Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.

In two day's time, she would marry the Crown Prince of the Arjiki tribe, she realized. And she fought it every step of the way.

There was an older woman within the tribe who spoke her language as well, and she served as translator between her and the chief and his son. Through this, she learned that she had been captured by the Scrow, and then sold to the chief of the Arjiki, originally to be a servant or captive of some sort, she wasn't too sure. But eventually, it was decided that she would instead marry the chief's son, Fiyero, who's name meant 'Child of the Moon'. She would receive a new name upon her marriage, and would become the Crown Princess of the Arjiki, at merely thirteen.

So it was two days later that she found herself seated before the older woman, named Sarima, who was plaiting her long black hair into two braids that would hang down her back. Even now, she still resisted, refusing to learn the language of the tribe, and avoiding her betrothed whenever she could. She would not assimilate, and began to wonder what had happened to Glinda and the others, if her family was still alive and looking for her...

She did not remember the ceremony taking place; she simply remembered being led to what would be their tent, prepared and left to wait for her new husband. A fire crackled not far from where she sat among the blankets and furs. Somehow, someway, she was now a married woman, at thirteen years of age. She was a princess, a captive, forced to marry one of her captors and leave her old life behind.

Eventually, the tent flap lifted and he stepped inside, closing it behind him. She slowly met his gaze. As he moved closer, she saw the diamonds on his chest, and noticed how they seemed to glow in the firelight. Being cautious, he knelt before her. The language was clearly a barrier between them, the closest thing she could get to protect herself. "Please, don't."

He moved closer, gently reaching out and taking her hand. "Elphaba."

She started, surprised, but then remembered that this was her new name- a name that meant 'Daughter of the Raven'. Slowly, she met his gaze, and saw that he was just as apprehensive about this as she was. "F... Fiyero." The pronunciation was slow, shaky, formed around unfamiliar words and an unfamiliar language. He nodded, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. As hard as she tried to resist, she was forced to learn, for this was her new life. Her new home.

A moment passed, before he lifted her hand, resting his against hers, their palms pressing together. Slowly, their fingers slid until they were linked, and he met her gaze, as though asking permission, before bringing their hands close and kissing her knuckles. She watched, silent, surprised by such an intimate, gentlemanly gesture from a savage.

Their eyes locked, and after a moment, she pulled her hand away. "Please. I'm merely a girl-"

"Quattordici." He held up a finger, pointing to himself before pointing to her. "Tredici."

"Qua- fourteen?" She tried to remember the few words Sarima had taught her, the things she'd told her- that the prince was only a year older than her, and would be fifteen soon, just as she would soon turn fourteen- "You're fourteen." He nodded, not understanding her words, but understanding the tone. "We're barely a year apart." She bit her lip. "But... why have us marry now? Why-"

He cocked his head, before getting up and leaving the tent. He returned minutes later with Sarima in tow, saying something to the older woman as they entered. She turned to glance at the girl, before understanding. "You married now to prevent being stolen again."

"S... stolen again? By who-"

"The chief of the Scrow wished to keep you for himself. By marrying, you now belong to the Arjiki. We shall protect you."

"I don't belong to anyone! I won't! And I certainly won't belong to him or anyone here!" Sarima turned to the prince and said something, and he nodded, slipping out of the tent to give them privacy.

"You have no choice anymore, Princess. We cannot send you back to your family; they are most likely dead now, since they passed through Scrow territory when you were captured. If they did not die by the hand of the Scrow, they have died by fever that passes through the lands. You are safest with us."

She shook her head. "No. They aren't dead. Papa was wounded but still alive, and Mama and my brother and sister, they were still alive-" She stopped, sniffling. Tears gathered in her eyes and she struggled to keep them from dropping to no avail.

"Trust me, Princess. The best place for you to be is here. You are safe among the Arjiki." And without another word, she slipped out of the tent, whispering something to the prince before continuing on. Silently, he entered the tent again, kneeling down beside her. Gently, he reached out, catching the tears that slid down her cheeks, even as she turned her head from him.

A soft hum was soon heard, and slowly, she turned back to look at him. He was humming softly, as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. She didn't recognize the song, but she knew it was music. Slowly, their eyes locked, and he stopped, holding her gaze for several minutes. And then, very slowly, cautiously even, he leaned close, brushing a soft, feather-light kiss to her cheek before pulling away.

She met his gaze when he pulled back, and he saw the pain in his eyes; pain for her, for her situation. He sympathized with her, on some level. Slowly, she reached up, covering his hand with hers. Neither said a word, but the meaning was clear.