Once again, thank you so much for reading. Also, thanks to LunaEvanna Longbottom again for your review! I love reading what you wrote and it makes me so happy that someone is following along with my little story. To answer your question, I try mostly to stick to canon except where I specifically need to make a change, and that is the direction my story is going to take. I think my point in writing this is kind of to make a comment on militarized societies and how women's statuses can change in that context, as well as the inner-workings of a dysfunctional family, and I crafted my own character that could be an agent of some change, but possibly a victim of forces beyond her control in terms of societal expectation and propaganda. (sorry for the word vomit lol. I've been watching a lot of documentaries.)
Additionally, I think this chapter is kind of lame. I think it will pick up from here and have more action, interaction, and conflict. Thank you for reading!
The next day, Lyra woke up to stifling heat that she felt before she opened her eyes. Her blankets were in a pile at the end of the bed and her nightdress was drenched in perspiration. Not able to bear the clammy sheets glued to her skin, she jumped out of bed. The window in her room was black; the sun had not risen. She wondered how long it would take for her body to stop forcing itself awake so early.
Eager to wash the film of sweat off her body, Lyra took the bowl of water from the pitcher in the corner of the room and rinsed her face, but she could find no soap, nor a towel. She clattered about the room, trying to find something with which she could clean herself, dripping water across the stone floor, but finding nothing, settled for wiping her face in her bedclothes. Getting a germ of inspiration, she brought the pitcher over, dipped a corner of the sheet in the water and used that to give herself a sponge bath. She wished she could wash her hair, but there wasn't enough water, nor anything to lather it up with. How did people in the Royal Palace bathe?
Lyra reluctantly stepped into her dress and fastened its sash about her waist. The fabric stuck to her sweaty, sticky skin. She pulled her hair into a ponytail at her neck; surely no one important was up and about at this hour where she would need the hairpiece from Lihuang. She surveyed herself in the reflection. There was no denying the resemblance between herself and Ursa, but somehow Lyra's features were harsher – lips thinner, eyes smaller, nose more pointed. It was as though an artist had properly blended the shading on Ursa's face, but left Lyra with a harsh penciled scrawl. Abruptly she turned from the mirror. Nothing to be done.
Slipping on her shoes, Lyra walked to the door that led outside and, pulling it open as silently as she could manage, crept into the dark courtyard. At once the fresh air rushed into her nose and a light breeze wafted gently over her face. Glancing around, she could see no one about. Choosing left at random, she ducked into the exposed corridor framing the garden, striding along it until it joined the wall that connected it to the greater palatial complex. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, except that she really needed to wash.
After a few more moments of walking in the brazier-lit hall, she finally saw a silhouette up ahead.
"Uh, excuse me!" Lyra called, quickening her pace.
The figure paused and looked up – her arms seemed to be filled with a hamper of dirty laundry. As Lyra hastened closer, she saw it was an ancient, wrinkled woman dressed in the same garb as all the servants. When she took in Lyra's appearance, her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose. "Yes?"
Almost skipping down the hall to get to the figure, Lyra spoke while walking, "I'm sorry, I'm a bit lost. I'm trying to find where to draw water for a bath."
The servant kept her washing on her hip, not taking her eyes off Lyra, looking almost haughty. "Draw water?" Her tone was derisive.
"Yes," Lyra affirmed.
The crone rolled and smacked her lips in an irritated, impatient sort of way. "What's your name, girl?"
"Song Lyra," she answered, wondering why the woman was so unfriendly.
"And who might you be, Song Lyra? I've never seen you hereabouts," the servant sniffed distastefully.
"I'm Princess Azula's new governess," Lyra told her. "Princess Ursa is my sister."
The old woman's eyes grew large at this comment. When she spoke again, her voice had changed completely to an unctuous drawl. "Oh my, well that's Old Yan's mistake, Madam. You'll forgive this old woman, won't you? I should've known that you were the little princess' new nanny."
"O-of course," Lyra stammered, taken aback by this about-face.
Old Yan's wrinkled face set into a self-satisfied smirk. "Now what were you looking for, Madam Song? You said you needed a wash?"
"That's right," Lyra replied. "Is it possible to get a basin in my room?"
Old Yan blinked, the hint of superiority casting her gaze again. "Surely you'll wash in the baths, Madam, not in a basin."
"Oh, well, I don't know – "
"This way," Old Yan cut through Lyra's babble and turned to shuffle down the hallway.
…
This early in the morning, the baths were blissfully empty, and after an enjoyable soak, she felt optimistic about the day. When Old Yan had shown her the bathhouse located in a steamy corner of the palace grounds, she had finally gotten an idea of her bearings. Pleasantly refreshed after her wash, she walked through the estate. Now there were more people about, servants, but also courtiers, mostly military men doing their morning exercises, but the occasional noblewoman too, hoping to catch the dawn light for her watercolors.
Lyra had studied Azula's schedule yesterday and she knew that the Princess would be having firebending lessons starting at dawn, but she wasn't sure how to get to the pavilions where the sessions were held. After a quick stop to her room to pin in Lihuang's hair, she flagged down another servant who led her there easily, guiding her to a large arena-like setting. This must be where they held Agni Kais, Lyra thought with a dawn of realization. But at this early hour the stands were empty, and the only people in sight besides Lyra were a wizened old man sitting on a little stool and a younger man, who was dragging around piles of hay, evenly distributing them on one side of the court.
As she came into view, she saw from a distance the older man mouth something and gesture at her. His younger stooge looked up and after a shake of his head made a beeline for her. His legs were long and with his large strides, he was soon directly in front of Lyra.
"I'm sorry, madam, this arena is off-limits." His voice was polite but firm.
Lyra eyed the handsome young man. He was much taller than her, and well-built; his musculature evident despite the loose clothing he wore. This was the first test of her ability to influence, she thought. "I beg your pardon, sir," she said in her gentlest voice, attempting to channel Lihuang. "but I thought that Princess Azula would be having her firebending lesson here?"
"That's right," the man replied, still watching Lyra skeptically.
Returning his gaze and trying to look meek, Lyra continued in her gentle tone, "You see sir, I am the Princess's new governess and I had hoped to observe the lesson. I won't get in the way. I am strictly here to get a rhythm of the Princess' day-to-day."
"Hmm." The man scrutinized her, seeming to consider. She tried to make herself seem unassuming and docile. "I shall have to ask my father. Please wait here."
Lyra skulked in the shadow of the arch marking the entrance to the pavilion while the young man approached the older man. After a moment's discussion, the young man turned back towards her and gestured her inwards.
Triumphant, Lyra almost skipped inside and approached the pair. The old man raised himself off his stool by the help of his cane and beckoned Lyra closer. When she was finally within earshot, the old man spoke in a feeble, high-pitched warble. "Come, come, my dear. My son says you are the Princess' new nanny?"
"Governess, actually," Lyra corrected. "Please sit, sir. There is no need to stand on my account."
The old man collapsed gratefully back on his stool. "And you wish to observe the lesson?"
"Yes," Lyra answered hopefully.
"Well I have no objection, no objection at all," the old man informed her airily, waving a wrinkled hand adorned in gaudy gold jewelry. "What did you say your name was?"
"Song Lyra," she stated promptly.
"Song…Song…?" The old man murmured to himself, stroking his long beard with the ring-covered fingers. "Are you related to her Royal Highness, Princess Ursa?"
"Yes," Lyra told him eagerly. "She's my sister."
A broad smile stretched across the ancient face. "But of course, you're her spitting image! A wonderful lady she is. We are all thankful for the day Prince Ozai wisely picked her to be his bride."
Lyra felt that her family had been rather less lucky, but she said nothing except, "May I enquire as to your name?"
"I am Master Chen," he squeaked. "This is my son, Chen Jing. He is my youngest son and assists me in my tutelage. He is a firebending master too, you see, but his pride has not yet been tempered by the cold hand of experience."
"Dad…" Jing grumbled, looking embarrassed.
Lyra bowed and murmured dutifully, "It is my honor to make the acquaintance of two men such as yourselves."
"Ah, and there are the youngsters now!" Master Chen gestured with his cane at the arch where Lyra had entered through. She wheeled around and saw, sure enough, Azula marching confidently towards them, Zuko not far behind her, though he was rubbing his eyes and appeared to be dragging his feet.
"Hello children!" Master Chen said cheerfully, raising himself off his stool again and performing a deep bow.
"I suppose you should go watch from the stands," Jing suggested to her, gesturing behind him. "Azula always takes the left side, so maybe you want to sit there."
"Oh, ah, certainly," Lyra affirmed and followed Jing's indicated finger to the left-hand side. She sat in the third row, hoping to get a good view. The left side of the arena was the side without the hay, and also where Master Wu's stool was resting.
The lesson was ordinary enough from what Lyra knew of such things. The children began with breathing exercises and stretches, followed by holding basic stances, and finally building up to punches and kicks. Lyra wasn't sure, but she thought somehow Azula's movements looked more precise than Zuko's, who did not seem to have the same control over his limbs that she did.
However, when the warm-up was completed, it was Zuko who went towards the bales of hay with Chen Jing, who promptly lit a bale of hay on fire. Azula, who was looking longingly at the flames smoldering on the stacks of straw, went towards Master Chen, still perched on his little stool.
Observing from her vantage point, Lyra got a measure of the instruction the children were receiving. Zuko appeared to be trying to prevent the fire from consuming the bale of hay in an exercise in self-control. He wasn't very good at it – no matter how red his face turned, nor how deep his scowl grew, the fires on each stack steadily consumed it, seemingly unaffected by the efforts of the boy.
On the other side of the arena, Azula seemed plagued by the opposite problem. She had returned to stances and footwork under the placid direction of Master Chen, whose feeble little voice drifted unconcernedly over his audience. " – slowly, Princess, we must be certain to get every stance exactly right before we move on to the next one."
Azula's face did not betray the same emotion as Zuko's, but it was still not difficult to see the disdain that curled her lip, nor the amber eyes threatening to roll.
When it was time for a break and Zuko and Chen Jing both made a beeline for the tray of hot tea that servants had brought to the edge of the pavilion, Azula dashed to the final bale of hay, which was still crackling merrily, and it immediately shrank to the barest flame which she held for a while until letting it go out. Smoke rising from the only pile that had not been completely reduced to ash, Azula spun around on her heel and looked directly at Lyra, something indignant in her posture. Lyra gazed back at her and gave her the smallest of nods.
…
When the lesson was over, Azula skipped up to where Lyra was seated, her expression determined. "Did you see me, Aunt Lyra? Did you see how I can do my lessons and Zuko's too?" Her voice rose in excitement. "But for some reason Master Chen won't let me go to the next level!"
"Yes, I saw it, Princess Azula," Lyra affirmed, getting to her feet and brushing dust off her dress. "You were certainly superior." The pair began descending the steps of the seating together; Azula bouncing around her impatiently.
"Are you going to yell at the old gasbag and force him to teach me the next set?"
Lyra paused when they reached the bottom of the rows of benches and lowered her voice intently. "I wouldn't put it that way, but maybe 'the old gasbag' will listen to reason. Run along to your next lesson and I'll see if he'll talk with me."
Azula grinned delightedly and turned on her heel to dash out of the arena, giving Zuko a hard prod in the back as she overtook him effortlessly.
Master Chen offered Lyra a beatific smile as she approached him on his tiny little stool. "What did you think of the lesson, Madam Song? Both children will be apt firebenders, I think."
"I'm certain of it," Lyra agreed, smiling back. "Of course I know very little of such things. But Princess Azula has expressed her passion for the art to me and I know she is very eager to move forward. In your opinion, Master, when do you think the princess will be ready for the next level?"
"The princess is ready now," a deep voice said from behind her. Chen Jing came into view, depositing some stone weights into a crate. "She displays more aptitude than Prince Zuko, despite being two years younger."
The old Master Chen sighed, looking rather irritated. "As I have told you before, my son, in my lessons we stick to the tried-and-true syllabus. The princess has raw power, yes. But she is not mature enough to understand the responsibility that comes with wielding flame."
Chen Jing made no answer, but slammed the crate shut in a huffy sort of way. Lyra, feeling awkward and frustrated, wrung her fingers together aimlessly. Master Chen seemed unaffected, however, and got to his feet at an achingly slow pace.
"And now, time for lunch I think," he said brightly, leaning forward on his cane. "Madame Song, you are of course welcome to join us, if you wish. We are having soup noodles."
"No thank you," Lyra replied, her voice sounding rather colder than she had intended. "I meant to observe Azula's afternoon lessons. Thank you for letting me watch." She offered both father and son a hasty bow and then left the arena at top speed.
As she sped-walked through the estate, she felt pangs of annoyance. This was going to be harder than she had thought, and she did not want to involve her sister or Prince Ozai – getting Azula educated was her area and she refused to admit defeat. She had tried asking nicely – what other weapons did she have at her disposal?