Chapter Text
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Azula is eleven and she's standing next to her mother's bed. Mother is staring at her as if mother is trying to imprint the shapes of Azula’s face into her memory. There's no blood, but the scent is still thick in the trapped air, sickening and overwhelming, and all Azula can think of is 'mother is dying, isn't she?'
Somehow, mother is not even a little bit concerned.
"Azula, look. Look at your baby brother," mother says gently. Azula acquiesces, peering down at the wrapped bundle in mother’s arms. She blinks, studying the baby hiding in her mother’s embrace.
Azula has seen babies before, of course. They're loud, overbearing, and annoying. Grotesque little creatures with untainted innocence. They're revolting to look at.
But her newborn brother? He's anything but revolting.
What her newborn brother is, is tiny.
Those cheeks and tiny fingers are ridiculously chubby, gripping mother's robe in a tender motion. Her brother yawns, pink lips as soft as a flower before that tiny head unceremoniously falls back onto her mother's chest.
Everything is so tiny. Her baby brother won't survive the world. Mother should have let him die. It's merciful that way. Painless and swift.
But the thought of her brother dying fills Azula's chest with a frightening amount of dread.
"He's… well, he's small," Azula offers half-heartedly. Mother lets out a small chuckle.
Then she hisses slowly. Her face is getting paler. Despite herself, despite the words that will never be said between her and mother, Azula hesitantly grips her mother's hand. Mother looks at her in surprise before she smiles. She brings Azula's hand to her lips and kisses her knuckle.
"My dearest girl, all grown up. I'm so so so proud of you," mother whispers.
For a moment, Azula almost believes her.
"Here." mother offers Azula her baby brother. Azula pauses.
"It's okay. He's very light. And he won't bite," mother teases weakly.
Azula doesn't pout. The heir to the throne does not pout.
Mother chuckles again. "I'm only joking, Azula. There's no need to pout."
"I'm not-" Azula starts, then sighs, and relents. Control. Control. This woman is her mother. Not an enemy. "Give that brat to me."
Mother beams and gently lays her son in Azula's arms. Azula panics - just for a moment - before she steadies her balance and carefully holds the newborn in her arms.
Mother settles him close to Azula’s chest. The baby is nearly weightless.
"Careful, Azula."
"I know what I'm doing," Azula replies flatly. Her gaze, though, never strays from the baby. He whimpers in her arms, kicks his legs, and starts wiggling in discomfort. And then the baby yawns again and looks up at her - only this time, those eyes aren't shut tight and so, at last, Azula gets to see a pair of familiar eyes just like hers.
The baby makes a sound like a gurgle - no longer a displeased whimper - and ever so slowly, tiny hands extend and poke at Azula's chin, almost scratching curiously at the soft skin.
Azula watches intently.
Her baby brother makes a sound that's similar to a peal of laughter. It feels like a small hello.
Hello to you, too, she wants to say but Azula doesn’t wish to scare the little thing.
Instead, Azula uses one of her arms to support the baby while she uses the other to (hesitantly) cup her baby brother's cheek. Her thumb brushing against his nose and eye, feeling the smoothness under her skin, and the ever-changing warmth. He leans into her.
Azula's lips tremble.
She doesn't know the word for it: when you want to hold something so badly that your chest aches just thinking about it. Like fireflies are living inside you and it's ticklish but welcoming and you'll do anything to keep the gentleness there.
She doesn't know the word for it. But she knows she'll burn the entire world just to keep her brother safe.
Mother, you finally give me something wonderful.
Azula swallows and holds him even closer than before. She does not cry. She’s a princess. She does not cry.
"What's his name?" Azula questions. Her voice trembles. Mother doesn’t acknowledge it.
Mother hums, looking paler and paler. "You name him."
"But-"
"Azula." Mother touches her arm. "You name him. He is yours to keep and to love from now on."
Azula looks down at her baby brother. He's shoving his fingers in his mouth, coating it with saliva. The name tumbles so easily from her lips: "Zuko. His name is Zuko."
Zuko makes a tiny squeak. Azula bends down to brush her nose against Zuko's. The baby whines, irritated. As retaliation for disturbing him, Zuko puts his drool-covered fingers in Azula's eye. The princess quickly backs away, letting out a surprised gasp.
Mother chuckles. Slowly, she falls asleep. Her eyes flutter closed, and she does not make a sound, not even a whisper.
For the very first time in her life, Azula truly feels afraid, like how a child is meant to feel when she knows she’s about to lose something she’ll never get back.
Azula doesn’t call out her mother’s name. She sits on the bed, at their mother’s side with Zuko in her arms, and she’s holding him like he’s the most fragile and precious thing in the world.
He is.
(She’ll never admit it out loud).
One day when he’s finally old enough, Zuko will ask about mother. Azula is sure of it. She doesn’t think she knows mother well enough to share the sort of tales that will last a lifetime. It’s okay, though.
She will tell Zuko that mother loves him above all else. Azula silently promises that she will protect him always, and in her way, that she promises she will love Zuko forever. Azula will keep all her promises. She swears it.
Right now, she’s not the heir to the throne. Not the daughter of Ozai. In this very fleeting moment, she’s just Azula, daughter of Ursa, and an older sister of Zuko.
Azula takes a deep breath. She glances down at Zuko. The baby coos at her. Azula whispers her brother’s name reverently, “Zuko.”
The baby gurgles happily and Azula allows herself to smile ever so tenderly.
Mother doesn't wake up to greet them anymore.
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