Chapter Text
The shot cracks through the trees—too loud, too close.
“Hold—” Fiyero shouts, but it’s already done.
He sees it. Oz, he sees it.
Elphaba jerks midair, a sharp, broken sound tearing from her throat. The broom dips violently, lists to the side. For one terrifying heartbeat she’s weightless, barely holding on, her magic sputtering like a dying flame. Then she rights herself, sloppy, wrong and bolts west, vanishing through the canopy.
Fiyero’s blood goes cold.
“Who fired?!” he roars, wheeling Feldspur hard enough it nearly throws him.
Silence. Fear. A soldier’s pale face.
“I didn’t— I thought—”
“Scatter,” Fiyero snaps, voice like steel. “Fan out. North and east. Now.”
They don’t question it. They run exactly where he doesn’t want them.
The moment they’re gone, Fiyero turns and plunges into the forest.
"Faster Feldspur! Faster!"
"I know," the Horse huffs.
“Elphaba!” he calls, reckless, breaking every rule he’s sworn to uphold. “Elphaba!”
The trees swallow his voice. Leaves whip at his face as he pushes deeper, heart pounding so hard it hurts. He scans the ground, the branches, the sky— anything.
She wouldn’t go far like that. Not wounded.
"Elphaba!"
Nothing.
The forest answers with silence.
Fiyero hops off Feldspur, taking a few steps forward. “Please,” he breathes, no longer caring who hears. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Then—
A sudden thud behind him.
Something solid presses into his back.
Cold wood. Familiar weight.
He freezes.
Slowly, carefully, he lifts his hands.
“Elphaba,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.
Her breathing is ragged when she answers. “Don’t turn around.”
His chest aches at the strain in her voice. “You’re hurt.”
A bitter huff. “You always were observant.”
He turns anyway.
She’s standing on shaking legs, one hand white-knuckled around the broom handle, the other pressed hard to her side. Dark blood seeps between her fingers. Her face is ashen, but her eyes are still blazing, furious and alive.
Relief hits him so hard he almost cries.
“Let me help you,” he says, stepping closer.
“No.” She sways, then stubbornly steadies herself. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“I know.” His voice breaks. “I don’t care.”
For a moment they just stare at each other. The captain of the Gale Force and the witch he’s supposed to deliver in chains. The man engaged to another woman and the one he loves standing there bleeding in the woods.
“I didn’t give the order,” he says fiercely. “I swear it.”
“I know,” she replies, without hesitation.
That almost undoes him.
Another tremor runs through her, sharper this time. Her knees buckle.
Fiyero catches her before she hits the ground, arms wrapping around her like instinct.
“You’re not taking me in,” she murmurs weakly, forehead resting against his chest.
“No,” he says, holding her tighter. “I’m getting you out.”
From somewhere far off, a horn sounds.
The hunt continues.
"Fi," Feldspur stomps impatiently, "we're running out of time."
Fiyero moves his hands to her shoulders. "Can you stand?"
"Y-yeah."
"Good." He moves her upright and watches her use her broom as a cane. He turned to Feldspur. "Alright, old friend."
"No."
"We planned this."
Feldspur trotted a few feet away.
"We don't have time for this." Fiyero chased after him, grabbing his reins tightly.
Fingers working quickly, he peeled the royal insignia from the horse’s harness. Feldspur snorted, restless. “Go,” Fiyero murmured, voice low but urgent. “Run. As far as you can. Be free.”
"I can't."
"Feldspur, go!" He pushed the Horse.
Then, with a shudder of surrender, Feldspur bolted into the trees, disappearing into the shadows, the sound of hooves fading.
Fiyero turned back just in time to see Elphaba falter completely, her legs giving way beneath her. She collapsed to the ground, broom tumbling from her grasp. Panic slammed into him.
“Elphaba!” he rushed forward, catching her in his arms before she could hit the earth. Her body was limp, her breaths shallow, and the blood on her side was spreading.
“We have to move,” he said urgently, scanning the forest around them.
She tried to pull away, a flicker of stubborn defiance in her gaze, but it was fading fast. Fiyero pressed her gently to him, keeping her upright, feeling the tremor in her body. “I won’t let them take you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But we can’t stay here. Can you trust me? Just a little longer?”
Her lips quivered, and she gave a barely perceptible nod. That was enough.
He lifted her carefully, slinging her arm over his shoulders.
Elphaba lifted a hand weakly and the broom snapped into it. "I... I have... a place."
"Where? Just tell me where to go."
Her directions were disjointed, stuttered fragments: left… under… shadows… climb…
Fiyero followed, weaving through the forest, listening to the weak, uneven commands that somehow made sense in her chaotic rhythm. Each step was careful, each glance toward her a mixture of concern and frustration.
Finally, as the trees opened into a small clearing, he saw it. Not a traditional structure, but a clever nesting of branches, camouflaged with leaves and moss. It was spacious, surprisingly so, though lacking real walls. Light filtered in from the gaps, dappled and green.
Gently, he guided her inside, letting her legs slide to the ground. She sagged, nearly unconscious, and he had to catch her. He laid her down on the makeshift bed tucked in the corner, a nest of branches and blankets.
“Hold still,” he murmured, brushing her dark hair from her forehead. His hands hovered over her side for a moment, almost afraid to touch her. Then he forced himself to look, to see the wound clearly.
The fabric of her cloak was sticky with blood. His stomach clenched. Every instinct screamed at him to act, to stop the bleeding, to get her somewhere safer, somewhere better.
“I need to see how bad this is,” he said gently, trying to ignore the tight knot in his chest. “I need to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Only the faintest shake of her head.
When he finally pushed her top up, his breath left him in a sharp, broken exhale. The damage was worse than he’d feared.
Blood welled immediately, dark and fast, soaking into the fabric beneath her. He pressed his hand to her side without thinking, hard enough to make her flinch and still it wasn’t enough. Warmth pushed through between his fingers, slick and relentless.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, panic threading through his voice despite his effort to stay calm. “Stay with me. Please.”
He pulled his hand away just long enough to wrench off his Gale Force jacket, the royal insignia flashing for a split second before he folded the heavy fabric tight and pressed it firmly against her wound, leaning his weight into it.
She cried out softly— a broken, pained sound that barely made it past her lips. Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded, unfocused.
“I know,” he said quickly as he leaned closer. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands were shaking now, but he forced them steady, keeping the pressure firm. “Just breathe. Look at me. Elphaba, look at me.”
Her gaze drifted toward him, barely finding his face. Blood smeared his hands, his sleeves, staining the green of her skin where he touched her. The sight made his chest ache.
“You’re bleeding alot,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “But I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. I swear.”
She shifted weakly beneath his hands, another small sound escaping her, her fingers curling faintly in the fabric near his wrist as if anchoring herself there.