A/N: I felt like writing Sarima xD.
Reviews help placate the hungry FFN monster who still won't let me post this. x.X
"Together"
She remembered when she first met him.
He was so young then, so carefree. The biggest worry he had was whether he would get in trouble for accidentally seeing his future wife or not.
He was sweet, apologising profusely to her when she started to cry. She had sobbed that she was a disgrace to her family, that it was an honour to marry a Prince, and she had ruined it.
He took the blame, and she, equally young, equally carefree, and equally stupid, fell in love with him.
They married in the woods; it was a small, traditional ceremony, and she had only been allowed to speak with him once or twice before they swept her away. "You are married," they had said, "but you are not together; not yet." And that was that.
He went off to college, and she still lived with her family, everyone acting as though nothing were different. She still washed, cooked, cleaned, and toiled away; the only difference was her superiority over her sisters. They hated it, but they had had plenty of time to get used to the notion.
She saw him again, years later, after he had finished college. Oh, how he spoke about it with such passion! He described the campus, the classes, the pub, and the wonderful friends he had made there. Beautiful Glinda; devout Nessarose; kind Boq, poor, destroyed Tibbett; happy-go-lucky turned serious Crope; and enchanting Elphaba. It was enough to make her jealous, if only even a little bit, that he had been lucky enough to learn.
He promised he would teach her, one day. She loved him even more, then. She would be able to read and write? How wonderful.
The years passed and their family was born. Her silly infatuation with him had dulled, growing to become more of an expected love. He was more of a husband to her, now, instead of a friend.
And as the years passed, as her ability to write and read grew inch by inch, as their children grew taller, what little flame had been there died and lay there smouldering. She wondered, then, if their marriage ever went past that, if they had ever truly been 'together'.
His trips to the Emerald City became more frequent and longer.
Until one winter he didn't come back. He stayed, for an irregularly large amount of time. He only wrote short letters, and the intervals at when they came became less and less often.
Lurlinemas passed- the first one where he had not been with his children.
Spring, again, and news of Fiyero's death.
She sobbed for hours, but they were empty tears, ones shed for the wellbeing of herself, of her children, but not of him.
She wondered why, but the answer came with rumours of an illicit affair.
It made sense. She hated it. She refused to listen.
And then Elphaba came. Enchanting, enthusiastic, eccentric Elphaba- who refused to use her own name, asking for forgiveness.
When the boy spoke of a Carp, she understood.
She remembered the last time she spoke well of him.
She was so weary by then, so cynical.
She hated him for doing this to her.