Chapter Text
The long-established power behind the Wizard’s regime always feels most palpable during council meetings.
Every word spoken, every glance exchanged, is laced with the unspoken understanding that the Wizard’s will and word reigns supreme over the land of Oz. And it is here, in these tense, carefully orchestrated gatherings around a mechanical head that few know isn’t the Wizard’s true form, is when Glinda considers how much of a pawn she has become.
(And when she looks at the nobility in the seats surrounding her, she wonders if they know they’re just as damned as she is).
“Rebel forces have shaken another settlement bordering on the north of Oz,” a stoic lady to Glinda’s right states matter-of-factly, marking the beginning of what will be a long meeting just after the end of the general morning debriefs.
The creaking rasp of the Wizard’s mechanical disguise rings out before he speaks, “How recent is this development, councillor Isolde?”.
“The last letter I received from my region reported a rebel leopard stealing from the coffers of a celebrated viscount just this morning.”
There are a few concerned murmurs around the room, and Glinda can’t help but note how all the inhabitants of the room seem to stew in overt concern. As if coffers in an estate in their present time aren’t just a way to flaunt a surplus of wealth - all citizens of Oz keep their meaningful assets and substantial funds in stable vaults within the Emerald City’s banks.
Councillor Isolde stands up from her seat, carrying on her words with one hand placed over her heart, “I strongly recommend that the safeguarding of the Vireton district is of the utmost priority. A senior Gale Force squadron would be most appreciated by the citizens.”
There are some murmurs of agreement in the council room. Though before any unanimous decision can be truly discussed, another council member clears their throat loudly to garner the room's attention.
“ Yes, General Orin?” the Wizard addresses with a steaming puff of air.
The Lord gets up with a squeak of his chair. He is short in stature, but with his well-groomed facial hair and pressed military uniform, his presence demands respect. “May I enquire about the casualties associated with these… Disturbances , that councillor Isolde reports?”.
“ I beg your pardon?” the aforementioned member of council scoffs.
General Orin stands tall, his sharp eyes fixed on councillor Isolde. His voice is cold, measured, as though every word were carefully calculated. “Casualties, Councillor. The people of Oz are a resource, one we cannot afford to squander over petty thefts and minor disruptions. Before we send an elite squadron to Vireton, I would appreciate a report on the damage done to Ozian lives.”
A tense silence falls over the room.
Glinda watches the exchange, her fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of her seat, as if trying to stave off the rising unease that she always feels within the company of the individuals around her.
Lady Isolde’s lips tighten, her eyes narrowing, “The reports do not indicate fatalities,” she responds stiffly. Her posture is rigid as she continues, “but the theft itself is enough of an affront to our delicate peace in the north. The rebels are emboldened… If we do not act now, we risk more than stolen coins.”
The mechanical head, ever looming, swivels to look between the councillors, its glowing eyes dimming for a moment before it responds in the hollow voice of the Wizard.
“General Orin raises a pertinent concern,” the Wizard’s mechanical voice chimes, though Glinda can almost hear the thin edge of disapproval in it, “Though I think it is vital to note that as we are in our first year of official conflict with the rebel forces of Oz, we cannot disregard the wellbeing of our citizens. If we need to send the Gale Force to Vireton in order to reassure the shaken of our support, then that is simply something we must see through.”
“ Your excellency- ” General Orin begins to argue, though that is quickly cut short by the sound of echoing thunder from outside. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who is the cause of such a natural display of discontent, and soon enough all eyes snap towards the one seat allowed by the Wizard’s mechanical presence.
“Do you dare challenge the Wizards' insight?” Madame Morrible accuses with one manicured finger pointed toward the general. Glinda feels herself shrink slightly even though she’s not the recipient of the sorceress' words.
General Orin shifts as his hand subconsciously tightens around the back of his chair, as if trying to steady himself against the sudden rush of heat in the room.
"I do not challenge the Wizard's insight," he says, his voice low but firm. "I challenge the wisdom of sending troops to stamp out a few rebellious thieves when there are larger threats on the horizon. Elderbrook in the west has been subjected to numerous attacks and cross-fire casualties.”
“This was mentioned in our meeting last fortnight,” Madame Morrible acknowledges, “We sent as much aid as we saw appropriate.”
General Orin’s eyes flash with frustration. He leans forward, his voice sharpening. "A few bags of supplies and a token Gale Force detachment to Elderbrook isn’t adequate ,” he declares with a sharp fist down onto the backing of his chair, “The town has been under siege for weeks now, and it is foolish to think of it as an isolated issue. If we do not act, Elderbrook could be lost—"
“General Orin, I implore you to remember this is a room of civil discussion,” a councillor in the far corner states. They’re a new addition to the council - fiercely loyal to the Wizards' cause right from the start - replacing the last Animal representative that was allowed within the room.
There’s a small murmur of agreement, and Glinda watches with bated breath as she observes the General forcing himself to take a few steadying breaths.
He looks up with determination before addressing the Wizard, “They may not be your preferred constituents, your excellency, but Elderbrook is still in need of aid and support. More so than Vireton.”
That statement is enough to send the room into disarray. A murmur erupts around the council table, growing louder with each passing second; for a moment, everyone forgets the carefully crafted façades they have maintained for years.
Glinda stifles a shuddering exhale. It’s obvious why there are flying accusations of disrespect and a disregard being flung across the room.
Elderbrook is an old miners town, whilst Vireton is home to numerous renowned wineries - the products of which Glinda is aware are delicacies appreciated by the majority of the council and high society. The former is replaceable to them, whilst the latter contributes sufficiently more to Oz’s economy.
Glinda glances around the room at the faces of her fellow councillors, some flushed with anger, others masked in carefully constructed indifference. But none of them seem to truly see the cracks forming in Oz. All they seem concerned with are their privileges, their positions, their opulence.
And here she is, a part of it all, her hands shackled in ways no one outside of these walls could even imagine. The situation and her thoughts bring a rolling wave of nausea over Glinda, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment with a small grimace.
“I could help.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she even has a chance to process them, but Glinda has stated them in such a sharp and sure tone that she’s got the attention of the room.
“Lady Arduenna?” The Wizard addresses Glinda with a slow drawl, “Do you imply that you have a better way to handle these affairs of Oz?”
Glinda’s heart races as she feels a bead of sweat slip down her temple. There’s no going back now. “I’m not suggesting anything drastic, your excellency,” she says, her voice a little steadier than she feels, “I want to offer my support. To travel out to Elderbrook.”
“And pray tell, what will you do there?” A council member in Glinda’s periphery prompts. Glinda takes a moment to cross her legs, looking around to the doubtful expressions directed at her.
“I am a sorceress at heart,” Glinda begins, “And thanks to Madame Morribles teachings, I feel more than ready to head into active fields in order to offer any restorative aid.”
There’s a mixed consensus in the murmurs across the council room.
Glinda knows that whilst most don’t look down at her for getting to her council role through what seemed to be family connections and privilege, unless they want to mark themselves a hypocrite, they do doubt the value of her presence from the favour she appears to have garnered so early on.
A supposed favour that had led to her accelerated graduation at Shiz.
A supposed favour that had led to her seat on council.
A supposed favour that had led to her permanent move into the royal palace’s southern wing.
A supposed favour that had allowed her to collaborate so closely with the highest ranking individuals in Oz.
(And, though irking at times, Glinda has no problem letting them believe that her ties with the Wizard and Madame Morrible are out of favouritism and not a need for a figurehead).
“You have been present in these meetings for only a handful of months,” Madame Morrible hums with a careful tone, “You have plenty of opportunities in the future for such acts of assistance.”
“Acting now could mean all the difference for the citizens of Elderbrook,” Glinda argues.
“Acting, my dear Lady Arduenna,” Morrible responds with a cold, calculated smile, “does not always mean rushing into the field with exuberance as you seem so inclined to do. There are… Delicate matters that require far more finesse than you might appreciate. A fundraiser ball for veterans of the royal guard is coming up in the next fortnight.”
Glinda holds her ground, keeping her composure despite the rising tension. She knows Morrible’s game. She’s seen the older woman do the exact same thing to…
No. Now is not the time to think of her.
“I am thankful for such an event, and have already confirmed my presence,” Glinda says with a forced, dimpled smile, “But in the meantime, I really do feel as if I can do more. Shouldn’t those in Elderbrook feel as protected as the veterans we are hosting a ball for? To be reminded of the Wizards' benevolence?”.
Morrible opens her mouth, but before she can speak, the Wizard’s mechanical voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
“That is enough reasoning, Lady Arduenna.” The Wizard’s voice, though disembodied and hollow, has a strange weight to it now. “You are quite right. The people of Elderbrook do deserve our protection, just as our veterans do.”
Upon hearing the Wizard’s approval, the rest of the councillors quickly follow suit, even if the room contains a barely contained element of surprise. Glinda’s heart skips a beat, but she keeps her composure.
“I approve your mission, Lady Arduenna,” the Wizard continues, his mechanical head swiveling slightly as his voice reverberates in the room. “As my emissary, you shall arrive at Elderbrook by tomorrow afternoon. See to it that the people there are reminded of the council's devotion to them. Combative reinforcements will not be sent apart from your own security escorts, but there will be boxes of medical supplies and food for the citizens of the region.” His tone, though neutral, carries an unmistakable undercurrent of finality.
There’s a crackle of pride that shoots through Glinda, though she takes care not to show it as the Wizards’ decree is quickly accepted and the meeting moves on; the room begins to stir with the quiet shuffle of papers and murmurs of council members preparing for their next discussions.
Some council members' gazes still flicker back to Glinda on occasion, and for a moment, she wonders if any of them understand what she’s truly trying to do. But no, she reminds herself. They don’t need to know. They wouldn’t want to know. They would not appreciate her quiet goals.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
Glinda begins her travels to Elderbrook in the early hours of the morning, and by the time she arrives at her destination, the sun is high in the sky and the climate is slightly more humid than what she has grown used to living in the Emerald City.
Glinda adjusts her silken cloak, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as the heat of the day presses down on her. The journey from the Emerald City has been long and tiresome, but there’s no time to rest. She feels the weight of her mission settling heavily on her shoulders.
The supplies, packed in large crates, are already being offloaded from the transport vehicle, and her eyes scan the surroundings. Elderbrook stretches out before her. The region itself sits on the edge of rolling meadows, where the wild grasses sway gently in the breeze, and the air carries the soft scent of blooming wildflowers. And further in the horizon, the woods rise like ancient guardians, their towering trees draped in a canopy of vibrant green.
By all means, it should be a wondrous place to visit, if not for how disconcertingly quiet the region is; there is no birdsong in the sky, no chatter along the streets, no civilians to be seen beside the small welcoming party of what appears to be Elderbrook’s aged mayor and her deputy.
"We thank the Wizard for sending his support," the mayor states humbly, her voice a practiced calm, but there is a subtle tightness in her throat that suggests the words don’t come easily. Glinda can’t help but recognise the flash of secret disappointment that appeared in her eyes once she counted the boxes of aid sent to the region.
(She can’t even blame her. What little was sent wasn’t even enough to properly fill one carriage).
Behind the mayor, the deputy stands awkwardly, glancing between the crates and the people who have gathered at a distance, eyeing Glinda with a mixture of uncertainty and distrust. The deputy, younger than the mayor but with the same air of quiet exhaustion, finally speaks up. “We have set up your temporary quarters in our town hall,” he says, his voice hesitant. "I’m sure many of our citizens will be thankful to see you once they have awoken.”
“ Awoken ?” one of Glinda’s security escorts questions with a small murmur after checking their watch to ensure it was the afternoon by now.
“Night raids,” the mayor states plainly, her voice somber as she turns to face Glinda. “The attacks usually happen when the sun goes down. The conflict is too loud for sleep to even be an option, even for those who aren’t fighting.”
The deputy nods in agreement, there’s a lingering tension in the air, an undercurrent of fear that isn’t easily shaken. Glinda glances around at the vacant streets. The silence here is oppressive, hanging thick in the air like a fog that refuses to lift.
“I’ll visit the people as soon as I can,” Glinda says, her voice softer now, tinged with a forced earnestness that surprises even her. “They deserve to know that the Wizard’s support isn’t just in words.”
There’s a gentle gratitude in the next words that are offered to her, but Glinda barely hears them.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
She visits elderly care homes.
She visits family homes.
She visits the town hall.
(And by the end of the day, highlighted by her visits ending at the region's hospital, Glinda can’t help but notice that whilst they are shaken, every civilian is unharmed.
The only individuals carrying any degree of injury from the reported conflicts appears to be the Gale Force squadrons and any of Elderbrooks active soldiers).
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows over the town of Elderbrook, the air seems to grow heavier. A crisp chill creeps in, replacing the daytime humidity, but it’s not just the weather that makes the region feel colder. It’s the tension, the constant underlying fear that has woven itself into the fabric of the town, tightening with each passing hour.
Glinda lays in a cushioned armchair within her quarters, looking toward the window a few paces away from her whenever she looks up from the council report she is failing to write. The last rays of sunlight fade behind the distant hills, and the town shifts. It’s almost imperceptible at first, nothing more than the soft rustling of the wind through the trees, the occasional distant murmur of movement.
But then, in the near silence of the evening, the first distant thud echoes through the air.
Glinda stiffens, her breath catching in her throat. At first, she wonders if it’s merely a trick of the wind, but the sound grows sharper, more deliberate.
A second thud follows. Then a third.
A muffled shout carries throughout the night, and it soon morphs into yells and outraged cries. The cries grow louder, more desperate, mixed with the unmistakable sound of the clashing of metal and gunfire. A dull thud echoes across the street, followed by a sharp gasp of pain. Glinda’s stomach tightens. Her first instinct is to rush down and help, to use her magic to protect, to heal, but her feet remain glued to the spot.
No. She breathes, fighting the urge. She can’t interfere unless it’s absolutely necessary.
The shouts are growing, swelling into a cacophony of terror and anger, the air alive with the tension of a struggle too violent to ignore. A low, guttural roar splits the air, followed by a scream that echoes into the distance—a sound of pure agony, drawn out and wrenching. Glinda’s heart thuds in her chest, her body instinctively recoiling, even though she’s still safe behind the thick glass.
The night carries on and Glinda finds herself slowly acclimating to the sounds of conflict - though not quite enough to fall asleep. Her mind remains restless, her thoughts spiraling with concern, mostly for the children who might be awake hours past their bedtime, too frightened to sleep, too young to understand the danger surrounding them.
But that concern turns to dread as a sudden, eerie silence falls over Elderbrook, so thick and complete that it feels as though the entire world has stopped turning. The usual rustling of the trees, the faint hum of distant crickets, and the soft murmur of the wind—all of it vanishes in an instant in a crackling and echoing burst of something .
Glinda tenses, a shiver running down her spine.
“ Witch! ” The shout is loud and clear, filled with venom and accusation as much as it’s filled with fear.
“ It’s her! ” another voice cries out, this one tinged with more overt panic.
Glinda’s heart races as she drops the parchment in her palms onto the floor in order to rush to the window in her quarters.
It couldn’t be… Could it? So close to the Emerald City instead of the furthermost borders of Oz like in her last reported sighting?
The night is split open by the blinding flare of light as a flare shoots into the sky, its fiery tail trailing behind it like a comet. For a moment, it illuminates everything around it—the street, the buildings, the twisted, desperate faces of the townspeople—but then it’s gone, leaving only a streak of smoke behind. It’s quickly followed by another flare, and another, lighting up the dark sky in flashes of red and orange, painting the night with an eerie glow.
The scene below is chaotic, the streets lit in bursts of fire. And even if she squints, she can’t tell if the retreating figures in the distance are soldiers chasing any identified night raiders or if they’re Animals trying to regroup with their rebel groups.
Not that it wouldn’t matter much if she could tell, because in the next moment a blinding openfire of bullets are shot into the sky by the masses. It takes a simple glance upwards to pinpoint who the target is.
A figure, hooded and cloaked in dark, flowing garments, emerges from dark clouds in the sky. The way they move is fluid, almost unnatural, and in their wake, a ripple of energy distorts the air around them.
Glinda’s breath catches in her throat as she watches, wide-eyed, as the figure raises their hand high, their fingers outstretched toward the mass of Gale Force troops positioned further down the street.
A sharp pulse of light erupts from their hand, a bolt of raw, crackling magic that splits the air with a sound like thunder. It slams into one of the soldiers with a sickening crack, sending them sprawling to the ground, their weapon clattering across the cobblestones. But the figure doesn’t stop.
Another flash, this time a wave of energy, cascades outward, rippling through the ranks of the Gale Force, who stagger backward in shock. The magic whips around them like a storm, causing the very earth beneath their feet to tremble.
The chaos swells, but the figure remains a shadow in the night, moving with purpose. The soldiers, shaken but fueled by adrenaline, scramble to their feet. Their rifles snap up, and a hail of gunfire erupts from the soldiers’ ranks. The blasts rip through the air in rapid succession, each shot an attempt to bring down the elusive attacker. But the magic-wielding figure moves with eerie grace, weaving through the bullets as though they are nothing more than gusts of wind, narrowly avoiding each strike.
The gunfire intensifies, the sharp cracks of the rifles echoing through the streets like thunder. But even as the soldiers unleash a barrage of bullets, the figure glides through the chaos, barely touched by the storm of lead. Their movements are swift and calculated, each step a dance through the flames and smoke that swirl in the night.
But even amidst the flashes of magic, all it takes is a single bullet to be true to its target for the barrage of offensive attacks to be worthwhile.
The shot is fast, cutting through the air with deadly precision. The figure is moving, but the bullet is faster, and for a heartbeat, it seems as though it will find its mark. The sound of the bullet slicing through the night grows louder, and then—
A sudden flicker.
The figure jerks, almost imperceptibly, as though the bullet had struck them, but then, with a sudden shift, they lurch forwards before flying to crash into the woods on the horizon.
There’s a stiffness to the Gale Force troops for a second before a resounding cheer erupts them, followed by the thud of boots as they begin clustering to form search parties - all seemingly unaware that any Animals that were near or temporarily captive had disappeared from their sights.
Only in this moment, is when Glinda is able to break out of her frozen, disbelieving state with only one resounding thought ringing in her mind - s he couldn’t let those soldiers get to Elphaba first.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
Getting past her personal security stationed outside her door was an easy task, given how they were absent from their stations, and soon enough the blonde sorceress was making her way through an unfamiliar forest in her pink night robe and her most sensible pair of shoes she had brought with her.
“ Elphie? ” Glinda whispered as she looked around her dimly lit surroundings. The only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant shouts of Gale Force officers to her far right.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved deeper into the woods, her steps tentative but determined. The moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting eerie shadows that seemed to stretch and bend with every step she took.
Glinda had no plan, no strategy - just an overwhelming sense that she needed to carry on searching.
“ Elphaba! ” This time, her voice was slightly louder, though still hushed, as though calling too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thread was holding the night together.
As she pushed through the dense undergrowth, Glinda’s thoughts spun in a haze of confusion and fear.
What was Elphaba doing here - in this forsaken region?
Glinda’s fingers brushed against the rough bark of a tree as she stumbled slightly, her mind reeling. There was no sign of Elphaba—no trace of the green-skinned sorceress who had haunted her thoughts for months. The air felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of unspoken things, and yet, the deeper she ventured, the more it seemed as if the forest itself was swallowing her whole.
“Please,” Glinda murmured into the nothingness of the night, her voice cracking with emotion she couldn’t quite hide. “...Where are you?”
She stumbled forward, her feet catching on roots hidden beneath the underbrush, and then—without warning—she broke through the thick line of trees into a clearing.
The sight that greeted her stopped her cold. The ground before her was scorched and uneven, littered with broken branches and scattered leaves. But it was the distinct, jagged marks in the earth that made her heart lurch—deep, furrowed gouges, as though something large and heavy had crashed into the ground. In the center of the clearing, there was a small crater, its edges still smoldering from the impact and crackling with an aftertaste of magic.
Glinda’s breath hitched as she slowly stepped forward, her eyes scanning the clearing. There was no mistaking it. Someone - her someone - had fallen here with a tremendous force. The magic in the air was palpable, like the aftermath of a storm, leaving an echo of power that hummed just beneath Glinda’s skin.
Then, in the distance, a faint sound. A groan. Glinda froze, her heart racing.
There.
Tucked between two thin trees, a figure was crumpled against the ground. The stillness was unnerving, too complete for anyone to be truly alive. Glinda’s heart clenched in her chest. She rushed forward without thinking, stumbling over roots and uneven ground, her night robe swishing behind her and being caught on thorns and nettles.
The closer she got, the clearer the form became. A flash of green skin, the curl of dark hair. It was her . It was Elphaba. But her body was limp, lying on the forest floor like a discarded doll, her limbs twisted at uncomfortable angles. A faint trail of blood marred the dirt beneath her, leading back to where she had fallen.
Glinda felt sick, and as she knelt on her knees to pull back Elphaba’s hood, she let out a pained exhale at the sight that greeted her.
Elphaba’s cheeks were shallower, and there was an ugly bruise splashed across her left cheekbone. The usually radiant green of her skin looked dull in the dim moonlight, and her lips were pale.
Glinda’s chest tightened painfully. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the cold, damp skin of Elphaba’s face, desperate to feel any warmth, any sign of life. Elphaba’s worryingly shallow breaths were Glinda’s only consolation so far, and as she worked to check over the other woman, she couldn’t help but allow a few curses to slip from her lips as she gnawed at her lip in worry.
Fortunately, there were no broken bones from what Glinda could tell, but the most pressing issue came from when Glinda’s pale hands made contact with Elphaba’s side - pulling them back to find them painted with a slick red.
“ Oh, Oz… ” Glinda whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned over the other woman, her hands trembling as she gently pressed down on the wound. "Please, stay with me."
But Elphaba didn’t respond, her breathing still shallow, her eyelids fluttering as if she were slipping in and out of consciousness. Glinda’s mind raced. She could try to use her magic, but she was without her wand on her person currently, a foolish mistake made in a panicked haste - the risk of a fatal error was much more likely.
She supposes she could run back to her lodgings to retrieve her wand, but time was of the essence and the risk of leaving Elphaba exposed here was even greater. The last thing she wanted was for Elphaba to be discovered by Gale Force soldiers, and when Glinda would return, seemingly ready to aid Oz’s biggest enemy with her wand and bandages, she could be accused of treason.
She can’t even imagine what excuse she could even fathom to give the Wizard, Madame Morrible, and the rest of the council.
She can’t even imagine how her parents would react.
She can’t even imagine what her friends back at Shiz would say.
With a shaky breath, Glinda steeled herself, forcing her resolve to solidify as she came to a decision. " Forgive me, Elphie, " she whispered, her voice soft and fragile, as she gently brushed a stray lock of green hair from the other woman's forehead. "I need you safe."
The unspoken ‘with me’ lingered in the air, left unuttered, even though Glinda knew her only audience was the still, unconscious witch before her.