cabbagesforall | The Meeting [Open to itstillhurt]

The Meeting [Open to itstillhurt]

In the uncertain remnants of the Earth Kingdom - then the Earth Empire and now...now a nascent Republic - the name Kuvira provoked deeply divergent views. For some, she was a traitor. Oh, not for leading an attempt to reunite all the Earth Kingdom's former territories through terrible violence - but for betraying it. For giving it up, for saying she had been wrong. Then there were those who grumbled about how, after all the violence and lives lost, she'd clearly used her family connections to avoid a lifetime in deep, dank cell or a hangman's noose.

Then there was the third group, which thought she'd done the right thing, and were ready to forgive her.

Most of that third group was situated in the towering metal city of Zaofu - seat of the Beifongs. It hadn't been the most welcoming to Azula, for oh so many reasons. Deep suspicion accompanied the entire enterprise - were it not for letters from the Avatar, she might have been turned away.

But, finally, with more than a little concern - she was brought into a small room. It wasn't much of anything, but it was better than a prison cell, certainly. There was a bed, a desk, a bookshelf - not much across the board. The woman at the desk, however, turned as she entered, frowning in confusion.

She stood up, wearing khaki slacks and a green, sleeveless shirt.

"Can...I help you?"

Behold, Kuvira. Once the mightiest warlord in the known world. Now, living a life of house imprisonment.

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"Fulfillment," she replied, simply, after all of that washed over her. She shook her head.

"Without it," she said, a bit more quietly, "you'll never have peace. And the rage inside, the long-held wounds - they'll only get worse. And they will eat away at you. The emptiness, the fear."

She looked Azula in the eyes, with something akin to sympathy.

"You have to face yourself, Azula. Or it will all end up the same place it did before. And then, well. You'll be in chains either way. Of someone else's making, or your own."

"And this is fulfilling for you, is it?"

It's petulant and she knows it, but something about those words struck her again. The details were wrong, the differences Azula had tried to cling to, but she couldn't ignore parts of it. Hollow, alone, rage, emptiness, fear.

She couldn't even articulate why. It was ridiculous. What was she afraid of? Kuvira could do nothing but prattle, and she'd certainly endured that before. And she was different, she knew that much, even if there were some... commonalities. Kuvira was still wrapped up in ideals, in sentiment, in remorse. That had been the impetus for her grand reformation, no doubt. More like Zuko than like her.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

"And I already told you, I'm not in the habit of torturing myself."

"Yes," she replies, a very slight smile coming to her face. "I'm making amends for what I did, at least. Paying the cost. I can never take back the pain I caused, but I can accept my responsibility for it."

She leaned back in her chair, reaching for her tea again.

"Your tea's getting cold."

There's a long, long scrutiny at that- she doesn't even try to hide it, she's studying Kuvira, looking for something. Trying to understand something, to find something...

It was absurd. A woman of that ambition and drive, that power, reduced to this? Locked away in her own home, being badgered by scholars and trying to win forgiveness? And now, having somebody who- whether Azula agreed or not- had been judged as like her at her worst foisted upon her? It should have been misery. How could it possibly bring peace?

But... Kuvira was formidable, but she didn't seem like a liar, certainly not like Azula. Her strengths lay elsewhere, she guessed. Somehow- impossibly- she's telling the truth. She seemed genuinely content with her path, even now, even dealing with her.

Azula finally averted her gaze with a frown of frustration, sat down, and picked up her tea.

"I can warm it if I have to."

It was all the acknowledgement of the change of mind that she was going to give.

And she just looks back, knowing full well what's happening. It wouldn't have been hard to guess under any circumstances, but in the moment -

She just waits, calmly. Letting Azula approach this, now, from her own direction. She'd made the first, required crack - what happened next had to be of Azula's doing.

It takes Azula some time to speak again- for a while, she simply drinks her tea in silence. She's turning things over in her mind- what exactly she wants to know. Why she's even still here.

Finally, frowning at the bottom of her cup, she finds something to say.

"What made you change your mind? About your... empire?"

She refilled her own, offering to do the same for Azula.

"Because whatever ideals I supported, in the end I did it all out of fear. Fear of being vulnerable. Which I applied to the my nation, but in truth - I just kept doing worse and worse things. Sacrificed people. Sacrificed relationships. And it never helped. There was just the next challenge, the next thing to control. By the end, I was willing to sacrifice the man I loved for the greater cause."

If anything, that was the first time something like sadness appeared on her face.

"It's ironic, I suppose. In trying to build the future, I destroyed my own. And I was still as alone as I was when I started."

She keeps her expression neutral again as she watches Kuvira refill her cup.

That... tracked, she supposed. A zealot so driven she would sacrifice the person she loved. Instinctively, she rejects the notion. Azula was never an ideologue or a zealot, and there was nothing that her deeds could cost her, because there was nobody she cared about enough to fear losing.

Sharp pain in her shoulder, a dull impact on her side, her legs go weak and numb, and she gasps in shock as she collapses onto the gondola platform-

She realizes her hand is clutching the teacup so tightly her hand trembles, and she quickly sets it down so she won't break it.

"Nobody ever said making history would be comfortable. Surely for a noble enough cause it was worth the sacrifices."

"No," she replied, "it really wasn't. Each sacrifice just led to another, and another. The more I pursued it, the less there was of me."

And she watches that cup as it's put down, giving Azula a bit of a look in return.

"I was willing to sacrifice friends, lovers, even family in the name of something that, in the end, just caused harm. What good would that be, in the end? What history was I writing?"

Of course, now she's in foreign territory. The thought of sacrificing something she valued for her ideals was still alien to her, because she was never an idealist. It had always just been a motivation for other people, another lever she could manipulate. Idealism was impractical. Tying your hands with unnecessary complications irrelevant to your objective.

"You tell me, it was your grand vision, after all. The greater good of the nation, or the delusion of equality, or whatever you thought you were accomplishing."

It occurs to her that she probably shouldn't have called it a delusion if she wanted to foster goodwill. Not that she's sure why she's trying to foster goodwill, but-

Well, it doesn't matter. She already said it. She opts not to fixate on it, and instead picks up her tea again, now that her hands are more cooperative.

She just shakes her head at the comment.

"Ah, aristocracy. The Earth Queen thought exactly like that. You would have liked her, maybe - a hard woman...austere, cold - dedicated to power, and the notion that her birth made her worthy of obedience."

The way she said it revealed everything she felt about the idea.

"And I wonder what she thought about it, at the end, when Zaheer - an anarchist of unremarkable birth - choked her to death in her own throne room. Quite the delusion he must have had."

She waves it away.

"In any event, that's not the main error you'll have to face up to on your journey. So tell me. Why did you do the things that you've done?"

That, she thought, hardly proved anything. The airbenders had no noble tradition to elevate their superior benders. The Earth Kingdom had a royal family of pompous, spoiled weaklings, easily deposed with a minimum of effort in her day as well.

But she didn't think she was likely to persuade Kuvira of that, and she agreed- it wasn't really the point. So she focused on the other question instead.

"I did what I did in order to secure my father's victory. We were at war, and I was willing to do whatever it took to win it."

"Remarkable sense of loyalty," she ventured, "to a war that began before you were born."

It's a leading question, but another necessary one. So far everything Azula has said could have been gleaned from a history book.

"What can I say, I'm a patriot."

The answer is flippant, not even pretending to be serious. She's clearly angling at something, and Azula doesn't know what, which is... vexing. Besides, her answer was technically true. Winning Father's war had been what mattered. It had been all that mattered.

"Right," she replied, not even pretending to believe it. Because Kuvira had been - she knew what it sounded like, what it looked like.

Azula wasn't it.

"But what did you get out of all of it? What did you want?"

Hm. Yes. Kuvira had believed herself an actual patriot, it wasn't surprising that she was dubious of Azula's claims. Azula was rather infamously self-serving, after all- she'd even readily admit to it, most of the time. Still, it was beginning to vex her that- despite being a clearly superior liar- her attempts to redirect the conversation kept failing.

"Well, I was next in line for the throne, after my worthless brother went and got himself removed from the line of succession. Twice."

The photograph Korra had shown her flashed into her mind again, and she tried to ignore it.

"So really, it was in my best interest to ensure the Fire Nation's victory, wasn't it?"

"In line for a throne your father immediately devalued by creating a superior position," she commented. "Almost as if he never intended you to rule at all. But, well, you know how the saying goes - the loyal dog gets the best scraps."

She tried to restrain the immediate flare of emotion that suddenly flared up in her. It's nothing. She's just fishing for weaknesses. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter- that her father had thought he outplayed her that day, but that he had been the one to suffer for it, not her. It had been his weakness, not hers.

But it didn't work. She felt herself tensing, felt her breathing becoming more erratic, felt her fingers clenching around the cup in her hand again. The smirk dropped from her lips. For a moment, she wondered if she had miscalculated how untouchable she was, here in her prison- she couldn't fight her way out, but it wasn't very heavily secured, maybe if she finished her off quickly enough she could make her way outside before anybody-

But no. No, that was emotion talking. She refused to let this unbalance her, and she definitely wouldn't be like Zuko, charging foolishly into a completely self-destructive battle just because somebody got under her skin. She was better than that. Better than him. Better than Kuvira, and definitely better than-

She forced herself to stay in her seat, smothered the violent urges, and commanded the smirk back onto her face.

"I suppose somebody in your circumstances would know something about begging for scraps."

Her calm tone failed her on the last few words, and she suddenly feels the teacup shatter in her hands, the porcelain shards cutting into her palms as the remaining tea splashed to the ground at her feet.

Edited (May have forgotten a word there) 2022-11-27 06:12 (UTC)

There was a moment of silence after that, but then Kuvira stood, crossing to a cabinet and pulling open a drawer, removing a small box. With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the table, opposite Kuvira, opening it on her knee - a small kit of bandages and the like.

"Here," she said, calmly, "give me your hands." There was, after all, likely to be a considerable amount of cuts. She took a small bottle of ointment in one of her hands, sighing.

"You know what's funny," she said, as she got started at disinfecting the cuts, "I never had to beg for anything? Part of what made me realize how wrong I was, so easily. Nobody ever made me beg. My parents only abandoned me - they never made me a slave, a servant to their wills. I suppose I have to give them that much. You, it seems, were vastly less fortunate than I."

If she expected honesty, after all, it had to be given. She put down the ointment, picking up the bandages.

"You'll like these. Beifong special secret, I've been told - something woven in to make wounds heal faster. It's probably nonsense - the Beifongs are just made of stern stuff, and heal quickly. But you never know."

There's a part of her that immediately wanted to rebuff the offer- she's never had much stomach for pity- but logically, of course, she's could feel the pain in her palms, see the blood dripping from around her clenched fingers. So she forced her fist to open, dropping the bloody shards of the teacup to the floor and showing her palms to Kuvira.

"I wasn't a-"

She huffed. Alright, that was an absurd rebuttal. Obedience to the Fire Lord was absolute, after all.

"I grew up knowing every possible luxury, and all he expected was perfection in return- which I gave. I never had to beg him for anything." Nor would he have responded well if she had, for that matter. But somehow, she still felt shaken, and not just by her bloodied hand.

She wrapped Azula's hands slowly, not speaking for a moment, but shaking her head.

"You do realize that demanding perfection and total obedience from a child qualifies as abuse, right? Frankly, I'd prefer the begging, all things said and done."

She finishes the work with the bandages, clipping them off in place. She looks Azula in the eyes, too, her emotions a mixture of profound pity, and dawning realization.

"At least I can say I made a choice to start down the path I did. Something I can hold onto, a firm responsibility. How old were you when he started demanding your obedience?"

A father, a Fire Lord, demanding obedience? Abuse?

How... weak.

It's a surprisingly soft, sentimental perspective from somebody who once brought the largest nation on the planet to its knees with ruthless efficiency. The mindset is so dissonant that it draws a stare, meeting Kuvira's gaze with a look of bewilderment.

As soon as she sees the pity in Kuvira's eyes, though, her expression hardens, and she suddenly pulls her hand away irritably and glares down at the broken cup on the floor.

"I'm sure Suyin Beifong might have let you be wild and feral like her mother was, but most people rather expect obedience from their children. Even nice people, I'm given to understand."

The last line is sneered, but the sneer sounds a little too forced to be believable. Another frustrating lapse.

Everybody has their lines.

"Maybe," she replies, non-commitally. "But just how early did your...obligations begin?"

Another attempt to get a rise out of her, put her off-balance, and another total failure. She'd changed her entire life for these people, and yet when Azula openly insulted them, she just... ignored it. Kept asking the question she'd been asking, kept the conversation about her.

Spirits, this woman was difficult.

"Ever since I was old enough to understand the instructions, I suppose."

Because she knew the disdain for what it was. A smokescreen. And you never indulged the enemy in their plan. She leaned back a bit, packing up the little kit.

"So you never really had a childhood," she said, stating the obvious. "And what about your mother? Did she at least encourage you to...well, live, at all?"

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