Chapter Text
Hell. The room was dark, despite the hungry flames that burned with power, a simple but effective display of skill, the light was dim, the shadows heavy.
And the heat. Heat so agonizing that it made her sweat.
At the young age of eighteen, Azula could count herself among the most powerful benders in the world. An achievement that spoke volumes of her prowess.
Yet the atmosphere of the throne room was almost too much, even for her. She could not understand, she was a firebender! Yet the torrential heat almost overwhelmed her.
Hell, that was the word. That was what she could best associate this room with. With a corner of Hell, ripped from its realm and forcefully mended into the throne room of her father’s palace.
She stood on her knees. Her head bowed and almost touching the floor. Almost. Because her royal blood was just enough to allow her a small measure of dignity in front of the feverish Fire Lord.
Her father.
“Azula,” he said, perched on his throne, high above her, “look at me.”
She did. Not because of the commanding tone of his voice, not out of fear. No. But because she was the princess, the heir to that very bloody chair that Ozai sat upon. As she looked at him, his form half hidden by the unnatural shadows of the room, features indiscernible, she felt small.
She briefly wondered if that was how ants felt, when gazing up at humans, such unimportant beings, staring at giants, gods.
“Yes, father,” she allowed herself the note of familiarity. She was his heir after all.
“A mission, for you, my dear daughter,” he said, his voice carrying a note of annoyance. “It seems that the Avatar roams this lands once again.”
“The Avatar?” Azula realized her mistake too late, but she continued nonetheless, “I thought that problem had been dealt with years ago. No more Air Nomads, that was the plan, right?”
“It is unimportant,” he spoke with veiled anger at her interruption, “what matters however, is your brother’s failure.”
Zuko! The princess thought, anger clouding her thoughts. Her useless, older brother! He had made the capture of the Avatar his life mission, but it seemed that not even that was enough to give him a sense of competency.
“My spies,” Ozai continued, “have given me an interesting report. The Avatar. He has found his way to the North Pole.”
“Am I to capture him?” she felt excited. Capturing the Avatar! How she would rejoice, stealing this achievement from her incapable sibling.
“No,” said Ozai, “while it is important that we bring him under our custody as soon as possible, my spies have told me that he is but a boy. As such, I shall allow your brother this small mercy. Let him prove himself to me, if he ever wishes to return here, home.”
“Then what of me, father? What is it that you want from me?” Azula asked.
“Impatience makes you daring, my daughter,” scoffed the Fire Lord. “The Northern Tribe, I want you to assist in the siege and eventual capture of the city.”
The siege of the city? What was there, in the North Pole? Snow. Inhabitable land for miles. And a city filled with savages.
“I can feel your thoughts, daughter. They’re written all over your face,” said Ozai. “It may seem unimportant, a city miles and miles away from our nation. But think, think of the danger the water tribes resemble for us. Do not be as arrogant as to believe that water does not smother fire.”
Was that fear? Thought Azula. No, it could not be, not from a man as powerful as her father. Precaution! Yes, that was it, she remembered one of the many lessons that had been drilled into her, lessons meant to shape her into the heir of the Fire Nation.
In war, young princess, precaution is advised.
Those had been the words of her teacher.
“I understand, father,” she said, “the North could become a rallying point for those who wish to oppose us.”
“Indeed, my daughter,” Ozai said, and Azula could swear that she had heard a small sliver of pride in the man’s voice, “your power is well known, go north, conquer the city, do not fail me!”
She suppressed a tremble at his words, she would not show weakness!
“Fear not, father. I will open the city’s gates, for you!”
She bowed her head and made to rise, assuming her wordless dismissal.
“Wait,” Ozai’s words made her stop. “I have a request of you,” he continued, “you are my only heir.”
Pride filled her, Zuko was naught but an inconvenience, an embarrassment to them, the royal family that carried the blood of the dragons.
“I wish to gift you, with a guard,” his words shocked her, but she let no emotion show.
“A guard, father?” she questioned. “You, yourself spoke of my strength, moments before, for what purpose do I need a bodyguard, to follow me around? I have plenty of servants already.”
“I do not question your talent, but your protection is but one of the reasons for this,” said Ozai and Azula momentarily wondered if her well-being was even a reason for his decision, but she quickly squashed that thought. Her father cared for her, she was sure of that.
“If not for my security, then for what?”
“The man who shall be given this task, is of great importance to our nation, you might have heard of him, the Young Flame,” said Ozai.
Ah, so that was it. Azula had indeed heard of him. The Young Flame. A captain, barely older than her by a couple years. A good soldier, and a very powerful bender, people said. Although his battles had taken place mostly on the edges of their borders, in the Fire Nation colonies, were word travelled hard and reports tended to be inaccurate.
Yet his renown was great, and Azula realized the political implications of having such a powerful man serve as her bodyguard. A display of power, to the nobles of the Fire Nation.
And military support for the siege.
“I understand, father. I will not fail you!” she said.
“See that you do not,” spoke Ozai, and many words were left unspoken. Words that could be very well interpreted as threats.
As she left the room, she hesitated at the great oaken doors, flanked by two pillars made of red marble.
She glanced back, and glimpsed the silhouette of the Fire Lord. A god among men.
A part of her mind screamed that failure to accomplish her task might lead to a fate worse than Zuko’s. But she ignored that thought. She was Azula. The Fire Princess.
Nothing would stop her. Nothing.
~x~
Azula stood on the deck, practising the motions of her bending. Gracefully, she went through the forms that made the foundation of her fire.
She had mastered the basics before she had seen ten winters.
With fluidity, she dipped into the movements required for the creation of lightning.
Lightning. What a powerful weapon!
She heard his heavy footsteps approach, but she gave no indication of acknowledgement. For the last month, they had been at sea. Azula had learned to recognise his walk, the weight of his form, how he slightly favoured his right side.
“Leave,” the man said.
“Young Flame,” the two hags acting as Azula’s advisors responded. Bitterness in their voices.
“Leave, I said,” again, no discernible emotion, no inflection that could reveal his thoughts.
“We are the princess’s most trusted servants, we deserve to—” they began.
“Do as he says,” Azula snapped. Most trusted? Since when? she thought.
The Young Flame poised himself behind her, silently watching her. She could feel his eyes tracing her movements, studying her figure.
Azula had yet to face him.
“Azula,” the man said, and the absence of a title was not lost to her.
“Don’t you mean Princess?” she asked, as she turned towards him.
Just as she had guessed. He stood with his back straight, arms crossed on his chest, his posture grim, yet he seemed ready to pounce at any given moment.
Her eyes met his, and her breathing slowed. His green eyes, such a strange colour for a firebender, were heavy with emotions.
She could discern none of them.
“I thought you would have gotten used to my disregard for authority by now, Princess,” he said, and there was irony in his voice.
Azula continued through her forms, doing her best to ignore the strange feeling in her stomach.
“I am uncertain what will get you killed first,” she said, “your bravery or your stubbornness.”
He laughed. “Condemn me if you want.”
“What do you want, Hanzo?” Azula asked.
“What is it that I could want?” he chuckled briefly, “I am the captain of your personal guard, I am supposed to watch over you.”
Azula huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, captain,” she said, using the same amount of irony when she called him by his title. “This guard you so speak of, is formed entirely by you.”
“The very best the Fire Nation has to offer,” he said, and there was no arrogance in his voice, no jest.
“Then, we are damned,” sighed Azula.
“We are regardless,” he said, and this time, there was something in his voice. It troubled Azula, that she could not read him easily.
She repeated the same fluid shift of movements again. Then again, when she felt that she had made a slight mistake. Then again, and again.
Each time, she felt as if something was not right, even the slightest mistake was unacceptable. Perfection. She had to be perfect.
“Why do you strive yourself so much? Why do you want to be as perfect as humanly possible?” Hanzo asked, surprising her.
“I have to,” she said, “I have to be perfect!” her last words were a yell as she failed yet again to impeccably complete her form.
She blasted a ball of fire into the air. Her frustration was becoming evident now.
“Why? Because you want it?” Hanzo asked again, “or because your status as the Princess demands it?”
His words did not help cool her anger at all.
“My position has nothing to do with it!”
“Oh, but I think it does, and very much so,” said the Young Dragon.
Her fists were clenched, azure fire enveloping them .
“Explain. Now.”
“You feel the weight of responsibilities, you are the princess of the fire nation, you try and please your father every way you can, you try and best your brother in every way you can, you try to—”
“What do you even know about me?” she yelled.
“I’m observant, princess,” said Hanzo, “I’ve spent a month guarding you, being your shadow. And one tends to notice details like these.”
“You are an arrogant man, you knew that?”
“I like to think the contrary,” he said, pointing to her, “unlike the young lady across from me.”
His words fuelled her anger. “You know nothing about me! Trying to please my father? Zuko is such a disappointment that my existence enough brings my father pride!”
“I think you are lying to yourself,” said Hanzo.
“Lying? I aim to bring honour to my family!” she screamed.
“Honour! Pride to your father?” said the soldier, “Then why do you fear your father so much?”
Her rage overcame her, her thoughts became clouded as she moved through the form she had spent the last hour practising. She pointed her fingers at the man and lightning shot from them.
Too late she realized her mistake. When the explosion of light and the rumbling crack brought her back to her senses, she realized with a shock that she might have killed him.
She was certain that she had hurt him, but her heart ached at the thought. She’d grown quite attached to him, and she did not like to waste people that could prove useful.
Like a veil, the smoke cleared and instead of the charred corpse she had expected, Hanzo stood unharmed.
His position was strange, Azula recognised the morphing of the stance that completed the conjuration of lightning. One hand pointed towards her, the other towards the sky.
“As lightning can be created,” he said, “so it can be redirected.”
For a brief moment, she was intrigued. The possibilities of that new information raced through her mind. They were but passing thoughts, however, as her previous fears regarding his potential injuries returned.
She made a note to herself, to ponder on his words later, but for now, she could not shake off her concern.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, frowning.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It is nice to see that you care.”
Azula scoffed. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. Had you been injured, your recovery time could have impacted our mission.”
His smile turned into a grin. “You pride yourself with your ability to lie. I fail to see that ability.”
Her frown deepened. “You are infuriating!”
“Ah, but, princess,” he said, pointing at her, “congratulations. Your lightning bending was almost perfect.”
“Almost? What did I miss?” she asked.
“Do it again. But let go of the rage this time, lightning is quick, it is supposed to flow, but not like water. Treat it as if it is alive. In a way, it is.”
She huffed, but she tried again.
This time though, she let go of any emotion, letting the energy flow through her, barely guiding it, merely pointing, no, suggesting a destination. She was surprised with how easy it felt.
This time, she pointed her fingers at the sky, and opposite of Hanzo.
Not because she feared that she would hurt him, no, but because she might damage the ship, and she would prefer not to. Yes, that was it, prevent any possible damage to the ship.
The lightning that left her fingers, the energy that flowed through her, was two times more powerful than the previous one.
The loud cracking sound that followed left them in an eerie silence.
Hanzo’s slow clap interrupted the stillness of the moment, and she turned to face him.
“There you go, princess,” he said, before stepping closer to her. “Now, let me teach you how to deflect it.”
~x~
Two days later, Azula was strolling down the halls of the ship. Her destination was the fairly cramped room filled with maps of various territories outside the Fire Nation.
The door was slightly open, and she heard voices. As she heard Hanzo’s deep drawl, her thoughts briefly turned to that training session, at the sweat sliding down his athletic muscles…
What? She stopped her mind from wandering and entered the room.
A few torches provided light, the pale flames seeming almost white. Bent over a table that occupied half the space, stood Hanzo.
He had his back to her, conversing with an officer from the little troop that her father had assigned to her. The map in front of them relaying the few explored parts of the North Pole.
Azula leaned against the door frame, gazing at her guard’s broad shoulders. His unorthodox clothing made him stand out, even at sea, where uniforms were more loosely worn.
His was modified slightly, to allow for more mobility, but what truly set him apart was the cloth he used to keep his hair from falling in his face.
Azula liked the way it made him look. His brown mane kept somewhat in place, while a rouge strand still persisted to fall over his brow.
She cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two men.
“You are dismissed,” she told the officer, for the life of her she could not remember his name.
She felt a pang of displeasure as the man looked at Hanzo for approval, before doing as instructed at his nod.
“These soldiers do not obey—” she began
“They are hesitant yes,” said Hanzo, “because they do not know you. You are a noble, the heir to the throne,” he sighed. “Me? I’ve been a soldier my whole life, there’s a sense of camaraderie in that.”
Azula could see now that one of the maps showed a rough layout of the Northern Tribe city.
“What do you need?” he asked.
She ignored his question. “What are you doing down here?” she asked.
Hanzo sighed again. “Trying to decipher Zhao’s plans.”
They’ve made contact with the man by messenger hawks, and he’d supplied them with a copy of his plans for the attack on the Northern Water Tribe, but only after Azula had assured him that she would not replace his leading role.
“I’ve heard you are smart, especially when it comes to battle plans,” Hanzo said, as he pushed a map towards her. “Take a look at these, tell me, what do you think?”
She could see it clearly, her long years of training in the art of war paying off. The plan was simple, and largely ineffective.
“A frontal assault,” Azula said, frowning, “Our entire force, bashing at the walls. This is pointless, Zhao is just wasting men.”
“Indeed, but I doubt that this is everything there is to it,” said Hanzo, his green eyes piercing her own.
She raised a brow, motioning for him to continue.
“There is something we are missing, the admiral has a plan, hidden beneath this bloody assault. I bet a month’s worth of salary that he wants to use us as a distraction. As bait.”
“I could throw years of your salary on pointless clothes that I’d never wear, and I would still not make a dent in my father’s fortune, so make no bets with me,” said Azula, jesting. “But do go on. A diversion? For what? There is a full moon coming, right on the day of the attack, and the waterbenders will be even more powerful. What does Zhao intend to accomplish?”
“Soldiers talk, Azula,” said the man, brushing a rouge strand away from his eyes, “I have a…contact, on Zhao’s ship, and with a few messenger hawks, I came to find out some interesting things. Did you know that the Dragon of the West is with him?”
That was, unexpected. Her uncle, that meant that it was entirely possible that Zuko was there as well. She had not seen any of them in three years, yet she found it hard to miss them.
“There are rumours,” continued Hanzo, “that Zhao intends to do something to strip the Water Tribe from their bending.”
His words were strangely ominous.
“That,” Azula said, a slight hesitation in her voice, “would be to our advantage.”
Hanzo grimaced. “Indeed, it would be, however,” he said unsheathing his knife and balancing its blade on his finger, “a part of me wonders. At the consequences of this action,” he tipped his hand slightly, making the knife dangerously close to falling.
Azula scoffed. “Consequences, we are the strongest nation in the world, consequences be damned.”
Again, that ghost of a smile on Hanzo’s lips. “You think like a soldier sometimes,” said the man, “simple, effective.”
“This…Zhao, I’ve never met him,” said Azula.
Hanzo twirled the knife between his fingers, the action reminded Azula of Mai.
“Neither have I, but, as I said, soldiers talk and they did not have pleasant things to say about him. I have heard of him ever since he was climbing up the ranks. He is, unpleasant to say so.”
“Then it would be best, to find out more about his plans,” Azula raised an eyebrow. “You think he would try and gain an advantage for himself through his actions?”
Hanzo shrugged. “Who knows what a man like that thinks,” he said. “I have a request of you.”
The intensity in his voice surprised her.
“I’ve spent hours studying these plans,” said Hanzo, and his tone seemed, tired, “I would have truly preferred a more cunning strategy, but Zhao is right in a way, we have the numbers and supplies for a frontal assault, but I worry that it may turn into a siege.”
“A siege, what would be so bad about that? Reports say that the Avatar is hiding in the North, we’ll keep him trapped with no means to escape.”
He eyed her strangely. “I pray to the spirits,” he said, intensity in his voice, “that it does not come down to that. What would be so bad about that? Princess, I fought at Ba Sing Se. I have seen enough sieges for a lifetime.”
Azula regarded him. Her eyes gazed over his features. He was barely older than her by what, two years? He couldn’t be older than twenty. He had been barely sixteen when the siege had taken place.
There were shadows in his eyes, shadows that spoke of a bloodied past. Azula knew that Hanzo was an orphan, that he’d been a soldier all his life.
For a moment, she meant to ask him more, to pry him for memories of a ferocious battle that had taken place years ago.
“What would you have me do?” she asked instead.
The faraway look in his eyes disappeared. “When the battle starts,” he began, “our ship will be at the centre, protected on all sides by our navy. I know that you want to be at the front, to enter the city and fight there, but I want you to remain in your spot.”
She opened her mouth to retort, to insult him, to protest. She was a warrior, she was strong, she had every right to—
Hanzo raised his hand to prevent her from speaking. “I know what you want to say, that you are a warrior, that you are strong, and believe me, I know that. But it is my duty to ensure your safety.”
“Then stick close to me, we’ll be in the heat of the battle, you’ll watch my back,” said Azula.
It went unspoken between them, the level of trust that she had for him to say such a thing.
“I can’t,” said Hanzo, “I’m going to try and find out what Zhao’s plan is.”
She meant to protest, but stopped. Balance.
“How?” she asked. “You mean to tail him? To infiltrate his ship? What if he enters the city, you’ll have to hide from him, and from an entire nation!”
Hanzo sighed. “I don’t know, whenwe meet with Zhao’s army, I’ll see then,” he looked at her, his hand clasped her shoulder. “Please, Azula,” it was the first time she had ever heard him beg, “please, just listen to me. Just this once.”
She met his eyes, amber staring into green. His hand still on his shoulder, it was warm. As warm as her flames. It was…pleasant.
“Fine,” she huffed, “Be as you wish.”
“Thank you,” Hanzo said, sighing, and a great weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.
~x~
It was…beautiful.
With its tall towers made of ice, glistening columns and grand arches, the city was undeniably stunning.
Used to the somewhat disciplined architecture of her homeland, Azula felt wander when she’d first gazed upon the home of the Northern Water Tribe.
But now, as she stood, surrounded by Fire Nation ships, and looking onwards at the soldiers’ assault, she found herself missing that sense of wonder.
A wall had been erected. With waterbending, without a doubt. A wall tall enough to discourage any attempts at climbing, but it was not tall enough however, to shield the city from the catapults of her soldiers.
She watched as another ball of fire and destruction flew through the air, grazing over a splendid tower made of ice, before landing on the streets below, far removed from her gaze by that hulking bastion of ice.
They had to breach it somehow, any attempts thus far had been quickly repelled by the defenders, huge wave rising to meet the charging ships.
They could not afford to keep this ranging assault. The savages had found a way to launch spiked ice balls of their own, and while not sturdy enough to cause real damage to the ships, they were big enough to cause losses of personnel.
These defensive tactics, they were uncommon for the North, no, someone else was behind these, someone else was directing their defensive efforts. A dangerous individual, that one.
She wondered then, how Hanzo fared. He’d manage to infiltrate himself on Zhao’s ship. His last message to her had been strange, it had kept her on edge up until now.
Secret mission. We’re to go behind the enemy lines, something about a spirit, possibility that Zhao is mad. Be prepared to double your offensive efforts, an opportunity may arise.
It was that opportunity that she was waiting for. The Fire Nation army needed it, badly.
Come on, Hanzo, she thought, give me an opening.
~x~
Tailing Zhao’s ship had been easy enough. Tailing him through the city had not been as mundane, however.
Hanzo was a good swimmer so when Zhao had taken a small boat and slithered through the defenders right into the city, the Young Flame had been a breath behind him.
The cold of the waters had been passable, his firebending regulating his body temperature so that he did not freeze to death.
So now he found himself near a lake, where fish swam. Zhao and his little band of followers on one side, and the bloody avatar and his little band of friends on the other.
It was the first time Hanzo had ever laid eyes on that mythical figure. And he was just a boy. Couldn’t be older than fifteen.
His companions looked distinctively water tribe, though their appearance suggested the South Pole as their origin.
He nodded at Iroh, his former commander from the days of Ba Sing Se, and watched as Zhao held a fist towards his bag, where the moon spirit resided.
“Zhao,” Iroh shouted, “think about what you are doing!”
“I know damn well what I’m doing,” the man said. “I’ll be known as the one who conquered the North, the whole world perhaps!”
For a moment, Hanzo pondered his actions. The waterbenders were effectively nullified for the moment, and he hoped that Azula had made use of this opportunity.
Yet, something was very wrong with the world. The pressure around him, the air itself seemed to revolt.
He’d always had some connection with the more spiritual side of the world, not as much as the Dragon of the West, no, but to some degree. Hanzo could feel the life of his flames.
“Ah, the Young Flame,” Zhao said, pointing his attention towards him, “it is good that you are here, kill the avatar.”
Hanzo eyed the little group. They stood tense, surrounded by enemies on all sides. Fire ignited in Hanzo’s hands. The Avatar was but a boy, he could defeat him.
And yet…it did not feel right.
“No, Hanzo!” Iroh yelled, despair in his voice. “If Zhao’s madness is allowed to continue, he will destroy the world!”
“Silence, old man! I am your superior officer and I have given you an order!”
Hanzo grunted, the fire spread from his hands, and Zhao’s soldiers collapsed.
“Traitor!” raged the man. “Traitors! All around me!”
“Let the spirit go, Zhao. This insane plan of yours has bought our army enough time to breach the defences of the city,” said Hanzo, stepping closer to the man.
“No!” the man yelled. “I will rule this world, and no spirit can stop me!”
His fist ignited, and Hanzo leaped towards him, but it was too late.
The flames struck, and burned the fabric of the very world. Everything darkened, and Aang watched horrified as the moon dissolved from the night sky.
“Madman!” Iroh yelled. “You’ve doomed us all!”
Hanzo knocked the admiral to the ground, then he grabbed him, one hand on each side of his face.
“In the name of the Fire Lord,” said the man, and his fingers started to burn, “I condemn you, Admiral Zhao.”
His hands were hot, so hot that they would have melted any metal they touched. Zhao screamed as they disintegrated his skin, his blood boiling in his veins, the bones cracking from the heat.
Zhao died a painful death and when it ended, Hanzo tossed the lifeless husk aside.
He glanced at Iroh.
“General…”
“Go now,” Iroh said, his voice sombre, “return to Azula, she needs you old friend, I am not done here.”
Hanzo glanced at him, at the raging Avatar, at his weeping friends and at the tall boy clutching a boomerang in one hand.
He left without a glance behind.
When the vengeful Avatar rose, engulfed in the waters of the Northern Pole, like a towering beast of old, Hanzo was caught right in between it and the Fire Nation navy.
The monstrosity bellowed and, with a sweep of its tail, sent a great wave of destruction.
When he woke next, Hanzo was drifting. He’d clung to a piece of wood from the remains of one of the ships. Around him, hell revelled.
He’d been no stranger to naval battles. So the sight around him had not shocked him.
Ravaged wrecks of the Fire Navy drifted aimlessly. Dead men all around him.
Very few boats still remained functional, and he recognised Azula’s .
He began to swim towards it when exhaustion came.
Pain. He felt naught but pain. Every other feeling ceased to exist, every other sensation gone. Naught but pain. And a desperate need to reach her. To see her safe and unharmed
He would have suspected if he would have been able to form coherent thoughts, that this need was born not out of duty, but out of something else…
His hands grasped the metal side of the ship, and he dragged himself up, forced his tired members to climb the ladder, he was bleeding from a dozen places, one rib was surely broken, but he did not care.
He had to reach her.
He gathered the last bits of his energy to pull himself up onto the deck, and the sight made him freeze.
Half the crew, dead, the other half, trapped in ice, Azula herself held in place by a mountain of glacier that almost reached her neck. Around her, fallen Water Tribesmen.
He breathed deeply, drew in the energy around him, made it his own. He locked eyes with her.
“Hold your breath,” he said simply, and exhaled.
The world filled with ash and smoke.
~x~
Azula watched silently as Hanzo’s chest resonated with his ragged breathing. It had been two days since he’d saved her, since he’d…
She did not know what had compelled her to keep watch over him. From the moment that she had been freed from the glacier, she had not left his side.Not even when the ship’s physician had worked tirelessly to save his life, she had not strayed.
Azula suspected a reason for her dutiful surveillance. She suspected feelings that she’d not felt in a long time, feelings that reminded her of a time spent with a woman with dark hair and golden eyes, a woman that had abandoned her to her fate.
The princess feared exploring this side of her, for she did not know what she would find.
Not for the first time, Hanzo stirred in his sleep. He mumbled sometimes, phrases that when taken out of context, had worried her.
As expected, when he moved, so did the flames that lit the room. Azula had been startled the first time that had happened.
She knew the man was powerful, yes, but involuntary control of fire even while unconscious…
She laid a hand on his chest, softly. He had a troubled sleep. Azula had presumed that nightmares hunted him, like they did to her, visions of her past. Yet he seemed to ease when she would touch him.
He was warm, but not as warm as she would have expected from a firebender. Even deep in the North, he had retained his normal choice of clothing, and when Azula had asked him in passing about the weather, his response had startled her.
I’ve always preferred the cold, he’d said with his damnable smile.
His breathing stirred again, and his bright green eyes opened. Azula did not react when the candles stirred again, the flames growing slightly in intensity.
“Hello,” she said, her voice filled with boredom, yet she felt nothing but relief.
Hanzo grunted, and raised himself on his elbows. The curtain slipped to his waist, and Azula saw his athletic frame, marred with scars.
His hand darted towards her, and she looked down to see him trace his finger over the red cloth tied at her waist, like a sash.
The same cloth he used to tie his hair with.
“You are alright,” he said, voice raspy, but filled with relief.
A warm feeling engulfed her. “Of course, you oaf.”
He ignored her jab.
“How long have I been out?”
“A week.”
He cursed, then grunted again when he twisted to grab a glass of water from the bedside.
“Where are we headed now? Back to the capital?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“No, the attack on the North Pole failed.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I could see as much, that kid, the Avatar, the bloody spirits possessed him,” his eyes found hers, the intensity of his gaze made her want to step back. “What did your father say?”
She’d dreaded that question. “Nothing, or at the very least, nothing regarding my failure.”
“Yours?” the man sighed. “It was not your failure. It was not your plan, but Zhao’s, we were simply just a pawn on the battlefield. You failed nothing.”
Azula laughed weakly. “Of course I did,” she said bitterly, “I was careless, I let myself be ambushed, I almost died.”
“And yet you did not.”
She returned his gaze, amber staring into green. “No. Because of you.”
“It is my duty, Princess,” the man said, something new in his voice, something that she saw sometimes in his eyes, when she would catch him staring at her, “to protect you. Even if it means laying down my life.”
“So easy would you throw your life away? All that because of a command from my father?”
He laughed then, and he winced at the motion. The sound made her shiver, she liked his laugh, it made her feel warm.
“Princess, I come from nothing, and before long, I will return to nothing. And I won’t do it because of any order…”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. An uncharacteristic gesture, coming from her, but Hanzo managed somehow to bring out parts of her that she’d long thought buried deep.
“How many men have we lost? When the ambush came?” he asked.
“Half.”
“Half…” his voice was once again, devoid of emotion, “a pity.”
“That thing you did,” Azula questioned, “when you exhaled, smoke came out, it was like I stood near an engine, were coal had been burning for at least a few hours, what was that?”
He stood silent. The princess thought that he would not respond, but his throaty voice dragged the answer out from his thoughts.
“If we, as firebenders can create fire…” he said, conjuring a small flame in his palm, it burned bright and white, its heat unusually intense, for such a small spark, “…then that means we can create ash as well.”
Azula watched him exhale a trail of dark smoke.
“Teach me,” she said.
“No.”
“Why? I am strong, you’ve helped me perfect my lightning, surely you can—”
“You can die if you do it wrong,” his words made her stop, a seed of doubt taking root.
“You can die if you create lightning as well,” she retorted.
“It is not the same, lightning is easier, it is energy, you can give it direction, purpose, but ashes and soot…those are something else entirely. You build them in your throat, you can suffocate. It is not pretty, as you have seen…”
“Do you not have trust in me? In my strength?” Azula questioned.
Hanzo grunted. “Fine, I’ll teach you.”
Silence fell between them. It was surprisingly pleasant. She watched him, as he stood before her, eyes closed, but not asleep. She traced a finger along one of his scars, a long one. On his arm.
She briefly wondered who or what had caused it. And the rest. His body was a tapestry of near-misses and fights.
“How many times have you almost died,” she murmured, wondering at his resilience.
Azula raised her gaze and met his eyes, quietly watching her.
She desperately searched for something to say, to fill the quietness between them that had suddenly become uneasy for her. She did not like how vulnerable she felt.
“Zhao—” she began, but his grunt interrupted her.
“Dead. Killed him myself.”
“You what? Why?”
“He was mad, he would have damned as all,” his tone made her shiver.
“He was a high ranking officer. Your superior.”
“To hell with that,” he said in defiance, “I had to take a choice quickly, I decided that his death would have served our nation more than his life would have had.”
“Very well,” Azula said. “A letter arrived yesterday. From my father. He wants us to go to Omashu, there have been…problems.”
She raised from her seat, and meant to untie the sash, but his hand grabbed hers, stopping her.
“No,” he said, the touch making her shiver, “keep it. It suits you.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. His, however, stopped her when he reached the door.
“Azula,” he said, and startled her, for it was rare for him to speak her name directly, “I know you are strong.”
The princess turned to face him, but avoided his gaze.
“But you don’t have to be strong and alone,” continued the man.
She stood quietly for a moment.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then left the room, Hanzo’s gaze lingering in her mind.