Table: Perspective
Title: Perspective
Fandom: Wicked
Verse: Musical, except for the very beginning. Somewhat AU, though.
Characters/pairing: Dorothy-centered, but Gelphie
Rating: PG
Summary: The fact was, that Dorothy had seen two witches in love.
Notes: Third in my table of wicked prompts. Apologies for the sappy ending.
“She’s a woman who prefers the company of other women,” the Scarecrow said while they were on the road, and Dorothy didn’t think much about it, didn’t understand what on earth he meant.
That didn’t come until later, when she finally made it to Kiamo Ko, finally met the Witch herself. Then, Dorothy understood.
II
“You’re telling it wrong,” said a boy with sandy hair and a face full of freckles. He looked around at the listening children for support. “That can’t have happened.”
“Yes, it did!” Dorothy stood up, her hands on her hips, glaring at the boy. “How would you know? You weren’t there.”
“Neither were you, I believe,” retorted the boy. “There’s no such thing as flying houses and munchkins, and the bad witch certainly doesn’t fall in love with the good witch.”
“She wasn’t a bad witch,” Dorothy protested. “I told you; everyone thought she was bad, but she wasn’t. She was quite ordinary, really.”
“I don’t care,” the boy said stubbornly. “Two witches don’t fall in love, anyway. They’re both women. Where’s the prince?”
“There wasn’t one,” Dorothy said, close to tears. “I told you.”
“Dorothy Gale, I believe you’re making it all up. Come on,” he said, gesturing to the other children, and they drifted after him as he strode towards the playground.
Dorothy sat down on the ground, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them.
“It did happen,” she said obstinately. “It did.”
II
Dorothy had been swept away from her world and back again, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was inattentive in class; she drew pictures and couldn’t answer the questions thrown at her.
Prone to flights of fancy, said her teacher in a letter home to Aunty Em and Uncle Henry. A worrying fascination with magic.
II
“Dorothy, please,” Aunty Em said, almost desperately. “Why don’t you go out and play with your friends? You haven’t brought Annie over in a long time.”
“She doesn’t believe what I say,” Dorothy said. “I’m not talking to her.”
“Well then,” said Aunty Em. “How about Katie? Or Amelia? Are you speaking to them?”
“They don’t believe me either,” said Dorothy. “Nobody does. They think it’s just a game. I won’t talk to anyone who won’t believe me.”
Aunty Em cast her eyes heavenward. Dorothy slipped out of the house. She was always happier outside, anyway.
II
The fact was, that Dorothy had seen it. She had seen two witches in love with her own eyes, and no amount of teasing and ridicule, and probing questions from the school counselor was going to convince her otherwise.
She had been locked in a basement underneath the main floor, it was true, and she had been tired from the long journey, frightened by the anger of the Witch, and separated from her friends, who hadn’t turned out to be so friendly in the end. But it was also true that the basement had slotted grates at the top, and that Dorothy had eyes, and ears, and knew perfectly well what was going on above her.
It hadn’t been Dorothy’s idea to keep the shoes on anyway, it had been Glinda who had told her not to take them off - and goodness only knew why because the Witch sounded perfectly logical to Dorothy - who would want a stranger making off with their dead sister’s belongings? Still, she had been told by a respected public figure to keep the shoes on her feet, and so she did, though the Witch’s voice grew louder and angrier above her, her pacing more and more frenetic.
And then, at last, someone else had entered. Dorothy hadn’t been able to see her at first, but she’d heard the voice, and recognized it instantly. Glinda.
It hadn’t seemed so strange to Dorothy at first. Here was the Good Witch, come to demand Dorothy’s release from her counterpart, the Bad Witch. The two had squabbled, referencing things that Dorothy didn’t understand - what was the Grimmerie, and who was Fiyero? - but then they had fallen silent, and Dorothy, watching from underneath, had seen the look that Glinda gave to the Witch, full of love, and hurt, and defeat.
“They’re coming for you,” Glinda had said, and the silence that followed made it clear that both women knew they would never see one another again. The Witch had finally stopped pacing, her anger had died, and Dorothy watched as the two bid farewell to one another, and when she saw them hug, clinging to each other, small kisses sneaked in against contrasting skin, she knew what she was watching, what she was intruding upon, and she had to turn her eyes away.
But it was over too quickly, and there were voices outside, raised, frightening voices, and as Dorothy watched, the Witch made sure that Glinda was safe, stealing one last kiss before she went to meet her attackers.
As soon as she was out of sight, a shadow fell upon the grates, and Dorothy looked up to find men peering down at her. They raised the slotted trapdoor to help her climb out, and Dorothy winced as she saw the looks in their eyes.
“Are you alright, Miss?” one of them asked, and Dorothy barely had time to nod before she caught sight of the Witch, surrounded by villagers. The Tin Man was amongst them, the Lion was off cowering in the corner, his paws over his eyes. The Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen.
The Witch had her arms raised in defense, and she was chanting some sort of spell, but the villagers and the Tin Man were pressing in around her, torches flaring, and no one heard Dorothy’s scream of, ‘No!’ She ran forward, dodging between the men, and watched in horror as one of them set his torch to her black cape, setting the Witch on fire.
There was only one thing Dorothy could think of to do; she snatched up one of the pails of water that the villagers had, for some reason, brought with them, and she threw it at the Witch.
And then she had watched, hardly believing her eyes, as the Witch melted in front of her, with the men around her jeering, clapping Dorothy on the shoulder, offering congratulations when all Dorothy wanted to do was burst into tears, because she had killed the Witch she had wanted to save, who had been so in love with the respected Sorceress hiding in the shadows of the castle.
But that was a secret, and so Dorothy had said not a word, had kept her distance from the Lion, who traveled with them solely for fear of being alone, and the Tin Man, who only wanted to celebrate the Witch’s death. Dorothy had wondered how long it would take him to realise that, no matter how dead the Witch was, he was still tin. The Scarecrow had vanished completely.
So Dorothy had made the journey back the Emerald City without revealing to anyone what she knew.
And the Wizard had sent her home.
II
In years to come, Dorothy would remember the faces of the witches as clearly as she remembered her own. She would remember they words they had spoken and the looks they had given one another, and the way Dorothy had understood so completely what it was that she was witnessing, without any real explanation at all. When she found herself giving those same looks to the man who would later become her husband, she knew what she had was real.
After her initial experiences upon her return, she would not talk about Oz for many years. She had realised as she grew up that there were things too precious to ruin with explanations.
But there would come a time, one day, when she would mention Oz again, to someone special.
“But why didn’t the green witch do magic and save herself?” asked the small, pig-tailed girl as she climbed into bed, and her mother tucked her in, kissing her goodnight.
“Because then Glinda wouldn’t have been saved. And the Witch had to save her, even if it meant she wouldn’t escape the villagers.”
The child didn’t look convinced, and Dorothy smiled down at her, a little sadly.
“It was love. She did it for love.”