"I love your idea of showing Azula's way step by step by bring back the lessons Azula has learned on her way." Thank you :) it has been fun coming up with these lessons for her and letting her grow as a person little by little, even if she doesn't realize that she is. She's making progress even if she slips up occasionally. "I love how you characterize children and their questions here." And thanks again. Children are harder for me to write lol. Like it is a task to not use big words and flowery language. xD But yeah, children are little menaces! They have no filter and a lot of things to ask. And yeah that is why Azula is uncomfortable with kids but also, as you said, they are more innocent in their questions and don't really scheme or connive when posing them. But at the same time, they tend to blab about what they hear lol. "Azula is still hesitant and doesn't open up about her past" Yes, she's still trying to feel him out and decide if it is safe to trust him. But he is being patient and that helps a lot. "Good and bad memories will be linked with this name." Oh absolutely, he is one of several people that play a role in her past. "A somber mood and still not totally filled with hopelessness and sadness." Yeah, in this one there's a bit more hope. "Take care of you and keep on having fun with your stories." And you take care as well! :D
The little girl giggles as she watches Azula tug at the turnip and topple over when the leaves come free without the vegetable itself. She lands with a soft thud and an off. Her cheeks burn to a degree that would make her fire feel cool.
The man laughs, "no, no, you do it like this."
Azula sticks her lower lip out and folds her arms over her chest.
"You gotta take it by the base, if you just pull from the leaves then you'll just get a fist full of leaves. I mean unless you get lucky. But let's not test our luck because that just makes it harder." He approaches a new turnip and grips it as close to the vegetable as possible and then gives it a pull. It comes free, dirt shaking from the roots. He brushes it off and tosses it into a wheelbarrow. "Sometimes, if it's really stubborn, you have to dig around it a little."
Azula looks at her hands and furrows her brows. She has yet to get dirt under her fingernails and that is not part of her plan.
He laughs again, "yeah, you're going to have to get them dirty."
"I don't mind getting them dirty. I just don't want to have to dig dirt out from under my nails."
"In other words, you don't want to get them dirty."
Her eyes narrow. "I don't have to do this, you know."
"You do if ya want old man Ojihara to pay you."
Her pout only grows. She opens her mouth but he beats her to it. "And I'm not going to do your share for you."
She holds her glare as she wraps her fingers around the leaves and gives the turnip a hard yank. It jerks free to reveal the most pathetically small turnip that has ever been harvested. With a sharp inhale through her nose, she chucks it into the wheelbarrow. The man laughs, "I guess that, that's a good start."
"Sure, whatever." She grumbles.
"I ken eat that 'tur'ip, it's me size." The little girl calls from her perch. She kicks her legs at the air. "Ken I have that tur'ip?" She asks the man.
"You'll have to ask Ojihara."
"Just give her the turnip." Azula rolls her eyes. "He won't miss one, especially not one that small. My mongoose-lizard wouldn't even want that." She plucks the turnip from the pile and tosses it to the girl who beams from ear to ear. At least someone appreciates her hard work.
The man chuckles again. "I take it you're the heroic sort?"
Azula tilts her head.
"Stealing food from privileged folks and giving it to children. That's like, classic hero stuff."
"I'm not a hero. That turnip is simply insignificant and won't change the world or anyone's life one way or another. She's going to eat it and forget that I ever gave it to her and Ojihara will never know."
She can tell that he is going to laugh again before he does. "Are all of you Fire Nationals so serious all the time?"
"Yes."
She yanks another turnip, this time it is worth placing amid the others. She doesn't want to smile, because it is a really stupid thing to smile over but she does. "I got it." She remarks smugly. "I harvested a turnip."
"Great, only twenty or so more. Hopefully you'll be this enthusiastic about the rest of them."
Evidently she is at least to the degree that she has made it into a contest; if she can harvest more turnips than him then she is the superior, more skilled harvester. And that is something to take pride in.
He doesn't understand why she is so mad that he won the competition that he never knew he was in.
"I think that you did good!" The little girl declares as they pack it in.
Azula wipes a beat of sweat off of her forehead. Agni, could she use a shower and those luxurious soaps and shampoos from the palace. She smells like hard work and dirt and turnip. She hates all three odors.
"So what if he got more. Yours look better. They're more purple."
Azula isn't sure that purple is the color she would use to describe them, but the compliment still stands. "You are correct." She agrees. "I'd wager that you're the only sensible person in this town."
"I don'no what that means." She shrugs. "What's a sen-si-bowl?"
"Nevermind." Azula sighs.
"Are you gonna stay here or are you gonna go to Chin? My dad says that yer goin' to Chin?"
"I am, eventually." She replies. "I'm just staying here a bit longer than I thought I would."
"Good, 'cause I like you and you can't leave 'cause I said so."
Azula quirks a brow. "Oh? And how do you think that you're gonna...going to make me stay?"
She thinks for a moment. "I'll tell dad and he'll make you stay." She flashes a smile as though she has had achieved some grand victory.
"If you say so."
"I'm Caihong, who are you?"
"Rikka."
The man appears behind her and scoops the child into his arms. He tosses Azula a pouch of coins.
"This is more than…" More than she earned, she knows that much. She is woefully horrible at harvesting turnips. And she didn't exactly lose with grace.
"I gave you some of my share. For keeping Cai entertained." He grins. "She really likes you."
That day she learns what it is to be humble.
.oOo.
Azula exhales as they run the comb through her hair. The scent of cedar wood rises off of the softly steaming water and mixes with that of the incense that wafts gasps of smoke into the air. She is surprised that the serving girls remember what scents she likes, it is minute detail. She feels the comb against her scalp, a much welcomed sensation as a different serving girl massages delicate smelling lotion into her calloused palms. Another still, scrubs at her feet, carefully grinding away the roughness of a long walk. She hadn't realized just how terribly her feet were aching until they began to work the knots out of them.
"Grapes?" Offers another servant.
Azula shakes her head, content to bask in the pampering. It has been such a long time. She almost feels as though she should be receiving such tender treatment. As leisurely as it is, it feels intimidatingly foreign to be so sublimely indulged. Somehow it feels wrong to let them work the callouses out of her hands and feet and the dirt out of her hair and pores. It is unfathomably wonderful to have them scrubbing aptly smelling soaps over her face, to feel clean for the first time in ages. Yet her stomach still flutters.
The servant tentatively sets the princess' hand down and takes the other. The other servant is still working on her first foot. The servant with the comb withdraws, "your hair is washed, I'll fetch some ribbons and hair ornaments."
Azula nods.
"Would you like your nails polished?" Asks the servant working on her left hand.
She nods again. She hasn't worn polish in ages. And her nails, chipped and broken, could use some filing and evening.
The other serving girl puts her left foot down and takes the right. This time her lips press into a grim line. "I'm going to have the palace physician look at this one."
The fluttering in her belly swells. Admittedly, that foot has been sore but she has since grown used to it. "Why, what's wrong with it?"
"It's swollen and inflamed."
Azula knows that she has tensed when the girl working on her hand pauses to massage her shoulders. She relaxes again and the girl resumes her task. Azula closes her eyes and inhales through her nose.
"Good." Murmurs the remaining serving girl. "Just try to relax."
She does, mostly. The physician examines her foot as the team of serving girls fix her hair up and apply a subtle layer of makeup to her face. Significantly less subtle is the amount they apply to her neck. She doesn't stop them, looking at the scar opens the ones in her mind.
"There's a slight infection." The doctor declares. "I'll get that cleaned up and get you some ointments."
"That sounds well." Azula replies.
He gives her a slight smile. "When you are finished here, I'd like to give you a full examination. We'd like you to be in good health for when your homecoming is announced."
"Yes, I would like to be in good health." She agrees. Though she doesn't feel particularly ill, it couldn't hurt to make sure. She supposes that she might be at least slightly malnourished, her hair doesn't grow as fast as it used to and its color is less vibrant.
It doesn't piece together until he has left the room; they are going to parade her in front of all of Capital City. The amount of attention that Zuko had garnered with his arrival after three years was record breaking. She has been out of the public eye for nearly six; one spent institutionalized, another two self-confined to the palace, three in the Earth Kingdom, and an additional two months trekking from Yon Rah to Capital City.
Her mouth runs dry. She used to love the attention, loved standing over her subjects and looking down upon the crowd. She isn't sure that this is still something she will relish in.
She isn't sure how they will take to her after so long.
They took kindly enough to Zuko's return…
"Hey, Azula!" Sokka greets.
.oOo.
His stomach does a little flop at the sight of her. Her servant just finishes applying a soft shade of red to her lips. It is like looking into the past; save for shorter hair, he is looking at the girl he'd pinned to the wall during an eclipse. She is styled to almost uncanny perfection; well manicured nails, soft skin-sunburns, scars, and freckles concealed, long and pretty lashes…
He suppresses a shudder.
"Sokka." She returns the greeting.
He clears his throat, "how are you?"
She is quiet for a moment. "My foot is infected." She turns it inward and back outward again.
"How bad?" He asks.
"The physician says that it isn't anything to worry about."
But he has a suspicion that she is worried about something. The inquiry burns on his tongue but this time he leaves it there, lest she make another remark about how many questions he always has for her. He wanders closer and asks something more mundane instead, "it must be nice to get spoiled again."
He catches the slightest upward quirk of her lip. And he realizes that his initial assessment is wrong; there are other differences between she and who she had been. Though her makeup and hair are fixed up similarly, her stance isn't so rigid and her eyes are warmer. At the very least, some of the intimidating coldness has left them. And up close he can see the more prominent scars beneath the concealer.
She smells nice too, he realizes. And this time without the tinges of smoke.
"Yes, quite." She answers. "They are going to announce my arrival."
He laughs, "I feel like that's a given, right?"
She works her jaw, slightly sticking her lip out. "Yes, I suppose."
"You want me to come out with you when they announce…"
She shakes her head, "that would look ridiculous." She pauses. "I mean, I need to go by myself or I won't be taken seriously. I am stable. I can take care of myself."
"I think that everyone knows that."
"Perhaps." She replies. "But I need to know that everyone knows."
The servants take a step back, one steps forward again and applies one final stroke of eyeshadow and holds a mirror up for her. "That will suffice." She says.
"If you are ready…" The physician prompts.
"I'll see you at dinner, Sokka."
He watches her walk away. She limps slightly and he guesses that the doctor has advised against putting her full weight on that foot. He wanders back down the hall and to his room. He wonders how Katara and the others are going to take to Azula when they finally arrive. He hopes that they will give her a chance. He can't explain it but he thinks that it would sting to see her get discouraged and leave again.
He can't explain it, but he wants her around.
.oOo.
Tomorrow, they tell her. They will have a speech prepared and her outfit ready. Tomorrow everyone in the capital will know that their princess as come home. Tomorrow word will spread fast and she is certain that her moment of peace will have subsided.
It has already done so, she reminds herself, her fingers curling around the stone in her pocket. Her thumb brushes over the engraving.
She sits down beneath the maple and lets the wind rustle the fabrics of her robes. The silk caresses her skin pleasantly, like the stokes of a lover's finger. More like the spectral finders of a lover gone.
She swallows, her lower lip trembling.
She draws her legs up to her chest
The sun bathes the garden in a wash of picturesque orange. She leans her head against the tree and watches it sink. When it reaches the bottom, she closes her eyes. The night air has a chill, like a death gasp. She grips the stone tighter. She doesn't notice Zuko taking a seat next to her. She doesn't wake when he lifts her up and carries her back to her room. Doesn't stir when he pulls the covers over her shoulders.
She dreams of arms around her.
Of a gleeful laugh.
Of a sunrise and a warm breeze.
It smells faintly of turnip and pine resin.
It smells of security, of hope.