AN:

Aaaaaall riiiight… 2nd to last chapter guys!

(And happy new year by the way! Thanks for your continued support!)

OK, so this chapter was really difficult to write somehow and I don't mean the length (but over 7k is pretty long as well, haha!).

Something you should know before I update next week: Next week's chap is more like an epilogue, so definitely not as long as this one and probably shorter than my average chapters. The Fifi and the Elphie versions will also be really similar…

The companion chapter in the Elphie-version is: "Moments of Weakness"

Happy reading!

xoxo MLE


Chapter Twenty-Nine: Never Let Her Go

Fiyero sat at a small table for two in an overcrowded inn, occasionally defending this hard-won piece of privacy against bothersome strangers, but mainly just staring out of the window and sulking. He watched how the wind slammed rain, hailstones, loose twigs and leaves and other small particles against the glass. Every now and then something bigger came flying and he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut in case the window were to break.

"Here, have some more ale," Crom said, trying to sound upbeat.

He pushed one of the two steins he had fetched from the bar across the table and seated himself opposite Fiyero. The prince pushed the drink away from himself without even taking a look at it and murmured something about not intending to fall off his broom the next day. The other young man sighed and shook his head.

"I doubt we'll be flying tomorrow either, pal."

They had been stuck in this rotting, but due to the severe weather, still packed guesthouse for four slow days by now. According to Fiyero's calculations, they should have reached their destination latest three days ago and every clock-tick he was forced to sit down and not do anything was nothing short of torture. What if she was gone by the time they would finally reach this place Crom was leading them to? What if she needed his help, while he was all cooped up in this dreary hole?

The storm had taken them by surprise when it had first started, yet despite the terribly unfavourable conditions, the prince had insisted to plow on. It wasn't until the storm had reached hurricane strength and Fiyero had literally fallen out of the sky, that they had surrendered to their misfortune. Truth be told, the prince considered himself lucky to still be alive. If it hadn't been for this rather conveniently placed group of tall and luscious oak trees, he and Elphaba's broom would have collided with the hard ground without any buffer and most likely shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

Since Fiyero had shown no interest in his ale, Crom reached across the table to finish the abandoned drink for him. Just as he had lifted the stein to his lips, a loud crash startled him and caused him to spill the golden liquid all over his front. His alert eyes studied the window and he discovered a small thrush that was slowly sliding down the glass.

"Ouch," he muttered with a pained expression on his face. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

"Well, actually, I'm going upstairs now," Fiyero replied. "I want to turn in early tonight - in case the weather does improve."

The shape-shifter shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine. I doubt that that will happen, but there's no point in holding you back anyway. I'll be up soon as well."

Fiyero watched Crom slipping out of the door and into the stormy night, then, his weight heavily leaning on the table, he got to his feet.

About fifteen minutes later, Fiyero was all washed and changed and lying in bed. His eyes were closed, but attempts at actually falling asleep while his all-consuming worries for Elphaba still dominated his mind, proved once again futile at best. The door opened and the other man came in, resembling a drowned rat rather than a crow.

Cracking an eye open, the Vinkun frowned.

"I thought you were going to save that bird or something."

"I tired," Crom retorted grumpily. "But there was nothing left to save."

"Oh. My condolences."

It was a stupid remark, but by the time Fiyero realised that, the words had already tumbled out of his mouth. The other man paused and gave him an irritated look before rolling his eyes and slumping himself onto his bed.

"Night, Princie."

"Night," came his slightly sheepish reply.

Crom soon began to snore as loud as an entire army, but Fiyero lay awake until the golden sun rose in the east, at long last heralding the end of the storm.


Finally back on the road – or rather in the sky - after such a long delay, Fiyero willed the broom to fly even faster than before and Crom was barely able to keep up with him.

"Down there," the shape-shifter exclaimed relieved a few hours later, as they were flying above the southernmost district of a small town.

Fiyero looked down, his heart racing. He prayed that she would still be there and that she would be well, or at least well enough –ever since those few cryptic comments he had made in Mister Lox's living room, Crom had refused to part with any more information.

"Do you see that tall, narrow, green house next to the low, red one?"

The prince nodded.

"Well, I'm sure you can do this by yourself," the crow told him. "I'll be off, all right?"

"Yes. Thank you… friend."

The word still felt a little awkward on the Vinkun's tongue, given their somewhat difficult history, yet there was no point in denying that the crow-man had helped him out a great deal with this.

"Yeah, no worries. Take care, Princie!"

The bird flew off then and Fiyero growled in mild annoyance. Why did everyone always insist on calling him that?

He looked back down and his breath hitched. She simply had to be there, otherwise he would definitely not know what to do next or where else to go. His grip on the handle of the broom tightened and after one more deep breath, he went into a steep dive.

A fortune teller shop. Standing in front of the house Crom had directed him to, Fiyero scratched the back of his neck. He considered the idea that the shape-shifter could have played him for a fool, but then again, that seemed still somewhat unlikely. If this had been a prank, it had been a fairly elaborate, time-consuming and last, but not least, rather life-threatening one. So he straightened up, rolled back his shoulders and pushed down the door handle.

At the counter an ancient crone was busy counting the money from her till. Upon the merry ringing of the doorbell, she looked up, an unsettlingly amused expression on her face.

"You must be Master Tiggular," she croaked and snickered.

Fiyero stiffened. If he had ever seen someone who really gave off the impression of a wicked witch, it would be this creepy old lady, not his Fae.

The fortune teller, or whatever she was, cocked her head and eyed the young man up and down and down and up.

"What a ridiculously handsome face you have! Old Yackle can see now why your little sweetheart wanted you to have it back."

He drew a shaky breath.

"Yackle? You must be the woman who took her in after she fled the Emerald City then."

Old Yackle merely shrugged with her shoulders.

"Sure. If that's what she told you."

"S-she is here then."

He crossed the room with only three wide strides.

"Where is she?" he demanded in an almost foolhardily manner.

The old witch seemed little impressed and continued to study him in her disconcerting and mysterious way.

"Do you know how binding spells work, Master Tiggular?"

"Well, no," the prince answered rather befuddled, "I don't have any talent for magick and know hardly anything about it."

"Ah. Yackle suspected as much."

With pure bewilderment, Fiyero watched as the ancient woman nonchalantly went back to her money-counting, taking her sweet time to inspect every last coin and note, while ignoring him completely.

"What about binding spells?" he blurted out when the wait proved too long and had become unbearable.

She looked up and seemed almost surprised to still find the prince where she had left him.

"Oh, thought you weren't interested in those things, Princie."

Hearing her use the nickname he disliked so much, he clenched his yaw, but swallowed the remark sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"Does this have anything to do with Elphaba?" he prodded.

A long drawn sigh came from the witch's mouth.

"You see, young prince, the peculiar thing about binding spells is that they are one of only very few types of spells that can be reversed or broken."

Fiyero nodded. He was thankful for that, otherwise he would still be waddling around Oz as a scarecrow. But then a bad feeling settled in his stomach. Crom had mentioned something about 'miracles' and 'great costs' – was the old woman getting at the same point here?

"So… Elphaba broke the spell?" He licked his lips. "H-how did she do it?"

"Breaking the spell was easy," Yackle replied, bobbing her head. "All it takes is the death of the enchanter."

Fiyero blanched and his knees suddenly felt dangerously wobbly. This just couldn't be true. There must be a mistake.


He sat at a small table in Yackle's kitchen, a big mug of tea with a lacing of rum in front of him. He had emptied about half of it to calm his nerves, but now he showed little interest in finishing the drink. His right foot nervously tapped on the wooden floor until the old crone had had enough and struck it with her walking stick.

"When can I see her?" he moaned, sliding his chair back and forth a few times before hesitantly standing up.

"Patience, young man and sit back down," she ordered in a firm tone of voice.

He did as he was told – not because he was such a civilised, well-behaved lad, but because the ancient witch had him by the balls. His green girl was somewhere here in this house. She had died for him, but wasn't dead. It had taken him a while to make sense of this logic and he was still struggling with some of the finer details. However, after Yackle had confirmed and assured him several times and in various different ways that she was currently breathing and her heart beating, he had given up on understanding and decided to simply thank the universe with all its associated deities for the fact that Elphaba was alive.

While he continued to blankly stare at his remaining tea, Yackle slurped hers noisily. For the longest time, this and the exasperatingly noisy tick-tock of the clock in the hall were the only sounds to be heard, tempting Fiyero to add his own tapping to the symphony of silence again, or perhaps some finger drumming. Casting covert glances at the old woman, he slowly lifted a few fingers, ready to let them drop back down on the table. His tense muscles released and his fingers descended upon the weathered wood.

Dong, dong, dong, dong.

The deep ringing sound of the bell drowned out the drumming of his fingers. It was four o'clock. Surely she must be awake by now? Once more he jumped to his feet, but Yackle only tsked and shook her head.

"Told you that she is very weak and needs plenty of rest. She is not to be disturbed until dinner."

Too wound up to take the endless sitting any longer, Fiyero began to pace the cluttered kitchen instead.

"And when for Oz's sake is dinner?" he whined like a spoilt child.

"Only one more hour."

Yackle's generous use of the term 'only' was the final straw for him - in his current state even a minute seemed like an eternity, so how could she make light of a full nerve-wracking hour?

"I-" he took a few heavy breaths "-can't do this anymore."

He grabbed the broom, although he wasn't quite sure what he would need it for and hurried out of the small room. Surprisingly, Yackle did not make to follow him straight away.

The house was extremely narrow, so the store took up the entire first floor and on the second floor, the kitchen and the pantry seemed to be the only rooms. Consequently, the only option left was upstairs.

He climbed the stairs to the third level and discovered an open living room. There was but one more door and he soon found out that it led to the lavatory. Following the next staircase, he arrived in the attic with its typical, triangular roof shape. The corridor was barely wide enough for him to take a step to each side and two closed doors presented themselves to him like a riddle; behind which door would he find his prize?

Once he had made up his mind, he carefully opened the one to his right and peered inside. The inventory of the room was sparse and functional: A wardrobe, a bed with a nightstand and a single chair in the corner. More importantly, however, the bed was occupied. Fiyero's heart hammered hard against his ribcage as he clung desperately to the hope that this was his Fae.

Almost walking on tiptoes, he shuffled closer. The person in the bed began to stir and with a grumpy moan, pulled the comforter over their head. Fiyero took one more step to assure himself of the sleeper's identity.

"Just put it down, I'll eat it later," a grouchy voice that so unmistakeably was Elphaba's came from under the blanket.

Completely astonished - despite the fact that her presence in this room was clearly expected and even desired – the prince jumped and accidentally let go of the broom, which fell to the ground with a noisy clonk.

He flinched at her pained yelp and immediately felt eternally sorry for his clumsiness. Clearly upset and cradling her apparently aching head, she pulled herself up and moved to face the door.

"Can't you at least try to-"

For a few heartbeats, she simply stared at him in bewilderment, then her mouth dropped open. He had to laugh at her ridiculous expression and even more because he was simply so overjoyed to see her. So he rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around her.

He held her tight, maybe too tight even, but he was barely in control of his own body. Whatever it did, it did out of its own volition and at this point, it was clinging to the emerald woman like a magnet, like sticky molasses to bread, like to dear life itself.

"Yero."

Her voice was so unusual soft and he could hear her snivel a little. Her face buried in his shirt, she snuggled into him and he revelled in the feeling of her warm skin and the smell of her messy hair. He squeezed her but a little bit tighter and unnoticed by the precious creature in his arms, a few silent tears ran down his cheek.

Holding her and rocking her, he could have set there for hours upon hours. He knew that she was alive, that she was save and that she was his again; that was all that mattered, that was all he needed.

After a while, his tense grip on her eased and he began to relax. Tenderly and with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he began to place light kisses along her defined jaw and slender neck. How soft her skin was there, quite unlike the roughness of her hardworking hands. Not wanting to neglect them, even though they were not as smooth, he brought her hands up to brush his lips over their back. In doing so, he realised how limp they lay in his own hands and when he looked up to meet her gaze, he found that she had closed her eyes and was motionless leaning against his body.

"Fae?"

Her name was nothing but a breathless whisper when he tried to call her. The experiences of the past few months had been traumatising enough and so he was already expecting the worst. Not thinking clearly in this moment of panic, he considered calling Yackle for help, but then, feeling the faintest throbbing against the tips of his fingers where he was holding her wrist, he calmed down enough to gradually come to his senses.

He adjusted his grip on her wrist and felt for her pulse. It wasn't particularly strong, but at least even. Then he listened for any signs of breathing and could detect a steady airflow through her slightly parted lips. She was fine. She was just sleeping. Exhaling loudly, he held her closer again, rubbing up and down her arm.

"Don't scare me like this, Fae. I don't know how much more I could possibly take."

He planted a loving kiss on the top of her head and lay her down on the bed. For a while, he sat there and watched the rhythmic heaving of her chest, but eventually, once he was fully satisfied that it would continue doing so without his constant supervision, he rose to his feet and left the room.

Right outside the door, he bumped into someone and jumped. Yackle was standing before him, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head.

"Told you she needs rest," the old woman said in a slightly reprimanding tone and he nodded sheepishly, yet without harbouring any regrets.


"Good morning, my love."

He had been sitting in her room since dawn. Yackle had been against it, of course, but he had been set on seeing her, so, eventually, she had caved and allowed him upstairs. Talking was strictly forbidden though, as was any kind of touching, as these things might wake her. Just to be on the safe side, he was also not allowed to sit right beside, or even worse, on her bed, so he had settled on the chair in the corner.

But now her eyes were hesitantly fluttering open and he presumed that it would only be fair if these silly rules were to be cancelled. He jumped off his seat and covered the short distance between them in two swift strides. Noticing her attempts to sit upright, he lent a helping hand and, as soon as she was all propped up, handed her a cup of tea from her nightstand. She accepted the drink, but seemed too preoccupied studying his face to take a sip. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, yet she sounded happy and the smile on her lips made him feel warm all over. Happy Elphaba was far too rare a sight these days.

"You know, I've been awake for at least an hour or so," she admitted. "But I was too scared to open my eyes and find that it had all been nothing but a dream."

The prince's heart danced and ached at the same time. He had been through a lot the past few years and especially the last twelve or so months. But Elphaba - he didn't even want to start thinking about it. At least not in this moment.

Ever so gently, he cupped her cheek and began to caress it with his thumb. When she covered his large hand with her smaller one, he suddenly felt a deeply rooted connection between the two of them. Maybe she did, too, for her smile widened into a toothy grin.

"You're here. You're… you," she whispered incredulously. "You have no idea how glad I am."

Of course he did, but that would have been a silly point to argue about, especially given their circumstances. Instead of objecting, Fiyero simply smiled at her.

It was a beautiful moment between the two lovers and he really did not intend to destroy this, but a familiar worry kept nagging him and he knew, that sooner or later, he would not be able to keep it all bottled up anymore. Deciding that it would be better not to wait until he had no longer any control over his anger, he heaved a heavy sigh and put on a serious face.

"I'm glad, too," he began. "Don't get me wrong, but you shouldn't have done this, Fae Fae. It was too risky. You almost died."

"But I didn't."

Her reply was both, expected and infuriating.

"I remember having a similar discussion before," Fiyero grumbled as he ran his hand through his hair, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He could already see where this would be going if he insisted on arguing and he had to agree with Yackle that too much excitement was at present not good for Elphaba's recovery. He figured that he had already been selfish enough in giving in to his need and let her know about his frustration and this was the best point to end this discussion.

"Well, so as not to upset you too much in your current state, I will not argue with you now. But we will talk about this later, Miss Thropp."

His words had been carefully chosen to give off the air or a light-hearted banter, even though he was dead serious.

Elphaba took the bait and grinned.

"I can't wait."

Despite himself, Fiyero could not hold back a light chuckle.

Now it was her turn to furrow her brow.

"Yero, how did you even find me?"

For a moment he contemplated a little white lie, for he knew she wouldn't like the real answer. Lying, however, was something he'd had enough of.

"Why, a little black bird brought me here," he said with a playful wink.

It didn't help.

"Crom!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it."

He offered her a sheepish smile and she softened at least a mite. He scooted closer, hoping she would not reject him in her anger.

"But what does it matter, love? I'm here."

"That you are," she relented, the corners of her mouth twitching and the beautiful smile hesitantly reappearing.

Still somewhat reluctant, he leaned in and gently rubbed his nose against hers. He paused and watched her for a clock-tick or two, trying to gauge her mood. Eventually, the wait became too much and he moved to kiss her dark green lips. Contrary to what he might have feared, Elphaba reciprocated readily and quickly wrapped her slender arms around his neck. Smiling into the kiss, he pulled her closer and into his lap, allowing her to straddle him. She gasped slightly and, ever the opportunist, he ran his tongue along her lips and finally deepened the kiss.

Elphaba seemed to grow more confident and eager by the minute. Soon he felt her lips trailing down his neck until they reached the collar of his shirt. But the raven-haired beauty's administrations did not stop there. One by one, she opened the buttons in order to clear the way for her mouth. Enjoying the treatment tremendously, Fiyero closed his eyes and leaned back a little to allow her better access. He growled quietly and drew light circles on her back, as she pushed the cotton fabric off his shoulder.

Unfortunately, this pleasurable experience came to an abrupt end only seconds later. The green woman shrunk back, suddenly appearing rather agitated. Fiyero had not the slightest idea what had happened and alarmed watched her fidgeting around.

Taking hold of both of her hands, he asked whether she was hurt or unwell, but her anxious demeanour stemmed from an entirely different issue.

"You have to leave," she choked out in a thick voice, hiding her face behind a curtain of tangled, ebony curls. "You have to go right now and return to the Vinkus."

"What?"

He had not seen this one coming and could hardly explain to himself how she had jumped from passionately kissing him to sending him off to the Vinkus in a matter of mere clock-ticks.

Looking sort of lost, she shook her head.

"Where… where is our little girl?" she asked next. "Is she well?"

"She's fine. She's with Glinda," the prince related meekly and the witch seemed to be content enough with that to relax slightly and take a deep breath. After allowing herself a brief moment to gather her thoughts, she began to pat Fiyero's shoulders; first lightly, but adding more urgency the longer he remained sitting on her bed.

"Go. Go now and fetch her, then bring her to your parents."

"No!" he protested and reached out to guide her chin around so she was forced to look at him. "I'm not leaving here without you."

"Yero."

Knowing her, she had meant to tell him off, but the way she had uttered his name had sounded much more like a plea for him to not test her determination.

"I am not well enough to leave here. I'm sure you can see that," she mumbled without meeting his gaze. "But you have to return to our child as soon as possible and bring her to safety."

He did his best to convince her that the matter was not as urgent as she thought – of course he worried and cared for his daughter, but the girl was with Glinda and fairly safe for the moment. In the end, however, even his best was not good enough and she would not be swayed.

As he started one last desperate attempt, she nearly exploded.

"That's not on anymore," she snapped. "I was selfish enough to drag you into this mess – my mess – when it was just about the two of us, but things have changed. I'm not going to risk my daughter's life over this!"

"No, Fae, listen-"

Their looming fight was interrupted by the noisy bang of the door flying open and hitting the wall. The quarrelling couple flinched, then simultaneously turned their heads towards the ancient witch standing in the doorway. Fiyero could immediately see the grim expression on her wrinkly face and swallowed. Obviously, he had done worse than just disregarded the old crone's rules about not touching, speaking or getting too close.

"Out, young man," Yackle ordered firmly, stretching out one arm to point in the direction of the stairs.

Desperate, the prince tried to beseech her with his big, sad eyes, but such tricks would not work on her. He cast a brief glance to his side, but Elphaba had turned away from him and towards the window, her long arms wrapped around her slender midsection.

Since the pleading look in his eyes had not had the desired effect, he once more tried his luck with a few verbal appeasements, but to no avail.

"No, no. No word princie," Yackle growled back. "You're upsetting my patient and old Yackle won't stand for it. You're saying your farewells this instant and then off you go!"

"But Madame-"

"Ah, ah, ah!"

A warning finger was raised and Fiyero's fighting spirit was finally completely broken.

"Elphaba? Fae?"

He hesitantly stepped a little closer, but did not dare to touch her.

"I hate leaving you behind like this. But if this is your wish, I'll leave now."

For a fleeting moment he could see her stiffen and maybe she had been almost about to give in, yet in the end, all she did was to nod once to confirmed her will.

A long and awkward silence stretched between them until the prince uneasily cleared his throat and, in a slightly hoarse voice, said his final words.

"I'll come back for you. Stay here if you can, but if you cant; don't worry, I'll find you, wherever you are."

This was a promise he had every intention to keep.

His legs still refused to move for another few seconds and he couldn't blame them. Looking around the room in indecision, he caught Yackle's cross glare and finally turned to leave.

He unenthusiastically stumbled down the steep stairs. Leaving Elphaba behind once again was definitely not what he had come to this town for, but it was her own wish and he did have to admit that their precious daughter's safety was a pretty damn good argument for him to return to the Emerald City. Nevertheless, rationality and logic aside, the greater the distance between them became, the heavier his feet would feel.

It was with great difficulties that he reached the second floor. He was just about to descent the next staircase when he, almost relieved, remembered that he still had to fetch his - well, no; Elphaba's – broom from the kitchen. He found the weathered old thing in the left-hand corner and reached for it. Gently, he let his fingers glide over the handle, feeling the smooth wood. There was no doubt that he was procrastinating. He didn't care that it was unwise to stay when he was clearly and rightly supposed to leave though, so he put the broom back in its corner and walked over to the stove to boil some water and make himself a cup of tea instead. If Yackle were to find him lingering in her kitchen, he'd be dead meat for sure, he thought and shrugged his shoulders. Staying near his Fae for another few minutes, or - if he dared to be this bold – hours, surely was worth the risk.

He sat down by the window as he waited, lackadaisically observing the few people walking past. After about five minutes, the kettle whistling demanded his attention. He poured the lot liquid over the fresh peppermint leaves, took the cup and returned to his place at the table. This time when he cast a glance outside, two men in green uniform piqued his interest. He watched them warily, slightly tense, but still quite sure that they would merely pass by.

They didn't.

The men stopped in front of the fortune telling store, intently studying the sign and the small show window. Fiyero's gut began to tie up in anxious knots.

"Come on guys, just go, just leave," he mumbled under his breath, tightly gripping the windowsill he was leaning on.

The men appeared to be conversing casually and even laughed, so he still hoped that this was nothing but a nerve-wrecking coincidence. After all, if they had intended to search the shop or the entire house even, they would certainly have marched in already.

His hopes all came crushing down when a group of three more soldiers joined them a couple of minutes later and when four more Gale Forcers arrived, his heart jumped right up his throat. At last the party seemed complete and the most senior member pulled open the door to the shop. In the blink of an eye, the prince was on his feet, and out of the kitchen. He was at the staircase even before the cup he had accidentally toppled over collided with the hard floor.

The steep, irregular and altogether unsound steps of the stairs were difficult to climb, however, and slowed down his hurried pace. Hands on both rails, he set one foot in front of the other as quickly as he could.

From below the noise of shattering glass, splintering wood and cheerful hollering reached his ears. At least these pinheads had too much fun taking apart the shop to race straight up to the attic where Elphaba was most likely still in her room. He tried to speed up his ascent but progress was still slow.

Finally, he reached the third floor, the soldiers still busy in the shop as far as he could tell. Looking up the next staircase, he found that Elphaba and Yackle were currently trying their best to make their way down to the lower levels. Fiyero rushed over and climbed the first few steps.

The green witch's face was a display of pure disbelief.

"Fiyero? What in Oz! Why are you still here?"

"Phenomenally stupid question," he panted as he took two steps at a stride to catch up with the women. "I'm not just going to hop out of the window and fly away when the Gale Force knocks on your door."

"Fly?" Elphaba repeated, confused.

That's when he remembered that he had not told her about the broom yet.

"Long story," he dodged her question and grabbed her hand and upper arm "Now come!"

Ushering her down the stairs proved a bad idea as all she did was stumble over her own feet until she almost fell. He caught her before she could seriously hurt herself and murmured a small apology.

"I can't go anywhere like this, you know that!" she protested with an angry glare.

Setting his jaw, he let his eyes wander up and down the staircase before them.

"Then where were you two ladies headed, mh?" he asked once he had decided to scoop her up in his arm and simply carry the scarily weightless woman the rest of the way.

"We have to reach the closet on the second floor," Elphaba explained. "It's concealed and protected by magick."

As they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he carefully let her down. With a finger on his lips, he motioned for them to be quiet before he tiptoed over to the other flight of stairs that led down to the next floor.

"The second floor is already teeming with soldiers by now," he cursed as he re-joined the two witches.

As usual, Yackle showed barely any reaction, save for a nondescript movement with her head. When he looked over to Elphaba, he noticed how she caught her lip between her teeth and lowered her gaze to the floor. Neither of them made the impression that there was something like a 'plan B'.

Not ready to simply hand his Fae over to the Gale Force, Fiyero scanned the room for possible hiding spots. The lavatory and an old, woodworm-eaten armoire seemed to be the only viable options.

"Can't one of you cast a spell on this wardrobe over there?" he asked impatiently.

Elphaba looked up and slowly shook her head while Yackle gave him a sharp look. She seemed to resent his ignorance and pointedly educated him about the complex art of cloaking spells.

"Depending on the level of strength required, it might take a skilled enchanter hours or even days to perform the spell," she said, finishing her brief lecture with and indignant noise.

Fiyero rolled his eyes.

"Fine then."

He checked the lower level once more and discovered that two soldiers were now on their way upstairs. He had to do something and soon.

Thinking under pressure had never been his strong suit, but racking his brain, he at least remembered the broom he had left in the kitchen. If he could bring it back to Elphaba, she could escape very easily. He gave her a quick rundown of his plan - which made only half as much sense to her as to him since she hadn't really known about the broom yet – and then he was already on his way.

"But you're not going down there!" she called after him in exasperation.

Fiyero cast a glance over his shoulder and winked at her.

"You watch me!" he yelled back and disappeared down the stairs.

The faces of the men on the stairs turned ashen-pale as they caught sight of the Vinkun prince staggering towards him, believing they were seeing a ghost. One of them lost his footing, stumbled backwards and fell, hitting his head on the wall once he had arrived back on the second floor.

"What a mess."

Fiyero turned his head to look at the witch that belonged to the rough voice that had uttered the complained and smiled.

Before he knew it, the ancient woman had passed him, moving with such light-footed skill and agility he had certainly not expected from her.

The second Gale Forcer did not seem to take the old crone seriously and snarling held up his gun to stop her descent. Yackle, however, simply snapped her fingers and the weapon turned red-hot, forcing him to discard it immediately. Jolting as he tossed away the searing thing, he, too, lost his balance and tumbled down a couple of stairs. Watching the scene with wide eyes, Fiyero was caught by surprise when he realised that Yackle had already reached the bottom of the staircase.

With two men down, seven more soldiers were waiting for them on the second floor. Naturally, they had heard the commotion and readied their various weapons. As soon as they spotted the old witch, they began to surround her and threaten her with their halberds, guns and sabres.

"Who are you, old hag and where's the witch?"

"Who are you, fine, young man and what are you doing in Mother Yackle's house?" she retorted snappishly.

"What a bothersome shrew," another man huffed and spat at her. "This is a waste of time. Let's go and search the next floor, men."

"Oh no, you won't!"

The old witch held her hands out to both sides, her expression contorted in pure concentration. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then Fiyero could hear something jangling and clacking and rattling. All throughout the floor, small objects began to slowly rise into the air and levitate. Despite the glossy sheen of sweat forming on her forehead, Yackle smirked triumphantly. The men still seemed to be confused rather than intimidated and exchanged baffled looks.

Yackle was able to maintain this bizarre tension for a couple of heartbeats, then one of the men grew too frustrated with her and pointed his gun at her. Unimpressed, the ancient crone broke out into a wild cackle before releasing her hands and clapping them together in front of her.

At this the objects – an assortment of harmless, fluffy sponges, cups, tins, spoons, but also pointy forks and sharp knives - that had been peacefully floating on the spot up until then, suddenly darted towards the soldiers. They shielded themselves as well as they could, but the household items kept coming, with more and more emerging from drawers and cupboards that opened of their own accord.

"The witch! Shoot the witch!" one man who was merely equipped with a sabre urged those of his colleagues who were carrying firearms.

With great difficulties, a young redhead pulled out his gun and fired. His aim was poor and he only hit Yackle's open hand, but the cutlery and all the other things instantaneously dropped to the floor.

"Seize her!"

Four of the men lounged at the old woman. At this point, Fiyero sprung into action, jumping down the last few stairs. The remaining Gale Forcers' reaction was just the same as that of their fallen comrades and they immediately halted what they were doing.

"Come on boys," the Vinkun said with a challenging smirk, "aren't you at least going to say hello to a long-lost brother in arms?"

He took a step forward and the men retreated; one more step forward for him, one more step backwards for them. At his next step, however, they would no longer budge. Fiyero took a deep breath and shrugged.

"All right. Let's play then."

A chaotic skirmish broke loose and the prince struggled to fight five men at once. He landed a few good hits, but so did the soldiers. His only luck was that they did not seem interested in killing him. When he allowed himself one brief moment to catch a breath, the young, spirited redhead from earlier literally jumped at him and dragged him to the ground. Another man right away came to his fellow soldier's aid and helped him to hold the Vinkun down. Things didn't look good for him at all.

"Oh, stop this nonsense," Yackle groaned as she pulled herself together and got to her feet.

She was widely ignored, until a pressure wave knocked the men in green over.

"What are you waiting for," she barked right in Fiyero's dumbstruck face. "Snatch that misshapen, bristly hobby horse of yours and get lost! I'll handle this."

"What about-"

He suddenly found himself terribly short of breath and couldn't finish his sentence. As soon as he realised the mistake he had almost made, he was grateful for the old witch's assistance in keeping Elphaba's presence more or less secret for now.

"Go, you stupid boy!" Yackle urged and the prince finally rushed towards the kitchen where the enchanted broom was waiting for him.

He used the handle to smash in the window. By now quite well acquainted with and fully trusting his flying device, he hopped out without any reservations.


It was comfortably dark around him, safe for a dim nightlight by the door. Fiyero was sitting on a plush, velvet armchair on runners that allowed him rock back and forth while cradling the sleeping babe in his arms.

The door opened just a fraction of an inch and a young service girl shyly announced her presence.

"Your Highness."

The prince's tired eyes reluctantly tore away from the beautiful child and searched for the girl behind the door.

"Speak, but quietly."

Although he wouldn't be able to see it, the servant girl nodded.

"His Majesty the King wishes to speak with you."

Fiyero paused.

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

The door closed and he released a long-drawn breath. It had been five weeks since the incident at Yackle's. He hadn't heard of neither the old, nor the young witch and knew that this was hardly a good sign. There was a slim chance that they had simply gone underground again and disappeared. However, he had his own contacts on that level and surely at least one of them would know at least something if there only was anything at all to be known. There was no reason though for his father to be calling for him if there wasn't any news. He only hoped that they would offer more than just closure.

After gently tucking in his daughter in her luxurious cot, he straightened his clothes and uselessly attempted to fix his hair. The King of the Vinkus wasn't a very fatherly figure and if he wanted to win him over for his cause, Fiyero had to be all business from the moment he stepped into that pompous throne room.

"There you are, son."

"Father."

The king was not sitting on his throne, but pacing up and down, holding a small piece of parchment in his hand.

His eyes fixed on the letter, Fiyero nervously licked his lips.

"Is… is this regarding Elphaba?" he enquired, his voice unusually high-pitched. He cleared his throat and swallowed a huge lump that had formed there.

"Man up, Fiyero," the king growled grumpily, "you sound like a bloody girl."

The prince pulled his shoulders back, coughed quietly and set his jaw.

"Yes. Father."

With a halfway approving nod, the older man handed his son the message to read.

It didn't say much, the ornate handwriting with all its flourishes more elaborate than the actual words.

'In Southstairs but reasonably well.'

Fiyero could not stop staring at the parchment.

'That's all? That's it?" he said out loud by accident.

His father narrowed his eyes.

"I thought it is rather functional and very much on point. I appreciate your blonde lady friend's professionalism. Maybe you should revise your decision concerning your future wife."

His teeth grinding mercilessly, the prince crumpled the sheet in his hand.

"So?" he asked, his voice strained.

"The Glikkun army is ready to march in three days' time, the King of Ugabu will let me know how many men he can spare as soon as their new conscription law becomes effective, many of the Gillikin nobles have assured me their support. Munchkinland… still has to be persuaded."

Fiyero nodded thoughtfully. All this sounded promising, although it would obviously still take a while until they could march out against the Emerald City. Hopefully his love would be able to hold out for this long.

"Don't delude yourself in thinking that I'm doing this for you. Or for her, for that matter," the King reminded him harshly. "I'm still utterly disappointed in you and your ridiculously impetuous decisions. But at the very least saving my son's future wife and mother of the heir apparent to the Vinkun throne is the perfect pretext for an alliance against the Wizard. But believe me, if I hadn't been waiting for this chance for years I wouldn't do it."

The prince swallowed hard, doing his best to hold his tongue. His father's words wounded him deeply, but he knew that, if he were to do as little as saying one wrong word, his father might reconsider the promise he had given him earlier; the promise that the emerald witch would not be harmed once extracted from the Wizard's dungeon.