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It had been three weeks. Not that Azula was counting; no, she was certainly not desperately hoping that each set of footsteps echoing down the hallways would belong to him. Three weeks since he had last come to visit. At first she had been suspicious, wondering why a ‘war hero’ like him would come to visit the disgraced Princess, the one who had tried to murder the reigning Fire Lord.
As time had passed along, her opinions on the matter began to shift, though she had never been anything but as imperious as one could be while locked in a cell. Maybe he could see through her. Maybe not.
In time, she had come to see it as almost comforting. A semi-regular rhythm, and a reassurance that somebody, anybody, still remembered her. Still cared about her existence.
It wasn’t as if they talked about meaningful things. About how her former best friends were--presumably--living fulfilled lives out from under Azula’s control. About how her brother was raising the Fire Nation’s prestige internationally, from the diplomatic low point that had been the Hundred Years War. About how the world was moving on without Azula leaving her mark on it.
Instead, they talked about trivial things. He would ask her how she was feeling. She would throw back a barbed reply, questioning why that mattered.
“Because there’s more to you than this,” he would always say, to which she could only snort derisively. The world had shown its hatred for the ‘more’ that was Azula. Abandoned by her mother, betrayed by her best friends, captured by a Water Tribe peasant, imprisoned by her own brother, the list went on.
No, there was not more to her than this.
And yet…
And yet, still he visited. And in that time, she had grown to appreciate him. His honesty, his dependability. Even if she knew that he only trusted her because she still could not manage to bend properly. Because she was only as free as the short chain linking her left arm to the stone bed allowed. Because he knew what to expect from her.
“Azula always lies.” Isn’t that what her brother always said?
It was obvious that he didn’t truly care for her, Azula. But if he had come to gloat in her defeat, wouldn’t she have noticed? Surely he would have stopped when he realized that she had nothing but insults for him.
That was the thought that had broken her down. But she couldn’t help herself: she couldn’t let him know the effect he had on her.
She had finally determined to tell him. No more barbs, no more evasion. Perhaps… perhaps the path to healing was to follow his lead: with honesty. After all, she had finally been honest with herself, after four years of imprisonment and two years of his twice-monthly visits.
But the last time he had come to see her, she found her resolve deserting her.
No. She could not bring herself to say the words, the sorts of words that she had only recently accepted about herself. And once again he had left her all alone, this time far more miserable than she had felt in a long time.
She had decided that this time, this time, she would not be so cowardly.
So she waited. And waited. And waited.
He was overdue.
It had been two weeks, he should have stopped in to see her by now. Where was he?
Perhaps she had judged him wrong. Of course he wouldn’t want to see her as a friend, see himself as someone Azula could feel safe depending on. If she finally said what she needed to say, would he even believe her? Azula knew just what he would do.
“Azula always lies.”
Of course he wouldn’t believe her.
Already she felt the sharp sting of rejection, found herself curling into a compact ball of hurt in the far corner of her cell. Before even saying the words, she convinced herself that they would never be accepted. He was part of the world, after all, and the world had shown its hatred for her.
The toll was terrible: by the third week she was no longer sleeping, only barely eating. If she was honest with herself, she considered it best to simply fade away, to free the world from its burden.
But there was some part of her that held on. The part of her that clung to the memory and essence of him like a shipwrecked sailor clung to a floating plank. She remembered all of her interactions with him, both the angry, violent ones from the beginning of their acquaintance to the more recent talks, where she was not quite so insulting as she usually was.
Perhaps she might have inquired about him, asking the guards who brought her food if they knew anything about his whereabouts. Her pride was no longer an obstacle, but she knew that he wouldn’t want her, and she was unwilling to hasten his inevitable rejection.
Her mind had not been this tormented since it had broken over four years ago, at the hands of his sister and her brother. It was filled with various scenarios, some not so bad, others verging on completely devastating. In none of them did she consider that she was wrong.
After all, why would he ever believe otherwise, even though it was true?
“Azula always lies.”
Once again, the footsteps resounded down the hallway, the shadow of feet standing outside her cell door cast through the crack under the door by the flickering torchlight.
It wasn’t time for dinner yet, was it?
Yet the door opened, and Azula couldn’t bring herself to even lift her head to see who had disturbed her misery.
“Oh, Azula…” came that familiar voice. “There’s more to you than this,” Sokka whispered gently as he beheld her miserable and frail form, stepping into the cell and closing the door behind him. His left hand was behind his back out of her eyesight, clutching a scroll bearing her name. His eyes were soft with the expression Azula had often seen on him, but had never understood.
Azula lifted her head at those familiar words, heart surging with long-forgotten hope. Maybe things weren’t so bad. Maybe, if she told him, the plague on her mind would cease. Even if he rejected her like she expected, perhaps she could find a way forward. All she wanted was a little peace of mind.
She found herself looking at the Water Tribe man, adrenaline sweeping away her built-up exhaustion. This time, she was determined not to let her opportunity go to waste.