His scream pierced the air, hurt and scared and oh-so-terrible. Azula wanted to look away, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the horrific scene.

She remembered, all those years ago, when she'd heard father claim he'd kill Zuko.

At the time, she'd been unable to process it. She'd warned Zuko, and mother had managed to save him in time.

Now... it looked like father was willing to finish the job. This time, there was nobody to stand in his way. Zuzu was too weak to fight. Father was Fire Lord.

All scenarios Azula could imagine ended with Zuko dead or exiled.

So what? You're not exiled. You'll be the heir to the throne. Why do you care? Whispered a little voice in her head.

She stared at Zuko's small form, kneeling on the hard ground, hands curled into fists. It was odd to see. Her brother was many things. Dumb, yes. Hotheaded, definitely.

But he was absolutely not small.

Azula tried to raise her gaze, to his face, where she knew father had seared his skin, where he must be terribly burnt.

Moments ago, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Now, she was unable to look for fear of what she may see.

No. Even if it would benefit her, she couldn't let her brother get hurt.

——————————————-

After that fatal battle, Azula snuck into Zuko's room. She'd seen them carry her dum-dum brother up to the hospital chambers. She'd tried to see him, but the healers had blocked her off.

So, she ran down the few short corridors, and when the guards were inattentive enough not to notice her, she slipped through the door.

Curled up in Zuko's rumpled sheets, praying that nobody would ever see her so vulnerable, Azula felt the coolness of the metal. Reaching under the pillow, she unsheathed the knife.

Never give up without a fight.

Never give up without a fight? What could she do? It's not like she could kill Ozai-

What if...

What if she managed to dispose of her father. Then, Zuzu would be safe.

Zuzu would be safe.

——————————————

As Fire Lord Ozai sat upon his throne, Azula fingered the knife tucked beneath her robes.

She heard Ozai drawl on and on about how Zuko was a coward, a traitor.

Azula wanted to yell out. Zuko wasn't the coward, he was! Zuko had tried to protect their people! Wasn't that what a good Fire Lord was meant to do?

She had once thought so.

Now, she wasn't quite so sure.

Holding her breath as her father dismissed them, she wondered if she would be able to do it.

No. You can't.

That wasn't true. Azula had always known she was different. Things like this, they came easier to her.

If someone had to do it, it had to be her.

——————————————

That night, Azula hid in the throne room, knife still hidden beneath her clothing.

She waited, patiently, quietly.

Soon enough, the coast was clear.

She'd thought that her heart would be pounding, that her every instinct would be begging her to flee.

She felt no such thing.

Quietly, she drew the knife, careful to make sure it didn't scrape too much. She stared at the wall of fire, carefully creeping up towards the throne.

There he was, holding himself like he was invincible. Azula nearly scoffed. Yes, he was the Fire Lord, but even kings are mortal. They live. And if it lives, it dies. What a fool he was, to think himself safe.

Flames flickered around the two silhouettes, casting eerie shadows upon the walls. Azula's slim figure was little more than a slip of the light next to Ozai's frame, perched haughtily upon his throne.

She gripped the worn leather handle, silver shimmering in the dim lighting. Quiet as the night, she tred towards her unknowing father. Before she knew what she was doing, it was over. The blade clattered to the smooth stone floor, blood splattering the immaculate walls.

Ozai fell, limp form toppling from the throne, long hair spreadeagled across his face. The fire flickered, then died, leaving the metal braziers lining the room as the only source of light.

Azula leant down, brushing her father's locks away from his sharp eyes, once-harsh features marred by the blood streaked across them. She softly lifted his chin, placing a finger on the slash mark across his throat.

Choking back a sob, she picked up the knife, tossing it into a burning torch, watching as the handle caught aflame, the metal slowly melting into an undistinguishable puddle.

Taking one more look at her fathers blank, entry gaze, Azula left the room, her pace quick, but not quite a run. She wouldn't flee. She wasn't scared.

She didn't regret anything.

——————————————

The door creaked open. Azula stared down at her brother, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He was so weak, so innocent.

"You're safe now, Zuzu. I-" Her voice caught in her throat as she glanced upwards at her uncle.

His eyes sad, hurt, almost, Iroh nodded. He walked over, hesitantly taking Azula's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

You did the right thing.

"I took care of it." She finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zuko stirred slightly in his sleep. "Lala..."

Azula knelt down beside him, tears streaking down her face.

"I'm sorry."

Inspired by the comic strip 'Azula Always Lies'. I hope y'all enjoyed this dark-ish little snippet of my messed up thoughts!

~🐉