Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018. Um... okay, Zanie, honey, where are you going with this?- Licia
Tibbett. Sarima had once adopted a white. And he, like Fabala, had been stolen from the tribe.
In the early hours before Dawn appeared above the horizon, he awoke to a familiar weight upon his chest. But when he opened his eyes, he found that the familiar sensation of her body curled up against his was nothing more than a memory, a desire, reaching from the deepest workings of his mind to taunt him in these earliest of hours.
Pushing himself onto his elbow, he quickly checked to make sure the children were still asleep before laying back down. It had taken him an hour to get Irji and Manek to sleep; unlike Nor, who had returned to sleep, both boys refused to until they knew when their mother would come home, and it took all he had not to lie to them, for he believed the boys needed to know the truth. Manek had burst into tears, and cried for his mother, and Fiyero had cradled the little boy to his chest, singing softly to him, as Elphaba would. Eventually, the familiar lullaby not only calmed him but put the child to sleep, and he tucked his sons back into bed, before returning to his own.
Now though, he lay in bed with memories of his wife strong in his mind. Though it had only been... three? four? days since she had been gone, it felt as though an eternity had passed. The days blended into one another, and it was all Fiyero could do to keep from going after her himself. He couldn't just go in search of her; their children needed him, for he was all they had at the moment.
"Amare i bambini," as Elphaba often called them, for they certainly had been made from love, each of them. And they were the last remnants of her, the last living pieces of his beloved wife; Nor grew to look more and more like her mother every day. She would become a great beauty upon reaching womanhood, and Fiyero dreaded the day the first young warrior came to ask for the little princess's hand in marriage. He found himself praying to the Great Mother that Elphaba would be there to keep him from banishing the young man.
A soft sob worked its way up his throat; he ached for her, for her touch, her voice, her very scent. But what he longed for most were her eyes. Such enchanting dark eyes had transfixed him from the very beginning, not long after she'd been brought to the tribe, back when he'd been a mere boy of fourteen, and she a girl no older than thirteen. It was those dark orbs, so full of fire and resolve, that had captured his father's attention, even more so than her wild, stubborn spirit, and those same dark eyes had captured him and even now, seven years later, refused to let him go.
He dreamt of her eyes, of the fear in them when she was captured that day, of the pain in them when he'd called her and she'd walked briefly between the worlds with him, of the awe that had filled them moments after the births of each of their children, as the babes had each slid out of her body and into the world, of the surprise that had shone in them the night he'd kissed her for the first time, not long after their wedding had taken place, before they had consummated their marriage; they watched him, called to him, waiting for him to steal her away, back to her family, her tribe.
"Fabala, amore... Vengo per te e presto ti prometto." He sighed. I will not let you bear another day in the white's world, my wife. I will make sure you return to me, to our children, our tribe, alive and healthy and whole. For I will not become Chief without you by my side. Because until you are returned to us, our family and our tribe will never be whole.
"Papa?" He looked up; Nor had awoken and crawled across the tent towards her parents' bedroll. She sat back on her knees, fresh tears in her eyes, and after a moment, Fiyero opened his arms, allowing the child to curl into him. As he tucked the blanket about him and his only daughter, his little princess, she curled into his chest, tucking herself against the sturdiest part of him, just as her mother would do. The familiar sensation- however light, due to her size- brought tears to his eyes, and he pressed a firm kiss to her head. Eventually, the softness of his daughter's breathing lulled him back to sleep.
When he awoke hours later, it was to Irji and Manek slipping beneath the blankets beside their sister, and after a moment, Fiyero adjusted his hold on Nor, making room for his sons. With all three children soon sound asleep against his chest, he let his thoughts drift back to his beloved wife. It was not uncommon for them to awaken in the middle of the night to the children slipping into bed with them, frightened because of a nightmare or unable to sleep due to a storm. In those moments, Elphaba took to curling around whichever child happened to be curled against her breasts, holding them so that they could hear her heart, and only her heart, and wouldn't focus on the storm or dream that frightened them so. And if the beat of her heart did not soothe their fears, her gentle voice would.
In the seven years she'd been with the tribe, she had gone from a frightened, desperate girl of thirteen moons to a confident, headstrong, woman of nineteen moons.
Nearly twenty.
He pressed firm kisses to each head of black hair, holding them closer.
She seemed so much more grown up now than she had back when she'd first arrived, though he guessed that marriage, pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood would do that to a girl. She was strong, so very, very strong. She had survived seven years with her tribe, thanks to the love, respect and happiness they gave her and she gave in return. Could she, possibly, do the same within the white man's world? As he held tight to their children, he prayed to the Great Mother that she would, just for a little bit longer.