A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Wonderous Midwinter Festivals to each and every one of you! Sorry we're a little late, but I needed to do some chainsawing - couldn't cram too many revelations into one chapter without undervaluing them - and felt this would serve as an effective Christmas present...

Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked is still not mine.

The Mentor looked from Dorothy to the two dolls that now flanked her, her mangled face contorting with a mixture of bewilderment and incredulity; eventually, she threw up her hands in exasperation and demanded, "How could this have happened, exactly?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, ma'am," said Elphaba.

"Likewise," said Fiyero.

"I don't even have guesses at this point," Glinda chimed in.

"I'm just glad she's okay," added Vara.

Dorothy just shrugged, smiling mysteriously as always.

Less than five hours had passed since the battered rescue party had returned from No-Man's Land, creeping back through the mirror to the accompaniment shocked yelps and jubilant cries from the onlookers. By now, Dorothy had bathed and replaced her tattered harlequin costume with a passable replica of her old blue dress, and with Toto now sitting peacefully on her lap, she looked almost back to normal… except of course for the tiny golden motes sitting at the centre of each eye. Now that they were back in a brightly-lit surgery, those miniscule flecks of gold no longer glowed, and in fact were almost imperceptible unless you were to look very closely at the vague glint in her pupils… right up until the lights went out: in darkness, they shone as bright as ever. Still, unusual-looking eyes were quite common around the palace, what with all the Irredeemables employed there, and few of the staff had any difficulty adjusting to this change in Dorothy's appearance.

Far trickier to deal with were the dolls: Dorothy had very sensibly agreed when the Mentor had told them that the dolls couldn't be allowed in the capital en mass, at least not until the citizens of the Deviant Nations had adjusted to the idea that the Hellion's feared troops were now their allies. However, the dolls were still agitated after their mother's long period of silence and weren't altogether thrilled about being left behind; eventually, they'd whimpered so plaintively that Dorothy had been forced to negotiate with the Mentor. Now, two immaculately-dressed dolls stood on either side of her, glowering balefully at anyone who got too close to their mistress. It took quite a while before Dorothy was able to convince them that Dr Kiln was a friend, and even longer before they would allow him to perform a check-up.

Right now, Kiln was still analysing the samples he'd taken, casting diagnostic spells, mixing chemicals, studying test tubes under different wavelengths of light, and – most commonly of all – conducting anxious conversations with fellow mage-surgeons and scientists over the radio. So far, Elphaba hadn't been able to discern much of it, given that she still had to keep half an ear open for the Mentor's debriefing commentary, but from what little she could hear, Kiln was gathering a lot of evidence to support whatever conclusion he was hurtling towards.

"Believe me," the Mentor continued, "I'm very happy that we now have a substantial addition to our current forces. Unfortunately, I still need a very thorough appraisal of what these dolls can and can't do on the battlefield – for the sake of our safety as much as theirs. We already know that they can hold their own in battle, but can you patch them up the way the Hellion did, Dorothy?"

"I think so: I know everything the Hellion did, so it shouldn't take too long to learn the basics. As for everything else she knew…" She offered a slightly sheepish-looking grin. "I'm not sure yet."

"What do you mean 'everything else'?"

"Er, about a few hundred spellbooks, thirty years of practical magical experience, a map to every hidden cache or dumping ground in No-Man's Land, evidence of dozens of secret military operations, and this weird… insight, whatever it is – something to do with seeing the fabric of the world or whatever it was."

Dorothy smiled, but Elphaba could see the exhaustion plain on her face: keeping a conscious eye on this was wearing her out, and she'd had a pretty tiring day already. "I can't use it myself, not yet," she continued. "If I concentrate, I can see a few pages clearly, but the more I try to see, the less sense it makes. It gets… blurry. And I don't know how to start using real magic apart from how to speak to the dolls. Sorry."

At this, the Mentor took a deep breath and began slowly massaging her mismatched temples. "We now have a child carrying around all the magical knowledge of the Hellion in her head. Does anyone know how this could have happened?"

Kiln cleared his throat. "As it happens," he said hesitantly, "I have a working hypothesis, Mentor: there's not much historical data to support it, but it still fits based on what little we know of dimensional physics so far. Our admittedly limited group of experts all concur: it's the synch – dimensional synchronization."

"You're certain?"

"Positive. Dimensional synch's the only thing that could possibly explain this."

There was rumble of bewildered muttering from the onlookers, and then Boq – who was still catching up with the mechanics of this dimension after so many weeks left out of the loop – grumbled, "What are you talking about?"

"Look, we already know that the dream-memories experienced by visitors to alternate dimensions are caused by the synchronization effect. From what our theorists believe, there's only enough room in this world for one iteration of the same person at a time; because of their shared pasts, alternate versions of a person technically occupy the same position in the space-time continuum, and the universe isn't accustomed to this. So, it compromises: the new arrival is partially assimilated into the fabric of this reality, synchronizing their memories with those of their local counterpart – hence the dream-memories."

"So?"

"Well, my colleagues and I believe that what we are witnessing is a possible result of total assimilation: now that the Hellion is dead, her position within local space-time is vacant and Dorothy has been incorporated into it. For better or for worse, this means that local reality is now treating her as if she is the Hellion: data normally encumbered by the existence of her counterpart in this world has spilled into the remaining iteration like water from a ruined dam. Based on measurements of her brain activity, the Hellion's memories were essentially poured into Dorothy's mind at a rate that her brain could not convert into dreams."

"But it wasn't just the Hellion's memories, was it?" said Elphaba darkly.

"No: along with her personal history, that flow of memory brought with it a boatload of other information that really shouldn't be let loose in an organic mind – personality traits, emotions, drives, ambitions…"

"So that was why she experienced rejection syndrome? She literally had the Hellion's mind forced into hers?"

"In a word, yes. The fact that the two are so dissimilar probably didn't help: too much undeniable information that contradicted equally irrefutable details, and Dorothy nearly haemorrhaged to death. And the nature of the synch became more severe, as well." He indicated Dorothy's eyes, and the faint golden luminescence at the centre of each pupil. "You see," he told her, "the universe tried so hard to incorporate you into the Hellion's position that it attempted to change your body so you'd be more like her."

"I was becoming her," Dorothy whispered. "I dreamt of it, too. So if I hadn't pulled through, I'd have actually turned into the Hellion?"

"Well… that could have become a distinct possibility, but as always there's only so much wild magic can do in the face of such colossal incompatibilities: rejection syndrome would probably have killed you before you'd started growing additional arms."

"Does that mean I'm safe from whatever will happen if we do manage to kill the Empress?" Elphaba asked hesitantly.

"Well, nobody's completely compatible with their other selves' memories, and as far as I can see, the worst of the side-effects were due to the lack of similarities between the two. Psychic trauma allows the biggest opportunities for a personality overwrite. By contrast, you and the Empress remain relatively similar despite the shift in mindset, so you should be safe."

"Should?"

"Basically, it's the problem of a square peg being forced into a round hole: the Empress's mind would have simply passed right through yours and done nothing while you were awake. In Dorothy's case, the peg would have gotten stuck and the process wouldn't have stopped until one of them broke." He double-checked Dorothy's pupils with a penlight, absently studying the way her eyes reacted to the beam. "We're just lucky that you were able to assimilate the knowledge without suffering permanent damage," he told her, "but there's still the matter of you learning how to use the information you've gained. You're probably no longer in danger of a secondary attack of rejection syndrome, but we've still got to figure out how we can allow you to consciously access all this new knowledge."

"Something tells me at least some of it may involve dedicated tuition in the art of magic," said the Mentor with a smirk. "Tell me, Elphaba, are you ready to begin training Dorothy and Glinda?"

"…ask me again when I've had a full night of sleep."

"Suffice it'll probably take a lot more than just dream pills to tease out all this information."

"So that's another bit of good news," said Dorothy, absently stifling a yawn.

"…what do you mean?"

"I don't have to take dream pills anymore."

Elphaba groaned. "Don't remind me; I've got my own drug regimen to get back to now."

"Speaking of which," added Kiln, "I should probably check to see how well your crystals are growing in. Uh, Elphaba, if you would be so kind as to lie down behind that screen?"

Not for the first time that day, Elphaba sighed and seriously considered lodging an official protest, but the look on the Mentor's face immediately silenced any disagreements on her part. Sighing, she crossed the room to the surgical bed behind the opaque screen, lay down, and allowed Kiln to unbutton the back of her dress.

"Hang on," said Fiyero, as Kiln began absently inspecting the crystalline growths protruding from Elphaba's naked back, "If this all happened because Dorothy's other self died, then why didn't I go through the same thing when the Champion died? Why wasn't I in danger of turning into him or dying of a stroke or whatever?"

"I have my suspicions. As far as I can tell, compatibility is an issue when it comes to assimilation: we've already seen that having the memory and personality of someone so similar yet impossibly different foisted upon her nearly killed Dorothy. Your brain is currently inorganic, existing only as an indelible imprint on normally inanimate matter, so the biological effects of rejection syndrome couldn't take place. Tell me, did you experience any especially unusual dreams while you were in captivity in Loamlark? Unusual even by the standards of dream-memories, I mean."

"A few, yeah. I usually don't even fall asleep except with magical assistance, so they were already pretty memorable."

"I imagine that was the result of you absorbing the Champion's memories in total: your inorganic brain protects you."

Fiyero sighed deeply. "And if I become human again, I'll immediately start bleeding from the eyes and it'll all be downhill from there. We really are just overflowing with good news, aren't we?"

"Let's not jump to bad conclusions so soon. For now, all is well." Kiln paused and thought about this for a moment. "From a medical perspective," he amended. "We've all emerged from the journey unharmed, Dorothy's alive and sane with new benefits attached, Elphaba's crystal growth is coming along quite well, and we now have an extra army."

"And," the Mentor added, "Combined with our alliance with the Strangling Coils, the partnership with the Mistress of Mirrors and our ongoing negotiations with the Amorphous League, I'd say we may very well have a significant tactical advantage on our side."

"And there's still no telling the full extent of the benefits Dorothy's new condition might confer. In fact, if it's alright with you, Dorothy, I'd like to ask you some questions concerning-"

Vara coughed loudly. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but don't you think this could wait – at least until Dorothy's had some sleep and time to recover from all this? At the risk of understating it slightly, it's been a very busy day, and I really don't think she needs any further poking and prodding-"

"Or politicking," Elphaba added.

"No, it's okay," said Dorothy. "I'm still-" She yawned. "-Wide awake. Seriously, I'm just a little woozy, that's all. I can answer whatever questions you like, doctor." Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly.

The Mentor gave her a look that fell somewhere between 'exasperated headmistress' and 'bemused grandmother,' and sighed deeply. "I think she's learned a little too much from you, Elphaba," she said at last. "Alright, let's consider this meeting adjourned until our brave warriors have had time to rest and recuperate. All of them," she added pointedly in Elphaba's direction. "Dismissed!"

The surgery rapidly emptied, the search party hastily dispersing in all directions as the Mentor shooed them away, until at last, Elphaba, Vara, Dorothy and her doll bodyguards were all that remained.

With the reluctant permission of the dolls, Vara scooped the increasingly sleepy-eyed Dorothy into her arms and began carrying her away, Toto and the bodyguards following close behind. However, just as they reached the door, Dorothy's eyes widened and she called Elphaba over with something almost akin to urgency. "The eyes in the darkness," she gabbled. "I finally figured out something about the eyes in the darkness, Elphie!"

"What's she talking about?" Vara whispered.

"Long story. What is it, Dorothy?"

"The Hellion's seen them before, and her insight… it's showing me all kinds of things I wouldn't normally see. I can't make sense of all of it, but I…" She blinked rapidly. "He knows you, Elphaba: he's met you before, met both of us. And we killed him, but not quite; he found a safe place, but now he wants out. His name is…" Her eyelids fluttered. "I can't quite grasp it: there are times I think I've almost got it, but… he has two names. And there's more to him than just the red… and he always says something to us whenever we meet him for the first time – he wants to know our names and he wants to know what… what he can do…"

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped face-first into Vara's shoulder, fast asleep.

"Empress! Empress! I've got new designs for you!"

The Empress smiled indulgently as little Dr Lintel bounced through the crowds of regressed researchers, practically ricocheting off the walls as he hurried across the Crèche towards her. By now, the nurses had confirmed that the last vestiges of his adult personality and memories had finally died: his foul temper, his obsessions, his ego, his petty hatreds, his bigotry and prejudice had all atrophied into nothingness. Now, all that remained of the once-haughty professor was his knowledge of magic and his genius for invention, now contained within the mind of an innocent child.

Well, an innocent child that occasionally grew up into a rather confused adult or grew down into an even more confused infant, but on the whole, a vast improvement.

A brief hiatus followed, as the excitable little six-year-old began showing off the many blueprints for dimensional gateways he'd been working on since they'd last met, all of them cost-effective and all workable. They were perfect for the Empress's purposes, but before they could be put into action, there was one other thing their resident expert on portal magic had to focus on.

"Wonderful, Lintel, wonderful," she cooed, gently pushing the pile of schematics and plans aside. "And now we have to talk about the party we're going to throw for the Mentor and the green girl. We've already scattered the gift baskets; when do you think they'll be ready to open?"

"Anytime you want!" Lintel yapped. "All you have to do is activate the enchantment on one of the baskets, and all the jigsaw pieces spring together, no matter where they are!"

"And they'll be undetectable?"

"Totally undetectable! Not even the Mistress of Mirrors will be able to detect it!"

The Empress offered a broad smile and gave Lintel a congratulatory hug, just to let him know she was proud of him. Of course, the trait the Childlike Researcher had bragged of was largely pointless: there were already preventative measures being taken against the Mistress of Mirrors' intrusion: certain enchantments could be used to block her observations, though the amount of skill required to cast them meant that it would be impractical to place them on all but the most security-intensive areas; lesser locations could be obfuscated by means of rooms without mirrors or reflective surfaces. And as for the sites that were to be used in their next stratagem, the famed information broker couldn't be everywhere at once – least of all the places where the "gift baskets" had ended, not if her loyalties lay with the Deviant Nations.

But still, hard work deserved rewards.

"You'll be helping us when the time comes for the party, won't you?" she asked.

Lintel nodded eagerly.

"You'll be a brave boy and join the grown-ups in the control room just to make sure everything goes perfectly, won't you?"

Lintel nodded again.

"Good boy, good boy…"

She conjured a small square of chocolate from her sleeve and presented it to Lintel, who immediately pounced on it with a shriek of delight. As he messily devoured the confection, the Empress patted him fondly on the head and stalked away to review the other faces at work in the Crèche's living room; it took a while, for it seemed as though every single researcher here was enjoying their own private brainstorm, busily sketching away at blueprints and formulae heretofore unknown to science and magic.

As she surveyed and complimented, however, her mind was on other things. By now, she knew that Frexspar's rage had failed to eliminate Elphaba and the Hellion was to blame; steps were already being taken to eliminate the troublesome distortion once and for all, of course, but that could wait until they had the time and experts to spare on a bombing run of No-Man's Land. In the meantime, the rage of her stepfather was now being replenished in preparation for their next gambit, and it was already proving to be their most audacious move yet – and their most expensive: museums had been pillaged, mines had been emptied, and entire forests had been stripped bare (and replenished as quickly as experts in nature magic could manage); several of the Childlike Researchers had even begun work on a series of conjured miniature realities in which resources could be harvested without damaging Unbridled Radiance's environment – not that it hadn't been done before in their empire's history, but these would be the first to exist on a permanent basis instead of simply collapsing in on themselves after a month. All for the sake of rebuilding the forces they'd lost and arming themselves for what might be a death blow to the Deviant Nations.

Oh yes, Frexspar's rage would need to be suitably effervescent for this next move.

Especially since there was one special prize within Greenspectre they would claim before the day was out.

A gleam of braided blonde hair in the corner of the room caught her eye, and the Empress immediately glided over. As expected, it was Morrible, now fifteen years old and once again sulking behind the couches where she thought the nurses couldn't see her; much less expected was the small pocket diary she was scribbling into, clumsy teenage hands awkwardly gripping the pen as she hurriedly jotted down her thoughts. With one swift grab, the Empress snatched the diary out of Morible's grasp and began reading – but she could already tell what she'd been writing. After all, there was only one reason why any of the Childlike Researchers would obsess over diaries so ardently.

"You know the rules, dear," she said, incinerating the diary with a wave of her hand. "No keeping records for your new self. Tell me, little miss Emmataal, how much have you forgotten? How much time before you slough off the worthless life you once lived and regain your innocence?"

The ex-press secretary seethed in rage. "That-is-not-my-name," she snarled through gritted teeth. "And I am not forgetting; I'll hang on to what matters, no matter how hard you try to take it from me. I'll remember, and I'll make you suffer for everything you've done to us! There will be retributiation, Your Radiance! Me and everyone else in the Crèche who still remembers – we will have our revenge!"

The Empress offered her a pitying smile. "I'm sorry, Madame Morrible," she said, voice no louder than a whisper. "But you're part of a dwindling minority now; the lucid number less than a third of the Creche's total population. Soon, you'll be the only researcher here who remembers Oz… and soon after, you won't even remember that. And wishing won't save your memory: wishing only wounds the heart. Isn't it time you let go of your burden and enjoyed life as only a child can?"

"Why don't you tell your misbegotten daughters that?"

The smile froze on the Empress's face. "Two months," she said calmly.

"Wha-"

The Empress waved her hand, and a split-second later, Morrible was gone… and not too far down the hall, one of the holding cells began to echo with screams as its newest occupant realized where she was.

"Yes," said the Empress to nobody in particular. "I think my business is concluded here. A few minor complications, but on the whole, a lovely day…"

"Now, light the candle again if you please – more wick and less wax this time, okay? The cleaners don't like scraping candlewax off the floor. On my count: one, two, three – well done, much better! Now, extinguish it. Good, good. Don't look so overjoyed just yet, Dorothy, we've still got a lot of exercises to get through. You probably think this is really boring, and frankly it is, but-"

"I swear, I'm not bored at all – this is fun!"

"…lighting candles is fun?"

"Learning magic is fun. I mean, this is something I never thought I'd be able to do!"

"Technically, you already know it. It's just that you need a little tuition in order to harness the Hellion's stored memories… but that's beside the point. Um, give me just one more try with the candle spell and we can move on to basic phosphorescence. Glinda, are you making any progress over there?"

Glinda sighed, and went back to her own exercises.

They'd been in the Mentor's gymnasium for nearly an hour by now and Glinda was only feeling more inadequate the longer she stayed there. Oh, she was fit for combat, there was no doubt about that by now, but the simple fact was that the heights of power she displayed back in Loamlark were out of the question for the foreseeable future: after all, those had all been due to the magical sink she'd used as a wand, and as long as Elphaba's witch-crystal condition was stable, there'd be no need for such a thing. So, it was back to knocking down single training dummies and launching fireballs no bigger than fists.

She knew she'd get better – she'd have to, really. One day, she might actually learn enough to do without a wand and actually make do with gestures alone. But she'd never even come close to being anywhere near as good as Elphaba; she knew that, she fully comprehended it, and she accepted it without malice or envy. She'd known for a long time that her old friend would always be better than her, and once Glinda had finally gotten over her need to lash out over the fact that Fiyero had fallen in love with Elphaba instead of her, all resentment at the fact had dried up.

It was just that, what with just about every single witch or wizard Elphaba's circle of allies being more talented than Glinda, it was hard not to feel…

…well, useless.

Dorothy was proving something of a prodigy thanks to all the knowledge that had been forced into her head, and though she needed the occasional headache remedy to ease the pain of accessing too much of her mental library at once, she was already blazing a trail through the textbooks.

And all the while, Glinda was in the corner, knocking down dummies, making herself barely invisible and conjuring vapid ghosts of her old bubble, creeping like a snail through her tuition. She was learning and slowly, slowly gaining strength, but why couldn't she be any better at this? Why couldn't she be of more help to Elphaba in some way – without the Mentor having to set things up in her favour? Why couldn't Glinda be strong of her own accord? Why was she so… weak? She'd always been weak – weak, naïve, stupid and pathetic. But why, when she'd learned so much and tried so hard to become something different, couldn't she make herself anything more than a sidekick?

Because that's all you're good for. You were baggage on the last mission, a useful tagalong on the one before that, a life preserver for Elphaba on the one before, and before that, you were a spineless cow waking up in the middle of the night to sob your eyes out. Face it, Glinda, you're not good enough to be Elphaba's ally in battle. You're barely good enough to be her friend. So just scuttle off back to your room, try on some dresses, pretend you're back in Oz and have a cry over how much of a pathetic little bitch you are?

Something large and unwieldy bounced off Glinda's shoulder. Lost in her own self-loathing reverie, it took her a little while to realize it was actually the left arm of her current training dummy: in her fervour, she'd gotten so carried away that she'd ended up blasting the thing to bits, and now the air was full of torn bits of sackcloth slowly raining down on them like autumn leaves.

There was a slightly embarrassed pause, as Glinda belatedly realized that Dorothy and Elphaba were now staring at her.

"Sorry," she laughed sheepishly. "I, uh… got a little carried away."

And in the off-putting silence that followed, there was a knock on the gymnasium doors. A moment later, the Mentor bustled in at a speed that Glinda would have thought impossible at her age and health, Kiln following close behind. Also, both of them were wearing uncharacteristic smiles.

"Good news!" said the Mentor briskly. "We've just received word from the Amorphous League: it seems the Mistress of Mirrors was able to offer them conclusive proof of our reliability as allies, and they're willing to meet in order to establish a partnership."

"Finally!" Elphaba sighed. "I was wondering if they were ever going to follow up on that meeting down in the caverns. So, what do they want?"

"They haven't elaborated on it just yet, but they implied they may have something of a manpower problem. In all probability, they'll want recruiting rights within our territory – enough to replenish their ranks at any rate."

"And you'll just allow that? You're just going to let them just start cruising the country for new members without even learning what membership entails? I mean, what's their induction policy, how long does it take to get usable troops out of this, and are there any adverse side-effects to their powers? No offence, but this is starting to sound like you're being really reckless."

"Pot kettle," said Kiln, completely deadpan.

The Mentor waved her hand dismissively. "Omber's given us enough of an idea of the general effects of their famous elixir, and we have the League's assurance that they will abide by our laws for the duration of our alliance. In other words, from the moment we sign this accord, they will be perfectly straightforward with us: no more cheeky surprises, no more sneaking around, no practical jokes, and no keeping secrets from us."

"Well," said Elphaba. "Let's hope they abide by those terms."

"Oh, they will: now that they're in a position to repopulate their membership, claim sanctuary within our borders and take some well-deserved revenge against the Empress, they'll be very grateful for the help."

"Uh-huh," Elphaba murmured, and here the scepticism could be plainly heard in her voice.

Then, just as Glinda was starting to wonder if the Mentor seemed a little too confident for her own good, here was a knock on the gymnasium doors, and two distressingly-familiar figures burst in.

"Elphaba," said the "new" Mentor. "We've just made contact with the Amorphous League and-"

There was a pause, as the new arrival slowly looked her doppelganger up and down disapprovingly, the second Kiln studying his own replica with undisguised fascination as she did so.

The first Mentor, on the other hand, only smirked. "Oh come on," she snickered. "You did say we would only be restricted from practical jokes until after we reached an accord. Who am I to not take advantage of such a loophole?"

And then she began to changer, her body flowing like water as her flesh unravelled in all directions, shifting wildly from human to bird, to reptile, to fish, to metal, to fire, and back again. When the metamorphosis was complete, the being that hovered before them have become a huge sphere of glowing, swirling matter, constantly shifting and changing before their eyes.

"Greetings," it proclaimed, in a voice borrowed from a million different sources. "I am the First of the Shapeless, progenitor and duly-sworn commander of the Amorphous League, Protector of the Protean, Guardian of Those Without Form – at once your equal and your humble petitioner, requesting an audience."

The Mentor took a deep breath, looking for all the world like a long-suffering grandmother. "On the condition that you never do anything like that ever again without my permission," she huffed.

"Of course, Great Mentor."

"The same goes for your colleague."

Another flare of shapeshifting followed, and when it faded, the faux-Kiln had become a rather nondescript man with a softly-balding head and a face more suited to an accountant than a spy. "Leafcutter, at your service," he introduced himself, bowing low.

Kiln blinked rapidly, eyes wide with excitement. "Is there any chance of discussing the effects of your shapeshifting elixir?" he asked eagerly. "I've got so many questions for-"

"Calm down, doctor, we haven't even signed the accord yet. Now, shall we adjourn to the conference room? I think it's time we got down to business."

"Agreed," said the First of the Shapeless. "But first…"

A smiling face formed in the centre of the flesh, and an eye winked in Elphaba's direction. "Nice to see you again, Miss Elphaba. For a time, I was worried that spark I saw back in Shiz had gone out for good with the rise of the Empress; good to see that it's alive as you are."

This clearly threw Elphaba for a moment. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll bite: who the hell are you?"

"You've been reliving the memories of the Empress for some weeks now, old friend… and I've been reliving the memories of the counterpart that followed you into this mess. Now tell me, can you think of anybody you've seen in all that time who had the opportunity to change in more ways than one?"

There was a pause as Elphaba reflected on this, her face knotting with concentration as she silently reviewed what she'd seen in the dream-memories; after barely a few seconds, her express went blank with surprise – and then a bemused smile crept across her face.

"Hello, Brrr," she said at last.

Dorothy's jaw dropped. "You mean-"

"Yes. There's literally nobody else it could be."

"…wow. I mean, the Hellion had some interesting ideas about the First, but… wow! I mean, this is… wow!"

"I know, right? The dream-memories suggested the initial serum-testing could go far, but I didn't think it would ever go this far!"

Glinda coughed loudly. "Um, does anyone else feel like sharing the joke with me?" she asked. "Just for the sake of us blondes in the back? Who's Brrr?"

"...Fair enough," Elphaba conceded. "For everyone who hasn't been privy to the weird and wonderful things that went on in the Pottery, allow me to introduce you to the Cowardly Lion."

There was a stunned pause.

"Oh come on," chuckled Brrr, his shapeless face grinning fit to burst. "Elphaba's been writing detailed reports for a while now, and I know for a fact that you've been reading them. Don't tell me you didn't at least suspected I might be the leader of the League. I mean, after all the surprises you've encountered and all the mysteries you've solved, a shapeshifting Lion should be almost pedestrian…"

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, folks! I will be back soon after the 31st - this site gets a bit weird in the earliest days of a new year, so I've decided to wait until posting.

In the meantime, any idea what's going to happen next?