Fiyero tapped an impatient trio again. He worried his lip as he waited. His father would fix it. Maybe kill him, but fix it. The burden on his shoulders at long last would be lifted.
"Come in. Ah, son. I assumed your mother kept your nuptials occupying your attention."
Fiyero swiped a hand through his hair. "She's everywhere."
"Your mother?"
He didn't share the amusement. "Miss Three."
His father sighed. "Son-"
"I think I made a mistake." Fiyero studied his hands. "As in, I know I did." Many.
"Tell me," his father commanded.
"I swear, I've done my best. I've been polite, blandly noncommittal, but still, now she knows."
"Knows what?"
He hung his head. "That…I don't want to marry Nessa." He shook his head, confessing his secret with a heavy heart. The truth he'd lied to himself and to his father for at least weeks now. "I'm sorry. I don't. I can't."
His father's hand fell on his shoulder. "Change can be hard, and especially marriage."
"No, not just-"
His father held up a hand and continued on. "We have to carry the weight of our people with all our strength, for the duty and honor of our noble institution."
Fiyero shut his eyes. The same words thrown at him all his life. It meant, shut up Fiyero. It meant, your turn to sacrifice. It meant, his father wasn't going to help him. "But, Father-"
"These jitters will pass. And Nessa is a perfectly charming bride."
He studied his hands. He knew that tone. His opinions were unnecessary. His father had decided him irrational, and nothing he said could convince him differently. He could confess about Nessa, Elphaba, all of it, and it wouldn't budge his father one inch.
Could he face the fallout only to still marry Nessa?
Another tight squeeze to his shoulder. "I wish I could make you believe it. And don't worry about Miss Three. You've done well to tell me. A couple days, and her opportunity will have passed. Apologies, but these letters are pressing."
Fiyero stood, his nod dull and slow. Of course. Even standing on the eve of his wedding, he was a foolish boy to be bidden and shushed.
He fled straight to Aruc. "Come on. We're getting drunk."
"But it's morning."
Fiyero towed him toward the wine without comment.
"What about our list?"
He took the page from Aruc's hand and gave it to a steward. "Could you finish these please?"
The man bowed and set to work. Aruc turned to him, wide-eyed. "Your mother-"
"What can she do? Ground me?" Where did that Cabernet Reserve go? Though he supposed quantity mattered over quality.
"You're scaring me, mate."
Fiyero sighed. "I'm scaring myself, too. I just…can't be me right now."
Aruc clapped a hand on his back and dipped to grab a bottle. "Do we bother with glasses?"
Several hours later, they reclined against the armchairs in the conservatory, empty bottles strewn about and the strong smell of liquor everywhere, singing loudly of bawdy tales.
"Remember that girl with the red hair and butterfly birthmark." Aruc tipped back his glass.
Fiyero grinned. "How was I to know what she was planning?"
"You knew. Don't bother denying it."
His grin widened. "My mother still eyes any redhead vixen that gets too close to you, her precious beefcake."
"Beefcake?"
"No, that's you."
"Aw, Fiyero, I'm touched. Although if you're interested in men, your wedding tomorrow might prove probalemic."
He sobered, from laughter at least. Not from drink. He'd had quite a few too many for that. "I think it might be probalemic either way." He pursed his lips. Had he said that right? "I don't think that's the word."
Aruc shook the last drop from the bottle into his cup. "Wedding feels right."
"Like hell," Fiyero frowned. "Problematic!" That's the word.
"Probalematic!" Aruc cheered, and they clinked a merry toast. He flopped back. "Should we switch to water? You really ought to be sober tomorrow."
Fiyero swiped at him with a heavy hand. "Why? So I can fully experience the worst day of my life? No thanks." He took another swig. "Physicians get anesthesia."
"Give."
Fiyero held out the cup.
"No, physicians give anesthesia. They don't get it."
"Neither does my father," he groused. "I told him, you know, that I didn't want to. And did he understand? No. He never has. I just have to do my duty. He doesn't care."
Aruc passed him a cup of water, and Fiyero sputtered his lips at it. "You want to throw up in front of everyone tomorrow?"
"Ugh, don't even say it." Fiyero tipped his head back against the wall, the slight dizzy spin of alcohol whirling through him. "Nessa's mean."
Aruc barked a laugh. "Now I know you need that water."
Fiyero shook his head. He kept his eyes shut tight. "She doesn't know half of what she does for her."
"Who?"
He rolled his head to look at Aruc with an impatient look. "Nessa. I said."
"Sorry. What Nessa does for who, Elphaba?"
He winced at the name and swigged another bitter swallow. Elphaba. Beautiful, fierce, infuriating Elphaba. Why wouldn't she stop them? Or Nessa? Or his parents? No one?
"Stop with that face." Aruc bumped into him, jostling the thought's coherent thread away. Fiyero drifted on the emotion left behind. "Hey, remember the time Drul tried to make applesauce?"
"With the brandy?" Fiyero pulled a face. "Tasted like cough medicine."
"My favorite part was when the candle nearly set it ablaze."
He sputtered a laugh, eyes half closed. "Remember when we used to play pirates on the catwalk?"
"And you nearly killed me, yes." Aruc slid over to recline propped against some boxes that gave an ominous crunch.
"I didn't nearly kill you."
"You did, and you know it."
Fiyero tipped blurry eyes toward him. "Do you miss that?"
"Being killed? No."
"Thinking we had choices. Freedom." Fiyero sighed, and Aruc yanked his cup out of his hands. "Hey!"
"Water, professor, and I'll indulge all your philosophies on life."
Fiyero sputtered his lips at him and swirled the cup. The water rippled, and he felt so strongly like the duck, he nearly flung it away. "Growing up is hard."
Aruc squeezed his shoulders and then stumbled upright. "I've got to use the little drunkard's room, so you may have exactly that long to wallow in this maudlin mood. Then I expect coarse singing and raucous laughter, understood?"
Fiyero waved him off.
The water still bobbled, probably due to his less than steady hand, and he stared at it as if it might hold the answers. He tilted his head back.
"Remember that time with the falcon," he told no one. "When it kept throwing itself into the window to find its love." He set the glass on the ground and took a long swig straight from the nearest bottle – whiskey apparently. "She'd make a good falcon."
Maybe Kumbricia could turn them into falcons, and they could fly off, free to be together. He chuckled. They could even take care of Three that way. Falcons eat snakes.
Nessa couldn't be a falcon. A falcon without wings? She'd never even be able to be a falconer. He wasn't exactly an avid falconer either, but what if he wanted to be one? The whiskey lofted his dreams of falconing. He had to find Elphaba. See if she'd be a falcon with him.
He scrambled up and took a last pull of whiskey to fortify him on the trip.
The world swum, then righted itself. He tumbled toward her room, nearly knocking over a lamp. But could he use the door? What if her awful father wouldn't open the door and let her out?
He swerved to the courtyard instead and started climbing his way up. The drink and exertion made him pant. Who made this wall so high? If only he were already a falcon. He could just fly up and tap on her window.
Finally, he reached the window.
She appeared, scowling. Beautiful. He'd miss her beautiful face when it turned into a beak. She squinted at him. "Fiyero?"
He reached for her with a suave grin, only to tip precariously. He reflexively caught the sill, but he struggled to pull himself up. "Help," he grunted.
She hauled him in with a painful scrape over the windowsill. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "Are you insane? You're getting married in the morning!"
No. Falcons don't get married. Silly Elphaba. He gathered her in his arms. Soft, she was so soft. "We were celebrating." He snorted. "Celebrating my ultimate misery."
He buried his face in her neck, her voice rumbling against his lips. "So you thought drowning your sorrows and climbing in my bedroom would help your situation? You really are a fool."
"I'm your fool. Damned for you and by you, and in you redeemed." He breathed deeply, relishing the smell of her. "Will you be a falcon with me?"
"You don't make any sense." She shook him off. "You have to get out of here,"
"But I love you." The world spun again, and he flopped down before he could fall.
"Ugh. Not this again. It's late, and we've been through this. Ad nauseam."
He rolled onto his side, the liquor giving him more than a little ad nauseam. "I know. And I'm sorry. I can't let go of you." He grabbed her hand. "I don't think I ever will."
She frowned. "You'll have to tomorrow."
"Nuh uh." He tugged her into him and nuzzled her. Not when they were falcons. "We'll be happy together. We have to be."
"You're crazy." But her harsh tone couldn't hide the softness in her eyes. She still held his hand, and he twined their fingers together.
"I have faith in us. We'll end up together." He sat up and tugged her beside him. Now that she was here beside him, the frustration and sadness of the day seemed so unnecessary. "We'll get our happy ending. I know it. Wait and see."
She sighed. "How in Oz can you be sure about something as preposterous as that?" His head lolled on her shoulder, and she carded a hand through his hair. "Only you."
"You deserve to be happy," he told her collarbone. "You deserve love."
"That doesn't mean we'll get to be together."
His pout brushed against her neck. So soft. "We should, though. Because we love each other."
"Oh, for Oz's sake."
He let his lips wander in open-mouthed kisses wherever they fell. His breath heavy from drinking and climbing fanned the skin and she shivered. Wait, she still hadn't agreed to be a falcon, had she? Didn't she want to? He peeked up at her. "Don't you? Love me?"
His breath caught. Had he been wrong? She had to love him. They had to fly away together. Insecurity flooded him at her silence.
She spun to the window and shoved him off. "Get up," she hissed, which he was fairly sure hadn't answered his question. Was that a no? He groaned and flopped back. She didn't love him? But…. "You've got to go."
"Go? No! I don't want to go. I'll be good."
She started tugging at his arm. "Fiyero, get up! Someone's coming!"
He blinked at her foggily. No, no coming, going. They were going. Where again?
She gripped his face in both hands hard enough to hurt his cheeks. "Yero!" she whisper-shouted, "You love me?"
Oz, yes. He loved her so much. He loved her beautiful smile, her kind heart, her passion, her impossibly gruff exterior that hid the most incredible girl underneath. Ooh, and her voice, her soft skin, that amazing hair, her seductive body, her…oh, she was talking.
"How much, Yero?"
He clutched her waist, desperate to prove it. "Oh, my Fae, so much. So, so, sooooo much."
She flushed, but she stayed put, so warm and soft and close. "Enough to do what I ask you to?"
"Of course." His forehead wrinkled. "That's why I'm marrying your sister." What a silly question.
She grimaced, and he worried he'd answered wrong. She tilted his face up, and he leaned toward her to reassure himself with a kiss, which she denied. "Promise me," she demanded.
"I promise," he echoed with every ounce of sincerity he could muster, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was promising. "Anything for you."
"Good." He grinned and leaned in for his reward, but her lips weren't there. He blinked in confusion as the room slid past him. "Do you have to be so big?" she panted. "Come on." He tried to comply, and she shoved him in a wardrobe.
"Nung!" he complained.
"Stay here," she commanded. "And for Oz's sake, stay quiet!"
She slammed the door, and she was gone. The smell of jasmine hung in the air, amplified by the tight space, and he buried his face in her clothes. He didn't want to be here alone. He wanted her. Her soft…soft…
He heard her voice, muffled through the wood, and thumped his head trying to reach toward her. He shook his head blindly, trying to clear it. The stale air tangled around him. No that was…clothes? Where was she again?
He groped in the darkness. The door, there it was. He cracked it open, and gulped a mouthful of fresh air. There she was, his beautiful-Hey!
Aruc stood there, right beside her, with his stupid lips too close to her perfect face.
"Don't you kiss her!" he shouted and hurled himself at the other man. She was his to kiss. Not Aruc's. He swung a punch, but someone grabbed his feet and slammed his head into something hard. He groaned. "Ow."
"Um, he must have snuck in while trying to find Nessa. Stupid idiot got the wrong room," she hissed at him with a sharp look. Was she mad at him? He hadn't been trying to reach Nessa. He loved Elphaba!
Her hand slapped over his mouth, and he blinked at her slowly. She had to believe him. He didn't love Nessa, he didn't!
"Sh! My father's going to hear you." She turned back to Aruc. "We can't let my father catch him trying to sneak into Nessa's room before the wedding. What if he calls it off?"
Oh! What a wonderful idea! His brilliant girl. Where was Nessa's room?
He tried to ask, but Elphaba's hand turned his words into a muffled garble. Aruc nodded. "Right. We've got to get him out of here."
No, no, no. That's not what he wanted at all. He pulled away, but the whiskey kept him from any sense of coordination. He lumbered toward the door, each arm weighed by their grip.
On the threshold, Elphaba gripped his face on either side. "Yero, look at me."
He blinked at her beautiful eyes. The fine strands that had pulled loose of her braid tickled her cheek. He wanted to tickle her cheek.
"Okay?"
He frowned. "Um…"
She rolled her eyes. "Focus. You can't make a noise. Nothing."
"Why?" Her lips pressed together firmly, and he rushed out, "No, don't be mad at me."
A heavy breath, and those palms back against his cheeks. "I'm not mad. Promise me."
"Promise what? I already said I lo-"
She slapped her hand heavily over his mouth and turned to Aruc. "I think he needs a gag."
He bucked away. "No!"
"Shh!" they both hissed together, and he pouted. Elphaba snatched the pillow next to her, and Fiyero flopped his hand after her to grab it away.
"Stop," Aruc whispered. "Both of you. Fiyero, mate, we know you can stay quiet. Remember, the game we used to play?"
"Pirates?"
That tilted Elphaba's eyebrow up, and Aruc flushed. "No, spy walk. Don't wake up your mother."
His eyes widened, "She's here?"
Elphaba threw up her hands, but Aruc nodded sagely. "Somewhere in the castle. Better safe than sorry, right?"
Fiyero nodded and tried a step toward the door. The world spun, and the doorknob floated to the ceiling. How did that get there?
A grunt, and the world righted, but his arms hurt. Jasmine. He smelled jasmine. Elphaba. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Oh, Elphaba. His beautiful falcon wife.
The lights flickered in intensity behind his closed eyelids, the pressure on his sides ebbing and flowing, and those soft whispers lulling him deeper toward the sleep that called to him. The air flowed over him, cool, and then back to warm. Every now and then her voice cut through, and he sunned toward it. But the weights pulled him back down down down to the pool of whiskey in his belly, sloshing with the motion of whatever moved him.
At last the motion stopped, a smooth darkness as soft as his sheets slid over him. Mm, his sheets and Elphaba. He wrapped himself in the memory and swept off to sleep.
He was dying. Had died. The sun stabbed him through his closed eyelids, delivering the fatal blow.
But a pounding pulse in his hair refused to acknowledge his death.
He reached up a hand, surprised to find it unable to move. Had he been that drunk? From the fuzzy taste on his tongue, he'd have to say yes. He braved the stabbing sunlight through squinted eyes, and found his arm trapped by a very hairy pair of legs facing the wrong direction.
He sat up, head whirling, and groaned.
The noise stirred his companion, and Fiyero had to dodge a leg headed straight for his head. Aruc lay passed out, legs draped over the pillows and head perilously close to falling off.
Fiyero tried to stand, and Aruc sprung up so fast Fiyero jolted back.
"Ow!" he grimaced as Aruc shouted, "No!" a hand locked on Fiyero's wrist.
They blinked at each other.
"Why are you in my bed?" Fiyero managed. "And where are your pants?"
"You got drunk and threw up on them."
That only answered one question, but he felt too exhausted to care. He slid out of bed.
"Whoa, where are you going?"
His forehead wrinkled. "Bathroom. Then maybe back to bed."
"So long as the bed's yours." Aruc flopped back.
Fiyero frowned. "What do you mean? What happened?"
Aruc sat up again with a snarky, "Oh, you don't remember? You led me on a goose chase around half the castle, tried to sneak into Nessa's room but got Elphaba's by mistake, and we hauled you back here when your drunken duff passed out. Then you repaid all my valiant efforts by vomiting on me, peeing in the corner, and repeatedly trying to sneak out again all night."
"Oh. Sorry."
Aruc shrugged. "At least you're aiming for a bathroom now." He draped an arm over his eyes. "Much as I'd love to scrape together another hour or two, we probably ought to get to it. Big day today."
Fiyero crumpled back into the pillows. Ugh, he'd never felt so miserable.
The mattress bounced, and his pillow was ripped away. "Come on. Time to pay the debt on the fun we had yesterday."
Fiyero hauled himself up and set woodenly through the preparations laid before him. He cleaned the corner himself before he called the stewards, embarrassed enough at his foolish antics. At least his hangover layered exhaustion over his depression in an explainable disguise. Some coffee and that dull dead feeling, and he might be able to get through today.
He stumbled off to breakfast. The walk took ages, his uncoordinated feet unable to move without specific thought, and once there, even the smell of the eggs set his stomach on edge. He propped his head on his hand and tried to will them straight into his stomach without his having to eat them.
Elphaba appeared, and how she managed a smile, he'd never understand. "You look awful."
"Feel it, too."
She draped her napkin primly on her lap. "One of the many reasons I avoid whiskey." She trimmed a bite and popped it in her mouth. "Don't worry, I won't preach at you. Your wife will soon do that enough for us both."
"Wife," he spat out. How could she say it so nonchalantly? He shut his eyes. "Oz, I can't believe this is happening."
"Now, now," she teased, "where's that cheery attitude from last night gone?"
"I see you've spent too much time with Aruc. He loves to taunt me as well."
She pinched his cheek with a wide grin. "Because you're so tauntable."
He glared at her, and she smirked back. He drew a heavy breath. "Elphaba, can we please-"
"No." She suddenly found her fruit fascinating. "We've talked this to death, and nothing ever changes. You're marrying my sister. You're keeping your promise, and I'm keeping mine." She shoved away from the table. "Just don't do anything stupid."
"Which is it?" he snarled. "Because I think deliberately marrying the wrong girl is very stupid."
"And you're the expert, are you?" He couldn't help the hurt that he knew splashed over his face. How could she not even care? She didn't seem affected at all by this. He smoothed a hand over his aching head, and her shoulders dropped. "Trust me," she murmured, "Nessa will be a better wife." She held up a hand before he could interrupt. "And she's your only option."
He shook his head, anger fighting its way through the fatigue and sorrow. "This is wrong. You know it is."
Her smile didn't touch her eyes, and then she was gone, soon to be forever.
He set down his fork without a single bite.
Aruc came to collect him and fuss over his lack of nutrition. Fiyero suffered through the final list of preparations, and even tolerated the sickly brown and frothy drink that Aruc proclaimed his Nana's patented hangover cure-all. He slid on his formal attire like a soldier's armor, heading into battle to destroy the enemy called happiness.
His hair artfully mussed and his cufflinks clicked in place, Fiyero had himself ready in a sum total of seven minutes. What could the girls possibly need all day for?
Aruc met him at the door, and they headed off to bid farewell to Fiyero's life. The throne room bustled in preparations. Would that room ever mean anything for him but a misery? He moved in slow motion, others whirling past with smiles and congratulations.
They slipped into an adjoining room, tumblers of brandy at the ready. His father clapped his shoulder and encouraged him with words that held no meaning for Fiyero's reality. Time flew by in miserable crawling moments, and he wondered how it could manage both concurrently. Aruc assumed the uncharacteristic silence came from his hangover, and kept passing him water to sit ignored on the credenza.
Finally the music played, muffled through the wall.
The king took his place first, and Fiyero forced himself to trek up to the altar behind. Aruc whispered, "It'll be over before you know it," and though he meant it to be comfort, it stabbed that miserable knot in his gut with a piercing regret.
He wanted to scream for it to stop, hide like a child, deny the existence of the moment that had finally, dutifully arrived. He wanted to freeze time, steal its power.
But he stood, silent.
The music played, and everyone turned to see all the fuss the girls had gone to. His mother, ever regal, and then Elphaba. Oz, Elphaba, so beautiful and dressed just near enough to a bride he could pretend she would meet him instead. Nessa trailed behind, but he couldn't spare her even a glance.
Elphaba met his gaze and flushed. It took his breath away. Come on, please say it. Say stop. Please.
It broke his heart when she turned, though he knew she would. Had been told how many times that this was hopeless, but damn him he couldn't help that belief that someone would intervene. This was wrong. How did no one stop it?
Silence fell, and he realized that Frexspar had said his cue. It was time to lead his bride up to the altar.
But his feet stayed still. Aruc shifted beside him, a covert elbow in his side, and Elphaba's eyes begged him, begged him to go. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. This was wrong. Wrong.
He dropped his gaze. Royalty was not permitted the luxury of feelings.
Steps clinked up the stairs.
He drew a steadying breath and forced himself to meet her. Elphaba stood there, right behind, and the bittersweet ache that caused him strummed every nerve within him.
The minister cleared his throat. "Yes, well…ladies and gentlemen, Your Highness, we are gathered here today to join these two souls in eternal matrimony."
Fiyero sucked in a sharp breath.
The moment rushed forward. The point of no return. And then it arrived, the edge of the precipice under his feet. Time to leap or be pulled back to safety.
"Do you, Nessarose Thropp, fourth Thropp descending, take Fiyero Tiggular, crown prince of the kingdom of Vinkus, knight of the royal order of the Blue Diamonds, and protector of the state of Vinkus, to be your lawfully wedding husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"
Without a pause, she answered, "I do."
No. No. No.
His eyes found Elphaba's. She had to. They had to. They couldn't do this.
The minister turned to Fiyero, and swallowed hard at the expression he found there.
No. No. No.
"Do you, Prince Fiyero TIggular, lord of the noble-" Oh, for the love of Lurline! He glared at the minister. Did they really need the whole thing on both sides of this? The minister cleared his throat. "um, yes. Do you take Nessarose Thropp to be your lawful wedding wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"
No. He didn't. He wouldn't.
Silence.
He sent his eyes skyward, searching for an answer, some last minute hallelujah chorus that saved them all. Only plaster met his gaze. He locked eyes with Elphaba. Would she free him? But she remained impassive. "I," he swallowed. "I swear my undying love to Miss Thropp." He burned his gaze into her, every ounce of bitterness and love and sacrifice. "Beyond forever and deeper than eternity." His true vows. Perhaps he could manage a loophole for later.
The minister cleared his throat, "So…you do?"
No such luck. Fiyero sighed. "Yes, I take her as my wife."
And the moment had passed. He'd leapt, as commanded. Over the edge, he plummeted, and no one lifted a hand to pull him back.
Done.
A tiktok's difference, but as life altering as a gunshot.