I've been on here a year today, apparently. So, of course...
He knew it was a long trip, but she was worth it.
He'd written a letter, full of all the things he felt about her, all the things she'd taught him, all the things he loved in her.
The letter had poured out of him, and he'd flushed to go over it and imagine her actually reading it.
But he couldn't leave it behind.
He arrived at the spot, the spot where he'd first known for sure; he'd been right here when he'd stopped denying how he felt.
Fiyero set the flowers down near where they'd stood that day, a trembling lion cub between them. He recalled with a vividness reserved only for her that he'd been trembling just as much as the animal.
It had been a year, a year to the day, since the moment he'd realized he was endlessly in love with her.
"I love you," he confessed. "I needed to tell you that I love you. I wrote it all here," he said, turning the parchment over in his hands.
He buried the letter, his confession still ringing in his ears, bouncing off the trees, no figure but him to absorb the magnitude of that truth.
"Happy Anniversary, Elphaba."