The sun was setting. Soon this terrible day would be over. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a whole new life. A life that was never going to end.
Fiyero came inside from the balcony and closed the heavy wooden doors. He couldn't bear to look out there- at the cruel world he was forced to remain in. If only spells could be erased. He walked over to the bed, with its white sheets still messed from the night before. Sleep hadn't been truly necessary for him since his youth, but tonight he felt exhausted. Emotionally. He collapsed on the mattress and stared at the leather gloves that served as hands. He should have died in that field, all those years ago.
"Master Fiyero?" a gravelly voice came from the bedroom door. Chistery. The winged monkey squatted cautiously in the doorway.
"Yes, Chistery?" Fiyero said flatly.
"Would Master Fiyero like anything to eat?"
"I haven't needed to eat for years. And you mustn't call me Master any longer. It always annoyed Elphaba, and you're free now, anyway," Fiyero sighed.
"I intend to serve you until the end of my days," the Animal said kindly. Knowing that Fiyero was hurting, though, he turned and padded down the hall.
Fiyero lay back on the bed again, staring at the crimson canopy above him. Soon, darkness filled the room, and he closed his eyes, wishing to be able to sleep for the rest of time. But the bed was too cold. Even with straw for a body, he could feel that. He stood, wishing his knees or back would ache so he could feel his age. But that, of course, was impossible.
Fiyero walked through the darkness, through the stone hallways of the castle until he reached the library. The doors were still flung open, and ahead of him at the massive wooden table, a chair was still pulled hastily away. He moved towards it, and was still faintly able to smell her sweet scent. It was strange how magic worked. He didn't need to eat or sleep, yet he still had a sense of smell.
A thick book was still open on the table, and on the yellowed pages lay a pair of eyeglasses. Part of him thought he ought to clear away these remnants, ought to move on from the life he could never go back to. But he was a sentimental man, and chose to leave everything exactly as it was. He sunk into the straight-backed chair, wishing he could cry, wishing she could still be here, wishing he could die.
Chistery happened to pass by the library on his way to bed. It wasn't usually on his route, but he was drawn there nonetheless. Perhaps she was drawing him. He stopped in the doorway. In the moonlight, he could see Fiyero, asleep in the chair. In the chair where Elphaba had… had died. So emotion had won. He was glad. Fiyero needed sleep to calm the grief. He himself felt simply numb. Despite her grey-black hair and wrinkles, Elphaba had always seemed immortal. Even at such an age, she had remained spirited and, well, brilliant.
There were days in the past years where she had sunk into depression so dark, it seemed like it was the end. Things often looked bleak. Oz had seen its fair share of hardships during Glinda's reign, less, of course, than when the Wizard had ruled, but things had looked bleak numerous times. Elphaba was powerless, forced to watch from the sidelines as her best friend lived without knowing the truth. Without knowing that Fiyero and Elphaba were in fact still alive. But things had always brightened, and in the past decade, Elphaba had seemed happier than ever. She and Fiyero were so in love.
Chistery continued back to his quarters. He, too, would need sleep to face the days ahead.
Fiyero woke to bright sunshine streaming through the windows. He couldn't believe he had managed to sleep. The dream was still fresh in his mind. Well, not a dream. He wasn't capable of dreaming. Instead, his mind wandered while he slept, thinking all through the night. He'd been thinking about Elphaba, of course. But more specifically, what would have happened if she hadn't cast the spell on the night they'd all met up again. When the twister brought the little farm girl. When Nessa died. If he had died when the Gale Force had beat and tortured him, he wouldn't be stuck like this, living as a scarecrow. But Elphaba would surely have not been able to go on living. He knew the grief would have killed her. So she had cast the spell. The spell that turned him into a scarecrow. Let him never die, she'd chanted. Well now he wouldn't die. He would live without her for eternity.
As a young man, Fiyero was sure he would have jumped at the opportunity to become immortal. The ability to stay the same age? Why, he would be able to have any girl for as long as he wanted, and then move on to the next as though time hadn't passed. Life would have been an endless party. But Elphaba had changed him. For good.
The sun illuminated the ancient book before him. The Grimmerie. In the light, he saw what he hadn't seen last night, or yesterday when he had rushed in to see Elphaba at endless peace in the very chair he now sat in. She had died reading, and he had to smile. But the page that was open held his attention. He couldn't read the magical writing, despite her attempts to teach him, but there was a picture. It showed energy- magic- being removed from a person. Could that be true? Had she been trying to remove the spell she'd put on him? His heart ached inside his straw body. Why? Why did she have to die? All of the peace that he had felt when he knew she had died peacefully disappeared into sorrow when he realized that he had been so close to mortality.
He stood, and strode over to the window. Far below, the sun shone on a black mound of soil. A large stone sat at one end, and he knew the words etched upon it, though he could not see them.
Elphaba Thropp
Beloved friend.
Eternally loved. Eternally missed.
Fiyero turned away. He could still hear her unique laugh, feel her perfect skin, taste the passion that they shared. He would forever treasure these memories, but he knew she would not have wanted him to grieve her for eternity. She always did hate pity. So he would go to the kitchen. Eat something. He'd live, little by little. Today was the first day of the rest of time.