𝓐𝓬𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓒𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 {𝓐𝓣𝓛𝓐}

Part 12: Honestly Can't Think of a Title

Though Azula didn't notice it at the spur of the moment, she did sustain a burn of her own during her little welcome. The sudden increase of heat and her blue flames has caused a burn on the palm of her hand. She paid it no mind because she was preoccupied.

She was happy.

For once, she got to take care of you. When you were passed out, she dragged you back to your room. Though being only a child, she had to order a guard to assist her and call forth the palace doctor.

They laid you on your bed before the doctor cut around the burnt skin. Not wanting your wound to be infected, he had to rip the infused fabric from your skin to be able to further treat it. While he was making small cuts on your chest, Azula stood by your side, observing the doctor as he worked in case he had any funny ideas.

She wanted to be the one to treat you but she knew when to let the professionals take the lead. After receiving the ointment from him, she shooed him and the guard away so she could look after you.

She ordered a maid to fetch her a bucket of cold water and a clean towel. She was adamant on staying by your side till you've regained consciousness.

When night came, there was a knock at the door. Seeing that the both of you had missed dinner, she expected to see one of the servants asking for your whereabouts due to her grandfather's orders. But when she opened the door to tell the servant off, she was met with the face of her mother.

Ursa was surprised to see her in your room. Putting on a smile, "Good evening, dear. Is 6 not joining us for dinner?" She asked.

Before she could reply, Ursa pushed past her. Asking what happened to you and why she hasn't reported the issue to her. Swallowing dryly, she crossed her arms, "We were sparring. You wouldn't understand, you're not a bender."

"A typical sparring session wouldn't leave someone unconscious and bedridden." Ursa takes her place by standing by your bedside. A look of worry in her eyes as she looks down on you.

"6 needs rest. You should go." Azula states, her hands now balled by her sides.

"How about you go eat dinner? I'll stay behind and look after 6." Ursa offers. "You just came back from the academy and I doubt you had any supper on that ship. Why don't you rest up for today and you can care for 6 when you wake up?"

"No, I'm caring for 6. I need to clean and bandage-"

"I can do that but you might find it difficult. You are a child, my dear, so go eat with your family." Ursa ushered.

Before she could retort, there was yet another knock at the door. Her and Ursa were at a stalemate. Neither moved or spoke as they held each other's gazes as a voice spoke from behind the door. "Princess Azula, the Fire Lord and his highness, Prince Ozai, requests your presence in the dining hall. They wish to discuss your first year at the Royal Academy."

Her fists clenched harder, she could feel her nail embedding deeper into her palm. The pain doubled when she pressed too hard, her nails dug through the burnt flesh of her damaged palm. Her anger flared even more so when she saw the corner of her mother's lip twitch.

"You see? Your father and grandfather missed you." Ursa cooed. She walked near Azula and nudged her towards the door. "Go enjoy your evening, dear."

She knows she can't disobey her grandfather, the Fire Lord. Clicking her tongue, she slapped her mother's hand away before stomping to the exit.

When she slammed the door open, a startled noise leaves from the back of the servant's throat. She glared up at the insolent man before glancing back at you.

Her eyes were on you as the door drew shut.

But just before it was fully shut, a single drop of her blood fell when she saw Ursa caressing your cheek.

Maybe it's not too late to care for you.

The next day, when she woke up early just for you. You were already gone and in your stead, laid Ursa. There were bloodied bandages on the nightstand, the bucket of water she had previously ordered now murky with blood and grime. Ursa's daily wear was carelessly dropped on the floor, while the owner herself was in her night robe, peacefully sleeping in your bed, under your sheets.

Now the question remains, where were you?

Purposely slamming the door as hard as possible, Azule went on a search for you.

There aren't many places where you would, or could, wander off to.

First, there is the study, where you either taught her the basics of war tactic and soldier manoeuvre, or where you would sight off on documents and plan battle procedures. When she went there, all she could see were scattered papers and multiple arrays of scrolls only you knew what was where.

Second was the kitchen, though she didn't bother going there since you usually prefer not to eat breakfasts, unless you were specifically ordered to or wanted to cook for her.

Third was the war room. Where negotiations and battle tactics were supposed to be discussed, but as of late, the council members have gone lazy and hadn't thought of anything original. The meeting room is now where they make you brief on your plans and vote on the one they like the most.

Damn old geezers.

She noticed the deep eyebags that you now lugged around. How many sleepless nights have you spent doing their job? Going up and beyond expectations? She had brought the issue up at last night's dinner to her grandfather. It's only a matter of time for him to make a decree of either replacing the old farts or giving you a much deserved promotion for your hard work.

When she made it past her pillar, she quickly turned around. You were not there. The doors were open and they only closed when someone was inside.

Fourth, the place she had the highest hope for, was the private training ground of yours. A place full of memories, both bitter and sweet, though there are more fond ones where she would get one on one training from you.

Her steps came to a halt when she saw you panting in the middle of the ground. You were not dressed in the proper attire to train nor to walk around in broad daylight.

Similar to her bandaged hand, your chest was tightly wrapped in gauze. Your eyes were red and the exposed skin you had were covered in welts from either rubbing or scratching.

Sighing, she marched forward.

She knew this would happen. This is the usual outcome from when you are left alone with her mother.

The surrounding sand had now turned to glass as she drew near your panting form. The bandages must have made it hard for you to do your breathing technique.

"What did mother do?" She curiously asked.

"... nothing. Her highness simply cleaned and cared for my wound... nothing else."

"liar."

Your lips made a thin line. You straightened your back before standing up straight.

As she held eye contact, she noticed you building your guard back up. With her bandaged hand, she placed it over your chest, right above the centre of your wound where you were hit.

"I will not apologise nor am I ashamed." She stated coolly.

You place your hand over hers, pressing them onto your burn, making the wounds sting. "And I will not ask for it."

When she drew her hand back, there was her bloodied smudge left on your white bandage.

"Good."

Because without you, she wouldn't be the way that she is now.