Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2017- Licia

"I'm so nervous. What if they don't like us?"

"They don't like many people," Elphaba replied, glancing at Trot. The First Lady had been ecstatic when offered a chance to attend lunch with the others in the royal houses- more than her husband. A common girl, from a common family, married to a young Governor, she would finally get to meet many of the people she read about in the papers. The young empress had lent Trot a very pretty, maroon-colored dress for the occasion, and had helped her put her hair back in curls. "But they're excellent at hiding it."

Trot glanced at Elphaba, who stood whispering softly with Trism. She'd watched Elphaba select the knee-length, red dress with the slightly puffed sleeves and the wraparound top. The simple bow that tied at the waist hung down her side, and the v-neck caused by the wraparound accented her small bust. She wore her hair up in a twist, a simple clip holding it up, and a pair of pearl drops hung from her ears, the matching necklace around her neck. The dark blue coat she wore hung open on her small frame, and she wore black heels with black stockings. Dark blue gloves were on her hands, and she fiddled with the clutch that hid her candy-box camera.

The children- all twelve- were all dressed in their nicest, as was custom, and Faola, Chiss, and Tip kept a close eye on their siblings. Trot's gaze landed on Faola; the oldest princess leaned against her father; without missing a beat of their conversation, Trism reached down, stroking his fingers through his oldest daughter's hair. She too was dressed in a red dress with black shoes and stockings, like her mother; her long black hair was pulled back and held with a white bow- one of her mother's ribbons, Elphaba had told Trot when she asked about it. Unlike her mother, who chose to keep her camera hidden, Faola held tightly to hers, staring up at her mother with wide, blue eyes. Childish laughter caused Trism to glance over his wife's shoulder.

"Chiss! That's enough." He beckoned the boy over, and slowly, the child came. Without a word, he leaned against his mother, taking her hand. Elphaba turned her gaze to her oldest son, and slowly, she knelt down.

"You must be careful, darling. You and your brothers, all of you. We can't let them know. Okay?" The boy nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck, and she kissed his head.


Trot had never seen so many people of the same rank in one room in her entire life. She watched in silent awe as those already seated got to their feet, bowing or curtsying as Elphaba entered on Trism's arm. Once everyone straightened, Elphaba and Trism moved to take their places near Partra, who sat at the head of the table. The children took their places as well, but Trot hung back. Glinda rested a hand on her shoulder. "What do I do?"

The blonde smiled softly at her. "Have a seat."

"Where?"

"By your husband of course." She nodded to Zor, seated beside Trism. When Elphaba had asked Partra if it would be all right if Zor and his family joined them, Partra had, frankly, been relieved. It was high time the rest of the houses understood that they were not the only ones in this game, that Governors and Parliaments deserved the same respect as other royal houses. After a moment, Glinda moved to take her seat, several places down from Elphaba and her family, and after a moment, Trot moved to do the same, feeling every pair of eyes on her as she went. Partra gave her a small smile once she was seated.

After much tense silence, lunch began, and eventually, conversation slowly began to float up from various places at the table. Trot began to relax, finding herself in a pleasant conversation with the Queen of the Rose Garden, Arduenna, if she remembered right, until a voice spoke.

"I think it's sweet, that you are playing charity to the Munchkinland Governor and his family, Cousin. Just like Uncle Frexpar did when he invited the Governor of Quadling Country to visit back in nineteen-oh-eight. Just like your parents, you have a soft spot for those who don't belong. Remember, Fabala?"

The knife and fork clattered to the plate, and all conversation stopped. The young empress leaned forward, meeting her cousin's eye at the other end of the table. "Why don't you mind your own business, Iskinaary? Governor Diggs and his wife are lovely people, and if you bothered to actually talk to them, you would understand that." She ignored Trism's squeezing her thigh firmly to get her to check her temper. "But then again, you're so fixated on marrying Grimalkin, that you don't even understand that he is not interested. Sorry, Grim." The royal in question raised his hands surrender, shooting her a look that clearly said, I fully agree with you. "You have your head buried so far up Grim's a-"

A hand slapped firmly across her mouth, stopping the tirade, and after a moment, Trism leaned close, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear. "Temper, Fabala. Not here, not now, not in front of the children." Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes. "Now are you going to behave?" Slowly, she nodded. After several minutes, he finally lowered his hand, watching his wife, and she forced a smile his way before turning back to her cousin.

"At least I'm not an aging lady desperate for the attention I never got from my parents- all because daddy was too busy screwing his ballerina mistress to notice his marriage falling apart."

"Fabala! I said behave!"

Ryn looked around silently, before turning to Locasta. "Grandmama, what does screw mean?" And Locasta just shook her head.

"Don't worry about it, darling. You don't need to know."

"Oh, shut up, Trism!"

The table seemed to erupt in conversation from all sides, as the subject of fixations, divorce, marriage and taking a mistress became the hot debate of the hour. Partra turned a stern look to her granddaughter, who had the decency to look ashamed and whisper an apology. She turned as Trism reached down, sliding the same hand he'd used to try to silence her earlier, back over her thigh. The squeeze he gently gave the inside of her thigh was firm, and she briefly caught his eye.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. She just... makes me so... mad."

"Then don't respond." He whispered, meeting her gaze. She huffed.

"Personally, I think arranged marriages should be completely brought back. It's keeps the common blood out, and the bloodlines pure." Elphaba's ears perked up, and she leaned forward, looking around her husband to meet Lenx's gaze.

"You can't be serious, Lenx." Now married to a former princess of the Rose Garden, Lenx was the father of two; his oldest son had shown interest in Faola, and Lenx had suggested a couple years ago that a betrothal be made, but the young couple had refused; Faola was still a child, a little girl. Neither Trism nor Elphaba were going to force their daughter into a marriage she didn't want, and definitely not as a child. "You would rather marry someone your family chose, than marry someone of your choosing. Someone you love."

"Why not, Elphaba? Your parents did, your grandparents did, we all did at some point, those of us that have married." Arduenna and Glinda shared an embarrassed glance with Grim. "Royal blood keeps the houses clean." She bristled, and Trism squeezed her thigh in reassurance. "We don't contaminate them with blood from the common man. And as for love- there's no such thing as love in a royal marriage, Fabala dear." He replied, meeting her gaze. "Royal marriages are for one thing, and one thing only- creating alliances and continuing the line. You should know that, your marriage has done both- once eight times over." He glanced at the children, picking up his wine glass.

"Leave our children out of this, Lenx." Trism warned, as his wife grabbed her own glass and took a sip. "And for that matter," The king turned, meeting the prince's gaze. "Don't you know a love match when you see one?"

Lenx raised an eyebrow. "A love match?"

Elphaba giggled, sipping her wine. "I don't think he's ever heard the term, darling." She whispered, meeting Trism's gaze, "He doesn't know what love is, after all."

"Fabala, shh." He gently squeezed her thigh, glancing at Lenx out of the corner of his eye. "I do think you're right, though."

"Fabala, that's not nice." Glinda replied, meeting Grimalkin's eye, but he shrugged.

"I agree with Elphaba." My brother doesn't know what it's like to be in love. He only knows to do what he's told. I always determined that I was going to marry for love, when I finally did find the right girl." He and Glinda locked eyes, sharing a blush, and Elphaba glanced at her husband.

"Please, tell me, Lenx, exactly why are you so against the common man? Zor and his wife are what you consider 'common' and yet, they govern Munchkinland. Our entire line- every single one of our families- was started by a 'common man' who rose to power. So by saying you are against common marriages, you're essentially saying that you're against our very ancestors."

"That's not what I'm saying, Elphaba."

"Then what are you saying?"

He stood, leaning across the table towards her. "Royal blood should not mix with common. It's not clean, nor proper."

"This isn't exactly an age of propriety anymore, Lenx. We grew up in that age; that time's past." She replied, setting her glass down and crossing her arms in front of her.

"Mixing blood in marriage would be like mixing a fraudulent mystic with the royal family, and allowing that person to take control and run the country from backstage, behind the curtain." All other conversation stopped and silence fell. Faola glanced between Lenx and her mother, before turning to her father. Despite the years that had passed since the revolution, any mention of her parents and the strange affair that was their relationship with Yackle was still an exceedingly tender subject with Elphaba. She hated being referred to as the 'surviving daughter', the 'one that escaped', the 'one that got away', and tried her hardest to distance herself from her family's bloody legacy.

Slowly, she stood, leaning over the table to meet his gaze. "How dare you. You talk of keeping the blood clean- maybe you should think, before you support something that only does more damage than it helps. Maybe some common blood in this goddamned maze of a family tree would be a good thing! The blood that isn't clean is ours. It's not clean, and it never will be unless we allow some form of commonality into this... disgusting bloodline." She glanced around at everyone. "We don't know the sickness our blood actually causes, the diseases we spread." She glanced at her children, cursed with her blood long before any of them had even been conceived; the disease her brother nearly died from. "The illnesses our children suffer from. It's not from common blood, it's from our blood! Ours!" She turned back to Lenx. "And you just want to continue it. With no thought to your children or anyone else's."

Several people shared glances, realizing she was right. "Then what do you suggest, Cousin? That we stop marrying all together? That we allow the lines to dry up and die off?"

"I'm saying stop marrying into each other, allow some... some fresh blood into the tree. If not with our generations, then maybe the ones after." She glanced at her children, before turning to meet Partra's gaze; the dowager nodded softly, a smile on her face.

Well said, my darling. Frexpar and Melena would be proud.

"May I... say something?" Everyone turned to Trot, who'd sat listening, lip between her teeth.

"The common blood would like to address royalty?" Lenx mocked, holding out his hands in a mocking bow as Elphaba rolled her eyes.

"Shove it, Lenx!" Trism snapped, as Elphaba returned to her seat. She picked up her fork, returning her focus to the food on her plate, feeling her husband slip his hand over her thigh again and squeeze gently. Good girl, I'm proud of you. "Go on, Trot."

She smiled softly, meeting the king's gaze, before turning to Partra and the others. "I... I was raised in Nest Hardings. My father was a banker and my mother a milliner. We lived comfortably; there were times when things were tight, but we always got through it. We did well. And after my father died, my mother opened an orphanage. I'd gone to live with family in Nest Hardings by then. I... I know that... that my husband and I don't come from... from the wealth and standing that all of you do... but we've seen monarchies fall," Elphaba lowered her head. "And we've seen monarchies start." Trism glanced at his mother. "And... why should it matter, where the blood comes from? If the couple loves each other?" She turned back to her hosts. "Trism and Elphaba love each other- truly, deeply love each other. She spent ten years in an orphanage in Munchkinland- my mother's orphanage-"

Elphaba's head snapped up, and she leaned around her husband. "And I remember my mother telling me about the girl who'd shown up on her doorstep with the strange green diamonds tattooed on her pale skin. I didn't know that she was a princess. I met her once, not long after she arrived, and she was so quiet, that I knew something traumatic had happened, but I didn't know what. I just knew that she was so pretty, and so sad, and that something horrible must have happened to force her to leave her country, whatever her country was, for her to end up in Munchkinland."

Elphaba glanced at Partra, who shook her head, just as surprised by the revelation. "And then we met them and... she's wonderful. And Trism... he really, truly loves her. He treats her like a queen, when they aren't in public. And they love their children; they're a love match more than anyone I think I've ever seen. When they got back from their meeting with the Evian king yesterday, Trism carried her into the palace- he physically carried her. I guess the king got violent and hurt her after the meeting ended; she seemed fine to walk to me, but he wouldn't put her down until he got to the sofa."

Trism leaned towards his wife, whispering something to her, and she blushed, meeting his gaze. After a moment, they shared a soft kiss, clasping hands under the table. "They really, really love each other. It may have started as an arranged marriage, but now it's a love match. What's so wrong with a love match? All of this.. marrying because you have to... that's fine and all, but why not marry for love?"