The nightmares were still in evidence. She supposed that they may never go away completely.

She woke up that night to find him sitting up. She moved around in front of him.

His eyes were open, face contorted with fear, tears coursing down his cheeks. But it was obvious that he wasn't really awake.

She found a dry rag and wiped his face with it. "Come on, mo deas. Wake up now," she said, gently shaking his shoulders.

He cried out from some unseen terror and grabbed hold of her upper arm. The fingers dug in with an iron-grip.

"Ow," she gasped. But she couldn't loosen them. His grip tightened even more. It hurt like hell, but there was nothing to do but wait.

Finally his eyes cleared. They darted around wildly at first but then settled on her.

"It was just another dream," she told him.

Even though he was looking at her, he was still struggling with the remnants.

"Its alright. We're in the Scrow camp," she said.

"The Scrow camp," he repeated. "The Scrow."

"That's right. Its a safe place. You were only having a dream."

He nodded and looked around the tent again.

"Do you remember?"

"I remember," he said, but it sounded automatic.

She shook her head, nonplussed. "Fiyero, try to focus."

He blinked and looked at her again.

"Are you back?"

"I-" Another darting glance around. "This is our tent."

She relaxed. "Yes, with the Scrow and Princess Nastoya."

"Okay." He repeated it three more times. "I'm okay now."

She smiled at him, but it was a little tense. "That's good. Now, can you let go of my arm?"

"What'd you say?"

"My arm, Fiyero. Please let go."

"Your arm," he mumbled. He stared down at where he still held her in confusion.

"You're hurting me!"

He shook his head and suddenly released her.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing the spot vigorously. It would most assuredly bruise.

"I'm sorry, Fae."

"Elphaba, my name is Elphaba," she reminded him.

"Oh," he said softly. She turned and watched his face closely -it was dark in here but she could see enough-, his eyebrows went up but fell almost immediatly

"Did you forget?"

"I'm not sure."

"You've only been calling me, Fae. I had wondered."

"Elphaba." But he was just saying it, he wasn't really calling her.

"Did they tell you I did something? Try to turn you against me?"

He shrugged. "I can't remember."

"Alright," she said, letting the matter drop.

"It was only a dream," he said to himself. In a louder voice he told her, "Sometimes they seem so real."

"We all have dreams like that."

A sprig of bergamot, and a pipkin with lavendar oil had been placed by the bedside, without her knowledge. The Scrow were wonderful! Why had she ever suspected them?

But then she remembered how scared and anxious and stressed out she was at that time and it was clearer.

She would make her apologies soon enough, but for now...

She rubbed some of the oil into his skin.

"That feels good."

"I'm glad," she said, leaning forward to kiss him. "So what happened?"

He sighed and said, "It was when they were taking me to Madame Morrible for my formal confession."

Her face hardened, the expression on it becoming stiff. "Your confession."

He began describing it to her.

"Don't look so surprised. I own you now," Jemmsy told him.

Fiyero was long gone by now. This was only the prisoner. He curled his fingers around the thing encircling his neck. Like a collar and leash. No, that was exactly what it was.

A last vestige of anger at this humiliation rose up in him and he balked. But then the familiar clink of the irons quickly stifled it. Laughter rang out and he hung his head in shame.

A long time passed and finally someone new came in the room. The prisoner couldn't see them, of course, but the mere force of their presence cowed him. He shrank back.

"What is this," a woman demanded. "I ask you to bring me the Prince of the Arjiki's and instead, you bring me this shivering relic. Explain yourself!"

"Maam, I-," Jemmsy began shakily. He was afraid.

"Get out."

"Milady, he requires a chaperone at all times."

"I can take care of myself, should he rise up to strike me. Though I must say, you've seen to it that he won't. Now, leave us or I will see your head on the chopping block. And get that hideous thing," she nearly spat out the last word, "off of him. This is a human being, for the love of Oz."

Jemmsy hastened to obey her.

A long silence. Finally, "Whatever that lover of yours thinks of me, I don't approve of such mindless brutality. Its sickening. Be glad that you can't see yourself."

The prisoner was glad, he was certainly ashamed and didn't want to see. But now that he was alone with her, he shrank away even more, raising his arms up as to deflect an expected blow. He felt the weight of her gaze settle on him.

She sighed wearily. "Are you able to stand? If you are, you should not cower so. It is not befitting some one of your status. You were a prince, if you can remember. You should try for some dignity."

He complied, though it wasn't easy. His knees were still sprung from something, and that made it painful to bear his weight. But he managed, shaking boldily with mingled fear and agony. And also the beginnings of the fever that would grip him.

"You are to be execueted in the morning," she said, brusquely.

He began to weep. Finally, an end to all of this.

"Don't do that," she demanded.

But he couldn't help it, he was so relieved.

Another tired sigh from her. "I have decided to grant you a reprieve. You are dying, anyone can see. Its clear you won't survive more than a few days, so the matter is of little consquence. I have the authority and the skill to interfere on your behalf. I shall arrange for you to be relocated to a place for you to die with some dignity. Now to the matter at hand:

You, Fiyero Tigelaar, have been charged with treason, collusion with a terror cell, collaborationism against our Glorious Wizard. It is my understanding that you have already offered confession to Gale Force officers, but I am here to authenticate things."

He nodded.

Another pause. "Is that an admission of crime?"

"Yes."

"You are in complete understanding of the charges set against you?"

"Yes."

"I wonder...but my opinion holds little sway among lofty heights. You give your confession freely and-"

"Yes," he said a third time.

She hesitated, as if unsure but then plowed ahead. "Very well, I have what I need. I will get these all in order and now I will release you back into the custody of your minders." She hesitated again. "Remember you are a prince, Lord Tigelaar. Remember yourself, at least. This is disgraceful. It should not be allowed, but alas, my authority does not extend so far."

Elphaba scoffed, predictably. "That harridan. Damn her lies."

"I don't know. The others, they tricked me, manipulated me, for their own means and purposes. But Madame Morrible seemed genuinely remorseful."

"Of course, it seemed genuine. She's a silver-tongued liar. And you weren't exactly in your right mind, either."

"I'm not saying that she's a nice person, but nobody is all bad."

"Hah! That Horrible Morrible, a good woman. That'll be the day."

"I didn't say she was good, I just said she might not be that bad."

"You don't know her like I do. You didn't live in Crage Hall."

"Well, no but maybe you were too close to see. Maybe you just made up your mind she was evil."

She shook her head in irritation. "You're only saying that because you don't know."

"What don't I know?"

She shook her head again. "Never mind, I'm tired. I'm not even sure what I meant. I'm going back to sleep." She turned over, facing away from him. She didn't want to think about this. They had really done a number on him.

The very idea! That vile harpy having regrets. She was just as, if not more, evil as the Wizard.