AN: Well folks, it has been a wild ride. Thank you for reading, and especially to vinkunwildflowerqueen and RavenCurls for their regular reviews. This final chapter is dedicated to Bathtub Literature who waited patiently for a decade for me to finish this. I hope I've done it justice. And with that, please enjoy...
Fiyero approached the throne room, the jitters of past events pressing to mind. Again, flowers adorned every surface, yet, he barely could see them. Please, Oz, let this one have a happy ending. Aruc took his place, straightening a cufflink.
"You seem calmer this time."
Fiyero flicked his eyes at him. "Shut up."
Aruc laughed. "I don't blame you. She might just as easily toss you aside for me, after all."
The procession started. The music. The flowers. The scrape of chairs as the endless number of dignitaries and nobles turned to face the aisle. But all he could do is the count the breaths until he could see her there. He fidgeted as the row of attendants came.
Nessa walked up, her stuttering step hypnotic in the slinky blue dress. At the step she waited. Aruc moved, but Fiyero stilled him with a hand. The memory of his shameful behavior here still bothered him, despite the circumstances.
He stepped down and bowed deeply. "May I?"
She tilted her head, a soft smile lighting her eyes in acceptance of his apology. He set a hand at the small of her back and helped her up the steps. "Nessa…"
But he hadn't any more time to relate because the doors were opening, and his heart was pounding, and he was seconds away from everything he wanted in life walking through that door.
He saw Frexspar first, a sour look smoothed back in a resemblance of a smile. And then his breath caught. So beautiful.
Elphaba already held herself like a queen, fearless and bold. Her beautiful, hypnotic hair spilled over her shoulders in dramatic waves like a siren calling him to rocks. And he would go in a heartbeat. Those passionate, expressive eyes locked with his, and he felt something click within him.
Love poured out in his smile. Poured out. Flooded the chapel with every breath.
She ticked a smirk, but her pace harried. Fiyero didn't spare Frexspar a glance. He restrained himself until her toes hit the steps, and then half-flew to her.
Without Nessa's demands for a penitent marriage, his father had assumed the right as sovereign to officiate, and he fixed Elphaba with a warm smile.
The past weeks had melted the king as he'd come to know the real Elphaba, and to accept that whatever else, Fiyero would hear no ill against her. After a lifetime of wasted potential, Fiyero's adamant responsibility made more impact than any of the many faux-pas that his blunt, slightly caustic Elphaba managed to create for herself.
Bless him, his father got straight to the point. "A life sentence I promised, and a life sentence I bestow. Do you, Elphaba Thropp vow to take Prince Fiyero as your lawfully married husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for good times and for bad, so long as you both shall live?"
He held his breath, half afraid she'd revert back to "we can't" out of sheer habit. But her lips quirked up. "We've already done half those, so I suppose I can manage it."
His eyes promised her exactly how he planned to demonstrate his pleasure at that statement. If he wasn't careful, he might start salivating here at just the thought. If she looked so good in that dress, how great would she look out of it?
"And do you, Prince Fiyero vow to-"
He didn't wait for more. "Yes, yes, yes. That and more," he said, gathering her to him for a long, fierce kiss, as much restraint as he could muster.
Thunderous applause registered dimly, though that might be his pulse. She twined her arms around his neck, and he buried his hand in her hair. Dimly he heard the proclamation he'd been waiting for since eternity it seemed, and he forced himself to pull back.
She eyed the assembly of faces, and whispered, "Any chance we could skip the reception?"
He boomed a laugh. "Miss Elphaba, did you just ask me to take you to bed?" he whispered back.
She quirked an eyebrow, and a large part of him wanted to whisk her away before she changed her mind. But they had obligations, and this time around, they felt so much lighter to bear.
"Come on. We're going to celebrate first." His fingers slid through hers tightly.
"Odd thing to celebrate, if you think about it."
He shot her a heated look. "Oh, trust me, I do think about it. Often."
"I hadn't noticed," she returned drily, and he kissed her fingers lightly.
"Very worth celebrating. Oz, I want to declare it a national holiday."
She flushed, and he had to forced himself to stop looking at her, or she'd get her wish.
She grinned at him, and he floated through the handshakes and congratulations, lost in the feel of her sparkly dress beneath his thumb, the scent of her hair, the way her elbow would bump lightly against his every so often, stuttering his train of thought. The toasts felt buoyant in his happiness, and float toward the dance floor like a child's balloon.
"I still anticipate us hiding in the salon before the end of the evening."
He brushed his thumb over her, unable to stop touching her, and grinned. "Your call. You know I'll follow you anywhere." He surprised her with a spin, and she rolled her eyes at him.
After a half-dozen dances, Aruc stormed up.
"You are hogging your beautiful wife, and I demand a dance."
Fiyero laughed. "See what your demands get you." He tucked her more completely in his arms, as if his friend might try to snatch her away.
Elphaba scoffed and pinched his arm just enough to break his grip. "Of course, Master Aruc."
"Unfair," Fiyero pretended a pout. "But go ahead. Be reminded of why you love dancing with me."
She burst a laugh, and Aruc whirled her in his wild, clumsy, energetic attempt at a dance. Fiyero retreated to Nessa, still admiring the beautiful, free happiness that radiated from his wife. A smile spread over his face. His wife. Those words had brought so much turmoil, and now, they spread joy in his heart, exploding over every surface like fireworks.
"Would you like to go for a walk?"
Nessa nodded, and he paused by the raucously dancing couple to let them know of their intentions. She bit her lip. "Would you mind if we fetch a shawl?"
"Not at all. I imagine that dress is not particularly warm."
"Quite." She fell into step with him. "It is lovely, though. Thank you."
"Why stylish ladies' fashion does not include practicality, I couldn't say. It seems that both might be managed."
She nodded but contributed nothing. The awkwardness grew, and with relief, he turned the corner on their rooms. He jogged to fetch the shawl and drape it precisely around her. She murmured her thanks.
"Fiyero, I-" she said at the same time he drew a long breath. "Nessa-"
They shared a smile. "Ladies first."
She tucked her head to peek up at him. "Thank you." She eyed the floor. "It's so surreal, this wedding from the other side."
He tipped a nod. "About our wedding, well, marriage. I'm sorry, I…I behaved badly."
"Please," she said softly. "There are plenty of apologies we could offer, on both sides. Forgiveness is a gift I think we both must be willing to accept."
He smiled. Such a Nessa statement. "Then let us accept it together."
"Quite." She bit her lip. "But I must ask it, what are your intentions with my sister?" He lifted an eyebrow, fingering his ring. "I've shared that title," she sighed. "I need more assurances than that."
"Is it your turn, then? Your sister threatened me nearly every moment we were engaged." Their smiles froze, and he shook his head. "You've nothing to fear. She isn't my wife. She's my everything."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be."
He tucked his head. "I'm sorry as well."
They walked in companionable quiet. Finally, she broke it. "Thank you for lending me Aruc. The Mauntery is quite a trip, and my father is too upset still about my choice to be a good companion."
"Not at all. You're doing me a favor, getting him away before he romances Elphaba away from me," he joked.
They turned a corner, and he stopped mid step at the sight of her, framed by the giant picture window as she ambled along with Aruc through the garden. Last time they'd been there, they'd held so much heartache. To see her now, relaxed, beaming…
"She loves you," Nessa whispered. "Truly. I'd never believed her capable of it, but there's no question."
He blinked back his feelings. They didn't need to be voiced. She compelled his love like a magnet, and he knew it was obvious. He wore his love shining from his skin.
"I don't need to tell you she can be challenging, but she's a remarkable person."
He smiled. "I know." More than Nessa might, even.
Elphaba caught Aruc's hand, and Fiyero led them out when his friend bent to press a kiss to her hand. "Hey, now. What are you trying with my wife there?"
Aruc flung her hand away with a faux pout, "Nothing now, thanks to your terrible timing. I figured I deserved at least a pity kiss or two."
"I'll thank you to keep your lips off my wife." Fiyero caught Elphaba in his arms for a long, soft kiss of his own.
Aruc turned to Nessa. "Milady. When shall we leave tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" Elphaba frowned. "So soon? Surely you could stay a few days."
"Time is precious. But we shall cross paths again, I'm sure. She is still your sister, and I will always be your humble admirer."
"Humble? You?" Fiyero teased, and the boys mocked a chase around the girls as obstacles.
Nessa leaned her head on Elphaba's shoulder. "All things have a season, to grow and change, as the Unnamed God wills."
Fiyero wrapped her in his arms, and Aruc draped a hand around both girls' shoulders. They relished this last chance to be side by side under the sunset, alive and safe and together. He bent to kiss his wife's hands, and felt a breeze stir the poppies beside. His heart stretched.
'Your heart can hold two loves,' his mother had said. ' It has the room.'
That it did, and more.
Many years later, he stood beside his bride as a crown was set atop her head. How many other heads had almost been in that place? He pictured them, but none looked right. On Sarima, it would have sat like a burden. On Three, like a jewel. On Nessa, like a halo. But on his Fae, it belonged.
He belonged.
She turned to her people, proud and fierce and beautiful even as they mourned the loss of his father. Munchkinland may have shunned her for an idiotic obsession with her skin tone, but all the more their loss. His Arjiki came to know her and, in time, found the woman behind that skin to be just as unique.
She bent a curtsy, proof of her growth, too, over the intervening years.
Their son and daughter watched, and he wondered what this looked like through their eyes, so like his own, though her hair spilled beautifully over their twin shoulders. That tilt of his daughter's head, so like Fae's… She peeked over at him and smiled. She flicked her eyes at her mother meaningfully.
Right. Focus. Fae repeated the vows of fidelity with such confidence. His had been less impressive, for sure.
He was king now. The crown that had trapped and tracked him all his life perched on his head, and surprisingly fit now. Perhaps his fluffed-up head had finally shrunk enough. Still, the thought of life without his father stung. Part of him still wondered how he would be able to do this, but seeing her there, the sunlight streaming in to shimmer and glow with her, he let out a long breath.
If she believed in him, he did, too.
And he'd done his best to deserve that belief. It had taken work and patience, but he'd helped his father resolve issues with Yunamata. With Fae's candor, she'd won over their chieftain, and he'd easily charmed the Scrow princess at the witness of his devotion. For the first time since the Great Uniting, all factions enjoyed peace without tensions.
They'd needed that union, especially when Three managed to insinuate herself into the court of the Wizard in the Emerald City. That on its own was enough to turn most of the Traditionalists from her, but she'd moved on. She turned the Wizard against them, which devastated his wife at first. Until they found the full extent of the Wizard's atrocities against the Animals. While Fae had plans to overthrow the monarch, Fiyero convinced her to take time to prepare.
They built an alliance with the Quadlings, a land she had visited in her youth. So often denigrated, the people there were so impressed by her respect, wielding Quadling traditions with unassuming ease, he wouldn't be surprised if they made her Queen in Quadling Country also. Ugabu, while not allied with them, rioted on grounds of trade repression, and the Glikkus remained ever concerned with minding their mine and their own business.
When Frexspar finally succumbed to his lengthy battle with heart disease, only the Gillikin remained aligned with the Emerald City. Nessarose's only requirement to sign a formal treaty had been that her sister keep any profane critique of the Unnamed God to herself at the christening of her and Aruc's many sons and one precocious daughter.
Elphaba raised the septor, and he went to her side to accept her fealty. Could he give her his instead? She smirked at him in that mind-reading trick all women seemed to have.
He imagined her, his beautiful Arjiki queen, sitting on the throne as Ozma, and the image felt so right.
"Mighty Vinkuns, warriors of the Thousand Year Grasslands, from the Thursk Desert to the Great Kells, let us honor the shieldmaiden of our nation. I present to you, your queen!"
She rolled her eyes at the honorific he insisted on using at every discussion, particularly as he was undressing her that night. He shared his vision of her as Ozma. "What would you say, my queen?" He kissed the diamonds trailing over her skin, the mirror of his own. "Shall I swear my fealty to you, my Ozma?"
Accustomed by now to his sentimentality, she merely turned her neck to allow him to make his way down the other side.
"It's your coronation day." He nosed over her shoulder. "What shall I gift to you? Diamonds?"
She twisted his buttons. "You know the only diamonds I want." He chuckled, kissing her fingers.
"Oz, then? Or the moon?"
She twined him in her arms. "You are my gift, idiot." She kissed him with the swish of her hips that meant he should get to work.
"Not a gift if you already own it." He tipped her onto the bed. "Any chance we can keep the crown on?" Then he saw his mistake. "Only that."
She mimicked a bow. "I did swear my fealty to you, my king."
"That you did." He wiggled his eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes. "My beautiful queen."
She pushed his shoulders down and climbed over him. "Will you stop talking already?" She kissed him deeply and pulled them together, her arms banded around him.
"That can be arranged."