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I have gone ahead, the letter reads, and included gifts for my dearest nephew and niece. A doll with most modern Earth Kingdom clothes and a knife I have received from a surrendering craftsman. I hope you will find your gifts adequate!
Yours, General Iroh
Obviously, mother has then gone ahead and put the dagger in Zuko’s hands. He stares down at it and thinks Wait a second because Uncle wrote “for my dearest nephew and niece. A doll... and a knife.” in that exact order. For a moment, he contemplates heading off with the knife – it’s wonderfully crafted, after all, and who wouldn’t choose it over the... well... Alas. Frowning down on the blade, Zuko bites his lower lip. Simply taking something for himself just because he likes it better than the gift he should have actually received is making his stomach churn with guilt. It’s not right. It’s something a pirate would do, isn’t it? It’s wrong for him to keep it. So he walks over to his scowling sister – his sister who is the pride of their father, a born fighter with steadily hotter growing fire – and exchanges the knife for the doll. His doll. As their Uncle has intended.
Zuko likes theatre plays. Maybe Uncle thought he would also enjoy a doll that kind of looks like one of the main characters of that one play he’s recently begun reading... what was it called? Ah, yes, Lady Zan and the Rumbling Mountain. Maybe that’s why Uncle Iroh picked it for him. He swallows down the lump that’s been building up inside his throat – he can’t, not really – as he cradles the doll to his chest.
“Zuzu?” Azula asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Just correcting things.” Zuko murmurs roughly, shrugging when their mother throws him a questioning glance. He hugs the doll tighter – he should name her, he guesses, because calling it... calling her “the doll” would be disrespectful – and heads for his room without saying another word. He doesn’t like that calculating look in his little sister’s eyes, not even now when it’s laced with surprise, and explaining to mother why Uncle wanted to give him a doll rather than a blade would be him admitting that he’s much less of a skilled fighter than Azula (because that has to be the actual reason for Uncle’s decision, right? He’s a... a... sissy boy just as dad always said. He’s a wimp. A disgrace. Just like a civilian girl. Dad was right. He’s all of that. And now Uncle knows it too. Knows it and has sent him a confirmation of his knowledge.). Zuko has still a bit of pride, thank you very much.
With a deep sigh, he lets himself fall into the soft warmth of his bed after having locked the door. There’s no way he’ll let Azula have her moment of glee when she puts two and two together and comes over to brag about Uncle recognizing her worth progress (and his lack thereof).
The lump keeps getting bigger and bigger, taking up too much space in his throat, clogs his airways, makes him shudder. Makes him sob quietly. Makes him tear up pathetically. Zuko swallows and swallows and swallows but it doesn’t become smaller; the need to cry like a child.
Slowly, with hands that shake a lot and are unsteady (unlike Azula’s... hers are always unswerving and ready to strike) he raises the confirmation of what his Uncle thinks of him. And then...
...then he can’t help himself.
Because the doll is beautiful.
A low whine escapes from his mouth as he inspects the doll. Pale pink lipstick on a delicately carved face, small pearls dangling from her green-beige headband that holds back wonderfully soft black hair and a light green and yellow dress all add to the ethereal beauty of this doll.
Zuko hates himself for loving her right away. Teardrops land on his pillow after cascading down his reddened cheeks.
“Lady Zan” he croaks out, mapping the doll’s – Lady Zan’s – facial features gently with his fingers.
She’s still a gift.
Even though Uncle meant it as a mockery she is his now. “Did he, though? Did Uncle really want to mock my skills?” a small voice in Zuko’s head asks. Lady Zan is intricate – too intricate to be just some random doll. Zuko feels like Uncle has put thought into choosing her. What does that mean?
Oh, well, until Uncle comes back and he can ask for clarification, he will have to resign himself to just enjoy Lady Zan’s company while he is still allowed to. He doesn’t have any friends aside from the turtleducks. He wants to... he really wants to... keep her.
“I’m Zuko.” he says, gently shaking one of Lady Zan’s hands, “And I’m your friend now. I... I’m ten and... and I don’t really have anybody else. Azula... she’s my sister and she’s... a little bit terrifying. But dad likes her way more than me. I guess I’m... a bit dumb.” His voice cracks, watery.
Lady Zan doesn’t answer. He hugs her nevertheless.
“I’m sorry.” he apologizes. To whom he doesn’t know.
“I’m sorry.” he breathes into Lady Zan’s headband.
Zuko can almost let himself imagine a faint feminine voice telling him that it’s fine and it’s alright.
Only almost, though.
°°°
Azula looks at the knife.
Made in Earth Kingdom
She turns it around and something inside of her stirs.
Never give up without a fight
She doesn’t know what this feeling is or why it’s there. Zuko has rushed out of the room with that weird doll she would have burnt otherwise. And there she is, left with an elegant knife that suits her sharpness well.
But
Never give up without a fight is making her heart ache, for some odd reason. She remembers gentle hands on her unblemished skin, the golden eyes of her brother staring at the glittering sea of Ember Island’s beach. Zuko used to hold hands with her. Now he flinches back every time she comes near him. (And she understands because she’s a monster. Mom thinks she is. Dad wants her to be.)
°°°
An echo in her head, persistent, unrelenting as Zuko kneels in front of their father. Had she been another version of herself, she would have laughed at her brother’s misery.
“...and suffering will be your teacher.”
She isn’t another version of herself.
“How disgraceful.” The stadium has gone silent. Azula twiddles with her knife. It glints ruby red. “To attempt striking an opponent who has surrendered himself is against the rules... dad. You lost, isn’t that funny?”
“A-Azula...”
Never give up without a fight her blade says. But it wasn’t much of a fight, she thinks as Fire Lord Ozai is carried away by the healers who rush to stitch up his arm. He won’t be Fire Lord for long after this. Who will take over? Iroh? Zuko? Azula? Well, it doesn’t matter. She can worry about that later.
For now...
She tosses that goddamn doll at her stupefied older brother. Azula attempts a smile. It comes out too sharp, too menacing. “She felt lonely.” sounds cruel in her mouth but Zuko understands it’s not meant to be.
“Lady Zan” he whispers. Kneeling half naked on the floor of the Agni Kai tribune, that too soft, too gentle boy wraps his arms around the worn doll.
Azula almost absentmindedly stirs the tip of her boot in the sizeable puddle of blood on the floor. She doesn’t feel remorse. Maybe she isn’t meant to.
“Prince Zuko! Princess Azula!” their Uncle now calls, finally awakened from his astonished silence. He climbs up to the tribune, immediately heading for Zuko. Then, not even a moment later, Azula finds herself in her Uncle’s embrace.
“Thank you, my niece” he whispers.
She lets herself be held, just this one time.
°°°
Fire Lord Iroh is a man of many regrets, a man who has done a lot he isn’t proud of. There are indeed many mistakes he’s made he wished he could correct.
This one, he thinks when he sees his nephew holding the doll in his sleep that he initially had found for Azula and his niece sitting at her brother’s side whilst fiddling with the knife he’d originally intended for Zuko, is a mistake I would gladly make again.