "You've got enough to carry already. I'll hand it to you once we're up there."
"That's nice, mother. Really. Now tell me the truth: you were a little relieved, weren't you?"
There was a long silence over the speakers. Suki and Yonten held their breaths and listened.
"What do you mean? Why would you think that?" Ursa finally spoke. It was difficult to tell whether her voice was wavering with emotion, or if it was just the effect of the communication system.
"You don't want to answer, do you?" Azula scoffed, and her disdain was clear even through the metallic reverberations of the speakers. "You're afraid. You're ashamed of it, aren't you? Well, it doesn't matter. I already know. I've always known."
"Azula, I don't know what I did to make you – I don't know what you must think about me, but it's all wrong. Please, believe me, darling. I love you. Of course I didn't want to leave you – "
"But you didn't even bother to say good-bye when you left... Did you say good-bye to Zuko, mother?"
Another, even longer, silence followed. The speakers buzzed with speechless tension.
"What did you tell him, when you said good-bye?" Azula finally spoke again, and her voice was shockingly soft – subdued and bitter.
"Azula, please understand – "
"I already understand, mother. You thought I was a monster back then, and you think I am now – "
"No, I – "
"And you're right. I am... You were sad to leave Zuko. Zuko's so good, isn't he? But not me. I'm the one who scared you. You always feared me. Some part of you was relieved that you wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. Admit it – isn't that right?"
"It was different with you. You didn't need... Your father always – "
"Oh, father! You want to bring him into this? Well, let me tell you about father. You know what he is? He's nothing but a powerless, useless failure. He thought he was the greatest in the world. I thought he was the greatest in the world! But in the end, all his power meant nothing at all. Nothing! In the end it was just gone, just like that, and everything he ever was was nothing!... And, really, you know, I don't think it ever actually meant anything to begin with..."
"I really hope she can pull this off," Suki whispered suddenly, trying not to let her doubts overwhelm her.
"I only hope nothing happens to her up there," Yonten said in a hush, closing his eyes. "Who knows what Azula might do once she realizes what's happening?"
Suki glanced at him. "It'll be all right," she said, though she sounded far from certain.
"Are you talking about your father or yourself, Azula?" Ursa's voice asked carefully.
"Oh, don't pretend like you understand me. You think you have some great insight into me, just because you're my mother? You don't know anything about me. You've never understood me, and that's why I scared you. That's why I scare everyone... Father was simple – he controlled people with pain and death and destruction. The problem was, people always resist their own destruction... But do you know what's more powerful than that? You know what destroyed father, don't you? The power to take away someone's self, to strip them of everything that defines them, and make them want to destroy themselves... That's what really does it. Father learned that the hard way. But not me – I'm stronger than father was, see? I know who I am. I came through that, and now I'm here. I'm the monster, and that's what I want to be... That's what I've got, understand? And if you think you can change that just by coming back after all these years and talking to me... I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed, mother."
Both Suki and Yonten couldn't help but listen to Azula's speech with morbid fascination. Suki shuddered suddenly, and Yonten looked at her anxiously, but didn't say anything.
After a moment, she glanced at him again, and put her hand on his shoulder, trying to feed some encouragement into him – and, by doing so, to make herself feel more confident about all this as well.
"I'm sure Ursa will be all right, Yonten," she said at last. "As long as everything goes according to plan."
He nodded slowly, letting his eyes fall to the ground pensively. Then he looked up at her again, with a feeble attempt at a wry smirk. "Wouldn't it be awful if this glider didn't fly?"
She couldn't help but chuckle – there was nothing else to do, in the face of this situation. "Honestly, there are a lot worse things that could go wrong," she said. "But yeah, I really hope it flies."
"Azula, you can't do this! You can't treat other people this way! You can't treat yourself like this! You don't have to be a monster."
"But that's who I am. Who else would I be?"
The great hole in the deck was empty, and the rain fell down to the metal floor below. But out of sight, in the dark corridors, watching the rain fall through the hole, listening to the two voices coming through the communication system, Iroh stood silently, grimly, with Ashiro and his soldiers. They were all crowded in the corridors, hidden from sight, waiting to emerge. Waiting.
"And what about when you're done, Azula? When you've driven everyone to their own destruction? What will you have then, when there's no one left?"
Azula paused for a long while.
"Then I'll have won," she finally answered, but her voice seemed to waver a bit. "That's what I'll have. That's all I need."
"So," Ashiro whispered to Iroh, "when she gives the signal...?"
"We still wait," Iroh replied quietly. "We wait for Suki and Yonten."
"Shouldn't we use the opportunity to get as many of us outside as we can?"
Iroh shook his head solemnly. "If we all come out at once, Azula will realize what's going on. And if she panics, that could be the end for Toph, and for all of us. We must wait until the threat is removed. Then Azula will have no more control, and we will be free to do whatever we need to."
"Is that really enough? Is that really what you want?" Ursa's voice went on softly. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure." But her voice trembled again, more noticeably.
"I don't think you are." Ursa spoke very gently, tenderly. "This isn't who you are, darling. You aren't a monster. That's who you've chosen to be. But you can choose differently."
"What other choice do I have?" Azula demanded – a bitter, broken, genuine question. "No! – I don't want to choose differently. This is who I am. I don't want to be anything else..."
Ashiro sighed anxiously. "I only hope nothing goes wrong."
Iroh nodded. "Me too."
"Haven't you always known, mother? Didn't you know from the beginning that I was a monster?"
"You're hurting yourself, sweetheart," Ursa whispered, gazing at Azula with tears in her eyes.
Azula was pulling at her hair again, and scratching at her skin again, without thinking, still staring at the vacant hole down below. Ursa could see bits of her torn hair falling from her fingers, drifting to the ground.
"Please don't do that to yourself," she urged her, when Azula didn't reply. Carefully, she stepped forward and reached out for her daughter. When her fingertips brushed against Azula's scratched arm, Azula flinched – but she didn't shout or push her away. Exhaling slowly, Ursa reached for Azula's hand – the one that was tearing at her hair – and gently held it, coaxing her fingers away from her hair.
Azula's eyes shifted slightly, but she didn't look at her mother.
"You used to have such beautiful hair," Ursa breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks. For a moment, as she gazed at Azula, she saw once again the beautiful, talented, precious little girl that had been hers years ago, still hidden beneath that wild and frightening exterior. Ursa almost absentmindedly combed her fingers through the ragged tangle of Azula's hair, brushing strands of it out of her face. And Azula simply stood there and let her, and didn't respond.
"When you were much younger," Ursa went on, with a very small, sorrowful smile, "you used to let me brush your hair and put it up for you. Do you remember that? It was a long time ago. You were still small – so small... Then one day, you wouldn't let me touch your hair anymore. You said you could take care of it on your own, and you didn't need me. And I never got it exactly the way you wanted it, anyway."
Azula finally took her eyes off the hole and looked at her then. And her expression was startlingly broken and vulnerable; and there were tears in her eyes. But she still didn't speak.
Ursa could feel her heart shattering in a million different ways, and her stomach churned a bit with the awareness of what she was doing. She suddenly despised herself immensely. But she didn't have a choice. She pressed on, forcing her thoughts to focus only on Azula, and not on herself.
"I never thought you were a monster, darling," she said, and her voice quavered and cracked, and an unstoppable deluge of tears lurked on the brinks of her eyes, poised to overflow. "I'm sorry – I'm so sorry if I ever did anything to make you think that about yourself. But that isn't who you are. That isn't you who have to be. You have it in you to be something better – I know you do... Azula. You know I love you, don't you? I always loved you. And if you didn't know that, then... then it's my fault for not showing it enough when you needed me to, and I'm so sorry."
She gently held Azula's face in her hands, and looked her in the eyes. And Azula stared back at her uncertainly, and suddenly choked, defeated by her own tears.
Ursa hastily gathered her daughter into her arms and held her tight, and Azula buried her face into her shoulder and began to sob quietly.
"Sh, sweetheart," Ursa breathed, shuddering with overwhelming sobs herself. "You're all right. You're all right. I'm here now."
The tears flowed freely, and she held Azula tighter. She brushed her fingers through her hair soothingly. She kept Azula's face carefully turned away from the window – carefully, carefully, pulled Azula away from the window, step by step – and held her, and hoped Azula would forget all else in the world, for now, for just long enough. And she held her, and cried with her, and hated herself, and hated herself.
"I'm so sorry," Ursa gasped, weeping helplessly, praying that Azula would know how much she truly meant it. "I'm so sorry, darling. Forgive me – forgive me, Azula. I love you... my beautiful girl. My beautiful girl, I'm sorry."
"That was it," said Suki, darting a glance at Yonten. " 'My beautiful girl.' She said it twice. That was the signal. Let's go."
Yonten hastily crawled out through the small opening beside the anchor's chain, wrapping the thick blanket around himself tighter so that it wouldn't fall. He pulled his makeshift glider out through the narrow space, and opened it up in the icy wind. For a brief instant, the wings got stuck halfway. But he quickly tapped it against the side of the ship, and then they conceded to open up the rest of the way.
Suki gave him a nervous look. "That's not a good sign."
"It will work," he insisted. "Hold on tight."
She adjusted the "hangy-uppy-thing," the tightly coiled rope with the iron bars at either end, around her shoulders securely, and then grasped onto his waist tightly as he sprang into the air on a burst of wind.
For a moment, the glider teetered and dipped precariously, and it looked as if they were both about to go careening disastrously into the churning waves. But Yonten quickly straightened it out, pulling upward, and soon they landed safely on the deck above, only a short distance away from the crane.
Once her feet were back on solid ground again, Suki released her grip on Yonten and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she quickly untangled the rope-contraption from around her shoulder and tossed it to Yonten.
"Hurry," she whispered anxiously. "Take care of her. But don't do anything to change her weight till I've gotten rid of the bomb."
"Please be careful," he urged her.
"I'll try not to blow us all up," she smirked, and the next instant she was on the crane, climbing nimbly up to the place where Azula had attached her bomb to it.
Meanwhile, Yonten took the hanging-contraption and the blanket, and took off into the air once more, soaring effortlessly out to the farthest end of the crane. His heart was racing frantically – his pulse pounded in his head – dreading with every passing second that Azula was going to realize that Ursa was only distracting her, that she would catch on to what was happening.
As quickly as he could, he took the hanging-contraption and lodged one of the narrow iron bars firmly through the metal grating of the crane. Then he let the other bar tied to the opposite end of the rope drop down. It fell far past where Toph was hanging, so he pulled up on the rope and adjusted it until it was about the right length, and carefully climbed down until he was perched on the bottom bar, within arm's reach of Toph.
Her eyes were closed, and her skin was pallid. Particles of frost had collected around her eyes and in her hair. She looked like she was already dead, and for a terrible second, he felt sick with panic.
"Toph!" he cried, reaching out and holding her face in his hands, hoping to revive her.
It took her a moment to respond, but then her eyelids fluttered faintly.
"Huh," she mumbled, feeble and distant. "Pipsqueak. Hey."
"We're going to get you down from here," he told her anxiously. "You're going to be all right, in just a second. But Suki has to take care of the bomb first."
"Something happening?" she murmured rather deliriously, and her mouth attempted to form a small smile. "About time."
"I'm sorry we took so long," he replied, with slight shame. "But it's going to be fine now."
Clutching his rope carefully, he extricated the thick blanket from around himself and wrapped it around her as tightly as he could manage, tying up two corners of it so that it wouldn't slip off of her.
"What's that for?" she muttered, frowning in dazed bewilderment.
"To keep you warm. Just in case – in case we can't – " he hesitated, grimacing a bit. "In case this doesn't work." He wished Suki would hurry and tell him that it was safe to get her down. "I, um – I brought you some food and water, too." Reaching into the pouch at his waist, he brought forth some bread and another small canteen of water. He gave her the water first – but she was too weak to move much, so he had to tip the water carefully down her throat.
She coughed and sputtered, but at least seemed to revive a little more.
"Suki!" he called over his shoulder impatiently. "What's taking so long?"
"Hey, this isn't as easy as you might think, okay?" she shouted back irritably – she seemed frustrated, and that worried him immensely. "You want us all to die in a horrible explosion? Don't rush me!"
Ursa held Azula tightly, and for several minutes, the two of them merely wept with one another. The officers in the bridge were all watching them closely, but Ursa ignored them, focusing all her thoughts upon Azula. Her heart was pounding with dread and anxiety, and she could only pray that the others had all heard her signal, and pray that they'd be able to do what they needed to do while Azula wasn't looking.
She only hated herself more with every passing second, with every new tear that fell from Azula's eyes. As if she hadn't done enough to harm Azula already, now this... What would Azula think, once she realized that the game was up? Once she realized that her mother had only been distracting her so that the others could regain control of the ship?
In just a few minutes, Azula would know. Azula would see what was going on. And when she did...
Honestly, if Azula killed her then, Ursa thought she could accept that.
"Azula, sweetheart," Ursa said tenderly, still combing her fingers through her daughter's tangled, torn hair. "No matter what happens from now on... I hope you remember that I always loved you. You'll remember, won't you? No matter what happens?"
Azula pulled away from Ursa and gave her a bitter look, her face stained with tears. "You're only saying that because you think you have to. Because I'm your daughter."
"No," Ursa protested, holding Azula's face in her hands and brushing her tears away. "I'm saying it because it's true. I love you, Azula. I do."
"But why should I believe you?" Azula argued faintly, still glaring resentfully at her. "I don't need you to love me, you know. You can tell me the truth. I'd rather know what you really think of me."
"I think," began Ursa, hesitantly – and she was miserably aware that she needed to draw this conversation out as long as possible, before Azula remembered to go back to the window – "I think you want me to tell you who you are, and you think you know what I'll say. And if I don't say it, then you won't believe me. But – Azula, you can't possibly understand how much I love you, and how much I wish you knew. I wish you'd believe me. If I'd known what you thought back then, before I left, I would have done a better job of making sure you understood."
"Why didn't you ever come back?" said Azula's voice over the speakers, in an accusing tone. "If you cared so much, why didn't you come back?"
Suki's fingers were growing numb in the icy wind. Her heart was practically bursting out of her chest in her urgency to get this done. Once the bomb was gone, they could get Toph down. Azula wouldn't be able to hurt Toph anymore, and she wouldn't have the option of simply destroying the ship either. They wouldn't have to fear anything she did – all that would be left would be to take care of Azula herself. But it all depended on this.
"Darling, I wanted to. I thought about you and Zuko every single day that I was gone. I missed both of you so much."
It all depended on this. But Suki couldn't figure out how to dislodge the bomb from the crane, and from Toph's ropes, without setting it off. She'd had experience with Azula's explosives before – many times before. She'd felt confident that she could handle this one, if she only got close enough.
But now she was close, and she was stumped.
"Don't lie. You missed Zuko. Just Zuko."
Suki was stumped. The problem wasn't really that the bomb was complicated; it was that it was too simple. Crude, even. It was just an ordinary explosive – a fairly basic one that Azula often used – lodged into a crevice in the crane, but with one end of a thick scrap of metal pressing down on it, practically crushing it, keeping it from sparking and detonating. And the other end of the metal lever was attached to Toph's ropes, just as Azula had described. That was all it was, but it was so tightly fixed by Toph's weight pressing down on it, Suki didn't dare even try to budge the lever or the ropes without the fear of setting it off.
"I missed both of you. And I worried about you constantly. But I couldn't come back. I ended up in a place that was very difficult to leave. And I was afraid – "
"Afraid of what?"
"Have you got it yet?" Yonten asked her again.
"Just give me a second!" Suki snapped, breathing on her fingers to warm them up, and hastily getting back to work on the bomb.
Meanwhile, up in the air, Yonten struggled to keep calm, certain that Azula was going to see them any second now. And he felt despicable, just hanging here beside Toph, yet doing nothing to get her down. He knew it couldn't be helped – not until the bomb was gone – but it was still agonizing.
"Well," Ursa's voice went on reluctantly, "I was afraid of what might happen to me if I came back. But mostly I was afraid of what you and Zuko would think of me, if you saw me again."
"Is it time to go yet?" Toph murmured faintly, leaning her face into the folds of the blanket wrapped around her.
"No, not yet. But in a second."
"Can't feel my feet..."
He glanced down at her dangling feet, completely bare in the icy wind, and groaned with a sudden, overwhelming surge of frustration.
"I forgot you were barefoot!" he cried in distress. "I should have brought you some shoes, or something! How could I have forgotten about – ? I'm so sorry!"
" 's okay," she mumbled, with a frail attempt at a smirk. "I hate shoes."
"I know," he shook his head fiercely. "But you need something! If we can't get you down from here... Your feet..." They already looked frighteningly blue.
"Yeah, they're pretty cold."
Yonten growled. "I can't believe I didn't think of it! I'm such an idiot!"
She grinned feebly into the blanket, letting her eyelids close heavily.
"What? You mean, because you killed grandfather?" Azula's voice said, and she almost sounded like she was laughing dismissively. "As if that really mattered. The old tyrant was bound to be killed by someone, sooner or later. Why should you worry about that?"
"I thought I was a monster too, Azula," Ursa said quietly. "It took me a long time to realize that I wasn't. Or, if I was, that it didn't matter. I didn't have to live like one for the rest of my life."
"Hey," Toph murmured, her voice muffled in the blanket. "In case I don't make it through this..."
"You will," Yonten insisted firmly. "Don't – "
"... Just wanted to say sorry for being kind of a jerk sometimes."
He hesitated, unsure how to reply, but desperately wishing she would stop talking as if it were already over, and even more desperately wishing that Suki would hurry up and tell him that the coast was clear, so he could get her down from here.
"Well," Azula snapped sharply, but quietly. "Good for you, mother. But I'm not like you."
"Also," Toph muttered after a moment, her head lolling to the side wearily, her eyes closed as if she were talking in her sleep, "also... I think you're kinda cute, Pipsqueak. But it's not a big deal or anything."
He only gazed at her for a second, heart pounding, trying to think of something to say.
"Azula – please, wait. Listen to me, don't – Azula, stop!"
The air cracked.
The lightning bolt arched from the bridge to Toph in the blink of an eye, before anyone even realized what had happened. Toph screamed and jolted in pain, and Yonten was instantly thrown backwards by the force of it, almost crashing headfirst into the ship's railing. He saved himself at the last minute with a frantic gust of air, grasping at the railing desperately to keep from plummeting into the sea.
"That's strike two!" Azula bellowed furiously at them, shrill and wild with rage. "Get back into the hole! Both of you! Or I'll kill her right now!"
"Damn it! Run!" Suki screamed, racing frantically to pull Yonten back over the railing. She took off sprinting for the hole as fast as she could, barely breathing in her desperate haste, throbbing with terror that Azula would kill Toph if she didn't run fast enough. Every inch of her blazed with overwhelming frustration, fury that she hadn't been able to get rid of the bomb quickly enough.
When she reached the edge of the hole, she glanced back over her shoulder, and saw that Yonten wasn't behind her. He'd turned back to Toph, launching himself into the air on a whirlwind, aiming for the iron bar still dangling from the end of their hanging-contraption.
"Yonten!" Suki cried. "What are you doing?!"
But he wasn't listening. He only just managed to propel himself far enough to reach the hanging bar, and grabbed onto it, pulling himself up as quickly as he could, grunting with the effort.
"Azula, stop! No!" Ursa's voice roared through the communication device. The sounds of a fierce tussle echoed over the speakers, throughout the ship.
"Get away from her, Airbender! Get back in the hole! NOW!"
Hastily, he adjusted himself so that he was positioned directly between Toph and Azula, so that she couldn't hit Toph again without hitting him first. Then, awkwardly and frantically, he started to take off his shoes.
"No! Azula, I won't let you – !"
"Let me go! – Leave me alone!"
"What... what... you doing?" Toph rasped, shuddering and twitching from the lightning strike, and barely conscious.
But he didn't answer; he only quickly, quickly, slipped his first shoe onto her right foot, and the other onto her left, drawing them tightly around her ankles so that they wouldn't slip off.
"Airbender, I'll kill you if you don't get away from her this second!"
"No! Don't hurt him! Please – I won't let you!"
"Let me go! LET ME GO!"
"Look! It's just shoes, Azula! He's just giving her shoes! That's all! He'll go – he'll go when he's done! He will! He just wants to give her shoes! At least let her have that! At least give her that, Azula!"
There was a strange, sudden silence over the speakers then. But no more lightning bolts came.
He quickly finished with the shoes, barely breathing, and then said hastily,
"We'll think of something else soon. It'll be all right. Just don't give up!"
"... 'Kay," Toph whispered, barely audible, and a little tear fell from her eye. She was far too demolished to smile, though she wanted to. "You... really got guts, mister... Don't die, all right?"
He hesitated, physically hurting at the thought of leaving her up there any longer.
"All right," he finally said, shakily. "You too."
Then, with a last regretful look, Yonten hastily propelled himself back down toward the deck, racing towards the hole and leaping inside.
Suki was waiting at the bottom, and the two of them both collapsed to the floor, panting furiously, pulsing with adrenaline and aggravation. She put her arms around his shoulders for a moment, and then snarled fiercely at herself.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster. I tried. I'm sorry. I should have been faster!"
He didn't say anything – he couldn't speak. Iroh and the soldiers emerged from the shadows then, staring at them both with expressions that ranged from burning frustration to utter despair.
But Iroh simply gazed at them both, and finally unleashed a weary sigh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment in bitter anger.
"It was a good attempt," he said softly. "We will think of something else. There's always something else... I only hope Ursa is all right."
As Azula watched the Airbender race back to the hole and leap inside, she blazed with consuming fury, bewildered by the fact that she hadn't just killed him for defying her, and enraged by her own bewilderment.
Once he was safely back in his place, she whirled on her mother and gave her a vicious blow across the face, knocking her to the ground hard.
The room spun before Ursa's eyes. She didn't bother getting up. She'd already accepted her fate.
But Azula didn't kill her, as she was anticipating. Instead, Azula ran to one of the crates that had been pushed in front of the door, and pulled out a bundle of chains, then strode back towards Ursa with a savage, violent gleam in her eyes. Pulling the woman up off the ground by her hair, Azula tied her up tightly with the chains, and finally shoved her aside with her foot.
Dizzily, miserably, Ursa gazed up at Azula. And Azula gazed back at her. Betrayal and regret passed between them, but neither of them spoke to one another any more.
Then Azula turned to one of the ship's officers, and, in a quivering shriek, commanded:
"Make it go faster! Bring up the speed! I want to be at the North Pole by tomorrow, do you hear me? Faster!"
Hrm. This chapter makes me super depressed. :'(
Also, I have to confess, Azula's really hard to write. Hopefully I did a satisfactory job with this. I honestly put almost as much thought into her as I did into Koh, but she's still much more complicated IMHO (mostly because she's actually human). Also, I really hope this chapter isn't too jarring... I've been trying to drop subtle glimpses into Azula's mind here and there before now, but I'm aware that she's been mostly just a dangerous phantom terrorizing the story up till now, so I really hope this feels natural and not just out of nowhere.
Anyways, next chapter should be coming VERY soon!