SPOILER
SPOILER
SPOILER
IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AT THE END OF 'WICKED' THE MUSICAL DON'T READ THIS!
AN:
So, I was randomly sat watching Megan Hilty's last Wicked on YouTube, and I got to thinking: What was going through the Wizard's head when he realised Elphaba was his daughter? It must have been some pretty powerful stuff. Don't get me wrong, I am TOTALLY anti-Wizard and pro Elphaba but I just thought that in the end, when he realised that, and he went away from Oz of his own accord, he must have gone through a lot of changes REALLY quickly.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN WICKED.
'This was Elphaba's.' He wasn't really listening, not until the Witch's name, her real name, came into the conversation and he noted for the first time the glimmer of something green in Glinda's hand.
'What's that you say?' he asked, and Glinda, on the verge of tears, answered sharply.
'It was a keepsake. It was her mother's. She told me so herself.' She continued almost angrily. 'Now I've only seen a little green bottle like this one other time.' Oh, Oz. 'And it was right here, in this room.' She gestured about and lost, the Wizard followed her hand. 'You offered me a drink from it.'
She offered it to him and shakily he took it, catching the distaste on her features as he studied it. Disbelief surrounded him.
'This…belonged to her mother?' It can't be, it couldn't be. Could it? He thought back on the days when he first came to Oz, enchanting women left and right with whatever alcoholic substance he'd possessed. Until he'd come upon his favoured tipple, this bottle of green elixir. He'd only ever charmed one woman, out of the many, with this drink. Echoes of conversations past fluttered around him, as from his inner pocket, he pulled an identical container. Oh my Oz. It…it's exactly the same. Have I – I've – my…
'Oh my Lord.' He uttered, 'I am a sentimental man,' he remembered telling the Witch…telling Elphaba, 'who always longed to be,' telling his daughter, 'a father.' He sank to his knees, cradling that god-damned bottle and barely heard the words Glinda, rightly, spat at him.
'So she was yours all along.'
No, he thought. Never mine. She could have been, but she wasn't. She isn't. She can't be – now. What had he done? The knowledge made him dizzy, his vision grew blurry as Morrible excitedly chattered in the background of his whirling mind:
'That's it! That's why she had such power! She was a child of both worlds…'
What did that matter now? What did it matter about power or no power? What was the point of the Grimmerie, of flying monkeys and talking Animals? He had never lied about his wish to be a father. He had thought, hoped – wished, that one day he would find a person who could mean as much to him as a son or a daughter. In the beginning, on that one short day, he had briefly entertained the notion that Elphaba could be that girl. But never in his wildest imaginings had he thought – had he dreamed – she already was.
'I want you to leave Oz,' Glinda stated, decidedly, and the Wizard, at the moment, could not have cared if she were decreeing his death, 'I'll make the pronouncement myself. That the strains of Wizardship have become too much,' that now seemed an understatement. He felt his heart, or the blackened mess that was left, would surely shrivel and die, 'and that you are taking an indefinite leave of absence.' Of course. That was only right. That was the – the right thing to do. He had to get away. He couldn't stay here. Here in the land where he had killed his – his daughter.
No matter how many times he told himself, it still brought a wave of dizziness. How could less than a minute change someone so much? Never had he cared less about anything, about Oz, than he did at this moment. He didn't want to be a leader, or a ruler or an instigator. He didn't even care about the Animals. He just wanted to curl up somewhere, quiet and alone, to slowly unpick the years and think on what a mess he'd made of his excuse for a life.
Elphaba. My child. God, forgive me.
'Did you hear what I said!' Glinda screeched, and he jumped nervously to his feet. He was no longer the authority. Relief flushed through him. For once, he would take an order. For once, he would be governed. He would do whatever she asked of him. She despised him, he knew. And in a rush he understood she had every right. At this moment, though he never had before, he could say he believed he hated himself.
'Yes, your Goodness.' He prostrated, blue meeting dark as he looked at her, trembling. For a moment, her gaze grew soft and she stared at him as though seeing his face for the very first time. It was not the reverence he was accustomed to. It was recognition. In a flash, as much of his recollections and thoughts were coming to him now, he knew. She was searching for her friend in his face. And by the sorrowful glint of her eyes, she had found her. He wondered where and reminded himself to think on it later.
With a sob in her voice, she said: 'You'd better go get your balloon ready.' He nodded, gave her a bow and then, not looking back, left.
Later that day, in the skies above Oz, thinking how to navigate to some place new and different, he knew what Glinda had seen and marvelled at never noticing it before. When her blue eyes met his dark ones, she'd seen that he and Elphaba shared the same blackened hue. He had never given it a thought, had never looked on her with enough care to notice. To him she had been an object he could use to further his damnable cause. Now, too late to change how he'd hurt her, she'd become more important to him than she would ever know. He sighed, a long, tremulous drawn-out sigh, and gazed out one last time on the City and on Oz, on the rivers and lakes, settlements and forests, flying – flying? There, in the distance, hovering above a crop of trees, was a shape, barely discernible in the waning light. To him, it almost looked like a Witch on a broomstick. God speed to you, whoever you are, he smiled. Elphaba, he thought, wherever you are, I know you can never forgive this old, idiotic, fool of a man with his grandiose, prejudiced ideas. But – if ever you can…I hope it's not too late for you to know had I known you existed – green skin and all - wild horses couldn't have torn me away.
AN:
Okay, so, v fluffy, but what do you think? Tell me, tell me, tell me! No pressure x