If it were not the most efficient means of getting from point A to point B (point A being Gaoling and point B being the capital city of the Fire Nation) Toph decides that she would never, ever set foot on any kind of seafaring vessel again, be it ship or boat or canoe. As it is, though, she is currently standing on the deck of the Azalea, a Fire Nation ship bound for the Royal Palace.

From where she stands on the deck, the warm metal coarse and rough against her bare feet, her sight radiates outwards, from stern to bow. She singles out the distant heartbeat of a lone crew member moving about the ship's upper cabin and his footsteps echo through the metal, sending vibrations up through her feet and throbbing through her ears as if she could actually hear him, as far away as he is.

The comfort of sight, out in the middle of the ocean, has done little to make this journey any more bearable, however. For twelve long days, the rocking of the boat has made her stomach queasy, the stench of saltwater has stung her nostrils and only furthered her nausea, and the constant sounds, from the steady thrum of the engine room, vibrating through the many levels of the ship and into her, like so many pins and needles jolting against her legs, to the sound of the ocean, powerful and strong and spraying it's mist against the ship's bow, has set her head to throbbing on a far too regular basis.

She misses being grounded. She misses earthbending, longs for it all the more on the days when the firebending members of the crew perform their drills and she sits atop the ship's cabin and listens to them, reveling in the warmth and the energy they exude as they move, a beautifully choreographed formation.

She closes her eyes (as useless as the action is) and draws a deep breath of ocean air and holds it, counts slowly to ten– eight, nine, ten– then releases, feeling her rib cage tighten on the exhale. She widens her stance, imagines the firebenders in her mind, the subtle variations in their movements, and attempts to feel something, anything, within her resembling warmth. The movements are certain and jerky, a bit like dancing, she thinks, and she follows them, thrusts a fist forward and–

Nothing.

She can not firebend. Can not waterbend or airbend, either. Not properly anyway, but at least the water ripples at her touch and the air stirs against her fingers.

If she focused hard enough, sought out the impurities within the metal, reducing it to it's true form, a product of earth, she could feel the smooth plating of the ship's deck warp beneath her feet. She can metalbend, but the fire isn't there. Sure, she can make a flame dance but she can not see it or feel it. There is warmth and she's learned quickly that that means nothing. That was the cycle, though: Earth, Fire, Air, and Water, and so she has to master Fire next, before either of the other two.

There's no one left to teach her Airbending anyway, she thinks and swallows the thought down.

She sighs and steps her way across the deck, aware of the many eyes of the Dai Li upon her, hidden away in their shadows, as they do. She thinks it a waste of their energy to protect her, more so a waste of her father's money, which has no doubt been heavily funneled into this protection- Protection which she does into need.

She could bring down cities. She's the Avatar.

If she'd had her way, she would have made the trip alone, but never has she had such luck. The Earth King is powerful and relentless and has no shortage of brainwashed warriors to send to all corners of the globe with her. Protection is just an excuse, as weak as it is, for him to have constant eyes on her.

Idly, she rests her hands against the ship's railing, feeling the metal give way at just a touch. She can't earthbend out at sea, but she can still metalbend. Carefully, she bends the metal outward, curves it around onto itself and she grins, satisfied. She feels a bit in control again at the rush the bending gives her.

Nearby, she can feel the movement of a Dai Li, suddenly alert at her behavior, eyes on her, no doubt, though she can not see that for herself.

She curls her hands tight around the railing and does not unclench them until his presence drifts away again, at last. I am the Avatar, she wants to scream, at everyone, out at the ocean, to anyone who will actually listen to her. She does not need protecting, does not need to be watched, she is a master Earthbender, the most powerful earthbender. She is stronger than any guards her father could find, more powerful than any army of soldiers the Earth King could provide.

And yet she is continually treated as a delicate flower, as something to be protected. An asset not to be lost, to the King, even to her parents, who insist they love her but have locked her away from the world her entire life. For her own 'protection.'

She is blind, not stupid.

Still, though, she has memories, vague and distant, that are not her own and she knows. Avatars die, and they die at the hands of the Fire Nation, and she is headed, willingly, into the hands of those whose line has seen the deaths of the prior Avatars at their own hands.

She tries not to think too hard about the fact that a firebending Avatar is next in line and how easy it would be for the Fire Nation to finally have the pawn they've always wanted if she were to die. It'd be another fifteen, twenty years, but that would be nothing compared to the hundred years they'd spent hunting the other Avatars just to get there.

All of her father's money could not protect her from that though, all of the Earth King's army could not save her. If she could not protect herself from the Fire Nation, a hundred men weaker than herself could do no better.

It is a joke to them, a political game that they have dragged her into against her wishes. She doesn't care about influence or representing military might. She doesn't care what the Earth Kingdom has to prove, she cares only about what she has to prove.

The Fire Nation has a shaky treaty with the Earth Kingdom, and they will not harm her, not with so much at stake. There is no reason for them to invite her here, only to kill her and start another war. They just finished a hundred years of war and they are only all the more weak for it.

Everyone is.

The Avatar is, despite her slight five foot two, tall in her regality, with a posture born of years of tolerance of the manners and etiquette befitting and reserved and, indeed, expected of those of a noble class. She strides from the ship as if the very land beneath her were hers, head held high and shoulders drawn high and back, defining both the lovely drape of her rather simple dress, made of the finest Earth Kingdom silks of appropriate colors and, beneath it, the barest hint of curves. Her hair, though pulled high in an elaborate bun, is askew and loose about her face such that only the slender, rounded slant of her jaw stands easily visible from across the Plaza.

There is something, though, in the swagger of her step, the hesitation of those around her, who walk as if on needles, who, with every step she takes, seem more attentive to her than to the spread of the square, that piques the crown prince's interest and drives his attention only to her, despite the entourage of diplomats and emissaries that follow her and, beyond that, groups of lithe, vacant soldiers who sneak as if in shadow, though in broad daylight. The Dai Li, Zuko's mind supplies, but he loses interest in them as quickly as it had come, eyes back upon the Avatar.

The first Avatar in over a hundred years to set food on Fire Nation soil and she strides onto it as though there were nothing to fear, as if Avatars didn't typically come to the Fire Nation to die.

(But they don't anymore, and indeed that is why she is the first in so long.)

Zuko straightens where he stands and draws his shoulders high, fighting against the weight of his formal robes. His hair, pulled up too tight and equally as formal as his dress, is bringing about a headache and he closes his eyes for a long moment, forcing it away.

His mother, to his right, breaks briskly from their position near the base of the Plaza stairs and makes her way to the entourage approaching. All of this has been her– the planning, the events, the entire Peace Summit- all of it. She is a diplomat, first, with a regal, powerful presence, despite herself. A Lady, second, composed and polite, her posture the same as the Avatar's, head high, shoulders back.

She is consort to the Fire Lord, last. Zuko doesn't dwell on it.

Beside him his sister falls in line with Ursa, quiet as always and small in their mother's shadow.

(as always)

Azula is hawkish, though, dressed in her formal armor, all reds and blacks against his and their mother's reds and golds. A military might beside political affluence. It's surprisingly fitting, an appropriate enough presentation for the welcoming of the Avatar, as low key as this event is. Low key for the sake of security and subtlety.

Zuko eyes the Dai Li once more, spreading out around the Avatar, and thinks security is not a real concern here, but subtlety. They are far more conspicuous than he has been led to believe.

Finally, the Avatar reaches them and gives a small bow, loose strands of hair falling from her hurried bun. And finally, as she lifts her head to Ursa, Zuko catches sight of her face in full– skin, as pale up close as from far away, and large, vacant eyes that send a shudder through him.

She's blind.

He's visibly startled and Azula murmurs something under her breath, but his mother does not so much as flinch.

She bows in return, large and sweeping. "Welcome to the Fire Nation, Avatar Bei Fong," she says and the Avatar, for what it's worth, smiles, unphased by any reaction to her.

Only the briefest introductions are made before they are swept away to the palace. He makes the ride back with Azula, and his mother with the Avatar and her closest Dai Li guards. His sister is silent the most of the way but she watches him hawkishly, shoulders tense. The buzz of the Avatar's arrival has bore them no shortage of stress, Azula in particular.

The silence bares into him and her gaze sets him more so on edge. She is too much their mother, in all the ways that are scariest and most intimidating, and he grits his teeth against her quiet solitude.

"Mai will be there tonight," he says when at last he thinks the silence will swallow him, "At the party."

She gives him only a vague look that he can't quite place and nods, finally, finally looking away, turning her gaze instead to the window of their carriage.

"Can you train a blind girl?" she asks. Her biting tongue replaces her eyes on him just as easily.

He shifts in his seat, awkward. "I said I would train her," he says softly. "That was the arrangement."

Across from him, Azula scoffs.

They doll her up– her new attendants. Toph stands in the middle of her new room in the Fire Nation Palace, a room as grand as any at the Earth King's Palace, half nude in her underclothes with half a dozen girls moving about her.

The Palace is stifling, her bare feet hot against the marble, the air thick and moist. Sweat beads along her brow and is wiped away as quickly as it forms by the girl doing her makeup. The cream being applied to her face is cool and soothing and she welcomes the sensation, as uncomfortable as she is.

"Do you have a preferred look, Avatar Bei Fong?" the girl asks, and Toph shifts from foot to foot, more to ease her restlessness but she finds the difficulty it brings the girl, her hands stalling at the movement, an added bonus. She feigns ignorance.

"I wouldn't know," she responds, revelling in the satisfaction the coming awkwardness is going to give her, "I don't do my own makeup." The mood of the room shifts, the anxious buzz around her falling silent. The girl's hands remain steady on her face, though, completely unfazed. "I'll figure something out," she says, no doubt smiling.

'Something' turns out to be heavy eyes and full lips and it must look lovely because the other girls ooh and ahh at it as they move onto her hair.

There's a party in her honor, set to begin when the sun sets, to kick off the peace summit. She is no stranger to being dolled up and indeed the Earth King was grand– anything was excuse enough for a celebration or a gala or a ball, whatever he wanted to call it any given week to add variety to his shenanigans. And at every one she was a prop, to be put on his arm and shown off. Dolled up, not the Avatar but a status symbol.

This, though, will maybe be different. She is here as an emissary, to learn and to train, to bridge the peace gap left behind in the wake of the shaky treaty between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation.

All around her, the attendants fret over her hair, a thick, disastrous mess from her many days at sea. It would seem the humidity does not agree with it and she grimaces only a little as they wrangle it in with first a brush and then a comb, ridding it of its wildness.

And then after, far after, considering the nature of her hair, she stands in the middle of the room once more, arms outstretched as they wrap cloth tightly about her waist. It's routine by now, she could do it herself, blind as she is, but she stands still and obedient as they dress her, the more so she is the sooner they will be finished with her.

And when they are done they all stand back and ooh and ahh once more and she smiles but finds it more than ironic that they judge her for a beauty she cannot herself see or judge herself on. She does not know what beauty is or means. She hears tiny waist, narrow face, full lips all the time but there is no meaning to it, not for her.

She wonders what she looks like, but she doesn't ask.

"What are the colors of this dress?" She asks instead. The material is thicker than she's accustomed to, with tight embroidery throughout it. She runs her fingers across it, taking in the texture.

The girl from before, make up girl, answers. "Earth Kingdom," she tells her, understanding the meaning behind her question. "Pale green, with darker embroidery and–"

Toph stops her with a wave of her hand, hearing enough. "I'm sure it's lovely," she says.

The party is exactly as dull as Zuko had expected. The disdainful politics of the evening keep him moving, from person to person, all of them vapid and ass kissing. They smile and shower him in pretty words to get in his good graces and he makes sure to remember least fondly the names of those who subscribe to such tactics.

But it's necessary to suffer through. He's the Crown Prince, the next Fire Lord, as no one ceases to remind him. Every hand he shakes is accompanied by questions: When is your inauguration? Where is the Fire Lord? When is he abdicating?

Zuko doesn't know any more than they do and he's in far less of a hurry to find out. At times he thinks he would rather never become the Fire Lord, but it is his destiny, his place in life.

Across the room his sister makes better work of the crowd, all small smiles and curt nods. She's less approachable than he is, and unnerving in her silence, and most avoid her in favor of him. And too many people here remember the child she used to be: wicked and demanding, a cutthroat prodigy.

Carefully he makes his way over to her, eyes peeled for their mother, who has yet to turn up with the Avatar.

"Zuko," she says when she sees him, breezing past several people attempting to talk with her. "I was just looking for you." She smiles too wide and links her arm through his, pulling him alongside her. The facade drops the moment she's out of earshot and she makes a sour face at him.

"This is horrendous," she murmurs, rolling her eyes. She's as petulant as before but it's scarier now. Gone is her armor from that morning and in it's place is a dress, a ao dai– dark red with gold trim. She's awkward in it, ill suited to dresses as she is, and Zuko has no doubt their mother wrestled her into it.

Her wicked smile is somehow more frightening, though, attached as it is to her obvious discomfort.

"General Azula," a voice drawls from behind them, low and soft. They turn to see Mai approaching and if Zuko thought it at all possible for his sister to brighten up, he would say she does so now. Her entire countenance changes and she laughs, loud and high.

"Hardly a General yet, but soon," she says with a grin, clasping hands with Mai, who, despite her own dark demeanor, seems equally as excited to see her. Zuko, for what it's worth, edges away from them, to give them their privacy, but Mai's sharp gaze lands on him, drawing him up short.

"Zuko," she says pleasantly, and he nods in acknowledgement. "Where's the Avatar? I thought certain she would be at your side."

He grimaces at what he knows is a shot at him. "Unfortunately, she's been by my mother's side instead. I've hardly seen her since her arrival."

"Hmm," Mai murmurs and Azula leans in close to her, whispering in her ear. He's no doubt of what it's about. He takes the opportunity to disappear back into the crowd, better caught between political drivel than the two of them, and within moments he's been stopped again.

The man, a Governor from up north, is two words into his spiel when the crowd goes suddenly quiet and he directs his attention with theirs to the steps leading down into the ballroom. Descending them is his mother and, two steps behind her, the Avatar.

Her presence at once engulfs the room, all eyes on her as she makes her way down. She's graceful down the stairs, despite her blindness and the length of her dress, which obscures her feet beneath its folds. It's in the fashion of the Earth Kingdom, her dress– a pastel green hanbok with delicate yellow trim and dark green embroidery. The pattern reminds him of a forest, with large blossoming leaves spiraling across it.

She is a spot of green amongst reds as she reaches the ballroom, but it only lasts for a moment as other emissaries enter close behind her. And in the shadows, dressed in dark greens and blacks, the Dai Li dance around like spiders.

The noise level rises with the new arrivals and he loses sight of the Avatar quite quickly as she's pulled into the crowd. Everyone is excited to meet her and so quickly lose interest in him. It's a blessing in disguise and he takes the time to mingle amongst their other guests from the Earth Kingdom.

There's a distinct nervousness about them all, an anxious buzz that hovers at the edge of every conversation he holds. It's the summit and the looming conferences and too many uncertainties hanging in the air. A hundred years of war is a lot to repair.

Eventually he finds his way out of the crowd once more and heads to the blessedly deserted balcony, alcoved just off the right side of the ballroom. It's dark out now but otherwise a beautiful, crystal clear night. Capital City stretches out below, a bright, burning spectacle of light and sound, and beyond, spreading out towards the sea, Harbor City burns just as bright against the ink of the ocean along it. The whole city is alive, as it often is this time of evening, and the warmth of the night hangs heavy in the air.

Zuko makes his way to the edge, resting his arms on the ornate, wrought iron railing that protects him from the sharp drop below, where dense forest stretches from the palace to the cities beyond. Muffled noise from the party drifts out to him, intermingled with the distant noise of the city, and it is a soft lullaby to the backdrop crickets chirping in the night. He yawns loudly, already weary from the night.

He stays there for a while, though, not at all missed from the social niceties of the party, nor missing it, either.

Eventually footsteps behind him draw his attention from the view and he turns to see the Avatar approaching. She looks as tired as he feels, her shoulders slouched now from the weight of the evening. She seems tense and he smiles at her only to realize she can't see it.

In the nooks and crannies of the shadows he catches sight of movement: two Dai Li guards flank her, left and right. He pays them no mind.

Avatar Bei Fong is serene in the moonlight, which casts a glow about her. She looks as small up close as she does from far away and he finds himself anxious as she approaches and drapes her hands over the railing. He expects they'll be delicate, but they're not; her hands are worn and calloused, nails blunt. Earthbending hands.

"Sorry to intrude," she says, a small grinning playing across her face. "But I imagine the view from here is quite lovely and it seems a good excuse to get away for a moment."

Zuko laughs at her comment, despite himself, and she laughs as well, an uproariously unladylike laugh. The anxiousness of being in her presence melts away and he feels as if she is far less the doll they have dressed her up to be for the night and far more human than he had ever imagined an Avatar could be.

"Lucky for us then this balcony is less liked than the others, despite the view, which I assure you is the best in the entirety of the Palace." He feels awkward talking to her, all the same.

"Why is that?" She doesn't turn her head to him when she speaks and the lack of eye contact is unnerving. He bears with it and continues.

"The late Firelord fell to his death from here," he tells her, running his hand idly across the rough hewed iron. He was there, but he doesn't mention that.

She purses her lips together but doesn't say anything for a long moment. She's smart enough to know what he means; everyone knows the late Fire Lord didn't really fall to his death.

"A shame then," she says at last, "That people let it ruin such a lovely view."

He nods in awkward agreement.

"But where is the current Fire Lord? I couldn't help but notice his absence?" she asks after a while and Zuko frowns.

She's absolutely right; his absence is obvious and everyone has been whispering about it under their breath all night. Rumors abound and his hands are tied to the truth. "He's fallen ill," he tells her, a half truth at the very least.

A voice speaks up behind them, "Is he really, now?" before the Avatar can respond and Zuko turns to see Governor Ukano, Mai's father, striding towards them. His posture is straight and narrow, the smirk on his face something wicked. "Because I heard something different."

Zuko tightens his jaw, annoyed. "It is the truth. He's quite ill and the Sages have confined him to bedrest." Bedrest and privacy and protection, out of the public eye while he heals. Its enough of the truth for even him to believe it, so many times has he spoken the lie. But Ukano is a security risk as all others are, despite his status.

The man draws closer, one hand hidden beneath the front of his robes, an elaborate getup even by the standards of a Governor. Beside Zuko, the avatar is tense, her posture drawing downwards into a slouch.

"I guess it matters not," Ukano says, stroking his beard with his free hand. He steps forward once more and the Avatar moves with him, backwards into the railing. "Tough old guy. I'm impressed. That poison was particularly strong. Mai's got a gift for them, after all." He laughs and drops his gaze to the Avatar. "We'll try again after I take you two out, though. How lucky I was to find you both together." From his robe he draws a blade. Zuko recognizes it as one of Mai's throwing knives.

"Don't do this," Zuko says, summoning flames to his hands. He looks beyond Ukano, hoping to catch sight of a guard, anyone, who can intervene. In the shadows, the Dai Li are conveniently missing. "This country can't survive with war, why would you–"

Ukano cuts him off. "That's the point," he says. "Long live the greatness of the Fire Nation."

He sends the knife flying towards the Avatar and Zuko lunges into it's path, desperate to stop it. It halts mid air, however, hanging idly for a moment before plummeting hard into the marble flooring, cracking it. Ukano's eyes widen and Zuko blinks and almost misses what happens next.

The carved wrought iron of the balcony railing flies past him, twisting and warping and catching the man hard in the chest. In but a moment it's wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side and sending him flying through the doorway behind him. He lands hard on the floor, sendings screams from the crowd. Behind Zuko, the Avatar drops from her bending stance, looking not the least bit ruffled from the effort.

Guards finally come rushing at the noise.

"He attacked the Crown Prince," the Avatar tells them and Ukano screams and curses: the Sages, the Nation, the Fire Lord. Zuko stands in the doorway, heart racing, in quiet relief. He doesn't call out the Avatar on her lie, not publicly, not where the truth could create an international incident.

"We will rise," Ukano screams as they carry him away. "We will become great again!"

Mai goes somewhat more quietly, all the while her mother sobs in the background. "I had nothing to do with this," she cries out to Azula as they pull her away from the Princess, who stands quietly, lips pursed, her trembling hands her only sign of anger. "I promise you, Azula. I would never–"

Her quiet voice dies in the noise of the gathered groups and she stops resisting at the look of pain on Azula's face. Their mother sweeps in, guiding Azula from the room by her shoulders, her hands a vice against the fragility of Azula. Zuko turns away from them both, to where the Avatar stands nearby, away from the attention.

"Avatar," he begins and she huffs, blowing a strand of loose hair from her face.

"Please," she pleads, "Just call me Toph."

Toph sleeps restlessly that night. She dreams of fire, and the thick, choking smell of smoke. She stumbles, blinded by it (already blind, though, unseeing in this dream as well, like in all others,) and falls to the ground, crying out, pleading for mercy. Bodies fall around her, thump thump, hitting the floor like sacks, and she hides among them, keeping low to the ground. Maybe if she doesn't move they'll think she's dead, they'll go away.

It doesn't work, and she's dragged to her feet. A hot hand squeezes her around the neck, heating up warmer and warmer and a voice shouts, excitedly, "I found him, I found the Avatar!" Warmth floods her, and power, too, enormous power. The hand on her neck loosens and the body holding her drops like a dead weight. Air rushes everywhere, loud in her ears, drowning out even the sound of her blood rushing to her head.

She can feel herself pull the air from the lungs of everyone around her, suffocating them, sending them flying into walls with the force of her bending. The noise is unsurpassable by any she's heard before, like the loudest of winds deafening her, roaring through her skull.

And then the noise stops abruptly and she stands in the middle of hundreds of bodies, alone. And her neck burns like fire, an angry pain that flushes down into her chest.

She wakes in a cold sweat in her stifling room, her neck still burning.