Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: So counting today (Day Two) Elphaba still has six days left with the Thropps, and it seems that Melena appears to be buckling under the weight of her own guilt... Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia
"Mama! Mama! Torna qui! Mama!"
He bolted upright, screams pulling him from his fitful sleep. Fleeing moments passed, as he tried to get his bearings, before he remembered that his wife was gone, forced back into the white's world, and that his father was insisting they bide their time-
"Torna qui! Mama!"
In seconds, he was out of bed, hurrying to the other side of the tent. Nor lay in her blankets, struggling and crying out for her mother, caught in the midst of a nightmare. Without a word, Fiyero scooped the three-year-old princess out of her bed, holding her against his shoulder, humming softly as his wife used to do to calm the children during a nightmare. As he rocked her, he caught sight of Irji curled up in his own blankets, with Manek beside him, blue eyes wide with unshed tears that slowly slid down his cheeks. It was evident, that though the boy was not suffering from nightmares like his sister, he was still suffering the loss of his mother in his own way. Eventually, the child's screams died down to sobs, and she clung to her father.
In the flickering of the low firelight, he saw Irji sitting amid his own blankets, holding Manek close. After calming Nor down, he laid the child back among her blankets and turned to his sons. Once all three were settled down again, he slipped out of the tent. The village was quiet, most of the occupants were sound asleep, with the exception of, besides him, one.
Sarima sat by the bonfire, wrapped in a blanket, lost in the crackling flames.
"Afflitto da incubi di nuovo?"
Fiyero nodded as he joined her. "Si. Ogni notte, dal momento che la loro madre è stata presa." He glanced at the medicine woman. How could his father just sit back, while his daughter-in-law was forced to live among the whites? Why were they not-
"Non dobbiamo correre."
He turned to her. Not rush? His wife was gone! Stolen from her family and her tribe in broad daylight! Ripped from her children, and forced to return to a life she knew nothing of-
"Di corsa porterà solo dolore a noi e la sua." It was now that Sarima turned to him. "Parlo per esperienza."
Something danced in Sarima's gaze and he furrowed a brow. Experience? From what Fiyero knew, Sarima had no children. She had turned to looking on Elphaba as a daughter-
"Non capisco."
The older woman chuckled softly, the blue diamonds upon her cheeks crinkling slightly with the movement. How did she explain to this young man that he had been a mere boy when her child had been taken from her? A soft sigh escaped her throat and she reached out to pat his hand. "Non ti ricorderai, perché eri solo un bambino. Ma c'era un altro bianco, un ragazzo, che è venuto al campo prima di tua moglie. Rubato dalla Scrow proprio come lei, e poi dalla Yunamata. Quando arrivò al nostro accampamento, l'ho portato dentro, perché avevo perso la mia bambina durante le lunghe ore di nascita tre anni prima. Doveva essere il mio erede, che sarebbe diventato sciano dopo la mia scomparsa nel mondo successivo."
Fiyero furrowed a brow. Another? There had been another white among the tribe? It wasn't possible. He would certainly have remembered if there was another white living among the tribe. "Cosa gli è successo?"
When she turned to him this time, Fiyero saw the tears coursing down her cheeks. She sniffled, and took his hand. How did she explain the day the whites had come and stolen her world? How did she even begin to consider explaining the moment her son had been ripped from her arms? The fear she had felt as they'd yanked the boy away, as they'd placed him onto a horse and rode off with him- as she'd rushed from the tent and hurried after them, only to find it was too late and they were gone?
She took a deep breath. "Rubato, in un raid molto simile a quello in cui è stata presa tua moglie."
Her eyes closed, and she was transported back to that day. "Strappato dalle mie braccia quando era solo tredici lune."
She could still remember that day; could still hear his screams as he was yanked from her embrace, as he was dragged through the camp and put onto a horse, as they faded into the distance as he was taken from them, from her...
"Madre! Madre!"
She choked on a sob. Even now, his screams for her were still loud in her ears; they still broke her heart. She had since gone years without her son, not knowing if he had somehow managed to survive in the white's world, or if he had passed onto the next. She thought of him every day, prayed to the Great Mother that she would be allowed to see him again, but each day, her prayers went unanswered.
"Non mi ricordo di lui. Non sapevo che avessi un figlio." Fiyero's whisper was soft, and she sniffled.
"Tu eri solo otto lune quando è stato rubato dalla nostra tribù. Non ti ricorderai di lui."
"Papa?" Several minutes passed, before Fiyero turned; Irji stood in the entrance to the tent, grasping the flap tightly in his small hands. Even from his place at Sarima's side, Fiyero could see the tears in his son's eyes, and after a moment, he stood, making his way towards the boy. Irji rushed to him, and he knelt down, scooping the child into his arms. Pressing a kiss to his head, he turned back to the older woman.
"Sarima?" She watched father and son, a twinge of sadness tugging at her heart. As Fiyero settled his firstborn upon his hip. The little boy, who, upon his father's ascension to Chief, was the next Crown Prince, curled against his father, tears slipping down his cheeks. His father pressed a firm kiss to his head. "Qual era il nome di tuo figlio?"
She sniffled, choking as the name of her long-lost son escaped her lips. "Tibbett. Il suo nome era Tibbett."