A/N: Here we go for a really long chapter…also, this chapter is most definitely rated T, so, be advised… And…the end paraphrases some play dialogue. Also, I borrow a couple pseudonyms/names from Mr. Maguire…hee hee hee.

Disclaimer: It isn't mine, but I still maintain that if Gregory Maguire gets to publish his gigantic fanfiction…ah well.

We hadn't planned for what happened next. I guess you could say the broom did it…somehow…Okay, see, it may be my fault that the thing can fly, but the way it often seems to have a mind of its own still freaks me out quite a bit.

The broom unceremoniously dumps us on the ground just down the hill from a small building, leans itself against a tree, and refuses to move.

"Thanks," I tell it. "Thanks a lot."

"I didn't think that thing really had a mind of its own," says Fiyero. "I thought you were just talking to it cause you're, well, you know, you."

"Thanks," I repeat, this time to him, "thank you a lot."

"Whatever did you do to it?"

"A levitation spell! That's all!"

Fiyero stares at the thing. "Odd," he pronounces.

I quirk an eyebrow. "Says the captain of the guard who just broke out of prison on the 'odd' broom with the Wicked Witch of the West?"

"Says the Wicked Witch of the West," Fiyero adds.

"Good point."

"Well, since the thing did get us out of there-" Fiyero begins.

"Hey, I believe I had just a bit to do with that!" I interject.

"Yes…you got us in there."

"I got me in there. You, sir, got yourself into it."

"So you want me to leave?"

"No!"

It breaks the lovely, crystalline silence of the wood we're at the edge of with its unintended vehemence.

"You were saying? About the broom?" I add quietly, for once glad I'm green, for were I not I'm sure my face would be redder than the scarlet sky of sunset. Dark green is much less noticeable.

"Let's see what's here that the broom evidently wants us to look at," Fiyero finishes. I sneak a sideways glance at his face as we begin to climb, illuminated starkly against the full amber moon. He's so beautiful, and I'm just…not.

We hike up the hill together, my cape drawn up to shadow my face, although what with the deepening shadows of the summer night and the forest around us it's probably not even necessary. Just as I'm thinking this, Fiyero turns and looks at me.

"What?" I say. It probably comes out a bit hostile, I don't mean it to.

"It's just…" he seems to be struggling with two things…and he chooses the lesser…I don't know, I don't know why I'd think I would know…

"You know, you don't look green right now," he tells me, but then, halfway up the hill, he turns, pulls off my hood, and kisses me.

When we finally pull apart, reluctantly, I nearly fall over, and he catches me by the forearms and gently pulls my cape back over my face.

"I like you better green," he says.

"Well, good, because…because…you don't really get a choice," I manage. He smiles and half pulls me, since at the moment I'm dreamy and useless, the rest of the way up the hill.

"Whoa," I breathe upon seeing what lies on the hilltop. A beautiful chapel lies, bathed in lustrous silver moonlight, warm light pouring from its windows, half-hidden in a grove of trees, the tall imported Quoxwood trees standing tall, strange, and exotic among the native Ozian boughs. I breathe deep, cool, pine-scented night air filling my lungs to their capacity.

"Why do you think the broom wanted us to see this?" I whisper.

"Oh, Elphie, for someone so smart, you can certainly be thick," he whispers back.

"What?" I could not be more confused right now. Maybe it's lack of sleep, maybe it's love…maybe someone just needs to tell me what is going on.

Laughing, Fiyero takes my hand and pulls me toward the chapel.

Should love make you this confused? Because if so, maybe I was better off…nah.

Fiyero is about to knock on the big, heavy, richly carved mahogany doors when I tear his hand away from the golden knocker.

"What are we doing?" I cry.

"Elphaba," he tells me, "it's a wedding chapel."

That one takes me a moment.

"Like…white dress, and tuxedo, and nausea-inducing floral smells, and crowds and gross sandwiches?" I say.

"Well…sort of…"

"But who…" I start. Then it hits me. "Oh…"

"Well, were you even going to ask me? Because I don't really go in for the whole old-fashioned arranged marriage thing, it's really-" He puts a finger to my lips. And then goes down on one knee.

"Elphaba Thropp," he says, "my dear, brilliant, thick, lovely green witch, will you marry me?"

"Yes," I say. Then something dawns on me. "Um, Fiyero, we really can't get married here."

"Why not?" he asks, looking worried.

"Well, getting legally married requires using our real names, and at the moment, well…" I trail off.

"Well…don't worry..."

"And another thing, there are going to be lights in there, you know, and I may have trouble conjuring up a believable seasickness excuse, considering that we're miles from any water, even a puddle, and seasickness doesn't generally make people look green anyway! Where does that even come from?"

Then I think about seasickness, greenness, water, and me, and crack up. I mean seriously scary, insane, witch cackling here.

"Elphaba! Elphaba, calm down. What the hell is up with you?"

Breathe. Just breathe.

Finally, I manage to direct sufficient oxygen to my brain in order for it to function relatively normally again, and I sit down, leaning against the chapel door. Fiyero plops down beside me.

"Sorry," I say, "something just comes over me sometimes."

"Are you all right? Are you sure you want to do this? I think I've got a plan."

I look straight into his eyes. They are midnight blue, and beautiful, and they are true.

"I'm sure," I say firmly, and I am.

"Do you, Fae, take this man, Yero, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness as in health, till death do you part?"

"I do." My stomach is flipping too much for me to think right now.

"And do you, Yero, take this woman, Fae, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness as in health, till death do you part?"

"No," says Fiyero. The priest and I stare at him in shock. "Death isn't going to part us," Fiyero says, staring at me intensely.

"No," I whisper, "knowing us, Death doesn't stand a chance."

"Sir," interrupts the priest, "I need you to say the proper-"

"I do, completely and forever, I do." says Fiyero.

"Well then, I pronounce you man and wife!"

"Good to know I'm a man," Fiyero says, "because up till now, I just wasn't quite sure."

"You know, I've always wondered about that too," I add. "Is husband too many syllables or something?"

The priest looks like we give him a migraine. "You may kiss the bride now," he says, and I could swear I hear him add, "if only to shut her up."

Fiyero doesn't throw the veil we borrowed from the chapel over my head; that would reveal how green with, um, nervousness I am. Instead, he puts his head beneath it too, and kisses me forever in our own secret world of white lace.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I know," he says.

Just as planned, we sign our names- our real names- to the marriage certificate.

Elphaba Thropp and Fiyero Tiggular. The priest glances at it, and I see his eyes go wide.

"Got to go," Fiyero says quickly.

"Thank you," I add politely. Shattering stereotypes is fun! I pull off the veil and the poor man's eyes get even wider.

"But you're- you're-"

"Married?" I supply. "I know, isn't it wonderful?" I yell over my shoulder as we dash out the door. We tumble, twined together, down the hill, the sweet rich earth and leaves and golden pine needles our marriage bed. The broom we hide behind a tree, abashed almost, in front of it.

My blood covers the leaves, and I admire it, a crimson flower blooming, red as the hot sun at the beginning of time. We cover ourselves, after, in the cloak, and in leaves, too, and huddle together. We stare at the white-hot stars, brilliant diamonds against a sky the color of Fiyero's eyes.

"You're beautiful," Fiyero says. I turn my face away.

"Don't lie."

"It's not lying, Elphaba," he tells me fiercely. He sees in the stiff set of my shoulders that I won't accept it. "It's looking at things another way."

I soften, I can't help it. A tear winds its coursing way down the plane of my cheek, because no one's ever called me beautiful before. And aren't fathers supposed to tell their daughters that they're absolutely beautiful, when they're young enough to believe it, when they're old enough to be embarrassed, when life has taught them that it's true or that it's false, isn't that what fathers say, no matter what? He always told Nessa…

Nessa.

"Nessa! Something's wrong with Nessa!" I am up and pulling on my dress and babbling something about houses and cyclones and I don't even know where the hell these words are coming from.

"What? How do you know?" Fiyero asks, yanking on his pants and slipping into his shirt.

"I don't know…Can't you see that?"

"What? Elphaba, what's wrong? What do you see?"

"This makes no sense! It's a house, but it's flying through the air! Nessa… she needs me…I have to help her…I'm responsible…"

"I'll come with you!" cries Fiyero.

No, my heart whispers, no. I've learned to listen to it. Mostly.

"No, you mustn't, it's too dangerous!"

"Listen, Elphaba, look at me. My family's castle in Kiamo Ko, no one lives there, except for the sentries who guard it."

"But…" I'm confused again. "Where do you live?"

"In the other castle." Oh. Of course.

"But listen," he goes on, "Kiamo Ko is the perfect hiding place. There's trapdoors, tunnels, secret passageways…you'll be safe there."

Something in the way he says that bothers me. "You'll be safe there," not "we'll be safe there."

"We will see each other again, won't we?" I ask insecurely. I admit it, I am insecure with people, especially the people I love. I still cannot believe any of this, here, with Fiyero, actually happened, but then he makes me believe it. He grips my hands, stares into my eyes, forces me back to reality…this is real. This is real.

"Elphaba," he says forcefully, "we are going to be together, always. You can see houses flying through the air, can't you see that, my crazy witch?" I smile, and slowly, carefully, so as not to shatter this delicate perfection, nod. He pulls me in, and we kiss. Even after the kiss ends, we stay like that, holding each other, for forever condensed into a single moment over far too soon. Agonizingly, I pull myself away, clinging to his hands until the last possible moment before letting go and running off. I don't look back.