A/N: Ok, so here goes my first try at serious angst. It's not my strong point, so don't flame me too much. I revised this story until it was as good I could get it, but constructive criticism is more than welcome. Also my first try at serious Fiyeraba (without it being slight or implied). It's my favorite pairing but I'm still not very good at it. This idea has been playing about in my head for awhile... actually, ever since I got this account. But if you ever read my earlier fics, you know that they (at least the first two) are shallow, badly written, and meaningless. My later ones got better, and I finally got up the nerve to write this...
So here goes...
Disclaimer: If I were creative enough to own Wicked,I wouldn't be writing this unoriginal disclaimer.
Hmm, thought Fiyero Tiggular as he browsed the wide selection of flowers in the market. Somehow, he hadn't imagined that buying flowers for a girl would be a particularly difficult task. Yet, here he was at the marketplace, scanning the extensive variety for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. Roses? Too cliché. Daisies? He imagined handing Elphaba Thropp the bright yellow and white flowers. Happy, cute, cheerful… These words were precise antonyms for Elphaba's quick-witted, sarcastic, and rather cynical nature. He shuddered at the mere idea of the sun-shiny flowers, so out of place in her hands.
"Look, kid. We close up in five minutes. Get your girlfriend some flowers or go look somewhere else," snapped the grouchy salesperson. Fiyero sighed. It was hopeless. He'd been here all day, and not a single type of flower seemed to suit Elphaba. He carefully looked over the chart on the back wall, explaining the specific meaning and idea of each flower. Roses for love. Lilies for life. Daisies for innocence. Fiyero couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he'd actually considered giving Elphaba Thropp a flower for innocence.
"Closing up!" shouted the manager. The prince sighed again. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked slowly out of the store. He heard another sigh from behind him.
"Hey, kid!" the salesperson called. The man shook his head pityingly at the poor guy. "Look, you've been here all day, and we've got some more flowers growing 'round back. Do you wanna take a look?"
Fiyero grinned, ecstatic. "Thank you," he said, genuinely happy. The man just rolled his eyes, escorting him outside. The flowers were all beautiful, but a particular few caught his attention. They were a few yards away, but their bright scarlet color made them easily visible from this far, even in the grey twilight.
"Those are wild poppies, kid," said the man, but Fiyero just smiled. Perfect. If there was a flower that could personify the green girl, he decided, it was a wild poppy.
"Fiyero, dearest, over here!" called Galinda Upland, waving her arm wildly at the apprehensive prince. He brushed past his blonde girlfriend and approached her verdant companion, now blushing a dark olive.
"Um... Elphaba! I'm happy for you... I got you some flowers!" said the prince, thrusting the crimson flowers into her arms. Elphaba tried to ignore her pounding heart as she accepted the flowers with a murmur of thanks.
She looked down at the sweet-smelling blossoms, and cracked a small smile at the Winkie's choice. "Poppies?"
"Well, yeah. They just seemed to…suit you?" The prince mentally slapped himself. Oz, that sounded stupid…
"Fiyero, do you know what poppies mean?" she asked, trying to suppress her laughter. Fiyero shook his head, impressed with her knowledge of floriography, and Elphaba just rolled her eyes good naturedly.
Years later, Elphaba Thropp watched as the annoying little farm girl walked along the yellow brick road.
Stupid little brat.
Chistery flew to her side obediently and looked at her as if to ask, "What now?"
So now they were accompanied by a Lion. An Animal. That certainly changed things. Elphaba would need something innocent, something beautiful and seemingly harmless, not something that would kill them, but certainly stop them, at least for awhile. The witch felt another wave of hatred for the obnoxious little girl. Stupid, spoiled, naïve child.
It was Dorothy's fault. It had to be… She'd killed Nessa. She'd killed him... No, she knew that wasn't true. It was her own fault. If she hadn't…
The green witch spun away from her balcony, fighting back those persistent, wretched tears, grabbed her satchel and looked inside. The Grimmerie, a few dried plants and herbs and…
A single dried poppy. She thought back to that fateful day. She'd woken up an excited schoolgirl and gone to sleep a hated fugitive. Only two people on her side. And one of them was... gone...
Fiyero...
"Poppies," she said, holding up the scarlet flower, her voice cracking. "Poppies..."
Slowly, the Wicked Witch of the West began chanting the spell.
The Scarecrow watched as his three companions continued on from the edge of the poppy field. Dorothy and the Lion had awoken from the spell now. There was only one which in Oz powerful to enchant an entire field of poppies. Elphaba... The group was now discussing what it would be like to meet the Wizard. The Wonderful Wizard.
If only.
What idiots they are, he thought, until he realized the irony of this statement. He'd only come along in hopes of forming a plan with Elphaba...
If she figured out who he really was. Which, at this point, had proved to be quite a challenge, as his lover, in a fit of rage, had hurled a ball of fire at him only moments ago.
He turned his attention back to the formation of fools in front of him. He hated all of them, for refusing to question Elphaba's supposed wickedness. While he was at it, he hated the rest of Oz for the same reason. And he hated himself for putting her through so much pain and greif. Sighing, the straw man prepared to continue on, when he noticed something sticking to the bottom of his shoe. A piece of paper. It was wrinkled and old, but the writing was still legible. He unfolded it, curious, and read carefully.
Roses- Love, passion, beauty
Lilies- Life, resurrection
Daisies- Innocence
Poppies- Grief or despair in a time of death
A/N: I changed the interpretation of poppies just a tad; look it up on Wikipedia. Oh, and floriography is a word.
Review? You get a virtual bouquet of poppies!