Work Text:
Fiyero was definitely going to leave this pond. As soon as he caught his breath, as soon as he rested, he was going to fly away and never come back.
The left side of the pond had dissolved into utter chaos.
Sunlight flashed against rippling water, reeds bent and snapped back upright, and an escalating chorus of delighted, determined quacking and squawking followed by one increasingly harried blue duck as he cut through the shallows in a desperate zigzag.
“Fiyero!”
“Over here!”
“I found fresh breadcrumbs! And worms!”
Fiyero paddled with impressive athletic commitment for someone who had not planned on cardio that afternoon. He was just peaceful drifting, for Oz’s sake. He just got here! Granted he was, objectively, quite charming—the sole blue duck in that large old pond—but this had recently become a logistical issue. Every time he glanced over his shoulder, he was met with aggressive neck-bobbing, erratic neck movements and grunt-whistles, a flotilla of admirers gaining on him with unnerving coordination. Trust him to find the only pond with no other drake in the area.
“I appreciate the enthusiasm!” he called, swerving around a patch of lily pads. “Truly, I do! BUt I must—ah—respectfully—”
A duck nearly sideswiped him in an ambitious maneuver.
“—retreat!”
He shot through a narrow break in the reeds, heart thudding, wings tucked tight into his sides, and burst into the farthest corner of the pond.
It was like the world changed.
The water here lay smooth and undisturbed, shaded by the drooping branches of an old willow. Light filtered down in muted strands, turning the surface into dark glass. The air felt cooler. Quieter. Claimed.
And at its center floated a gorgeous black swan.
Elphaba moved with unhurried precision, her features ink-dark and seamless, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. Where the rest of the pond glittered, she seemed to hold the dusk within her wings. Her neck curved in a deliberate arc, elegant without effort, her red beak a sharp punctuation against the stillness.
She didn’t startle when he arrived.
She simply turned her head slightly.
Fiyero skidded to an undignified stop a few feet away, nearly crashing into a cat tail stalk, water lapping awkwardly against his sides as he caught his breath.
“...Hello,” he managed.
Her gaze drifted past him to the commotion still rumbling beyond the reeds.
“You are being hunted,” she observed.
“I… it’s more of an–er—aggressive admiration, I guess,” he replied, attempting composure while one feather stuck rebelliously out of place. He was all too aware of how shoddy he looked in front of her graceful beauty. “Which I respect. In theory. From a distance.”
The flock burst through the reeds behind him—but slowed.
Their restless quacking and babbling quieted down when they saw her. Something in the air had shifted: the water around her seemed deeper, somehow, darker. She did not flare her wings or raise her voice. She only watched them steadily, as though waiting for them to make a move.
The ducks hesitated. And then one of them huffed.
“Fine,” she muttered, “Avaric will be back soon anyway. He’s much more easy to bully.” And with collective reluctance, they drifted back toward the sunlit chaos they had just left behind.
Silence enveloped their corner of the pond once more.
Fiyero exhaled slowly, turning back to his unlikely rescuer.
“I cannot thank you enough for your…” he looked up at her, mesmerized. “Territorial aura.”
The black swan bobbed her head a little and huffed a breath. “This isn’t a sanctuary or anything. I don’t own it. But I like that it’s quiet here.”
He nodded with solemn sincerity. “It’s peaceful here. And you’re… beautiful.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her wings flapped. “You are damp.”
“I was fleeing my aggressors.”
“You don’t like being pursued?”
He tilted his head, considering that. “No. I think I prefer to do the pursuing.”
That earned him a sharper look. “How archaic.”
Before she could dismiss him entirely, he shifted, reaching carefully beneath his wing.
“Here,” he said. “I was saving this.”
From beneath his feathers, he produced something astonishingly substantial: a generous, slightly squashed but undeniably heroic chunk of bread. Not scattered crumbs. Not a hopefu little scrap. An entire prize.
Elphaba blinked.
“You have been carrying that.”
“For later,” he admitted, a touch sheepish now. “But given recent developments, I feel compelled to offer a tribute.”
“A tribute.”
He bobbed his head. “To the sovereign of this quadrant.”
He placed it on top of a lily pad, and nudged it towards her. The bread floated between them like a formal proposal.
She regarded it in silence. Then she regarded him.
He was still a little breathless. A little rumpled. A stray blue feather poked out from near his tail. He watched her with hopeful patience, as though this mattered far more than it logically should.
“You are attempting to bribe me,” she said.
“I prefer the term peace offering.”
“But we are not fighting.”
“Courtship ritual then.” He blurted out, before he could stop himself. Fiyero winced.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of the willow leaves overhead.
Then she leaned forward, and took a small, measured bite. The bread dipped in the lily pad, then steadied again, slow ripples in the water from the pressure.
Fiyero stayed very still.
After a moment, without meeting his eyes, she nudged half of it back toward him.
“I do not accept offerings without equitable distribution,” she said, teasing.
His expression shifted—first surprised, then awed, then soft.
“You want to… share?”
“I’m simply preventing waste.”
He drifted closer, careful not to disturb the fragile stillnes of the moment. Their wings brushed—perhaps accidental, perhaps not—just enough to register warmth beneath their feathers.
“You can stay,” she said at least, voice low and compose, “provided you do not attract further admirers.”
He straightened and spread his wings out with exaggerated seriousness.
“I shall endeavor to be profoundly uninteresting.”
“That seems unlikely,” she lilted.
He looked up at her with wonder in his eyes. “Then I shall just orbit quietly.”
She was silent after that. But she did not tell him to leave.
The pond held its breath around them as they floated in companionable silence–black silk feathers beside rumpled blue gloss, bread shared between them, the noise of the world kept at bay by the still waters and the simple fact of her presence.
Across the water, someone called his name again.
Fiyero ignored it.
Elphaba took another bite, offering the other end to him. Almost imperceptively, they had drifted closer, chest to chest, and she curved her head till it bobbed closer to his.
And Fiyero thought, perhaps he would stay in this pond after all.