The Butterfly Effect

Toph

Toph's father is hungover.

The king of the Earth Kingdom, hungover. What a laughingstock they would be of the kingdom if their people found out. Most of them probably already know, because after all, what else was there to gossip about before this dreaded marriage alliance? It just sort of happened at one point or another: an extra glass of honeyed mead at dinner one night spiraled into newspapers headlined King Lao's Alcoholism: How Does It Affect You?

Everyone knows her father isn't the best king. Everyone knows how he wastes away the kingdom's treasury and makes pointless decisions. But few experience it firsthand like those at the palace do. Like Toph does.

He'd been absent at the third bond of marriage, which just ended. She tightens her grip on Ahn's arm as she leads her away from the dais as if the king is still looming over her, waiting to pluck out her mistakes and string them up for everyone to see. She feels the Esceanian prince's eyes on her back as she walks away, and it makes her face heat up for unknown reasons. Probably just leftover embarrassment from the previous night.

It was just like any other dinner, really — a selection of foods from Esceania that everyone had to choke down, various conversations streaming up and down the table, Toph keeping her entire body facing determinedly forward so Sokka didn't get any ideas. The only thing that set them apart from the others was that her father, instead of downing his one glass of wine and calling it a night, decided it was a good idea to have four. Or was it five? Possibly six?

It was a lot.

She hadn't needed sight to feel everyone's moods shifting closer and closer to the awkward and distant side of things. Even Zuko, whom she had witnessed getting drunk in the past — granted, they were alone, but still — was coughing uncomfortably and giving her pointed taps on the hand.

Toph closes her eyes, feeling the weight of them hang down her face. She feels like melting to the floor. Ahn walks her down the corridor that leads to her chambers, for the sake of appearances. She tells herself that it's for the eyes of her fiancé, for the eyes of the priest, for the eyes of her soon-to-be father-in-law. For the eyes of those who don't understand the full concept of what she can do on her own.

It's most certainly not because she's afraid of what her father might see, despite his absence. How ridiculous.

King Lao may not have been present, but that doesn't mean the goings-on of his castle don't reach his ears. Every servant, maid, and butler answers to him at the top of the spectrum, and she has no idea which ones report which things. Walking to her chambers with her lady in waiting not helping her take each and every delicate step would probably pique his interest, but it might not. She has no way of knowing if he'll even find out about it — there were few staff members present at the third bonds — but she has no intention of taking the risk.

So here she is. Holding onto Ahn's arm like the pathetic five-year-old her parents make her out to be.

Ahn understands, however. She listens. They've been together for nearly four years; they know their way around each other. Yes, she was a bit surprised when Toph first — somewhat cautiously — displayed her abilities to move on her own to her, but she adjusted quickly. They keep their masks close, their pockets deep, just in case someone should walk in on them alone in Toph's room. But once those doors shut, it's another world. A better world.

For some reason, this makes her think of Sokka. Of what awaits her behind closed doors; what awaits her as soon as she says "I do." It's a lot to think about, and she runs it all through her head as Ahn gently steers her along.

Today is Wednesday. The wedding is on Saturday, and the staff has been running around all week, scrubbing down every tile, washing every window, polishing every candle until it gleams. Every little detail must be perfect, it seems, and she surprises herself with a pang in her heart, wishing she could see it.