Work Text:
Moonday
What Azula lacked in the ability to keep her head down, she more than made up for in the art of diving into a task completely. She’d quickly found the simplest way to avoid the cloying, however wellmeaning, smothering of others was to fill her own schedule before anyone else could.
Moondays were for crochet.
They had been for embroidery, but she’d mastered that years ago. Sewing had been next, but there were only so many kerchiefs, hats, and dresses one could accumulate in their wardrobe over the course of another year or so. So, Moondays were for crochet. Or they would be, when the yarn could be forced to cooperate. It never had before. But surely it would eventually.
She gripped the hook like a knife, stabbing it through the loop, and clenched the yarn in tension.
Grip, stab, clench.
Azula ignored the knock at her stateroom door.
Repeat. Grip, snag- clench her jaw.
The knock came again.
Grip the hook to stop herself from throwing it at the door and whatever unsuspecting person dared to disturb her.
“Unless you happen to be an expert in textiles, I will not be entertaining any guests at the moment,” Azula called through the door.
There was a pause. Feet shuffled. Someone rocked on their heels just beyond the door. The intrusion cleared their throat, almost sounding bemused when he said, “I wouldn’t say expert but I do happen to have a little knowledge on that particular subject if you’d allow me the honor of your audience.”
Her lips pursed in consideration. A little knowledge could prove almost as dangerous as knowing nothing at all. But so could shutting out assistance when offered–and it was actually needed. That was a pattern she did her best to avoid these days. It hadn’t led anywhere positive. Or it had, she supposed–however, the beginning of that journey wasn’t one she’d be interested in replicating.
“Very well, you may enter,” she relented. Though she didn’t bother to look up and properly receive her supposedly textile-knowledgeable guest when his slippers shuffled through the doorway and into the room. Azula held up her hook, the yarn dangling stubbornly where it had slipped the hold of the loop once again. “How do you stop it from doing this?”
“Hmm,” hummed the intrusion, “I believe you’re holding too much tension,” he said.
“Yes well, my upbringing will do that to people,” she said, scowling at the tangled mess in her lap.
The intrusion had the audacity to chuckle. He cleared his throat again. “I was referring to the yarn.”
Oh.
Grip, then soften to a more gentle hold. Stab–no, slide through the loop. Clench. Shake her head. Ease it through. Let out the breath she’d been holding.
And there it was, one stitch. Not much progress to speak of, but the beginning of a pattern had to start somewhere. As did a proper greeting and thank you for the surprisingly helpful intrusion. Azula met his gaze–one that stared back at her over the rims of a pair of ridiculously small spectacles.
It took every ounce of her diplomatic training not to let her eyes go wide and her lips fall open.
“You’re the Earth King,” Azula said.
Kuei shook his head, though his eyes were kind and his smile almost rueful when he said, “Earth King Regent, I’m afraid.”
“Regent?” Azula asked, “Who is the Earth King, then, the bear?”
Kuei let out another soft chuckle, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shook his head in response. Despite the fact that Azula was certain it hadn’t been the sort of question that was deserving of a legitimate answer. The jade beads from his necklace clacked with the motion. It filled the silence between them long enough for Azula to realize exactly why he was there. Exactly what he was trying to tell her.
Oh.
Oh no.
Here she was, priding herself on her ability to commit to things completely, only to find out she’d abandoned an entire kingdom.
“How?”
“I do seem to recall you conquered BaSingSe and held me at flame point.”
Azula set her crochet hook aside, before simply everything could come unraveled. Kuei wasn’t wrong. She had done both of those things, and worse. But surely the end of the war cancelled those out. She shook her head.
“No. I might have ruled briefly, but I was dethroned by my brother.”
“Forgive me, but you were dethroned as the Fire Lord, not however, as the Earth Kingdom’s ruler.”
She was admittedly more than a little fuzzy on some of the details surrounding her dethroning. But there had to be an implied rule that if someone was dethroned as Fire Lord that they were automatically forfeit from any other ruling titles they happened to hold at the time, wasn’t there? If there wasn’t, then clearly that was someone’s oversight.
“Very well for the sake of humoring you, if I did happen to still be in power, how exactly would we go about fixing that?”
Not all that long ago, this situation might have seemed advantageous. However, situations had changed. Azula had changed. She’d already ruled BaSingSe once. Doing it again would be taking a step backwards. Besides, she’d seen Zuzu’s schedule. He rarely had time to sleep anymore, let alone tangle with crochet hooks and yarn. Her days were busy enough as it was without adding ruling a foreign nation to her list of responsibilities.
Could she simply order Kuei Earth King again and be done with it?
Unlikely.
That sort of solution could have been accomplished in a letter, saving each other the inconveniences of each others’ audiences. If he’d made an appearance it was more complicated than that. Kuei’s hands drifted to a mess of yarn on the table. He sighed, sweeping it up and beginning to wind it absently back into a more manageable bundle again.
“I’m certain you can understand there isn’t much of a precedent for this situation.”
Azula rolled her eyes, and not only because his remark was behind the times from the thoughts in her head but that his tone was too gentle. It was the sort of tone that someone used when they were treating her delicately, delivering news they thought she might not like to hear or answers they thought she wouldn’t want. She wished he wouldn’t do that and just get on with it.
“A duel?” she asked.
Kuei's lips twitched somewhere between humor and nervous distaste for her suggestion. He wasn’t a bender and Azula doubted the puffed material of his sleeves hid much in the way of muscle. It went without saying he wouldn’t win a duel against her. Unless of course they were battling in crochet and textiles, but she doubted that would be considered a legitimate method for transferring power.
“I could write a decree.”
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t send the right sort of message about my strength as a ruler if I was simply written back into power or allowed to take it back through questionable legitimacy.”
Azula supposed that made sense. The nations were still recovering from war time and upheaval, after all. Citizens of every nation were looking for strength and stability in their leaders. All the more reason they should be grateful to have the title taken off of her hands, instead of making things more difficult for all involved.
“So what are you suggesting, then? My execution? You’d likely have to get in line for that honor.”
There were reasons she rarely strayed from the Fire Palace anymore, and not all of them were related to conquering the art of crochet or any of her other pastimes.
Kuei’s eyes widened rather comically beyond the rims of his glasses. He let the bundle of yarn drop back to the table, already losing some of the order he’d managed to restore in the process. The regent cleared his throat and shook his head.
“Of course not. The Earth King Regent suggests no such thing,” he answered. “I believe there is a peaceful solution.” He took a step backward, as if he was anticipating the necessity of a retreat from whatever he would say next. “Marriage.”
Stunned, Azula lost her hold on her diplomatic training. The control that she prided herself on unraveled completely. She felt her features heat and pinch in ways that couldn’t be described anywhere close to neutral. Because that solution wasn’t peaceful. Perhaps on paper it was. It was a solution without battles or violence. But despite Kuei’s better intentions, that was an attack. An attack on her peace and progress. She’d barely begun to develop her own sense of herself as a person. How was she supposed to accomplish that shackled to someone else?
Marriage was simply out of the question.
“I want you to leave,” she said, voice clipped.
“But-”
“You can leave of your own accord or I can have a guard escort you out,” she snapped, letting her voice go loud enough to carry through the door and to any of the guards or Kyoshi warriors who were likely to be lingering beyond the door. As expected, the door to her suite opened. Suki swept into the room and surveyed the scene.
“Azula?” she asked.
“Escort him out, please.” Suki made no move to comply. Azula frowned and tried again, “Please see him out.”
“But that’s the Earth King,” Suki said, still not moving from her spot by the door, “I don’t think I can do that.”
“Well, apparently he’s not the Earth King. I am. Besides, this is the Fire Nation, so you should have no issue following that order.”
Kuei cleared his throat. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and bowed his head in a way that seemed unassuming. The beads on his neck clacked against each other until one of his hands raised to still them. “There’s truly no need to escort me. The regent will see himself out for the time being.” He lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, “I wish you luck on your crochet.”
Azula didn’t answer.
Agniday
Azula always looked forward to Agnidays. Something about driving a hammer straight into a ball and sending it sailing across the lawn, sinking opponents chances of winning straight through the ground was soothing to her soul. Where else could she ruthlessly slaughter without anyone so much as raising an eyebrow in her direction. It was expected, and she’d always been good at exceeding expectations.
Or at least she usually looked forward to Agniday and croquet, until she spotted particular shades of green that had her seeing red. She clenched her nails around the handle of her mallet, digging into the glossy wood.
“Would you care for a match?” Kuei asked, leaning on a mallet of his own. The weight of the regent’s frame and the overly ornate robes draped around it forced an impression of his mallet’s head into the loose soil beneath it. For a moment, Azula entertained the thought of how deeply he’d have to press in order to dig his own grave.
Which it seemed he planned on doing by appearing before her again.
“Who told you I’d be here?” Azula asked, instead of responding to the formal invitation. She needed to know who else’s head she should want to drive a mallet through.
“The Fire Lord is a wealth of knowledge.”
Well, that was unfortunate.
It would be rather inconvenient for her if Zuzu was dead, even if he was a traitor. Only one of those reasons being that she already had enough ruling titles to contend with without adding Fire Lord back onto her agenda. There were other reasons, of course. But given the situation it seemed the most worthy of ruminating on. He would have to be allowed to live.
Kuei was still waiting for her answer.
“That depends,” she began, “is this going to be a game of croquet or is the match you’re referring to another lackluster proposal attempt?”
Kuei had the audacity to allow his lips to twitch in humor again.
“We could start with the game and see where it takes us? If you would be amenable to that.”
She recognized the subtle admission for what it was. The regent intended to use this sporting match as a way to bring up his marriage plot. But what choice did she have? It was Agniday. She couldn’t simply abandon the game just because her opponent was challenging to deal with.
“Fine, but I'll go first,” she said. Not waiting for his reply, she let her mallet crack into the red ball and sent it sailing cleanly through the first hoop. Biting her lip to suppress a smirk, Azula lined up her extra shot and drove it a respectable distance toward the second hoop. She spun on her heel as much as the grass would allow to face Kuei.
“Well done, your Maj-” he faltered, trailing off rather than finishing the title. Up until that little slip up, he’d yet to address her as anything at all. Something Azula had to assume was intentional. A little bit of awkward, polite restraint, balancing who she was to him and who she was to herself. She didn’t dignify the misstep with a comment. It was better to allow him to stew in the awkwardness he seemed insistent on creating for the both of them.
“Your turn,” she prompted, waiting for him to fumble his way around the mallet half as much as he’d stumbled through his words. But Kuei swung the mallet with a confident, practiced sort of strike that sent the green ball sailing a respectable distance toward the first hoop. Not far enough to get him a point. But close enough for her to know she actually had some competition in the match.
The corners of her lips curled, aiming the yellow ball and sending it careening toward the green one. With a sharp crack, the impact sent Kuei’s first ball off course and nestled it quite inconviently–for him, into a dense patch of reeds on the edge of the pond.
“I see you don’t intend to go easy on me,” Kuei said.
“Not in the slightest,” she confirmed.
Sighing, Kuei picked his way through the patch of reeds and despite their density managed to neatly putt the ball back into play and nearly back where he’d started before her sabotage. Azula had half a mind to repeat the trick and send him wading through the reeds a second time. But she thought better of it. Once was entertaining enough.
Instead, Azula forged ahead of him and knocked the red a fair distance toward the second hoop.
“Yours.”
Kuei lined up a neat shot with the green ball. It rolled through the first hoop, knocking Azula’s red to an awkward angle from the second. He tapped the green again, sending it in the direction of the second hoop. Lips in a thin line, Azula ran a quick calculation of the necessary angles. She scanned the far end of the course. The yellow would be easier, of course. A lower risk. But the reward and satisfaction if she managed the red was too good to pass up.
Azula took a breath, tightening and loosening her grip on the handle of her mallet again. She traced the desired path once, twice, three times before she struck. Her shot launched the red ball to the base of a tree, rebounding back through the second hoop. Her eyes danced when she turned, taking in his wide-eyed expression that was somehow more satisfying than the shot itself.
“Impressive,” Kuei bleated. The regent’s beads clattered against each other as he surveyed the field while she took her second shot on the red ball. A strike that halved the distance to the third hoop. With a shrewd glance of the distance between his green ball and her yellow one, Kuei entered the blue ball into play.
Shot by shot, the game settled into a comfortable rhythm–Comfortable, of course, because she was always one step ahead and she enjoyed that particular vantage point. But it wasn’t comfortable simply because she was winning. The margins were actually rather narrow between their positions in the game. It could still shift in either of their favors. Securing victory wasn’t going to be easy, and it was such a pleasant change of pace to be challenged by someone other than herself.
Their conversations had yet to stray beyond the game, either. Azula kept waiting for Kuei to bring up the proposal. But their balls moved closer and closer to the peg without so much as a mention. She wondered if that was intentional on his part. Was it all a clever ploy to wait her out and distract her, forcing Azula to be the one to bring it up first?
If that was his strategy, it was a rather successful one.
Her attempt to knock his blue ball off course sent her yellow ball rolling down the slight slope of the field, further away from the peg. Azula’s teeth ground together, wordlessly stalking after her ball and ignoring the solid knock of the blue ball against the peg without commentary or compliment.
She had never pretended to be a good sport, and she didn’t intend to start being one for his sake.
Biting her lip, Azula lined herself up for a test swing. She frowned and adjusted her angle ever so slightly. The follow through of the second test swing was closer to what she needed. One more adjustment was all it took. Her mallet connected confidently with the yellow. Her ball shot back up the slope and connected with the peg with a crack.
She rejoined Kuei on the field, tucking an escaped piece of her shorn bangs back into place. The regent’s glasses were slid down the long bridge of his nose as low as they could possibly sit. He was clearly calculating a trajectory, and despite her resolve not to allow the topic to drift in that direction, Azula knew the perfect distraction to interrupt him.
“What exactly is your plan here?”
Focus broken, the regent let out a good natured sigh and leaned his weight on his mallet again.
“At the moment?” Kuei asked, "Hitting the green ball through the last hoop and then pegging it out.”
“I might have to insist on a chaperone for our future meetings if your courting plans for us involve pegging.”
Horrified had a color and that color was red. Not the sort of gentle red that bloomed under one's skin from a brisk chill in the air or even the sort that came from spending too long in the sun on the beach. It was scarlet. A deep scarlet that colonized pervasively across the Earth King regent’s cheeks. He sputtered and Azula couldn’t help herself from letting out a snicker or two.
Her eyes still danced in silent laughter by the time Kuei recovered his senses enough to draw himself up to his full height and address her formally. He said, “Sincerest apologies, Lady Azula. The Earth King Regent had no intentions of implying or placing you in a position you felt was improper. And he–” Kuei paused, shaking his head, “I would, of course, be amenable to the presence of a chaperone if you would like one.”
Azula cocked her head to the side to examine him. Kuei’s initial horror and embarrassment had faded. What remained seemed to be lingering discomfort and regret?
For what?
For agreeing to the match in the first place?
No. It wasn’t that. Her eyes narrowed. His expression was too familiar. One that prickled in all the ways she’d gone lengths to avoid. It was her turn for his remarks to spread heat through her features.
“No chaperone needed. It was a joke. Just take your shot,” Azula snapped. She had no patience, desire, or need for anyone’s pity.
He raised an eyebrow, appraising her for a moment before he acquiesced to her demand. It was a fairly straightforward shot. Kuei played a safe, steady sort of game. Conservative shots had lined him up for what could end it in his favor. It should have, by all rights. But the strike of his mallet against the green ball lacked commitment. It landed just short of the peg with a dull, unsatisfying thud.
Azula stared at the ball, trying to make sense of it. And that was just it. It didn’t make sense. Kuei had made much more complex shots over the course of the game. Only to fail on the one that would have secured him the victory. And Azula didn’t believe he’d simply crumbled under the pressure. No. There was only one explanation that made sense to her, and she didn’t like it in the slightest.
“I don’t want victories handed to me anymore than I want your company.”
Her fingers clenched her mallet handle before she let it drop to the ground. She stalked off leaving Kuei and the remains of their ruined game on the field in her wake.
Drakanday
Drakanday always left Azula with the impression that she knew what it was like to be an Earth Kingdom war general whose troops were trying to defend the city of BaSingSe. It was building something strong and maybe even beautiful, only for forces, some of those beyond her control, to make what she built come tumbling down in a pile of sticky, damp clay.
She huffed as the bowl she’d been forming collapsed on the wheel. Azula swiped the back of her wrist across her cheek to brush the loose pieces of her hair to one side. She balled up the lump of clay again and threw it down on the wheel. For good measure, she picked it up and slammed it down a few more times. More than was strictly necessary, but it didn’t stop it from being satisfying.
She dipped her hands into the bowl of water beside her station, pressing down on the lump of clay with her slick fingers to widen its base. Fingers still damp, she wedged her thumbs into the center to build a new opening. Shallow divots deepened under her steady, but firm guidance. The clay nearly spun out from beneath her hands as someone knocked on the studio door, but she managed to keep it centered. Azula let out a soft sigh. Centering herself for a few moments before she allowed the intrusion to enter.
Kuei slid into the studio. The silk of his robes rustled gently over the floor in a way that didn’t quite cover the hemming of the Earth King Regent’s voice as he gathered his courage to speak. Rolling her eyes, Azula saved him the trouble, “It makes sense that would show up on my throwing day after you were so content on throwing the match yesterday.”
He frowned, head tilting to one side in a way that made the glossy beads on his neck swing back and forth until his fingers moved to still them. His eyes widened above the rims of his glasses. Straightening himself up, he said, “Throw the match? Is that what you thought I was doing? Is that why you,” he paused, lips pressing into a thin line as he gathered his thoughts into something more diplomatic than whatever he’d been about to say, “ended abruptly yesterday?”
Azula scoffed, dipping her fingers into the bowl of water again to smooth out a gritty patch with the pad of her thumb. She let her eyes drift off the bowl again, saying, “Of course, that must have been what happened. I can’t see another explanation for a perfectly competent player whiffing that simple of a shot.”
“Lady Azula,” he said with every ounce of formality dripping infuriatingly off his tone, “please be assured I would never dishonor you with a false victory.” A flush ran through his cheeks, blooming above the stiff collar of his robes. He tugged on the collar in a refreshing lapse of the formality, as if it was suddenly too tight. “I’m afraid your wordplay caught me off guard and I rushed my shot,” he explained.
Oh.
Of course, that explanation did actually make sense. Wasn’t she always the source of her own downfall?
The bowl wobbled on the wheel, losing some of the shape she’d worked to maintain. Grimacing, she let the wheel stop turning. She gathered up the remains of the bowl and wrung it through her hands, balling it up into a wedge of clay again.
“I’m sorry for how I ended it,” she said. “Maybe we can have a rematch next Agniday.”
He graciously nodded, silence settling between them long enough to finish reforming her wedge. “Why pottery?” Kuei asked, watching her slam it down on the table to shake out the air trapped inside.
“Hmm?” Azula hummed absently, pressing the wedge down again. “It feels balanced in its own way. There’s a little of each of the elements in it.”
“Is there?” he asked, drifting closer to her work station than she thought he should have dared given the finery he was wearing.
“Yes,” she nodded at the growing divot in the center of her clay, “there’s earth.” She splashed her hands into the bowl on the edge of her work station, splattering droplets dangerously close to the hem of Kuei’s robe, “Water.” Her neck craned toward the set of pieces drying on a shelf, “Air and they finish in fire.”
And she’d never admit it, but there was something deeply satisfying about getting her hands dirty.
He hummed in acknowledgement, but let a silence settle between them. A silence Azula could appreciate. It was one that gave her the space to work on her third attempt at the bowl. Neither spoke again until she let the wheel stop turning, and it was Azula that spoke first to ask, “Were you actually interested in ceramics, or are you going to make another proposal attempt?”
Kuei’s hands came together, dropping down to his sides again just as fast. They found his string of beads, clicking and clacking them together in a way that Azula found just short of grating. His mouth opened and closed. Azula rolled her eyes. Her nineteenth birthday could come and go before he made whatever move he was hesitating over.
“I hope you’ll pardon this intrusion,” he began, closing the rest of the distance between them, “you have a,” he faltered again swiping his thumb along the edge of his chin in a motion that Azula couldn’t comprehend the purpose of before his hand reached forward, delicately brushing the pad of his thumb down her jawline.
She stiffened, no amount of lightning bending could have prepared her for the shock of the gentle touch that lingered longer than felt strictly necessary. Azula brought her hand up. Her clay stained fingers guided Kuei’s away from her chin. Clay dust stained his thumb and her fingerprints littered his hand. He looked between his hand and her as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself or what to say. He clearly hadn’t thought through the consequences of his actions. Azula snickered, nudging the water bowl in his direction to save them both from the moment.
With a grateful grimace, Kuei managed to rid himself of the worst of the clay residue. After he straightened his robes without fear of staining the silk, he turned his attention back to Azula. She bit her lip, eyes still dancing in barely concealed amusement.
“Should I apologize again?” he asked.
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” she said, eyes drifting back toward the shelf of pottery waiting to be fired. He followed her gaze and offered a knowing, almost sad sort of smile. It wasn’t a true or firm dismissal, but Azula had entertained him longer than she’d intended. She had certain productivity standards for herself on Drakanday, afterall.
He ducked his head, nearly knocking his hat off in the process, and asked, “Would you be amenable if I were to call on you again tomorrow?”
“Ask me again in a normal way and I might say yes, Kuei,” she replied, followed by an exasperated sort of laugh. Her laughter petered off into the quiet of Kuei trying to arrange and rearrange his words into what she might consider to be normal. “I’ll start it for you,” she said, pitching her tone in an imitation of the regent’s voice, “Azula can I..”
“Lady Azula, may I see you tomorrow?” he asked.
Her nose wrinkled at the slight touches of formality he hadn’t let go of, but she had to admit that he’d made a concession and met her somewhere in the middle. She could do the same.
“Yes,” Azula answered. “And you won’t even have to get your hands dirty tomorrow,” she tacked on with a smirk.
If Kuei was relieved when he retreated, he managed to maintain enough decorum that she couldn’t tell.
It was only her pottery that rattled.
Ranyakday
Every Ranyakday was different, because it truly depended on who her opponent was on any given day.
Pai Sho against Uncle was a traditional exploration of rules and strategies. It was a training in the art of listening to metaphors and stories she didn’t always understand the point of–didn’t ever understand the point of, if she was being honest. Most importantly, it was training in the art of losing. Azula had never won a match against Uncle, but she didn’t mind. Each loss was a reminder that she wasn’t being treated delicately. It meant the matches were real.
Matches with Zuko were a sharp contrast to Uncle’s. Neither could take the game seriously without Uncle’s energy to ground them, and they quickly devolved into ridiculous variations of their own inventions with rules that changed on a whim. If the white lotus tile was played, it was an immediate flip of the tiles that flanked. The glass bead that rolled around the board at random was the “avatar” if it rolled into your harmonies it was an automatic disruption. Their games never had an obvious winner, but always ended in laughter.
Ty Lee’s games were some of her favorites. They really only had one rule beyond the traditional set. Tiles were to be moved with anything other than your fingers. Unless of course you were executing the move while doing a handstand or some similar display of acrobatics, then the use of fingers was permissible. For the first year or so she’d made do with jamming her elbow onto the tiles, and sliding them around. But her acrobatics had improved enough to sustain handstands and bridges until she could glide a boat tile across the board with one of her big toes just as easily as her fingers.
The games she played by herself were particularly challenging. Azula never went easy on her opponent, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to trick herself. Though, it was a refreshing change of pace to have the certainty of knowing her own mind.
And yet, sitting in front of the board while waiting for Kuei’s knock on her door, she’d never felt more uncertain. Her nails clacked on the tabletop. Tiles shifted out of their opening positions in a clatter. Was it possible she was actually looking forward to his interruption to her day? Azula supposed she couldn’t even call it an interruption anymore. She’d invited him in.
Or at least she’d agreed to allowing him to invite himself. Should she have arranged for refreshments? Was that the sort of thing she was meant to do under these circumstances? Lost in her hosting shortcomings, Azula almost missed the knock. She called out for him to enter as she straightened the pieces. The rustle of silk swept across the floor with his approach.
“I hope you’re already familiar with Pai Sho,” she said, “because I think I would be an awful teacher.”
Kuei chuckled. He settled into the seat across from her, nudging another one of the escaped pieces back into its place and saying, “I’ve played before.” There was something in the way he said it that made her eyes narrow, daring him to mislead her. He fingered his beads and shook his head ruefully. “Some might call me a rather accomplished player,” he admitted.
“So I can expect your best efforts, then?” she asked.
“Of course,” he answered, and Azula could believe him. The regent meant what he was saying and what he’d said before. And though she didn’t need further convincing, he carried on, “however, if you would like some reassurances we could make the game more interesting.”
That wasn’t saying a great deal for a game of Pai Sho, but he had her attention nonetheless.
And it was just as well she hadn’t called for tea, because the Earth King Regent would have choked and sputtered when she said, “Go on, but if your suggestion is strip Pai Sho then I’ll have no choice but to call for a chaperone.” He recovered his composure faster than she would have thought possible, shaking his head in somewhere between silent humor and exasperation.
“That isn’t quite what I had in mind,” he said, placing the last tile back in its opening position. “You seem to enjoy games with stakes, I propose for every tile we capture we get to ask the other a question.”
“And if I don’t want to answer your questions?”
“I suppose if you win you wouldn’t have to,” he said.
Azula knew she was being goaded, but it would be a chance to get a sense of where he stood on the other proposal since he seemed quite content to dodge the subject whenever she brought it up. She nodded, allowing him the first move while she strategized.
The first capture was hers.
“How long have you known that I was still the reigning ruler?”
Kuei pressed his glasses up on his nose. He shrugged, in a refreshing shedding of some of his decorum. He fidgeted with the captured tile before handing it over. “Very shortly after the end of the war,” he admitted. “But you were still so young at the time and war wounds were fresh for all of us. I thought it best to wait until you were of age.”
Though delicately phrased, it made sense.
He captured the next piece and barely hesitated before asking, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
“I hadn’t anticipated one word answers,” he said, looking more than a little put out at her response.
Azula sighed. She hadn’t anticipated his expression would have any sort of pull over her. But it had all the same. It really wasn’t her fault if Kuei couldn’t formulate a question that would force to give more than a one word answer, but she supposed she could make some allowances for him. She relented, “It’s the line of red that’s right above the gold right before the sun rises. Firebenders always rise with the sun, but I’ve always been ahead of everyone else.”
She still thought it was an inane sort of question, but he seemed satisfied with the new answer.
His second capture brought a more productive sort of question–though just as baffling when he asked, “How much participation would you like to have in royal proceedings?”
Azula pressed her lips together. She held her captured tile as she contemplated how to answer. After far too long, she looked up from the board and met Kuei’s gaze.
“I would have a choice?” she asked.
“Of course, after my ruling circumstances I would never force you or anyone else to be a puppet or figurehead.” She passed over the tile, the weight of the world less pressing than it had been moments before. “But that being said, I would welcome your input and participation if you so desired. You would always have the choice.”
“I would have to think about it,” she said. Which wasn’t her avoiding the question or being flippant that time. She simply didn’t know what to say and it had ground their game to a halt. “You can ask a different question in exchange for that one,” Azula tacked on, feeling rather generous in the moment. She perched her elbow dangerously between the tiles, threatening to upset the forming harmonies.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Kuei asked with a grin.
Shawday
“What in Agni’s name are you wearing?” Azula asked, barely bothering to conceal her humor at his expense. In a sharp contrast to his usual bright, heavy silk robes, Kuei wore a set of drab and ratty brown traveling clothes. They were rather tattered, but it was obvious on more than a cursory glance that those tatters had been made intentionally.
“You said wear something I wouldn’t mind getting dirty,” Kuei answered with a shrug.
“You look like you wandered off the set of the Ember Island Players,” she said, and watched the way his head tilted to the side. The fringed ends of the head scarf he wore brushed against his bare shoulders with the angle. “You’ve never heard of them?” Kuei shook his head. “They’re quite,” she paused, smirking as she thought of how to mince her words as diplomatically as possible, “renowned for their performances. I’ll have to get you tickets for their next show.”
“I would consider it a date,” he answered brightly.
If Azula flushed, it was related to the temperature of the day or the sun beating down over them. There could simply be no other explanations for it. She hummed in a noncommittal sort of reply, her eyes already wandering down the trail ahead of them.
Shadows of leaves littered the uneven path. They danced on the slight breeze, inviting the two of them under their shelter. Azula had to resist forging ahead, but they’d barely begun and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he’d be in over his head and struggling to keep up with her.
Loose stones ground under her boots, crunching in a satisfying rhythm the regent couldn’t quite match–and the trail hadn’t even begun pitching into its upward climb yet. Tearing down the trail wouldn’t be an option unless her intention was to leave Kuei in the dust. While that had some merits, Azula had to admit the concept didn’t seem quite as appealing as it would have a few days before.
In absence of being able to push herself to her limits physically, Azula set herself the challenge to only stay a stride length or two ahead of him at any given moment. An exercise in restraint had just as much value as one with pure exertion, or at least she could imagine that was the sort of wisdom Uncle would wax poetic about over the top of the Pai Sho tiles.
One benefit to his company on this particular activity was that he didn’t have the breath control for much in the way of conversation. It was quiet other than the grinding of gravel underfoot and puffing of his breath. So quiet, that even with her little footstep game to occupy her mind, Azula felt an unfamiliar need to fill the silence.
“Where has the bear been?”
“Bosco? Back home. He’s really not much of a world traveler,” he managed between puffs. Kuei ducked under a low hanging branch, the fringe of his headscarf snagging on twigs and tangling hopelessly.
“And you are?” Azula’s eyes danced. She tugged on the branch, leaning her weight on it enough to force it down until she could reach the source of the snag and work it out.
“No,” he admitted when he was free of the branch. “But I think a good leader should be out in the world, and not locked in a palace far away from all their people and their problems. Don’t you?”
Azula had never given that sort of thing much consideration. Her father and grandfather before him were the sorts of leaders who treated their palaces like fortresses, rarely venturing from the protections of court. Zuko was making a name for himself as being the opposite kind of ruler. He was accessible to the public and down to earth, even rumored to still take shifts at their Uncle’s tea shop from time to time.
She wasn’t a political leader–or at least she wasn’t supposed to be, and she was a palace recluse often enough that she doubted she was the sort of person who should be making judgements on that subject. Shrugging, Azula abandoned her game and fell into step beside him, “What sort of problems do your people have?”
“Our people, you mean?” he asked pointedly even between his puffing.
“Fine, what kinds of problems do our people have other than me, Kuei?” She brushed back a low branch to clear the pathway for him, letting her fingers heat just enough to burn away the sticky sap residue that clung to them.
Kuei’s progress on the trail ground to a halt again, but the stillness couldn’t be attributed to catching his breath or uncatching his scarf that time. He was taking her in with thin lips, as if he couldn’t decide what his next step should be.
“Perhaps at a certain point you were on that list, you can hardly be considered a problem anymore, Lady Azula,” he said softly. “Other than for the line of succession, of course," he let out a soft chuckle. One where the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.
It made sense, she supposed. The world had moved on and changed its ways while she was settling into her patterns. Azula had changed. Why had she expected the world would stay mostly the same?
“We’re not that far from the top,” she muttered, eyes shifting up the steep pitch of the trail again. It was a surprising turn, even to herself, how much she really didn’t mind Kuei’s company. But Azula had some limits. She hoped her tone would convey how she didn’t want to linger on that particular topic any longer than she wanted to linger on that spot along the trail.
“Of course,” he said, scanning the rocky patch ahead of them with an uneasy gaze. “On second thought,” he hedged, “I would just slow you down. Why don’t I wait here for you?”
Her eyes narrowed, lips curling through their corners. It might have sounded like a courtesy to her, but she knew it was an attempt at a diplomatic retreat from the trail. One she had no intention of allowing him to take. Shaking her head, she held her hand out to him, “While I appreciate the generous offer, Earth King Regent, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind.”
With some hesitation, he relented. Kuei put his hand in hers and let her lead the way.
Duskday
Azula rested her hands on her stomach, fingers interlaced and bits of grass tangling in the loose ends of her hair. A book sat abandoned at her side, unread. She simply couldn’t force herself to commit her attention to it–which was the beauty of Duskday. There was no requirement for her to do so. It was a day of rest. Though it was often a challenge to give it the respect it deserved.
It was rather hard work to do nothing. Especially when a certain shadow insisted on falling over her. Azula blew a strand of hair out of her face, giving her a better view of his gaze staring down at her.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asked, beads back to their familiar clacking before they stilled in the folds of his robes again.
Azula snorted, pushing herself up a little on the grass and shaking her head, “I’m not certain you can interrupt nothing.” But if it were possible she was sure he could manage it. “Did you come to join me?” she asked, already shifting to make space for him on the patch of grass.
But the regent shook his head. He clicked tongue against his teeth as if he couldn’t quite work himself up to saying what was on his mind, until it came out after a resigned sigh, “I’m needed back at home, I’m afraid.”
Oh.
Azula’s expression darkened. It had taken just under a week for his interruptions to begin to feel routine. But of course, Kuei had fallen into the same pattern as almost everyone she’d ever known. That everyone always leaves.
“And where does that leave us, exactly?” she asked, unable to stop a hint of bitterness from creeping into her tone.
Kuei sighed. He dropped down to the grass beside her with little regard for the state of his robes. He plucked a blade of grass, weaving it between his fingers with a steady hand as he answered, “I believe it will leave us where we’ve been, Lady Azula. Still getting acquainted with each other and where we stand on things. Wouldn’t you agree?”
No.
She understood the sentiment of what he was saying, of course, but it was objectively wrong. It wouldn’t leave them where they’d been at all. It would leave her where she’d been. But he would be somewhere else with no specific timeline for a return, and that from her experience was the worst sort of departure.
Kuei was looking at her, still waiting for an answer to his decidedly ridiculous question.
“I suppose,” she said flatly in absence of anything better to say. Azula couldn’t begin to make an effort to be more convincing. It was her day of rest, after all. “When are you leaving?” Azula asked.
Kuei let the piece of grass he’d been fiddling with fall. He grimaced, glancing in the direction of the palace. Azula strained her ears. She could just make out the hissings and rumblings of an airship prepared to launch. The inner workings of which were already straining from that launch being stalled, due to Kuei’s absence onboard. By all rights, he was already supposed to be gone.
“You should go,” she said, wincing on the behalf of the airship’s straining mechanisms.
It was Kuei’s turn to wince. Crestfallen, the regent stood and brushed off his robes. Straightening his appearance and getting a hold on his composure before he addressed her again, “Azula,” he began, for once not hiding behind any titles and formalities, “I hope you know I wouldn’t be leaving like this if I didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Azula said, though it wasn’t entirely true. “I meant I can hear the strain on the engines from here. Your airship captain is likely about to blow a gasket himself if he can’t get that ship in the air soon.”
“I see,” he nodded, looking somewhat relieved her firm dismissal came for more reasons than simply banishing him from her sights. Still, he hesitated to retreat. “I’ll look forward to our next meeting,” he said after clearing his throat.
Azula didn’t reply. A slight nod was the only indication she’d heard him at all.
She sat stiffly in the grass, listening to the shuffle of his feet and the clatter of his beads as he retreated. The shadow of the airship passed overhead sometime later. Azula didn’t watch. She snatched up her book again, but the words on the page jumbled together in a way she couldn’t begin to make sense of.
Azula let the book fall.
She flopped back to the grass again, listlessly and passively staring upward until the day faded into dusk.
Sunday
Azula rose before the sun, but her temper rose with it. The higher the sun climbed over the treeline, the more the heat radiated beneath her skin. Her blood boiled. Hair left loose and wild, she threw on her tunic and stalked out of her stateroom. Racing down the passageways and down the backsteps, she slid out into the cool of the morning. It was any wonder the skin on her bare shoulders didn’t start to steam.
Tearing her boots off, she stepped onto the glossy, uneven stones of the rock garden that shifted beneath her feet. She stood to face the sun, drawing herself up to her full height and tipping her face toward the light before she allowed herself a moment of stillness.
Firebending could be fueled on rage alone, of course. But she’d paid the prices of bending with reckless abandon already. She didn’t intend to make that mistake again.
Bowing her head in a moment of reverence for the rising sun, she centered her breathing and clenched her fists. Azula wound back for her first punch, stepping through the motions as a controlled blast of flame spiralled from her hand on one side and then the other.
It wasn’t enough.
She kicked up another blast of flames, striking the crackling blue into someone’s artfully arranged pile of stones. Sparks and pebbles scattered. Repeating the motion on the other side, she raked her nails through the tangles of her hair that blew into her face on the morning breeze.
Azula held both of her arms up. Her palms outstretched toward the rising sun. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she gathered two fireballs that danced just above her fingertips. With narrowed eyes, Azula released her breath. The classic form would be to simply hurl the fireballs forward and allow them to collide with their intended target, or fizzle off in the air in a decidedly unsatisfying way.
She wasn’t in the mood for that.
Teeth gritted, Azula pulsed her fingers. The motion coaxed her fireballs into two wide arcs that slashed through the air, their tails crossing somewhere behind her. She left her arms out, pitching herself forward into a roll and using two more blasts from her hands to propel herself back to her feet.
The sun climbed higher, but Azula didn’t slow down.
She kicked, lunged, and slashed.
Flames spun.
Azula spiralled.
Moonday
It seemed tension was all she was capable of holding. The yarn escaped the loop so many times she lost count.
Everything was unraveled.
Agniday
Agniday left her with an odd sort of conundrum. She didn’t particularly want anyone’s company, but being left to the company of her own mind seemed just as unappealing. Not that she was alone. Despite Kuei’s departure, since her display on Sunday, Azula had gained a new shadow.
Or rather a rotating cast of shadows clad in green silk, as if the spirits were mocking her.
Sighing, she threw the other mallet to Suki. She caught it. Wide, uncertain eyes framed by the thick strokes of makeup that painted her face.
“Azula?” she asked.
“If you’re going to be hovering anyway, you might as well make yourself useful.”
Suki nodded, her golden tassels swaying brightly in a sharp contrast to the rather dull game they played. It could hardly be called a game at all. They carried out the procedures of croquet, of course. Hit followed hit in the proper sort of rhythm. But it was wrong.
It lacked the commentary and goading that made it a game.
They were just going through the motions, and even the thud of Azula’s yellow ball colliding with the peg rang hollow.
Drakanday
No amount of slamming her clay down on the wheel seemed to produce anything other than an off centered mess.
And everything kept collapsing.
Ranyakday
Azula wasn’t certain why she agreed to play with Uncle. Perhaps, she thought his adherence to the traditional aspects of the game would keep her grounded to the moment. Games against Uncle also came and went without particular urgency. It never mattered how she played–whether she scattered her tiles at random or carried out a seemingly airtight strategy, she never stood a chance of winning.
“I see you’re on the defensive today, dear niece,” Uncle said.
Azula stared at him blankly for a moment, her eyes drifting down to the arrangement of glossy tiles between them. She supposed she had, however unwittingly, devised a trap for one of her uncle’s harmonies. It was a weak trap. One well placed tile would be enough to disrupt it, but it was just inconvenient enough that it would force Uncle to work around it for at least another turn or so. Azula didn’t answer him beyond a low hum of acknowledgement. One of her fingernails trailed over the carved petals of her white lotus tile.
“It is one of life’s wonders,” Iroh began gently, “how the arrival of one single piece can alter the course of plans entirely.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, other features pinching with them. Azula shook her head, “Uncle, I’m really not in the mood for one of your metaphors.”
He raised his hand, waving off the sentiment that she had any choice in the matter and reassuring her with a rather unconvincing, “I’ll keep it brief.”
Azula rolled his eyes. Uncle wouldn’t know what brief was if briefness was a komodo rhino that rammed him through with its horn. But she sat back, waiting for him to play out whatever strategy he had in mind.
“Now, Pai Sho has a number of strategies and interpretations to the game, however,” he considered her arrangement of pieces again, “there reaches a certain stage where if you remain on the defensive and put all your energies into fortification that you won’t be able to move forward.”
Azula huffed, but to his word Uncle had kept the metaphor fairly brief and to the point. It was straight forward enough as well that she didn’t have to question what deeper meanings he had intended. Beyond referring to the game on the table between them, she was Pai Sho.
And what had she really done over these past years other than fortifying herself?
Nothing.
She’d been busy, of course, grounded through her days crochet and croquet.
But where had all of that taken her?
Not far at all.
Lotus tile still gripped in her hand, Azula stared down at the sea of pieces between them in a quiet sort of consideration. And one aspect of Uncle that Azula could appreciate was that he seemed perfectly content to sip his tea and keep her company in her silence until the path ahead became clear.
Shawday
“Hey Azula,” Aang said, rocking back and forth on his heels and generating a slight breeze that was rather inconvenient as she finished her final inspections on the balloon, “what are you doing?” he asked. The question had been asked brightly enough to feign casual interest, but Azula knew better. He was more fidgety and flighty than usual, which was saying something for the young airbender who still never seemed to stop moving.
It made sense, she supposed. After maintaining the same, rather strict routines for years even a slight variation might seem concerning. Feigning her own degree of nonchalance and grinning to herself as she tightened the straps, Azula shrugged, “Preparing to invade BaSingSe.”
“Didn’t you do that already?” he asked. She shrugged in reply, and tested another one of the straps before tightening it again. “Well,” Aang began, after entirely too much silence had been allowed to generate between them, “it’s been nice talking to you. I have to go do some Avatar things,” he said lamely as if he didn’t even believe it himself.
“You’re about to go tell Zuko.”
“Yep,” Aang said, popping his lips and flitting back in the general direction of the palace.
It wasn’t long at all before Zuko showed up. He raised his eyebrow at the sight of the war balloon, but joined her in tightening down buckles and straps more than strictly necessary before he said, “So, Aang says you’re planning on invading BaSingSe?”
“And?” She asked bristling, waiting for a lecture or an order to the contrary.
“Is what you’re planning on doing going to violate any peace treaty agreements?”
Azula’s shoulders shook in silent laughter as she considered the question.
“None that I’m aware of,” she paused. “Not explicitly anyway.” It was likely a grey area, that was a certainty. But Azula doubted anyone would have written a contingency for this particular sort of situation. A fact she intended to capitalize on. “I know what I’m doing,” she said, though it likely sounded less reassuring than it should have.
“You always do,” he answered. And if Zuko had further reservations or questions he kept them to himself as he finished helping with the inspections and saw her off.
Duskday
She’d never been particularly good at resting anyway.
Sunday
Her flames fueled the war balloon engines, closing the last bit of distance between her and BaSingSe.
Moonday
“Lady Azula? Kuei asked, startled as she swept into the throne room. He stammered out the beginnings of several half-formed questions, each of them dying on his tongue. Questions she didn’t bother to acknowledge.
“You’re needed for an urgent summit meeting.”
“A summit meeting?” Kuei asked, “I didn’t receive any notice or invitation for a summit meeting.”
“I’m your notice and invitation, Kuei. Dress warm and meet me at the balloon.”
“Dress warm?” he asked.
“Yes, warm,” she answered, calling over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes as she began stalking back to the balloon. What part of urgent didn’t he understand? Though it took entirely longer than she’d anticipated, Kuei boarded sometime later in a fur-lined robe and mittens.
“No crochet today?” he asked.
Azula shook her head, launching them and steering them skyward. It may have been Moonday, but there were simply too many loose ends for that. Snow began drifting down the closer they drew to the mountain range. She scanned through the flurries to find a cliff wide and even enough to be their landing point.
Safely on the ground, she cut the engine and allowed the excess air to escape the balloon with a low hiss. Gentle steam rushed up around them as she unlatched the basket door and crunched out into the snow, pausing only long enough to ensure Kuei followed behind her.
“I’m not sure I understand, are the others meeting us here?” he asked.
She sheepishly turned to face him, tugging her hood up to ward off the worst of the snow from settling in her hair before she answered, “We’re not waiting on anyone else.” It took him a moment to process the full implications of what she was saying, but Kuei’s eyes flashed even through the fogged rims of his glasses.
“But the summit meeting?”
“What else would you call two people talking on top of a mountain?”
“Azula Sozin,” he said, sounding much more affronted than the bemused grin on his face would have indicated, “did you just kidnap the Earth King under false pretenses again?”
Azula paused, eyes drawn skyward and to the flurries that drifted down around them. Her breath sent wisps of mist out into the air.
Had she?
In the most technical sense of things, Azula supposed she had. But it was nothing like the last time. It was different.
She was different.
“I believe you’ll find I didn’t kidnap the Earth King.” She turned back to Kuei, eyes dancing, “I kidnapped the Earth King Regent and–” Azula slid one of her gloved hands into his, her cheeks flushed with the surrounding cold and a warmth within, “I have a proposal for you.”
“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be able to entertain any proposals quite yet,” Kuei said gently, but firmly enough to stop Azula in her tracks.
“Oh?” She asked–a question and a warning in one, her teeth clenching.
It was his turn to grin, tightening his grip on her hand through the thick wool of his mitten.
“Of course not,” he craned his neck toward the trail, “we’re not at the summit yet.”
Oh.
Her lips curled. Azula squeezed his hand back before letting go. She raced ahead, her feet crunching through the fresh layers of snow as she called behind her, “See you at the top, then.”
Because not all patterns were meant to be broken.