The curtains were drawn. Light shimmered from within.
That was all that had been seen, servants not wanted therein.
Days to a week, Azula lay practically catatonically, her lie shattered.
Only basic bodily needs fulfilled. The rest- had they mattered?
XXX
Her brother on the throne; father surrounded by cold stone; mother still not home.
Her nation to the sky grown. Now to filthy earth mown.
Her friendships to the wind blown. Her state: all alone.
If she had the strength, she would groan, groan, groan.
OoO
Strolling through the courtyard, his sister on his mind, Zuko had for Iroh a request.
"Uncle, Azula has locked herself in her room. Would you talk to her? I think it'd be the best."
"Really? Helping you was not as much of a struggle because I had Lu Ten. No daughters before she… went to rest."
"I am sure of it, Uncle." "I will trust your judgment in this matter, Zuko." Iroh went to prepare for the test.
XXX
As he prepared his tray, Iroh remembered his tea times with Azula.
She was, at best, mildly cordial. At worst, acerbic. Making her smile, to him, an enigma.
He steeped the Gongmei, regretting his omittances while Ozai molded her as his replica.
Setting the tea sweets, and heading for her room, he prayed to Agni, Tui, and La.
OoO
There resounded a knock at her door. Azula croaked, "Get out of my sight."
"But I made your favorite, Gongmei," replied Iroh, the oaf beaming with delight.
"I don't need weed water! I need the crown in my hair! I need you traitors burnt in broad daylight!"
"Why do you think these things, Azula? Would you like to air your grievances over tea? Just this night?"
XXX
Lips parched, she accepted his gambit on one condition: "If you whisper this to anyone, I won't give you an urn."
"Your secret is mine." Tray on the desk set and cups poured, Iroh continued his gambit, hoping she would learn.
Iroh set out the tea sweets like Pai Sho pieces, the game's objective not harmonies but easing her soul's burn.
Seated by her bed, he played his next move: wait and listen, show her a face of genuine concern.
XXX
The seconds passed, Azula glaring, not caring, then, despairing of him leaving, beginning.
"You're not the one reviled as a monster. A friendless, remorseless sociopath," Iroh wincing.
"He's Mother's perfect son. Your second. The only one who cared for me is in the dark, withering!
Now he's spreading 'peace and healing' as our nation's might is crumbling."
XXX
She halted, trembling, not her former façade resembling. "She'll come back, but not for me.
Oh, I heard her. 'What is wrong with that child?' Thought me a monster," his visage that of pity.
Sipping, chuckling, weeping, she sobbed, "Soft smiles for him. Sad ones for me, probably out of charity.
Oh, what does it matter? She's probably remarried with a perfect doll of a daughter," her laughter falsely giddy.
XXX
There fell a heavy silence, Azula pained and Iroh deep in thought.
"Your mother was one of the kindest souls I knew." At a glare, he stopped.
The glare softened to indifference and a sigh. "Go on with your lecture," thinking it naught.
"She used to speak of Ozai's caring eyes before they grew cold, before the deeds he wrought.
XXX
Dearest to her heart were you and Zuko." Despite the skeptical brow, he soldiered on.
"I remember one night, while enjoying a first monsoon, she was off to the side in the pavilion.
Her hands were shaking, so I asked her what was troubling her. Her eyes darted to you," her indifference gone.
"She said that, despite all she tried, her precious daughter was being poisoned by a man whose love he had withdrawn."
XXX
Looking down to steel himself, Iroh continued, "She remembered hugs and laughter at the beach.
She spoke of that evening when the two of you pranked Ozai by putting umeboshi-grapefruit juice in his drink. He clawed for anything in reach!"
Azula huffed a laugh. Smiling at his success, he reached for more. "Oh, did that make you two screech."
Sighing and piercing her with compassionate eyes, he whispered, "Ursa mourned for those moments before he sucked your joy like a tick-leach."
XXX
"She thought a piece of her was being torn to shreds." He stood, drained his cup, and yawned.
"Forty-five degrees past sunset. Best turn in for the night." He wondered what progress his chat had spawned.
Taking the tray, he left without a reply. Walking down the hall, he hoped progress there would be when Agni dawned.
Lying in bed, Azula utilized her best talent: calculation. Analysis. The conversation on her mind the weight of a maund.