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The Emerald City, Lurlinemas of The Sixth Year
The Emerald City sparkled beneath the falling snow, the streets buried in twinkling lights and gilded decorations. The sounds of revelry echoed through the air, and the people strolled with bright red faces from shop to shop.
Fiyero leaned against the doorway of a nearby tavern, scanning the crowd. His clothing was elegant, as always, and his posture relaxed as he watched the people pass by. Taking in their bright faces, their laughter, their fleeting happiness.
The nations of Vinkus didn’t recognize Lurline or her holiday. However, he had – in his ‘brainless’ years – always admired the Ozians for their revelry during the season. It seemed so wonderful, to be able to put aside all cares and celebrate the turning of the year.
But now, the shops, the lights, the singing - it all felt so hollow. An empty celebration of an empty peace. Outside the city’s walls, Animals were still being rounded up and paraded around in cages. Forced to not speak.
He did everything he could to help, but the Wizard’s spies were everywhere. As careful as he was, it was only a matter of time before he slipped.
Snow began to fall overhead. He knew he must return soon to the Wizard’s palace – to his fiancée – who would be giving her Lurlinemas speech soon. But his thoughts had turned too dark and brooding to face so much false cheer.
One more year, he had promised himself last Lurlinemas. One more year and then you can leave. That was, of course, before the Witch had come crashing, bleeding, into Glinda’s rooms and flew off again. Leaving him behind.
He sighed, kicking at a snowbank, and examined the crowd more closely.
There was the baker’s boy from the best shop in town, running ragged with holiday deliveries. He should remember to slip him an extra coin the next time Glinda had a craving for cakes.
A gaggle of Munchkinlanders gawked at the sights, seemingly unaware they were in a less than ideal part of town.
A veiled nun walked by, trying to distribute coats to the ladies who stood in the shadows of the nearby homes of sale, wearing far too little for the season.
The coats seemed to undermine the purpose of their dress, but some accepted them anyways (after a quick glance to see if their Keepers were looking). Fiyero made a mental note to give his contacts there additional coin as well. It was too cold to be going without a coat, even in a brothel.
One of the women caught his eye. He didn’t recognize her, though she seemed to belong to one of the houses his network worked with. She was dressed in the usual poor excuse for clothing, but she seemed far too fine and regal for the garb —flawless dark skin, gorgeous high cheekbones, dark, clever eyes. This was not the sort of woman you typically found in such a place.
And the usual patrons of the establishment had clearly noticed her, too. Several men—and one woman—approached, tried to flirt with her, to put their hands on her, to buy her time. But she fended them off with a smile, almost effortlessly.
He frowned. Something was strange here.
Fiyero moved closer, carefully stepping through the crowds as they jostled around.
“May I see your working license, ma’am?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around to face him. There was a flash of something in her eyes—recognition. Fear. He must have really startled her.
But her expression quickly smoothed over into an easy, flirtatious smile. “Is that an excuse for free services, Captain, or does the Wizard truly have his Gale Force Commander questioning the credentials of whores.”
“Well, you know how it is,” he shrugged, leaning casually against the building. He wasn’t surprised she recognized him - most did. “I’m on special assignment to capture a Wicked Witch. And as that Witch has not been seen in several months, I’m a little light on work right now.”
He flashed a charming grin at her and was delighted by the dark blush that appeared on her cheeks.
In the absurd, tangled mess of his current love life, it was sometimes nice to fall back into his old patterns. Not that he ever took things further, of course. Even if he wasn’t engaged to the most recognizable person in Oz, he was quickly realizing that every kiss since hers felt hollow and hopeless to him.
Oz, he needed to lighten up a little.
“You dodge my question, Prince Tigelaar,” the woman smirked, clearly wanting to throw him off with her use of his royal title. “I have done nothing illegal if it’s the latter, and I believe you are engaged to a very beautiful woman if it’s the former.” She paused, arching an eyebrow. “Though that’s often not a disqualification for service in the trade.”
“Call it a census,” he winked. “I know most of the working girls in the city – strictly for professional purposes, mind you, whatever the papers might say – but you’re new here. I do have a very well-regarded spy network to maintain.”
He was probably saying too much (though he’d concede that his network was hardly a secret), but there was something about the way her eyes sparkled – the way she seemed out of place in this garish, horrible city. It told his instincts he could trust her.
And her answer did not disappoint: “Female. Twenty-seven years. Occupation: Whore. Employer: A house I owe too much money to.” She smiled innocently. “Anything else, Captain?”
“A name would be nice.”
She paused for a long moment, chewing her lip, her eyes darting away to look at the crowds. “That is information with a steep price.”
He grinned. “I can afford it.”
But her dark eyes were more serious when they glanced back at him. “No. I don’t think you can. A nickname, perhaps, but true names are dangerous things." Her gaze slid up the street again. "Besides, you should probably be leaving.”
Fiyero’s heart skipped a beat. There was something very wrong here. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like something was halting his thoughts, preventing his brain from reaching an obvious answer. It was like-
“What kind of danger?” he asked, stepping closer to make sure they weren’t overheard.
She stared at him, eyes darting around his face and a frown pulling at her lips. “The kind that handsome princes should run very far from, my dear.”
My dear.
She had slipped. Maybe on purpose. He knew now why he couldn’t seem to think clearly. Why a force seemed to press the obvious conclusion out of his mind before he could conjure it.
He placed a gentle hand on her arm, stepping even closer until they were truly nose-to-nose. It was sure to be a scandal if there were any photographers around.
“I shall leave,” he said quietly, lips brushing against hers. “Immediately. And call my entire guard to wherever remote part of the city they should be sent. If you’ll only tell me your name. I'll even have the nickname, if that pleases you more.”
She breathed for a moment. Then kissed him.
His back hit the enclave of the house, as she shielded him from the view of any passersby. Her soft lips were like heaven. His hands were at her waist, her hips, in a second. She deepened the kiss, tongue licking at him, pulling him even closer with sure hands until every thought had fled from his mind.
Somehow, he didn’t think that was part of her illusion spell.
She broke away was a gasp, staring at him with her dark wild eyes and stung lips. In the cold dim of the doorway, from the reflection of the buildings, he could almost see her natural coloring again.
“Leave the City,” she whispered into the space between them. She was staring at his lips. “There’s a minor raid – a distraction at the South Gate. During Glinda’s speech. Lead your men there.”
“Of course.” He kissed her again. “But I still need a name, dearest.” He kissed her again.
One last hard kiss. “Fae,” she muttered against his lips.
And then she was gone.
Fiyero tilted his head back against the wall, panting, face flushed and puffing hot air into the cold day. He could still feel the ghost of her fingers on his chest. Her lips on his.
Then he hurried to follow Elphaba’s instructions.
The Emerald City
The night of the festival arrived with all the fanfare and noise the Wizard’s regime could muster—banners flapping in the wind, firecrackers exploding overhead, and the people cheering in forced unity. It was a celebration for the sake of celebration, an empty ritual designed to distract the populace from the growing unrest beneath their feet.
Elphaba had no interest in fireworks or songs. She had a much more urgent purpose.
The City’s towering structures, their glass facades dimmed by snow, loomed over her, jagged and imposing. The flakes fell heavier now, and she cursed her luck. It would have been easier to move through the streets without it, and time was slipping away.
At least it allowed her to wear a coat over her brothel clothing, which was far too cold for the weather. But she had to at least appreciate the cleverness of the disguise. If she had been invisible, she couldn’t have been more hidden than she was now. A specter might be noticed. A working girl in the grimy underbelly of the City was part of the architecture.
Except she had been spotted. Despite her disguise and all the magic she threw at him the moment he interrupted her watch on the street, he had recognized her. She allowed him to recognize her. Why had she done that? As she slipped through the streets, she tried to convince herself that it was fine. Fine. He wouldn’t betray her. He had already saved her life once, months before.
As she wove through the main square, she caught a glimpse of the official festivities as she passed by the stage. And found herself coming to a halt.
Who was Glinda’s stylist these days? Was there a licensing board for that kind of thing? There probably should be. She looked like a great blueberry.
But Elphaba wasn’t stopping to critique the fashion of Oz’s princess. No, what caught her attention was the Captain of the Guard – now in his full, proper regalia - crossing the stage and leaning in to whisper something in Glinda’s ear. She watched as Glinda nodded sweetly, patting his cheek in a way that suggested she didn’t care at all about what he’d said. But Elphaba saw Glinda’s eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something.
Elphaba did not wait to be found.
The City’s prison, with its thick walls and guarded gates, held the Wizard’s enemies—those who dared speak against his rule, who whispered of rebellion, of freedom. Most were silenced, of course, before they ever saw the inside of a cell. That was how Morrible liked to operate. But Elphaba knew there were a few that they had deemed too valuable to execute.
Not Fredrik, though. That report came long after the night he was supposed to return. A great silver Owl, struck down on a pointless fool’s errand for the Witch. A waste of his very long life.
It burned at her, even now.
But there were others—Animals and humans alike—who might still be saved. Besides, Elphaba thought, glancing up at the Wizard’s palace where the Monkeys still resided, I needed a test run.
She had spent months preparing for this. The right place, the right team, and now—thanks to the distraction of the festival—she had the right time.
As Elphaba neared the prison, she paused in an alley across the street from the entrance gate, her senses sharpening. The sweet scent of spiced cakes and wine filled the air, and even here, far from the stage, she could hear Glinda’s amplified speech beginning.
Then, the sound she’d been waiting for: a deep, low boom from the South. The staged raid had begun.
Footsteps hurried past her, and she pulled herself deeper into the alley, clutching her cloak tight. The guards at the prison gate started, scrambling to figure out what was happening.
Then the Captain of the Guard himself rushed past, dozens of men in tow. They moved quickly, and he shouted orders for the prison guards to join them and fight back the assault. The guards didn’t hesitate, rushing to follow.
Elphaba smiled to herself in the shadows.
She approached the prison gate, knocked, and waited. It opened for her. Her large bag of coin landed in the man’s hand, but he pushed it back, shaking his head. “Long live the Witch.”
“Long live the Witch,” she muttered back, remembering her role.
And then she slipped inside.
The Emerald City
Glinda stood on the stage, watching as the last of the people scattered into the streets, fleeing to safety. Her voice had been steady, reassuring. She urged them to return to their homes, to not worry, to stay calm. And they did. Mostly. The chaos outside had yet to turn into a riot.
Fiyero, of course, had been the first to rush off when the sound of the explosion had echoed through the City. Morrible had followed close behind him, eager to keep a watchful eye on the fray.
But Glinda remained, trying her best to project calm as she stared at the emptying square. Doors slammed and windows shut. People were yelling still in the distance.
Her personal guard gently pulled at her elbow, “Lady Glinda, we must get you to safety—"
"Yes, of course," Glinda replied distractedly, glancing back at the empty square. “I’m sure this is just a minor skirmish. My fiancé has been getting reports for weeks."
He indeed had, through his various networks. But neither of them expected Elphie to be at the center of it.
She glanced up at the sky, half-wishing to see the silhouette flying past.
The Emerald City Prison
Elphaba’s heart pounded in her chest as she moved through the dark corridors of the prison. She let her disguise drop, and the prisoners looked up at her in a mix of disbelief and hope.
“I’m getting you out,” she said softly, her voice low but firm. The locks snapped open.
Without hesitating, they poured out of the unlocked cells and followed her through the corridors, as silently and quickly as their feet – or hooves – could carry them.
They met few guards, and the ones who still stood slumped into a dreamless sleep as Elphaba pressed her fingers to the poppy in her coat pocket. It was all going perfectly according to plan. No hiccups.
Too easy.
Elphaba urged the prisoners on. The drivers met them as they reached the lowest levels of the prison, having crept in while she worked. They would press on through the sewer access, and load prisoners into the many food wagons that passed through the City.
Too easy.
She muttered some instructions to the drivers. A change of plan – just in case.
Elphaba turned and dashed back through winding dark hallways until she was in sight of the great entrance again. The guards here already slept, dropped by her earlier arrival. Her role now was to distract anybody who stood outside that propped-open door, making them follow the bigger prize instead of chasing down some flea-bitten rebels through the sewers.
She was in the main hallway now, and turned to make sure no additional guards had entered through the back of the hall.
“Very clever, child,” came a voice behind her. In the direction of the exit. Elphaba’s blood ran cold.
She turned slowly, half expecting to see Blinkye behind her.
But it was, of course, just Morrible. Standing between her and the exit out of the prison. The woman actually looked as impressed as her words suggested.
“I thought it was,” Elphaba said, lightly. In a flash, she summoned her broom back into her hand.
Morrible stepped closer, her eyes gleaming. “I must admit, you’ve tricked the Captain of the Guard. He’s been expecting this ambush for weeks. An excellent ploy.”
Elphaba’s eyebrow arched. “Well, he is an idiot. You really ought to vet these political hires, Morrible.”
“The Wizard insisted,” Morrible replied. She stepped closer, a knowing smirk curling at her lips. Elphaba raised her broom. “He’s a great believer in young love, you know.”
“Yes. I believe my congratulations are in order for the happy couple,” Elphaba snapped. She poured an anger and viciousness into the words that she didn’t feel, making herself sound like a petulant jealous child.
Morrible took another step. “I offered to invite their dear old friend to the engagement party, you know. No guards. No drama. Just a nice little sit-down.” She smirked. “Lady Glinda said she’d rather have your head displayed on a plate at the meal, to complement the color scheme.”
Very funny, Glinda.
“I was busy anyways,” Elphaba spat, holding her broom higher. She took a step to the side, circling Morrible in the hallway.
Morrible obligingly allowed her, walking until Elphaba’s back now faced the open entrance. So close to freedom. But she could not turn her back on Morrible.
“You’re a little outmatched in this fight, Morrible,” she said, hoping to throw her off, force her to react so that Elphaba could use the distraction to bolt. “What will the Wizard say when he finds out his trusted advisor is dead?”
She said it with confidence, but she knew that even her great power likely couldn’t defeat Morrible without a great exhaustion of her abilities. She had faced Blinkye in a desolate woods, and hadn’t even had the strength to fly after. Here, half the Gale Force stood ready to kill her. If she couldn’t fly…
“Oh, I don’t wish to fight you, Miss Elphaba,” Morrible smiled, interrupting her planning. “Why would I destroy someone who furthers all my plans, beyond what I ever dreamed? Why, I would almost think you were on my payroll.”
Elphaba glared at her. She gripped her broom, ready to leap.
“Besides,” Morrible continued with a shrug. “I’ve found many new ways to cope with my disappointment. I do enjoy taking out my frustrations on your Monkeys. They make such excellent pets. Would you believe? Just the other day one of them snatched an Owl from the sky. Tore it to shreds as it flew. Made an awful racket with those dreadful hoots.”
She’s baiting you. Elphaba forced herself to stay calm, though she could feel herself starting to fray. For Oz’s sake. Just fly!
“You’re a terrible liar, Morrible,” she muttered, straddling her broom.
“I don’t know, my dear. It’s hard to say when the Monkeys might find a little bubble they want to pop. Or take a liking to that very handsome Guard’s suit.”
Elphaba did not react. “Why would I care? My head’s supposed to be served at their table. The Monkeys would be doing me a favor.”
“I’ll tell them you said so,” Morrible replied. “They’ll be delighted. Now, run along now!” She nodded at the door. “I do believe more guards will be arriving soon, and I cannot endure any more tedious small talk.”
Elphaba snarled out her last burst of anger, letting it hit Morrible with full force as her broom raced her backwards through the hall and into the clear sky. She cleared the City wall in seconds.
Morrible had tried to block the spell, but still found herself knocked flat by its force. A true Wicked Witch was nothing to trifle with.
“Safe travels, Elphaba,” she muttered, smiling. “We’ll see you again when you return.”
The Emerald City
News of Elphaba’s death reached Glinda and Fiyero when arrived at the Wizard’s chambers that night, obeying his order to attend an impromptu soiree.
The Witch, destroyed by her own magical outburst of rage, had perished in the prison after witnessing the Wizard’s cruelty toward the Animals. There was even evidence—a beautiful, dark-skinned girl found dead in the hall. The Witch had perished in her disguise, suffering the final humiliation of dying in the form she had once hoped to live in.
Morrible told the tale with relish, her voice laced with vindictive satisfaction. The Wizard, on the other hand, did look a little put-out. Like a child whose favorite toy was now broken.
Glinda, for her part, cheered and laughed, pouring them all drinks and toasting to the Wizard’s health and good fortune. She proposed a day of celebration. “We must move the wedding up,” she declared, her tone bright, almost gleeful. “The threat is gone. Now, the death of evil can be celebrated with the birth of a new love!”
Morrible nodded enthusiastically. “A national day of celebration sounds just perfect, my dear.”
But then, with a sly smile, she added, “We should wait to announce the Witch’s death at the proper time, of course. Once we confirm the body was hers.”
Glinda knew what she wanted to hear. She forced herself to grin. “Why don’t we make it part of our wedding vows?”
Morrible’s smile grew wider, her pride evident. The Wizard almost burst into tears at how wonderfully poetic it all sounded.
Fiyero stood in the corner, staring at them in open, gawking horror. He opened his mouth to speak, but Glinda was quick to kiss him and drag him away before he could say a word.
The Wizard laughed, tossing a lightly crude joke after them, and Glinda forced a light laugh in return. But she could feel Morrible’s eyes on her, cold and calculating, as they retreated.
The Emerald City
“It's not true!” Fiyero shouted the second they crossed the threshold into Glinda’s rooms.
“Dearest,” Glinda said. “Please-“
But he wasn’t listening. His palms slammed against the windowsill as he stared out at the city below. His eyes burned with an intense fury and pain that she had never seen on him before.
Suddenly, he tore the Gale Force medal from his chest and hurled it at the mirror above Glinda’s mantle. Unlike Glinda’s crown, the medal immediately shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces. Fiyero stared at the jagged shards on the floor.
“Fiyero.” A gentle touch to his elbow.
“How can you stand there,” he seethed, wheeling around to face her. His eyes were wild. “She may be dead. Or captured. Or Oz only knows what, and you just stood there. Giggling with them.”
He stormed away from her, tugging at his hair, anguish on every inch of his face.
“Fi-“
“No!” he shouted, throwing out a hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Glinda. You just heard that the love of your fucking life was dead. And you pretended like you were happy about it. Pretended like I was—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply as if the words were physically painful.
“You think I want to say those things? You think I want to even think that Morrible’s lies are true?” Glinda now felt the rage boiling inside of her. “I have no choice! You know that!”
“No choice?” Fiyero’s anger flared again, his whole body now trembling with the intensity of his emotions. “Is that what you think? You do have a choice, Glinda. You always had a choice. Elphaba gave you that choice, and you threw it away!”
It was an old wound, and the best barb he had against her. Like a stab to her stomach.
“She’s not fucking dead, Fiyero,” the swear fell from her lips like she spat the words away. “Morrible is a liar. Elphaba Thropp lives, and you fucking know that.”
“So what?” His eyes burned into hers. “So what if she’s lying? You think I’m going to walk with you down an aisle and pretend that everything is finenow? That we’re all living in some fairytale? Do you really believe I can say in our vows that the woman we both love is dead and we’re happy about it?”
Glinda’s throat tightened at his confession. “Fiyero…”
“No,” he cut her off, shaking his head. “I can’t. If you make me do this, then I won’t stay in this City. I won’t stay in this life.” His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. “I’ll leave, Glinda. I’ll leave you all. And I won’t look back. Like she did.”
Glinda took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her hand fell on his arm again, and was thankful he did not brush it away. “You will marry me, dearest.”
He looked at her darkly. “And why is that?”
She met his glare with a calmness she did not feel. “Because Elphie is not dead. And as long as she lives, I know you will not allow her to fall.” She tightened her grip on his arm, needing him to understand. “If you do not marry me, you lose your position. Your connections. Everything you’ve done to protect her will fail.” She took a deep breath. “Everything I’ve done will fail.”
Fiyero looked away. He stared at the shards of shattered mirror on the ground for a long minute.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “We will see, darling. In the end. There are other ways to fight and other ways to fall.”
“And you’ve chosen this one,” she said softly.
"No." He met her gaze. “I know what choice I would have made on the tower that night, Glinda. And it was not yours.”
Glinda stumbled back as if physically struck.
There it was at last. In the open. The thing that had been unsaid between them for so long.
Tears fell from her eyes as she felt the twist of that wicked barb again. Every part of her seemed to be shaking in anguish. In grief. In rage. Her forced calmness was unable to withstand the emotions that suddenly rose within her.
"Glinda-" Fiyero did not look like he regretted what he said, but her tears obviously pained him.
She blinked hard. "I-I'm-"
With a quiet sigh, Fiyero lifted a hand to tilt her chin up gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. She flinched, but allowed him to do it. Her murmured at her softly, pulling her into his arms and resting his cheek on her head. None of his words were apologies.
She accepted the comfort anyways.
“So how does one announce the death of their wife’s lover in their wedding vows, anyways?” he muttered into her hair.
Glinda pulled away from him, not wanting to meet his gaze. She went to her side cabinet and pulled out a bottle of high-proof Gillikan liquor.
Popping the stopper out, she took a long, steadying drink straight from the bottle, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat, making her cough. She offered it to Fiyero.
He drank, his hands still shaking. Then he paused, and, without a word, took an even longer drink.
She poured even more into the large whiskey glasses on the serving tray and handed him one. They sat, facing each other.
Glinda raised her glass. “To Elphie.”
Fiyero’s lips tightened as he clinked his glass against hers. “To Fae.”
“May we all meet again soon,” she added the familiar refrain of the New Year.
He poured another drink for them both and looked at her over the rim of his glass. There were no emotions left on his face. “I suppose we have a wedding to prepare for.”
She down her third drink in one burning swallow. “Yes, dearest.”
Munchkinland, Dawn of the Seventh Year
A pair of boots landed softly in the snow, the distinct crunch of leather soles against the soft ground barely audible over the whisper of the wind. The broomstick vanished into the night with a small pop.
The Witch stood tall, brushing the last remnants of snow from her cloak, her eyes sweeping over the familiar scene. The manor loomed before her, dark and imposing, its stone walls covered in thick vines that seemed to choke the life from it, as if it, too, was blaming her for abandoning it. The gates creaked in the wind, stubbornly clinging to their rusted hinges.
Elphaba Thropp was home.