Chapter Text
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay / Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare / The long and level sands stretch far away" - Ozymandias, by Percy Shelley
On the Eve of the End-of-Summer-Harvest-Fest Ball, Prince Fiyero Tigelaar woke and sat up with wide eyes, before staring at his hands. He had fingers, real ones, beneath yellow gloves. With a strange slowness, he lifted the fabric off his hands and rubbed at the exposed, human skin beneath.
His mother grabbed for his jacket pocket, finding a flask hidden in his chest pocket with ease. “Darling, not again,” she warned after taking a whiff.
He stared at his parents oddly, and, even odder, asked, “Why is there no straw?”
Sighing resignedly, his father handed him a tin container of water. “Sometimes son,” he said in his ‘Emperor’ voice, “I think you’ll be lucky to sit on the Vinkun throne one day. It would take the world ending for you to learn to be serious.”
Fiyero looked at his bare fingers and the skin on hands and his eyes widened.
Dorothy is a good girl, a sweet girl, even, Fiyero thought with a harsh bite to his words. He took an angry sip of water and frowned deeply, not even noticing the circle of Emerald City performers dazzling the rest of the Court. I should have known. How could he? Why did the water work? It didn’t make any sense/ was it enchanted? Who would have the power? Why? Dorothy should have… “I should have known,” he muttered to himself.
The outdoor pavilion of the Castle of Lurline was magnificent, and bountiful garden displays lifted up with intricate statues of old kings and queens that stood lofty, beautiful, out of reach. Dazzling dancers twirled magically transforming ribbons as the greatest musicians in all of Oz played a scoring melody. The various nobilities of the four Countries of Oz sat in their finest in a magnificent display of overindulgence and overabundance, jewelry and fashion on audacious display. The Great Queen of Oz, Ozma, sat perched upon an elegant chair, with her young daughter of the same name beside her. The year of her daughter’s entry to court was a prominent one.
Fiyero sat, his arms and legs spread in a way which would have appeared relaxed, if not for the constant twitching of his right leg. He could feel how furrowed his own brow was, but couldn’t help it. Dorothy, you were supposed to go for the chains. Melt her? KILL her, Dorothy?! Where did you find a bucket? Why why why did the water burn her?
On his right, Prince Keerio leaned in and gossiped, “They say she’s going to be even worse on the Court this year.”
It was Dorothy’s fault, no it wasn’t, it was Fiyero’s fault, maybe he had never been a master of social manipulation, maybe he’d just been handsome and rich- worthless, brainless… his mind spun with endless, delirious replays of the horrible scene. The look of surprise on Elphaba’s face when the water came, the horrible burning smell in the air, who had fetched that water? Was it Boq?
A hand rudely shoved at Fiyero’s shoulder and he turned to meet Prince Keerio’s dark green eyes. “This is serious,” the third son of King Cheerioben whispered harshly, “how are we supposed to sneak off to the clubs, or woo ladies into the gardens if The Ozmaziness herself is watching us like a sentry Hawk?”
Fiyero blinked at him twice. Not for the first time, he wondered how real this was? Had his grief truly touched the Grimmerie to bring him this… wait, what was this ? “Huh?”
“C’mon, Fiyero, tell me you have an austadeous plan.”
“Sh,” Fiyero cautioned. He heard a murmur of agreement from the gentleman on his other side. He knew when this was, it was the beginning of his second summer at Court when Princess Ozma made her debut. He’d had one and a half years of college, bouncing between seven schools and programs, lovers and fine alcohols. It would be two more years until he enrolled at Shiz, as did Glinda- Galinda? and his Elphaba.
If this was real, Elphaba was alive out there somewhere. Not yet the Wicked Witch of the West. Just a young woman living in Munchkinland, Munchkin Country. With an address Fiyero could not remember, but could probably find, but would never to be able to explain why. “This has to be real,” Fiyero whispered to himself so softly he couldn’t even hear it. He needed her alive. As long as she was alive- As if bursting from a lake of water and taking in air, something in Fiyero sparked back. Perhaps Elphaba had made a failsafe if she died, perhaps she’d bonded to the Grimmerie and it bonded to him, perhaps there was some power in true love like the stories said, it didn’t matter as much as the fact she was out there. Somewhere.
Then he paused. He knew where Elphaba Thropp was. Fiyero took an appreciative glance at the man beside him. Prince Keerio was four years his senior, and a scalywag and a rake as described by the Queen Oziness herself; thankfully for him, he had handsome dark features, soulful green eyes, and a sturdy build that, although he was the sole member of the royal family to inherit the countries well-known short stature, meant he had never been one to sit out during sports. He was well-liked by the male population of Oz, surely, and the woman who happened to be his latest muse was always a happy girl indeed. He’d also been Fiyero’s good friend for well on five years (until he’d defected to join the Wicked Witch), but only two to Keerio’s recollection.
The performers stopped and bowed, and Fiyero clapped along with the rest of Oz while continuing to look at Keerio.
“You should be taking this more seriously, Fiyero,” Keerio said, oddly sounding like Fiyero’s father when he did. “Didn’t you write saying you planned to go for the triplets this year?”
Been there, done that, Fiyero thought with a curl of his nose. All of that time, what an utter waste. So much had occurred right under his nose. “Munchkin Country, how is it?” Around them, some of the nobility had begun getting up to socialize though others still continued to sit. It was anticipated that dinner would be served in an hour, giving them all that much time to walk the mere fifty paces to their tables. Quite sourly, Fiyero imaged the nobilities in all their finery and audeceousitious hats attempting a walk down the Yellow Brick Road. He liked to imagine a few in particular, who had quite a lot of things to say about the Witch of the West in the press, falling flat and breaking their perfect little noses.
“Fine. The bad girls are all in Winkie Country, as always, you lucky cad,” Keerio said, leaning back on his chair and sighing. “If you mine metals in caves so much, how are all Vinkun so tan?”
Fiyero looked at his friend with a frown. Is this what passed for conversation among Ozian elite ? Is this why our minds are numb? He had no interest in discussing stereotypes on the human population of his country. “Is all well with the governmanships?”
“Yes?”
“And the Animals?”
“Fiy, Fiy,” Keerio leaned forward with a conspiratorial smirk. “You’re not changing the subject to avoid talking about the little miss Ozma? Of course, she is beautiful, but that is a one-way ticket on the trainway road to second fiddle for life.”
Snorting, Fiyero leaned back in his chair and stroked his hair. “It’s railway,” he corrected. He felt smug, the way he always did the few times in his life he had the chance to correct anyone. The emotion felt real. This place felt real. Keerio seemed like Keerio and… wait, what was he implying? Fiyero straightened up. “I will not be courting Ozma. She’s far too young, and besides,” he said strictly, “I’m done with all that.”
“With girls?” Keerio asked skeptically.
With everything , Fiyero thought. With the ignorance, the callowness, with standing aside when he could stand for something, from the empty-headedness, from that no-good fraud of a ‘Wizard’. “I’m done with chasing empty thrills and hollow conquests, this shallow court,” Fiyero grumbled, ignoring his fellow man’s slowly growing expression of shock, “if the girl I’m going to marry is out there, I have a long way to go to deserve her.”
Two hours later, a wave of rumor had passed through the Court and only finally emerged from the outside. Fiyero could hardly blame them; he’d been a bit loud. He had to control his tongue, had to actually think but that was hard enough to do when he wasn’t in the swankiest most excluvicious party in town. And he had been the main attraction for dinner. His old friends had even stormed up to him in a panicked flank, terrified he’d taken a vow of sobriety and celibacy that he’d had to awkwardly skirt around denying in front of his own mother. A declaration against shallowness? From a Tigelaar?
Grabbing at the fabric on his chest, feeling his real, non-straw heartbeat, Fiyero took long gasps. He’d hid himself behind a pillar, far from the main hub of action and well covered in the dark. A few sole, wilting candlebulbs staved away the complete darkness as Fiyero breathed.
One of the Quadling sorceresses leaned in to hear the gossip of a Bear, then brought the queen’s ear to her mouth to share. Fiyero, distracted and sat between his parents, was occupied trying not to imagine what the soft curls of spinach on his salad plate looked like when compared to a certain green girl’s anatomy. “How curious,” Queen Ozma said, and conversation around them stilled mid-sentence to absorbify the words of their queen, “Prince Fiyero has vowed to better himself for true love?”
His mother had to elbow him in the stomach to help him recover from his shock and reply. He had only spoken to Queen Ozma twice in the original time, first when she congratulated him on his appointment of Captain of the Wizard’s Guard, and second when she congratulated him on his engagement to Glinda. “Queen Ozma,” Fiyero said. Then his poor empty head went blank.
He breathed hard and fast, almost wheezing. His panicked gasps sounding not unlike Elphaba’s laughter. “It’s fine,” Fiyero muttered to himself, “it’s fine.” He didn’t know what he had done. The ramifications of it all. Had Fiyero ruined everything before it began or stumbled brainlessly to some hereto unforseen path?
Had this always been the intent of the magic when it sent him back here? How did magic work anyway?
“I’m curious, Prince Fiyero of Winkie Country, how do you plan to achieve this?” Queen Ozma asked, and the entire court leaned in to listen.
“Well, uh, Queen Ozma, I, my queen of course, all respects,” Fiyero said carefully, “uh, I suppose a young prince should be intelligent, strong, and wise.”
“Curious, Prince Fiyero of Winkie Country, how do you plan to grow wiser? Do you think the wizard could help you?”
Fiyero spoke without thinking. “I don’t need the wizard’s help. It’d be more use to read philosophy books and travel Oz.” Shoveling manure would be more use than that man, he thought to himself sourly.
“Even if the wizard could make you perfect in a clock-tik?”
“I’d rather do it myself,” Fiyero said, and tried to control his scoff at the idea of the wizard doing anything so magical. “Maybe then I’d finally learn something.”
A few courtiers chuckled at that, and Father laughed hard enough it was a blow for Fiyero’s ego to hear. At that, the Queen moved on to another person but her interest in Fiyero was not done for the night.
His legs shaking, Fiyero looked at the ground and debated sitting on it. It was then he heard the clack of hundreds of jewels along a stone floor. As Queen Ozma emerged from the shadows, so did two guards in emerald who stood in wait with spears.
Fiyero had been on the wrong end of those spears before. Reflexively, he held up his hands.
Queen Ozma smiled at him, and gestured to a bench. She sat down, her clothing masterfully resplendent from any angle.
Fiyero continued to lean on the pillar across from her. He tried to play it off; wasn’t sure it was reading that well. “To what do I owe such a… visit?”
“I’ve never thought much of you, Prince Fiyero of Winkie Country,” Queen Ozma said softly, in a voice that somehow still demanded attention. “Besides the prestige of your birth, and the handsomeness of your face, you were quite indistinguishable from many a young man in my Court. Yet, today you are the most unexpected wallflower.”
“You think I’m handsome?” Fiyero asked without thinking. But the Queen chuckled, so Fiyero relaxed. Queen Ozma gestured again to the bench, and this time Fiyero did not ignore it. He sat down beside her, and from their alcove they could see lights and shadows of the other nobility in Oz, music just so muffled as to be barely distinguishable. He wondered if she sat in places like this often, observing the Court. Then, ruminating on the question as best he could and deeming it safe enough, Fiyero asked.
“I do,” Queen Ozma said quietly. “Who is she?”
Elphaba. “Who?”
“The young woman for whom Fiyero Tigelaar must change his ways.”
Fiyero coughed, and looked out at the court to avoid the Queen’s eyes. “I haven’t met her yet,” he said, and couldn’t help himself to add, “but I know she’s like nobody else in all of Oz.”
By the third chime of the Time-Dragon after the turn of the midnight hour (Fiyero found the whole thing rather creepy), Fiyero was ready to collapse. He’d tucked himself against his mother’s side, excused by keeping her company but truly because his legs were shaking. It felt as if he had walked the Yellow Brick Road, and survived a fireball, and watched his love break and die, and those straw-like streaks of blond in his hair seemed so ironic -
The two of them finally descended the steps of their carriage, and Fiyero took up an entire side without asking. He threw himself down, yanked off his jacket and tucked it under his head, and only a second after could already feel sleep coming to get him.
It was interrupted by his father, ruddy-cheeked and glowing with excitement, shaking Fiyero awake. “My son!” He crowed, and continued to shake Fiyero like he was a ragdoll until Fiyero’s mother pulled him off. “The Queen has requested your help to chaperone Princess Ozma in Court!”
Fiyero blinked. “What?”
“She called you charming, Fiyero! Charming!”
He only cared if one girl in Oz thought he was charming, and she was far off in Munchkin Country with no idea who he was. (Well, probably some idea.)
“An entire year in Emerald City,” Fiyero’s mother swooned. “And some time off from your studies may do you well.”
“You’ve clearly been doing some thinking-"
“Only natural for a boy your age..."
“Even if the Widdicomb College incident was rather extreme.”
“If this is the end result how can we argue? A year in Emerald City, my boy, chauffeuring her young Oziness herself!”
Emerald City. Great Merciful Oz, Fiyero hated that place. He gave his parents his best interpretation of a smile, then dropped his head face first into a pillow. Somehow, he resisted the urge to scream.
Fiyero spent a large portion of the trip back home observing the road, winding and flat. There would be bursts of untamed ground then they’d pass a contingent of workers not far away. Preparing for brick-laying. He wondered how long this operation was. The first four roads completed by the end of the year, the rest of the routes in two. It seemed… impatient.
He’d done a lot of thinking, while his parents slept off their hangovers. It was possible Fiyero had made no mistakes at all, and what he’d changed last night at the ball was always meant by the Gimmerie to occur. Perhaps he’d thrown himself into an unfamiliar tornado with no direction. Regardless, he needed to plan.
If he was going to protect Elphaba and help her save the animals from the Wizard, Fiyero needed a significant amount of political power. He had come to Elphaba that night with no power, nothing but his own two hands and his heart; she had accepted him anyway. How much more use would he be if he’d made any use whatsoever of his title and birth? If Fiyero introduced Elphaba’s name to Oz as his love, they would have to react differently than her introduction as the vile Wicked Witch. And if not?
Fiyero would find a way to give her sanctuary in the West. Vinkun Emperors had held tight grips over their regimes before; and soon Fiyero would have the future rightful ruler of Oz calling him a friend.
It occurred to him, as he watched his parents blissfully sleep, that they and nobody else in all of Oz could have any idea he was preparing for war. Fiyero doubted even Elphaba would believe the Wizard was a fraud if he told her with no evidence.
To keep up appearances, Fiyero danced and sang his way to the train station as he departed for his year in Emerald City. The people of Babel laughed at his antics, as he sweetly carooned while riding the uppity-down platforms from one terrace level to another. It felt right to be high up in the sky, on level with the birds, even as the road ahead lead him back down to the dirt.
With a jaunty grin, Fiyero tossed a ruby to a goat running a bakery stall in one of the main squares, trading for a delicious croissant. “You should get some for Mother,” Fiyero encouraged his father; he enticed a young cotillion of schoolboys and girls to make their merry way to class with a skip (he felt Elphaba would be especially proud of him for that one), and kept checking in on Feldspur at his side, who’d chosen to accompany him but had never ridden on the train before. After all, unless they were traveling to a Court occasion, before now Fiyero had rarely left Winkie Country. ( He’d forgotten that, had to remember to pretend to be more nervous. ) It seemed a charming send off by all accounts. Some of the young women in town had gathered on a bridge to toss flowers at him, which Fiyero caught a few, clutched to his heart, and blew them all a kiss. Fiyero’s father’s laughter at that still boomed in his ears five strikes of a clock-tik away.
It was a cruel joke for Fiyero to be the one sent back to make right. He hadn’t the brains of Glinda, the power of Elphaba, the tenacity of Boq, or the desperation of Dorothy. There was much he felt he should remember that he couldn’t, so much he wanted to do that he didn’t know how to do. He felt as if he was walking down a long, dark, and winding road all alone.
Princess Ozma moved into her own private home in a penthouse upper three floors of a building called the Emerald Jewel. She had a hairstylist, a clothes stylist, a shoe stylist, two chefs, four ladies-maids, and also Fiyero in a private suite.
Navigating the requirements of Queen Ozma and Princess Ozma, especially in the way they often opposed each other, proved well within Fiyero’s social maneuvering skills. (Regardless of the blow his ego had taken after he’d failed to predict Dorothy, there were some things his parents had taught him well. ) Queen Ozma wanted Princess Ozma to be safe, Princess Ozma wanted to live . After confirming Fiyero was truly off the menu, the princess was drawn to every bad decision the Court had to offer - Fiyero didn’t discourage her to any, just pointed out flaws in character or annoying habits when one gentleman was truly distasteful, and steered her back toward young people of her own age. In all honesty, the young princess had far more fun in groups of young ladies, chattering on about hobbies, men, fashion predictions, and all manner of social gossip. For some reason Prince Fiyero was a welcome addition to such gatherings. While a part of him enjoyed numerous batted eyes and ‘subtle’ touches on his arms, there was a limit. He took a hint from Elphaba, and sometimes, to everyone’s shock and intrigue, Fiyero brought a book to a party. It was quite an effective shield, at times. Other times it brought too much attention.
“How can a book have so much of your attention?”
“Philosophy in Lawmaking? My dear, this book is hardly more captivating than you. Alas, ruling a quarter of Oz one day comes with certain obligations.”
“Oh, Fiyero, I think you’re already starting to become wise. Do you think you’ll be ready for that special girl soon?”
Emerald City was filled with wonder and innovation, endless parties and scrumptious food, and Fiyero endured a month of it with no distraction before he needed a break. Needed to exude the terrible, fearful energy inside him. He needed a reason to be away from the shallowness of nobility.
Fiyero needed to stop having nightmares of being surrounded by armed men, and learn how to save his own Oz-damned life before he was turned to straw again.
Training with the guard, as it had the first time, was strict and difficult. Regimen and physical prowess ruled, and Fiyero flocked to the mindless work with relief. When he stood before a training course, or followed motions with a sword, he could focus only on the present moment.
It helped that this time of his life had changed. His next year of college was called off, for the time being, his mornings spent with the guard, afternoons attempting to read and better himself, and evenings with the princess. The first time in his life he’d been wilding away, days bleeding into one another in blissed out hazes; even if Fiyero had wanted to retread old ground he wouldn’t have been able to remember it. There was indeed much he didn’t remember.
Wasted years, but was this any better?
Most evenings, when the Princess’ coalition was finally winding down to the end of their festivities, Fiyero cast his eyes out to the east.
He spent much of his time thinking about Elphaba. So much so that he missed an entire rivalry going on right under his nose.
Five months into his routine, Fiyero arrived early in the morning out the training grounds to see his instructor standing pale-faced and confused out at the fence beyond the dirt mound. There was one large dirt section, then a segment of training dummies ( dummies made of straw, which Fiyero slashed and shot with dread and glee in equal measure, staring snarls into stitched faces that only smiled back). The whole compound was against the outer wall of the Great Guard Station, with three walls on the sides but the fourth stretching out into a field of poppies.
In that area, seventeen people dressed in official court servant finery prepared a series of stands.
“I thought the tournament was next week,” Fiyero said.
“Change of plans, by orders of the Pumpkin Family,” Instructor Willim said oddly. “Some members of the Court are curious about this batch of recruits.”
“Huh,” Fiyero said thoughtfully. The Pumpkins… that was a Winkie family, weren’t they? From one of the smaller prosperous Vinkun tribes. Not a noble family but a rich one, quite like the Upper Upperlands. “The whole Court?”
“They say the Princess might be in attendance.”
“Huh,” Fiyero said again unhelpfully. He thought for awhile. “You should probably bring in some of your best men too, don’t want our esteemed royalty to think all their troops are as sloppy as Trainee Ponley.”
“Right,” Instructor Willim said, “right, right, good idea.”
Fiyero learned from the princess later that Jack Pumpkin, the oldest and heir of the Pumpkin family fortune of Pumpkin pumpkins, was quite smitten over the Aberant daughters (triple) of a Quadling Country sorceress of political renown. All three of whom were apparently quite incapable of talking about the men at court without bringing Fiyero’s name into the mix. Apparently, Jack believed that Fiyero should be more ashamed to roll about in the mud like some commoner and once all of Court saw him do so, he’d lose his luster and shine.
Thoughtlessly, Fiyero had ignored the crowd to celebrate his own achievement. He had spent months in training practice testing his mettle against boys whose hands still shook to hold a sword. When a young man with tanned Winkie Country skin stood up and demanded Prince Fiyero test his mettle against the might of a true Emerald City guard, Fiyero beamed. “How about three?” He offered instead.
It was still far less than the goal of seven, and not enough to conquer his nightmares, but three guardsmen lay at his feet eventually.
Fiyero flung off his helmet and chestplate, grabbing a rag of water from one of his fellow recruits and rubbed at the sweat pooling from his brow and chest. Sounds of cheer and celebration rang from behind him, sounds he’d long since grown to despise. He couldn’t enjoy the same praise of those who’d cheer Elphaba’s demise, but he still turned around and flashed them a cheeky smile as if he did.
Prince Fiyero of Winkie Country’s year in Emerald City ended in a two day long farewell festival, as the city mourned both his and Princess Ozma’s departure and yet celebrated Fiyero’s official appointment as Lieutenant with the city guard. He’d appeared on the front page of the weekly newspaper seventeen times out of forty issues, from smiling rakishly at a camera behind Princess Ozma, to wearing his guard uniform and helping repair a crack in a bridge, or (in a surprising best-selling addition) sitting on a bench at the training field, a sword resting between his legs, his shirt untucked and almost fully unbuttoned while his eyes looked far away from the camera toward the field of poppies.
He had no idea when the picture was taken, but unfortunately was all too aware of its existence. There were posters, Fiyero was almost certain, but sellers tended to hide such items when he was around.
It was astonishing what one year of simple responsibility could do to a reputation. Prince Fiyero had gone from one of the many senseless princes and princesses in Oz taking their turns in society pages and scandal columns to a known name (at least, one in vogue); and he had no dispersions that despite all of his efforts, the photos and gossip had done the most of it. Jack Pumpkin’s one sided revenge against him had resurfaced twice and fizzled out each time, Fiyero needing to do absolutely nothing to stop it. There was a lot of power in deciding a thing was beneath his attention.
Which he could use to his benefit when something came up that was worth his attention. Especially when he had the Princess’s ear to ask.
“I can’t help but notice the construction.”
“My dear, you are quite observant! I admire you, but it’s an annoying trait in a chaperone.”
“Perhaps it’s just my nature. I can’t help but be curious about… who’s behind the curtain, so to speak.”
“What a gas, Prince Fiyero, as always. Of course I’ll explain. I’m sure so many people already know, but the Wonderful Wizard was speaking to my mother not long ago…”
The festival roared to a head as Fiyero danced through the crowd, entertaining and flattering as he could. He still did love a party, loved the energy of a space being so alive it nearly had a heartbeat. It reminded him he was alive. He had blood, hair, non-replaceable organs and everything . The Princess grabbed his hand and pulled him up onto the stage, a familiar and friendly gesture to all who could see, as Fiyero was set in front of a microphone before the herd of humans and Animals alike gathered around him. It was her party, most assuredly, her colors decorating the walls, sky, and clothing, but Fiyero had remained in sight all night. He’d always been able to get a crowd to dance, but for once, they were waiting to hear him speak.
“My dear Ozians, of Oz, and Ozmas and Ozess, and the rest,” Fiyero said sweetly, his voice ringing out amongst the noise-making machines of the Emerald City, “after spending all this time in this most beloved city, why a thought occurred to me quite naturally. Every citizen of Oz should have this chance, which is why Queen Ozma in her wisdom has appointed me a new task. One I take on quite humbly .”
He couldn’t help but glance to his left, where his mother and father were seated. They seemed proud. Fiyero only hoped they’d remain so when all was done.
“I am honored, and ecstatic, to introduce to you a grand and spectacular innovation, a grand idea of the Wizard,” the crowd erupted in applause by that and he had to wait, “entrusted to the Queen-“ he paused again, “and most humbly introduced by to all of you.” And he winked, adding in, “Fiyero Tigelaar, if you didn’t know. I had a say in the color.” There was a third applause. They all adored him, the way crowds love any entertainer. It didn’t matter that his cheer was less enthusiastic than the ones before. What mattered was people had heard his name said together with the Queen and Wizard. They saw him with the Princess. Then they’d start to see him.
Prince Fiyero wondered if he even remembered how to be charming, or if he was now destined to be so forever simply because the Queen said so. Was this truly the best he could do to live up to his potential? Would blind popularity help at all when tides turned from fickle propaganda?
The Yellow Brick Road was presented as a good thing, during a celebration, and Fiyero heralded it as the beginning of a new era that connected all of Oz. He wondered if it had been announced differently, perhaps presented to Court and ruminated over, people would have asked more questions. Who was building it? The Animals. How was it funded? Reducing programs to Animals and offering temporary road-building work instead. Why was it being built? Fiyero had no way to confirm it, but he was certain it was another import from the Wizard’s home world. Like cages.
Sometimes Fiyero wondered if he lost his mind. If every step was taking him three steps behind. All he could do was stay on the path he’d begun and hope he’d chosen the right direction.
He would journey down the Yellow Brick Road four times, beginning in Gillikin and ending in Munchkin Country. Each time bringing along a troop of performers from Emerald City, and several carriages of supplies.
Publicly, he wanted to prove the walk was possible, ensure the safety of all future travelers, and ambassadorize for Emerald City. It wasn’t as if Emerald City needed more attention, but that wasn’t who was on show. Fiyero was the star attraction, and he would remain so. If all of Oz adored him, surely they’d follow him against the Wizard? If not all, at least his own people? Perhaps, if all of Oz adored him so, there would be no need to fight at all?
He just didn’t trust the fickle minds of the general public. Fiyero had much more faith in his experience with the guard, learning how to fight, to train soldiers, and command. If Elphaba or Glinda were with him, they’d likely urge him to be more optimistic, but hoping something simply didn’t make it occur.
A few days after his return to Winkie Country, Fiyero began to receive letters. Many, many letters. In Emerald City, his mail had been sorted and brought to him by the building staff (even the first time around, Fiyero had had staff to sort it all). Two entire members of staff had to be hired at Vetred Ko just to handle the new influx, which Fiyero was informed of by his father at dinner one day. The Emperor, as he boasted to a few of the Vinkun chiefs, seemed as if he was ready to burst with pride.
At first, Fiyero’d been tempted to sort them himself, but soon the monumental workload became quite apparent. All of Emerald City appeared to miss him, regardless if he’d spoken to them or not, if not half of Oz; Fiyero was rather confident they had enough information to perform a census of the young human population with the extent of it all.
Fiyero had assumed limiting his forwarded mail to only members and households of state, both noble and elected, would keep it manageable. Unfortunately, it appeared not. Sorting through and reading his mail required almost two hours of his morning a day. He supposed even Elphaba would let him off the hook for bookreading when he had this much homework. Besides, he had to prioritize any potential political gains. Did a random Quadling Duke’s daughter want an autographed photo? Fine, and he’d invite her on the Yellow Brick Road while he was at it. He’d invite all of them.
Prince Keerio and the rest of his old partying friends were quite enthralled by the idea of Fiyero “spending a year playing nice just to throw the biggest, longest party in Oz”. Fiyero, a little worried about attendance for his event, did nothing to dissuade their notions. Princess Ozma was in a fight with her mother due to her being unable to attend, and would be sending a royal photo-taker to document the experience. As for his best and truest friends, none of them had ever even met him yet and Fiyero had no idea what was going on in their lives.
He was even a little curious about Boq, even if he didn’t care for him much anymore.
“The Clock of the Time Dragon waits for no one, no matter their secrets,” Fiyero’s mother warned as she stood at his bedroom door, “even princes.”
“I know,” Fiyero told her. “I promise I won’t be late.” He returned to his packing with a frown.
Perhaps it was the men of the Guard who caused Fiyero to think about Boq. Thanks to a few years more experience then the rest, Fiyero had slipped into the role of a star student ( it had always been so much easier the second time ); and the other recruits tended to look at him in awe. Part of Fiyero saw them the same way he used to see Boq, harmless and a little pitably, like he might imagine a younger brother; the rest of him saw their uniforms and imagined their muskets in his face aimed to fire.
Actually, still no different from Boq. Fiyero need just trade the musket for an axe and a bucked of water.
He lifted his head to see his mother was still lingering in the door. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, but continued to look at him. Empress Baxiana was already dressed in her finery, ready to accompany Fiyero to the station. Her hair was blonde and streaked with white, elegantly done up on her head with braids, her eyes swelling up with an odd emotion. “You’ve grown up so much this last year,” she said cryptically.
Fiyero didn’t know how to tell her he’d secretly aged several years, and that he was preparing himself for war. There would be no way to say what he needed to be believed and understood. He loved his parents, the both of them, dearly, but while he’d certainly not inherited his nihilistic streak from them, his ambivalence and shallowness he most certainly had. Fiyero’s parents were from the most powerful and rich tribes in Winkie Country, both destined to a life of eternal luxury, and whom by chance happened to be born very, very beautiful. Struggle was not a concept they understood.
“Mother,” Fiyero said softly, “come sit on my bed.”
“As long as I won’t interrupt,” she said, and with a bounce in her step crossed her son’s room with grace and sat on his enormous, yellow-magnifiweave sheets. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
He’d explained this to her before. Fiyero held back a sigh; he knew his mother hadn’t forgotten, she just wanted him to tell her again. Since he was a child, she’d ‘forgotten’ their favorite memories and asked him to retell them again and again. It was just that- that- Elphaba would say it, you spineless, brainless…“Normally, mother, this is flattering, but don’t you think after these few months you’re tired of listening to me talk?” Fiyero asked. Then he winced.
Mother’s almost impossibly big, blue eyes widened. “I haven’t been that bad,” she said. It seemed the idea truly took her aback, as she lifted a hand to her chest. “Oh, perhaps a little so. But, Fiyero -!” Mother collapsed herself across his bed and a smile gleamed over her face. “You, have just been-"
“You had me tell the story of that training day debacle to the Taniro Family twice,” Fiyero reminded her sharply. “ Twi- don’t even try to lie, twice. Samira was laughing at me the whole time.”
Mother pouted. Fiyero wondered if other people’s mother’s behaved this muchly… well, maybe Glin-Galinda’s mother did. “Can I help it, my dear? People want to know about all the hubbub and hooblydoo on you in the press.” She grabbed one of his pillows and hugged it to her jeweled chest. “You’re blossoming like a rosebud, Fiy Fiy.”
Fiyero looked at her confused. He then returned to packing his uniform.
“Tell me it again,” his mother insisted.
“Well, Mother,” Fiyero said, and for the sake of a good farewell swallowed any of his resentment and half his pride, “as you know-" he wagged his finger at her with a smile, “it is written into the rules of the Emerald City Guard that each member must care for and clean their own uniform and materials. And I will not be said I didn’t come by my role honestly by having a housekeeper do it.” He paused for a moment, imagining Elphaba correcting him. “Or as honestly as I could manage it, as I doubt fresh recruits are normally made First Lieutenants.”
His mother made a ‘who me?’ gesture and batted her eyes innocently.
“But at least I’ll have a Captain in my squad who’ll outrank me on the assignment. Also, it’s not as if I’ll get lost,” he reminded.
“Are you sure?”
“Mother, the whole point is that all the roads lead to one place,” Fiyero said swiftly. He paused. Breathe, she’s my mother and I love her.
“But there’s four roads.”
Fiyero calmly looked at his mother. “Mother, the roads do not even intersect yet.”
Her face lit up with joy. “My boy, you did learn something at college!”
That stung. Fiyero was sure smarter now. He could only hope. He doubted cramming his mind with the odd books helped, and he didn’t know if suffering brought intelligence, or maybe he’d switched off his brain during his childhood… or maybe he’d grown up, just a tiny bit, into his own age. He hoped it wasn’t the last one. That sounded pathetic. “I’ll probably want to go back to school after the tour,” Fiyero said. His mother expressed her praises, mentioning her own experience in the Royal Vinkun Academy as Fiyero ignored her. He closed the trunk, leaving the sword on the side. His mother hadn’t noticed it at all it seemed until he picked it up to sling over his shoulder.
“A real sword,” Mother said and clapped. She paused, thoughtfully, and asked, “But what if you cut yourself with it?”
Fiyero already had. Numerous times. He’d also been pierced through, numerous times, though he’d only felt the first few. “I won’t,” he promised her.
She sighed, and leaned back against one of the pillows. Fiyero, now with the trunk and sword in hand, attempted to gesture for her to leave. “Oh, Fiyero, a lot is riding on this, you know,” his mother cautioned, in a way Fiyero felt should be taken seriously.
He reached down and kissed her hand. “It will be fine,” he said, looking earnestly in her eyes. “I am going on a walkabout to see all of Oz, bringing merriment as I go, what’s more princely than that?”
“It could be dangerous,” she cautioned.
“Probably. I have a question for you,” Fiyero said, and continued without waiting for a reply, “What would you do if I met a girl and she wasn’t quite what you had in mind for me?”
“I’m sure a girl you love will be flawless just like you.”
Fiyero stiffened. “There’s no such thing as- love is unexplainable! It could be anyone! What if she was a fish? Mother? What if I fell in love with a fish?”
“A fish, Fiy Fiy?”
“Or someone, someone I thought was beautiful and no one else did?”
“Darling, you’re you,” Mother said with a gleaming white smile, “don’t say such things. I know when you find that girl you’ve been dreaming so romantically about that she’ll be absolutely perfect in every way.”
Fiyero was saved from strangling his stuttering brain into forming a reply by his father barging into the room demanding to know the hold up. At least Fiyero could prove, for once, it was not just his fault. His father didn’t stay mad. It took a whisper in his ear and suddenly the man, too, was sitting on Fiyero’s bed asking if it was true Fiyero would go back to college.
“How- yes, Shiz, next year,” Fiyero said, his bafflement growing every moment. His parents had not always been this obsessifying. “I know you said going to Shiz would be a punishment, it is because it’s not a party school. No. Father, for the last time I did not get anyone pregnant!” He reached forward and grabbed both of their arms.
“Fiyero!” His mother admonished.
“If I am to be a capable Lieutenant, much less Emperor, than I should be perfectly capable of getting the two of you to a train on time!” Fiyero demanded. He pushed, and shoved them out of his room, and after that they actually did step in line.
“Who are you and what have you done with my son?” Father joked and Fiyero’s eye twitched. It was getting old.
There used to be longer stretches of silence, that’s what Fiyero realized had changed. Merciful Oz, his status as a celebrity had affected his own parents.
“I think my grandfather did a sojourn of Oz in his youth,” Father was saying. He had a bright smile on his face, his hair brushed back and styled to a nice effect. Both of his parents had dressed up well for the occasion of seeing Fiyero off on his journey.
“That must be where he gets it from!” Mother said cheerily. “And, you know, the swordsman in him is all Arjiki blood.”
“There’s a reason I am the Emperor.” Fiyero’s father said smugly.
Lifting his head up from its resting place, Fiyero scoffed and reminded him playfully, “You’ve never even touched a sword, Father.”
With a cheeky wink, that reminded Fiyero of a mirror, his father reached over to Fiyero’s side of the carriage and touched the handle of the sword that was resting against his legs. “Look at that. Now I have.”
Fiyero couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine, fine, I get it all from ancient bloodlines and noble princes, but I’m doing this to show all of Oz that I’m just a person like them. Someone who walks the Yellow Brick Road.” Liar, Fiyero scolded himself. Maybe his parents would be less… this if he informed them of what he was trying to do. But how would he even say ‘the Wizard is a fraud’ and be believed?
“What if you get lost?” Fiyero’s father worried.
“I can’t- there’s only one road so far and two directions; and before you ask, yes there are technically four roads but they don’t intersect, and yes I remember what the word means from college.” Fiyero felt a bit like Elphaba in that moment. And in a stroke of epiphany, he thought he might be able to use knowledge of the future to actually be charming. It was something else to think about, at least, besides the reaction to look forward to when his parents realized he also carried a musket. He decided to change the subject. It was also his last day to ask a question that weighed on his mind. “I read something in a book in Emerald City.”
“You know dear, if you did get a girl in the family way-"
Fiyero pinched his nose and sighed. “Father, Mother, I was only curious, but I read that in older times when men in Arjiki tribe came of age they’d be granted a Hawk egg to care for.”
They both stared at him blankly.
“I just, honestly I can’t make heads or tails of it, obviously we don’t do it anymore,” Fiyero said. “We weren’t… stealing eggs?”
“Oh, sweet Oz, darling is that what you think?” Mother said with a chuckle. “My dear no, why, the Vinkus and bird tribes of Winkie Country were always close. No,” she snapped her fingers as she thought, “it was because the two chiefs were supposed to be inseparable from birth. We were always ahead of the curve. Probably before the rest of Oz too,” she added smugly.
Fiyero waited a moment. Then asked the inevitable follow up question, “And when did that end?”
“Fiyero!” His mother scolded, “Such an unpleasant thing to think about. Not now, surely.”
“Quite unpleasant.” Father agreed.
“Sometimes,” Fiyero said seriously, “unpleasant things are important to discuss. You told me to be serious, remember?”
Mother sighed, then met Father’s eyes. For a moment, they communicated wordlessly together in a way that often frustrated Fiyero growing up, and then they both sighed together. “Fiyero, it’s not something one likes to think about.”
Fiyero tried to quell the tension in his shoulders. “Mother, then how do you keep an eye on the problem?”
“My dear, Fiyero, well, the Hawks left when the trouble with Animals talking began,” Mother said sourly. “My own Quilby, too.”
“And how’s that progressing?”
Father slapped his knee. “Let’s talk about something pleasant.”
“If you can’t even talk about it how can you…” Fiyero began to say, but swallowed it down. His parents did not react to shouting. He sat up, leaning forward on the bench, willing his gestures to soften, and regarded them carefully. “I just have one thing to say.”
They looked apprehensive, but agreed.
“I think the three of us can agree that last year you couldn’t have trusted me with a rock,” he joked, giving them both a pleasant, nostalgic smile.
They relaxed. Good, Fiyero thought. He could still do this, the Dorothy incident aside, Fiyero was a master of the social game. “But you always treat your clothes so nicely,” Mother reminisced. “Even when roughhousing. My vain boy.”
“Well I did destroy that garish all yellow outfit you made me wear when I was a child,” Fiyero reminded her. His parents both laughed. “Now, though, I think I’ve proven myself capable of a little responsibility.”
Father nodded. “Queen Ozma herself saw something in you, my boy.”
“Exactly. So, Mother, Father, I was interested in… taking something out of your hands.”
“No crown until grandchildren,” Mother told him sternly.
Fiyero took a breath. “I would like to take the Animal problem out of your hands,” he said. Neither of them seemed quite certain at that, so he kept talking. “It turns out I work best when I just… plunge myself right into it. Why not tackle on a problem, especially this one? I can give it my full attention while you focus on matters easier to think about. It will prepare me for more responsibility, don’t you think?”
“Are you sure, dear?” Mother asked him, but looked at his father.
“It would be quite a relief to stop thinking about it.” Fiyero’s father muttered softly.
“You’ll let us know if it becomes too much? There’s no looking foolish in backing out.”
Fiyero smiled. “Of course. I appreciate you trusting me.”
“I’ll tell Minister Mombi to report to you now,” Father said with a smile. “We’re so proud of you, son.”
There were four green trains in Oz, each departing from a foremost city in their Country and arriving in Emerald City. While convenient for travel and supply delivery, their reach certainly did not par with the Yellow Brick Road (and, as Fiyero had realized while on the run, the Road was far more anonymous). The railway into Winkie Country was both the longest and the shortest.
To arrive in Babel City, the crown jewel of the Vinkun Empire and home of the famous multi-level terrace gardens, the trail had to circle around two mountain passes and through a lesser used pathway across the Dark Forest Valley. It did not venture far through the actual vast landscape of Winkie Country, only just into the start of the mountainous region. The rest of the land was often traversed through boats in rivers that snaked between mountain passes, treacherous winding roads along cliffsided, or deep dark passages into mazes of cavernous trail, all of which was quite a problem for a train indeed.
Defense had always been a strongpoint, among the Vinkus. Fiyero was grateful for that.
The Yellow Brick Road detoured a few times from the railway, but after an hour through the forest the paths did meet and continue perpendicular together. Fiyero watched the road fly by with a morose expression. He was curled up in a rounded window, in one of the supply cars. All around him were Animal passengers of the larger kind, the ground laced with straw. A few stalls, whose height was nearly laughably small, provided some privacy but little comfort.
There were six passengers besides himself. A trio of Voles, who kept to their stall and had hung up a sheet as well. Murmured whispers were often heard, but huddled to a stop if any of the others drew near. Fiyero was almost certain they were playing cards. There was a Cow to his left, who looked to be from the Quadling Region, a young Bear that was still quite large compared to Fiyero, and a Cat. Neither of those talked, either to each other or Fiyero. Through the window, the Yellow Brick Road weaved across the landscape. It was interrupted still in a few places, where the rushed work had yet to be finished, but it all would be done in time for Fiyero’s feet to christen the place.
A black snot brushed against Fiyero’s shoulder, and a smile whisked across his face. “I’m not moping, Feldspur.” Lifting a hand upward, Fiyero patted his friend’s forehead.
There was a tingle on his forehead. He looked out at the road. Then it itched .
Fiyero looked up. There was hay on his head. He flinched. Then scowled, and rubbing his hands over his head (destroying his hairstyle quite thoroughly) and scrubbed the offending parts away. “I told you to stop that,” he hissed angrily.
Feldspur whinnied, amused, and pushed Fiyero’s shoulder with his nose. “You are going to wrinkle that handsome face of yours all the ladies love so much,” his friend joked.
Rolling his eyes, Fiyero sighed and relaxed. He leaned against the rounded frame of the window. He sighed. “I hope you understand what you’ve agreed to, old friend,” Fiyero said as Feldspur pressed his nose into the palm of Fiyero’s open hand.
Feldspur snorted.
“Gross,” Fiyero said. He wiped his hands on his pants. He spent much more time with Feldspur lately; and quite frankly Fiyero was pretty certain even in the first time they’d had quite a positive friendship. Last time, though, Fiyero had been ignorant of certain indignities his friend was exposed to. The Horse had taken to being much more expressive, which often meant he was often a dick at the most annoying moments.
More gentle now, Feldspur rested his head on Fiyero’s shoulder. “I am right where I want to be,” his friend said simply. His eyes too seemed transfixed on the winding road outside the window.
Fiyero was grateful Feldspur spoke, though now he understood that even Animals who couldn’t still had understanding. He knew Toto had. That little dog had comprehended plenty, regardless of whether he spoke or not. He’d even barked a storm up at the Wizard and exposed him, and Fiyero was grateful. Toto had risked life and limb to save Dorothy, just as the Lion had, and Boq, which Fiyero was conflicted over.
Why had the water worked? His mind turned back to that question again and again.
It had smelled odd. It hadn’t been there before. Boq had spoken to the Wizard and Morrible in private. Fiyero had jumped to the Grimmerie for help…
It hadn’t worked. He wasn’t magic. So he’d run into the fire . He wasn’t going to let them march her along the road, display her body like a trophy, cheering at her corpse- he grabbed her, and held her, and he ran into the burning while Dorothy-
Like always, Fiyero caught his breath and flung the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t, he couldn’t think about it. Needed to push it down, push it away, until the next time there was a sword in his hand and Fiyero could swing at someone and imagine bashing in Boq’s stupid, tin, head.