Time dragged for Fiyero, blurred for Galinda, and marched like a drum before execution for Elphaba.
Fiyero spent as much time as was bearable in the library, learning things—hoping, perhaps, to impress his bride into not hating him. He wrote innumerable letters to Elphaba, none of which he sent. He attended meetings and councils, which were as boring as lectures and exams at Shiz. In short, Fiyero was trying to act like an adult and it was a difficult transition.
Galinda counted down the days—of shopping and dress-designing and magazine-reading—until her visit to Elphaba. Three weeks was not a very long time, but Galinda felt Fiyero's loss more keenly now that she knew he loved her old roommate; it was hard knowing that Fiyero and Elphaba would be happy (they would be happy, Galinda insisted on it) and that she would be alone.
Elphaba had forgotten the charms of Munchkinland. There were lonely walks—miles and miles of cornfields, where she could blend in and lose herself. She spent hours reading outside, lying between the rows of corn and letting the growing stalks shelter her from sunlight. She doubted she would ever return to Munchkinland, and she certainly would not return to the innocence of her unmarried self. It would be hard, she thought, to live with someone who loathed you for your skin color—who, perhaps, was not even attracted to you. Surely, her husband had been imagining a Galinda-ish bride. Certainly no one wanted to marry the green freak.
Elphaba and Galinda were caught in a tight hug, both crying. Who knew Elphaba could feel so much, express so much? Galinda hoped this openness Elphie had developed in the agony of her arranged engagement would remain once she learned the truth. Elphaba never thought she could miss her flighty roommate as much as she had missed Galinda. She hadn't thought she could miss anyone—except Fiyero, the one boy she'd wanted, the boy she'd never have—as much as she had missed Galinda.
Fiyero watched the sunset. Galinda was scheduled to arrive in Munchkinland today. She would tell Elphaba—and the world would implode, or explode, or keep turning. He didn't know. Fiyero barely knew what Elphaba thought of him; he was afraid, suddenly, that she would be as upset by Galinda's information as she would have been to marry a stranger.
"Elphie, darlingest, there's something I have to tell you . . ." Galinda said. She was lying on her stomach on Elphaba's bed, a cup of spicy tea in her hands and a half-eaten cookie in front of her. Elphaba was curled in the corner of the bed, her back against the wall.
"Go on, then," Elphaba prompted, taking a sip of her tea.
"Don't be angry with me, dearest. It's just, you shouldn't have to read this like he thought. It isn't fair to you."
"What shouldn't I have to read?" Elphaba was genuinely concerned now. Her voice shook a little.
"You know, your fiancé is from the Vinkus. Arjiki royalty."
"Wait . . . you're saying I'm going to . . . Glin, is this some kind of joke?"
"No, Elphie. You're going to marry Fiyero—"
The air grew heavier and Galinda listened intently as Elphaba struggled to breathe—to calm herself. Little streaks of blue lightning crackled around the green girl for a full thirty clock-ticks. Slowly, the light subsided and the air lightened and Elphaba's breathing returned to a normal pace.
"You were saying?" the green girl asked, as if nothing had happened.
"We don't know what happened, exactly, but somehow your father and Fiyero's parents decided you'd be a good match. It's confusifying, because Fiyero's parents knew about me, but . . . anyway, Fiyero's known for ages and ages, but he didn't want to tell me before he told you and you wouldn't listen and everything got out of hand and—"
"I'm going to kill him," Elphaba announced.
"No. You're not," Galinda countered.
"Watch me."
"Elphie, please—it's not his fault. He wrote you a letter and I read it, and that's why I know . . . he told me to give it to you, but I thought someone should tell you first. Here!"
Elphaba's hands shook as she unfolded the wrinkled parchment Galinda produced. She read the familiar handwriting several times over before she whispered: "Sweet Oz, this can't be happening."
"Are you . . . angry now?" Galinda asked.
Elphaba shook her head and raised her hand to wipe her eyes. "No, Glin . . . I think I'm happy. It's just so, so much. I was all prepared to have my husband hate me, and here he is saying he l—loves me."
Galinda grinned triumphantly. It was good that Elphie knew. In her heart, there was a little twinge of regret that she, Galinda Upland, was not engaged to Fiyero . . . but this felt somehow like it fit, like a puzzle piece that has been missing for a long time while Galinda and her friends tried to make the right piece fit.
The world did not implode. Fiyero watched the moonrise and finally fell asleep as it began to wane. Elphaba might not love him, but at least no natural disasters had occurred when she found out she was engaged to him. He could be content with that—for now. More would come in time. Fiyero didn't pause to examine his new patience, but those around him had begun to see a definite change in him. After that tense night of waiting for his life to end, Fiyero was changed for good. Most people said he was changed for the better.
It seemed like a billion clock-ticks until the week Elphaba would arrive in the Vinkus. Fiyero had little handle on the actual number of days and described it merely as "too long"; Galinda was horrified because it wasn't long enough to have all the proper clothes made and Elphaba didn't care; Elphaba checked each day off—very neatly—in her pocket calendar. Time passes, albeit slowly, when one is looking forward to a blessed event such as a wedding. Time passed for the three eager Shiz students.
"It has been three weeks and two days since you came, Glin," Elphaba announced one day, "tomorrow we leave for the Vinkus."
"It seems . . . impossible, doesn't it?" Galinda asked.
Elphaba sighed, "It seems impossible that I might actually be happy about my own wedding . . . but I am, and yes, it seems impossible that it is less than two weeks away."
"It's been a good summer, and I'm still going to miss rooming with you."
"You'll finally have that private suit you wanted," Elphaba retorted.
"Precisely. I'm making them leave the extra bed—you simply have to sleep over sometimes."
Elphaba rolled her eyes, "why did I know you were going to say that?"
"Because you know you want to stay with me," Galinda answered sweetly, "and anyway, I refuse to let you be so occupied by my ex-boyfriend that you ignore me."
"Maybe married life won't be such a charm and we'll hate each other by next term. Then I'll move in with you."
"Don't jinx it! You'll have a wonderful life!"
"I'm sure," was the green girl's only reply. Galinda wasn't sure if Elphaba intended sarcasm or seriousness; the blonde favored seriousness.
