Chapter Text
oh goddamn
my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand
taking mine, but it's been promised to another
oh i can't
stop you putting roots in my dreamland
my house of stone, your ivy grows
and now i'm covered in you
-- ivy, taylor swift
House of Stone
The Legend
Chapter One
When Toph was a child, she had a nursemaid: one who dressed her, fed her, kept her hands soft and her feet clean. One who spoke in Earth Kingdom proverbs and enforced the house rules. One who, if Toph had finished her lessons and practiced her flute, would tell her stories.
The Legend of Oma and Shu, the Brave Soldier Girl, the Tale of the White Snake. These were stories of love and friendship and lessons to be learned, stories of traveling the world and adventure at every turn. As a child, alone in her family’s vast estate with no company but a distractible maid, these stories seemed like a far-away wish, excitement and fulfillment she could only find in her dreams.
Toph’s life was not like this.
Toph’s life was silk gowns and jade in her hair. Toph’s life was lessons on etiquette, on singing and history, on beginner earthbending techniques. Toph’s life was a delicate act of balancing the dainty girl that pleased her parents with the secret urge to be that earthbender drawing up mountains, that girl in the midst of battle, that woman fighting for her love.
For twenty-two years she had lived this life.
Now it was time for this life to change. It was time for her own story to begin.
Change began in a carriage.
It trundled along a smooth road that had just escaped the mountains, snow-capped peaks jutting high behind them, a bitter wind blowing down to the valley below. This was an often-traveled road, well maintained by the earthbenders who used it, connecting the city of Gaoling with their destination of Huang Hai, north past the Gangyi Range.
Inside the carriage it was silent, aside from the low rumble of wooden wheels over hard packed earth, the clicking beaks of the ostrich-horses that pulled them, and the dry rustle of turning pages.
The one turning the pages was a young man named Tuhao. With his legs crossed at the knee, the fine cloth of his shirt sitting neatly over his slight frame, and his dark eyes rimmed by a pair of spectacles, he was well put together but unassuming. Unassuming did not mean unremarkable, though—behind his mild manner was a sharp mind and a driving ambition. He ignored the slight bump as one of the wheels jostled over a rock and turned the page of his book.
Across from him, her elbow resting on the window frame and her chin cupped in her hand, sat Toph. She was no longer that young girl of legends and dreams of adventure; what she had become in adulthood was pragmatic.
Perhaps pragmatic was the wrong word. She had, after years of private earthbending training, become a master of neutral jing—the skill of waiting and listening before acting. In earthbending, it meant watching for the ideal moment to strike, and in life it meant studying a situation and considering possible outcomes before making any decisions. She did not rely on hopeful thinking, the magic of fantastic tales or the intervention of spirits, but on what her senses and mind could discern.
In other ways, though, she remained the same: still dressed in silk, still fulfilling the bare minimum of her parents’ requirements, still blind as the day she had been born.
This was, at its core, the root of every decision about her life. She was female, so she still would not have been afforded the opportunities wealthy males received, but her disability meant that, to her parents, she was as fragile as an orchid in bloom, something to be protected and cared for at all costs. A flower placed on a windowsill, to be seen and not touched, to admire but never gifted from one hand to another.
Toph was, of course, not an orchid, but a banyan tree, roots deep and spreading, sturdy and solid and unshakable. Her blindness had not made her helpless, but had forced her to adapt, a resilience rooted in her earthbending, a strength that she used not to please her parents, but to taste the freedom of legend.
But that’s for another time. For now, the scale was tipped in favor of satisfying the role of daughter, which was what brought her to this carriage, dressed in fine clothes, sitting across from Tuhao.
“You’re pouting,” he murmured, peering at her above his glasses.
Toph sucked her bottom lip in, not turning from the window. “I am not.”
Tuhao placed a finger in his book and closed it. “Yes, you are. You have been since the moment Mihung took you to get dressed.”
She let out a minute sigh through her nose. “I didn’t want to be here, remember.”
“I know,” Tuhao replied. “But it’s a good idea. I’m glad your father agreed.”
Toph shifted at that, sitting up straighter and frowning. “I can’t believe you got him to.”
“It was no problem.” A smile touched his mouth. “He thinks I’m charming. A good heir. A willing heir,” he added pointedly.
“As if he’d let me touch anything,” she retorted.
He turned to her, his eyebrows raised, his expression mild. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No. His poor little blind daughter, in charge of the Beifong estate?” She scoffed. “My father couldn’t fathom it and I wouldn’t want it, even if he could.”
There was a touch of amusement on Tuhao’s face as he nodded along to Toph’s familiar words. “This all works in your favor, then. You let me take care of the business end and I’ll look away from whatever it is you get up to. We both get what we want.”
She sighed, a quiet acquiescence. “I wish it weren’t a game of subterfuge, though.”
“The life of the rich and noble,” he answered warmly, and Toph shook her head at him, her frustration thawing. Tuhao could be funny.
“You’re right,” she admitted, “you do make the better heir.”
“It’s all a game, my dear,” Tuhao said, his eyes sparkling. “Play with me for a while tonight, won’t you?”
Toph rolled her eyes, but her lips turned up. “I’m a master at this game, husband. I’ve been playing it my whole life.”
—
The party was just as expected: a game. Demure wives, extolling the humility and graciousness of their husbands; husbands, sharing stories and exchanging coy gossip; businessmen, subtly hinting to each other of connections to be made. And in the middle of it all, laughing and charming men and women alike, was Toph’s husband.
Tuhao was in his element, all warmth and smiles. He played the game extraordinarily well, an exaggerated form of his usually reserved self, so beguiling and personable that Toph had to laugh at how he had others dancing to his tune.
Toph, for her part, had played along on Tuhao’s arm, the fragile Beifong daughter and dutiful wife, quiet and polite and witty, when she thought she could get away with it. It was easy enough to act—she had seen it innumerable times in her mother, in the guests that flowed in and out of their home—to step back and let him be the focus.
They had done their rounds, greeting familiar faces and humbly being introduced to new ones. They had showered birthday blessings on the man around whom this whole ordeal revolved, Zanzhu Ren, now aged fifty-one years. They had partaken in the extravagant meal until Tuhao muttered out of the corner of his mouth that perhaps Toph should have a more feminine appetite.
Toph felt no remorse now for slipping away from her husband and the gaggle surrounding him in search of a moment of peace, where her smile could fade and she could sigh out the weight of pretending. It had been a long evening and she had grown bored of the game; she could only laugh along to dull stories told by dull men for so long. Drawing back from the clusters of people gathered throughout the large room, Toph moved along the wall, where few would notice her. Though their table was nearest the front, it was blissfully empty, and Toph sank into a seat in relief.
The murmured conversations throughout the room, the gentle shuffle and rock of a hundred feet on the floor, and the belly of rich food were a potent combination, relaxing Toph into her seat. Tuhao would find her and draw her back into conversation when she had been absent too long, so she would take her leave while she could, propping one foot up on a chair and the other loose on the floor, letting the ambient noise of the evening wash over her.
“Excuse me.”
A bolt of awareness struck through her; the foot she had been resting on the seat across from her slapped on the ground. There was a man standing next to her, a drink in his hand and a growing curiosity on his face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just… you’re in my seat.” He gestured vaguely toward her with his free hand. “Though I suppose at this point in the evening, assigned seating doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Do you mind if I—?” He pulled out the chair next to her and sat down before Toph could open her mouth. “How’re you enjoying the party? I thought they’d have… more…” He trailed off, sudden embarrassment painting his features as he stared down at Toph. Awkwardly he cleared his throat.
“It’s the eyes, isn’t it?” Toph asked, easing back into her seat. “What, you’ve never seen a blind person before?”
“No, sorry, I have—it’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the—the blindness thing, though… I mean, you just look like someone I knew.”
Toph hummed and leaned an elbow on the table, the better to angle herself toward the seated man. The corner of her mouth turned up. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” He huffed a stilted laugh. “It was a long time ago, though, so…” Trailing off again, he studied her. Her lips, still pressed together, ticked up, everything about her radiating amusement.
He squinted his eyes. “Are you sure…? Because you really look… Do you recognize me? No, of course not, you’re blind. Have you met the Avatar?” he asked instead. “Not today, I mean, but maybe ten years ago? Breaking and entering? Not that—I mean, not that the Avatar would break and enter…”
“The Avatar?” repeated Toph, voice rich with amusement. “No doubt I’d remember the Avatar coming unannounced to my house and trying to spirit me away.”
He sat up straight and pointed a finger at her. “You’re playing with me! You’re—” He snapped his fingers at her once, twice, three times, the name lost to the intervening years.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” she asked, mock offended. “I expected better, Sokka.” At his choked noise, her smile turned wicked. “It is Sokka, isn’t it?”
He shook his head in astonishment. “Yes, I—yes, Sokka, that’s me. But, how did you remember? It’s been ten years!”
She shrugged. “I’m good at remembering people. Names with voices, footsteps. No sight, so it has to be other ways, and you made quite the impression.”
“Okay, that’s amazing,” he announced, grinning. “What does that mean, footsteps?”
No one had ever asked Toph how she managed before. She sat up a little straighter.
“Vibrations,” she explained, tapping on the table. “I feel vibrations through the earth with my bending.”
“Vibrations,” he mused. “Wait, how precise are we talking here? How far away can you—” He wiggled his fingers at her. "—sense things?"
She answered his questions the best she could, having never had anyone with whom to discuss her earthbending before, and this evolved into a conversation on the physics of earthbending, Sokka having never had such a knowledgeable and interested party before. It was a long, winding, and technical discussion, quite uninteresting to people other than themselves.
Things became a bit more interesting when they turned to ten years ago, the day they had first met: at Earth Rumble, the underground—both literally and metaphorically—earthbending tournament, where a twelve-year-old Toph swept the competition without breaking a sweat only to be accidentally outdone by none other than the Avatar himself.
“That’s how you won against all those behemoths, then,” Sokka realized. “With your… vibration sense.” He wiggled his fingers at her again.
“I won because I’m the best,” she corrected.
“It would’ve been nice to have you.”
He meant back during the war, because she had been invited, when Sokka and the Avatar and that girl had come knocking at the Beifong residence. The Avatar had needed an earthbending teacher, but Toph had turned him down. The mess he had drawn her into with her parents had taken ages to clean up. Only now, all these years later, sitting in this opulent house, did that long-ago choice seem like a mistake.
“What did the Avatar end up doing? To learn earthbending?” she finally asked.
“Bumi—King Bumi, of Omashu?—ended up teaching him. We had to backtrack straight into a troop of Fire Nation tanks. Not a pleasant trip, let me tell you,” he said, and then, as it dawned on him that she might take offense, rushed to add, “Not that it’s your fault! There were no–no hard feelings at all. In fact, I’m sure Aang would love to see you again. He’s—” Sokka glanced up, eyes darting around the room. “—he’s around here somewhere… I could grab him?”
Toph, amused, shook her head. “Present company is fine,” she said, tipping her head toward him.
That simple statement halted his scan of the room and drew his eyes to the slight upturn of her lips, pulling his own mouth up in a matching smile. "Yeah?"
"I wouldn't be here otherwise, would I?"
"No," he answered, his smile stretching, "I suppose not."
A warm understanding sat quietly between them before the murmur of the room reasserted itself.
"Oh, wow, it's late," Sokka observed. "Time flies when you're discussing the mechanics of bending, am I right, haha! Do you—can I get you a drink? We've been talking a lot, I could use a drink myself. I'll just grab you one, yeah?"
He disappeared before Toph could place her order. She followed his vibrations as he walked away, stopped to talk with a few people, and made a direct line back to her.
“Is wine okay?” He hovered before her, unsure. “Unless you want something stronger? I had a glass of—rice chi? The Earth Kingdom has so much alcohol—with Master Ren that was nice…”
Toph answered by holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers expectantly, the corner of her mouth lifted.
Sokka sighed in relief and pressed the glass into her hand before dropping into his own seat. “Good thing. The servants always look at me like I’m an idiot for not knowing the difference between—” He waved his free hand. “—fermented or brewed or distilled.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Toph, who wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol unless medicinally, on her father's claim that it wasn’t good for women’s delicate constitutions. “As long as it tastes good.”
“Exactly! I’ll drink to that.”
They sipped at the glasses of fragrant wine, which added to the pleasant warmth already growing in Toph’s stomach.
“You know,” said Sokka, leaning against the table with his free arm, glass loose in the hand of the other, “you never mentioned. What’s the Blind Bandit doing at the most boring party north of the Yau Yan River?”
“Not so loud,” she murmured, lowering her drink for where she’d been about to take a sip. “You want to give away my secret identity?”
Sokka swung his head around, but they were still alone at their table. “So?” he repeated, quieter. “Why aren’t you out throwing rocks and knocking heads? Or have you given up the title?”
“Me, the reigning champion, give up my spot on the throne?” she whispered back in mock outrage. Leveling her voice, she explained, “I’m here on official schmoozing business. There are a lot of people to suck up to if you want to remain insanely rich like me.”
“But you’re not. You’re sequestered over here.” He took a sip of his drink and over the rim added, “With me.”
“Mm.” She took a matching sip. “I’ve done my schmoozing for the night.”
“You’ve schmoozed enough?”
“I’ve schmoozed my fill.”
They giggled together.
“So you, what? Schmooze by day and fight by night?”
“My double life,” she told this stranger who somehow knew more about her than the people closest to her. “What about you? What’s your double life?”
“Double life? Why stop there? I’m up to four!” A pause for halfhearted laughter and then he went on, “The Southern Water Tribe is home, right? I've been helping out my dad a lot—he's the chief of our village—and it seems like Aang's always dragging me along to thwart some plot to kill someone important. And in my free time he's got me working on his pet project, the betterment of the newly minted Republic City."
Toph pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. “You're up to three. And the fourth life?”
“Oh. Hmm.” He tilted his glass back and forth, so the wine sloshed against the sides. “I suppose that would be… I do a lot of writing.”
“Writing, huh? Let me guess.” She tucked her chin in her hand. “Something factual, I think. Are you discovering the science of bending? Writing a memoir of the war? Oh, I know—something especially captivating: the migration patterns of arctic penguins, perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” he said primly. “I actually write poetry.”
“Poetry?” she repeated, her face brightening.
Sokka tutted. “A rich girl like you, you should know poetry is a respected and time-honored art!”
“No doubt I've studied more poets than most people. What do you write about?”
“Ah.” He shifted, his fingernails drumming along his glass. “It’s not—not flowery or about love or anything.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t share it, because—well, it wasn’t fun growing up in a war, you know? Dead mom, absent dad, shouldering a lot of responsibility… It’s my way of working through that, I guess.”
Toph knew the difficulty of working through things. “Not a bad way to do it,” she mumbled.
“What about you?" Sokka asked. "Have you ever written any?"
Her smile was wry as she gestured toward her face. "A bit difficult when you don't have functioning eyeballs."
“Right. Blind. Hmm.”
“Mihung—my maid—she’ll read to me, so it’s not like I’m stupid.”
“I never thought you were. You know what?” He slapped a fist into his open palm. “I’m going to figure it out. Give me a couple weeks, okay?”
“Figure what out?”
“There has to be a way for you to read and write. It’s just a matter of not using your eyes…” He trailed off, the gears already turning. “Next time I’ll have something for you, I promise.”
“You sound very confident,” she said, eyebrows raised.
“Well, this is what I’m good at. I solve problems.”
“That would be…” She paused, swallowed. She didn’t know the shape of her own name at twenty-two. “It wouldn't be the worst.”
“You deserve to read and write just like everyone else.”
He said it so simply and so convincingly that she nodded, believing it too.
Then Sokka gasped—so dramatically that she actually startled—and announced loudly, “Toph!”
“What?” She shoved his shoulder in recompense. “What? I’m right here.”
“I remembered! I finally remembered! Toph Beifong”—he leaned in close—“the Blind Bandit.”
She shook her head with a burst of laughter. “Took you long enough. You’re one of the only people to know both of those names,” she told him, then added sharply, “If you blab about it, though, I will bury you.”
“Your secret’s safe,” he promised.
“It better be. It’s no easy feat keeping that name under wraps.”
“How do you? How has no one recognized you?”
“There’s not exactly a lot of crossover between Gaoling’s nobility and the Earth Rumble clientele. Different social circles.”
“That’s a shame,” said Sokka, with a sincerity almost embarrassing in its earnestness. “Twice as much of you? They’re missing out.”
Her lips pulled up, she opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden call of her name stopped her.
Toph frowned as a familiar person walked briskly toward them. This meeting was not one she had wanted to happen.
“There you are!” said Tuhao, giving them a small but pleased smile, his cheeks flushed. He looked expectantly between the two of them and Toph sighed as they stood for introductions.
“Tuhao, this is Sokka. We met as kids. Sokka, this is Tuhao—” She hesitated infinitesimally. “—my business partner. He takes care of the money side of things at the Beifong estate.”
Tuhao took this in stride. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sokka,” he said, bowing.
Sokka returned the gesture. “Likewise. How are you enjoying the party?”
“It's a delight! Master Ren always manages to gather quite the circle of influential names. Toph didn’t mention—what is it you do?”
Toph blew her fringe from her face; Sokka glanced at her.
“I’m working on a project in Republic City,” he said. “I think Master Ren invested a fair amount of money into it, so he invited me this evening.”
“Of course! I was just talking with Avatar Aang—he said many of the improvements in Republic City’s infrastructure have your fingerprints all over them. Perhaps I should prioritize a trip there soon to see your work firsthand.”
“We’re always looking to drum up more interest,” Sokka replied. “What do you think, Toph? Fancy a trip to Republic City?”
She shrugged, the picture of polite interest. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
Sokka laughed. “I’d be happy to give you a tour. Both of you,” he added.
“You’re too kind,” Tuhao smiled. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sokka. Well, Toph, shall we take our leave? It seems the party is winding down.”
Indeed, people were trickling out of the house as Master Ren bid them farewell at the door.
“Right,” said Toph, a sudden pang in her chest.
They stood in awkward silence until Tuhao spared them. “Oh, I see Lao Gong over there; I think I’ll say goodbye before we leave. Sokka,” he said, turning to the man with a bow. “Thank you for your attentiveness to Toph this evening.”
“Tuhao.”
Sokka laughed awkwardly. “It was nothing. She’s–she’s interesting to talk to.”
“Of course.” Tuhao bowed again. “Toph, I’ll meet you at the door.” Then he was off.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Toph groaned. “I’m interesting to talk to?”
“I panicked! He caught me off guard!” Sokka defended himself. “I’ve never had anyone thank me for paying attention to a fascinating woman before.”
“Fascinating?” Toph repeated, and any embarrassment she’d felt at Tuhao finding her with another man was replaced by a slowly-forming smirk.
“Yes,” Sokka said, wrinkling his nose at her. “Am I not allowed to compliment you?”
“No.” Her smirk grew. “Feel free. It’s good for my ego.”
“Humble, too,” he added, grinning. “Intelligent. Witty.” His voice softened. “Gorgeous.”
Toph hummed, glowing pink under the praise. “You say this to all the fascinating women you meet?”
“No,” he answered immediately.
She breathed out a laugh. “See you around?" she asked.
Just as softly, Sokka agreed: “See you around.”
—
It was after they had been in the carriage for ten silent minutes that Tuhao finally spoke.
“I’m glad you came along,” he said. “I think it did well for the Beifong name that we presented a unified front.”
Toph sighed in response. “Unfortunately for me, I think you’re right. I’ll have to go again.”
“Not such an imposition, though, hmm?” Tuhao murmured.
It was dark in the carriage, the sun having set hours ago, so he couldn’t read the book he had brought along, but he held it in hand anyway, tapping the spine against his knee.
Toph couldn’t see this, but she could hear it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You seemed to have a good time,” he said, his voice neutral. “Sokka, was it?”
“What, that?” Toph replied. “Like I said, we go way back. We were just catching up.”
“All evening?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “He is well aware of who I am, which makes him worlds more entertaining to talk to. I’d had enough simpering for the night.”
“More interesting than your business partner?”
Toph didn’t deign to respond.
“I’m sure he’s very interesting,” Tuhao continued. “War hero, friends with the Avatar, and I’ve heard his name in relation to some interesting goings on in Republic City. Maybe we should have him over some time.”
“Oh, shut up, Tuhao. It was one evening.”
Tuhao hummed. His book tapped on his leg, a rhythmic sound, until he spoke again.
“You’re allowed to have friends, of course. And he’s a good one to have, all things considered.”
Toph clicked her tongue. Tuhao had a hard time shaking the game, even for her, and she was not in the mood for it. “Your point?” she pressed.
“I’m merely suggesting caution. Consider how it might appear to others.”
“You’re worse than my father,” Toph groused, and Tuhao laughed, embarrassed.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said, all concern in his voice gone. “You’re no fool, Toph. You can put on a show with the best of them. My faith in you has been restored.”