Rifiuto: Non Miriena

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

He sighed; his children were curled within his arms, and not for the first time, did he wonder how his wife had often put up with it. He loved his children dearly, but there were moments where it felt as though they were strangling him, or crushing him, and yet, when his wife had been here, she'd happily embraced all three of her babies at night. Perhaps it was because she had carried each of them, and so the connection to their children was stronger for her, because they had each grown within her body and had come from it. Or perhaps it was just a mother's natural intuition. But either way, Fiyero felt as though he were falling short.

Yes, they were his children, he had released the seeds which had helped create them, and he loved them each, as much as Elphaba did, but there was still something missing. And as he lay with his children all curled against his chest, he understood what it was.

Her.

He could not focus entirely on their children; his attention was drawn to Avaric, and the tribe, and how he would get their mother back, that he'd unknowingly and unwillingly neglected his children. Those three beautiful, precious jewels all below the age of six, had, since losing their mother to the white man's world, longed to be in the embrace of the only parent they had left. They rarely left Fiyero's side, always sliding into bed with him before drifting off to sleep, with their father's arms and their mother's scent tight around them.

After a moment, he pressed a kiss to each dark head before slowly untangling himself from their embrace and getting up, tucking the furs around them and slipping out of the tent. In the early morning hours, with Dawn just beginning to break over the horizon, he made his way to Avaric's tent, slipping inside without a word. Sarima sat beside the chief, gently applying a poultice to his forehead to hopefully draw out the sorrow that was killing him. it was her turn to look after the leader of the tribe; the shaman had looked after him the majority of the night while Sarima got some rest, and now it was her turn.

"Sarima?"

She looked up as Fiyero joined her; worry filled his blue eyes, and she sighed. "Ah... è lento, principe. Non lo ucciderà immediatamente. Sta aspettando."

"Attesa?" She nodded. "Aspettando cosa?"

The older woman met his gaze, never stopping her ministrations to the chief. "Perché tua moglie torni. La nostra tribù è spezzata senza di lei; la principessa è una luce, data dalla Grande Madre stessa. Vide che il nostro popolo stava soffrendo, e ha inviato una luce per alleviarlo. Non è solo tua moglie, Fiyero, è la risposta alla nostra preghiera. Ha riportato la vita alla nostra tribù, a te e a tuo padre, e con lei sparita, non durerà molto più a lungo, e temo, nemmeno tu."

The young prince started in surprise, but soon realized that she was right. Each day that came, each night that passed, the longer she was gone, the more he felt his soul getting dimmer, weaker. He was strong for their children, he had to be, but in the quiet corners of the day, when he was alone, he could not deny the heartbreak he was feeling. A moment passed, before he finally spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Tornerà, vero, Sarima? tu... si prevede il suo ritorno?"

She swallowed; dare she reveal the vision the Great Spirits had sent her last night? Would it only get his hopes up, simply to shatter them if it did not come true? A moment settled between them, before she finally spoke, "Ho previsto un ritorno, Fiyero, ma non so se è suo. I grandi spiriti non mi permetteranno di vedere chi tornerà alla tribù. Non mi permettono di vedere il corpo o il viso. Solo che c'è qualcuno, e che hanno portato qualcuno con loro."

The young prince started in surprise. "Due?"

She nodded, and after several moments, Fiyero thanked her and got up, slipping out of the tent to leave her to her work. As he returned to the tent to check on the children, he felt a tugging at the back of his brain. He walked between the worlds the night before, come across his wife, though it was not the woman he longed for, the woman who'd been stolen from him and returned to the white world.

No, this woman was older, but not by much, perhaps a year or two, and she was seated on the bank of the waterfall, her feet within the cool water, long black hair pulled back in braids. He'd skulked towards her silently, before finally settling behind her and sliding his arms around her shoulders. She hadn't said a word, just simply reached up and covered his hands with hers, humming softly in contentment as he'd kissed her head. After several minutes, however, She'd shifted to face him, removing his arms from around her shoulders and taking his hands. Her voice had been soft, steady, as she spoke. "Ancora un paio di settimane, amore mio."

"Settimane?"

She simply nodded, moving his hands down, and he let his gaze follow. His breath had caught as he soon realized what she meant by weeks, and tears came to his eyes. Greatly round with child, she watched him, searching for a reaction. Softly, she reached up, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "Oh, mio marito, non piangere. Il nostro piccolo è al sicuro dentro di me. Promesso."

She'd kissed him then, softly, lovingly, before he'd been pulled from between the worlds back into his body. He'd awoken with his children sound asleep in his arms, and had simply pulled them all closer, kissing them each repeatedly and whispering that he loved them. Tears had leaked into their hair, as he very quickly realized that the woman in the dream had not been his wife, but had belonged to a him from another time, and that the babe she spoke of, that she carried, did not belong to him, and probably never would, if she did not return in this time.