Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2006, Found: 2018.- Licia
She curled up in bed that night with her old, childhood diary balanced on her knees, her long black braid pulled over her shoulder. Trism looked up from getting ready for bed, an occasional giggle or sniffle reaching his ears. Once finished, he joined her, slipping beneath the covers and propping himself on his elbow. His blue eyes studied her in silence for several minutes, before he reached out, tugging gently on the end of her braid. "Talk to me, Fabala."
Slowly, she tore her gaze from the pages, tears sliding down her cheeks. His touch tender, Trism gently wiped them away. "It's like I have them back, Tris. Not fully, but... but pieces. A piece of each of them. It's like they're back with me, when I read these entries."
"You know this doesn't make up for-"
"I know, I know! It doesn't actually bring them back, and it doesn't make up for their deaths," She replied, closing the book and setting it on her nightstand before getting up. The light blue of her pajamas complemented her black hair and pale skin, and she turned, throwing her hands into the air. "But can't you understand, my king? Please? Can't you understand that that diary is part of my childhood? It holds memories I'd forgotten thanks to your brother, memories I thought I'd never get back." She returned to the bed, climbing onto it, kneeling before him. Her hands folded in front of her, and she pouted softly, a child begging to be allowed one cookie before dinner. "Please, Trism, try to understand. You got to grow up, you got to discover who you were going to be. I didn't. I lost my family, my memory, my home, my country, my very name, all in one night. Don't you understand how much this diary means to me? Please?"
He sighed, reaching for her. She let him tug until she lay on her side, against his chest, tucked beneath his chin. "I do, Fabala, I just... I guess..." He sighed. "I guess I'm just so used to my wife, that... that this girl... it's going to take some time getting used to her. I don't remember much of her. I rarely spent time with her, as a child, after all." He kissed the top of her head, before, "Read a little bit to me."
She looked up at him. "Really?" He nodded. A slow smile spread across her face, and after a moment, she sat up, grabbing the diary off the nightstand and opening it. She carefully flicked through a few pages before stopping. She glanced quickly at her husband, to find him having shifted onto his back, hands folded over his stomach, eyes closed. A moment passed, before she took a soft breath and began. "'14 March, 1916,
Mama informed us that we need to look our best, for we have company coming to visit. I asked if Grandmama was coming down from the City for another one of her usual visits, but she said that it wasn't Grandmama. Imagine my surprise, when Elia told me that it was the Vinkun royal family, come down so they could talk about marrying me to their oldest son, Fiyero! Of course I have always known that we're betrothed, but to be perfectly honest, a small part of me had hoped that Mama and Papa had forgotten all about it and would let it go.'"
She started, turning to her husband; Trism's blue eyes snapped open, and he shifted, propping his head in his hand. "Go on, Fabala."
The young queen bit her lip. "No, that's okay, Tris. Maybe tomorrow." She moved to shut it, but he stopped her.
"Elphaba, I'm not angry at you, if that's what you're thinking." She met his gaze. "Fabala, you were twelve. I don't fault you for what you wrote or did when you were a child. It was nearly twenty years ago. Times have changed, just like people change."
A moment passed, before she nodded and opened the book again, returning to the entry. "'I would much rather attend lessons or sit with Papa during a meeting with his courtiers than spend time with the boy I'm supposed to one day marry.'" She glanced at her husband, feeling him reach out and gently stroke her thigh in reassurance. "'Mama expects us to be on our best behavior, of which we all will be, except for Nessa. Nessa hates state visits almost as much as I do; they're so boring and proper, sometimes I want to pull my hair out. And usually the people that visit are stuffy old men, come to flatter Mama and Papa in return for something. If I remember right, the King and Queen of the Vinkus have two boys- Fiyero and his younger brother, though I cannot remember his name. I only know that Nessa had developed a crush on him a couple of years ago. She insists that after I marry Fiyero, she will marry his brother, and we'll live in the Vinkus together, so we will never have to be apart.'"
Tears came to her eyes, quickly blurring the page, and she took a shaky breath, turning to him. Silent, he reached up, gently brushing the tears away. She closed the diary, before curling into his arms, burying her face in his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close, fingers stroking up and down her back in a familiar, tender rhythm he had used during the long, agonizing hours of childbirth she had endured over the past eight years. The familiar motion soothed her, and she hiccuped, shifting to rest her cheek against his chest, above his heart. "... Oh, Tris, I miss them all so. I miss them all so, so much."
Her husband didn't say a word, he simply continued to stroke her back.