Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2005 Found: 2017- Licia
The material was cool against her skin, not that she noticed. She noticed nothing but the thoughts racing in her head, the fact that this time around, she would be wearing an actual wedding gown, unlike what she'd worn at the courthouse in Nest Hardings. "There, I'm done, Your Majesty. Your Majesty?"
Her head snapped up. "I'm sorry?"
The seamstress stood, setting her puff of pins down. "I'm done. Would you like to see?"
"Oh, Yes, of course."
She reached out, taking the woman's hand and lifting the skirt, being careful to step down, before allowing herself to be led to the full length mirror in the front of the shop. Locasta and Glinda stopped talking as soon as she stepped out, and the blonde let out a squeal. "Oh, Fabala! You look beautiful!"
After a moment, the young empress turned to glance at the seamstress, before going to the nearest mirror.
The dress was unlike anything her mother would have worn for her own wedding. The beautiful cut of the dress hugged her curves, the scoop neck and flared shoulders reminded her of the formal gowns she and her sisters had worn, while the drop waist was very much the current era they lived in. The skirt hit the floor, and the train was small, but had a beautiful effect. The seamstress pulled her hair back.
"We'll put your hair up, and add a tiara and the veil, of course. You'll be an absolutely beautiful bride, Your Majesty."
"Thank you." She whispered, the pain getting worse, though she tried her hardest to ignore it.
"Master Tigelaar is here, Your Majesty."
The conversation she was having with Glinda was cut short, and she looked up, to find one of the maids enter the sitting room with Trism in tow. The young empress glanced at her cousin, before setting the notepad and pen on the table and slowly getting up. She moved towards the two, nodding to the maid. "Thank you, Cattery. Would you mind fixing coffee for us?"
The maid nodded, and quickly disappeared to do as requested, as Trism took Elphaba's hand, bringing it to his lips. "Fabala."
"Trism."
Glinda watched the exchange, noticing the pain both appeared to be in; the same pain, caused by the same thing, though of two entirely different circumstances. He joined them on the sofa, taking a seat on the other side so that Elphaba was situated between them. After the drinks arrived, Elphaba dismissed the maid and the trio settled into silence.
"How are you two doing?" Glinda asked, fixing a cup of tea that had also been brought. She watched her cousin closely, saw how the young woman shifted closer to the young prince, how she seemed to relax into the comfort his mere presence gave her.
"It's..." The two shared a glance. "Getting there." Elphaba replied, sipping her coffee.
"Look, Glinda, I know you don't fully trust this plan-"
"You're right, Trism, I don't." She set her cup down. "And after what Fiyero pulled, can you blame me? Your brother toyed with my cousin, he fell in love with her, he used her and then he just walked away like it was no big deal."
"Glinda, please." Elphaba whispered, flinching as the blonde quickly lost her composure. She tried her hardest to hide the pain her soul was in, but it wasn't helping; Trism laid a hand on hers, and she did her best to draw strength from his touch, after all, he was experiencing the same pain.
"So forgive me, Trism, if I don't exactly trust this plan you two have concocted. But the last plan Fabala was involved in blew up in her face and left her soul struggling to survive-"
"You think I don't realize that?" He cut her off. "You think I don't understand what it feels like to have your soul ripped apart at the seams? Forgive me my impertinence, Glinda, but I had my soul ripped apart ten years ago, when the girl I loved was slaughtered in the basement of that mansion at twelve-years-old." Elphaba winced at the mention of her sister and the massacre that had claimed her family, and Trism squeezed her hand. "Or did you forget that I was thirteen at the time? Do you know what it feels like, to feel your soul start to die when you realize that the girl you've loved since childhood has been murdered? I knew the exact moment Nessa drew her last breath, because that was when my soul died. And I will never get that back, because I will never get herback. But if I can look after Fabala for her-"
Elphaba set her cup down roughly on the table and stood, stumbling away from them and going to the fireplace. "That's enough, both of you." She muttered, pulling the light jacket she wore tighter around her small frame. "I said that's enough!" She snapped when neither seemed to hear her. Both turned to her, and she leaned against the mantel, gaze going to the fire. Trism was up and by her side in seconds, resting a hand on her shoulder, which she reached up and covered with one of her own. "This is hard enough as it is, I don't need you two arguing and making it worse."
"I'm sorry, Fabala." Glinda whispered, and Trism whispered his apology against her hair. She nodded, turning to them both, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"You think I want to go through with this? No offense, Trism-"
"None taken, Fabala." He replied. "My sentiments, exactly."
"You're both in love with people who will never return it." Glinda replied, suddenly understanding why they were agreeing to such a sham.
"One of them can't return it because she's dead, and the other might as well be dead." Elphaba replied, curling into Trism's embrace and burying her face in his chest. "I might as well be a widow." He pressed a kiss to her head.
"We're doing the best we can, with the circumstances we've been given, Glinda. We have no choice, not really." He met Elphaba's gaze when she pulled away. "This is the best option we have." He took her hand, gently rubbing circles against her skin. "If we're lucky, we can make something of this life we've been given, start fresh from the ashes of the revolution."
"But the revolution claimed Fabala's family, Trism, not yours-"
"The revolution destroyed both dynasties, Glinda." Elphaba whispered. "It destroyed my family, and any hope of an alliance between Fliaan and the Vinkus through marriage. This is no love match, Glinda, but..." She met his gaze. "But it's the next best thing. If it can help me move on from what... from what Fiyero did... then I'm willing to take that chance."
"But a marriage without love?"
Trism shrugged. "Marriages have been built without love for hundreds of years, Glinda. It's not a new concept. We aren't the first to fall victim to it." He met Elphaba's gaze, before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"What about children? Never mind the blood disease, but... would you really have children in a loveless marriage?" The couple shared a glance; she rested a hand on his chest, letting him handle the answer, because she couldn't speak without thinking of her brother.
"They would never be unloved, Glinda. No child deserves to be unloved." He pressed another kiss to her forehead. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"I hope you know what you're doing."
"This is the best thing for us, Glinda. Fiyero is never coming back. I need to move on." Elphaba replied, meeting her cousin's gaze.
The days passed with preparations for the wedding. Elphaba did the best she could, in regards to the pain in her soul; Trism's presence, and the constant knowledge that he was suffering the same pain, helped her to know that she wasn't facing this alone. The loss of one's soulmate- dead or alive- was possible to live through; Trism was proof. He'd lost Nessa, and still managed to continue on each day. She drew her strength from him, and the knowledge that this was the best thing for her now, with Fiyero having run away.
So it was one rainy afternoon that Trism came to see her, and that the subject of where they would reside after the wedding came up.
"I won't leave Fliaan." Trism sipped his coffee in silence, watching his intended with wide blue eyes. "I spent ten years of my life away from Fliaan because of your brother. I won't do it again. I'm Fliaanian and I will remain Fliaanian, Trism. Marrying you won't change that."
He set his cup down. "I'm not arguing, Fabala. I don't think you should leave Fliaan either. You're its ruler-"
"I'm a figurehead, Trism, darling." She replied, picking up her cup. "I have no more power than your brother does. Parliament runs Fliaan now, not my family and not me." He moved closer, reaching down and taking her hand.
"You still give the say, Fabala, love." He whispered, bringing her hand up to kiss. "Parliament is parliament. They're a bunch of stuffy old men who believe they run the country, when in reality, it's youwho makes the ultimate decision." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Parliament controls the board, but you control the game. Every move those men make, they make because you tell them too."
She lowered her cup, Locasta's words ringing in her head. Men believe they control the board, but women control the game. "I'm a pawn, Trism. In this game of royal chess, I'm nothing but a pawn."
He met her gaze, shaking his head. "You're not a pawn, Fabala. My brother was a pawn who thought he was a king, unaware that he did not control the game. And he's paying for it. But you... you're not a pawn, not in any way, shape or form."
"Then what am I, Trism, if not a pawn?"
He squeezed her hand, his gaze steadily holding hers. "In this royal chess game, you're the strongest piece of all: the queen. We all do what you tell us to. You control every move we make. Parliament, Glinda, Partra even. My parents, me. I'm not stupid, Fabala. I understand very well that I am not the one in control of this game. I'm merely a piece on the board, I am simply doing what you tell me too. You tell me to move, I'll ask 'how far, Your Majesty?'" He brought her hand to his lips, never breaking her gaze. "I may be the king, but you're my queen. I bow to you and no one else."
She sighed and set her cup down before standing and going to the fireplace. "You got it wrong, Tris." She whispered, gaze locking on the flames. He was right though, she controlled everything that happened within Parliament, whether they realized it or not. They answered to her; they only passed bills if she approved them. They only went to war if she agreed.
And the other houses... lowly queens and kings, emperors without mates, princes and princesses; they all played to her. Her return was the best thing that could happen to Fliaan since her parents ruled. She'd grown up a mere princess of her home country, had watched in silence as her parents made decision bad decision; her father- the Unnamed God rest his soul- was a weak man, and Frexpar knew it. And her mother... she loved Mama with all her heart, but Mama had put too much of her faith in Yackle, simply because the healer could do what no doctor could, and heal her beloved baby brother. She and her sisters knew, that by the time Papa had abdicated, he was no longer making the decisions; Yackle was making the decisions, whispering in Mama's ear, who in turn whispered in Papa's.
Yes, Papa was weak, Mama clung too much to her faith, and by the end, it was Yackle running the country, with her parents as figureheads. If Elphaba were honest with herself, she knew that the revolution had been the best thing for Fliaan. With Yackle dead and gone... if only her family had survived. Out from under Yackle's influence, Mama would return to the woman she had been; she and Papa could have fixed the mistakes they'd made, they didn't have to pay with their lives, and they certainly didn't have to take their children with them. Mistakes had been made, but that only proved that Papa and Mama were human, and didn't deserve the fate that had befallen them.
No one deserved that fate.
But Trism was right. The rest of the royal houses of Oz bowed to her, as they had once bowed to Papa and Mama. For though the houses were interconnected- mainly through Mama's line- they still bowed to her. Melena had been the most powerful woman in Oz since Ozma. When she hadn't been under Yackle's influence, she'd been a force to be reckoned with. Frex only made the decisions he did because Melena told him to; she'd done as Locasta had said, she controlled the game and the players, and she'd done it well until Yackle had shown up.
Papa had bowed to Mama, as Trism would bow to her. As Fiyero should have bowed to her. Like Melena before her, Elphaba held all the cards; she was the strongest woman in all of Oz, the most powerful. But unlike Melena, her daughter would bow to no one. Yackle was no more; there would be no more like the mystic that had taken over the family. Were she to bear a son that suffered like her brother, she would turn to doctors, not mystics like her mother had. And if she ever did turn to mystics, they would bow before her, not the other way around. Yes, Elphaba had learned from her mother's mistakes.
She would not weaken like Melena had. She would not let others tell her what to do. She would tell them what to do. She would be a stronger ruler than either of her parents were. She would make sure of it. She would not let history repeat itself. "You got it wrong."
"And what did I get wrong, my queen?" He asked, getting up and going to her. She turned, meeting his gaze, lifting her head.
"I'm not a queen." She replied, and he blushed, realizing his mistake.
"Of course not, my darling." He bowed, making it clear that he recognized his place in this game they were forced into. She held out a hand.
"I will never be a lowly queen. I was born one of the highest princesses in all of Oz. I will not be taken down because of who I marry. I may end up a Vinkun queen, but I will never be of that station, not really." He met her gaze, taking her hand and brushing a kiss to her knuckles.
"I would not expect you to be, Fabala."
"Wouldn't you, Tris?" She raised an eyebrow. "Your brother didn't know his place. I'm glad you do."
"I've always known my place, Fabala. I always will. I accepted long ago what Fiyero couldn't. I have always been happy with my station in life. I've always understood the game, unlike my brother."
She nodded. "Good. I'll need someone by my side who can play the game as well as I can."
He shook his head. "Fabala, I don't want to rule Fliaan. Fliaan is yours, not mine. I'm perfectly happy ruling the Vinkus when the time comes."
She laughed, the pain in her body lessening slightly at his response. "I don't want you by my side as my emperor, Tris. Fliaan belongs to the Thropps and it will always belong to the Thropps; as long as I'm alive to claim it for my family, I will. You will never set foot in Fliaan as an emperor; a king, but not an emperor. But if we're going to play, I need a strong partner who can play as well as I can. I won't take you as my emperor, but I'll take you as my king, as my partner. Just understand that I will never be a lowly queen, as long as I rule Fliaan."
"I would never ask to be anything other than your king, Fabala."
She nodded, biting her lip. "Good. Because I'm not a queen. Not in this game. In this game..." She thought a moment, her mind going back to her mother.
"In this game?" He asked, waiting for her reply. She met his gaze.
"I'm an empress."