Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All credits for WICKED go to Gregory Maguire and Stephen Schwartz. I own the plot, nothing else. The lullaby is from the Porgy and Bess musical written by Gershwin, it's one of the first musicals I have ever seen and I still love this song.
This story is the sequel to CHILD OF THE WICKED. I hope all of you enjoy this fanfic as much as you have enjoyed the first story.
I had a lot of problems finding the right title for the sequel, I guess I changed it four or five times, but now I am sure that I found the right one.
Liora is Hebrew and means My Light. Sahar is Hebrew and means Moon.
Thanks to BelieveTheWarIsOver for betareading my fanfics, you are doing a great job. THANK YOU!
FINDING HER WICKED ROOTS
Prologue
Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting the room. It was a small room high up in a tower of a castle.
A young, green woman was rocking a baby to sleep, singing a soft lullaby:
"Summertime, and the living is easy. Fish are jumping, and the cotton is high. Your daddy's rich, and your ma is good looking. So hush little baby, don't you cry. One of these mornings, you're gonna rise up singing. You're gonna spread your wings and take the sky. But till that morning, there is nothing can harm you with your daddy and mommy standing by."
Again Arwen awoke from a restless sleep. She had been dreaming for weeks now about this singing green woman, probably her mother. She didn't know if there had ever been another green woman in Oz, maybe her mother had been the only green one. She didn't know. Arwen still had a lot of questions about her heritage. Questions not even her aunt Glinda could answer. With her parents being dead, she would never know the answers. There were moments in her life when she longed for her parents still be alive. She longed to know the people who she had never met but defined who she was. She was Arwen Liora Tiggular, daughter of Elphaba Thropp and Fiyero Tiggular, child of the wicked.
Four years had gone by since her graduation from Shiz, four years since she found out the truth of her parentage. But in these four years Arwen never went to search for any information about her parents, about how they lived, about their earlier years in life. Arwen was now the same age her mother had been when she had died. Maybe now was the right time to get the answers for her unvoiced questions. Arwen needed to know more than the names of her parents.
She would start with a trip to her grandparents, the King and the Queen of the Vinkus. They had never known that their son had fathered a child before he died. Arwen was unsure if her aunt Glinda had wrote them a letter, telling them the truth about the girl she had raised, telling them that she was raising their only grandchild.
But Arwen hadn't been brave enough to pick up a pen and write to them. What would they say when they learned that their only grandchild was the daughter of the Wicked Witch of the West? Arwen couldn't imagine how she would react if someone told her something like that. No. She knew how she would feel. After all, she had learned that she was the daughter of the Wicked Witch years ago. First she had been shocked, doubted herself and everything she had believed in. She, who had always dreamt to be like her aunt Glinda, to bring a change to Oz, was the daughter of the greatest enemy that had ever lived in Oz. But by now she had learned part of the real truth, that not her mother, but the Wizard and Morrible had been the evil ones.
The next day Arwen went to visit her aunt. She needed to talk to her first. Maybe her aunt Glinda could tell her a bit more about Elphaba and Fiyero, mom and dad. Part of Arwen was afraid to face her grandparents. There was no easy way explaining the truth to them.
"Something is bothering you, Arwen," Glinda said.
"I have dreams."
"Dreams? We all dream, nothing that should be bothering you."
"I dream of a green woman, probably my mother. Aunt Glinda, please, I need to know more about my parents."
Glinda sighed. During the last four years Arwen had come to her and had asked a lot of questions about Elphaba and Fiyero. Glinda had tried to tell her all she knew about them, but Elphaba and Fiyero had never been a couple back at Shiz, they had been friends, her friends. Glinda had never known that they had been in love until Fiyero had left her the day she announced her engagement. Shortly after this he had died. And Elphaba, she had died a year after Fiyero, leaving Glinda to raise the child of her best friends.
"I am not sure what else I could tell you. But I have some of your mother's belongings. I am sure she wanted you to have them."
Glinda stood up and walked over to an ancient chest. Years ago she had stored the reminders of her friendship with Elphaba in the chest. Now it was time to uncover those memories.
"What kind of belongings?"
"Her diaries, for one."
"Diaries?"
Glinda nodded. Back in Shiz she had always watched her friend write in her diary but never, even after her death, had she read a single word Elphaba had written. For her, Elphaba's thoughts were private. No one should ever read them. But Arwen was an expection: she was Elphaba's daughter. She needed to know things about her mother, things Glinda could never tell her. Only Elphaba's words, the ones she had written down could maybe answer Arwen's questions. If not, Arwen could still make a trip to her grandparents. The only family Arwen had left were Liora and Sahar Tiggular.