Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Well, that's one way to crash a wedding... Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia

He had to be seeing things. There was no way this was possible.

His blue gaze watched as she kissed each of her children repeatedly, before looking up at him and standing. She moved past them, making her way towards her husband. Their gazes locked, and after a moment, she reached for him, before pulling back. "Yero."

It was as soft as the buckskin of her favorite dress, as warm as the breeze on a summer day, sweeter than the darkest blackberries and as steady as the steadiest beating drum. And it was all he needed to hear before he grabbed her roughly about the waist and pulled her into his embrace, studying her dark gaze, as though waking from a dream. "Fabala?"

She nodded. "Si, mio marito."

It was all the reassurance he needed before he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his in a deep, defining kiss. His hands slid down her sides, over the curves of her hips, and, despite being separated by the nightgown, he could still feel the softness of her, that had been shaped during her pregnancies and after the births of their children.

He tasted as she remembered, of cooking fires and soft furs and rain, and smelled of home, love and laughter. When he finally released her with a soft kiss, he rested his forehead to hers. "Papà ti sta aspettando."

She looked up at him, worry in her eyes. Is it true?

He nodded, fear filling his gaze. He took her hand, tugging her forward, as the children rushed to join them. Others in the tribe nodded to her, softly welcoming her back, and she nodded in return, not noticing her sister in the shadows of the fire, her attention on Avaric as Fiyero led her into the tent. The young couple shared a glance before following, stopping at the entrance and peeking through the flap.

Once by his side, Elphaba crumpled to her knees, reaching out and taking Avaric's hand, holding it against her cheek. "P... Padre..." His blue eyes opened, shifting to take in the sight of his daughter-in-law, returned to their tribe, despite being dressed in the clothes of the whites. "Sono qui, Padre... I'...m... h..e...re..." She stumbled over the English, forgetting that only Sarima knew the other language. "Padre..."

Avaric's gaze lit on Elphaba, a spark of recognition coming across his face. "Mia figlia."

"Ti stava aspettando, Principessa." Elphaba looked up at the shaman, afraid to speak. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Avaric, who's fingers gently, slowly, caressed her cheek.

"Non passerà nel mondo successivo finché non sarai tornato al tuo posto legittimo, Principessa." She turned to Sarima, who stood beside Fiyero; over her shoulder, she could see a pair watching in the shadows, and for the briefest of moments, wondered who they were. A moment passed, before she turned back to Avaric, before pressing a firm kiss to his hand, and releasing him, for she could see that he was becoming tired. Fiyero helped her to her feet and they followed Sarima out of the tent; the rest of the village watched, waiting for word on their chief. Glancing at her husband, she then turned to Sarima, biting her lip.

"Il mio posto è... my... p... la...ce... is..."

"With the tribe," She turned, as the woman stepped out of the shadows. Dressed in wedding garb, her face and hair done up in traditional wedding paint, it took a few moments before she realized that she was staring at her little sister. So this was where Nessa had gone the day she'd disappeared with Tibbett. She'd come to her sister's tribe-

She looked more the savage that Elphaba did when she was brought from Fort Restwater to the Thropp house. Perhaps better. The sisters studied each other, silent in their observations. And it amazed them both, how quickly one sister could trade one life for the other.

"Just... li... ke... you... ur... p... pla...ce is with... Ma... Mama and... P... Papa... Ne...ssa." She countered in shaky English. The younger girl smiled sadly at her.

"No more. That is not my name anymore. I am," She glanced at Sarima, making sure she got the pronunciation right. "Mu...lha...ma... Mulhama. And I want nothing of that life. I want a life I choose, not one chosen for me." She turned to Tibbett, taking his hand. Sarima smiled softly at her son, returned to her finally, after all these years, and now married to the young woman who was so willing to runaway from her family for him and the tribe her sister belonged to. "You will not be happy in Nest Hardings, Elphaba," The older girl looked up at the name; Mrs Thropp had made it clear she was not to respond to that name- her 'savage' name anymore, but to Sophelia, her birth name, her white name. "Because you're not connected to it. Your soul is Arjiki. You were destined for the Arjiki, you have always been destined for the Arjiki."

She turned back to Fiyero, who could see the turmoil in her soul. She watched him, silent. With Avaric's impending passing, Fiyero became the Chief, and she, were she still with the tribe, his Chieftess. He will be a good Chief, a fair one, your husband.

But his father had not passed over, most likely would not pass over, now that she was returned, and for now, he was merely a prince, desperate for the return of his princess.

Sensing the struggle raging in her heart, the prince went to his wife, grabbing her by the arms. "Fabala, ricordati. Ricordati. Ricordate la nostra vita, la nostra tribù, i nostri figli. Ricordati di noi." He reached up, caressing her cheek, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. "Torna da me, mia moglie. Ti amo. Non posso governare la nostra tribù da solo."

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, and he took this as an opportunity to kiss her deeply, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his body, her supple curves sliding against his hard planes with ease. Everyone watched as their prince kissed his wife, silently begging her to remember. She seemed to give into the kiss for several minutes, before something in her brain seemed to short circuit, and she shoved him away, even as he reached to grab her.

"No!"

Without another word, she pushed through the others, grabbing the reigns from Candle and climbing atop her horse. With a nicker, she turned the animal, spiriting away into the night, away from the village, back towards Nest Hardings and the Thropps, the confusion in her soul chasing after.