"Wake up."
Normally even shouted, those words held little impact on Fiyero, but the whispered tone of his father's voice cut through his sleep.
He opened an eye. "What is it?"
"Get up."
Fiyero complied hazily. "Is mother alright? What's happened?"
His father opened the closet and tossed some clothing at him. "The rite."
He groaned, and if his father hadn't shot him a deadly look, he would have flopped back into his bed. "Now?"
"Now."
Fiyero shouldered on his shirt and fumbled through the buttons. "Is this really necessary, Father? You're the king."
His father unearthed a sturdy backpack from a pile of laundry. "Precisely."
A well-traveled road, the words didn't need to be said. Honor Vinkun culture, solidarity with the clansmen, duty as proud Arjikis… all it meant to Fiyero was his warm soft bed traded for the hard ground.
He thumped after his father, woodenly collecting supplies and rations. The weak rays trickling in before sunlight did little to illuminate his path. "Could you please just slow down?"
"Now is not the time to slow down. We must make the pass by daybreak."
Fiyero wasn't out of shape, exactly, but he preferred drink and dance as his main exercise components. Not hiking while even the sun slept. He jogged behind, fighting to keep his breath even as they cleared the first two miles. The steep incline sapped his energy.
"Watch your footing here."
He didn't waste any air himself in reply. The crumbly stone rolled under his step, shifting his balance. The rocks grew larger until he had to lift his feet near his knees to climb up. He pinwheeled his arms to grab an exposed root, hauling himself up.
His father shook his head. "Check it first. That much weight on it will topple you if it isn't sturdy."
"Yes, Father," he panted.
"Always be aware of your surroundings." His father reached a hand down from atop the large boulder. "Come. Rest. We could use some water."
Oh, thank Oz. His muscles were already aching. But he knew if he sat, it would be all the harder to keep going again. He leaned into the rocky cliff beside them and released his pack with a thump.
"Which way next?"
"Parallel," Fiyero said at once. "Find a stream."
His father nodded and passed the canteen. "Good. One of our four."
It wasn't a question, but Fiyero answered the prompt anyway. "Water, shelter, food and warmth."
His father clasped his shoulder with a grin. Then he stepped away and tied his pack.
Fiyero took one last long drink from the canteen and secured it tightly. They traipsed across the craggy countryside, pausing only to refill their canteens and bathe their hot, sweaty faces in the freshwater flowing down in mountain streams.
As they reached the third, the sun glinted hard in his eyes. He dragged a cloth through the cool liquid and settled it on his neck. "Smart boy." His father copied him. "We're blessed on this path." He dipped the bottle to refill it. "Much better than digging for it."
Fiyero capped his canteen and slipped it in his pack. His stomach grumbled, but the provisions had to make it to camp. "Which direction?" Please let it be the eastern campsite. The building there had indoor plumbing.
"West."
Fiyero sighed. The farthest and most primitive.
"Why don't you lead?"
Was everything a test? He shadowed his eyes to follow the sun, but it hung too directly overhead. He checked the riverbank, and then the searched for any clouds to confirm. "This way?"
His father revealed nothing. Would he really let them walk hours in the wrong direction?
He would. He absolutely would, if it proved a point. Ugh.
Well, nothing to be done for it. Fiyero shouldered his pack. He spent the better part of the next few hours searching the scenery for course corrections. As the shadows stretched longer, he confirmed his direction and fell reflexively into searching for tracks.
"Wait." His father's arm snapped up, and Fiyero's chest thudded into it hard. "There."
Bushes shuffled. "Jackal?"
"Perhaps." He slipped his hatchet from his pack, just the same, and Fiyero dug out his knife.
The spots flashed through the sagebrush.
"Hyena," he sighed. "Damn." He held up his hand and centered his pointer under the sun. An hour until dark, maybe two. No way he was camping near a pack of hyenas.
"Or leopard. It's been a wet summer."
Either way. They were facing a rough march to put distance and set up camp before the sunset. That left no time for hunting game. His father took the lead, driving them hard, and Fiyero scanned the countryside for fruit.
"Hang on." He jogged into the brush and clutched a handful of small fruit. His father frowned.
"And if a viper had been waiting in that grass for you?"
Fiyero broke open the fruit and sniffed it. A faint scent like peaches drifted from it, and he tossed it away. "Well, there you go," he growled. "My comeuppance." He scrubbed his hand on his pants with a sigh. "Shouldn't we set up camp anyway? Breaking an ankle in the dark has to be as dangerous as tall grass."
His father sent him a sideways glance. "Tell me where."
Of course. Another test. Oz, his father would let them both die out here if it proved him right.
They passed a tree with small yellow fruit, like lemons but with spots. Fiyero plucked one and tore it open. The juice sprayed a thick smell of myrtles in the air. He brushed some on his wrist. When it didn't sting or itch, he scooped a few handfuls into his pack.
"Do you know what those are?"
Fiyero gathered another handful. "Fruit. Not spoiled, and no skin irritation. I like my chances, but if you're offering the first trial…"
"I'm proud of you." His father smirked. "You remember your tests."
"After that one I thought was melon, I'll never forget again." He dropped his pack. "What about here? It's dry, and flat enough. Some kindling."
His father nodded and surveyed the field with a judicious eye. "It depends. How confident in your animal tracking do you feel?"
They hadn't seen so much as a rustle for an hour, and the sky already streaked a dying orange. Would hyenas track? He knew jackals would, but they would only scavenge. Without game, they wouldn't draw interest. Hyenas would wait until they slept and nibble on their exposed parts.
He cast about in frustration. Honestly. They couldn't sleep in the trees! For the love of Oz, his father was the king. How could he put himself in that position? If they were eaten by animals, did that count as treason?
His father shook out a tarp and tied it to the trees.
"So you think we'll be fine here?"
His father grunted. "Reasonably."
"Would you tell me if you didn't think so?"
"Experience is a powerful teacher."
Fiyero spread the tarp with a sullen snap. "Not if you're dead."
That earned a laugh. His father secured the edge of the tent under some rocks to protect them from wind. "Your choice on fire? We've no meat, and tonight shouldn't be too cold. But it should be safe enough if you'd prefer one."
"I'll pass." His muscles screamed for rest more than comfort. "I just want to sit." He took a yellow fruit out and peeled it. Still no sting. He chanced a bite.
His father shot him a sideways look. "I can make it."
That drew his eyebrows up. "You're offering?"
He watched his father set the wood, surprised to be rescued from the test for a chance. But no sooner had his father sat beside than the next line of questioning began. "If we hadn't had a tarp?"
"A brush shelter, but it'd do little for the wind. Or better, a lean-to by the cliff face."
"Provided?"
"No loose rocks, cliffs, or waterfalls." Fiyero peeled another fruit, the taste heavy on his tongue. "Father, I don't understand. I know this, really. We've done this every year since I was eight."
"Yes. And we've two more until you take this trip on your own. Are you prepared for that?"
Fiyero flopped his head back. "Do I have to be?" Several fruit in, and it hadn't even touched the hole in his gut. "I mean, I know why, but…I don't understand."
A shadow flickered over his father's face.
"Right. No choice. Got it." He flopped back. The words he'd desperately tried not to say each year on this ridiculous trip tumbled helplessly from him. "It's just…you know, I'll never use this in real life. We only do this for show."
His father shook his head. "I really hope that is true."
Fiyero shoved his hair out of his eyes and peeled another fruit. "Are you sure you don't want some of these? They're really good."
"The marula? No thanks. One of us should keep a clear head."
His forehead scrunched up. "What do you mean?" Marula tickled his memory though. Marula…
His father took a packet of tough jerky meat and ripped off a bite.
Marula. Fiyero leaned his head back, glad for the support. His head felt heavy all of a sudden. Marula. The word rolled in his thoughts, looping together in a strain: MarulaMarulaMarula.
Oh. Amarula. As in, Amarula liquor, the main ingredient in several of his favorite cocktails that he remained too young to officially know about. A sweet tang with a swift kick.
But the fresh fruit shouldn't have this influence.
His father tipped his gaze toward the horizon. "Fruit can ripen in the sun, and sometimes that particular fruit can even ferment when it falls off the vine, if no one harvests it."
Fiyero couldn't manage a response that wouldn't get him in a lot of trouble.
His father tipped the jerky toward him in offer, and Fiyero shook his head. "Tomorrow you'll want to be on the lookout for some black-looking grapes. The common guarri. Their bark-"
"Can get rid of headaches, I know." Fiyero closed his eyes, exhausted. "Another day of this tomorrow."
His father smirked. "Get some sleep. Someday you'll be glad you know all this."
I doubt it, he thought, but thankfully his mouth kept shut. He drifted off, eyes blind to the canopy of stars above.
"Fiyero, wake up."
He jerked awake, head aching.
"Get up. Come on. We've got to go."
The urgency in Elphaba's voice hauled him up. A hand touched his head, and he felt the sticky tacky of dried blood. "What happened?"
"The Gale Force. No time. Come on."
He staggered up. She dragged them toward the dense cover of trees, and he scrambled over the rotten logs blocking their path.
Once there, she raced ahead, climbing up the cliff face without a clear sense of direction. "No, west," he blurted. "Parallel to the mountain."
"What?"
His training, long instilled in him, took the lead. He broke for a stream, using it to hide their trails, and some hours later, when convinced they hadn't been followed, he built a lean-to from some brush.
Elphaba dropped beside the makeshift shelter, some berries in her hand as he scraped the twigs together to start a fire. "How did you learn all this? Or am I in a very intense hallucination? That would make more sense."
He huffed a laugh.
"Seriously. It's one thing for you to be delusional enough to leave the palace with me, but to know all this survivalist methods, too? Mister posh dancing through life prince?" She shook her head. "It boggles the mind."
"My father."
She frowned at him as if he'd had a stroke.
"He taught me. Arjiki come from a long line of noble hunters. We did a wilderness rite every year until I came of age to do it solo."
She stared at him still.
"Say something."
Her shoulders twitched up. And then she surprised him with her words as much as he'd surprised her with his actions. "Thank you."
A prickle of emotion threaded him at that, and he pressed his lips tight. "You're welcome."
She shrugged her cloak off and around her like a blanket. "Your father must be a great man, if you still remember all that."
Fiyero lay back, that familiar canopy of stars stinging his memory. "He was. I think I disappointed him, but I did learn. I just…you know, should have showed it."
Elphaba turned to face him. "I'm sure he knew."
"Let's just say you weren't the only one to try to convince me of my wasted potential."
"Not wasted. Untapped."
He laughed. "I've gone and tapped it now." She shot him a look. "And without regret."
"You left a life of privilege and pleasure to go on the run with a fugitive. I don't think that counts as potential, but I'm well familiar with its potential for regret."
All his father's lessons, and it took until this moment, her dirt-streaked face turned toward him, for him to really learn this one.
He knew without doubt that this would not list in his regrets. Knew why his father took those risks. Knew why a man might leave his castle for the discomforts of a wilderness. Why he might find comfort unimportant. Not just the why. He understood.
She tilted her head at him, but he couldn't convey the truth of these deeply felt lessons. He could only learn them, commit them to his memory like the four tenets of survival.
They pledged together that night, drawn by these truths and more. As he held her close, he treasured that he had something to offer this impossibly intense, powerful, magnetic, misunderstood girl.
He'd never made love in the wilderness before. It felt wild and freeing, but still…not what he expected. Like her. Perfect in her imperfection, in his utter bewilderment at her. She unbalanced him, and he loved it. Loved her. Oz, she upended everything in him, and he jumped, full force, in after her.
He had never felt more out of his element.
And yet, he'd never felt more at home.
"Which direction?" she asked in the morning, and he didn't hesitate.
"West. Let's go."