Author's Note: I disclaim any right to works by Maguire or Shakespeare.

Sorry for the lengthy silence but I was back in London seeing Wicked - and what an experience that was! Anyway, regular updates will return now so I hope I haven't lost any of you.

Enjoy!

By the break of dawn the next morning, the Mistress of House Tiggular had both resigned herself to the oddities of her husband for the time being, and decided to be more proactive as regarded her food and sleeping arrangements. The firmly locked door to her bedchamber was a start, and her addressing her husband's manservant was another. She found Avaric as he left his master's study and followed him into the servant's corridor, where she ambushed him and begged to be brought some sustenance.

The servant, however, was not obliging. "No, no, I can't, really. He'd kill me." Avaric warned.

Elphaba groaned and held up against the wall with her icy stare. "The more I suffer, the more spiteful he becomes. Did he marry me just to starve me? Beggars at my father's door are given money as soon as they ask for it and if they do not find charity there, they find it someplace else." She told him, and the man began to appreciate her paleness as she stood before him. "But I, who have never known how to beg and never had to beg, am starved for food, dizzy with lack of sleep, kept awake with curses and fed with brawling." She hissed. "And what irks me more than all these things put together is that he does it under the pretence of love! As though for me to eat or sleep would bring on fatal illness or sudden death. Please, go and get me something to eat. I don't care what so long as it's nutritious." She finished, her hands folded together as though in prayer.

Avaric sighed and rubbed his eyes. The Mistress backed away, hoping to get what she wanted. "What do you say to a calf's foot?"

Elphaba beamed. "I pray, let me have it."

"I'm afraid it will raise your blood pressure." Avaric considered. "What do you say to an ox stomach, nicely broiled?"

"I like it well." She grinned, breathless with thanks. "Good Avaric, fetch it me."

"I don't know. I'm afraid it will make you too hot, too. What do you say to a piece of beef with mustard?"

Elphaba shifted uneasily. "A favourite dish of mine." She said, feeling as though the conversation was taking an unfortunate turn.

"Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little." Avaric shrugged.

"Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest." She spat.

"Absolutely not. You'll take the mustard or you'll get no beef from Avaric."

She moaned. "Then both, or one, or anything you like." She stamped her foot and stalked away from him.

"How about the mustard without the beef?" He called after her.

"Get out of here, you measly, lying wretch!" Elphaba turned on him, thrashing her strong arms over his head and shoving him back from her. "You feed me with only the names of foods. To hell with you and the whole pack of you who triumph at my misery. Go on, I said get out of here!" She yelled, having reached the hallway again. Avaric disappeared amongst the shower of insults, giggling to himself, as Elphaba leaned her head against the wall, almost ready to give in to tears.

All of a sudden, from the entrance hall below, Elphaba heard the voice of her husband calling. "How is my Phae? Where is my Phae?" Elphaba walked down to him, and he addressed her as she descended the carpeted stairs. "Feeling blue, darling?" She did not respond, hoping against hope that her pale colour would speak for her.

"Mistress, how are you?" Asked the only other gentleman whom she did not recognise.

"Darling, my old friend, Evard, Lord of the Scrow." Her husband informed her.

"Well met, my Lord." She said, allowing him to kiss her hand graciously and accepting his bow.

"Are you well, my Lady?" He inquired, his eyes darting from her to Fiyero, as he was unsure of the health she claimed to have.

"Believe me, I've been better." She replied, quietly.

"Cheer up." Fiyero said with no more than a glance at her. "Give us a smile. Look, love, see how devoted I am? I've prepared a meal for you myself, and here it is." He gestured to the vaulted room on their right which was a drawing-room of sorts, and on whose main table he had set out a fair meal. "I am sure, sweet Phae, this kindness deserves thanks. What, not a word?" He said, when she was too shocked and scared of its being removed to speak. "I guess you don't want it. Ah well, all my trouble was for nothing. Here, take away the dish." He clicked at some servants.

"Please, leave it here." She begged, and her voice was so desperate and quiet as the night, that Fiyero was startled.

He stopped, holding a hand in the air and keeping the servant away. "The smallest service is repaid with thanks. Mine will be, too, before you touch the food." He said, gratefully.

Elphaba smiled sincerely. "Thank you, sir."

Fiyero smiled as Elphaba sat down before the food and began to eat for the first time in five days. He felt supremely guilty once her saw how hungry she truly was, her noble manners almost forgotten as she devoured. He turned to Evard and whispered in his ear. "Do me a favour and eat as much of it as you can, Evard." He asked of him, and the man sat down, though he was hardly likely to do as Fiyero asked. Evard nibbled politely on a breadstick. "May it do your gentle heart good, Phae. Eat up quickly, my honey lamb, the tailor is waiting to deck you out in ruffled finery."

My honey lamb? Elphaba thought, as she nodded at the Tailor's entrance. He was squat man, dressed in navy blue, with a proud nose and upturned toes. He held a gown in a black garment bag and a hatbox. "Now, tailor, let's see what you've got. Lay out the gown. What can I do for you, sir?" Fiyero asked the man. Elphaba continued to eat at the table, as her seat already afforded her a good view of the situation.

"Here is the cap your Worship ordered."

Elphaba laughed at his error, and Fiyero caught her eyes and laughed, too. They shared a moment; miniscule, but for some reason it gave Elphaba a chill. A warm chill. It was as though they had been married for years during that one moment, and enjoyed one other's camaraderie.

"Your Lordship, my good man." Fiyero corrected him. "Though I appreciate the compliment, as my wife does." He said, and Elphaba smiled again. The Tailor apologised and removed the lid from the hatbox, presenting the item to his customer. Elphaba had to admit (though she was no judge on fashion) that it was a well-made and beautiful hat. It would suit her well. "Why, this was modelled on a porridge bowl!" She started, her husband clearly did not agree. "It's a velvet dish! No, definitely not! It's cheap and nasty! It's like a cockleshell or a walnut shell, a joke, a prank, a doll's cap. Take it away. Bring me a bigger one." He demanded, to the tailor's utter terror.

Elphaba stood, addressing her asinine husband. "I won't have one any bigger. This is the fashion. Gentlewomen are wearing caps like this right now."

"When you are gentle, you shall have one, too, and not till then." Fiyero told her.

"That won't be anytime soon." Evard said to himself, while the couple frowned angrily at one another.

"Sir, I think I have the right to speak, and speak I certainly will." She said proudly. "I am not a child or an infant. Better men than you have heard me speak my mind, and if you can't take it, then you'd better plug your ears. I'll express my anger or die concealing it. And rather than have that happen, I'll give myself permission to speak as freely as I like, whatever I may have to say."

"You know, you're right." Fiyero said, his tone changing to a more gentle pitch, which confused her. She was beginning to realise that she would never win with him. "It's a measly little cap, a dessert crust, a plaything, a silk pie. I love you all the more for not liking it."

"I don't care if you love me or not, I like the cap and I'll have it or I won't have any."

"Now, your gown?" He asked, causing the Tailor to jump and return the hat to its box swiftly. Elphaba did not quite understand what had happened. What would become of that gown? "Yes, yes. Come, tailor, show it to us. Merciful God! What sort of costume do we have here? What do you call this? A sleeve? It's like a cannon. What have you done? Carved it up and down like an apple tart? Snip and slash! It's got more holes than a sieve! What in the world do you call this, tailor?"

"I see she's likely to have neither cap nor gown." Evard said to himself, while the Tailor flustered about with his precious material.

The terrified tailor swallowed and straightened himself up to his full height – which was not all that impressive compared to Fiyero. "You told me to make it well and properly and in keeping with the current style."

"Certainly, I did. But if you remember, I didn't tell you to parody the style. Go on home, sir. You've lost me as a customer. I won't take it. Do whatever you want with it."

Elphaba could not stand the devastation she saw in the poor tailor's eyes. "I never saw a better-designed gown, more elegant and pleasing and well made. Perhaps you think you can make me into some sort of plaything?" She said to Fiyero angrily.

"Yes, that's it!" He clicked his fingers. "The tailor thinks he can make you into some sort of plaything." Elphaba balked and collapsed into her chair. In sympathy, Evard filled a plate with sweetmeats and handed to her with a smile. She thanked him silently.

"She says your Lordship thinks you can make her into some sort of plaything." The Tailor reminded him.

Fiyero gasped dramatically, causing them all the jump, as though he had been attacked by a thief with a knife. "What monstrous arrogance! It's a lie, you thread, you thimble, you measurement! You flea, you louse, you winter cricket! Disrespected in my own house by a spool of thread!" He pointed madly at the door. "Get out of here you rag, you remnant, you piece of yardage, or I'll measure you within an inch of your life with your own yardstick, and you'll remember your yammering for the rest of your life. I tell you, you've ruined her gown!"

"It's not true." The Tailor begged as though it were for his life. "The gown was made just as my master was directed. Avaric gave the order for how it should be done."

Avaric was brought through to stand before them, avoiding the evil eye that Elphaba gave him. "I gave him no order. I gave him the material." He claimed.

"Ah, but how did you want it made?" The Tailor asked.

Avaric replied. "With a needle and thread."

"But didn't you expect us to cut the cloth?" Retorted the Tailor.

"You've faced many things, haven't you?" Avaric asked him.

"I have."

"Well, don't face off with me." The servant warned. "You have bested many things, well don't try and best me. I will not be faced or bested. I tell you I requested that your master cut out the gown, but I didn't ask him to cut it all to pieces. Therefore, it follows you're a liar."

"Why, here is the order to prove it." Said the Tailor, tired of the insanity of this servant and his master.

"Read it." Fiyero commanded, pointing at the Tailor.

"The note is a big fat liar if it says I said so." Avaric claimed.

"'Item one, a loose-bodied gown—'"

"Master, if ever I said 'loose-bodied gown,' sew me into the skirts of it and beat me to death with a bobbin of brown thread. I said 'a gown.'" Avaric pleaded, though both Elphaba and Evard noted beads of sweat on his forehead.

"'The sleeves carefully cut.'" The Tailor continued.

"Ah, there's the problem." Fiyero interjected, as though he had solved an equation. Elphaba was merely glad this little game did not star her.

"Error in the bill, sir, error in the bill!" Avaric said, jumping on his chance. "I ordered that the sleeves be cut out and sewn up again, and I'll prove it in combat even if your little finger is armed with your thimble."

"What I say is true. And if this were a fitting place, I'd prove it."

"I am ready for you. You take the bill and I'll take your yardstick. Do your worst!"

Evard stood and forced the servant to stand back. He was far stronger than Avaric, who seemed to realise this, too. "God have mercy, Avaric! He won't have a chance." Evard told him in low, gruff tones. Elphaba watched Evard carefully, thinking how handsome he was. Her attentiveness was not lost on Fiyero.

"Well, sir, the gown is not for me." Fiyero told the Tailor, with slightly less enthusiasm than before.

"You are right, it's for my mistress." Avaric said, over the shoulders of Evard as the Tailor left with his head hanging.

Fiyero watched as Elphaba shook her head at him and took Evard aside without her noticing. "Evard, tell the tailor you'll make sure he gets paid, will you?" Evard sighed and agreed quickly, following the direction of the Tailor.

"Ah well, my Phae. What do you think?" Fiyero addressed her, taking a seat on the empty cushion next to hers. Elphaba eyed him carefully. She felt as though it would be beyond him to tip the table over, and she consciously held onto the surface as a result. "Our purses shall be rich, our garments poor. After all, it's the mind that enriches the body, and just as the sun shines through the darkest clouds, well, that's how clearly honour peeps through even the humblest style of dress."

"And where does my Lord intend for us to go this evening that it matters what we wear?" Elphaba inquired, hoping it was no great trial.

"Nowhere." He replied, dismissing her question. Elphaba blinked, unsure of even the time of day anymore. She felt tired. "And by the same token," Fiyero said, taking up his lecture again, "You are worth no less for your simple clothes and lack of finery. If you regard it as shameful, put the shame on me." He told her. Out of ideas, she merely nodded and smiled.

"Let's see," He said, checking his watch. "I think it must be seven o'clock, so we should get to breakfast soon. We shall eat outside, for it is a fine day for such an early time of the morning."

Elphaba exchanged a glance with Evard, who had returned. "I hate to say it, but it's almost two in the afternoon, my Lord. We should not even sit to dinner for another four hours at least."

Fiyero approached her, ignoring the flinch which made him feel almost cruel. "It shall be seven o'clock before I get on my horse. Whatever I say, or think, or do, you're continually contradicting it." He accused her, causing her expression to darken. Fiyero turned to Evard. "Sir, never mind. We won't go out for breakfast today or any day until it is clear that it shall be whatever time I say it is."

He stormed off upstairs, presumably to his study to scheme. Evard watched his wife, close to rage, leave through the front door in silence. He saw her wandering through the grounds as though she were lost.

"I see this fellow intends to command the sun." Evard whispered.