"To love someone means to see him as God intended him." Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Fiyero." His father heaved himself up with his mother's help, and she fussed with the pillows propping him upright. "You're home? Is it summer already?"

"Winter break." He stepped to his father's side, worry creasing his forehead.

"Ah. Sit, boy, sit. Let us talk. How are your studies? Are you still at Shiz?"

He felt the back of his neck warm that his father thought the question along the lines of the weather. "Yes. My studies went well, particularly after the extra credit project I wrote you about."

"Yes, yes, tutoring." Even still, his father sounded incredulous. "She did well, this pupil of yours?"

He smiled despite himself. "Wonderful. An A."

"That's fantastic, son. Great work."

"She's here with me, actually." The king looked around. "Outside. Mother wanted her to wait to meet you."

"Ah. Yes."

"Father, can we talk about this wedding business?"

He leaned into the pillows, weary. "Hand me some water, son."

That didn't bode well. Fiyero poured the glass from the jug by the door. His father took it from him, and then gestured to sit beside him.

"I'm sure you notice my illness." Fiyero looked away, unable to voice the rush of emotion at seeing his father so vulnerable. "A wasting disease, I'm told. Not rare, but not common. And unfortunately, incurable."

"How long will you be ill?"

His father drew a heavy breath. "Doctors give me two years, give or take a few months."

"That long? To regain full health, or begin the process?"

The man looked miserable, like he was going to disabuse a child in the belief of Lurline's Rest. "To…end the process. To live."

"What? No, you…" Fiyero couldn't understand the words. They had no place in any language. "You can't die. You're my father." His voice caught at the end, and he fought back the sudden childish rush of tears.

His father pulled him into a tight embrace despite the weakness in his arms. "Oh, my boy, I am sorry to let you down. I know you have dreams, and I hate to pull you from them. But it is time you learned the true weight of the crown, the responsibility needed to rule. The future of our country depends on it."

"I don't care about the country," Fiyero balked. "I care about you! I don't want you to-"

"I know, but it will happen, whether we want it or not."

"And, Lurline, how am I supposed to rule? Without you? I'm not ready. I mean, maybe I'm a little less shallow, but not…this." He fought the panic. "Are you sure they've done everything they can? There's nothing they can try?"

"I'm sure."

Fiyero stood up, pacing. "But-"

"Son, sit down. There is more to discuss."

He tilted his head back to stave off the panic. "What more could there be? Is Mother ill also?"

"No. Sit down."

Fiyero wanted to rage at his calm, weep at his acceptance of death, and hold him tight for every second they might have left.

"It concerns the girl." Eyes wide, Fiyero forced himself to sit. "You must see what lies before you, yes? Between the drought, the depression and the Wizard's foolish war on Animals, tensions are high. Too high. The country is vibrating with fear, despair. We cannot risk a danger to the line. Succession must be clear, or we risk civil war."

"What does this have to do with Elphaba?"

"Who? No, Sarima. You must marry her, take your place at my side, and prepare for your future. It is a regret that you did not get to finish your studies, but tutors and advisors can fill in the gaps until the situation resolves. Then it will be your choice if you wish to return."

No Shiz. He felt his world crumbling around him. "Does it have to be Sarima?"

The king studied his face. "No," he sighed. "No, but it has to be now."

Fiyero knew his face was ashen as he left his father's room some time later. Elphaba rose to meet him, and after one look at his face, kept quiet. She trailed him down the stairs, the worry clear in her eyes.

He held it together until out of sight of the room. Then he clutched her to him like a drowning man to a rope. He buried his face in her hair, drawing long, slow breaths to keep the flood at bay.

She was stiff, surprised at the intensity, but she set tentative hands on his waist.

After a long few moments, he forced himself to let her go. Oz, what could he do? He couldn't marry Sarima, but if he proposed to Elphaba… He would lose her. He'd learned the hard way not to push her too fast. He'd only kissed her then. Imagine asking her to marry him!

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

He pushed open the door to his room. "My father." His voice broke. He couldn't say it. He tipped his head toward the ceiling. "He's ill."

She frowned. "How ill?"

He didn't respond, sinking to his bed with his head in his hands.

"Oh, Yero." She sat beside him. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it." He fought a shudder. "I can't."

She pushed his shoulder so they lay facing each other, and he wrapped his arms around her. The gentle circles she rubbed into his back softened his muscles, but did nothing for his mind.

He burrowed his face into her neck, his nose tracing along her jaw. What would he do without her? Losing his father was enough devastation. He had to find a way to keep her.

She fidgeted. He knew he should let her go.

He pressed a parting kiss to her pulse point, and she twitched. The smell of her surrounded him, and he tried to reassure himself that she was still here. For now. He chanced another kiss, lighter this time, and her hips shifted minutely.

He tested another kiss. Against every nerve in his body, he pulled back, giving her the chance to back away. She ran a hand through his hair. Her head leaned back, eyes closed, and he couldn't resist the urge to nip lightly at her exposed neck. She let out a shaky breath, "Oz, Yero, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…You're upset, and-"

He covered her lips with his, kissing her with abandon, too lost in the fear of losing her to stop himself from doing exactly that. She resisted for a ticktock, and then returned his kiss with enthusiasm.

Oz, he wanted her. He needed her. She filled his every sense. His entire being. He lost himself in her, leaving behind the fear, the pain, the heartache.

Too soon, she pulled back, and though he desperately wanted to seduce her back to him, he let her go. Breathing hard, she stared at him, her mouth open. "That was…"

"Unexpected," he finished for her. "I'm sorry I-"

"No, I am. I-"

"You're going to make me kiss you again to stop the apologies, aren't you?"

She laughed, a bright boisterous bubble of joy in the bleakness that was this trip. "There are other ways, you know."

"Oh, I know." He raked his eyes down her body, and she sobered. "Let's get out of bed before I give into temptation." Or sob like a child and really embarrass himself.

She stood, clutching his hand as they headed toward the lounge. He felt raw. Elphaba centered him, grounded him, and he wondered how his siblings had survived the news without someone of their own.

"So now you know." Tyrius chirped from the table. "Lose your attitude yet, little prince?"

Fiyero spun on him, but Elphaba intervened. "I see you haven't lost yours."

"Stay out of this." He sneered at her dismissively. "This is a family issue, of which you have no part."

"She has a part if I say she does."

"Boys, stop. Honestly, like two dogs with a bone," Ramoina said the last under her breath. "We can all be sad. You don't have to be jerks proving it."

Tyrius sat back with a scowl. "Fine. I'll endure another big brother tantrum. We both know how it'll end anyway. He'll go scamper off to some party and dance his way out of his problems."

Fiyero frowned. "Yes, because fighting with everyone is the better option."

"Whatever."

Ramoina took over. "You see now, though, why you must marry Sarima? Can you stop being so priggish to her?"

"I don't see anything." His brother snorted, but Fiyero ignored it. "And I haven't been the priggish one."

"Yes, bringing another woman to warm your bed is certain to make your future wife happy."

"What do you expect? It's Fiyero." His siblings shared a look that brought a blush to his cheeks. To be honest, he probably deserved their low opinion.

Elphaba spoke. "Perhaps this might all go more calmly if you decided to talk rather than bicker? You've had time to adjust to the news. I should think you would give your brother the same courtesy."

Tyrius turned to her, eyes flashing, but Ramoina set a hand on his arm. "She's right. And he has more to adjust to, I suppose. He'll be our king, soon enough."

"Lurline helps us."

Elphaba scowled, her eyes flashing. "Fiyero will be a wonderful king."

Tyrius snorted a mirthless laugh. "Let's hope he's a better king than prince."

Fiyero caught her arm before she could rail against his brother. "I deserved that. Let it go."

"But you've changed. You're not a spoiled playboy anymore."

"Thank you? I'm not sure how much good that was for my ego." She gave him a look, and he knew she was suppressing a dig at how his ego didn't need any more stroking. "But, the only way they'll see that is when I prove over time."

His demeanor changed the atmosphere of the room, and he could almost feel the same desperation in his siblings at losing their father. Too overwhelmed with suppressed emotion for reason. His concession brought a tenuous peace.

A knock came.

Floppy-haired Mgliore ducked his head in without waiting for an answer, as he had for most of the fifteen years Fiyero had known him. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Course not." He crossed to clasp his friend's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were back."

"I'm so glad to see you." He tugged him against his side. "Elphaba, this is my best friend since grade school, Mgliore. Mgliore, my girlfriend, Elphaba."

"Girlfriend?" His friend looked to Ramoina and back, then extended a hand to Elphaba. "Pleasure to meet you."

"It's alright," Tyrius's smile was vicious. "She's met Sarima. She knows she's leaving."

"She's not leaving."

The others shared a demeaning look that said he insisted on playing the fool, and Elphaba's face burned. "Could you stop looking at him like that?" Ramoina lifted an eyebrow. "Like he's some idiot?"

Fiyero crossed back to her, a soothing hand on her arm. "I am fairly brainless."

"You're not," she whirled on him. "You know you're not. Don't placate them by demeaning yourself."

"Perhaps I could stomp my foot, and they'd believe I was over my childish ways?"

She scowled at him, both for his chastisement and for his logic. He pressed a kiss to her crown in proof of his appreciation.

"Regardless, I don't see how she's going to stay, unless she takes Sarima's place, in which case, good luck getting-"

Fiyero paled and shot a look to his brother. "We should probably go unpack."

She frowned.

"Go on. I'll be right behind you."

For a moment he thought she might refuse, but with a glare that said he'd been hearing more about this, she retreated.

"Thank you for that." He glared at his brother. "And you call me the moron."

"How is it my fault? She's going to find out sooner or later. Are you waiting until the wedding day?"

"I'm not going to marry Sarima."

"Well, you're going to marry someone. And if you don't tell her that, how are you going to convince her to take Sarima's place?"

"I wouldn't tell her like that, for one! And…" He trailed off, regrouping his thoughts. "I don't know if I can tell her at all. She's…skittish. She's had a hard life, and she's distrusting of anything good, anyone's intentions that aren't hurtful or cruel. I had to work so hard to convince to give us a chance even. I can't just ask her to marry me."

"So?"

Ramoina hit her brother's arm. "What if she says no?"

"What if she says yes?" he countered. "Could I do that to her? Make her give up her life, her education, everything she's dreamed of her whole life? Could I really be that selfish and still claim to love her?"

"So what? Then you'll marry Sarima," Tyrius held out a hand as if annoyed to have to explain the logic.

"I won't."

"Well, then we're back in circles, brother, because you are marrying someone, like it or not."

"Or?"

Ramoina set a hand on his arm. "I thought Father would tell you. There's-"

"Yes, yes, civil war. But I can't see how a marriage would make that much of a difference."

"I told you! He's just as cotton-headed as always!"

Mgliore stepped in. "Fiyero, I know it's not what you planned, but perhaps you should tell your love of this dilemma."

"She'd feel pressured to say yes." Or worse, she'd run. "I don't want to trample her feelings underneath just to solve my problem."

"Oh, no, her feelings," Tyrius mocked. "So you choose her over your people? How could you risk the future of the Vinkus for some munchkin Animal lover?"

He didn't rise to the bait, keeping his voice calm and even. "I love her."

Fiyero set a hand on his brother's arm, but Tyrius threw off the grip. "As foolish as ever." He spun on his heel and stormed out.

Ramoina clasped his palm gently, tears in her eyes. "Then you should follow your heart. At least someone should in this whole mess." She disappeared down the opposite hallway, and Fiyero stood there, no less lost than before.

He turned to Mgliore. "And you? What do you think?"

His best friend pressed his lips together and searched the ceiling as if some answer would appear. "Look, I don't know how much you love her, and I certainly can't say what I would do in your place. But I do know that the Vinkus?" He paused to push back his hair. "The Vinkus is burning. It's a cannon loaded and pressed. One spark is all it will take. You can't put this off. If she loves you, she'll understand."

He couldn't stop the half-whispered fear from tumbling out, "But will she leave?"

"The only way to know is to tell her. Don't you owe her the opportunity to decide?"

AN: Thanks for reading. I should have an update for Lost All Resistance later today as well.