Challenge #5: The Gift, by daredelvil, PG
Title: The Gift
Rating: PG at most - mild Gelphie slash
Subject: Musical, with a few scattered book references
Author: DareDelvil
Word Count: ~3.5k
Challenge Words Used: All seven - dancing, dragonfly, hat, mug, paint, present, rain
Summary: Post-musical. Galinda thinks, Glinda remembers, and something wicked this way comes.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of L.Frank Baum and Gregory Maguire. This is their sandbox - I just play in it. XD
Author's Note: (pops head in, looks around nervously) ...Hi. ^^;; I'm Dare, and I've been lurking since I joined nearly two weeks ago. I discovered Wicked quite by accident - it was a clip of Defying Gravity on the Tony Awards, the night (I found out later) Idina won Best Actress, that first got me hooked, though I'd heard of it previously and never done much investigation. I've seen the musical already through questionable sources (all hail YouTube!) and I'm hoping to go see it live in London if I can. To my credit I did buy the book rather than borrowing it. XD I'm a fan of both 'verses, and though I admit the musical appeals more to my love of happier endings I do appreciate the darker tone of the book as well.
I was surprised by the level of support for the Elphaba/Glinda pairing in the fandom, having become accustomed to being the only one who seems to spot these things, and I'm delighted to have found this community (with relative ease, I might add). Being an avid writer, I took one look at the challenge and decided to take part. It's taken me a while to put it together, not least due to moving between my flat and my parents' house twice during its creation, but it's finally complete.
So, without further ado, here's my first Wicked fic: The Gift. Hope you enjoy. ^w^
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The Gift
Shiz University had a lake. Admittedly it wasn't a very large lake, but the grass beside it was a favourite spot among students and faculty members alike. It was a fair prospect on a clear summer's day, its surface gleaming with hundreds of tiny suns, and today there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Little knots of girls chattered and giggled, watching the boys play a makeshift game of cricket on the neighbouring lawn; two professors sat together in the shade of the old oak tree and discussed anything but work; the cooks had emerged from the kitchen to sun themselves and gossip. Even one of the institution's most notorious recluses had been coaxed out of her hiding place, and Galinda Upland was feeling suitably smug about having managed it. She was watching the lake, or rather the shimmering insects that darted around it, with girlish glee.
"Oh, look!" she exclaimed. "Elphie, look - see how the light catches them!"
Elphaba didn't look. She was squinting in the light. "Galinda. Glasses."
"Sorry, what?"
"My glasses."
"What about them?"
"You still have my glasses, Galinda."
Oh. Of course. She'd taken them away, not without a considerable struggle, to stop Elphaba from burying her nose in a book the minute they were settled. "...gah, sorry, blonde moment. Here." She handed them back, watching the green girl slide them into place and blink. "Better?"
"Mm." Elphaba watched the air above the lake for some moments, motionless as a statue, before finally allowing a small smile to show. "...Hah. Delicate, shining creatures admired less for their wit and more for their rare beauty - reminds me of someone."
Galinda laughed merrily. "You think I'm a dragonfly? Oh, wow, that's about the weirdest half-compliment I've ever had - but do you think dragonflies would be smarter if people liked them that way? Or if frogs preferred to talk with them rather than eat them?"
"And clearly, much like them, you don't know when to stop buzzing around, sit on your pretty arse and shut up." But she was grinning, in that twisted way she did when she was half-trying not to. "I could take the frog remark as an insult, you know."
"...Yes, I realise that now. I do think sometimes."
"Oh, will wonders never cease?"
One dainty hand swatted affectionately at a green shoulder as Galinda dropped on to the blanket. "Hush, you. Do you never just watch the world and enjoy it without having to resort to cynicism?"
Elphaba pretended to consider it for a moment. "...No," she answered, with a distinct air of Stupid Question. "It's never given me cause to."
...Of course, it probably hadn't. Galinda sighed. "...Give it a chance?" she suggested. "Just this once? ...Please don't look at me like that." Because Elphaba was raising one dark eyebrow. "The world can be wonderful, if you let it..."
"For those with the gift of optimism, I'm sure it can - "
Galinda pouted. "Elphie..."
The green girl sighed, offering her companion a long-suffering smile. "...All right. But only because you'll be unbearable if I don't give in."
"You're learning, Elphie," Galinda teased lightly, secretly delighted. "You're learning..."
* * *
Delicate fingers ran along the top of the frame. Eyes examined the figure depicted within for the hundredth time, knowing every turn of dark cloth and flicker of verdant flesh with absolute certainty. There was hardly any need for the photograph now. The image was reproduced exactly upon the mind's eye of its only witness.
And yet, Glinda thought to herself with a sigh as she perched on the edge of her bed, wrapping her other hand around the paint-stained mug, she couldn't bring herself to put it away.
It was still raining. This might have lowered someone else's spirits, but Glinda liked the rain. She liked being out in it, too - her wet hair was testament to that, as was the damp bathrobe she wore over her nightgown. There was something about the sound of a rainstorm outside, coupled with a mug of hot cocoa and a dying fire in the grate, that made one feel privileged. It was good cocoa, as well. She took another sip, and glanced over to the dark, angular object that took up most of the space on her bedside table.
"You know, Elphie," she said, "it's a poor substitute for you, but I can't help liking the warmth of it all the same."
She wasn't expecting the hat to answer, but it was comforting to talk to it all the same. Even Glinda the Good needed someone to confide in now and then.
"...It's been a long time since we last talked, hasn't it?" she said quietly, almost apologetically. "I've been so busy, and I hardly know what with. Busy being me, I guess - well, being Glinda the Good. You and I both know that's not exactly me. I think we might be the only ones in the world who ever really did. ...You saw right through me, didn't you? From the very beginning, most likely, you knew what I was and how I worked. I wasn't just the painted doll everybody saw. I wasn't makeup and dresses and clothes and dancing at the Ozdust. You saw the mind I hardly knew I had; you saw the face underneath the mask; you coaxed me out of my glittering shell and into the light. You tested me, and you never gave up on me - you, who knew what I truly was, probably believed in me more than anyone who only saw Galinda of the Arduennas or Galinda the Good. ...I hope I'm still worth believing in."
Looking at the hat for a few seconds, she decided that something wasn't right. The rest of the cocoa was drained from the mug in a few seconds, and the mug replaced the hat on the bedside table. There. That was better. Cradling the dark memory in her lap, Glinda stared at the opposite wall.
"I went out dancing in the rain tonight." A shy smile. "Haven't done that in years. I felt like a little girl again, and I didn't have to feel guilty about leaving you inside. ...Not that you ever wanted to come out and make a fool of yourself with me, of course. You always said it was better to watch. Like that day...out by the lake, with the dragonflies. You remember? ...Hah, of course you do. We hadn't been out there much more than half an hour when it started raining, and you ran for cover like...like there was a swarm of bees after you or something. I laughed, of course - I didn't know any better - but when I saw those burns on your arms... It took me a long time to forgive myself for that, not least because it was my idea to drag you out in short sleeves. Yet you were patient with me, more so than I'd expected you to be. You didn't say you'd told me so or anything, and you stood up in our room and you watched me. You never left the window, and I loved you for it. I'll never forget what you said when I joined you later...'I don't know about the world being wonderful,' you said, 'but you dance as though it is'. I loved you for that, too.
"...It's silly, isn't it? I've said it so many times tonight and I never once said it to your face. I never once told you. But that was how it was, probably for longer than you realise - and in ways I doubt you understood, no matter how well you came to know me."
She had never told anyone this. Reflexively she glanced towards the door, though no one else was likely to be in this part of the house. The servants had all gone to bed. Nevertheless, she was cautious: she didn't want to cause a scandal.
"...I first started to feel closer to you after Doctor Dillamond was taken away. Fiyero was becoming more distant by the day. I don't know if that was because he already had his eye on you, but either way it was what set me off. I needed some sort of comfort from day to day, some human contact - someone to call mine, selfish though it is. I found myself spending more time with you, trying to knit you into my life as neatly as I did everyone else. And you struggled. Oh, how you struggled." She chuckled to herself at the memory. "I think you thought I was ridiculous. Looking back, I guess I was. I never sat still long enough to really think, just like those dragonflies that day by the lake. But you let me be your friend, and, awkwardly, clumsily, but less and less reluctantly, you were mine. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
"Some nights, I...I would imagine you with me, or me with you. More often the latter, I admit - mostly because it was hard to imagine you surrounded by so much pink and not fighting it off with all your strength. I'd imagine climbing into your bed, lying beside you, just...being with you, and for the longest time I didn't know why. When I finally figured it out, I almost wished I hadn't. It terrified me. Having feelings like that, even though I hid them, it...well, it felt like harbouring some kind of criminal. But as I grew used to them, I learned to enjoy them. I learned how to take the sound of your voice and soften it into tenderness, how to turn the touch of your hand on mine into a caress in the night...how to watch every movement of your lips until I could imagine how it would be to kiss them. I turned daydreaming into an art, and I did it all for you." She smiled sadly, running one finger along the brim of the hat. "...I don't think you'd be particularly proud of me for it, but I guess that's the way it goes.
"After you left I retreated back to Fiyero. I still needed someone to be mine, and he was my best option mostly because he didn't challenge me. Once you were gone, I was afraid to be challenged. He wasn't. That's why he chose you in the end. I wish I had. I wish I'd gone with you on that ratty old broomstick and tried to change the world. You'll never know how close I came to saying yes when you asked me - sweet Oz, Elphie, you were exciting. It gave me tingles just to look at you by then, and seeing you take to the air, hearing you shout your defiance to the skies...it's still my best memory of you. You were incredible. You always were. You were my hero, Elphie, and I only realised how hard I loved you once you were gone. Sometimes we just can't have the things we want, no matter how much we want them.
"You never got what you wanted, did you? That fair, honest Oz you dreamed of, with a place in it for everyone, still hasn't come into being. If anyone deserved to finally get something they wanted, it was you. You'd always been left out, sidelined, second best to to the normal people, but that never stopped you. You worked, breathed, lived for the good of all Oz, though they called you wicked and worse, and when it came to it you even died for them - a horrible, agonising death that no one, least of all you, could deserve - without anyone to comfort you in your last moments. You died alone, Elphie, and not one of them ever thanked you." She could feel her eyes beginning to mist over. The lump in her throat was becoming more solid and restricting with every word she spoke. "...And I didn't either. I can't believe I never thanked you. Even in death you did so much for me. Once I finally realised that the world didn't have big, bold, powerful you to fight for justice any more I started fighting in your place. I started putting my foot down, making changes, taking a stand beyond just changing my name to impress a boy - Fiyero, poor, brave, stupid Fiyero, who fell for you as hard as I did and went to his brutal end in your name. I started doing all the things I should have been doing all along, and I wish...oh, Elphie, dear Elphie, I wish you hadn't had to die wicked to make me good..."
The Good Witch sank into the pillows, clutching the black hat to her chest. She was sobbing in earnest now, crying like she hadn't for months - like she'd been needing to for months - and something told her that this would be the last time. Something told her that this was it, all the poison at last bled out from within her, and that she could finally heal for good. Elphaba was gone, but Glinda would go on living. The worst was over.
When that thought finally sank in, the tears were almost like laughter.
It was a strange place to be, floating above herself in the desperate joy of freedom. Was this how Elphie had felt when she learned to fly? The small part of her brain still dimly aware of itself hoped so. Fierce exhilaration welled up inside her, shattering the grief and sweeping the cares from her heart, and it didn't matter any more. It didn't matter that she'd lost her, it mattered that she'd had her. It mattered that they'd met, never mind how they'd parted and everything that had come after. It mattered that she'd known her. It mattered - and here her heart swelled as if it would burst - it mattered that she'd loved her. The Wicked Witch of the West had been a caring, intelligent, beautiful, courageous and wonderful woman, and she, Glinda, had loved her.
"You hear that, Elphie?" she whispered, not to the hat in her arms but to the intangible presence that followed it everywhere. "You're wonderful. You're wicked, but you're wonderful. And I love you, love you, love you."
Saying it out loud was more soothing than she had expected it to be. It made it seem alive.
The rain was still beating out a quiet tattoo on the balcony roof when the tears and the shakes finally subsided, leaving her exhausted but happier than she had been in a long time. She could rest now. Slipping out of the terrycloth robe and tossing it over the end of her bed, she slid between the sheets and curled into their warmth. Reluctantly she placed the much-enduring black pointed hat on her bedside table, thinking it best not to lie on it by mistake and crumple it permanently.
"Fresh dreams, my wicked Witch," she murmured, stroking the soft black material with sleepy fingers, "wherever you may be..."
And she turned out the light.
Outside on the balcony, a tall shadow detached itself silently from its brethren.
* * *
He never thought he'd end up mending his own roof. It was true, though, that there was a certain satisfaction in a job well done, not least because using some of the spare straw had been his idea (and a damn good one it was too). It would hold until the weather let up, and then he could work on a more permanent fix. No sense letting the rain come in, not when he lived with someone for whom any quantity of water was a serious health hazard.
Stepping down from the stool, Fiyero gave his handiwork one more appreciative glance before looking around for a cloth. The stool and the floor around it were still wet, and they hadn't been here long enough to source a proper mop. They'd barely been here long enough to get hold of the log cabin, let alone any of its contents: the bed and the stool had already been here, and, having found some bricks and a few sturdy planks in the old woodshed behind the cabin, he'd built the makeshift table from scratch one clear night while his companion slept. Only on a scant few occasions had he wondered who might have lived here before them, and he had never raised the question to anyone but himself.
He had barely finished his industrious mopping when the wind picked up again. It rattled the loose windowpane, reminding him of something else that wanted seeing to. There was little time to contemplate this, however, for a moment later the door burst open, caught on its way by a squall that caused it to slam into the wall. Thunder rolled in the background, a flash of lightning backlit the tall shadow in the doorway - dear Lurline, Fiyero thought to himself, somebody was laying on the drama tonight.
"Hello, old Scarface," he called cheerfully as the heavy boots crossed the threshold. "Lovely weather for flying."
The black figure's gloved hands tugged a thick scarf away from its face and tossed it aside. "Hah!" it scoffed in a rough female voice, kicking the door shut and tramping into the house. "It's absolutely wretched out there and I've never had so much fun in my life!"
She was trailing water across the floor. Had she been anyone else Fiyero would have laughed; even as it was, he had to smile. "Much as I'm delighted to hear that, my dear," he said, moving to slide the bolts across, "death-defying antics are probably not the best use of your - hat." Because he'd just realised, somewhat belatedly, why the silhouette in the doorway had suited the dark and stormy night so well. "Your hat. You went and got the damn hat."
The Witch doffed the item in question and dropped it on to a peg, struggled out of the heavy goggles, pulled off her thick leather gloves, offered him a roguish smile that twisted the scar over her left eye. "Well spotted."
"Rather dramatic way of announcing yourself." And wasn't it just like her to do it? For that matter, had she ever looked more like herself than when she was wearing that hat? It had been tough convincing her to leave it in Kiamo Ko, and even tougher preventing her from going after it when she first realised that Glinda had kept it. "You do realise Glinda's going to throw a fit when she wakes up and it's gone?"
"I doubt that - tss, ow. Owowow." Stray raindrops were biting her fingers as she tried to divest herself of the rest of her flying gear. He hurried to help her out of the sodden cloak and jacket before she damaged herself any further, and she nodded gratefully to him. "Should've left the gloves on," she noted, dabbing her fingers dry on her shirt sleeves. "Thanks."
"Welcome." She was distracted, Fiyero realised with a secret smile. It wasn't like her to forget. How long, he wondered as she slid out of her thick overskirt, had she stood and watched the Good Witch as she slept? That was a question he knew better than to voice, however, so instead he asked, "What makes you think she won't hit the ceiling over this?"
His companion was examining her heavily patched grey-black leggings for flecks of water. Mercifully, they seemed dry enough. "Well, she might," she allowed, "but not because the hat's gone. I left her a message, of a sort."
Had he possessed the trick of it, he would have quirked an eyebrow at her. "Of a sort? And I thought you were going to wait a bit longer to drag her into all this."
"No time like the present," she said, stretching out her scarred left hand and grimacing when all the joints cracked. "Besides, she's already up to her neck in it by virtue of being Glinda the Good - and I have far better reasons for calling her that than anyone else does."
"Hah. Remind me to pester you for details some time." He hung the cloak up and watched her collapse on to the narrow bed - still in her boots, of course, and paying no mind to the state of the blankets. "You're certain she'll know it was from you?"
The Witch looked up at him through twinkling dark eyes. There was a life in them now that Fiyero hadn't seen there in years.
"Oh, believe me," said she with a grin, "she'll know."
* * *
In the white house on the hill, all was still and quiet. The rain had finally stopped, and the night breeze was silent as it tugged at the curtains obscuring the open balcony door. Something, or someone, had passed this way not long ago.
Aside from that, only the bedside table had been disturbed. The Witch's mark, resting in place of the hat beside the paint-flecked mug, was a delicate silver brooch - a dragonfly set with emeralds. The presence of magic was easy to detect: even in the absence of a light source, fragments of stars danced unwitnessed within its tiny gemstone eyes.
As dawn began to approach, the watery glow at the horizon sketched out the rest of the scene in shades of cool blue-grey. Beneath the gift, on a crumpled, rain-spotted scrap of parchment, lay four words in a flowing black script:
Hold out, my sweet.
~ E
Glinda the Good lay sleeping, a peaceful smile upon her lips.
Outside, it was tomorrow.
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On to Part The Second
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Whew. That was longer than I expected. XD I was my own beta as usual, so please excuse any glaring errors I may have missed. Left open for a possible continuation, hence all the loose ends in the cabin scene, and yes, I know I didn't mark the words. I didn't want to draw too much attention to them and make them seem unnatural. ^^;; All seven words are in the main body of the fic at least once - and, as a little extra challenge to myself, they are all included within the description of Glinda's bedside table:
Aside from that, only the bedside table had been disturbed. The Witch's mark, resting in place of the hat beside the paint-flecked mug, was a delicate silver brooch - a dragonfly set with emeralds. The presence of magic was easy to detect: even in the absence of a light source, fragments of stars danced unwitnessed within its tiny gemstone eyes.
As dawn began to approach, the watery glow at the horizon sketched out the rest of the scene in shades of cool blue-grey. Beneath the gift, on a crumpled, rain-spotted scrap of parchment, lay four words in a flowing black script:
Hold out, my sweet.
~ E
Admittedly it's a stretch from "present" to "presence", but I don't think it's unfeasible - presence is, after all, the state of something being present. Present as in "gift" is also implied to further cover my arse...and I hope that should make the other reason for the title a little more clear. XD
...Anyway, that's my fic posted and my introduction done. Nothing remains to be said save to thank you for reading, and to thank the creator of this community for giving us all the opportunity to get our Gelphie fix. ^w^
This is Dare, signing off.
- D
Rating: PG at most - mild Gelphie slash
Subject: Musical, with a few scattered book references
Author: DareDelvil
Word Count: ~3.5k
Challenge Words Used: All seven - dancing, dragonfly, hat, mug, paint, present, rain
Summary: Post-musical. Galinda thinks, Glinda remembers, and something wicked this way comes.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of L.Frank Baum and Gregory Maguire. This is their sandbox - I just play in it. XD
Author's Note: (pops head in, looks around nervously) ...Hi. ^^;; I'm Dare, and I've been lurking since I joined nearly two weeks ago. I discovered Wicked quite by accident - it was a clip of Defying Gravity on the Tony Awards, the night (I found out later) Idina won Best Actress, that first got me hooked, though I'd heard of it previously and never done much investigation. I've seen the musical already through questionable sources (all hail YouTube!) and I'm hoping to go see it live in London if I can. To my credit I did buy the book rather than borrowing it. XD I'm a fan of both 'verses, and though I admit the musical appeals more to my love of happier endings I do appreciate the darker tone of the book as well.
I was surprised by the level of support for the Elphaba/Glinda pairing in the fandom, having become accustomed to being the only one who seems to spot these things, and I'm delighted to have found this community (with relative ease, I might add). Being an avid writer, I took one look at the challenge and decided to take part. It's taken me a while to put it together, not least due to moving between my flat and my parents' house twice during its creation, but it's finally complete.
So, without further ado, here's my first Wicked fic: The Gift. Hope you enjoy. ^w^
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The Gift
Shiz University had a lake. Admittedly it wasn't a very large lake, but the grass beside it was a favourite spot among students and faculty members alike. It was a fair prospect on a clear summer's day, its surface gleaming with hundreds of tiny suns, and today there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Little knots of girls chattered and giggled, watching the boys play a makeshift game of cricket on the neighbouring lawn; two professors sat together in the shade of the old oak tree and discussed anything but work; the cooks had emerged from the kitchen to sun themselves and gossip. Even one of the institution's most notorious recluses had been coaxed out of her hiding place, and Galinda Upland was feeling suitably smug about having managed it. She was watching the lake, or rather the shimmering insects that darted around it, with girlish glee.
"Oh, look!" she exclaimed. "Elphie, look - see how the light catches them!"
Elphaba didn't look. She was squinting in the light. "Galinda. Glasses."
"Sorry, what?"
"My glasses."
"What about them?"
"You still have my glasses, Galinda."
Oh. Of course. She'd taken them away, not without a considerable struggle, to stop Elphaba from burying her nose in a book the minute they were settled. "...gah, sorry, blonde moment. Here." She handed them back, watching the green girl slide them into place and blink. "Better?"
"Mm." Elphaba watched the air above the lake for some moments, motionless as a statue, before finally allowing a small smile to show. "...Hah. Delicate, shining creatures admired less for their wit and more for their rare beauty - reminds me of someone."
Galinda laughed merrily. "You think I'm a dragonfly? Oh, wow, that's about the weirdest half-compliment I've ever had - but do you think dragonflies would be smarter if people liked them that way? Or if frogs preferred to talk with them rather than eat them?"
"And clearly, much like them, you don't know when to stop buzzing around, sit on your pretty arse and shut up." But she was grinning, in that twisted way she did when she was half-trying not to. "I could take the frog remark as an insult, you know."
"...Yes, I realise that now. I do think sometimes."
"Oh, will wonders never cease?"
One dainty hand swatted affectionately at a green shoulder as Galinda dropped on to the blanket. "Hush, you. Do you never just watch the world and enjoy it without having to resort to cynicism?"
Elphaba pretended to consider it for a moment. "...No," she answered, with a distinct air of Stupid Question. "It's never given me cause to."
...Of course, it probably hadn't. Galinda sighed. "...Give it a chance?" she suggested. "Just this once? ...Please don't look at me like that." Because Elphaba was raising one dark eyebrow. "The world can be wonderful, if you let it..."
"For those with the gift of optimism, I'm sure it can - "
Galinda pouted. "Elphie..."
The green girl sighed, offering her companion a long-suffering smile. "...All right. But only because you'll be unbearable if I don't give in."
"You're learning, Elphie," Galinda teased lightly, secretly delighted. "You're learning..."
* * *
Delicate fingers ran along the top of the frame. Eyes examined the figure depicted within for the hundredth time, knowing every turn of dark cloth and flicker of verdant flesh with absolute certainty. There was hardly any need for the photograph now. The image was reproduced exactly upon the mind's eye of its only witness.
And yet, Glinda thought to herself with a sigh as she perched on the edge of her bed, wrapping her other hand around the paint-stained mug, she couldn't bring herself to put it away.
It was still raining. This might have lowered someone else's spirits, but Glinda liked the rain. She liked being out in it, too - her wet hair was testament to that, as was the damp bathrobe she wore over her nightgown. There was something about the sound of a rainstorm outside, coupled with a mug of hot cocoa and a dying fire in the grate, that made one feel privileged. It was good cocoa, as well. She took another sip, and glanced over to the dark, angular object that took up most of the space on her bedside table.
"You know, Elphie," she said, "it's a poor substitute for you, but I can't help liking the warmth of it all the same."
She wasn't expecting the hat to answer, but it was comforting to talk to it all the same. Even Glinda the Good needed someone to confide in now and then.
"...It's been a long time since we last talked, hasn't it?" she said quietly, almost apologetically. "I've been so busy, and I hardly know what with. Busy being me, I guess - well, being Glinda the Good. You and I both know that's not exactly me. I think we might be the only ones in the world who ever really did. ...You saw right through me, didn't you? From the very beginning, most likely, you knew what I was and how I worked. I wasn't just the painted doll everybody saw. I wasn't makeup and dresses and clothes and dancing at the Ozdust. You saw the mind I hardly knew I had; you saw the face underneath the mask; you coaxed me out of my glittering shell and into the light. You tested me, and you never gave up on me - you, who knew what I truly was, probably believed in me more than anyone who only saw Galinda of the Arduennas or Galinda the Good. ...I hope I'm still worth believing in."
Looking at the hat for a few seconds, she decided that something wasn't right. The rest of the cocoa was drained from the mug in a few seconds, and the mug replaced the hat on the bedside table. There. That was better. Cradling the dark memory in her lap, Glinda stared at the opposite wall.
"I went out dancing in the rain tonight." A shy smile. "Haven't done that in years. I felt like a little girl again, and I didn't have to feel guilty about leaving you inside. ...Not that you ever wanted to come out and make a fool of yourself with me, of course. You always said it was better to watch. Like that day...out by the lake, with the dragonflies. You remember? ...Hah, of course you do. We hadn't been out there much more than half an hour when it started raining, and you ran for cover like...like there was a swarm of bees after you or something. I laughed, of course - I didn't know any better - but when I saw those burns on your arms... It took me a long time to forgive myself for that, not least because it was my idea to drag you out in short sleeves. Yet you were patient with me, more so than I'd expected you to be. You didn't say you'd told me so or anything, and you stood up in our room and you watched me. You never left the window, and I loved you for it. I'll never forget what you said when I joined you later...'I don't know about the world being wonderful,' you said, 'but you dance as though it is'. I loved you for that, too.
"...It's silly, isn't it? I've said it so many times tonight and I never once said it to your face. I never once told you. But that was how it was, probably for longer than you realise - and in ways I doubt you understood, no matter how well you came to know me."
She had never told anyone this. Reflexively she glanced towards the door, though no one else was likely to be in this part of the house. The servants had all gone to bed. Nevertheless, she was cautious: she didn't want to cause a scandal.
"...I first started to feel closer to you after Doctor Dillamond was taken away. Fiyero was becoming more distant by the day. I don't know if that was because he already had his eye on you, but either way it was what set me off. I needed some sort of comfort from day to day, some human contact - someone to call mine, selfish though it is. I found myself spending more time with you, trying to knit you into my life as neatly as I did everyone else. And you struggled. Oh, how you struggled." She chuckled to herself at the memory. "I think you thought I was ridiculous. Looking back, I guess I was. I never sat still long enough to really think, just like those dragonflies that day by the lake. But you let me be your friend, and, awkwardly, clumsily, but less and less reluctantly, you were mine. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
"Some nights, I...I would imagine you with me, or me with you. More often the latter, I admit - mostly because it was hard to imagine you surrounded by so much pink and not fighting it off with all your strength. I'd imagine climbing into your bed, lying beside you, just...being with you, and for the longest time I didn't know why. When I finally figured it out, I almost wished I hadn't. It terrified me. Having feelings like that, even though I hid them, it...well, it felt like harbouring some kind of criminal. But as I grew used to them, I learned to enjoy them. I learned how to take the sound of your voice and soften it into tenderness, how to turn the touch of your hand on mine into a caress in the night...how to watch every movement of your lips until I could imagine how it would be to kiss them. I turned daydreaming into an art, and I did it all for you." She smiled sadly, running one finger along the brim of the hat. "...I don't think you'd be particularly proud of me for it, but I guess that's the way it goes.
"After you left I retreated back to Fiyero. I still needed someone to be mine, and he was my best option mostly because he didn't challenge me. Once you were gone, I was afraid to be challenged. He wasn't. That's why he chose you in the end. I wish I had. I wish I'd gone with you on that ratty old broomstick and tried to change the world. You'll never know how close I came to saying yes when you asked me - sweet Oz, Elphie, you were exciting. It gave me tingles just to look at you by then, and seeing you take to the air, hearing you shout your defiance to the skies...it's still my best memory of you. You were incredible. You always were. You were my hero, Elphie, and I only realised how hard I loved you once you were gone. Sometimes we just can't have the things we want, no matter how much we want them.
"You never got what you wanted, did you? That fair, honest Oz you dreamed of, with a place in it for everyone, still hasn't come into being. If anyone deserved to finally get something they wanted, it was you. You'd always been left out, sidelined, second best to to the normal people, but that never stopped you. You worked, breathed, lived for the good of all Oz, though they called you wicked and worse, and when it came to it you even died for them - a horrible, agonising death that no one, least of all you, could deserve - without anyone to comfort you in your last moments. You died alone, Elphie, and not one of them ever thanked you." She could feel her eyes beginning to mist over. The lump in her throat was becoming more solid and restricting with every word she spoke. "...And I didn't either. I can't believe I never thanked you. Even in death you did so much for me. Once I finally realised that the world didn't have big, bold, powerful you to fight for justice any more I started fighting in your place. I started putting my foot down, making changes, taking a stand beyond just changing my name to impress a boy - Fiyero, poor, brave, stupid Fiyero, who fell for you as hard as I did and went to his brutal end in your name. I started doing all the things I should have been doing all along, and I wish...oh, Elphie, dear Elphie, I wish you hadn't had to die wicked to make me good..."
The Good Witch sank into the pillows, clutching the black hat to her chest. She was sobbing in earnest now, crying like she hadn't for months - like she'd been needing to for months - and something told her that this would be the last time. Something told her that this was it, all the poison at last bled out from within her, and that she could finally heal for good. Elphaba was gone, but Glinda would go on living. The worst was over.
When that thought finally sank in, the tears were almost like laughter.
It was a strange place to be, floating above herself in the desperate joy of freedom. Was this how Elphie had felt when she learned to fly? The small part of her brain still dimly aware of itself hoped so. Fierce exhilaration welled up inside her, shattering the grief and sweeping the cares from her heart, and it didn't matter any more. It didn't matter that she'd lost her, it mattered that she'd had her. It mattered that they'd met, never mind how they'd parted and everything that had come after. It mattered that she'd known her. It mattered - and here her heart swelled as if it would burst - it mattered that she'd loved her. The Wicked Witch of the West had been a caring, intelligent, beautiful, courageous and wonderful woman, and she, Glinda, had loved her.
"You hear that, Elphie?" she whispered, not to the hat in her arms but to the intangible presence that followed it everywhere. "You're wonderful. You're wicked, but you're wonderful. And I love you, love you, love you."
Saying it out loud was more soothing than she had expected it to be. It made it seem alive.
The rain was still beating out a quiet tattoo on the balcony roof when the tears and the shakes finally subsided, leaving her exhausted but happier than she had been in a long time. She could rest now. Slipping out of the terrycloth robe and tossing it over the end of her bed, she slid between the sheets and curled into their warmth. Reluctantly she placed the much-enduring black pointed hat on her bedside table, thinking it best not to lie on it by mistake and crumple it permanently.
"Fresh dreams, my wicked Witch," she murmured, stroking the soft black material with sleepy fingers, "wherever you may be..."
And she turned out the light.
Outside on the balcony, a tall shadow detached itself silently from its brethren.
* * *
He never thought he'd end up mending his own roof. It was true, though, that there was a certain satisfaction in a job well done, not least because using some of the spare straw had been his idea (and a damn good one it was too). It would hold until the weather let up, and then he could work on a more permanent fix. No sense letting the rain come in, not when he lived with someone for whom any quantity of water was a serious health hazard.
Stepping down from the stool, Fiyero gave his handiwork one more appreciative glance before looking around for a cloth. The stool and the floor around it were still wet, and they hadn't been here long enough to source a proper mop. They'd barely been here long enough to get hold of the log cabin, let alone any of its contents: the bed and the stool had already been here, and, having found some bricks and a few sturdy planks in the old woodshed behind the cabin, he'd built the makeshift table from scratch one clear night while his companion slept. Only on a scant few occasions had he wondered who might have lived here before them, and he had never raised the question to anyone but himself.
He had barely finished his industrious mopping when the wind picked up again. It rattled the loose windowpane, reminding him of something else that wanted seeing to. There was little time to contemplate this, however, for a moment later the door burst open, caught on its way by a squall that caused it to slam into the wall. Thunder rolled in the background, a flash of lightning backlit the tall shadow in the doorway - dear Lurline, Fiyero thought to himself, somebody was laying on the drama tonight.
"Hello, old Scarface," he called cheerfully as the heavy boots crossed the threshold. "Lovely weather for flying."
The black figure's gloved hands tugged a thick scarf away from its face and tossed it aside. "Hah!" it scoffed in a rough female voice, kicking the door shut and tramping into the house. "It's absolutely wretched out there and I've never had so much fun in my life!"
She was trailing water across the floor. Had she been anyone else Fiyero would have laughed; even as it was, he had to smile. "Much as I'm delighted to hear that, my dear," he said, moving to slide the bolts across, "death-defying antics are probably not the best use of your - hat." Because he'd just realised, somewhat belatedly, why the silhouette in the doorway had suited the dark and stormy night so well. "Your hat. You went and got the damn hat."
The Witch doffed the item in question and dropped it on to a peg, struggled out of the heavy goggles, pulled off her thick leather gloves, offered him a roguish smile that twisted the scar over her left eye. "Well spotted."
"Rather dramatic way of announcing yourself." And wasn't it just like her to do it? For that matter, had she ever looked more like herself than when she was wearing that hat? It had been tough convincing her to leave it in Kiamo Ko, and even tougher preventing her from going after it when she first realised that Glinda had kept it. "You do realise Glinda's going to throw a fit when she wakes up and it's gone?"
"I doubt that - tss, ow. Owowow." Stray raindrops were biting her fingers as she tried to divest herself of the rest of her flying gear. He hurried to help her out of the sodden cloak and jacket before she damaged herself any further, and she nodded gratefully to him. "Should've left the gloves on," she noted, dabbing her fingers dry on her shirt sleeves. "Thanks."
"Welcome." She was distracted, Fiyero realised with a secret smile. It wasn't like her to forget. How long, he wondered as she slid out of her thick overskirt, had she stood and watched the Good Witch as she slept? That was a question he knew better than to voice, however, so instead he asked, "What makes you think she won't hit the ceiling over this?"
His companion was examining her heavily patched grey-black leggings for flecks of water. Mercifully, they seemed dry enough. "Well, she might," she allowed, "but not because the hat's gone. I left her a message, of a sort."
Had he possessed the trick of it, he would have quirked an eyebrow at her. "Of a sort? And I thought you were going to wait a bit longer to drag her into all this."
"No time like the present," she said, stretching out her scarred left hand and grimacing when all the joints cracked. "Besides, she's already up to her neck in it by virtue of being Glinda the Good - and I have far better reasons for calling her that than anyone else does."
"Hah. Remind me to pester you for details some time." He hung the cloak up and watched her collapse on to the narrow bed - still in her boots, of course, and paying no mind to the state of the blankets. "You're certain she'll know it was from you?"
The Witch looked up at him through twinkling dark eyes. There was a life in them now that Fiyero hadn't seen there in years.
"Oh, believe me," said she with a grin, "she'll know."
* * *
In the white house on the hill, all was still and quiet. The rain had finally stopped, and the night breeze was silent as it tugged at the curtains obscuring the open balcony door. Something, or someone, had passed this way not long ago.
Aside from that, only the bedside table had been disturbed. The Witch's mark, resting in place of the hat beside the paint-flecked mug, was a delicate silver brooch - a dragonfly set with emeralds. The presence of magic was easy to detect: even in the absence of a light source, fragments of stars danced unwitnessed within its tiny gemstone eyes.
As dawn began to approach, the watery glow at the horizon sketched out the rest of the scene in shades of cool blue-grey. Beneath the gift, on a crumpled, rain-spotted scrap of parchment, lay four words in a flowing black script:
Hold out, my sweet.
~ E
Glinda the Good lay sleeping, a peaceful smile upon her lips.
Outside, it was tomorrow.
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On to Part The Second
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Whew. That was longer than I expected. XD I was my own beta as usual, so please excuse any glaring errors I may have missed. Left open for a possible continuation, hence all the loose ends in the cabin scene, and yes, I know I didn't mark the words. I didn't want to draw too much attention to them and make them seem unnatural. ^^;; All seven words are in the main body of the fic at least once - and, as a little extra challenge to myself, they are all included within the description of Glinda's bedside table:
Aside from that, only the bedside table had been disturbed. The Witch's mark, resting in place of the hat beside the paint-flecked mug, was a delicate silver brooch - a dragonfly set with emeralds. The presence of magic was easy to detect: even in the absence of a light source, fragments of stars danced unwitnessed within its tiny gemstone eyes.
As dawn began to approach, the watery glow at the horizon sketched out the rest of the scene in shades of cool blue-grey. Beneath the gift, on a crumpled, rain-spotted scrap of parchment, lay four words in a flowing black script:
Hold out, my sweet.
~ E
Admittedly it's a stretch from "present" to "presence", but I don't think it's unfeasible - presence is, after all, the state of something being present. Present as in "gift" is also implied to further cover my arse...and I hope that should make the other reason for the title a little more clear. XD
...Anyway, that's my fic posted and my introduction done. Nothing remains to be said save to thank you for reading, and to thank the creator of this community for giving us all the opportunity to get our Gelphie fix. ^w^
This is Dare, signing off.
- D