No one's going to read this but in case someone landed here -by accident, probably- this is the crossover no one ever asked for. Seriously, I don't know what this is or how this is or out of which corner of the muddled mess that is my mind this came. But it kept forming and wanted to get out so here it is.
Basically, Brienne is Elphaba and Jaime is sort of Glinda. Glinda and Fiyero in one, actually. Sort of. You know. You'll see. Yeah.
The rest is hopefully going to figure out by itself.
I'm strange, this is strange, I hope it will work out and in the best of cases, someone will like it.
A short introduction to begin with! Thanks for giving this a chance!
o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o
They called her the Beauty of the West, now.
Cruel. She'd always had to bear names, but that she wasn't even called Brienne anymore outraged him. They took the last traces of humanity from her. Made her the monster they wanted her to be.
He knew better.
Not that he let it show. He was Jaime Lannister, after all. A sort of hero to them, probably, although he didn't know how he'd come to find himself in that place. It was her place, he knew. It had been meant to be hers. She should have been standing here, celebrated and cheered.
He knew how she'd always dreamed about the sight in front of him right now. She had been so sure that someday, there would be a celebration throughout Westeros that had all to do with her. That people would scream when they saw her.
They did. No one mourns the wicked.
There was no applause for the best and most honourable knight the king had ever been lucky enough to call his guard. She could have been. The skill was there. The devotion. The loyalty. The honour. Probably too much of the latter.
Instead, she was the best-known outlaw in the whole of Westeros.
People feared her. All except him. He knew that he had nothing to be afraid of and neither had they. The only one who should be was their wonderful king. That name made a bitter laugh form in his throat, but he swallowed it.
Smile, he told himself. He'd always been so good at that, hadn't he. Dancing through life.
Now, all that easiness was an act of will.
He tried to maintain the facade he had become so used to wear for them. He should find it easy. Had worn it the biggest part of his life, after all. He hadn't even known the indifferent arrogance was a mask until he met her. It was just him.
It felt wrong, now. After everything that had happened. But he had to keep it up in front of them. They had agreed on that, he and her. They shouldn't find out. The truth was theirs alone.
"Good news", the people said. He almost couldn't keep his mouth shut. People were so empty-headed, they'd believe everything. But he wouldn't have to stand their ignorance much longer now.
They were celebrating just like she had foreseen.
Celebrating her capture. Her death, probably. The bearlike monstrosity, eaten by one of her own kind. Wouldn't that be the sort of thing songs were written about?
There could have been a song about them, too.
There never would be.