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Chapter Text

“Citizens of Oz! There is an enemy who must be found and captured! She is evil - responsible for the mutilation of these poor innocent Monkeys! Her green skin is but an outward manifestorium of her twisted nature. This distortion, this repulsion, this Wicked Witch!”

Fiyero doesn’t really have a plan when he first hears the announcement, he just knows he has to leave.

The whispers come almost instantaneously. The brief moment of silence as the warning booms all around Oz gives way to shocked gasps and cries of “I always knew she wasn’t right,” by the very people who had been holding signs supporting Elphaba yesterday morning. Then there are the screams of panic, the rabble of students running back to their rooms to hide or grabbing luggage and rushing to the boats to evacuate, as green lightning flashes in the western sky.

He does not know what has happened. But he knows Elphaba well enough to be sure that she is not wicked. There is more to this story.

He heads straight to the stables, saddling Feldspur and riding away from the grounds. The Horse, to his credit, does not once protest about riding in the rain at this late hour, nor ask him where they are going. His best friend knows him well enough to see he needs to make sense of what is going on in his head before he can vocalise it. And Fiyero cannot focus on anything until he is away from that school of small-minded gossiping idiots.

They have already travelled a few miles south, down the long road to the Vinkus, when he finally speaks. “They’re wrong, you know that, right? Elphaba would never harm Monkeys. She was going there to help the Animals. There must be something else happening.”

Feldspur whinnies in the affirmative.

“The announcement – you have better hearing than me – you thought that was Morrible’s voice too?”

“I am certain,” Feldspur says, then after a considered silence, “I’m not that surprised. She doesn’t have a good reputation amongst Animals.”

Fiyero sucks breath through his teeth. There is danger behind Feldspur’s words. “How did someone like her get so much power?

Feldspur lets out a resigned snort, and Fiyero ventures that his friend is more worried about his kind than he lets on. “We live in interesting times.”

The dots are slowly connecting: Elphaba trusted Madame Morrible. Madame Morrible was training her because of her power. Madame Morrible had the power to get her an invitation to meet the Wizard. Elphaba wanted to ask the Wizard to help the Animals. Madame Morrible does not like the Animals.

Elphaba is now a criminal.

Fiyero knows first-hand exactly how passionate she can get about helping the Animals…

Fiyero’s heart aches for the betrayal she must be feeling.

“I have to find her,” he says, realising this has been his aim only as he speaks these words. Whatever has happened – and he knows so little – he’s sure that she needs help, and getting to her is the only thing he can do.

He also realises he has no idea at all how to start.

Fiyero looks up at the sky again. The green light is faint now, not that it was much help to begin with. All it really implies is that she might have gone west. If she’s heading towards the Vinkus he can’t see how he could get to her in any decent time. It took him and Feldspur three days to travel to Shiz, and that was when the Horse was well rested, they had packed adequate provisions and had stopped off at inns to recover.

She can’t have travelled far from the Emerald City, he thinks. She must have escaped the city itself – if those in the Palace thought she was still running through the city streets, why would they be broadcasting this announcement over in the Gillikin? But how could she possibly have run so far that they are already warning all of Oz?

His eyes flicker to the last wisps of green light. Elphaba has magic. She may be faster than anticipated.

He just has to hope she's somewhere he can reach.

He grips the reins more tightly, “So, if you were a green girl and you had to run away from the Emerald City, where would you go?”

Feldspur moves his shoulders, in what Fiyero knows is a shrug, “Maybe she’d head for the forest. As we know, she blends in very well with the foliage.”

Fiyero gives him the weakest of chuckles in response. It's a dumb question, he’s aware, when Elphaba has all of Oz to hide, and they are just two beings searching for her in the distance a Horse can travel in a night. They’re almost certainly going to fail.

But he has to try.

He motions with the reins, and heads for the road leading to the Great Gillikin Forest.

He does not succeed. They stay out all night, hoping beyond all hope that he will run into her as easily as last time they met in the woods. But the rain gets heavier, and he can tell Feldspur is weary. So they return to Shiz, cold, tired and wet, just as dawn starts to break over the horizon.

He doesn’t really sleep. Just takes off his sodden clothes and lies on his bed, back flush against the mattress, listening to the tick tock of his clock.

When it reaches quarter to seven, he gets up, gets dressed, combs his hair and checks his appearance in the mirror. He doesn’t look quite as perfect as usual, but he figures that is to be expected - everyone has been having a rough night (though, he ventures, not on the scale of his). Still, he doesn't look like he spent the night in a forest. He makes his way out onto the quad. 

It is surprisingly quiet, even for this early in the morning, but there are a few people around by the docks, faces pale, huddled together, speaking in whispers. He knows they are waiting for the same thing he is, the newspaper, an opportunity to find out some information about the chaos that happened last night.

The news boat pulls in and he’s at the front of the queue. The front page is almost entirely covered with a large drawing of what looks like a crone in a pointed hat, and, despite what he was expecting the headline news to be, it takes him a good few seconds to associate the hideous image with the girl who, just two days ago, had shyly smiled at him when he’d given her a poppy.

He grabs a paper off the pile, tipping the boy far more than necessary in his hurry, before going straight back to his room to read it.

It’s all rubbish. He knows that from the moment Elphaba’s visit is described as an “invasion” of the palace. Supposedly she broke in, stole the Grimmerie, attempted to kill the Wizard, cursed his Monkey servants by forcing them to grow painful wings, was so nearly caught by the fierce and brave guards - and then flew away on a broomstick vowing revenge on all of Oz.

There is not one mention of Glinda.

It seems reasonable to assume that Elphaba’s trip did not go entirely as planned.

The article is detestable but he reads it several times, unable to believe what they are saying. It can’t be true, he knows that deep in his soul. The Monkey bit especially.There are eyewitness accounts that saw the flying creatures chasing her, but he refuses to believe for even a moment that she would hurt an Animal – if anything, he knows firsthand exactly how far she would go to save one. She must have been framed or tricked. By Morrible, he supposes. Maybe she framed her for stealing the Grimmerie too, Morrible knows nothing would incite Ozians more than having their fabled book stolen. But then again... if she could fly, as eyewitnesses are saying (and it would answer the question of how she managed to escape the city so fast), then she would have had to have access to some pretty powerful spells...

It’s well known over all of Oz that the Wizard is the only one who can read the Grimmerie – but if anyone else is smart and talented enough to read it, it would be Elphaba.

His heart sinks, realising what else this all means, a revelation that hits him like a ton of bricks but also feels like something he’s always known. There’s no way that any of this can be a misunderstanding. There has been a deliberate attempt to slander Elphaba’s name throughout all of Oz, and it has come from the highest authority in the land.

Elphaba is good, he knows this with all his heart. 

And if Elphaba is good, those who are against her are bad.

And the person who is against her is the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Classes are cancelled for the day, and attendance would have been pitiful even if they were not, since half the university left in the panic of last night anyway. The students were probably brainless enough that they feared Elphaba would return and cast curses on anyone that had ever insulted her. He kind of wishes she would, though he knows that she would never be that stupid. Some of them deserve it for the way they treated her and it would make the task of finding her a lot easier.

For the first time in his life he is not grateful for getting to miss lessons. Not that he is particularly interested in what his professors have to teach him, but he would appreciate the distraction. Here all he can do is sit around helplessly, with no real news, wondering what to do next.

His thoughts turn to Glinda. He knows that she went with Elphaba to the Emerald City, knows she has not been condemned with the same brush as her friend, but shamefully he has not paid much mind to her since. Hopefully she will be back soon, and can shed some more light on what has happened than the blatantly biased press.

She should be coming back today - the train she and Elphaba were going to catch is supposed to be leaving around now actually, though it seems foolish to think plans made before all this chaos will still be kept. Nevertheless, he makes his way down to the station for information on when the train will arrive, and is not particularly surprised to discover that all trains from the Emerald City are suspended until further notice. He returns to campus and checks the mailroom for letters, but again there is nothing.

Maybe Elphaba has managed to contact her family? He knows she is not close with her father, but she loves Nessarose like no one else. He goes to Nessa’s dormitory to see her, but no one replies to his knocking.

He goes instead to Boq’s room, because he’ll doubtless know where Nessa is and, if nothing else, it will be nice to just be able to discuss the sudden chaos with one of Elphaba’s other friends. However, when the Munchkin lets him in, Fiyero sees his dorm in disarray. Boq’s roommate was clearly one of those who left in the boats last night, but his friend too is packing.

“You’re not fleeing as well?” he says, words coming out more accusatory than he expected, “This is Elphaba we’re talking about, everything they're saying about her is ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be scared.”

Boq looks up at him, blinking at his tone. “No, of course not. You know Elphaba is my friend too. I’m leaving because of Nessa.”

“Nessa?”

Boq nods at a letter on his desk. “She wrote to me this morning. She’s been away since Elphaba left, her father took her on tour around the Gillikin for a few days. He wanted to spend some time with her, seeing as he had made the journey up to see Elphaba off.”

Fiyero resists the urge to roll his eyes. Even when Elphaba had achieved something amazing, her father would rather be with his favourite daughter.

“And, well, when the announcement was made, her father… they think he had a heart attack. They’ve taken him to the hospital… it’s really serious… I’ve got to go to her, she needs my help.”

Fiyero doesn’t expect the words to hit him as hard as they do. “So, you’re just going? For how long?” He only realises how selfish he sounds afterwards: this is probably not the reaction he should be having to hearing that Frexspar Thropp might die.

Boq shrugs, “She’s alone and scared - especially with everything that’s happened with Elpahba too, she needs support. You’d do the same for Glinda if she needed you.”

Fiyero splutters, a little stunned, and sits down on the bed, trying to find the words. So much has happened in so little time, and it’s apparently still coming. He’s got no idea where Elphaba and Glinda are; it seems so deeply unfair to lose Nessa and Boq too. 

“Yes but…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, though the words are racing around his head. You don’t even love Nessa.

Boq looks Fiyero dead in the eyes, his gaze managing to convey more understanding of his situation than Fiyero had ever thought he had known.

“You would do the same for Glinda,” he says, and while Fiyero can see that Boq truly believes his words, he can also hear the underlying threat. And maybe a plea.

“I’d do the same for any of my friends,” says Fiyero finally.

Fiyero is alone.

Well not really alone, he’s never been alone in his life. Pfannee, ShenShen and numerous other students make it quite clear that they would be delighted to welcome him into their circles. And only weeks ago he would have agreed: having other people around, desperate to talk to him and laughing a little too loudly at his jokes drowns out any inconvenient thoughts in his head. But right now the idea of their company is worse.

In the days that follow, the students tentatively creep out of their dormitories, or make their way back to Shiz from whatever silly place they had hidden. They huddle in nervous groups in the quad, talking about the latest witch sightings, spreading wild rumours about how she is certain to return to Shiz only to burn it to the ground. The first few times he confronts them, asking how they could possibly think someone they knew last week could be so evil, but he always gets the same self satisfied smirk and arrogant assurance that they had never really liked her. It’s all he can do to not punch them. After that he ignores them, keeping to himself as much as possible. It’s the only way to remain sane.

Lessons resume after Miss Coddle announces to all of them that Shiz will do the utmost to protect each and every valued student, but even his idiot schoolmates don’t seem to trust her. The energy has gone from the classrooms and he finds himself paying even less attention than before. 

He checks the Animal staff housing one day. He was hoping the cleaning staff, the ones he had been able to hand the Lion Cub to, would still be around and maybe give him an idea of where he could look. However, it is completely empty, and he can only pray it’s because they’ve fled.

He slips into a routine: wake up, buy the daily paper, check the mail, attend whatever classes he can bear and then search the area for Elphaba under the guise of going on a ride with Feldspur.

None of it is ever successful. The paper only continues to publish obvious lies, he hears no news from Glinda (or even Boq and Nessa), and a one man search in a small area of Oz for a girl who doesn’t want to be found proves predictably ineffectual.

If only he knew anything! He wants to contact his parents to ask if they have heard any more information, but he doesn't trust his letters not to be read. He writes to Glinda’s parents in the most innocent way he can think of, telling them he misses her and would love to know if or when she's returning to Shiz, but gets no response.

He could go back to the Vinkus. At least then he'd be able to hear any news his father has away from prying eyes and if Elphaba did indeed fly west, he might have more chance of finding her. But he really has no certainty she'd be there either, nor does he have a particular fondness for his parents. Elphaba knows he's here, Glinda knows he's here, so at least for now, he'll have to stay.

The letter comes nearly three weeks later. Glinda is inviting him to stay with her for the weekend in her new residence in the Emerald City. It is written on scented pink paper, in what is unquestionably Glinda's ornately calligraphic handwriting, and he is instantly suspicious. The words are written too formally, with a distinct lack of overly enthusiastic superlatives and no excess of kisses or hearts that normally define his girlfriend's writing. The invitation is not her idea.

His relationship with Glinda was not in a good place when she left. If he's quite honest with himself, had Elphaba's trip gone as planned, he's not sure that they would still be dating right now. But this is neither here nor there at the moment. It has been weeks and this is all he has heard from her; his worries about her have been growing every day and this letter all but confirms them. 

He is almost certain that accepting her invitation will be walking straight into the fire, and he says yes immediately.

Chapter Text

Glinda throws herself at him when he meets her on the vibrantly green platform, sobbing hysterically. 

“Fiyero, thank Oz,” she manages to splutter out.

He wraps his arms around her instinctively, so her head is nestled against his chest, and he buries his face in her hair. He’s spent the past week preparing to smile through every fake nicety from a city desperate to ensnare him and her in their insidious web, but somehow he hadn’t expected their first interaction to be so genuine. Come to think of it, it’s probably the most raw and vulnerable he’s ever seen his girlfriend.

“Don’t cry, beautiful, I’m here now,” he mutters. “I’ve missed you too.” It’s not why she’s crying, he knows, but he hasn’t forgotten the men on the train and the platform in Wizard’s regalia that are doubtless watching them closely. “Why don’t you show me around the city? I’ve never been and I hear that it’s truly magical!”

She looks up at him then, her rich brown eyes meeting his deep blue, and an understanding passes between them: they need each other much more than ever before.

She takes a handkerchief out of her bag, blows her nose delicately, wipes her eyes and nods. “I’d love to.”

They’ve not browsed more than a few shops when Fiyero pulls Glinda insistently away from the main road, leading her down a series of sidestreets, the direction of which he’s already memorised.

Glinda’s letter had made it very clear that accommodation would be provided, but nonetheless he has booked a hotel for the time right now. He has taken great care deciding where to go. The advantage of a playboy reputation is it tends to give you knowledge of some of the more unsavory places in a city. This hotel is known as one for sordid deeds, one where rich men take their mistresses when they’ve told their wives they are on a business trip or cash is exchanged for a quick, clean removal of their problems. But most importantly, it is known for its discretion. This is a building where its clients can guarantee they will not be prosecuted or blackmailed for their sins and Fiyero knows he and Glinda will not be overheard.

And, if someone did see the two of them enter together? Well, what self respecting scandalacious prince wouldn’t want to have some private time together with his beautiful girlfriend, who he hasn’t seen in a month?

As soon as he locks the door of their room, he turns to her. “Glinda,” he says, her new name still feeling slightly odd on his tongue, “what's going on? What happened?”

Her face falls immediately, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her face, and he draws her to him again, rubbing his hand up and down her back until she's calm enough to get words out.

“I tried, Fiyero,” she says, eyes glistening. She’s pressed against his chest, so close to him he has to look right down to see her. She seems so small, so fragile and childlike. “I tried to get her to stop, I begged her to come back. I told her that there must be a better way of serving her cause. But she wouldn’t listen, she had to go. And what happens if they capture her now? What if they…” She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, throwing herself onto the bed, and burying her head in the pillow. The sobbing returns.

His back stiffens, processing the words himself. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands, reminding himself of what is important here. He can’t let himself get overcome by fear, then he will be of no use at all.

Instead he sits down beside her, hand on her shoulder. Eventually she sits up too, resting her back against the headboard and hugging her knees, her face deathly pale.

“What happened, Glinda?” he prompts. “What caused her to want to do this?”

“She… there were these Monkeys… guards I think… and they… they wanted her to prove her power and they… they…”

“Who are they?”

“Madame Morrible and…” She goes quiet, eyes widening in fear, and he has a sinking suspicion that he knows what this means.

“The Wizard?”

She nods.

He keeps his voice calm and level, though in reality he is feeling equal parts anger and panic. “What did they want her to do?”

“They told her to make the Monkey fly. We thought there was only one then… and they gave her the Grimmerie and they got her to cast the spell and so she did, but only…”

“It didn’t do that?”

“No, it did! It was incredible, we all thought so, she was so powerful! He grew wings, but he was screeching in pain. It was awful, and Elphaba – you know what she’s like, she can’t bear when things are hurt, so she wanted to reverse it. But they told her she couldn’t and then they showed her that she’d actually transformed so many Monkeys and they were all screaming and it was horrible and then Elphaba said all this stuff about how the Wizard was the one who hurt all the Animals and – ” Her voice suddenly goes quiet, though even now he can hear she is a little scandalised. “– that he had no power,” 

She takes a deep, shaky breath, and the world seems to freeze around them. But then the words continue to fall out of her mouth. “And then she grabbed the book and ran, and I followed her and I tried to make her say sorry, I did! But she wouldn’t, she cast the spell again and then she made the broom fly, and then she flew through the window and it smashed. Then the guards grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go until Morrible told them to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so -” he pauses, trying to process all these incomprehensible facts, “You did everything you could, I know you did. It’s not your fault. Do you know where she's gone?”

Glinda shakes her head, blonde curls flying so much more haphazardly than usual. “She went west when she flew off, but I don't know more than that. Madame Morrible asked me if she'd said anything, they're trying to do everything to find her, but I just don't know!”

“What did Morrible say to you?”

“She told me I wasn’t in trouble, but asked me all these questions about Elphaba and I didn’t know what to say because you know what Elphaba is like. She can get so angry but she’s so kind, she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. I told Madame Morrible we could just send an announcement out and tell her she can come back, now she’s calmed down, but she wouldn’t and oh Fiyero, I've been so scared.”

He pulls her, once again, into his arms, using her sudden silence to process all that has been said. It’s worse than he thought, not that he blames Elphaba - Glinda's right, it's simply not in her nature to have done anything but this. But there’s no way of reconciliation, not after she accused the Wizard like that (whether her accusations are true or false seems irrelevant at the moment), not after she stole the Grimmerie. Elphaba will have to fight until she is captured or she wins, and currently she only has a one woman army. 

Maybe though, it can become a two person army, or three.

Thinking about that is not the most pressing matter though, when he doesn’t know how long he has left alone with Glinda. “What’s happening to you now, Glinda? Why are you still in the Emerald City?”

She looks down, “I… Madame Morrible said it would be in my best interests if I stayed. That I could help best here, improve morale. She said she’d keep teaching me sorcery and do her best to help me get where I want to in my career. She says I would make an amazing spokeswoman. My parents think it’s such a great opportunity.”

Fiyero looks at her, long and hard. Tears are still making her way down her face and she’s shivering, despite the warm fire in the room, yet her words here sound just as sincere as the ones she said earlier.

“Is that what you want, Glinda?” he asks cautiously. “Because I could get you out if you don’t. We’re dating, I could ask my parents to give you a place to stay in the Vinkus.”

Uncertainty paints Glinda’s face, and for the first time today she is speechless. He feels a few bricks of a wall go up between them. The Emerald City is dangerous, but it has a sparkling allure that some cannot resist.

“Think about it, ok?” he says finally. “And if you want to, just let me know.”

She nods, and he holds her for a long time. They do not speak again until she lets him know that they have a dinner reservation in an hour. So he showers, and she redoes her makeup, and they go out together just like every other young, rich and beautiful couple enjoying the pleasures of the Emerald City.

At the end of the night she leads them to the Emerald Palace. The guards have clearly been expecting them. They let them in immediately and show them to their rooms, in different wings of the palace.

He’s rarely seen a room so splendid, and he grew up a prince in a castle, being dragged on visits to an endless number of noblemen’s mansions. Glistening green marble with gilded decorations line every wall of the suite, carved with depictions of the Wizard’s achievements. The chairs and bed are plush, made of Quoxwood and covered with the finest green silk. When he goes out to the balcony, he has a stunning view over the whole city and beyond.

It feels like a prison: the attendants provided to cater to his every whim instead watch his every move. The suite is large but he knows not to even bother trying the door. Glinda feels so very far away.

He turns in for the night early, if only so he has an excuse to dismiss the attendants, and then lies down, awake in the darkness, pondering everything he has learnt today. Finally he has a clear picture of what Elphaba did that made them turn the entire country against her. He’s proud of her, he thinks. Elphaba stands up for what she believes in a way that he’s never seen in anyone else. Maybe he wishes she had been more careful, had put some thought into protecting herself before fighting for what she cares about, but that is just not her. If just a few more people had her passion and goodness then maybe they would be able to enact true change, to make a difference in this world. Maybe she’ll be able to, even on her own. His friend is powerful. They wouldn’t be so scared of her if she was not.

And he will do everything in his power to help.

He wakes up much earlier than he needs to the next morning and spends the time sitting on his balcony, staring out west. This will have been where she flew that first night. He wonders how far she went, where she stopped, how far he and Feldspur were away from her as the chilly wind rushed in from the north and the rain beat down on them.

At 8 on the dot he is served breakfast in his room (an entire buffet of breads and pastries, far too much for any single person to eat). When he is finished, the attendants inform him that he and Glinda are going on an official tour of the city.

He remembers stories of the Emerald City from when he was a child. Of the glistening green buildings as tall as the sky, of the bustling boutiques and its brightly dressed residents. He’d longed to go so badly then, begged his father to take him, but invites from the Wizard were rare even for a king, and Fiyero could never be trusted to sit still for long enough to behave the few times it did happen.

But now, much like yesterday, he can barely take anything in. He tunes the tour guide – who sounds exactly like the most dull of his professors who had been given the uphill task of trying to teach him history – out almost immediately, ) but even the sights seem harsh and cruel when he thinks about how excited Elphaba had been to go, and how awfully everything had gone for her. Elphaba would have loved the museums, she’d have taken in every word of the tour, fascinated by the history, and now she can never do any of that again.

Glinda takes his hand. “Come on Fiyero! See how pretty it all is! And there are so many splenderific dance halls. I’ll make sure we go to one next time you visit me!”

He nods, trying to put on a smile. He knows it’s not fair when Glinda is trying so hard to see some positives in their situation, but the idea of a trip like this being a regular occurrence makes him feel slightly nauseous.

Wizomania is even worse. An hour and a half of a show, quite literally singing the praises of the man who has ruined the life of his friend, has never been on the top of his to do list. He notices Glinda’s lips tighten, though she still cheers and hums along with the rest of the crowd. Still, he thinks as he watches the oft told myth of how the Wizard arrived and read the Grimmerie, for better or for worse, that he knows much more of the truth than the people cheering around him. The idea that the Wizard may not be as powerful as he seems is a horrifying thought, given this is entirely what he has based his claim to rulership on, but it means he has a weakness.

Any hopes of spending some time alone with Glinda is dashed again when, straight after the show, he’s informed that they must return to the Emerald Palace, as they are required to attend an afternoon tea.

The dining room is grand, with the table big enough to seat at least thirty people. But Glinda and Fiyero are meeting only one. The table is set at one end, with delicate green crystal tea cups and a cake stand full of cupcakes of every flavour he could imagine. Madame Morrible sits at the head, gesturing for Fiyero and Glinda to sit either side of her, which he does with no perceivable hesitation.

“Madame Morrible, I wasn’t expecting to see you here, it’s a pleasure,” he lies smoothly, easily. Turning up charm for people he doesn’t like is second nature to him, but today it makes him feel particularly dirty.

“The pleasure is all mine, your highness,” Madame Morrible says, pouring them all a cup of tea. Her smile is wide and welcoming, so different to the casual dismissiveness she had regarded him with at Shiz. Fiyero has never enjoyed being referred to by his title, and especially not by someone like Madame Morrible, who he knows is just using it for the illusion of respect. 

“As I’m sure dear Glinda has told you,” she continues, “I’ve moved up in the world and am the Wizard’s new Press Secretary. I’ve had the pleasure of organising all of your visit. I trust it has all gone well and the palace lodgings have suited you?”

“Very much so, I was honoured. Even my father has rarely been invited to stay the night here.”

Madame Morrible nods approvingly, “Yes, the Wizard prefers to send envoys to those assisting him with the managing of the Kingdom. Unfortunately, recent circumstances have highlighted to us how wise that decision is.”

He balls his fists under the table, tapering his breath to keep calm, and glances at Glinda. She's watching him carefully, scared. He needs to play dumb. “I must confess, I am so confused by what happened that day?”

“As we all are, your highness. Who knew Miss Elphaba’s underlying derangement would reveal itself? Attacking our wonderful Wizard, completely unprovoked. Thank Oz no one was hurt! I am spending my time now ensuring we continue to keep Oz safe.”

Fiyero stabs his nails into his knees and smiles. He tries to think what a Fiyero who was charming, but didn’t care about anything besides himself, would say. “And what a good job you are doing, Madame. I am glad you are here for us during these trying times.”

What is your game here? Why am I here? You know I was friends with Elphaba. Is this just to assess my loyalty, or is there something else?

Madame Morrible takes a sip of her tea, never once taking her eyes off him. “Indeed dear, but I couldn’t do it without support. Miss Glinda here, for instance, has been so good in this whole situation, helping me get everything back under control. She’s such a valuable, astute girl.”

None of those words are complements, they’re threats, or at least a warning that nothing good will happen if he is not these things too. But she doesn’t need to know that he knows this. “Oh yes, madame, she’s very pretty too. I am lucky to have her. I’ve missed her very much while she’s been here.”

He shoots a grin at Glinda, momentarily grasping her hand across the table. She looks a little bemused at the sudden compliment, but accepts it with pleasure anyway.

Madame Morrible’s smile is greedy, patronising. She thinks she is much smarter than him. “Oh I understand, your highness, but we all must make sacrifices in these trying times. And it must warm your heart to know that your lady is helping to make Oz great again.”

“Oh of course, she really is an example to us all.” 

“Speaking of examples…” Madame Morrible’s voice is suddenly sharp, and Fiyero’s eyes snap straight back towards her. This is what the conversation has been about, she is about to bring up what she wants from him. “Prince Tigelaar, you are heir to your father’s throne are you not?”

“Yes I am,” he says, carefully.

“And I am sure we can count on the Vinkus’ support in these dark days?”

This is dangerous, all of this is dangerous, and Fiyero is suddenly very aware that he is sitting in the heavily guarded palace of an enemy, with no protection of his own. “My support to the Wizard and his associates is unwavering. I cannot speak for my father, but I feel assured that he would feel the same way as me.” All lies: whatever his relationship with his father is, Marilott Tigelaar has always defended the beings of the Vinkus above all else, and especially above a man who seized the Throne after the infant Ozma’s disappearance 25 years ago.

“And you have, as a Prince of the Vinkus, military training?”

Fiyero freezes, recovering quickly by grabbing himself a cupcake, using the seconds while he takes the first bite to consider his answer. “Only the basics madame.”

“But you know survival, can fire a rifle and lead men?”

“I guess I can.” His voice sounds more stilted, more wary than he would like. He has a feeling he knows where this is leading and he does not like it one bit. 

“Excellent. I’m sure we can teach you the rest.”

Fiyero raises his eyebrows. “Teach me?” He hopes the incredulity sounds like ignorance, not outrage, but it’s getting harder to control his emotions.

“You see, we have an exciting proposition for you, the Wizard and I. Oz needs to know, like you already do, that we are doing our best in the fight against the Wicked Witch, and to see the country is pulling together from all corners in the wake of the inside enemies who threaten Oz. And you, your highness – with your authority, and military training, and very handsome face – would be the perfect person to help, just like your wonderful paramour. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz would love to offer a position to you in the Gale Force.” 

He feels white hot anger pump through his veins. Whatever he had expected of this trip to the Emerald City, it had not been this. He had expected to be fed propaganda, to be questioned, maybe even threatened, but he had never anticipated being asked to collude. Not like this.

“We’d promote you straight to a commander, as befits your standing. I am certain your charisma and ability to lead would make you very successful, with quite a chance to make your way up even further-”

“I’m afraid I don’t think this is something I can accept, Madame.” It comes out fiercely, blunt.

Glinda freezes, still holding a teacup halfway up to her lips, her eyes flitting between him and Madame Morrible, whose smile has become fixed.

“Why, your highness, I assure you, you have all the skills. I am aware your academic abilities leave something to be desired, but I have heard great things about your shooting, archery and swordsmanship. You would live in great comfort here in the Emerald Palace itself, with the lovely Miss Glinda by your side. I’m sure we’d even be partial to the odd interview, and I know you're well acquainted with press attention. You’d be quite the power couple, Oz would adore you.”

He needs to get out. He wants to throw up. He’s used to being used for his good looks, charm, and title but never like this. The very idea of actively going against Elphaba’s cause, of being one of the men who want to capture her, to kill her… he can’t do it, not for the world, not for all the safety it would provide him, Glinda, and the Vinkus. And the very fact that Madame Morrible thinks he would be tempted by the prestige and the fame… He’s never liked the face he presents to the world much anyway, but today it makes it want to rip his skin off.

If only he could be Elphaba, to shout at Madame Morrible and then fly away, free, from the Palace rooftops.

Instead, he stands up. “I’m afraid, Madame, I must politely decline. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a train to catch this afternoon, and I must pack my bags beforehand.” And, leaving behind most of his tea and a barely eaten cake, he storms towards the door.

The guards look to Madame Morrible as he approaches but she nods. They let him through, guiding him back to his room where he has a long shower, allowing himself to weep.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Glinda, a few hours later. She’s come to see him off at the train station, and he can tell by her bloodshot eyes that she has been crying too. He looks around, checking that no one else is close enough to be listening. They do not appear to be, but he lowers his voice just in case. “I just couldn’t, with what they were saying about her, with what they wanted me to do.”

Glinda cannot meet his eyes, just buries her head in his chest. “I’ll miss you,” she mutters against him.

Fiyero reaches under her chin and tilts her head up, kissing her gently. “Glinda, please, come back with me. I can keep you safe,” he whispers in her ear as their lips part.

I can't lose both of you.

Glinda looks down, shakes her head. She can’t leave the Emerald City - he knows this really.

“Write,” he says, “please, as much as you can. Stay safe.”

“I will,” says Glinda, but then her eyes widen with an idea. She gets out her handbag, rummaging through it, until she pulls out a small key. “It’s the key to my dormitory, I’ll tell you what I need and you can send it to me.”

He frowns – surely there are porters who could do that, there’s something he’s not understanding here – but when she leans in to kiss him on the cheek he hears her softly say, “There's a bottle, it was her mother's. She keeps it under her pillow.”

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll make sure to get everything.”

The train pulls in at the station and he grabs his bags, climbing aboard. He’s about to close the door when Glinda runs up to him, face pale, voice gentle and sad.

“She asked me to go with her.” Her final confession is so quiet that he wonders if he misheard. “Maybe I should have.”

The conductor blows his whistle and the train leaves the platform before he has time to respond.

Chapter Text

“How do I join the resistance?” Fiyero asks on his ride with Feldspur, the day after he gets back, as soon as they are far enough in the forest for him to be sure that they will not be overheard. 

He’d mulled the whole visit over on the long train journey back for the Emerald City. It had become very clear, very quickly, that he cannot just sit around doing nothing. Elphaba is out there making a difference, Glinda is as good as imprisoned, and Madame Morrible and the Wizard seem to be gathering the means to do much worse. He has to do something, anything, to help fight back.

Feldspur doesn’t seem as impressed by his declaration to fight as he expected. “You are presuming that I know the answer to that question.”

“You must have heard something, you’re…”

“An Animal?” Feldspur snorts, appearing not annoyed but a little amused by his friend’s ignorance. “Animals who work for humans of the ruling class aren’t given that much information about planned rebellions.”

“Nothing at all?”

Feldspur sighs. “You hear the odd whisper. There is a resistance of Animals around, mostly focusing on getting Animals out of Oz for the moment rather than fighting back. They don’t trust humans though. They’re even a little suspicious of Elphaba. They want contact with her, but not necessarily direct involvement.”

“But they don’t think a human like me, who is on their side, can help by giving them information or fighting?”

Feldspur’s voice is soft but firm. “Fi, what help would you be? They are not actively fighting. And even if they were – and as good of a shot as you are – you are just one man. Your information is limited to what you can find out at Shiz, which is barely more than what the rest of Oz is told. Even if you returned to your father, he only gets information filtered through the Wizard.”

Fiyero slumps down in the saddle.It does not escape him that just days ago, he impulsively rejected a position that would have provided the resistance with valuable information. “So I’m useless then?”

Feldspur whinnies, shaking his head. “Not at all: you are kind and supportive, and that is more than most of mankind in Oz. It means a lot. But I think your talents lie elsewhere than fighting for the underground.”

They ride on a few more miles, in silence, as despondiary thoughts bounce around his head.

“Do you need to leave too, Spur?” he asks eventually, embarrassed he hasn’t asked before. “I’d hate it, but if it makes you safer...”

Feldspur shakes his head. “No. I’m staying right here, with my family.”

Life at Shiz continues, dull but torturous. He sinks back into his regime of checking the papers and searching the forest. All the while he listlessly attends classes, doing his best to ignore his fellow students and all the horrible news of made up things Elphaba has been blamed for. It’s not sustainable; he is aware of that when each day is a gloomy failure. He knows that if he continues showing such a radical change in personality the press is bound to pick up on it sooner or later, but he’s not sure what there is left to do. He feels like such a fool that when Elphaba is out there, fighting for what is right, he has done nothing but pushed himself further from Glinda and thrown away the only chance he might have had to be of use.

He visits Elphaba and Glinda’s dorm a few days after his return, feeling a little like an explorer going into the houses of the long dead. It’s exactly how they left it: Glinda’s side an explosion of pink, her various possessions lying haphazardly on the floor where she’d dropped them and never quite got around to picking them up. Elphaba’s (much smaller) half neatly kept, with just a few important things left on her desk. 

He quickly grabs the bottle from under Elphaba’s pillow, careful to leave the bed made just as pristinely as he found it. He goes over to look at the desk: there’s a notebook and pen, a terrifyingly tall pile of school books and, in one corner, a framed sketch. He picks it up: it’s the five of them – Elphaba, Glinda, Nessa, Boq, and him – sitting in a poppy field together, the remains of their picnic laid out in front of them, chatting and laughing. 

He remembers Glinda drawing the sketch that day, remembers how happy they’d all been. Even after everything that has happened, he is grateful that those days, their friendship, meant as much to Elphaba as it did to him. He carefully takes the picture out of the frame and pockets it. He needs something to remember it all by.

Glinda’s letters keep coming, and he is glad of it. At least he knows that she is alive and somewhat comfortable, but they offer little else in the way of information. He has no doubt that they are being read, so his responses are similarly muted.

Shiz is about to break up for summer when the front pages finally have some non witch related news. Frexspar Thropp, the Governor of Munchkinland, did not recover from his heart attack. He is dead.

The official funeral is set to be a week for now, and will have representatives from all regions of Oz. He writes to his father at once, asking to be his representative from the Vinkus, stating his desire to help more with his royal duties. And that he already has a good relationship with Nessarose, the new Governor. It’s not even a lie – helping the Vinkus has got to be more useful than whatever he’s doing at Shiz, and he is desperate to see Nessa and Boq again. It would be so nice to be with friends, even in such sad circumstances.

He can hear the tone of surprise in his father’s response even in written form, but his request is granted. He packs for Munchkinland immediately, somehow already knowing that he will not return to Shiz.

For as long as he can remember, Fiyero has hated the role of Ozian dignitary. He takes his position, in overly starched navy blue mourning clothes, beside the dullest people in the Vinkus and forces himself to stand as still as he can manage during the ceremony. 

He uses the opportunity to observe the rest of the guests: the Vinkuns he recognises, of course. They’re all noblemen that he’s met at formal dinners with his father. Hart Glaxony, the Governor of Quadling Country, is also standing a small distance away, surrounded by a handful of his men. The Gillikin doesn’t have a Governor - it is mostly made up of poor farmers and some merchants, all ruled by a handful of rich nobles. He recognises most of the nobles by sight, but only a few he knows by name. Glinda’s parents are not there; from what he knows of the Uplands their holding is not big enough to grant them an invite.

Speaking of Glinda, he had let her know he was to attend and told her he hoped she could make it too. He scans the luridly green contingent from the Emerald City for any signs of her, but he sees no trace of golden curls. Madame Morrible, however, is standing front and centre. If she notices his presence, she does not acknowledge it.

Nessa is sitting in the front row, openly weeping behind her long black veil. He spots Boq sitting a few rows behind her alongside the rest of her advisors, all also dressed head to toe in black. When it is Fiyero’s turn to go up to Nessa and extend his condolences from the Vinkus, she doesn’t even look up, apparently not recognising him at all.

Madame Morrible, representing the Wizard, is the last to approach the new Governor. She briefly bows her head, offering Nessa a wreath before turning to the crowd, interrupting the ceremony with an unexpected speech. “The Wizard would like you to know how much grief he is feeling for the sad passing of Frexspar Thropp. He was a true and loyal subject to the Wizard. It is unfortunate that he was cursed by such a sinful daughter - the one we now know is the Wicked Witch of the West - but he did all in his power to help the Wizard nonetheless. I know that his good and godly daughter, Nessarose, will do the same as Governor.” She turns to Nessa, clearly expecting a response, but Nessa is still just looking down at the ground. 

Madame Morrible gives a cough that echoes around the room. After another awkward silence, Nessa looks up briefly and nods.

The wake in the grand hall and gardens of the Governor’s mansion is equally as torturous. He makes idle chat with the rest of the envoys and the Munckinlander advisors. He’s good at this, he always has been; charming people, knowing what is best to say to make them like him has always come naturally. Everyone likes him the moment they meet him. Well, most people… Elphaba’s face flashes, unwarranted, into the forefront of his mind. He tries to push her away. Thank god the boring old men here are too polite to bring up Frexspar’s wayward daughter at his funeral.

This was her home. She might not have had the happiest of childhoods, but this is where she lived every day for the first twenty years of her life: she roamed the halls they were guided through to get to the main room, her bedroom looked out onto the garden he is now standing in. He scans the windows of the mansion. From which one, if he had been here just a year earlier, would he have seen a green face staring back? A year ago, had he been here, he would have found her.

It seems so terribly cruel that she will never be back. That, even at her father’s funeral, nothing of her is remembered in her own home but her supposed wickedness.

He catches sight of Boq standing by the back door and makes his way over as fast as possible. Boq gives him a small smile, nodding towards a quieter sideroom. Fiyero follows, and for the first time since he got here, he feels like the trip might be worth it.

“How are you?” asks Fiyero, the moment he’s sure they cannot be heard. “What’s been going on? How’s Nessa?”

Boq looks down. “I don’t think you’ll get a chance to talk to her today, if that’s what you’re hoping. She’s not good. Her father’s death and her sister’s betrayal have devastated her. She’s not the girl she was at all, she’s so quiet. She keeps to her room and cries or prays to the Unnamed God. Some days I’m the only person she’ll see; sometimes she doesn’t even want to see me.”

“You’re staying with her then?”

Boq shrugs. “What choice do I have?”

“And what of everything else? What news have you heard? Have you heard anything of Elphaba?”

At the name Boq twitches, looking around even though the room is clearly empty. “No, not a trace of Elphaba, even though the Emerald City sends soldiers to search the mansion and the surrounding area for any sign of her every few weeks. Nessa is furious with her, as you’d expect. As am I, for putting her through all of this.”

“You know it’s not her fault, don’t you?” he says, gripping Boq’s wrist a little too tightly. “They tricked her into it all, made her curse those Monkeys, then blamed her when she realised what they had done. They made her into an enemy because she challenged them and they were afraid of her power.”

Boq looks unconvinced. “That’s not really what I’ve heard…”

His reply is uncharacteristically harsh. “Well I heard from Glinda, who was there, that this is…”

“Glinda?” The genuine worry in Boq’s voice quells Fiyero's anger slightly. “How is she? Is she ok?”

“She is,” he says. “I think so, at least. I last saw her two months ago; she stayed with Morrible in the Emerald City. I wrote to her that I’d be at the funeral, and I really hoped she’d be allowed to come, but clearly not.”

Boq’s eyes widen at the word allowed, and Fiyero is reminded, yet again, that his friend is more perceptive than he lets on.

“So you haven’t seen her in months?”

“Two months, and we write! She never says she’s unhappy.”

Boq pulls his arm out of Fiyero’s grasp. “But how do you know? Why didn’t you visit again?”

“I couldn’t. I’m stuck at Shiz, you know what it’s like now. I can't see Glinda whenever I want.”

But guilt twists deep in his stomach, because he’s lying. He could be with Glinda right now, could be getting information to help find and save Elphaba, if only he had made a different decision.

There’s a ring of a bell and they both jump at the sound. 

“That’s Nessa, I’d better go,” says Boq, and he throws one more disappointed look at Fiyero before leaving the room.

He knows what he has to do.

Fiyero walks back into the garden, blinking at the sudden sunlight, searching for one person. He finds her in a few moments, standing near the fountain, talking in her overly superficial way to Lord Chuffrey. He goes over.

“Madame Morrible, may I have a word with you?”

Madame Morrible’s smile is sallow, clearly remembering their last meeting, but she looks him up and down curiously. “Of course, your highness.”

He needs to play this right; he knows he will not get a chance like this again.

“Firstly, I want to apologise for our last meeting, I was very rude.”

Madame Morrible’s look in reply is entirely school mistress, and it makes him feel uncomfortably like he is about to, yet again, be expelled. “You were. Thank you for realising that.”

“I guess…” Fiyero looks down for a moment or two, an adequate time to denote shame. “I guess I wasn’t ready to really understand your words back then. You see, the Wicked Witch tricked me too. It was stupid of me, but I really thought she was my friend. But since then, since all the news reports of all the horrible things she’s been doing all around Oz, I can see I was a fool. I would like to help, if there’s any chance there is still an opening available in the Wizard's Guard?”

Madame Morrible looks at him over the top of her glasses. He returns her gaze with as much brainless earnestness as he can manage. She’s nearly convinced, he can tell, but still slightly wary of his sudden change of heart. He needs something more.

He thinks carefully about his next move. Morrible is Gillikinese, that much is obvious by her features, but there is the slightest lilt of farmgirl in her accent no matter how much she tries to hide it. Madame Morrible has wanted nothing more in her life than to gain power, to rise to the top, and he suspects she believes everyone else to be the same. She’d like it that way, if she can get him on her side with power and praise, she will think she can control him.

“I do want to confirm that I’d still be able to get a room at the Emerald Palace? I am a prince and I feel that would better befit my station than a barracks.”

Madame Morrible’s smile is disturbingly predatory. “Oh I’m sure that can be arranged, your highness. Give me a clock tick and I’ll get everything sorted for you.”

Chapter Text

He travels straight to the Emerald City from Munchkinland. Madame Morrible tells him that she will arrange for the rest of his items to be delivered in due course and he’s happy to agree. The arrangement suits them both. She wants him sucked in before he has time to regret it, and he doesn’t want to spend one more moment being useless.

Glinda meets him at the platform like she did last time, and like last time she flies into his arms. He hugs her tightly as relief floods his body. She’s still here, still relatively safe, all is not lost. 

She’s different though; he notices it as she loops her arm with his and walks them to the Emerald Palace. She doesn’t cry, her head is held up high, and she smiles at the guards as she nods at them to let her in. She leads them to their new chambers, wittering all the way about how much effort has been put into choosing exactly the right furniture for their quarters and how she just loves the architecture of their rooms.

For him, it’s just as sickening a room as the last one he stayed in at the Palace. It’s bigger, plusher, and has an even more stunning balcony view. It has two separate bedchambers, he assumes to maintain some degree of propriety. Glinda’s is, as expected, blindingly pink, with its own walk-in wardrobe and ceiling high shoe rack. His own room has mahogany furniture and bed sheets and curtains embroidered with blue diamonds. Fiyero has never been one to worry much about his cultural traditions, or how they are perceived, but even he feels the appropriation.

“It’s lovely,” he says, feeling he can’t voice his true feelings even to Glinda – not when she seems so happy that they’re here, together at last.

“Good, I’m glad! We hoped you would like it.”

He smiles, pulling her closer, only partly to change the topic. “I’ve missed you.”

Glinda tilts her head up towards him and gives him a small smile. He cups her face, kissing her gently. They retire to her bedroom for the rest of the night; it’s been so long since he’s been this close to someone he cares about.

He’s told early the next morning that he is going to be honoured with an appointment to see the Wonderful Wizard of Oz this afternoon. He can think of very few things that he wants to be honoured with less, but also nothing that would be more useful for his cause. He’s got to do this, and perfectly.

“What’s he like?” he asks Glinda.

Glinda looks around evasively, as if she’s scared that if she says the wrong thing the Wizard will use his (actually very limited) powers to smite her into a pile of ash. “He seems very… big. But he actually is very welcoming, he’ll listen to you. He is… wonderful, like that.”

Fiyero blinks at her response. It feels like a betrayal, no matter how scared Glinda seems as she says this. It’s the sensible answer, he knows, the safe one. He just thought Glinda could trust him a little more than that. He could push but he doesn’t really want to upset her, doesn’t want anyone to see Glinda distressed because of him, just as he’s on the cusp of getting what he wants. So instead he just nods and turns away. “Of course.”

He puts on his full Vinkun Prince regalia, practices his humble-but- awestruck look in the mirror, and lets Madame Morrible lead him to the Throne Room.

The giant golden head is certainly intimidating, though given what Glinda’s told him of the true story of Elphaba’s flight, he suspects it’s trickery rather than the Wizard’s real form. Nonetheless, he bows low, expression reverent. “It is a great privilege to meet you, your Wizardship.”

Beside him Madame Morrible nods approvingly.

“No problem at all! The pleasure is all mine, my boy.” The loud booming voice seems in contrast to the common pleasantries, and rather too familiar all things considered. “The lovely Madame Morrible here says you would like to join my guard?”

He’s practiced his response from the moment he left Munchkinland. “Very much so, your greatness; it would be an honour like no other. I would love to tie the Vinkus even closer to the Emerald City, and–” He looks down. “I’d like to do so as penance for ever believing that the Wicked Witch of the West could be good. Maybe if I had, I could have saved Oz from her wickedness.”

“Ah, yes, Madame Morrible has told me that you and the Witch were school friends?”

“I regret that is what I would have called her, before I knew.”

“I understand,” the voice says as softly as the microphone on the giant head will allow, “we all make mistakes. What we do to make amends is what matters, and I believe you are doing excellently at that. I only ask because, as you once knew the Witch, you might have some insight into her twisted psyche?”

Fiyero bites his lip to avoid a grin at the fact that the Wizard of Oz has taken his bait. “I am not sure anyone could know that, your wonderfulness, but I guess I could maybe predict some of her actions better than most.”

The head nods sagely. “You see, I thought I could make you a commander, in charge of a group of men in the search for the Witch. You may have made an error in judgement once, but you can make it all right with the valuable information only those who were once close to the Witch would know.”

Fiyero bows again. “I am not worthy of such forgiveness.” His eyes flick briefly over to Madame Morrible, wondering if he’s overdoing it, but she seems to think it is genuine or at the very least coming from a desire for status. The Wizard seems to love it, judging by the unnaturally large grin spreading over his giant face.

“You will start next week, my boy. I am sure that you will not let me down.”

He bows once more, embarrassingly low. “I will do everything to serve you.”

“How did it go?” Glinda asks, the moment he returns to their chambers. The tone is slightly anxious and he gets the feeling the true question is, “You didn’t lose your temper with him like you did with Morrible, did you?”

He nods curtly. “Good. I got what I wanted.” Then he pushes past her to lock himself in the bathroom and have a very long shower. He turns the water up so high that the hot droplets burn against his skin. So he doesn’t have to think about what he has done, so he doesn’t have to think about who he might hurt. So he can drown out the voices that are screaming at him that this all might go horribly wrong.

His recruitment is announced in the papers.

While he is hardly a stranger to the press reporting on his every move, in the last few months he has grown so used to big bold headlines spreading lies about Elphaba and nothing else that he wasn’t expecting it. He guesses he should have realised this would happen with Madame Morrible being press secretary. It’s a power move, of course, telling the nation they are winning the war with such powerful supporters and announcing an alliance with the Vinkus.

He dreads to know what his father is thinking.

He and Glinda are gifted a meal that night at The Ozmapolitan, the fanciest restaurant in all of the Emerald City. It is very clearly a command not an invite, so he is not surprised when he sees reporters flock towards them the moment they arrive. He smiles in exactly the same way he always does in these circumstances, and happily replies to any questions they ask of him with increasingly scandalacious answers.Beside him, Glinda also responds with great enthusiasm, acting for all the world like she’s loving the whole situation. But then again, he's acting that way too. So who is he to judge her motivations?

The next day the papers have a sketch of both of them dining together, with a full double page exclusive of all the information about the Emerald’s City’s “hot new golden couple - has Prince Fiyero Tigelaar finally found the girl to tie him down?” Glinda has been announced as a “powerful young sorceress” and “the Wizard’s assistant in training”. Clearly Madame Morrible has decided that it’s quite time to put Glinda’s ability to inspire devotion from the general populace to good use. 

He hopes Elphaba doesn’t see this and jump to the wrong conclusions. Though, he supposes, she was always going to find out one way or another.

This is the other reason Madame Morrible recruited us, he thinks. What better way to break Elphaba’s spirit than to make her believe that those she loves have turned against her?

Fiyero gets on well with his men. Not on a particularly deep level, of course; he wants to keep himself from getting too close to people who are ultimately on the opposing side. But they are a bunch of young lads – many still teenagers – from Ozian working class families, who are slightly awestruck to be reporting to the Scandalacious Winkie Prince himself. He – or at least the man they think he is – is everything they’ve ever wanted to be.

Being with them requires the same charm he used at Shiz, and countless other schools. He’s presenting a persona, and one he is not necessarily very fond of, but it is one that comes easily to him. It’s also generally seen as likeable, and they are only too delighted to be pulled into his web.

With them it’s all drinking together at the seediest clubs they can find. Then, slightly hungover at exercise the next morning, sharing wild tales of what happened last night and which girls they managed to drag into bed with them. Luckily they are all in such awe of Glinda’s beauty that he has an easy job of convincing them that’s why he’s blowing off female attention himself. It’s a dance he knows well, one he’s done so many times before, and he’s surprised how different he feels making these moves than he did just six months ago.

His men are strong, his men are loyal, and his men are halfway decent soldiers after their training. They consider him a friend. Sometimes he considers them friends too.

His men believe every lie they are told without question. 

At least once a day they boast about how they are sure they’ll be the ones who will kill the Witch.

Feldspur joins him a few weeks after he arrives, in a move so risky that it borders on ridiculous. Fiyero tells him this at once, but the Horse just snorts obnoxiously. “They’re my kind you’re trying to protect, I can’t have you putting yourself in stupid danger without me. Anyway, will anything you’re planning on doing be half as effective without my help?”

Fiyero does have to concede that he’s right on all counts: having an Animal whom he trusts with anything on his side will be invaluable, but he’s terrified of putting someone else he loves in danger. Feldspur won’t listen to reason though, and a Horse is still allowed to work if he is doing a traditional animal job with a human master. Nevertheless, he knows to speak as little as possible and has to accept less than stellar accommodation in the stables. Equally uncomfortable in his green marble suite, with a blonde head resting beside him on a silken pillow, Fiyero tries to make it up to him by riding him as much as possible and giving him a surplus of his favourite red apples.

Now his role is to capture Elphaba, Fiyero has access to all the knowledge the Wizard’s intelligence has on her whereabouts. It’s more than the public knows, but not nearly as much as he had hoped to learn. It’s a good thing, he supposes, because the less that has been found out, the more he knows that she is keeping safe. Mostly it’s unexpected movement at suspected Animal hideouts or reports of disturberances that seem a little supernatural.The most dramatic of them are stories of people being cruel to Animals and suddenly finding their hair being set alight or their pants dropping down or having a rogue gust of wind dump them in a lake. Despite himself, imagining these events make him chuckle. Elphaba once told him that she was a commotion, and whether she likes it or not, she was not wrong.

They go on Witch hunts regularly, whenever the information seems more than idle rumour. On those days he makes sure Elphaba’s little green bottle is in his pocket and then spends the entire trip there debating with himself the best approach if they actually come face to face with her. He certainly doesn’t want to have to take her into custody or, worse, have her come face to face with some of his more trigger happy recruits. If he finds her he’ll need to ensure a way of neutralising any threat and speaking alone with her, or he’ll be in a worse position than he is right now. It’s a horrifying thought.

In any case, whenever they arrive, if Elphaba was ever there she is long gone.

When there are no leads on the Witch, his regiment is assigned other tasks in service of the Wizard. The most frequent is rounding up and capturing delinquent Animals who are being punished for “crimes” such as speaking up in meetings, complaining about their work conditions, and residing in human-only areas.

Feldspur has found some Mice who work for the resistance. Ones who can be trusted to meet him in the stables at midnight and spread information to those who can use it, while not giving away where they (or Feldspur) got it from. Whenever Fiyero gets word of a plan to capture an Animal, and the information will not too obviously be coming from him, he tells Feldspur on their afternoon ride, so Animal can be warned. Sometimes it works, and the Animal they have gone to arrest is long gone. Sometimes it does not. 

The first time Fiyero saw a cage was the memorable day that Doctor Dillamond was taken away. He has seen so very many since; they are of all sizes, but they are always too small. He can always see the terror in the Animal’s eyes when they are forced inside and the door is locked. Most of them shake just like the Cub. The Wizard is collecting the Animals, apparently to put them in something called a zoo, where they will be forced into cages for the rest of their life and gawked at by humans like they are specimens in a Life Sciences classroom, not creatures just as intelligent as he is. He tells himself that if it wasn’t him capturing them, then it would be someone else. Someone with no well hidden sympathy. But he still feels complicit.

The worst times are when he’s expected to supervise construction of the Yellow Brick Road. It’s an inane project by the Wizard, really. The idea that, even outside the Emerald City, Oz needs bright colours to remind them how to get to the place where they are imperially ruled. But the Wizard thinks the idea is wonderful, and why not use all those newly captured prisoners to help bring it into reality?

The strong Animals are all forced into it. They are not paid, they are chained lest they escape, and they are punished if they do not work hard enough. He and his men are expected to punish the Animals if they do not work hard enough.

Worst is seeing the Horses, strong multicoloured beasts, just like Feldspur, among those forced into slave labour.

"It's why we're fighting," says Feldspur, when Fiyero confesses what he had to do on one such day. "You can't fight a war without spending time compromising some of your values."

"Elphaba doesn't," Fiyero replies, instantly.

Feldspur lets out a warbled neigh of laughter. "Yes, well Elphaba's special, not least because you've kept obsessing about her for longer than the length of time it takes for another pretty face to walk in your general vicinity."

"Shut up, Spur."

Feldspur keeps laughing, and Fiyero smiles despite himself, a brief reprieve from the world he’s living in, even if those moments are all too short.

Glinda has been put to work too, though she sees nothing as outwardly cruel as what he is forced to do. Her tasks seem to mostly involve being put into increasingly fancy gowns while she is trotted out to various events, where she listens to all the Ozians’ fears about the Witch and tells them not to worry, under the watchful eye of Madame Morrible.

He is dragged to a few of them himself, so he can be personally “congratuloted” for all the work he is doing to keep Oz safe. The Ozians clamour towards him and Glinda, desperate to tell them all the ways they are sure the Witch has personally cursified them.

Despite this, these events only seem to make the Ozians more worried, as the months pass and the newspapers report ever wilder rumours, he sees more windows boarded up, more warning posters with ridiculous caricatures of a green woman pasted on every available wall in the town squares. Meanwhile, the number of Animals he sees around just keeps decreasing.

“Where do you think she is?” Glinda whispers to him one night as they lie face to face in bed. They don’t talk about her much, not really. Their relationship in public is all plastered smiles and overzealous affection that the press eats up, but with nothing of substance ever exchanged. Their relationship in private is quiet and needy, with so much going unspoken; the affection physical, but more of a desire to be safe, with someone who they can trust and can offer comfort, rather than any great feeling of lust.

“I’d love to know,” he says. “I’d love to find her, and know that she is safe, to…” He pauses, careful with his words even now, but Glinda’s eyes are earnest and sad. “...help her stay that way.”

Glinda looks at him, unblinking, for a long moment. “If you should see her,” she says finally, “tell her I miss her still.”

Chapter Text

As the weeks turn to months, the Witch sightings and chaos increase, even if he seems no closer to finding her. He studies the reports carefully every morning, looking for patterns. She’s either causing disturberances in places which are keeping Animals or throwing scary looking lights at villages and writing threatening messages in the sky, high enough that she can be sure she can’t be shot down.

She's clearly mostly in the business of freeing captured Animals, helping them escape out of Oz and to the Badlands. He’s sure she's joined up with a lot of the Animal resistance, as he’s noticed the times where she's been particularly loud and obvious line up with when the resistance need a distraction from something more subtle that they are doing.

He feeds what information he can to the resistance via Feldspur. It’s not always as much as he’d like; anything too specific would make it obvious that he was providing the tip. He tells them about Gale Force deployments mainly, where patrols are going so any fleeing Animals can avoid them. Not that they are always easy to avoid. It has not escaped his notice that Gale Force patrols are being sent to the outskirts of Oz, in areas which would otherwise grant easy passage to the Badlands.

He gets very little in reply, not even really knowing if the information he has given is useful. No one fighting the Wizard is clamouring to give intel to a high ranking Gale Force member's Horse, and he simply cannot afford for anyone, no matter how faithful to the resistance, to know that he is on their side. 

No matter how desperately he wants to see her again, Elphaba herself remains elusive.

Lurlinemas rolls around in no time. His men are thrillified for even more of an excuse to drink and party in a way that seems so needless to him - though he knows he was doing exactly the same last year. They also get the week off, a chance to go home and see their families again. Their months in the military are the longest many of them have ever been away from their mothers.

Fiyero is not granted the same allowance of time. The Wizard hosts a Lurlinemas Eve ball every year, anyone who is anyone is invited, and this year Glinda and Fiyero are bestowed the honour of opening it.

No money has been spared for the event, despite (or maybe because of) the trying times. The ballroom is beautiful. Normally it is a majestic, high ceilinged marble room, but today it is decorated with ten foot high ice sculptures, magically prevented from melting. Twinkling candles hang in the air, while real snow falls around them, lightly carpeting the ballroom floor, apropos of Madame Morrible’s weather spell.

Every Ozian in the room looks stunning, dressed to the nines in their silk and jewels, hair done specially for the event, but Glinda is in a league of her own. Golden ringlets frame her porcelain face, while her ice blue dress swirls and sparkles around her majestically as she walks towards him, giving the appearance that she is floating.

A full orchestra starts up as they meet at the centre of the dance floor, and they waltz together as everyone watches them rapturously. Neither puts a foot wrong; despite everything else that is going on in their lives, they are both incredibly confident dancing and being the centre of attention. He enjoys it, at least for this moment: the ease with which he can sweep across the floor and still look good, the music leading him where he needs to go, the beautiful girl smiling in his arms… For a moment he can forget, for the length of a song he can just be happy.

He lifts her up, twirling her in the air as the song finishes, then pulls her close for a kiss as the next tune starts up and the rest of the guests join them on the dance floor.

Glinda beams at him in the candle light, cheeks flushed and rosy from the dance. There are snowflakes caught in her hair and eyelashes. “That was perfect, Fiyero. The perfect dance, the perfect moment. You are perfect.”

He smiles back, still on a high from the dance. “You too, Glinda.”

“You know, I’d like to get engaged like this, in the middle of a dancefloor on a beautiful night like tonight.” Her voice is slightly hesitant, but she bats her eyelashes at him, smile hopeful.

His falters. “Um, Glinda, I don’t have… I haven’t thought… We aren’t…”

She takes a step back, eyes flitting towards the ground before she looks back up at him. “No, I mean. Not tonight, but a night like this. I think it would be so romantic.”

“Would you really? With everyone watching?”

Small frown lines appear on her brow. “Of course, so everyone can celebrate with us.”

But I don’t want everyone to celebrate with us. I don’t like these people, they worship the Wizard and believe every silly lie they are told, he thinks, but does not say. Instead he gives her a weak smile. “Sure, I’ll bear that in mind.”

She nods, and they continue dancing, but she is more subdued for the rest of the night. He curses himself for not knowing better how to deal with this unexpected turn of events.

He'd never really thought about marriage with Glinda. Not because he thinks she isn't worthy, more in the sense that, until recently, he had expected to fool around with whoever took his interest until the day his parents forced him into an arranged marriage with some sullen girl of the right Vinkun breeding. Glinda had been just one of a succession of beautiful boys and girls he'd had fun with until, with no real warning, suddenly she was more than that.

Is this what is expected now? Maybe it is. Clearly it’s what she’s expecting. He knows Madame Morrible would certainly not object either - the press would have a field day reporting every aspect of their wedding. His parents would rather a Vinkun bride for him, but probably would tolerate a well connected Gillikinese woman if she seemed to keep him under control. He’d agreed to come here at least in part to protect Glinda. He’d pushed through any doubts he’d had about their relationship because being here, being with her, was more important. How had he never thought this would be seen as the next step?

Is it even a bad idea? He may not believe anything his position stands for, but his feelings for Glinda are not fake. He does love her. They live together, sleep together, share each other’s lives. Would marriage really be any different?

Elphaba, says the vicious part of his brain. Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba. You need to find her. You need to join her. You are here for her.

And for a moment he is taken back to a day so long ago in the forest near Shiz, to the spark of heat that flooded through him when Elphaba grasped his hand. Elphaba had seen him that day, in a way he has never been seen before or since.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, allows the music to surround him and sweep him back into the calming emptiness of dancing around the ballroom. Glinda wants to get engaged on a night like tonight. There’s not another winter ball until next year. A lot can happen in a year. Maybe in a year he can work out the mysteries of his head and his heart.

His visit to the Vinkus a few days later is in a formal capacity. His parents always throw a feast for the New Year at Kiamo Ev – their family castle in the grasslands – with invites to all the other Ozian leaders. The Wizard doesn't accept, but Fiyero, Glinda, Madame Morrible, and a few other high ranking envoys are sent to represent him.

Glinda is ecstatic about it all. She's never been to the Vinkus before and she'd simply love to meet his parents. Fiyero is more nervous. His father has not written to him since he joined the Gale Force and, though neither father nor son put great effort into keeping in touch, the complete lack of communication makes him sure his father is particularly displeased.

Fiyero is dressed in full military regalia as he steps through the castle doors, a few strides behind Madame Morrible. Glinda walks beside him, smiling - apparently oblivious to his discomfort. 

His father bows to Madame Morrible, in the stiff regal way he does with all envoys he does not particularly enjoy talking to, before turning to Fiyero and nodding, unsmiling. “Fiyero.”

“Father,” says Fiyero, imitating his tone, “may I introduce you to my girlfriend, Glinda?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” says Marilott Tigelaar, making no effort to show pleasure.

To Glinda’s credit, her smile does not waver once and her curtsy is flawless, “The pleasure is all mine, your highness. You have a beautiful home, and such a fine son. You must be very proud.”

His father makes a noncommittal noise, looking somewhere over Fiyero’s right shoulder.

His greeting with his mother is nearly as awkward. She gives him a rushed hug, frowning at his uniform, and Glinda the faintest peck on the cheek.

They all stare at each other for a further few seconds until Fiyero turns to Glinda, asking loudly if she wants a tour of the castle before they reconvene for the feast.

He’s seated next to his father at the table. Something neither of them relishes, but propriety must, and he is still his father’s heir. They sit in sullen silence as the chestnut soup is served as the first starter. Fiyero glances further down the table where Glinda is sitting making conversation with the Munchkinlander envoys who – just like with the Emerald City ball – Nessarose must have sent to represent her, and wishes he could be seated there instead. Frexspar Thropp never bothered making the journey to the Emerald City ball or the Vinkus for the Tigelaars’ feast but Fiyero had rather hoped Nessa might make the effort to go to at least one to see her old friends.

“So Fiyero, you’ve decided to give up on school for good.” His father is as blunt as his son is charming and he is making no effort to hide his displeasure. 

Fiyero tries to laugh it off. “Well, nothing seemed to be working, no matter what school I tried, so I thought I should go for a change. I haven’t been kicked out so far, so I must be doing something right.”

His father’s face is even more frosty than before, and Fiyero’s smile fades. With anyone else he’s quick to resolve situations like these, to work out the best things to say to get people to like him again, but under his father’s gaze he feels like he’s still a little boy, a disappointment. His parents had tried so hard to have children, yet their one miracle child could barely read a book or sit still, no matter how many expensive tutors were sent to him. When his father looks at him like that, Fiyero feels like he’s incapable of doing anything, nevermind his birthright of ruling the Vinkus.

“And Feldspur? He is happy with you and what you are doing?” The words are spat out, they sound like an accusation.

“Very much so, he gave me the idea.” His tone is spiteful, sulky, adolescent, and he is well aware that he has said more than he should, lest Morrible or one of the Wizard’s envoys be listening in, but he’s too annoyed to care. He hates when his father makes him feel this way.

His father frowns for a second, taking in the response, but apparently dismisses the need to ask any further questions. “Well I am glad you at least are happy Fiyero,” he says, his tone indicating otherwise.

“Thank you Father,” he says. 

They eat the rest of the meal in silence.

He spends the night thinking. He was expecting the confrontation with his father in some way, Oz knows he’s never managed to meet his father’s expectations and it’s clear Marilott feels like his son has sunk to a new low. It wasn’t pleasant, it never is, but in some ways he’s glad of it. Kumbricia, he would like nothing less than his parents to be proud of him for working with the Wizard in his army! His father’s reaction makes it that much more likely he can get what he wants, which is why he agreed to go to the Vinkus in the first place. He needs to talk to his father. Away from prying eyes.

He and Glinda are roomed separately, a deliberate and somewhat petty move. Lurline knows, his parents are fully and uncomfortably aware that he’s barely been in a relationship where he has not shared a bed. But he is thankful for the slight, because not having to explain himself to Glinda gives him one less variable for the gamble he is taking. 

He gets up the next day at the crack of dawn, puts on the plain clothes he set out last night, and navigates the familiar halls of his childhood home to his father’s study.

His father has always worked the early hours for as long as Fiyero can remember. So it is no surprise to him when he sees the light flickering under the closed door. It takes Fiyero at least thirty seconds to summon up the courage to knock.

The door opens a crack. Fiyero gets the impression Marilott doesn’t want anyone to see the documents he has inside.

“Father, I need to talk to you. Please may I come in?”

His father hesitates, Fiyero has never expressed any interest in visiting his office before (he normally had to be dragged as a teenager) and Fiyero gets the distinct impression he thinks any reason this might have changed now will be anything but positive.

“A moment,” he says finally, pushing the door to. Fiyero can hear the rustle of papers before Marilott opens the door again to let him in.

His father directs him to a seat by the fireplace and Fiyero sits opposite.

“What can I do for you, Fiyero?”

He practiced the words over and over in his head yesterday night, but under his father’s still disapproving but now curious glare, they still sound garbled and rushed. “I was thinking. The mountain paths in the Vinkus. They are still unguarded are they not? They would provide a safe route to the Badlands?”

His father’s face reddens in anger, he appears moments away from shouting loudly enough to wake up the whole castle.

Fiyero realises what he has said wrong. “No!” he says, hastily. “Not like that. I mean… I mean,” he stutters for a second, trying to find the right words under his father’s fearsome glare, “father, I told you Feldspur gave me the idea to enlist in the Gale Force. He’s found contacts, some Mice who work for the resistance. We’ve been giving them information. I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing when all this awful stuff has been happening. We’ve been trying to help.”

Marilott stills, looking at him surprised. He’s never seen this side of his son before. But, then again, Fiyero has only discovered this side of himself in the last few months.

“All I want,” says Fiyero, surprising himself too with how calm he now feels, “is to know the Vinkus is somewhere we can direct the Animals to for safe passage. The routes out of Oz keep getting discovered, but I know the mountains are hard for the soldiers to patrol. I think if the Animals knew it was safe to get there, perhaps with a little help guiding them through the trickier bits, it would make a good alternative.”

His father stares at him for another long moment, and when he replies his voice is in a tone Fiyero is not used to hearing directed at him. “The Animals will be under my protection, Fiyero, for as long as I can possibly manage.”

Fiyero bows his head. “Thank you, father,” he says and slips back into his bedroom.

They leave late morning, after a substantial breakfast for the road. His parents line up by the door thanking and shaking hands with each guest as they depart.

Fiyero and Glinda are near the end. When Fiyero goes up to his father, he grasps his hand firmly, then gives him a pat on the shoulder, his mouth turned up in a way that could almost be seen as a smile.

“Son,” he says, just before Fiyero is about to turn to go, “I’m proud of what you’re doing. Stay safe.”

Fiyero nods. “Thank you, I will. The Witch doesn’t scare me.”

“I’m glad your father said he was proud of you, he seemed so sullen for the rest of the visit, and I was so worried that you and he weren’t getting along. I thought he might have disapproved of me or something.”

Glinda’s voice snaps him back to reality after the strange euphoria of hearing his father say those words. It reminds him that he has so many more battles left to fight. “No, no, it had nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, what was it about then?” Glinda looks up at him, eyes genuinely curious and sympathetic, she cares for him and his opinions, wants him to be happy.

They’re alone in the carriage back to the Emerald City. If he told her the truth no one would hear them. He thinks Glinda would be pleased at the news that he and his father are helping Elphaba’s cause. That he’s been helping the resistance for months now. She should be pleased. Glinda is not stupid, she knows which side is kinder - is in the right. She should be glad that he’s doing his bit to help her best friend.

 “Nothing really, he just gets like that sometimes.” He shrugs, and changes the topic.

Chapter Text

The ceremony anointing Nessarose Thropp as Governor of Munchkinland happens in early spring. She’s been ruling since her father died, but Oz loves nothing more than a good ceremony to present their rulers. He and Glinda stand in the Wizard’s contingent, while Morrible stands in for the Wizard in the ceremony, as Nessarose is sworn in as the officially appointed Governor. 

Nessarose is in regal robes of deep orange, quietly but dutifully speaking when Morrible asks. She doesn’t look distraught like she did last time he saw her, but she doesn’t look like the happy laughing girl he knew all too briefly, the time when they all were friends. Her face is sullen, maybe even stern. She vows loyalty to the Wizard, her head held high, and when Madame Morrible pronounces her Governor, her smile is tight, almost mean. The applause from the Munchkinlanders in the audience is surprisingly muted.

Boq is standing behind her, his expression blank. He is still with Nessa then, and Fiyero wonders if this means that Nessa is still too unhappy for him to feel like he can leave her. But maybe it’s just that she needs his support on her big day? Fiyero can’t imagine Boq saying no to that. Who knows? Maybe feelings have grown in the time since he last saw him; he knows firsthand that the need to care and protect is a strong love in its own right.

Shamefully, he has not written to Nessa or Boq since Frex’s funeral, though neither have they to him. He hopes to at least get a chance to talk to them at the garden party afterwards on better terms than last year. Hopefully Nessa will have had some chance to recover from her father's death and Boq will no longer feel like Fiyero has done nothing to help Glinda.

The atmosphere in the Governor’s gardens is much different from what it was at the funeral: relaxed, unbothered. Whenever Fiyero interacts with the public at events, the masses still seem terrified of their own shadows, lest the Witch curse them to attack. However, the upper classes seem different. The rumours and fears they were spreading at Frex’s funeral last year seem to have given way to a certain smugness. They are profiting off the Wizard’s new Animal laws, and they are sure that he will be able to use his almighty power to defeat the Witch and her rebellion too. He hates it. This is worse than the unfounded fears, and he hates even more than he, in his Gale Force Officer uniform, is seen and complemented as the very personification of the Wizard’s unbeatable power.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, using the opportunity to socialise, party and network. He spots a large number of sons of noblemen, mostly Munchkin and Gillikinese, around his own age at the ceremony. Doubtless they are very aware that the pretty new Governor of Munchkinland is unmarried and powerful, but Nessarose, sitting in a plush gold plated wheelchair on the decking near the house, does not even glance their way. Glinda introduces him to every Gillikinese Lord in sight, and he smiles politely, doing his best to ignore their ridiculous, entitled words, while still vaguely trying to appear to care.

Boq nearly runs straight into him an hour or so into the evening. He’s rushing, carrying a drink, dressed in grey head to toe. The Munchkin startles, apologising, before he takes in who it is. “Fiyero, Glinda!”

All too happy to have a reason to excuse himself from Lord Tenmeadows’ boastful discussion on this year’s farming profits, Fiyero turns to his friend. “Boq! How are you?”

Boq casts a glance longingly at Glinda, still talking to Lord Tenmeadows, apparently not having noticed him at all. So much for Boq redirecting his feelings to Nessa.

Boq sways nervously, eyes flicking to Nessarose across the garden. “Oh I’m just very busy helping the Governor, I need to get her this drink right now.” He looks again at Glinda, clearly hesitant to return just yet, without saying hello.

Fiyero takes pity on him. “Glinda! Look who it is!”

Glinda finally looks up. “Boq,” she says, giving him that smile that she always uses for members of the public when they come up to her, “it’s been so long! How are you?”

Fiyero is just relieved she didn’t call him Biq.

Boq beams. “I’m doing well, Miss Ga-Glinda. I’ve seen you in all the papers recently. I’m so pleased you are making a difference in the Emerald City. I always knew you’d do something amazing like this!”

“Oh thank you, Boq. Thank you, that's so very kind. You must come visit me sometime!”

Boq’s mouth falls open for a second, and it takes him another few moments before he can speak. “Really? You want me to visit?”

“Oh of course! You and Nessa! I mean, as the Governor, the Wizard would be only too pleased to host her. He’s been wanting to meet her in person for ages. And I’m sure he’d let you come with her too, especially if I told him that it was me who set you two up!”

Boq’s face falls; clearly this was not the sort of visit he was hoping for. “Oh, sure, I was-”

“Do you think we could go and speak to Nessarose now, actually?” Glinda continues, apparently oblivious to poor Boq’s plight. “It’s her big day after all, and it would be simply splenderific to talk to her again when it’s been so long.”

Boq looks down uncomfortably, but Glinda has apparently already made up her mind, and she walks over to Nessarose, Fiyero and Boq hot on her heels.

“Nessa!” says Glinda, the moment she reaches her, going in for a hug until Nessa sticks out her hand, and Glinda awkwardly takes that instead.

“Miss Upland, Prince Tigelaar.” She nods at Fiyero, stiffly.

Fiyero smiles at her, the way he always does when he wants to lower people’s defences. “Nessarose, good to see you again! Congratulations on the Governorship.”

“I’d rather have my father alive,” she says bluntly.

He nods. “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry.” 

An awkward silence settles over the group. It feels so strange that less than a year ago they were the best of friends. Is it just the absence of their fifth member? Did Elphaba, somewhere between her sarcastic remarks and lectures about Animal rights, hold the glue that stuck them all together? Or is it more than that? Is it that Elphaba’s sudden flight forced them all to confront the hard truths that they’d been allowed to keep hidden when they were carefree friends? How have the three of them gone from people he’d trust with anything to those he cannot even share his opinions with?

He tries to ease in carefully, testing the waters. “I’ve been searching high and low for your sister, Nessa.”

“So I’ve heard,” she says, frostily. “Tell her, if you find her, that she can expect no help from me. I don’t ever want to see her again.”

Boq stands still beside her, as if he’s heard it all before, but Fiyero feels his own pulse race in shock. Glinda lets out a little gasp. “Nessa! You don’t mean that.”

Nessa scowls, “I do. She’s a traitor to the Wizard and all of Oz.”

“You and I both know,” Fiyero says, perhaps unwisely, voice low, “there’s more to it than that. She’s trying to help.”

“Whether that is true or not, she’s not helping me. She’s a terrible sister, and she always has been.”

"She loves you,” he states. “She loves you more than anyone else." 

Nessa's glare is ice cold. "If that were true she wouldn't have just left me for some Animals. She wouldn’t have caused our father so much shame that he died. She's always cared more for what she wants than any of us." 

"What she wants is to do good."

“Believe what you will, you’re only going to get your heart broken,” she says, and pointedly rolls her wheelchair away. Boq rushes to follow. The conversation is clearly over.

He doesn’t think any of them are going to maintain correspondence.

“Your Great and Terribleness, it is an honour that you would grant my request to have an audience with you.” Fiyero bows low.

The giant head looks up, in what Fiyero assumes is meant to be a fatherly expression. “My boy, there is no need for that. You are a loyal and good subject. I am just as delighted to make time to speak to you.”

Fiyero resists the urge to roll his eyes, Madame Morrible, skulking in the corner of the room as always, would probably notice. If the Wizard really wanted Fiyero to feel like an equal, he’d not still be using that ridiculous head. Fiyero’s had talks with the Wizard a few times now, mostly for tedious military updates and, less overwhelmed than the first time, he’s used the opportunity to scope the room. There’s a booth with a curtain below the head, almost hidden by the lights and fabric surrounding it, but he’s seen it move slightly when the head wants to show a particularly emotive expression. Far from a magic form, it is a mechanical device and it is being controlled by someone.

Fiyero is not nearly as stupid as his rulers think. The Wizard arrived in Oz a man and from what Glinda occasionally lets slip, Fiyero thinks she and Elphaba have seen him as one too. After a little bit of casual flirting with the palace maids (purely for information gathering purposes - he’s known since he was a child that servants find out everything that goes on in a household), he’s learnt much about the palace, how it is run, the secret passages and, most importantly, that there is an old man that they tend to in the most luxurious and most exclusive of the palace chambers. He’s been sure for a while now that Elphaba was right, that the Wizard is nothing but a man with no real power.

“What do you seek, my son?”

“It was only a thought, your Ozness. Feel free to tell me if it is unwise. But I wondered if I could be an ambassador for the Vinkus?” The head looks up in interest. “On top of my role in your Gale Force, I mean. I just thought, being the crown prince of the Vinkus, I could help the people of the Vinkus to have an even closer relationship to the Emerald City. I could visit my father every month or so with news and any questions or requests you seek from him?”

He sees Madame Morrible smiling greedily out of the corner of his eye. They think Fiyero is completely under their control, and giving him greater sway over the goings on in the Vinkus will give them one more pawn for them to use in the furthest reaches of Oz.

The truth is it's a necessity that has been forming over the last few months. He has been directing Animals to the Vinkus the best he can, but he needs more communication with his father than he can pass through letters that will inevitably be read, or risk telling to a messenger Bird who could always betray his allegiance. Frequent trips back to Kiamo Ev will allow them to co-ordinate and discuss tactics away from those who might be listening.

The head looks up, features arranged into a smile. “That sounds like an excellent idea, my boy.”

A victory, a small one, but one that will save lives.

The Emerald City Zoo is a grand and horrific sight: A huge piece of land surrounded by high stone walls, covered with murals of Animals looking worshipfully up at the Wizard. The zoo is the first of its kind. Oz hadn’t even heard of the concept a year ago, though the Wizard swears that they are commonplace in the so-called mystical land where he is from.

Glinda has been called to cut the ribbon at the opening ceremony. Fiyero stands like a gilded statue behind her, observing the crowds of cheering Ozians and their children. He’s not been in the place himself yet, but he’s heard the gossip about it from his men. He wonders if the crowds know that they are queuing up to see a prison. 

The golden gates swing open and they are the first to be allowed inside. He’s struck by the cleanness and glamour of the place. It's loud, covered in celebratory bunting, filled with music and stalls selling food and souvenirs.

And then there are the cages, dozens and dozens of them, housing Animals so far from their homes. They are unable to escape from the people who gawk at them or the children who poke sticks or throw stones through the bars. The Animals cower, howl or hiss, unable to hide from the senseless attacks. None of them talk. They used to, he knows it. He captured some of them.

He is forced to smile and shake hands with the various Ozians who thank him for the contribution to such a monstrosity.

He looks up to the sky, Elphaba must have heard about this. Maybe she will come right now, cast a spell and force everyone else into an enchanted sleep. Then he can help her let every Animal out to be free and happy once more. It had felt so easy that day at Shiz, almost instinctual, to do what was right. She had been there beside him, and despite what other stupid, childish doubts he’d had about his feelings, he really had felt like together they were doing good. That they would have the power to change the world.

But now there are so many more cages; the plight of the Animals is so much worse. And he can do nothing more than smile and go along with it.

A man, dressed gaudily in green, introduces himself via megaphone as the Chief Zookeeper, and explains the zoo is the rightful place for the Animals. That humans are inherently superior beings and, because of that, they must both appreciate the beauty of and protect Animals. He explains that the best way of doing this is to cage them away from harm, so humans can view them and appreciate the wonders of nature.

Fiyero can practically hear Elphaba, her voice still filled with adolescent obstinance, like she had spoken that day in Doctor Nikidik’s classroom. “Surely the wonders of nature should best be appreciated within nature? How can you say you’re protecting them if you’re letting them be scared by all the noise and the people?”

But she’s not here, and he’s forced to continue listening as the man explains that this will lead to a brighter future for all of Oz, how they hope to expand the zoo to house even more Animals.

Fiyero wants to hit him.

Could he do something? Gale Force members still guard the facilities at night. Maybe he could drug their wine with sleeping pills on the night of a ball when guard numbers at the zoo are low. He could sneak the keys to one of the Animals trapped inside, maybe they could let the others out, stampede the place, run out the gates.

But then what? Would the Animals really be able to get very far, or would they just get recaptured, or worse, shot? And how would he even manage to ensure all the soldiers fell asleep? How could he smuggle a key in with no blame falling on him? He wants to help, Oz knows he’s given up so much of himself to do so, but he is no Elphaba. He could never have the power or strength to do something so revolutionary.

Maybe a smaller deed though. Maybe one can be saved.

He goes up to the zookeeper, hating how the man immediately straightens up, out of respect for his uniform and rank. “I wondered if you had any Goats in the zoo?”

The zookeeper shakes his head. “I hate to disappoint you, your highness. Most of them managed to escape last year, we’re doing our best to find any stragglers though. It’s so educational for all of us to have at least two of every Animal here.”

Fiyero nods once, heart sinking, “Thank you anyway.”

The zookeeper lowers his voice. “I hear though, your highness, That there might be a Goat in the Wizard’s private lodgings. Some poor creature who was deluded into thinking he was a professor. He's alongside those Monkeys the Witch enchanted. It’s said the Wizard and his press secretary keep their own private Animals, ones they’re particularly fond of. As is their right, of course. With your position, maybe you could be granted the privilege to see…”

Fiyero walks away before he finishes. He wants to throw up. He’s got no doubt whatsoever why Doctor Dillamond is being kept in the Wizard’s lodgings and it’s no sign of affection. It’s Morrible, of course it’s Morrible, she wants to taunt him, to torture him maybe for thinking that he could challenge Animal laws at Shiz, for turning her prize student against her. He thinks of the kindly professor, one who Elphaba always spoke about with such reverence, forced to endure this torturous existence. What must he look like now? For sure he can no longer speak. How much longer will he live?

And Fiyero can’t do anything for him. Even if he charmed Doctor Dillamond’s location out of the servants, there’s no way he’d be able to get into Morrible or the Wizard’s chambers. No way to smuggle him out safely.

He can’t even do this. Can’t save one Animal. He’s so useless.

He can’t be here anymore. He can’t do this. He needs to go.

He turns on his heel, walking single-mindedly towards the exit, when he feels someone grasp his arm. 

“Fiyero? Where are you going?” asks Glinda.

“I have to go,” he says, without any more explanation.

“Fiyero, it’s barely been an hour, we need to stay longer.”

“No,” he says, “I want to go now.”

“Fiyero, we can’t.”

“Stay then. I am going now, I can’t be here.”

Glinda takes another glance at the crowds, then looks at him, concerned. “Ok, I’ll say you’re unwell, give me a clock tick.”

He doesn’t engage her in conversation for the whole carriage ride back to the palace, just glares out of the window. Glinda places her hand over his, gently rubbing his palm. He doesn’t encourage it, but doesn’t pull away either.

“Ok, can you tell me what’s going on now?” she asks, once they finally are back in their suite.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he spits. “All the Animals! They are beings, just like us. And we have captured them. Put them in these inhumane conditions to gawk at. They are punishing them for what? Being different from us? And we are smiling, we are helping them do such evil.”

Glinda rushes to him, grabbing his arms, trying to pull him close to her. “No, Fiyero! You mustn’t think like that. We’re not…”

“Well then what are we doing Glinda? How can we not be bad people? We are everything that Elphaba stands against.” 

“That’s not our fault! We didn’t have any choice…”

“You could have gone with her.”

He regrets the words the moment he says them. Hates the way her face goes sheet white, she lets go of her grip on him, arms falling limp to her side. A wave of guilt rushes through him. He can’t do anything right; he hurts even the people he loves.

He turns on his heel and storms into his bedroom, locking the door, grabbing the nearest bottle of Winkie wine and the next and the next, until he can no longer think.

Chapter Text

“I want Kiamo Ko.”

He’s had a few weeks to mull it over in his head. After several days of locking himself in his room and drinking himself into a stupor, (Glinda - Lurline bless her - told everyone he’d had a nasty bout of flu to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble), he’d emerged surprisingly calmly, with a grovelling apology to Glinda and a new resolution. He’s not Elphaba, he will never be Elphaba, but he can do more to help her. If they ever meet again, he wants to be able to be more than just another body she has to carry with him on her broomstick. He needs to use what he does have in his power to offer her something useful.

“Kiamo Ko?” asks his father, surprised.

"Yes. It's high up enough on the mountains that it's near impossible to attack, it has a sight line for miles around, and it overlooks direct mountain passages to the Badlands that the Wizard doesn't even know about. It would be perfect."

“For the Witch?”

His father has never been a stupid man. If he had been, maybe Fiyero would have been able to get away with more as a child.

“For the resistance in general, but yes, for Elphaba. She would benefit from the security and the ability to oversee a key escape route.”

Marilott raises his eyebrows. “Exactly how pretty do you find this Witch, Fiyero?”

The comment stings slightly, that even now his father is not entirely without his doubts, but then again he’s not entirely incorrect either. The only thing he can really do is answer honestly. “I find her beautiful, but I find what she believes in and wants to do more beautiful. I would be supporting her no matter what my personal feelings were. She’s fighting so hard in a world that’s doing so much wrong. I want to offer what I can.”

His father looks at him, not in the way he's used to, not as if he is a child who cannot do anything right, but as an equal, as another leader, whose decisions he respects even if he doesn't fully agree. “And if the Wizard finds out about this?”

“I don’t see why he should. Kiamo Ko has always been guarded, and I know she’s subtle and clever enough to not draw attention to the fact she’s in residence. It would just give her a safe place to stay and plan. It would help us too; I could communicate with her, synchronise what we’re doing to help with what she’s doing. Even if they do discoverate her, they’re so afraid of her we can claim she took over the castle and cursed the guards.”

“And then what, Fiyero? You cannot keep such a game up forever, sooner or later you will be caught, or the resistance will want to do more than just get the Animals to safety.”

“The Wizard would welcome more men in his guard. I will ask him for permission for you to train soldiers in the Vinkus and station them here. You know our people, they will always be loyal to us over the Wizard. We’ll build our own force to defend ourselves, set up right under his nose.”

“You should never send people to die for a cause you wouldn't die for yourself.”

“That won't be a problem.”

Marilott frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s risky, you know that, don’t you son? And not just for you. We are the smaller force. The Vinkus has a lot to lose.”

“But we can’t do nothing. If we don’t help then we’re as bad as the Wizard.”

His father sighs, his face a mixture of frustration and – dare he believe it – pride. "I'm not going to stop you Fiyero, not least because I am getting old and I do not want the first few years of your reign to be spent undoing the decisions of mine. But I want you to consider that, while you are saving lives, if we protest too much, if we go into all-out war lives will be lost too. Remember, if we lose, we will be in much less of a position to help than we are today. If you are to do this, you need to accept what might be the consequences, and decide if they are worth it.”

Fiyero thinks of the zoo, of the cries of the Animals he is forced to capture, of Elphaba - who gave up everything to do what was right. He knows he made his choice long ago.

The towering castle is impressive, even against the mountainous landscape. The Arjiki ancestral home, built long before they ruled all of the Vinkus, strikes an imposing figure. Kiamo Ko is a castle designed for defense when the Vinkun tribes were still battling for control; it was built high up on the mountain with thick stone walls and small windows. Its halls are lined with suits of armour and portraits of his ancestors, its watchtowers give sweeping views of the landscape and it has at least a dozen secret passages, each with their own mythos of why they were built, from escape hatches, to locations of lover’s trysts, to the passage to the secret wine cellar.

Kiamo Ko is not nearly as comfortable as Kiamo Ev, and Fiyero has always loved it.

It’s mostly used for ceremonies now - for coronations, weddings and funerals - or as a convenient place for his father and his retinue to stay when they are visiting the mountain regions. The guards and a skeleton staff of housekeepers and servants have been the castle’s only permanent residents for the past century.

Fiyero, though, has lived there more than most of the family. As a teenager, desperate to escape his parents and their rules, he used the Tigelaar’s secondary residence to get away. Being here, surrounded by the beautiful rugged landscape, always made him feel free, made him think of his ancestors who got to fight and explore. His ancestors who didn’t have to sit in stuffy meetings, making pointless decisions within the limitations of their declining power.

It’s been years since he was here, he realises, as he and Feldspur make their way up the familiar mountain path. He hasn’t returned since he was sent off to the first college. But even so, it feels like home. He feels the stress that he constantly seems to live with nowadays subside a little.

The doors swing open as soon as he approaches. In the doorway are the sentries, lined up to greet him.

Fiyero grins, recognising each familiar face, his friends - people who, growing up, sometimes felt more like family than his own. It’s been too long. 

The oldest of the guards, Irjek, hugs him before looking him up and down. “You look so grown up, Fiyero. What happened to our scandalocious boy?”

Life, he thinks, slightly sadly. All the choices I had to make just to ensure I still kept my soul.  He shrugs, keeping his smile.

Behind him, Feldspur snorts. “It had to happen sometime.”

The men all laugh at that, welcoming the Horse in too with some affectionate pats.

“So, Fiyero, how can we help you?” Irjek asks, once the drinks have been poured and they sit around the castle table.

And Fiyero tells them everything, about what he’s doing, about what he wants them to do to help, about Elphaba. He trusts Irjek and all his men completely. If he did not, he would never let them protect her in the first place.

The guards nod, agreeing with no protest, though not without a teasing question or two about exactly what Elphaba is like. They are loyal to him and his family. The Vinkuns, especially the mountain folk, have never cared much for the Wizard or his values.

Fiyero spends the next few days preparing for her arrival, sorting out her room so it has the essentials, cleaning the dusty but impressively stocked library, making sure the tunnels and passageways are cleared - lest she needs to make a quick escape. Not that he has any idea when she will arrive, Kumbricia knows, she might not at all - but he hopes he can find her, and she will agree. 

It’s a proper witch’s castle, he thinks, much more suited to her than any modern royal family. What it lacks in creature comforts, it makes up for in mystique and history. It has a great view over the whole of the mountains and strong defenses. She would be easily able to monitor and defend the Animals escaping through the mountains here. She would be safe here. He wants her to be safe.

The guards are as good as their word. Helping him with every step of the process, promising to protect Elphaba and her cause with their lives, while also keeping it secret that they are planning to aid a traitor. He wants to prevent any negative fallback on the people of the Vinkus.

“If it comes to it, we can just paint ourselves green and insist the Witch enchanted us to do her bidding,” Irjek chuckles.

They’re proud of him, he realises. The men who watched him grow up, who worried about him when he seemed so sad and lost, so without purpose, as a young man. They’d always liked him, and maybe they’d seen something in him that he himself had not. Something he’s only really discovering for himself right now. He only hopes he can live up to their expectations.

He leaves sooner than he would like. He needs to be back in the Emerald City. He travels, as he did on the way there, in traditional Vinkun riding clothes, rather than his Gale Force uniform. He has not explicitly told the Wizard that he was not at Kiamo Ev this month. He’s not forbidden, as such, to visit his family’s other castle, but he’d rather not be asked why he was making this unconventional trip.

When he returns, he does not tell Glinda where he has been either. Best to keep his deeds as secret as possible. Fiyero's not horrendously concerned about what being outed as a traitor would do to his own life. Sure, he'd rather not be publicly executed, but he's gone through a lot of things he hasn't wanted to do, and he'd rather go down in history as someone who fought on the right side. But the idea that such things might implicate those he loves: Glinda, Feldspur, his parents, Irjek and his men, gives him nightmares.

Glinda's parents invite them both to Pertha Hills in early summer. He half expects Morrible to forbid it, saying they're both far too busy for such leisurely pursuits, but she informs him that the Wizard is very pleased with both their work and thinks they deserve a week off.

The reporters at the Emerald City train station soon reveal her true motivation. What better way to make the Emerald City's golden couple more popular and relatable than seeing him head off to meet her parents for the first time?

“Are you nervous to meet the Uplands, Fiyero?” asks one reporter, bustling towards them.

Fiyero gives them his most practiced smile. “Of course, what man wouldn’t be?”

Glinda laughs. “Oh don’t be ridiculous, dear, you’re perfect. They’ll love you! All they want is for me to be happy!”

Fiyero gives the reporters a mock horrified face behind her back, and then proceeds to the train, smiling politely as Glinda enthusiastically waves at the crowd. He hopes this will be enough to satisfy them for their exclusive scoop. Glinda’s words weigh heavily on his chest.

There’s a different crowd when they get to the platform in Pertha Hills. It’s a rabble of overdressed Gillikinese, waving Welcome Home banners and cheering as they exit the train. 

A dozen people, who all look exactly like Pfannee and Shen Shen, rush over to them.

 “Glinda! It’s been so long!” he hears a woman shriek from the crowd.

Glinda smiles, somehow in her element in the chaos. “Yes, it’s good to see me, isn’t it? And may I introduce my handsome boyfriend, Prince Fiyero Tigelaar?”

They gasp simultaneously, drawing him into their conversations, and he charmingly acknowledges every one of them as Glinda introduces them. They love him, of course they do, everyone always does, no matter how little they know about him. He is relieved to get into the carriage.

Glinda’s house is the biggest in Pertha Hills, but it is far from the grandest house he has ever seen. They may be the most important family in Glinda’s small hometown, but the Uplands are new money, no matter how much they’d like to deny it. Still, it’s modern, with well tended gardens and lacks the particular garishness of those who like to show off their wealth.

Highmuster and Larena Upland greet him at the door. Glinda’s father is all smiles as he shakes Fiyero’s hand, while her mother, bouncing slightly in a way Fiyero knows well from her daughter, pulls him into a bone-shattering hug. Fiyero is immediately given a tour of the house and then invited to a delicious supper.

It surprises Fiyero how much he likes Glinda’s parents. They are not great thinkers, and he has no doubt that they would be colder to him if they had not deemed him a more than suitable match for their daughter, but they are kind. They want what is best for their daughter, even if they are so blissfully unaware of the vipers that surround her in the Emerald City. All they see is that she has been blessed with the good fortune they believe she deserves, and are happy to encourage her to take advantage of that. And how can he warn them otherwise? How can he tell them that every day she is in danger? All he can do is vow to protect her best he can, while still protecting the other woman in his life.

For now, though, he can put this out of his mind, and the days that follow are surprisingly idyllic. The Gillikin is beautiful this time of year, with the bright mornings and warm sun. They sit and picnic in the garden, or gently row in the lake. Even on the days when Glinda insists that they visit her shrill friends, they go to nice tea shops and eat cakes. Any reporters this far north apparently have enough respect to not ask them questions mid-conversation.

The day before they are due to leave, Highmuster invites Fiyero on a walk in the gardens alone. They spend the first ten or so minutes making polite conversation as Highmuster shows Fiyero his different breeds of roses, and explains how he chose each colour to complement a different part of the garden. However, when they reach the edge of the estate, Glinda’s father straightens up, his voice more focused, though he’s clearly trying to keep it casual. He points to a house in the distance, an attractive looking white stone building one wall covered in ivy.

“It looks a little like Shiz,” Fiyero says, unable to tell if he welcomes or loathes the thought.

Highmuster smiles. “You have a keen eye. The same architect who designed the house designed Shiz’s latest remodelling. This house is one of his early works, long before he was famous, of course.” He pauses, looking at Fiyero carefully. “It’s for sale, you know, at a very decent price. Larena and I have looked around it. It’s a lovely place, not as big as here, and certainly not as big as any of your castles, I’m sure. But it would do well as a second home, to visit. There’s plenty of bedrooms and a lovely large garden for children… We thought, maybe, if you were to visit again…”

Fiyero is too tongue tied to respond. He’d had his suspicions the moment this walk was suggested, but somehow it still all comes as a bit of a shock. Still, he manages to put on his usual affable smile, which Highmuster seems to take as affirmation.

“I – Larena and I – are so very happy that you and Glinda found each other. She’s such a special girl and you’re good to her, she’s so very happy with you. I can tell. I couldn’t imagine someone better for her than you. So, Fiyero, I wanted to say that you have my permission whenever you ask for her hand.”

Fiyero nods politely. “Thank you, sir.” He is grateful that the words are out without him having to say them, because now he doesn’t have to make any promises. He has thought about it, of course he has, since Glinda’s abrupt statement at the ball last winter, and particularly in the past week here. Being here, with Glinda, by his side, feeling like part of a family, has been the happiest he’s felt since Shiz.

It’s easy to imagine here, a life with Glinda. Being able to summer here every year like this one, in the peace and quiet, away from the Emerald City, or maybe, in the not too distant future, as a reprieve from rulership in the Vinkus. 

Highmuster is right. Glinda’s special –beautiful, attentive, devoted – with a personality that makes everyone love her. Glinda would take the role of his wife with pride and enthusiasm. Glinda would make an excellent queen.

But he has never wanted to be king. Not since the day he realised so much of ruling was compromise and bowing down to the authority in the Emerald City. And what of their life now? Of the endless fraternising with the cruelest people in Oz and the general ignorance of the public, of the lies he tells every day to his enemies, his friends and even himself? Of the sick dichotomy that he and Glinda could live in such privilege and luxury when he knows so many others are suffering? If he gets down on one knee in front of Glinda, is he condemning himself to this life forever?

He has a castle set up for Elphaba the moment he finds her, and her green bottle is always in his pocket just in case they meet. He has plans and dreams of when he might be able to join her, of what it would be like to be with someone who fights so hard and passionately for what she believes is good. Would he really let that possibility fade? Let the world carry on the way it is without fighting? He knows in his heart that he cannot. He would never be able to live with himself if he did.

He can’t give Glinda the commitment she wants, when he knows how willingly he would destroy it all in a minute.

Glinda rushes out to meet them as they near the house. “Oh I’m so glad you’re back! What did you think of Popsickle’s roses? They’re so beautiful, aren’t they?”

And he pulls her to him, hugs her tightly. When she’s tucked safe in his arms, he can hold onto this dream a few moments longer.

Returning to the Emerald City feels like being roughly awakened by a bucket of cold water thrown onto his head. He’s greeted immediately with the news that their latest Animal captives have given information on some of the escape routes to the Badlands. Not the ones in the Vinkus, thank Lurline, but he knows it’s the kind of information given out upon torture. Men have already been sent out to monitor each route in his absence, giving him no time to get Feldspur to send word to the resistance.

It’s the biggest collection of prisoners they’ve had yet. Fiyero and his men are pulled off Witch hunting duties for several weeks to sort through them. The stronger, hearty ones are shipped off in chains for labour, while the other ones are stuffed into the increasingly overcrowded cages at the zoo.

He doesn’t know which is worse: the Animals who are begging him to let them go, or the ones who are no longer able to. He clenches his jaw and tries not to listen. He could lose his soul continuing to do something like this. It would be so easy to give up all compassion just to keep his sanity. He tries to think of Elphaba, to remember that he’s doing this for her, but it’s hard when this is something that she would so clearly detest.

On one such day, heart hurting from having to pretend he doesn’t hear the cries of a Bear Cub calling for her mother, he turns around, for just a second to collect himself. Which is just when the Tiger breaks free of his chains.

Fiyero turns, instantly alert at the sound of the commotion. The Animal is barrelling through his men, clearly aiming for him, their leader. And Fiyero can tell from the ear splitting growl, extended claws and bared teeth, that he is aiming for the kill

His men all raise their weapons, but Fiyero is the one that gets the clear shot. Mid-pounce, the bullet pierces the Tiger’s heart, the force throwing the Animal backward. Dead, by his hand. 

Fiyero feels the warm blood splatter on his face. He immediately falls on his knees and retches.

Chapter Text

It hits the news. Of course it does. Madame Morrible would not miss such a perfect opportunity to show how a hateful Animal tried to kill Oz’s favourite prince, or how bravely Fiyero had fought him off. He didn’t know he could feel any worse than he already did.

Elphaba must hate me, he thinks. She must think I'm a complete monster now. Maybe I am.

The only silver lining of such a fuss is that it gives him a reasonable excuse for taking the next couple of weeks off. Which he does, staring at the wall of his room, barely human. 

“You had no choice, Fiyero,” Glinda says, one of the many times she tries to comfort him, “the Tiger was going to kill you, you had to defend yourself!”

But the Tiger was defending himself too, I was the one who attacked, he thinks, continuing to ignore Glinda until she leaves the room.

She keeps trying, though, forcing him to eat at least something, reporting back to Morrible and the Wizard that he’s well on the road to recovery. She fends off the reporters too, telling them that he doesn’t want to relive the trauma and he will make no further comment on it.

A week after the shooting, he manages to force himself to go on a ride.

Feldspur repeats Glinda’s sentiments. “You had to, Fi. You know that.”

“I could have let him kill me. I didn't even think, I just shot him. Why was my first instinct to kill?”

“He was running towards you. It would have been anyone's instinct. And what good would letting him kill you have done? He'd have only been shot by your men and then the both of you would be dead.” When Fiyero fails to respond, he continues. “Think of all the Animals your information has saved. You were never going to be able to save everyone. You knew going in that this wasn't going to be an easy route.”

“But I never expected it to be this hard, Spur. I can’t keep doing this.” He buries his head in the Horse’s mane to hide the tears.

Feldspur lets him wallow for a few more miles before saying, “The worst thing you can do after this is give up. Do you think Elphaba doesn’t have setbacks? The fight needs you now more than ever.”

He’s right, FIyero knows he is, but the thought of his life like this - spread out for how many more years - pretending to be someone he is not... There had been a few glistening short moments, in those months before Elphaba left Shiz, where for the first time in his life, he really felt like perhaps he could be himself. But now the mask that he wears is more odious than ever. How long will it be before he can’t even remember the face beneath?

The attack seems to have riled up the hate for the Animals even more. Now they are not just seen as undeserving of the privileges that humans have, but an active threat to be stomped out lest they attack again.

Fiyero’s return coincides with a set of even more hard line policies against the Animals. Their job prospects are limited entirely to menial labour and it is forbidden for them to speak in any circumstance, a crime punishable with immediate caging. The soldiers are given bonuses depending on how many Animals they round up. Though consciously he knows that Madame Morrible and the Wizard are just using his attack as the excuse they were looking for to implement these, it still feels awful that it is being attributed to what happened to him.

It’s getting harder by the day to get information out that might save the Animals; more routes to the Badlands are closing up and the simple fact is that those who were able to face the journey have been long since gone or have been captured. The Oz that Fiyero grew up in, where Animals were so commonplace that they went unremarked upon, now seems almost barren of them.

In late Autumn, Feldspur hits him with the worst blow. “The Mice, the ones I was reporting to, haven’t appeared this last week. Today I found out they have been captured and executed.”

Fiyero’s heart sinks. “Executed? With no trial? Not just caged?”

“They’re traitors, Fi. They weren’t ever going to just condemn them to a zoo. And you know no one is going to raise a fuss about it, they’re just Mice.”

Fiyero balls his fists in frustration, wishing there was something he could punch. “They were living beings, strong and brave, with families that loved them. They died fighting for freedom and no one cares.”

Feldspur doesn't say anything for a long time but Fiyero knows he's in agreement. 

“If it’s any comfort,” he says finally, “it doesn’t sound like they gave any names. You and I are not under any suspicion.”

It’s not any comfort. The Mice are dead and he eats fine dinner at the Emerald Palace every night. He’d rather be under suspicion than useless.

He asks the obvious next question. “Do you still think you’ll be able to get information to the resistance?”

Feldspur’s head droops slightly. “No. Not easily. There’s not that many members left, and they’re doing their best not to take big risks. They don’t want to lose too many more.”

“You need to go Spur,” he says, suddenly. “I can’t in good conscience let you stay here in the heart of danger. Not when this is happening to Animals that are trying to help.”

“No.” says Feldspur, stubborn as always. “I told you I would fight with you and I will until the end.”

But Fiyero shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous for you. I can’t. Go to Kiamo Ko; I’ll leave you there next time I travel to the Vinkus. You can help the sentries and mountain guides with assisting the Animals who can still make it to the mountain passage. And Elphaba if I ever manage to find her.”

“My place is with you, Fi.”

“Then I command you,” he says, voice sharp, a tone he rarely uses, even with his men. “You still work for me, Feldspur, and I do not want you in the Emerald City with me anymore. You can serve me in Kiamo Ko or leave and find other employment, but you’re not dying on account of me. I can’t lose someone else I love.”

The Horse stops his canter, turns his head so his left eye is looking directly at Fiyero. They've not been apart for more than a few weeks since Fiyero was twelve and Feldspur was little more than a Foal. “Fine, Fiyero, I see I have no choice. I will go to Kiamo Ko if I must, but if you need me I am only a letter away.”

The weather in the lead up to Lurlinemas is unseasonably cold, which is fine really, because he feels unseasonably numb.

He feels the loss of Feldspur on a palpable level. He hadn’t realised how much he needed those daily rides where he could talk, be his real self, to his best friend until they were gone. Glinda’s still by his side, but he feels more detached from her than ever. He doesn’t bother telling her about Feldspur’s departure, and as far as he can tell, she’s too caught up in talking to her admirers and the press to even notice. He still has to act the part of Prince Charming, and he can of course, both with Glinda and the public. It’s second nature, only now he’s not even able to use his position to help anyone. Even the recent trips to the Vinkus are proving useless, as the icy weather has made the mountain crossing to the Badlands too dangerous.

He throws himself back into the search for Elphaba. Working all hours, scouring tips and information in an attempt to track her down. Maybe if he finds her, he can offer her help. She can tell him how she best needs him; they can work out together how to get the resistance to regroup and fight. If nothing else, he wants to tell her about Kiamo Ko in the face of the ever more vigilant and violent Gale Force.

But Elphaba seems further away than ever. Sure, she’s still all the Ozians ever talk about, and posters of a hideodious caricature of a Witch are pasted wherever he goes, but her big dramatic acts that led to Animal escapes have dried up. Sightings that seem even slightly genuine are few and far between. It seems that with the decline of the resistance, her own power and spirit have also waned.

It’s been so long since he’s seen her now that she sometimes feels more like myth than girl. The sketch he has of them together is so tattered and smudged he can no longer make out her features. He wonders if he really remembers her face anymore.

He and Glinda are to open the Lurlinemas ball again this year. Glinda seems more thrillified than ever. She checks with him exactly what dress she’s planning to wear and if he thinks that would be something he’d like to see her in, and “Oh I hear they have been finding pink tinted rubies in the Quadling mines recently. They're so big and beautiful and would go so well with all my dresses! Don’t you think?”

He smiles and nods along, trying to remember the Fiyero that genuinely cared about being the centre of attention at a party.

A few days before the ball the news comes that Nessarose Thropp is not attending. He’s not surprised. After all, she did not come last year either, but the gossip is that neither are any other Munchkinlanders.

“They’re not allowed,” Reddy, one of his youngest men, tells the rest of them conspiratorially. “My ma wrote to me, says that none of them are allowed to leave Munchkinland anymore. She doesn’t even want me home for Lurlinemas in case I get caught up in it. She says Governor Thropp has gone mad.”

“Not a surprise,” booms Errek, a Gillikanese soldier, who never has any shortage of obnoxious opinions. “You know her sister is the Witch, right? She’s probably one too! Bad blood all around; the Wizard should send us to sort her out.”

Fiyero shushes them and assigns them to other tasks before they can continue gossiping; he does not want to encourage this line of thought. He spends his day worrying about two women whose lives he holds in the balance. The last thing he wants to do is have to try and save Nessarose as well.

Glinda refuses to even look at him after the Lurlinemas Ball. He is baffled. He thought it went well, or as much as these things ever do. They looked pretty, spoke to the right people and all their guests seemed to have enjoyed the night. He’s sure the drawings of them in the press tomorrow will look glorious.

“What’s the matter Glinda?” he asks, after her third melodramatic huff.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she spits back.

“You’re clearly not, or you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“Just forget about it. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have hoped anyway. Of course you didn’t remember.”

“Remember wha…?”

Oh. Now he recalls. She was expecting a proposal. He’d all but promised her one today at last year’s ball, and had done nothing to dissuade her father of the notion either last summer. No wonder she had been telling him about the ball gown and the rubies, but he hadn’t made the connection at all.

He sighs, sitting down next to her, even as she continues to pointedly look away from him.

“Glinda, you know what it’s been like recently. It’s been such a mess in Oz, I’m barely surviving, I’ve not had time to think about…”

She turns to him, eyes shining with tears. “But it’s not just now, Fiyero. You never have time. She’s not here. We haven’t seen her in a year and a half, but still she gets more of your attention than I’ve ever had.”

“That’s-” he splutters, “that’s different. She’s fighting, she needs help. I want to help.”

“But I’m here,” she says. “I’m not Elphaba. I know I can never be her, I’ve never been strong or brave enough. But I love you, we could have a life together. Why can't I be enough for you, Fiyero?”

"And I love you too. But how can this be enough for you? Do you like how we’re living? Is this what you want?”

Glinda looks up at him, eyes red and puffy but also wide and pleading. “It’s not perfect. We both know that. But we can’t forever chase a dream. We can find happiness here, with each other, can’t we?”

She’s so small when she’s sad, so vulnerable. He folds her in his arms, rests his head on top of hers as she burrows hers into his chest. She’s far from perfect, but so is he, and she’s beautiful in so many ways.

“You’re right Glinda,” he says, “let’s do it, let’s try it. Turn over a new leaf, let’s start again.”

He tries, he really does. When he and Glinda visit the Vinkus for the New Year's feast, he spends more time with her than before. They stay a few days later than the rest of the entourage to see more of the Vinkus, showing her around his childhood haunts. It’s pleasant – being with Glinda always is – away from press attention. A life like this with her could be so very simple and easy. And if sometimes when he sleeps he feels the sensation of green lips against his skin, that is irrelevant.

His parents start to warm to her too, if only because she’s marginally less silly than any of his former paramours they’ve met. Maybe Glinda is right: they might not be perfect together, but they could still find happiness. When they are about to leave he thinks about asking his father for the ancestral ring, but never quite gets around to it.

There are journalists at the station the moment they return asking Glinda what it was like in the Vinkus (was Winkie Country frightfully wild? Does she think she could ever be Queen there?) and, to her credit, she does nothing but gush about how wonderocious his homeland is, but it’s a reminder that such a simple life will never be theirs.

He tries to see the world through her eyes, to see the positives in a situation which always feels overwhelmed by negatives. If he can’t help the Animals maybe he can at least help the rest of Oz to be happy? Can help the humans at least to not suffer under their questionable rulership. He needs to focus on something good he can do when everything else is only getting worse. The Mice who had helped him with the resistance are not the only ones who are being executed. Some of the executions are public, and sometimes he’s expected to make speeches at them. 

He stands there, saying patriotic words to crowds too stupid to see through them. Too stupid to see the senseless violence they are commiting on others simply fighting for their right to live in Oz. Every time, Glinda holds his hand tightly, as if this will offer him enough comfort, but every time he looks to the Western Sky, praying that Elphaba will come down and burn them all to the ground.

She never does. Despite increasingly ridiculous rumours about how she’s cursing Ozians’ cantaloupes, children, and marriages – and Madame Morrible acting like she’s going to launch a full scale attack at any moment – he hasn’t seen any real evidence of Elphaba or her antics. Not for a while.

He’s been so even tempered, so sure that if he just kept going that one day he’d see her again, and they could fight all this together. But she’s not here, she’s never here, and he’s not sure how much longer he can do this.

It’s harder and harder to not be angry when he’s paraded out at events. It’s there, whenever he stands on stage, just bubbling under the surface. He no longer really feels like he’s secretly undermining the regime; he’s just a cog helping it destroy anything good about Oz. He tries to give Glinda more attention like he promised, but whenever he looks at her he just sees a fellow conspirator against Elphaba and the Animals’ plans. He goes back to the Vinkus several times in his ambassador role, though it feels almost needless now there are so few Animals he can assist. Still he does not ask for the ring.

Glinda notices his change in mood, he’s sure she does, though she never brings it up with him. The last time he really saw her that vulnerable was the night of the Winter Ball. She's harder now when they’re alone together, her quiet affection replaced with some sort of determination.

He hopes Morrible hasn’t noticed the change. She spends even more time with Glinda in the few months that follow. The thought very briefly crosses his mind that Glinda is telling on him - but he dismisses it immediately. If he knows nothing else about Glinda he knows she does not wish harm on him. He simply hopes she’s not having to think up excuses for his increasingly fake smiles.

He’s expecting the worst, therefore, when he’s summoned to the Wizard’s chamber. They’ve caught on, they’ll imprison him, or at the very least take his job and fire him as a disgrace. In some ways either might be a relief, at least he’s no longer going to have to put on an act. But it will remind him every single day that all the fighting, every terrible deed he has committed, has been for naught.

So he is not expecting the mechanical face to look so jovial when he enters.

“My boy!” booms the Wizard, apparently not noticing Fiyero’s shock at all. “I have fantastic news for you!”

“Thank you, your Ozness.”

“You have been one of my most trusted and dedicated commanders. And I love nothing more than rewarding people who do so much for me. So Madame Morrible and I - and of course the lovely Glinda - feel you deserve a promotion. You are doing a splendid job trying to find the Witch, and of course you will continue doing so with even more men, but I also need the best to help protect me. How, my son, would you like to be my Captain of the Guard?”

Fiyero tries to hide his confusion, not least because he’s distinctly been working less hard lately, but also because he knows the current Captain and he’s nowhere near retirement. He also is not quite sure when Glinda had a say in all this - is this why she was spending so much time with Madame Morrible? There’s a reason for this, one he can’t quite see. 

Still, he understands how the world works well enough that he knows he cannot refuse. He bows. “Your Ozness, it would be an honour.”

Chapter Text

They call her Glinda the Good now. He's not sure exactly where it started, but he guesses it was an obvious connection. If Elphaba is the Wicked Witch, then Oz’s own favourite sorceress, who is so valiantly comforting them in this time of terror, must be a good witch. A good witch, to them, is apparently the opposite of everything the Wicked Witch is: beautiful, kind and supportive of the Wizard - a role Glinda plays faultlessly.

In any case, Madame Morrible latched onto the name immediately, even claiming that the Wizard came up with the name himself and gave it to her as an official title. Madame Morrible has created almost as great a mythological figure out of Glinda the Good as she did with the Wicked Witch of the West. Both Glinda and the Witch have their own origin stories - so very far from the tale he was told almost two years ago in that scandalocious hotel. It’s a story Madame Morrible loves to repeat every time there’s a big event.

An event such as the one he’s currently at. It’s late spring, not a usual time for a ball, but apparently they’ve spared no expense for whatever they’re celebrating (he can’t be bothered to keep track anymore). The entire Emerald City is dressed up for the festivities and half of Oz seems to have been invited, commoners and officials alike. It’s not something he’s looking forward to, but Glinda has been even more dedicated to planning this party than usual, and he feels like – despite everything – it’s only polite to not let her down.

Fiyero, Madame Morrible, and Glinda make their way to the stage. The crowds surround them as they pass, unable to miss the opportunity to voice their hatred of the Witch. He grimaces, knowing from experience that such talk riles the rest of them up - and that Morrible will do nothing but encourage it.

Beside him, Glinda keeps her smile as they talk about her best friend. It’s so well practiced now that even he can’t tell whether she has to plaster it on. Still, she encourages them to not panic about the Witch for today and celebrate instead, and the crowds calm, soothed by her presence. If it stays like this, he tells himself, maybe he can cope for the evening.

So naturally Madame Morrible starts talking again, smile tight. “And thank goodness for you, Glinda, and your handsome swain, our new Captain of the Guard.” She turns to Fiyero. “Now Captain, you've been at the forefront of the hunt for the Wicked Witch, haven't you?”

He hears the crowd gasp at the mention of the Witch, and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Can’t he have one day where he doesn’t have to hear everyone say such lies about her? She’s barely been sighted recently, much less done anything threatening, yet they are stupid enough to believe that she is some unbridled terror. 

“Well I don’t think of her as a Wicked Witch…” he starts, hoping to quell the panic and take Madame Morrible’s attention off him and the topic.

It fails of course, Morrible interrupts him before he can get any of his point across. “So, Captain, how does it feel?”

“Frustrating,” he says, thinking both of the hunt and the act he has to keep up, “but I became Captain of the Guard to find her, and I will keep searching…”

The crowd looks up at him, horrified. Glinda, too, is wide eyed but Morrible is quick to interrupt. “No, no, being engaged!”

He splutters, unable to get out any words as the whole crowd shouts, “Congratulotions!” 

Madame Morrible is looking smug, and Glinda is flashing a ring he has never seen before at the crowd, her smile flawless. 

“This is an engagement party?” he asks her, a little too fiercely, when he can finally speak again.

There’s a second when guilt flickers across Glinda’s expression. But moments later it’s nothing more than a hardened smile. He’s got no doubt that Morrible and the Wizard have at least something to do with this unexpected development – it was probably why he was given the promotion in the first place – but this is Glinda’s work too. She decided she couldn’t wait for him any longer and has instead forced his hand. He's not even sure he blames her, he is not blind to how much his dithering has hurt her.

“Surprised?” she asks.

“Yes!”

“Good, we hoped you would be. The Wizard and I.”

It feels like the floor is falling out from beneath him. There, it's done. The inevitability he's been putting off for over a year. He's not going to be able to get out of it, even if he wanted to, just like the girls the day they first met the Wizard. There's no way to go against the Wizard’s word without consequences, and while he cares little for his own safety, he has too many others around him whom he loves to simply say no.

What does this new reality mean? Maybe not so much at first. After all, he and Glinda live like husband and wife anyway. But what when the claws dig in even deeper? What when he has to present the Wizard’s most trusted figurehead as his Queen? What does that say for any independent Vinkun authority? How long until there will be a demand for him and Glinda to have children? When he has his own family, when he is a father, can he possibly risk leaving them to help Elphaba?

Morrible is telling her familiar lies about Elphaba’s first meeting with the Wizard. He’s heard it all before, and normally gets through it with a clench-jawed smile. But today, when he’s been forced into his fate with even more finality, he can’t resist a quick jab at Glinda.

“That’s not how you described it to me.”

Glinda’s grip on his arm tightens. “Not exactly. We’ll talk about it later,” she replies through her smile, managing to say many things at once, but not one of them offering him a way out.

He’s trapped in a cage he willingly walked into. Forced forever to be the version of himself he hates the most, with a woman beside him who seems to be happy to do this, in a way he barely recognises.

The Ozians are lapping it up, of course, shouting more and more outlandish rumours about the Witch., He balls his fist and tries to temper his breathing until he can take it no longer.

“I hear her soul is so unclean, pure water can melt her!”

Fiyero barks a humourless laugh, speaking not half as quietly as he should. “Do you hear that?! Water will melt her? People are so empty-headed they'll believe anything!”

It’s a stupid outburst, one he’s sure he’ll regret later. In a world this dangerous he can’t afford to slip up like this. But the anger he’s kept in for weeks has bubbled to the surface at the unexpected turn of events, and he just can’t do it anymore. He storms off the stage before he says something even more traitorous.

Glinda catches up with him in the courtyard just outside the ballroom, grabbing his hand to stop his movements.

He considers pulling away from her, but where would he even go? Despite everything, she’s still the closest thing he has to a friendly face. She’s probably looking for an apology but he doesn’t have one to give. 

“I can't just stand here grinning pretending to go along with all of this!” He offers as a way of explanation.

Glinda sighs, pulling him so he has to fully face her. “Do you think I like to hear them say those awful things about her? I hate it!” She looks more vulnerable, younger in the moonlight. It's the closest thing he’s heard to a confession from her in a long time. More like the girl she used to be. Maybe they’re not as different as he’s been thinking. Maybe there is a way the can be content together in this bleak world.

His voice softens. “Then what are we doing here? Let's go, let's get out of here!” They could pack tonight, say with their engagement they want to step back for a little while so they can enjoy married life, use the excuse to set up roots in the Vinkus - where things are at least a little safer.

Glinda looks down, hesitant. “We can't leave now, not when people are looking to us to raise their spirits.”

Fiyero has a fleeting thought that this must have been what she looked like when Elphaba asked her to fly away with her. The anger returns. “You can't leave because you can't resist this. And that is the truth.” 

It seems insane to him that she can even still want to stay in her gilded cage when he’s been so desperate for so long to escape.

“Maybe I can't. Is that so wrong? Who could?” Her voice is quiet, pleading, begging him not to say what she knows will be his reply.

He does not give her that luxury. “You know who could. Who has.” Glinda simply regretting not going with Elphaba has never been enough, and it never will be. 

He watches her face fall at the mention of Elphaba, at the argument that they keep coming back to, that they both know will always cast a shadow over their marriage no matter how many years they might spend together. 

But when she speaks, her voice is gentle and sad. “Fiyero, I miss her too, but we can't just stop living. No one has searched harder for her than you. But don't you see? She doesn't want to be found. We have to face it.”

His heart sinks at the words. She's voicing thoughts he doesn’t dare let himself think, but now they are there, he can’t stop. And if that really is the truth of the matter, at least he can give Glinda what she wants in this hopeless world. He sighs, defeated, pulling Glinda into a hug. “You're right. I'm sorry, you're right. And if it will make you happy, of course I'll marry you.”

Glinda’s hands drop from his waist and she looks up at him, expression much more pained than it should be moments after she announced her engagement. “But it'll make you happy too, right?”

He’s too tired to care, to fake how he’s feeling for anyone. He needs to be alone. “You know me... I'm always happy,” he mutters, not trying to hide the sarcasm, and walks away, ignoring Glinda's cries for him to return.

He spends the next half hour wandering around the back streets of the city, avoiding any drunk Ozians stumbling away from the party. She doesn’t want to be found, echoes around his head. Is that the truth? Is everything he has been doing from the moment Elphaba was declared a Wicked Witch a complete waste? He might never find her. He probably won’t. The Animals are suffering. Signs of Elphaba are infrequent to non-existent. He’s searched for her for two years, looked everywhere he could think of, but she only seems further away than she did the day she left.

What if she's dead? comes a nasty thought that sneaks into his head. 

No, they couldn't have killed her, he tells himself. And they couldn’t, could they? He's sure if they had they'd be unpleasantly displaying her body for all to see. But then again, maybe they wouldn't? Maybe they enjoy the fear and control the threat of the Witch gives them too much to end it now. 

He tells himself he's being silly. He can't imagine Madame Morrible's arrogance letting her not celebrate such a victory. In any case, his rank would probably mean he would be told, even if the public was not. 

But what if it wasn't them? What if she'd had an accident or her life had run her ragged enough that she became ill and had no one to nurse her back to health? What if she had just seen failure after failure, that she was losing and that everyone hated her, that the people she loved had betrayed her. It must take such a toll on her – what if she'd decided to end that suffering by her own hand?

It doesn’t even bear thinking about.

He returns to the ballroom in the hope that the music will drown out the horrors that dance around his head. He downs two drinks, finds Glinda, mutters an apology and pulls her onto the dancefloor.

He’s tried, he’s tried so hard and all his efforts have been in vain. He and Elphaba are losing the war. Perhaps it has been lost already. And here he stands, as useless as he always has been, promoting an evil regime. Maybe the boy he was before he met Elphaba was right: life was fraughtless, more painless when he just didn’t bother to think. The music swells around him, they waltz and despite everything, his footwork is as flawless as ever. He danced through life back then, he can do it again now.

Maybe he can do it forever.

There’s an odd, animalistic, sound of screeching and scrabbling from somewhere outside, and then the Wizard’s voice booms across the ballroom. “Guards! Guards!”

The music comes to a sudden halt. There is a hum of concerned murmurs as the party goers look around, wondering what has happened. But Fiyero has no time for that; he has to answer the Wizard’s summons.

He lets go of Glinda, pushes his way through the guests, grabs his rifle, and runs towards the Throne Room.