Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia
Munch Territory,
Fort Restwater
He couldn't believe it, after seven years, he was going to see his beloved Sophelia again.
When the news had broke-
He looked up; an Officer Cavlish stepped out of the small study they had left her in, and he nodded to him to enter. Once the door shut behind him, his gaze sought out the little girl who'd been taken from him. Instead, his gaze landed on a young woman, pressed back against the farthest wall, watching this strange man like a hawk. In an animal skin dress and moccasins, she wore her hair in two braids down either side of her head, and kept her gaze locked on him, shifting against the wall each time he moved. The dress, undergarments and boots that had been laid out on the table for her were on the floor.
"Elia? Sophelia, honey, it's me. It's Papa. Remember?"
The girl shifted, trying to move as far away from him as possible.
For the briefest of moments, he doubted it was her, but as he got closer, he realized that it indeed was his missing daughter. Though seven years had passed, she had grown up, turning into a woman, despite the child he saw in his mind. She had filled out, as all girls do, but there was something about the way she had filled out- as though she had at one time become pregnant and bore a child. Beneath the buckskin dress, he could just make out the soft curves of his daughter's body, similar to his wife's curves- for they were curves brought on by pregnancy and childbirth.
For the love of the Unnamed God, what did those savages do to you, my child? Did they force you to marry one of their own and bear his children? A... A savage?
Finally, they were only a foot apart; she kept herself pressed against the wall, her gaze never leaving him. Now as close as she would allow, he could clearly see how his child had changed in her seven years away. It wasn't just the dress and moccasins, or the way she had filled out, but it was in her stance. Though she was pressed against the wall, a clearly caged animal, she still held herself as though she had importance, still lifted her chin as though she were showing she were good enough.
"My darling Elia... it's... it's so wonderful to finally have you back. We were certain-" But she backed up further, her breathing growing heavy, as though she were trying to figure out the best way to get run. It wasn't that she didn't know how to fight; Fiyero had taught her, so that she knew how to protect herself, it was that she wanted a way out, and so would react as any animal would-
He pulled back; he shouldn't have reached for her, it was too soon. It was clear she did not want to be touched. They stayed like that for several minutes, a foot between them, silent, staring at each other. They came from two separate worlds, both civilized in their own right, though both saw the other as savage. Eventually, Frexpar whispered,
"Oh, Sophelia, my darling child, what have they done to you?"
She did not react at all to her name, for it was not the name she went by. It was foreign, as was this entire world she had been thrust into, as foreign as the strange clothing they had given her, and the room they had left her in. As foreign as the man standing before her. She wanted to go home, back to her tribe, to her husband and children, her family. She looked around for something she could grab, anything really, that she could use to defend herself-
He stepped back, giving her more space, giving her enough space to walk around him if she wanted, and she took that as her opportunity to flee from the corner she'd backed herself into. Two armed uniformed officers stood on the other side of the door, in case there was trouble, but she made her way to the window instead, struggling to get it open.
"Sophelia!"
Though she didn't recognize the name, she recognized the tone; it was one Fiyero often used when in heated debate with another tribesman, one they both used when the children got rowdy. Slowly, she turned, meeting the man's gaze. He moved to the table, staying on one side of it, giving her as much space as she wished. And then he began to talk. "You're mother is going to be so thrilled to finally see you again, after all these years. We prayed every night that you'd be found. We never stopped searching for you. Not once. We have a room for you at the house. We finally have our own land. You're going to love it. And now that we've found you, that house will finally be a home."
She looked up at him, one word registering in her mind.
Home.
Casa.
He was here to take her back to his home. She shook her head. No, she didn't want to go to his home, she wanted to go back to hers, to the one she'd created with her tribe, her family-
"No. Mi casa."
He furrowed a brow, confused. But before he could say anything, a firm knock sounded at the door, and someone entered. "Mr. Thropp?" The other man turned. "I'm Tibbett. I'm a translator. I was sent to see if I could be of some help."
Frexpar furrowed a brow. "You... can speak her language?" The young man nodded, and after a moment, turned to Sophelia. He said something to her in a foreign tongue, and the woman shook her head, speaking rapidly in the same language back to him. "What did my daughter say?"
"She wants to go home."
"I'm going to take her home. We leave tonight."
Tibbett shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "No, you don't understand, Mr. Thropp. She wants to return to her home, with the tribe. She does not want to be in your savage country, as she calls it."
"Savage?" Frexpar started, to hear such a thing come from his own daughter. "We're the most civilized people in the world! The people who are savage are the ones who took her from us! The ones we rescued her from!"
"She does not see it that way, Mr. Thropp. The Arjiki are quite civilized; she's lived among them for the last several years." She spoke rapidly to the translator, who stopped, allowing her to speak. "She married their Crown Prince, she had a family with him; she's quite happy among her tribe."
Frexpar's heart fell. So she had married and had children- a prince, which made her a princess. Seven years, his daughter had been among the Arjiki, living as though she were one of them, to the point where she had even forgotten her own language. Once she returns to civilized society, she could write a book and call it Seven Years Among the Arjiki, if she wished.
"Her mother and siblings and I want her home. We've spent seven years looking for her, please."
Tibbett turned from the older man to the young woman before him. There was no way he could grant one's wish without making the other miserable or destroying their hopes. A compromise, would that be possible? Could she go home with her father for a little while, to see her family, if they allowed her to return to her tribe after an allotted amount of time? Would that work? Could such a compromise be reached?
He knew it couldn't, but he had to try. For he himself had been a captive of the Arjiki when he was a child, also stolen in a raid by the Yunamata, and could attest to the peaceful way of life they lived. He knew the world Elphaba came from, and knew how difficult it was to re-assimilate back into 'civilized' society after years away; he had done it, but it had come at a cost. Now, he helped other captives like her to find that balance, or try to. But he also knew, that eventually, something would have to give- either she would re-assimilate back into society, or return to her tribe.
Frexpar watched as the translator turned back to her, asked her a couple questions, and listened to her hurried responses. After several minutes of conversation, he turned back to the older man. "She will give you a week."
"A week?"
"She will stay with you and your family, in your world, for a week, and then you are to return her to her tribe, or her husband will come in search of her; for you do not steal from the Arjiki."
Frexpar shook his head. "No. She's my daughter. She's going home with me permanently. Not for a week, forever. She's my child! They stole her from us!"
"The Arjiki did not steal her from you; the Scrow stole her from you. The Arjiki bought her from the Scrow and gave her a home when she would have been killed." He turned back to her, and she said something Frexpar couldn't understand, but he watched as she cradled her arms, and though she were cradling a baby. Her voice broke, and he felt tears come to his eyes, though he couldn't be sure why. "A week. And once that week is up, she is to return to her husband and children. You should be grateful she is giving you that."
He lifted his chin. "And if we don't?"
Tibbett turned back to her, relaying the question, before turning back with her response. "And if you don't, when the Arjiki come for her, she will not hesitate to ask that they kill you."
The older man paled, his gaze going to his daughter, who lifted her chin in defiance. "Una settimana."
The translator nodded to her, before going to the door. He turned back to Frexpar; it was evident, that the older man knew he had no choice but to agree. The look in his eyes said everything. "One week. Or face the consequences."