Title: Never Die
Author: Sedri
Rating: PG-13 / T
Summary: "Let him NEVER die." Monologue from Fiyero's point of view. Tragedy, canon-compliant. Fiyero/Elphaba. Musicalverse. Complete.
Disclaimer: Neither Wicked nor the world of Oz are mine in any way.
Optional Ending
"That's quite a story," the old man said softly, fingers laced together on his lap. "I can scarcely imagine what it must be like for you."
Slumped messily in a carved wooden chair, the withered Scarecrow tilted his head. The faded cloth face might have been smiling, or scowling – it was impossible to tell. "I hope you never do," he said, in a voice not capable of inflection. "Can you help me?"
"Possibly," replied the other man. "But I do have one last question: How did you find us?"
Fiyero shrugged. "'Find' makes it sound like I was looking. I wasn't. I just stumbled across this place. I saw you people doing magic and figured I might as well take a chance. So I sneaked in."
"I suppose you have enough magic in your body to bypass our security."
He gave a bitter laugh. "I'm nothing but magic, Professor. Whatever I had that was human is long gone."
"I'm very sorry."
Another shrug; some straw fell from his shoulder to the polished floor. "Sorry," he muttered, picking himself up. "I know I'm a mess."
"Don't worry; there's nothing in here that can't be cleaned," the professor assured him. "And though of course there can be no promises, I do believe I can help you."
For the first time, true emotion sparked in those painted eyes. "You do?"
"I think so. From what you've said, every sorcerer you have spoken to has tried to overpower your wife's magic or cast a counter-spell to reverse the effects, correct?"
He nodded.
"I think you've all been going about it the wrong way. As you said, you are basically 'made' of magic; adding more hasn't changed anything. I believe what you need is a way to destroy the magic itself."
"And you know how to do that?"
"There are ways to put an object – no offence meant – beyond magical repair. I am willing to try."
For a moment, the Scarecrow closed his eyes. It looked like he was praying. "Thank you."
Half an hour later, Fiyero and the sorcerer stood on the roof of the castle, looking out at the sunset. It was midsummer, a warm day, and few people were about. The old man had chosen a tower with high parapets where their actions couldn't be seen, and politely asked his guest to sign some legal papers, just in case they were. "I'd rather not be accused of murder, you see," he'd said with a wry smile.
Fiyero had signed without a second glance; he was distracted, feeling, for the first time in years, an emotion that he couldn't quite place. Not quite excitement, nor fear… hope, maybe? After so much waiting, so much despair, this might actually be it.
The end. Death.
Behind him, the sorcerer was reading a strangely new-looking spellbook, triple-checking his incantations, and at last he raised his small wooden wand and said, "I'm ready."
Fiyero turned around. "Do it."
The spell that burst from that wand was fire – strange fire with huge flames, though that might have been because they came straight at his face. For a moment he saw a dragon, then it took the shape of a face, then it hit him and–
PAIN! Pain, pain, horrible pain, something he hadn't felt in centuries, made worse by the total and penetrating AGONY of the fire. It ripped through him, melting his paint, vaporising straw, muting his screaming voice. In some faint, far-off corner of his mind he thought he could feel the magic coming apart, and then–
Nothing. It was over.
Poof.
...
...
...
...But then...
...
There was something there with him. A person, maybe; blurry, but soft and warm and solid. Real.
And green.
Author's Note: Yes, that was Fiendfyre, and the professor was a wizard from the Potterverse.