Chapter 23
Fiyero thanked Lureline that Elphaba wasn’t running, otherwise he was sure he would have lost her in the maze of the castle. It was clear she was familiar with it. He caught up with her as she turned a corner, reach out to take her hand. Elphaba whipped around, wide-eyed. She hadn’t expected anyone to stop her, let alone touch her. A calm washed over her expression as she realized it was just Fiyero.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t run away,” he said. “I know we haven’t really talked about meeting eachother’s family but-”
“I wasn’t running away from anything,” Elphaba interrupted, indignant at the insinuation. “I came to see Ozma, I didn’t know she would be giving a tour, she usually gives that task to some poor vizier.”
Her words seemed to quell Fiyero’s worries somewhat. Still, he pulled her in close taking in her earthy scent. It reminded him of Forests and wetlands, something that was rare in the Vinkun. The few spots with such an environment were owned by the Arijikian tribe, one of the many reasons they were considered the leading tribe. Their choice of semi-stationary life gave them claim over resources that didn’t exist for tribes that moved from one place to the next.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
his nose and mouth pressed against the crown. He left a small kiss. It was as much for her as it was for him, to remind him that she was here, with him. After what had happened, he was terrified one day he might say the wrong thing and she would slip away.
“You know where I live,” she reminded him. “And you certainly aren’t shy about showing your face in the neighborhood. Either that or Enzi has started making up odd stories for attention.”
The laugh that left his lungs vibrated through the air. Elphaba felt it, the resonance of his amusement. It was a beautiful sound. One that she could listen to from the moment she woke up to the minute she fell asleep.
“I don’t know if Rain would appreciate my constant presence.”
“Constant?”
His head dipped down, kissing along the side of her neck. His hand pulled against the collar of her shirt, revealing the skin of her shoulder, and the beautiful green swirls across it. When he reached her neck, he nipped at the spot, then began to suck on her skin. It didn’t draw blood, but it stung enough for her to let out a yelp that slowly turned into a quiet moan. She was well aware of where they were, and after the shock of the immediate sensation, she kept herself quiet. The only other person he had been with as of late was Glinda, and he often had to cover her mouth to keep her quiet. The blonde just couldn’t hold in her moans. Fiyero appreciated it a good amount of the time. There was some far more erotic in the lack of sound. The heavy breaths as Elphaba held back sounds she wanted to make.
“I wouldn’t leave the bed the entire break,” he whispered, finally letting up. “And neither would you.”
Elphaba felt a shiver run down her thigh. Her body heated up at the thought. Fiyero, naked and in her bedroom. It seemed like a dream. One she had worked very diligently to sabotage. Her thoughts were cut off by his lips on hers. It was harsh and wanting. Passion ran through them as Fiyero pushed her against the wall, towering over her, trapping her between his arms.
“Fiyero,” she whispered when they broke to breath. “Not here.”
With a reluctant sigh, Fiyero relented, pulling away. He knew she was right, that it wouldn’t be ideal to be caught making out in the hallway of the Emerald Palaces. Taking her hand, Fiyero pulled her with him down the hall, leading her to where he was staying in the castle. It was a large room, though not a whole apartment like some guests seemed to have. She assumed the door on the left-most wall led to such a space, which he likely shared with the rest of his family. Following Fiyero’s lead, she stripped off her boots.
The usual green comforter was covered by a quilt of blue with gold embroidery. At the head of the bed, there was a small toy on the end of the bed. Elphaba picked it up, feeling the worn and ragged fabric. It was a small scarecrow. There was a triangle orange nose on a burlap head. The body was made of green with small bit of yellow felt to mimic straw falling out. Ropes tied around the waist and wrists and patches were sown into the fabric. Elphaba knew the imagery, that of the scarecrow who helped to melt the wicked witch.
“It’s an old toy from my grandfather,” Fiyero explained. “When I was little, I couldn’t put it down. My mother thought it would be nice for me to have something familiar after I’d been away from home for so long.”
His hands rubbed over her arms as she looked at the doll. There was clearly something about it that left her uneasy. Fiyero kept himself from asking. He promised he wouldn’t pry into her past and he had every intention of keeping it that way.
“Do you believe she was truly wicked?”
The words lingered in the air. Fiyero felt she was asking a different question, though he didn’t exactly understand what it was.
“No. The Vinkus never really prescribed to that telling of the story.”
Turning over, Elphaba looked at him with curiosity in her eyes. She had spent a year in the Vinkus but had never heard of a different version of Ozian history concerning the witch. Then again, she didn’t exactly try to weasel such information out of anyone.
“And what story does the west prescribe to?”
Fiyero’s eyes drifted up, his head tilting as he clearly tried to remember some old childhood story. He plucked the old toy from Elphaba’s hand, settling it and himself on the bed. He patted the empty space next to him, encouraging her to take the spot. With a small bit of caution, she obliged, letting herself fall into the softness of the mattress below her.
“Well, I’m not a great storyteller, but from what I remember, there was a witch, and she was green.”
“Yes, that much seems to be uniform across all of Oz,” Elphaba said, rather sarcastically.
Fiyero rolled his eyes, continuing on without dignifying the comment. The smile on his face gave away his true feelings.
“She was misunderstood. An activist during the Animal Purges. More than anything she tried to be good, but that isn’t easy in the world. She fell in love with a prince, an Arijikian. Fiyero Tigelaar, son of Marillot. They were distant relatives and the leader of the tribe before my family took over. Most Ozian’s don’t hear the difference between the names, since the differential sounds don’t exist in Ozian. I was actually named after him, though my father never really explained why he was so adamant about the name.”
“Anyways, after a multidtide of fighting, propaganda, and a litany of misunderstandings, somehow the witch ended up turning the first Prince Fiyero into a scarecrow. He, in turn, helped her fake her death. After the gale girl and the wizard disappeared, he spent a month on the throne of Oz. Then he passed it onto Glinda the Good and ran away with her.”
“Is that the story you believe?” Elphaba asked.
Fiyero shook his head, looking down at the old toy.
“He worked in the Emerald City for some time, though the records of his rank and time served were lost between the various transitions of power over the years. The lack of remembrance of events from most who lived through it makes it clear, at least to me, that some magic blocking the memories was at play. Maybe a spell from that book, what was it called?”
“The Grimmerie,” Elphaba answered. “Rain talks about it when she’s had too much to drink, which is rare, but does happen from time to time.”
“We will circle back to that,” Fiyero assured, then continued with his thoughts. “And the fact that the witch set-up in the ancestral home of the Arijikian, as well as some papers implying work with Animal rights activists probably lends to the belief. The more likely version is that he was caught aiding the witch and was killed by the wizard for doing so. The gale force tortured him for information, then strung him on a pole in some field out west, just like a scarecrow. That’s what the surviving records indicate anyways.”
Fiyero sighed at the thought. He didn’t say what he was truly thinking, which was that he preferred the true version. That the other version would mean that he chose to abandon the Vinkus, which led to the in-fighting and war that hadn’t fully stopped till he was old enough to understand what was occurring around him. That all the pain and suffering in the Vinkus fell on the shoulders of one man who ran away from his duty.
“I like the West’s version better,” Elphaba mused, her hand absentmindedly running through his hair. “I was born in Munchkin land. All we ever heard about was the tale of the wicked witches and how their cruel reign was brough to an end. Of course, no one mentions that to have held the title of eminent Thropp, the witch of the east would have had to have been born into the Thropp line. Anytime I mentioned such a thought my father would whack me in the head. There is of course, no evidence, as the munchkin’s promptly burned the records and home of the wicked witches as soon as they died.”
Fiyero’s breath hitched at the words.
“Your father hit you?” he questioned, applauded at the thought. “For asking a question?”
A heavy weight suddenly fell on Elphaba’s chest. She had been felt oddly safe and comfortable with Fiyero. It led to carelessness in her musings, mentions of things she’d rather leave unsaid.
“He hit me for the mere act of existing,” Elphaba said.
She couldn’t remember if she had ever acknowledged such a thing before. Not out loud anyways. Other people had said it, and she had come to terms with it in her head, but she had never voiced it. It was as if saying it made it true. That she would have to face the fact that no act could have changed what happened to her all those years.
“That’s why you flinch, isn’t it?”
Elphaba nodded, wishing heavily that they could change the subject. She tucked her head in the pillows, unwilling to look at Fiyero. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of him. She promised herself after that day in the river that she would never cry in front of anyone again. She would never let herself be that powerless in front of another person.
“Hey, no, no, hey,” Fiyero softly spoke.
He gently cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek as he moved, he shifted her gaze to meet his own.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he insisted. “It wasn’t your fault; you were only a child.”
“I know that” Elphaba muttered. “It’s been explained to me many times over the years.”
Fiyero shook his head. Pulling her in close. Red hair fell against his chest and arms, the rest falling against the green pillows. His grip was so tight, Elphaba thought it might bruise, and yet, no part of her wanted him to let go.
“Knowing and believing are very different things,” Fiyero replied. “That man, he was a fool. Anyone would be lucky to have you exist in their world. You deserved better.”
Elphaba breathed deeply, holding herself together with will power alone. She would not cry, not here, not now. She needed something else, anything else to focus on. She looked at Fiyero, at his sweet, sincere eyes. Then down at his lips.
She lurched forward, pressing her mouth against his own. Fiyero responded in kind desperate to taste every bit of her that she offered. Her hands dug into his hair as he rolled over, holding himself on top of her. His knees fell between her own, pressing harshly into the blue quilt. When they finally broke, she looked into his deep blue eyes, as closer to tears in front of another than she’d been in years.
“Show me better,” she whispered.