I'm rewriting this as I go so have fun


Chapter 1

Azula took on the word 'capable' better than she did 'enthused'.

She was placed with high expectations and performed so that she could exceed them, never taking limits for an answer. She supposed it was the way she had been taught that helped her do this - her opinions were far more important than that of a lowly waterbender, holed up and fishing for seals in the north.

Her father had expected nothing less of her than to accept the role of a leader, a general. Although she was not born a man, she held enough weight that she could even defeat her menace of a brother. As the princess of the Fire Nation and as the Fire Lord's daughter, it was her duty to be of her people's approval and purge the weak. And thus she didn't mind having to burn a few accomplices to get her way.

As a child, she was power-driven and had relentlessly drilled herself into perfection, for that was what she was expected to be. She learned to manipulate and control her subordinates with a flick of her wrist, and she dug her way into politics and studied tactics from the age of five. A prodigy, they whispered, guided under the hand of her just-as-capable father.

However, as soon as she took a look at her older brother Zuko, she scoffed at his blatant inability to go through the steps properly, and when Ozai's first inspection of their technique she had a grand time beating her brother to the ground. She laughed at the blatant disappointment her father had on his face as Zuko tripped backward and landed on his back, bruising both elbows and leaving the room with a sore bottom and broken pride.

"She was born lucky," he said as the two of them bowed in filial piety, side-by-side as they parted with their father. "You were lucky to be born."

"Remarkably intelligent and a tactical genius," she heard one of her many instructors say (she didn't like this one; he was too lenient and he had no spine.) She was supplied an army at the age of eight. The true heir to the throne, and she demanded nothing less.

She was a fool.

She remembered that day when Zuko had pulled her from her selfish, narcissistic mindset when she had stabbed her arm straight through his chest.

"You didn't dodge," Azula stiffened, his eyes boring into hers in the way only he could. All she could see were her mother's eyes through those dark irises.

"I didn't," he agreed after a certain pause, his lips curling upwards as he smiled. It was bitter, and yet, so triumphant.

She hated it. But more than that, she hated herself. She was supposed to be the strong one, unyielding as rock and striking hard like a viper, and yet all he had to do was stand there to let her walls suddenly crumble down.

"Why?"

He was losing strength in his legs and keeled over, blood seeping past his mouth as he choked, remnants of electricity jerking his body at certain intervals.

The last, kindhearted face he had on haunted her nightmares.

With new eyes and a level head, she realized just what her ruthless reign had done. The respect she craved was not really respect: it was fear. Even her friends, the people she's grown up with from childhood and the ones she sympathized with, had grown ill from her misdeeds.

In the end, she was alone. She realized too late she had never moved from square one. No wonder her mother had favored Zuko, anyone in their right mind would.

And he had sacrificed his future to change hers.

And there she was, watching in horror as her kingdom fell into ruin. There were too many revolts, too many public executions, and the horribly misplaced hatred against non-benders who the corrupt council believed should be purged from high-ranking positions. Her army, not quite fully under her control, fed on the blood of both friend and foe.

Now she sat in her chamber room, a servant pulling her hair into a sweeping up-do that would fit the coronation ceremony easily. She had grown fond of this woman; when she had returned, the one she had treated the most horribly was the only loyal one left under her care.

She had no idea why this servant had stayed for so long when she remembered a time where she would throw vases at the maids and laugh, but she was grateful nonetheless.

"Thank you," Azula murmured with gratitude as the old woman finished dressing her. The lady bowed in return, mischievous eyes glittering with mirth as Azula stood up. Her reflection was what she had grown up to be; sharp, stunning, but with a gaze sadder than one she'd ever thought she could make. She glanced away quickly; when she saw her own face, all she could see was her mother's beauty but her father's eyes, sharp and condescending.

Her voice cracked from just one sentence; she stood straighter and her eyes drifted to the woman at the edge of the mirror. Her maid said nothing of it, and for all the burden that had been brushed onto the shoulders of others Azula felt the full brunt of a dull, throbbing guilt.

She bowed her head low as she swept down the hallway, the servants flanking her each placing a steady hand on one side of the velvet curtains. She heard the cheering from the other side, feeling her hands grow cold and clammy.

"Are you ready, princess?" They chorused in monotone. She gave a sharp nod, and light burst in from the parted entryway as she walked up to face the adoring faces. This was a terrible mistake, all of it, she wanted to run it was her fault she had failed Zuko was-

She bent down on one knee. Her eyes glazed over faces that she didn't recognize, strangers she called her people, and she wondered whether or not she should simply close her eyes.

"All hail Fire Lord Azula," the unified voices sang, and she felt the sharp prick of cool metal as it grazed the back of her head.

Her lids finally fell closed, and Azula felt bile rise up from the back of her throat as Zuko's face burned in the last remnants of darkness. The Fire Lord was meant for the older sibling unless they were deemed unfit to rule, she had killed him to get here and he had been more capable of leadership than she would ever be.

It was ironic how cold her fingers were now. Azula had always been warmblooded, hotheaded as she was, although the years and years of backstabbing solitude had finally worn her down into a husk. Azula could not fan her own flames anymore. She stood alone, watching the Avatar burn brighter.

She regretted this decision. Azula's eyes flashed open, pained.

And then there was a blinding, white light. Azula felt a sharp pain and then the world faded away entirely.


"...Leaves from the vine," the lulling voice buzzed at her ears, and she blinked to wake herself up. Azula felt absolutely nothing for a moment, living in nothing but a calm blackness enveloping her whole, but then a sharp migraine hit her and she nearly passed out again.

Azula gritted her teeth. She lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling a wave of nausea. She attempted to remember what had happened as she came to her senses.

Right. She had blacked out during the middle of her coronation.

Azula should have felt surprised, but at the moment she didn't feel anything other than the sharp sense of relief. Those servants were mechanical, without emotion, carefully groomed by her father specifically. There would be no mistakes, since even one would reflect badly on a tyrant such as him.

Azula ignored the fact that the thought she just had could be considered heresy. She didn't care anymore.

"-falling so slow,
like fragile, tiny shells,
drifting in the foam."

She attempted to focus once again. Azula recognized that voice. She slowly picked herself up from the bush, leafy twigs stuck on her person. Faintly, she recalled her uncle singing that melody and she picked up where he had left off.

"Little soldier boy," she continued softly, and she heard a loud scuffling as the footsteps stopped abruptly. "Come marching ho-"

Azula's eyes widened as the cold feeling of dread came upon her.

She cursed under her breath as her foggy mindset vanished and she heard the sound of rustling, signifying that there was one pursuer. Her fingers curled while she flared blue flames and launched herself into the canopy, sparks disappearing just as Iroh's figure came poking out of a bush just underneath the tree where she stood.

She held her position. Azula did not make a sound, not even when a leaf came falling down to rest upon Iroh's head.

The general blinked confusedly, not looking up but removing the leaf and then turning away. Azula could not believe her luck. "Hm. Must have been my imagination," she heard him say, although she couldn't really tell if he was faking ignorance or not.

Azula was shaking, her hands trembling as they gripped the bark. She peeked outward into the distance but saw nothing, only the signs of an empty road.

Why was Iroh here? He had been banished from the Fire Nation. But as she gazed at his armor, she realized that it was a general's armor he was donning. When she glanced around, she further found she was not in the Fire Nation, either; trees didn't grow this tall and in such abundant numbers.

She hid herself behind the trunk again as she heard the scuffling return, following a bird's movement as it flew away. Azula relaxed visibly once it had disappeared into the skies and decided to follow Iroh down the well worn out path to wherever he had been headed, wondering why her head was still throbbing.

Azula would not camouflage well against the dark, rich green of the leaves, and so she quickly leaped through the trees instead as she attempted to figure out what was wrong with her and why she couldn't move her limbs correctly. She jumped down with the grace of a feline, landing neatly on two feet and paying attention to the sound of water nearby.

She stumbled over to the flowing stream, dipping a hand into the clear waters, and for the first time she took a long moment to stare at the blurry image disrupted by the ripples her fingertips made. Azula stared at her reflection.

"Why do I look like a five year old?"

Azula passed one hand over the river again, and still the image persisted. She sat down after a moment, unblinking.

Then she plunged her face into the stream and screamed until all the air was gone from her system.

After about ten minutes of disbelieving denial and one minute of calming down, the feeling of throwing up had ebbed as she acclimated accordingly. She felt a sense of displacement for about the fifteenth time. The trees that she had thought were taller than normal were most likely just average height; she was the one who had shrunk. She waved her fingers, noticing how clumsy the action looked. She still had a child's body, after all.

She stretched, feeling blood pump through her tinier body and wondered why the hell she hadn't realized the difference earlier. She had prided herself on being more observant, but even that was now in question. Azula had nearly been discovered because she had decided to sing like an idiot. She was flexible, at least, Azula thought as she bent backwards and placed her palms on the soft, delicate grass, but she felt unbalanced, unsure where to properly place her weight.

"I'm a child," Azula spoke dully, flexing her wrists and hopping from one foot to the other. "I am a child."

Either she'd finally gone mental or she was still dreaming, Azula told herself. But she reached a hand up and pinched herself hard, refusing to even flinch as pain lanced up her arm. If she was not indeed hallucinating, then she was back in time. How many years, she could not tell. Her flames were still blue, luckily, but from her appearance alone it must have been at least 10 years back.

And Zuko was no longer dead.

She did not know what time she was in. She was only guessing that she was around the age of five, maybe six, and she still had a raging headache that would not fade. Her energy depleted rapidly, and her flames were turning orange faster by the second. Azula tracked down Iroh as she traveled, anticipation fueling her every step as she dug her nails deep into the wood.

Azula really hoped that she was not going mental because this would be the cruelest and most horrible joke that her mind would have played on her yet.

She soon saw her uncle's silhouette, praying that he hadn't heard her slight fumbling as she continued trying to get used to her new, shorter arms and legs. Her strides were too long, her gait too unwieldy, and she had to force herself to take a brisk pattering of steps while trying to find the proper way to jump. She stayed far enough behind him and hid herself in the forest treeline whenever he looked back. Azula looked up, and her breath quickened.

The edge of the capital was in her sights, and farther than that was her home within the palace. It was brighter somehow, shining gloriously in the noon sun, and the coronation became but a distant memory as she regarded some much older events fondly. Iroh, being accepted by the guards stationed in front of the walls, walked past them and dispelled the rest of her half-formed doubts.

Iroh's banishment would be sometime in the future, and she wished to figure it out as soon as possible. As Azula remembered faintly the secret passageways she had forced the servants to teach her when she was younger, being the spoiled little brat she was, she parted sadly from the entrance gate and focused on the tunnels underneath.

Azula almost stopped completely in her tracks when she thought of Ursa next, her mind churning unpleasantly as she remembered the woman's disappearance. She hadn't really thought of planning for the events ahead, and as of now she still had too many secrets to hide. Give or take several years, Ursa would disappear by the time she turned nine and when Zuko would brandish that burn over his left eye like a disease.

This time, she thought as realization dawned, Azula could make things right.


I've wanted to get this chapter off my chest for a while now; it's been floating around in the back of my mind for a long time and I'm not sure if I can juggle two different stories and still be able to post regularly, but damn it I'm gonna try. Time-travel AU.

I'll update this when I can. Second story I've started so far.