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The first time he sees her it's only for a moment; she's a pale figure against the night. It rains when she arrives -- a soft sort of rain, the kind which blurs the world at its edges. Red Fire Nation lanterns cast their light into the darkness, yet it's but an echo, devoured by the hungry shadows.

He has spent more time than he wishes to admit, brushing his fingers to his face, worrying about his scar. What other prince is as damaged? What woman deserves a disfigured man?

Zuko peers downward from his window. She's too far, just a faintly green shape way down by the castle entrance, there aren't any features to discern. He wonders, does she find the magnitude, the might, of Fire Nation architecture impressive? Does she admire the beautiful red lights that dot the city? Have the walls of Ba Sing Se already bored her of tall buildings?

Then, Zuko thinks she glances up for a moment -- she's still too far, but it's enough to convince him. He quickly sinks back into his chamber, heart racing.

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The second time is in the main hall; they're both dressed up from head to toe, she in so many layers of kimono fabric that he wonders if she can still move, and him in the full, prestigious, traditional armor of his nation. Zuko knows they're separated by a sea of people, each of them at an opposite wall, but he can't help wishing that she notices the intricate dragon pattern etched into the red metal covering his chest. Can't help hoping she finds him stunning.

The green of her kimono cuts through the red hues of the castle. Her black hair flows over her shoulders, contrasts the light colors of her garment. He wants to see her up close.

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There's talk of rebellion in the Fire Nation colonies, which concerns the Fire Lord. The Earth Kingdom is still its own entity, but a lot of control links back to him, so when he arranges for the princess to marry his son there isn't much protest.

A child of the two of them would have the right to both thrones. He needs that child, Ozai knows, to tranquilize the colonies.

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Zuko paces, restless, he knows about the traditions and he has read all the rules. But somehow they still don't stop him from questioning why he cannot just meet her.

Toph. He knows her name, pronounces it, turns it around in his mouth. It sounds foreign to him -- an Earth Kingdom name. Zuko can almost smell the earth from within the vowel, can almost imagine the steep hills and stone gardens of its origins. When he has said it a couple of times it curls around his tongue, he can't quite get it right anymore.

It's fit to give her a gift at this point. She has already received many, but impersonal ones, like food or clothes. No, he should give her something more intimate. What do Earth Kingdom women like?

The only person he can ask is Iroh. His uncle, with those laughing eyes, who sees right through Zuko's facade of coldness. He brings scrolls, old documentation of previous marriages. There aren't many -- the betrothals of Earth Kingdom royals with those of the Fire Nation are few and far apart.

One such array of gifts was from the extravagant prince Kaen of the Fire Nation. His love, apparently, led him to gift ships with gardens of fruit trees on board; rice wine sparkling with crushed pearls; the most expensive musical instruments, and even their musicians.

Another prince -- according to legend -- let a chef prepare fugu for his betrothed. Such a dangerous delicacy was sure to impress, if prepared correctly, which it seemingly had not as the princess ate the dish and died from its poison.

Zuko decides to avoid blowfish. Though, perhaps women enjoy bold symbols of affection such as fruit trees on ships -- the Beifong family could sail home on such a ship.

And yet that would still make it impersonal. He gives up.

What would you have given your future wife? He asks Iroh, indignantly. His uncle's beady eyes shimmer.

Some tea.

Tea is much too simple! Zuko's anger bubbles up within him. It's always close, always nearly boiling. He doesn't know if it's good or bad.

Easy Zuko. Iroh's voice is calm, but there's an element of laughter in it, barely concealed. There are rumors, you know. About this princess. I don't think she enjoys the... visual aspects of most gifts.

Zuko doesn't quite understand the implications. It feels like a joke, at his expense, at his lack of understanding. Is he unintelligent? Does it mean she doesn't enjoy lavishness?

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He gives her tea. A small box, a beautiful design, carved wood and dark metal pieces. Detailed intarsia of a pine tree on the lid. The tea leaves, dried and dark, from the most expensive tea terraces of the Fire Nation -- from the oldest tea trees in the province, watered with mist and the mineral springs of Aì Luò mountain. Jasmine flowers for sweetness.

I'm stunned by your knowledge of teas, says Iroh.

Clearly I should spend less time with you and more time on the training grounds, Zuko answers, only a half-joke.

The dark little box looks scrawny in its humility no matter how much fine red silk he ties around it. Iroh assures it's everything but -- this tea is worth more than gold -- but Zuko feels anxiety rising in his chest.

Should I add something? He asks. Flowers? A tea set?

This is enough, Iroh responds carefully. You'll have all the time in the world for gifts later.

Zuko still asks a florist for advice. The thin man gives him an iris. It symbolizes a message, he says. And Zuko does want to send her a message.

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The third time he sees her he is already annoyed by the yuino ritual. He has received gifts from the Beifong family as well; a string of hemp, showing their hope for the marriage. Traditional clay statues, aromatic incense, fruit and nuts from the fertile lands of the northern Earth Kingdom. Enough to feed him for a month, but nothing from Toph herself.

Zuko tries to catch a glimpse of her face from underneath the thin fabric which covers her face. He knows he's not allowed to look at her directly before the purification ritual, but he doesn't really care for traditions at this point.

The moment betrays only that her skin is pale, free from imperfections. He makes out full lips, a delicately flat nose. Her eyes are cast in shadow.

How is this good? Zuko vents his frustrations to Iroh. I want to look at her, speak to her. I know nothing except her name!

Iroh nods along, more invested in his cup of green tea than Zuko's endless rants.

The irritated prince sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth, a flame igniting from his lips. His breath fuels it, gives it life. He rises to his feet as he swallows it again, feels the heat travel from his throat into his blood.

They're already on the training grounds. The Beifongs aren't far away. He should put on a little show.

Azula is off fighting some battle, and sure -- he doesn't have her lightning -- but his bending is still impressive.

Zuko calls for the musicians. They position their kotos in their laps.

He breathes with his eyes closed -- the most important part of fire bending is the breath control -- a sort of meditation. Clear your mind. Nothing will hurt you, nothing will scar you.

The dancing dragon, as taught to him by Iroh, begins with a wide stance. A lowered body, a fluid motion of the arms. Quick feet, move in a large half-circle. Many poets had described a young Iroh's bending as magnificent -- the way he moved like a river through the landscape.

Down against the ground, up into the air, raise one leg into a kick and let it spin the entire body. Fire is energy, it leaves the body like any other force. The energy has to be created -- drawn out from the sea of chi, or simply from the friction of movement.

The ground feels soft somehow, like it molds itself after his feet. Zuko opens his eyes to land and reaches his hand down within the movement itself. His fingers graze the glazed-clay floor of the training ground -- and pull up a chunk of it with him.

It's stone. But soft. Cool to the touch, not heated to its melting point. He loses his balance, and just as he reaches a hand out to propel himself upwards with his fire the ground itself rises to catch him.

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The royal palace goes wild with uproar. Zuko sits with his hands twisting the fabric of his clothes, heat rising to his cheeks, embarrassed as the fire sages try to find the culprit who would dare interfere with the prince's training. They're all scrambling to defend his honor, which only draws more attention to his lack thereof.

The Beifong family are also eager to defend their daughter, but in a way which demeans her; my daughter is blind, they say, and weak, and unable to bend. He's not sure how many times he has heard this phrase in the last hour.

So when Iroh gives him an opening to escape into one of the gardens, Zuko takes it quickly, barely noticing his uncle's eyes are smiling again.

She's sitting on a stone bridge, her feet in the garden pond. She has taken off several layers of cloth, now there's only a very simple tunic and wide trousers covering her. The long hair is no longer loose; tied up and secured with a thick headband.

I know you're there, she says, just as he's about to speak.

How?

I can feel it. Toph answers, and Zuko hears the smile in her voice, she's proud of this. In the ground. It's part of my bending.

He comes up close to her, decides against his better judgement to sit down beside her. It's unladylike, un-everything of their ranks, to do something like put your feet in the garden ponds -- but something about the freedom of it makes him discard his rank.

Bending? But that would mean-

There's something wrong with her eyes. They're light, glazed over almost, even when she turns to face him she doesn't quite fix her eyes on him.

What? She asks, but it's more of a challenge than a question. Did you lose your voice?

You're- his words catch in his mouth, -blind.

You got a problem with that?

He laughs. He can't help it. All this time he had hoped she would notice all these little things, like a dragon pattern or intarsia on a box. She doesn't enjoy the visual aspects, his uncle had said. So then, what does it matter to her if he is scarred and disfigured?

What? She asks again, but this time it's a question, an uncertain one.

Your eyes are pretty, he says, they look like mist over the mountains.

Toph goes bright red, and Zuko feels the weight of how embarrassing those words are only after he has said them.

Nice show you had going back there, she changes the subject forcefully.

The earth bending, was that you?

Yep. It was sad, you dancing alone. So I decided to dance with you.

It's not a dance! Zuko calls. It's a martial art.

Right, right, there's a cheeky grin on Toph's face, and this version of fire bending is called what, exactly?

...'The Dancing Dragon', he confesses unwillingly. She laughs, and although it's at his expense, somehow he likes the sound enough not to get upset. Yeah, okay. How do you even know how to bend anyways? Your family all say-

Ugh, I know what they say, she cuts him off. They don't understand anything.

They're silent for a moment, and Zuko is trying to get himself to say 'sorry' when she speaks again.

The tea was nice by the way.

Oh, really? My uncle advised me to give it to you. He bites his cheek after saying it. How come this girl makes him confess such embarrassing things?

She chuckles. I like your uncle. He talks to me sometimes, he seems like a good person.

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They sneak out to the garden that night. Zuko stumbles there, blinded by the darkness -- she told him not to bring any light -- and is startled by her when she shows up, silent like a shadow. Toph laughs under her breath, a soft fluttering, like a bird's wings. Zuko decides that is a sound he could live in.

He trips over his own feet several times. She is in front of him, several meters, she walks around like it's midday. Toph scoffs and grabs Zuko's hand, leading him through the dark corridors, until they finally reach the training grounds. His hand becomes clammy; she doesn't let go immediately, not even when they reach their destination.

So, um, he stutters, and she finally lets go, which he then knows wasn't quite what he had wanted. You want to fight?

Toph gives a grunt of agreement, paces out onto the glazed-clay floor. Zuko has never battled someone with another bending type before.

Aren't you scared that I'll burn you? He asks, his voice quivering slightly at the edges. Flames spill out of his hand, illuminating the hall around them. Toph's eyebrows go up in challenge.

Aren't you scared that I'll crush you? She asks, a smirk spreading across her face, her lips sharp at the edges. Zuko feels embarrassment at the challenge; she shouldn't do that, shouldn't question him, shouldn't go against the excellence of the Fire Nation's crown prince. But then again, does he really care? Her company is worth more than his pride, he realizes, he could trade his title and his glory and his victory for another moment with her. And really, she is the crown princess of another powerful nation, a bender of another powerful element. What doesn't give her the right to challenge anyone she pleases?

Toph widens her stance, her strange white eyes glimmering with the light of Zuko's flames. He stalks around her, but she shifts her body to face him with each step.

Zuko relaxes. And thinks. Earth benders will stay grounded at all times. Will she make the ground soft again, or will she keep the clay hard to block his flames? He drops close to the ground, hands forming a butterfly shape, and thrusts a larger flame agains her legs. She jerks her right leg and brings down her foot hard, blocking the fire with a solid piece of clay. Great, Zuko thinks, hard bending.

He decides to dance like a dragon again, the fluidity of a dragon's movements should counter the robust nature of a badger mole. Zuko spins and brings his core forward, pushes himself from side to side between the pillars of stone Toph erects in his path. Quickly, he darts to the left, hoping to surprise her on her more vulnerable side. He trips over a low brick-like structure, and before he knows it she has him pinned to the floor with shackles of stone. She releases him just as quickly. A real master of their martial art doesn't actually need to hit their opponent, or keep them restrained for long; they merely show when and where they could have been able to deal the finishing blow.

Zuko picks himself up again. This time he kicks his leg high, exerting a massive flame from his pointed foot, and brings it down right beside Toph. She doesn't even turn -- her back is to him -- and yet another wall shoots up between her body and the fire. He can't even get close to her. Like a bat, she feels where he is, she doesn't need eyes like him. All she needs is her bending, and the ground. The only way to even approach her is to avoid touching the ground.

Toph has kept large chunks of stone in the air, floating them around as ammo, and so Zuko jumps. He shoots out huge flames to propel himself, which then disperse into the air; it becomes hot, despite the night. He doesn't know if she can use the floating blocks to track him, so he jumps from one to another, only to keep himself off the ground. Toph seems immediately disoriented. Zuko can see the thoughts racing in her head by the expressions flashing across her face; her brows furrow in confusion, then realization dawns on her and he knows what she will do only a split second before she does. He once again lets out a burst of flames to gain even more height, leaving the stone right before she drops every single one of the blocks, allowing them to sink back into the floor. He only has a split second before the planet pulls him down again, but he enjoys the moment, a moment in which he almost becomes a dragon.

Zuko comes down right above her, and extends his body, planning to slam his feet down to gain footing and balance so he can catch her. But he doesn't. The floor softens, melts away under his feet, and his plan is torn to shreds. Toph, instead, extends her arm and grips his waist, supporting him as the ground becomes solid again.

They're quiet for a few seconds. And then, as if on queue, they both burst out laughing.

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Toph sits across him, her long black hair loose and flowing over the outermost layer of her kimono. It’s light green and white, patterned like a traditional ink wash piece. All its knots and layers make it so it can take hours to get dressed, and while both her hair and clothes are beautiful and expensive, Zuko knows she is uncomfortable. She would wear her hair up, or even cut it all off, if she could. And she would wear pants and sleeveless shirts and men’s belts; she wants to go barefoot, develop calluses on her royal feet rather than be fragile and controlled. 

You want to take them home as pets, his mother Ursa would say as they watched the wild turtleducks and crane-deer, but they’re meant to be free.

A scribe sits in the corner, detailing the interaction. A tea master pours hot water into the teapot, filled with an incredibly expensive blend. One could even know it from the dark, dried leaves -- while the shape of the leaves is difficult to ascertain as of their dryness, the color and width of each indicate it’s Dà Hóng Páo, a dark, highly oxidized kind of oolong tea. It’s an Earth Kingdom tea. Iroh is ripe with envy, Zuko knows -- while it’s not his uncle’s favorite, not being allowed to serve tea in a royal betrothal tea ceremony is agony to him. 

Toph is tired, like Zuko. His muscles ache. Staying up most of the night is not in his usual schedule. The tea master delicately fills his cup, then hers. The ceremony calls for them both to wait for it cool, as their families bring their blessings. Zuko sits on his knees, smiling and lightly bowing his head as thanks. The distant cousin before the pavilion on which they sit is crouched all the way to the ground, the most humble of bows. It indicates his respect for Zuko, crown prince and future Fire Lord, and for Toph, princess of the Earth Kingdom and future Fire Lady. Funny that, he thinks, a Fire Lady who bends earth. 

The scent of the tatami mat is overpowering, although it is a smell which the Fire Nation loves; the straw-like tatami cover the bedroom and pavilion floors of nearly all households, from the very highest to the lower classes. Luxury, instead, is indicated through the quality of the rice paper sliding doors. Sometimes, silk is even woven into the paper, and different methods of preparing it create color and sturdiness. Some homes have coarse paper and no paintings, others have yellowed paper with bleeding paintings, and some have nearly translucent paper with beautiful art in most expensive inks and dyes. 

Traditional ink is created through the burning of different materials -- the type of wood is important for the quality -- and collection of the soot. Soot and ashes make for bad ink. The soot ovens are of varying quality, the very best reserved solely for the royal palace and Fire Sages. Only expensive mahogany is burned in those ovens, and the soot blocks are stored for years upon years. The standard storage is five years, but cheap ink is only stored for three. Zuko visited ink craftsmen to learn of their practice when he was younger. 

The scribe’s assistant cuts one such ink block, grinding it down with water against his ink stone. The scribe dips her long, beautiful brush into the night-black liquid, continuing to write with the flowing motions of the written word, her eyes darting across the scene. Zuko looks away as her eyes reach him. 

Toph rests one hand lightly against the tatami mat. Zuko knows she would rather it be stone, and his heart aches for her, it must be difficult to see when she isn’t standing barefoot on earth. But she is also resilient, he knows, and pity doesn’t sit well with her. 

An unknown man, perhaps a distant cousin or eunuch, wails his emotions to them, blessing their coming marriage and future children, as the frail princess will need luck. Zuko shoots Toph an embarrassed glance, and she arches an eyebrow -- she can probably only see the vague outline of him, but she senses his emotions from his pulse and breathing. Zuko knows he’s blushing -- but there’s also something funny about the situation. He knows Toph wants to challenge the man to a duel. He almost wants her to do it. 

He likes her even more than he knew he could.

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Toph becomes restless. Zuko can tell, because she fidgets, seems lost in thought, becomes secretive. She runs to the pond, but doesn’t stay. She walks the palace grounds, but doesn't play tricks on the attendants. She resists the endless beauty treatments, refuses to blacken her teeth, bounces anxiously in her stool as the servant women loosen every last strand of night-black hair with their fine toothed combs of jade and ivory, until it hangs like a luscious, feathery curtain from her head. Granted, she never sits still for the treatments, but she seems less and less inclined to power through them. 

Zuko wonders if, perhaps, she is nervous about their wedding. Toph is not the type to dream of juni-hitoe, the twelve-layered silk kimono worthy of a princess on her wedding day. The garment, weighing as much as a three year old child, has been prepared already, it waits patiently at the heart of the palace. Zuko has admired his own robe several times, the one reserved for princes, which both his father and his uncle wore at their weddings. The thought feels like a bad omen. 

Or perhaps it is Azula’s return; so graciously does the warrior princess travel home to witness her dear brother’s wedding. She returns with ten thousand soldiers and the entire Imperial City is in uproar. He and Toph greet Azula together and the sight of her is a bitter tang on his tongue. She walks into the palace in uniform; metal and leather, her helmet firmly under her arm. The golden symbol of the House of Fire boldly embroidered on her chest. This must be what opposing armies and rebels feel as they lay their eyes on her, Zuko thinks. He feels as much her enemy as they are. She has a sword at her hip and daggers strapped to her body, but she doesn’t need them – to Azula, as to her namesake grandfather, the blue fire that burns hotter than the core of the Earth comes as naturally as breathing.  

But it seems it is not Azula who upsets Toph either. Toph is skittish around her, but she is skittish around everyone, now. Even as she sits with Zuko and Iroh for tea, her misty-white eyes, despite their blindness, betray that her thoughts wander. The tea goes cold in her hands. 

Least of all does Toph want to be with her family. They prance proudly, parading around the palace, happy to be seen in all their wealthy glory, eating richly yielding fruit under crimson parasols, fanned with the most luxurious punkahs of creamy-white feathers. “Dragon plumes”, they call them, although that is so false it borders on offensive. Toph seems to shrink away from their touches, their gazes, their voices. She shrinks physically too; diminishes in their presence. Becomes small and quiet although she if anyone is large and bright and full of life. Zuko empathizes so much he aches, because he feels the exact same as he takes his place by his father’s side, opposite Azula, who sits more elevated. 

Zuko descends into the old crypt under the palace. There is a statue there, in the darkness, of the dragons. The original fire benders; the ones who lived on the sun, according to legend. Zuko knows the last two dragons are alive only because Iroh has told him so. During Fire Lord Sozin’s time, fire benders turned against their ancient masters and teachers and began hunting them like regular prize animals. Sozin had the holy crypt closed, kept out all Sages and commoners, let no one pray. Only Iroh hid a key, much like only Iroh spared the dragons.

A vital part of fire bender identity was lost the day Sozin stilled the beating heart of a dragon, Iroh has whispered to Zuko in the crypt. What is there left in our Empire after its philosophy is stripped away?

Zuko lights a stick of incense. He watches as embers float from the muted red-orange glow at the tip. Threads of fragrant smoke rise into the room, spiraling around the barely visible forms of the dragon statues. He closes his eyes, and the darkness is absolute. There is no crack in the world through which any light peeks through, and at first Zuko thinks the silence is complete as well. But it isn’t, not entirely. He’s deep beneath the palace under tonnes of stone and wood, but even down this far he can make up muffled voices of people far away. No words, but the melody is unmistakable as a voice. And beyond that, the air is not still; he can’t feel it through his feet, not through his palm on the cool stone wall, but the air in the crypt seems to vibrate with the thuds of commotion above him. Marching soldiers out in the Imperial City perhaps. Or servants running in the kitchens. He can especially feel the booms of Azula’s training exercises, and she is high up on the training grounds suspended above ground. 

A silence that is not quite silence. Blindness that is not quite unseeing. This must be how Toph senses the world, Zuko thinks. 

That night, Zuko tosses sleeplessly in his bed, until he tires of not being tired and gets up to walk the halls. He sees a flash of movement – recognizes Toph, although she moves quickly and soundlessly – and follows her curiously to the roof of the palace. 

The sight that greets him gets him discovered, as he takes a startled breath. There is a massive animal in the air; he has only ever seen its kind in illustrations, but the size and the flight are unmistakable. The fluffy white fur and brown markings just as well. And there are people on its back; Zuko sees the figures of a young man and woman. From his lessons with Iroh, he knows they are Southern Water Tribe– he recognizes the man’s fur-trimmed parka as quttilaq, and the woman’s skirted angijuqtaujaq , although she must be wearing a summer style as her sleeves are short. As soon as they notice him, they are defensive; the man raises a boomerang and the woman moves swiftly to her water pouch. Ah, she must be a bender, Zuko thinks. 

And then his eyes fall upon the third figure on the sky bison, the one who holds his hand outstretched for Toph. He is slender, clad in what looks like mustard in the half light, but must be saffron. The shocking tattoos on his arms and hairless head make Zuko gasp. 

Avatar , he can’t help but breathe the word. 

Toph stands motionless for a moment. The Avatar looks alarmed, and the Water Tribe pair are ready to fight. Zuko can feel himself shift, slowly, into a defending stance, but his eyes search Toph’s face. 

Toph, Zuko says, you must have felt I was following you. You wanted me here. 

He knows Toph isn’t looking at him, but her eyes seem to meet his. She remains quiet. 

Were you always going to leave? He asks, not even caring about the audience. 

Yes , Toph finally exhales, and Zuko feels his chest go cold. But… she lets go of the Avatar’s hand, and takes a step back toward Zuko. You could come with me.  

There are sounds of protest behind the Avatar, especially from the woman – who is really more of a girl – but the Avatar himself quiets her with a graceful gesture of his willowy hand. 

Zuko looks at Toph, who reaches out her own small, white hand for him. He could yell now, awaken the guard, or if he has been knocked out by one of the benders in the group at least the servants inside. He could prove his father wrong in this moment, bring him the Avatar, in the flesh. Finally put an end to the constant warring; finally surpass Azula in every way imaginable. The world begins and ends in fire, she always says, everlasting, victorious fire. 

He could, but he doesn’t want to. There’s so much more he wants to know about the world. So much he could learn from the Avatar. So much he can learn from Toph, he thinks, as he slides his hand into hers. He looks over the group one last time and counts water, air, earth. 

I can teach you fire bending, he says, and the Avatar’s eyes soften. Toph’s hand is warm and steady in Zuko's.