DISCLAIMER: Whilst the Wicked characters aren't my property or creation, Fiyero's ancestors are.
Iason Tigelaar
(1588-1647)
Reigned from 1609-1632
It was one o'clock on a Sunday afternoon when Fiyero finally emerged from his bedroom and trundled his way down towards the dining room. His head felt heavy and sore, and he was eager for coffee to ease the slight throbbing in his temples.
He'd been out late last night- some of his friends had thrown him a 'Welcome Home' party after he'd been expelled from yet another university, his seventh. It had been a good night, and a great party, but Fiyero definishly needed coffee and a few more hours avoiding his parents and the inevitable lecture.
Before entering the dining room, Fiyero couldn't stop himself from sticking his head around the doorway discreetly, checking to see if either of his parents were in the room lying in wait for him. Thankfully, the room was empty and the coffee pot was on the side table.
"Oz bless you," he muttered, pouring himself a cup and inhaling deeply.
He cradled the warm mug tightly in his hands and began to retreat back up to the sanctuary of his bedroom, planning on a few more hours of sleep, a hot shower and then braving some food before facing his parents.
He was just at the foot of the stairs and wishing he'd stopped to put on socks- the floors were cold- when a voice startled him.
"Good afternoon, son."
Fiyero froze, then hid his grimace as he turned. "Hi, Dad. Coffee?" he offered brightly.
Ibrahim just regarded him soberly.
"Ok," Fiyero said, keeping his voice light and cheery. "Well, I'm sure you and Mom have lots of work to do, so I'll get out of your way. See you at dinner!"
"Hold it."
Fiyero stopped in his tracks only two steps up, cursing the 'dad' voice his father used so well against him.
"Dad, I really need to go have a shower and get some food," he tried to wheedle his way out of what he knew was coming. "Besides, have you really changed the lecture since May? Because, I swear I paid attention back then, and I remember… some of it."
"You should, it was the sixth time you heard it," Ibrahim said dryly.
Fiyero forced a grin. "I bet by the tenth time I'll be able to recite it to myself! In fact, why don't I go upstairs to my room, think about what I did, and see how much of the speech I remember?"
"Nice try, Yero," Ibrahim replied, neither sounding or looking as amused as his words would suggest. "Follow me."
Fiyero suppressed a groan. He expected his father to lead the way to his study, the usual spot for these lectures. Instead, his father headed down the hall, leaving a confusified Fiyero to follow with his coffee mug clutched tightly in hand.
"Dad, you know I'm twenty-four now," Fiyero said tiredly.
"So, your birth certificate would suggest," Ibrahim answered. "Your behaviour on the other hand, would claim otherwise."
Fiyero took a mouthful of coffee. He hadn't been up long enough for this.
"Dad…" he trailed off as he realised where they were going. "We're going to the portrait gallery?"
Ibrahim didn't answer as he led Fiyero into the room and past the many paintings on the wall of the past monarchs and family members.
His head giving a particularly painful throb, Fiyero walked over to a settee that sat against the wall and sank down onto it.
Ibrahim was still moving through the room, looking up at the paintings on the wall. Fiyero watched wearily, wondering which painting was the source of the family history lesson he was undoubtedly about to receive. This was a new tactic on his parents' part.
"Dad, is this really the time for a family history lesson?" he asked sceptically. "Can't we just stick with the 'you need to act your age and start facing up to your responsibilities' talk?"
"We would if that appeared to have any effect," Ibrahim replied, turning to look at him. Fiyero hated the now- unfortunately familiar look of disappointment on his face.
"Fiyero, pulling a fire alarm to get out of class is behaviour I might expect from a four year old. And certainly not the future king."
Fiyero tried to explain himself for the millionth time, as he had to the teacher, the headmaster of the Central Emerald College, and his parents before.
"Dad, there was more to it than that."
"Unless it ends up with a different outcome other than you being expelled, I don't want to hear it, Yero," Ibrahim said firmly.
A perk about his parents was that they didn't yell, no matter what Fiyero did. The downside was, they were the masters of the disappointed done and matching facial expression. That always made Fiyero feel way worse than if they did yell.
So, Fiyero took a mouthful of coffee and braced himself for yet another family history lesson. Although he couldn't stop himself from thinking that surely by now his father had run out of ancestors and stories to talk about.
Ibrahim sighed and came to sit beside him. When Fiyero tentatively glanced over at his father, the king pointed at a portrait on the opposite wall.
"Fiyero, there's lessons to be learned from history. Especially history within your own family."
"Dad, how far back in history are we talking? I mean, how are we even related to this guy?" Fiyero asked Ibrahim.
"Iason Tigelaar was your eighth great-grandfather," Ibrahim replied.
Fiyero suppressed a groan and slumped down slightly in his seat.
"I need more coffee for this," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temple.
"You being our son, and the future king, it's not the only reason that your mother and I are concerned with your behaviour these past few years," Ibrahim continued, either ignoring his son or not hearing his mumbled comment.
"As we've tried to explain to you for years, your actions have consequences. When you take the throne eventually, your actions and behaviour could affect the whole kingdom and its people."
Ibrahim regarded Fiyero solemnly.
"Iason Tigelaar had Dunn Mor built in town in 1611. Do you know why?"
"So there'd be one royal residence you didn't need a map to find the bathroom in?" Fiyero guessed.
Dunn Mor was the family manor in town, and by far the smallest royal residence there was.
His father sighed. "Fiyero," he began, in a tone that told Fiyero he was far beyond the point of getting away with sarcasm.
"Sorry," he apologised quietly. "Why was Dunn Mor built?"
"For easy access to gaming halls in town."
Fiyero frowned slightly.
"Iason liked to gamble. And I'm sure he started for the same reason that you go to parties or play pranks with your friends. Because you think it's fun, or you're bored, or to relax. Am I correct?"
Fiyero shrugged slightly.
"Iason reigned for twenty-three years and gambled through it all. By the time of his death, the Vinkus was in so much debt it took six generations to completely fix the economy and the problems he caused."
Fiyero wasn't sure whether or not to be offended as he looked at his father. "You think I'm going to screw up the kingdom?" he demanded, sitting up straight. "Because I pulled a fire alarm?!"
"That's not what I'm saying, Yero," Ibrahim said gently. "I'm just saying that your actions can have a lasting effect on the kingdom. You've been protesting and rebelling against your responsibilities for years, and things have to change, son."
Fiyero avoided his gaze.
"Next semester, you'll be going to Shiz University," Ibrahim continued. "And this is your last chance. You need to pull your head in and graduate. And I'm not saying this just because it's literally the only university in Oz you haven't been to. Your mother and I want you to be able to enjoy your life and enjoy college, but not the way you've been doing it. We don't want your legacy as king to be something like Iason. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I get it Dad," Fiyero said bitterly, getting to his feet. "I screwed up, again; and I need to grow up before I screw up the whole Vinkus," he said and headed for the door.
"Fiyero," Ibrahim called after him, but Fiyero ignored him.
Plans for a hot shower, food and sleep were forgotten. Fiyero returned to his room long enough only to grab shoes and a coat, and then headed outside.
As it was the middle of December, it was more than a little chilly outside, but Fiyero didn't care.
He didn't have a particular destination in mind, he just needed to keep moving. As though walking would drown out his thoughts. He stalked across the grounds, past the snow covered gardens and found himself heading towards the stables. Fiyero headed inside, feeling the warmer air mixed with the scent of horses hit him as he slipped through the door.
"Av?" he called out. "You here?"
Avaric had been a classmate of Fiyero's in elementary school, and they had been rather good friends. When Avaric's father died a few years ago, and it had fallen to Avaric to support the family, Fiyero had gotten him a job at the castle stables.
Avaric loved the horses, so Fiyero was hoping his friend would be around, and he wasn't disappointed. It was only a few moments before Avaric emerged from a stall, which he had clearly been mucking out.
"Hey, Yero," he greeted him, which told Fiyero they were alone.
Avaric was careful to address him by his title among other people, although everyone knew they were friends and former classmates.
"Hey," Fiyero returned, a glum note in his tone.
"What are you doing out here?" Avaric asked.
Fiyero shrugged and seated himself on a closed barrel of oats nearby. "Needed some air. What are you doing?"
"Working. I'd say 'what does it look like I'm doing?', but I think I'm talking to the wrong person for that," Avaric joked, but Fiyero didn't even smile.
"What happened? Your parents give you a lecture and your marching orders again?"
Fiyero sighed. "Kind of. The marching orders, anyway. The lecture was a little different this time."
Avaric frowned slightly. "What school's next?"
"Shiz."
Avaric's face cleared. "Oh. That's not too bad, Yero. It's supposed to be a good school, isn't it? Not much of a party scene, I don't think, but I'm sure you'll change that," he laughed.
Fiyero smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Av, you ever hear of Iason Tigelaar?" he asked his friend.
To his surprise, Avaric nodded. "Sure. King of the Vinkus in the early 1600s or something. Why?"
"How do you know that?"
Avaric grinned. "Well, the surname 'Tigelaar' was a bit of a giveaway," he said cheerfully and Fiyero chuckled.
"But I did an assignment on him in third grade."
"You did?"
"Yeah. We all had to do a report on a monarch remember?"
"No," Fiyero said blankly. "Really?"
Avaric nodded. "Yeah. You picked your father so you wouldn't have to do any research," he reminded him and a distant memory came back to Fiyero.
"Oh, yeah. Mechel Pico said I cheated," Fiyero scoffed.
Avaric laughed. "I think she was just jealous that you got a better grade than her for it. Why bring up Iason Tigelaar?"
"My Dad's lecture today included a family history lesson. All about Iason Tigelaar, and how he ruined the Vinkus and I'll be next if I don't grow up," Fiyero said bitterly.
Avaric looked at Fiyero in shock. "Your Dad didn't say that exactly, did he?"
"That was the gist of it," Fiyero answered.
Something nudged Fiyero's shoulder abruptly and he jumped a mile, springing off the barrel and whirling around. Avaric burst out laughing as Fiyero tried to calm his heart rate, glaring at the brown mare who had poked her nose over her stall door.
"What in Oz's name are you doing?" he addressed the horse.
"She's just saying hello," Avaric choked out, still laughing. "Give her some of the oats you were sitting on."
Fiyero obeyed and rubbed the mare's nose gently as she happily ate.
"So, why was your father telling you about Iason? I mean, he's got to be your great-great-great…"
"Try eight 'greats'," Fiyero interjected.
Avaric let out a low whistle. "Wow. But again, what was the point?"
"Apparently, the point is that rotten apples have many seeds," Fiyero said miserably, still patting the horse.
Avaric paused. "Are you a seed in this analogy?"
"Yes," Fiyero confirmed. "Dad was telling me all about how Iason Tigelaar was a gambler and put the Vinkus in all this debt. And he and Mom don't want me to end up like him."
Avaric looked at him pityingly, but didn't look completely surprised. "I knew about the gambling debt, but I really don't think that your parents think you'll end up that way."
"You knew about the gambling?" Fiyero asked him.
"Yeah, it was in my report in third grade," Avaric nodded. "That's why I picked him. He committed suicide, leaving his fourteen year old son to take the throne; but there's a conspiracy theory that he was murdered by people he owed money to. It's never been proven though."
Fiyero just stared at him. "See, why doesn't my father ever tell me the cool stories like that?" he complained.
Avaric chuckled. "Would knowing that your ancestor may have been murdered by debtors help your father's point?"
"Hey, the thought that my behaviour may get me killed is a good wake up call, right?"
"Your 'behaviour' is your inability to stay in one school and some practical jokes and parties. How would that get you killed?" Avaric asked reasonably.
"If I get expelled from Shiz, my father may kill me himself," Fiyero said glumly.
Avaric didn't respond, just going about his work as Fiyero wandered around saying hello to the horses.
"Yero?" Avaric asked quietly.
"Yeah?"
"You know your parents really don't think you're going to screw up the kingdom, don't you?"
Fiyero shrugged half-heartedly. "Maybe they do, though."
Avaric was clearly trying to be positive. "Maybe Shiz will be good for you," he suggested. "It could be just what you need to… focus. And graduate."
"Maybe," Fiyero agreed distantly. Then he sighed. "I need food. Thanks, Av. I'll see you later."
At the stable doors, he turned back. "Want to drive me to Shiz when the semester starts? Road trip?"
Avaric rolled his eyes. "It's not a road trip when I'm on the outside doing the driving, and you're inside sleeping. But yeah, I'll drive you," he agreed.
Fiyero grinned. "Thanks, Av. See ya."
Fiyero returned to the castle and immediately retreated to his room for a hot shower. After that and grabbing some food from the kitchen, he did feel better- physically, at least.
He was lying on his bed with a magazine when there came a soft knock on the door. He knew immediately who it was.
"Yeah, Mom?"
The door opened and Kasmira entered. "Yero, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Fiyero shrugged. "Sure."
He reluctantly sat up as his mother sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm guessing you spoke to Dad?" he asked before she could say anything.
Kasmira nodded. "Yes. Yero, your father and I have every faith in your ability to be a good King when the time comes. But we want you to be as prepared for that time as you can be. Which includes a university degree."
"And Iason Tigelaar?"
His mother rolled her eyes. "Fiyero, you know what your father is like about family history stories. He was trying to get through to you, but it doesn't mean that he really thinks that you won't be able to rule the kingdom."
Kasmira smiled faintly. "We worry about you, sweetheart. I know this isn't the life you'd choose for yourself if you could, but this isn't the way to go about it. What your father was trying to say, and evidently didn't say well, is that… we love you. We believe you'll be a great king, but you need to have balance in your life between your responsibilities and having fun. And you're a little out of balance."
Fiyero met his mother's gaze. "I'm not like him, Mom. Just because I'm not dying to be king doesn't mean I won't take it seriously. Or that I don't want to do a good job."
Kasmira beamed proudly and squeezed his hand. "We know, Yero."
Fiyero let out a breath. "So, Shiz, huh?"
The queen nodded. "Shiz. I think it'll be a good fit for you, sweetheart," she said confidently.
Fiyero was sure she'd said that about the past three schools, but let it slide.
"I know your Dad wants to apologise," Kasmira added softly.
He nodded. "I guess I owe him one too," he said reluctantly. "Does Dad believe the conspiracy theory about Iason Tigelaar being murdered?" he asked her as he got off the bed.
His mother stared at him blankly for a moment. "Fiyero, I can honestly say your father and I have never discussed it," she said finally.
"That's ok. I'll ask him," Fiyero reassured her, and left the room in search of Ibrahim.
Kasmira smiled faintly. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, no matter how much the apple protests," she murmured under her breath as she followed him.
AN. I've been trying to think of the best way to set up a kind of prompt method for this little series- whether I upload a copy of the family tree to my blog and people can name relatives they would like to hear about; or people just say "hey, who was Fiyero's great-grandmother" and I write about that; or whether it's more of a "Elphaba and Fiyero search his family tree for inspiration to name their child" kind of prompt.
If you have any thoughts on this, please let me know!
