Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2006. Found: 2018. - Licia

"Get some sleep, Cata. You need it. I can watch over her."

The cook didn't respond; she simply watched as Trism, arm still around his wife's waist, walked Elphaba back up the stairs to their room. Elphaba, however, stopped them, to turn back. "Goodnight, Cata." She waved, and the cook waved back, knowing the young empress was caught in a memory. Trism nodded to the older woman, before the two young royals continued down the hall. She heard their bedroom door click, followed by the soft locking of their door, and returned to the kitchen, knowing that Elphaba was in Trism's safe hands.

Making sure everything was put away, she then switched off the light and made her way up the stairs to the third floor, where the staff's quarters were. Moving down the hall, she slipped quietly into her room and shut the door softly behind her. Unlike most of the staff, who sometimes shared two to a room- unless they had families, and then they lived not far from the palace- Cata had a small room to call her own. When Elphaba had shown her the palace, she'd simply asked for a room; the size didn't matter, she just wanted a room. Having no family to live with- for Cata had not married nor had children of her own- she had not seen the benefit of having children for herself, when she was content to look after Trism and Elphaba's children. Though she had loved children growing up, and had often wished for a family of her own, Cata had discovered over time that marriage and a family just wasn't in the cards for her.

She wasn't too proud to admit that watching what the heir to the Thropp dynasty had gone through in his ten short years had been part of her decision. And she just realized, over time, that perhaps children weren't the best option for her. So when Elphaba and Trism had first gotten pregnant, back in the late summer of twenty-eight, Cata had been thrilled, bursting into tears when Elphaba had told her the news. And she had mourned just as the rest of the household had when the young empress had miscarried her child.

Slowly, the cook began to undress, slowly undoing her hair from the twist she kept it in when working, before changing for bed and taking a seat on the edge. She thought back to the conversation with Trism- the prince hadn't looked at her in any way other than a family member; he'd treated her with respect, just as Elphaba and the rest of the royal family did. And, perhaps, a bit more understanding as to why she was so protective of the young empress.

"You have witnessed far too much, Cata- the wealth and glamour the court reveled in, the simplicity Elphaba and her family tried so hard to live within, the horrendous rumors that swirled around Yackle, the empress and her daughters, the plot to assassinate the mystic, the abdication of the emperor, the house arrest of the family, the flight of the Thropps, but being unable to follow... you witnessed so much, no wonder you're as protective of my wife as you are. You watched her grow up, watched her father step down, watched her family struggle to survive... and then going ten years without knowing where they were or if any of them were dead or alive... but you don't need to worry anymore, Cata. Fabala's alive and, other than this small bump in the road, she's fine and she's thriving. Just like our family is. You're not going anywhere, Cata. You're staying here, because you're family."

Tears sprang to her eyes; that Trism thought so highly of her tugged at her heart, and she promised herself that she would do all she could to prove herself worthy of that high praise. After a moment, she stood, going to the closet and opening it. Tucked away in the bottom was a small chest, which she opened; it held her most prized possessions- the dress Sophelia Frexparia had given her to wear to the opera that night, a pearl and emerald encrusted hair comb the empress had given her for her twelfth birthday, a couple drawings done by Nessarose Frexparia and Shell Frexparevich for her, a few of the letters Elphaba had sent to her on the journey from the Winter Palace, a small photo album the girls had given her, filled of photographs of her with the family-

Her breath caught, gaze lighting on the coat folded on the bottom. Slowly, she lifted it out, burying her nose in the fabric; it was the coat she'd worn on the train platform that day; by then, Elphaba was gone with her parents to the Govenor's mansion, and the rest of the family to follow. Even after all these years, it still smelled of that dreary Fliannian winter of nineteen-eighteen- leftover snow turned to slush, the stench of deepening malnutrition, a faint breath of depression and just a hint of excitement- when her family had been taken away, and she, the lowly scullery maid, was forced to stay beneath the other familiar scents of that year so long ago, was another, faint, but very, very familiar. She returned her nose to the fabric, closing her eyes briefly.

"Cata, you cannot go running about like that, you'll catch your death of cold." She watched, as the once great and powerful Emperor of all Fliaan slowly removed his coat. Her gaze lit on the thick, heavy black military-style coat, and she stepped back. Despite them now being of common social standing, the sixteen-year-old still felt that silent loyalty to her family, to always be a step below them in rank, stripped of their titles or no. "Here."

She quickly shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't Your Majesty-"

Frexpar chuckled. "I am no longer the rule of Fliaan, Cata. There is no need for such a title anymore." She glanced from the coat to the man and back. Without a word, he made his way towards her, helping her into it and slipping it over her shoulders. It was big on her, but that was because Frexpar was taller than her, slightly stocky, though no less handsome than any of the young soldiers in the Fliaanian army Elphaba used to fawn over. "There, now you'll be warm."

She met his gaze over her shoulder; his dark eyes held nothing but warmth and tenderness for the young girl who had been his children's constant companion these last few years. "I'll give it back-"

But he gently squeezed her shoulders. "No. You'll need a nice warm coat for wherever we are going. It's yours."

Tears began to prick her eyes. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Frexpar ignored her slip up, leaning down and kissing the young maid gently on the forehead, as Cata had seen him do to his five children so many times before. She had always wondered what it would be like to receive a father's love like the children did, and secretly, in her deepest heart of hearts, admitted that perhaps she was a little bit jealous of the royal children, and their great luck of having been born in to, not necessarily wealth and royalty, but such a loving family. Her eyes closed on instinct, and she held her breath, remembering this feeling and holding onto it. If this was what a father's love felt like, she never wanted it to end.

"Neart agus síocháin, mo iníon grá." When she opened her eyes, it was to the former emperor gently thumbing her chin, as he often did to his three youngest children. She felt Elphaba slip an arm through hers, barely hearing the former princess's words.

"I told you we were sisters."

Her gaze snapped open, and she slowly lifted her head; she was back in her room in Colwen Grounds. The memory faded like the smoke from a candle, and after a moment, she pulled it on, Frexpar's words coming back to her as the faintness of his scent enveloped her, just one in the hundreds of scents attached to that coat from that long ago day. "Neart agus síocháin, mo iníon grá."

She knew the term; it was old Fliaanian, only used to express deep love for a family member or friend, often in times of hardship.

Strength and peace, my loved daughter. Strength and peace.

To think, that in those darkest of days, Frex had considered her to be like one of his children... all these years later, it touched her deeply. She wrapped her arms around herself, before deciding she should take the coat off and return it to the chest. As she lowered her arms and moved to open the closet. The side of the coat banged against her hip, and she stopped. For the briefest of moments, confusion crossed her mind, before she shook it away and reached to open the chest. the side of the coat once more banged against her hip, and this time, she turned her attention to it. Slipping a hand into the pocket, she felt nothing inside, until she hit the back of the pocket. Something knocked against her fingers. Quickly grabbing a simple ripper from her sewing kit, she removed the coat, laying it in her lap once she'd sat back on the bed and carefully ripping into what looked like a sewn seam. After several minutes, the material gently pulled back, and she gasped.

Slowly, carefully, she pulled out a book. bound in lilac purple material, the pages gold edged, about the size of one of the hardbound novels on the shelves in the study. Upon the cover, were the numbers,

1918

With shaking fingers, she slowly parted the cover from the first page, gaze lighting on familiar, careful cursive. A soft, tear-filled gasp escaped her throat as she read the name she knew so well.

Elphaba Frexparia Thropp