A/N: I will update The Greatest Strength- I promise! I wrote something out for this story, but I decided I liked the basic plot of that better in the other story- you'll see. Soon. I hope.

Disclaimer: Not mine

"Ow!" I stabbed myself with the needle again. "Damn it! I hate this!"

"If you hate it so much, why are you doing it?" asked Fiyero reasonably.

I attacked the small garment with the needle again, trying to hem it- or harm it.

"Because," I growled, "now it's personal."

"Fae, neither the dress nor the thread nor the needle hates you."

"But I hate them. I hate them all!" I stabbed myself again and threw Fala's little dress down with a howl. "I give up!"

"Don't you know how to sew?" asked Glinda, floating into the room sans Ariana, who, like the twins, was probably asleep. I love naptime with a passion.

Glinda bent and examined my crooked handiwork.

"Not well, evidently," I said, holding my injured finger. "Blowing up bridges is less dangerous."

Fiyero opened his mouth to debate this. I held up my bleeding finger.

"Have I ever gotten hurt blowing up bridges?" He sulked a little.

"No."

"Have I ever gotten hurt sewing?" I waved the finger in his face. He sighed.

"Yes."

"Case closed. Around me, sewing is more dangerous than heavy explosives."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to sew?" queried Glinda.

"She drank herself unconscious daily and then she died." I said flatly. "End of the story, end of this line of conversation."

"Sorry, I forgot."

"It's not your fault." It's mine. Well, the drinking part. Maybe if I'd been…normal…she wouldn't have needed to- wanted to- escape from her life.

Suddenly I felt Fiyero's hand on my shoulder.

"Fae-"

"I'm fine," I said brusquely, and stalked out into the garden.

…

I hadn't had to go to Resistance meeting since the one with Eagle, and I was still questioning my commitment and considering what Eagle was going to make me do. Those hadn't been idle questions- unless of course they had and he was just being an asshole, which was far from out of the question. I was pondering this when I heard screams from inside and an ominous thud.

No.

I ran back to the room above the corn exchange and opened the door and froze.

Five, no six, no seven-maybe-eight, Gale Forcers stood beating Fiyero. Blood, so much blood, everywhere- my head spun in circles, dizzying me, as if I were the one who had lost all the crimson mercury painting the room.

Not again.

I ran back inside the house to find a group of Gale Forcers holding my children roughly. Fiyero lay unconscious on the floor. Glinda was punching one of the Gale Forcers ineffectually and screaming bloody murder.

If they didn't give me back my children right now, there was going to be a bloody murder. Several.

"Put down my children, you bastards!" I yelled, flying at them. I wanted to use my newfound powers, but I couldn't, not without hurting Fala and Liir.

One of them clubbed me before I could duck, and I, too, fell unconscious to the floor.

…

The Wizard:

The doors blew open, seemingly of their own accord and she came storming in like the hurricanes of my world. I could almost see the lightning flashing in her hazel eyes- Irish eyes, those.

"God damn you!" – and a temper to match – she shrieked, releasing that energy from her hands. It lifted me up and threw me into the wall. "Damn you to hell."

Intense pain flowed through me, then ebbed.

"Well, hello," I said.

"Give me my children before I kill you, you bastard," she spat.

"I'm sorry," I said neutrally.

Confusion replaced fury on her face for a moment.

"For what?" she asked. But I didn't have to answer.

She fell to the floor in a faint.

…

I didn't put her in Southstairs or the infirmary. I didn't know why. I put her in a private room, near the one where her children- my grandchildren- were asleep after screaming and kicking themselves to exhaustion. Apparently they took after her. After she'd been carried up to the room, I went in myself.

It was the first time I'd actually had an opportunity to see her; usually one or the other of us was dodging questions or potentially lethal objects launched into the air.

Her long black hair had come loose and fanned out over the pillow. With her face devoid of anger and her defenses down, she looked much younger than her twenty-four years and I felt a strange instinctive vestige of protective instinct flare to life. Cautiously- I didn't deserve to do this, she'd kill me and I knew it- I reached down and tucked the blanket gently around her. Even given my inexperience, when I touched her forehead I knew something was wrong. It felt as if her skin was on fire. She cried out in her sleep and began to shake.

I didn't know what was wrong with her- my daughter- but I knew what was right; and for the first time in her life I did it.

I sent for Fiyero.