Rifiuto: Non Miriena

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

Once Irji and Nor were tucked in their beds, Elphaba set to work on her hair. She hummed the lullaby as she ran the bone comb through her hair, gently untangling the knots as she did so. A moment passed, before she heard the flap of their tent lift, followed by his soft footsteps. He was the best hunter of the tribe for a reason- not because he was the Crown Prince, but because of how quiet he could be, and everyone knew it. She stopped her humming momentarily, and he stopped as well. A well-sidled glance out of the corner of her eye told her exactly where he was, and she smiled softly, returning to her activity.

He continued towards her, before finally wrapping his arms around her from behind. She stopped briefly, turning to glance at him, before returning to her work. A sigh escaped his throat, and he pressed a firm kiss to her hair. "Io e Padre stavano parlando."

She stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?" Talking? About what, exactly?

He nodded, burying his face in her hair. She continued her work, giving her husband time to collect his thoughts. She knew better than to pry into the affairs of men, but also knew that her husband shared everything with her; he kept nothing from her, because it was his nature to share with her. She was his confidante, his best friend, his mate and soulmate, and both knew this. He would tell her eventually. There were no secrets between them.

Eventually, he whispered,

"Su di te."

She stopped, her heart leaping into her chest. Me? What about me? Have I not been a good wife? A good mother? Trying to remain calm, she set the comb down before turning to him. "Marito, su de me?" He took her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs against the apples of her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. A hint of fear filled his blue gaze, and she began to worry. "Fiyero?"

"Scout."

The word sent chills through her body; scouts? Certainly not their trackers. That could only mean-

"Circa scout?" She whispered, though she feared she already knew the answer. He sighed, drinking in her features as though memorizing her, as though after tonight, he would never see her again.

"La tua..." He swallowed. "La tua famiglia," She waited, giving him time to think before speaking. "è... è alla ricerca de te."

Confusion filled her mind. Her family? What family? The only family she had was here, the one she and Fiyero had built together; their marriage, their children... that was the only family she knew, the only family she had. So this talk of her family looking for her... it was... preposterous, really. She had no family but the family she and Fiyero had made. Once upon a time, she must have had a family who had gone looking for her, but that was a time that she couldn't remember. In fact, she couldn't remember who she had been before the tribe. She was as much part of the tribe as they were of her.

"Non hanno mai smesso di cercarti." Never stopped. This family that she supposedly had, had been a part of before the tribe, had never stopped looking for her. But how did they know it was her they were looking for?

"Me?" He nodded. "Come-"

"Sophelia." She furrowed a brow, confused. The name sounded vaguely familiar; like she'd heard it once, a long time ago, but could not recall where or to whom it belonged. Slowly, she shook her head, unsure of how to respond to the name.

Fiyero was surprised, to say the least. Had his wife become so assimilated to the tribe that she had forgotten her former life? That she was not born Arjiki? That she had a mother and father and siblings who loved her, who still searched for her, even after nearly four years? Had she really, truly forgotten? The look in her eyes told him that she had; that she wasn't playing or pretending. She truly, honestly, did not remember her former life or former family.

"Fiyero?" Her voice was soft, and she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He met her gaze. "Hai intenzione di fare? Non hai intenzione di rimandarmi indietro, sei tu? Non ho stato un buona moglie? Una buona madre? Una buona-" But he rested a finger against her lips, stopping her.

"Fabala, il meglio." He whispered, kissing her deeply. Her arms tightened around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight against him, burying one hand in her long, black hair. After several minutes passed, he gently laid her down among the blankets of their bed, working her dress off her body before working on kissing every inch of available skin he could see and feel. Her breathing quickened and she reached for him, pulling him closer, burying her face in his chest as they slowly became one.

Perhaps it was the fear that she would be taken away, returned to 'civilized' society, to her real family, or perhaps it was the realization that she could be discovered and stolen, or taken in a raid on the village, but either way, they clung to each other like snow to the mountains above their encampment. If she were taken away, returned to her family, this life, this beautiful, contented life they built for themselves would be ruined, destroyed. She would be forced to leave him, their children, their tribe...

He shook his head. No, they wouldn't think of that, not now. Not as long as they had each other. He pushed into her, filling her completely, drinking her in as much as he could, as though he were trapped in the grasslands, and had just now found water; she was his sustenance, his reason for becoming the man he was. It was because of her that he was the hunter, the warrior, he was; she had taught him kindness, gentleness, in the face of adversity- for though she came from the white man's world, she had learned to live in the world she was given. She had learned, and though it had been rough at first, she had learned to love her life and her tribe. And him.

Just as he had learned to love her.