For disclaimer and other stuff, see part 1 and thank you for all the wonderful reviews.

Chapter 3

Yantar had been staying longer and longer during each visit as Elphaba's pregnancy progressed.

Sometimes they sat together in complete silence knitting. Sometimes Yantar told her what was happening in OZ. Elphaba never really spoke to Yantar, only answering her questions, and Yantar never pried. She had accepted long ago that something terrible must have happend to Elphaba, who she knew was the Wicked Witch, the enemy of OZ.

But today she asked Elphaba something important. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

"Dearie, what happened to your baby's father?"

What was it with people giving her nicknames?

First Glinda had called her Elphie, Fiyero had muttered Fae in the throw's of passion and Yantar called her every petname possible, her favourite being Dearie.

And now she asked her about Fiyero, the man who had fathered the child, a topic Elphaba never wanted to talk about, except to the child. Talking about it, admitting out loud that Fiyero was dead, would mean that she had to accept the death of her beloved.

She still hoped that there was a way that her spell, the one she had uttered not knowing what she had been saying the day he had been dragged away, had worked and that somehow he was still alive. But the realistic side of her, her mind, was telling her that it was impossible, that he was dead and never coming back. She would have to raise her baby alone.

Elphaba could say that she had killed him with her spell or that he was dragged away by the Gale Force while he had tried to help her. She still had nightmares about the day Nessa had been crushed by the flying house and Fiyero taken away from her.

"He is gone." Elphaba answered finally.

She hoped that she didn't have to explain further. Yantar hadn't asked Elphaba a lot of questions. After seeing the green woman for the first time months ago she had known that Elphaba was the most feared person in all of Oz but she still helped her. After seeing her and getting to know her, Yantar couldn't believe that she was the Wicked Witch.

"Gone, Dearie? I am sorry. Do you have any family left, aside from the child?"

Family? Elphaba never had a family to begin with. Her mother had died during Nessa's birth, her dead father had hated her from the day she had been born, green, and her poor sister Nessa was dead, too. Her whole family had died because of her.

But she never got the chance to reply as a pain she had never felt before ripped through her abdomen.

The whole day Elphaba had felt a pain in her lower back, not wanting to admit that it was time for the child to be born. She had hoped that the baby would stay for a while longer inside her. She didn't want to go through childbirth. Especially not like this: all alone, except for Yantar and afraid of dying.

And with the pain came the feeling of fear. Elphaba had dreaded the moment she would have to give birth because she was afraid that she would die like her mother had, during childbirth.

The rain outside the cabin was coming down in thick sheets, pounding against the window like a giant.

Her baby would be born on a rainy night. It had been raining the night Nessarose had been born, too.

Coincidence? She hoped not.

She winced again as another contraction hit her, this time more painful than the last one.

"I think it's time, Dearie. Come, lay down." Yantar helped her get comfortable on the bed. As comfortable as someone could be during childbirth.

Elphaba bit her lip until she drew blood. She didn't want to scream or curse. She wanted to suffer. Feeling the pain, accepting it, as the atonement for her sins. She had destroyed lives, so it was only fair to accept and bear the pain while bringing another life into the world. The life of the Child of the Wicked.

"It's ok to scream. Dearie, let it all out. Scream. It helps with the pain." Yantar encouraged her.

Elphaba shook her had. She would suffer in silence. She vowed to herself to bear the pain in silence. But the feelings were to much. She couldn't do it. She had to let it all out.

And when the next contraction hit her, she started to curse Fiyero and everyone that came to her mind. "By Lurline, I swear Fiyero, if you were here, I would kill you. It hurts! Too much… please, Yantar make it stop."

"Just a while longer, Dearie. Just a while. Babies take their time to be born." She tried to soothe Elphaba.

"No. Please… Please! Make it stop… Dear Lurline I am sorry for my sins but I only wanted to do good. I meant no harm…" But Elphaba's pleading was cut off with a shout of pain.

By now she was begging Yantar for help as tears streamed down her face. She wasn't crying because the pain of childbirth was too much to bear. She was crying about the unfairness in her life. She who was wicked was alive while all the good people died. She who only wanted to be loved, wanted to have somewhere where she belonged, where she didn't have to suffer through the loss of loved ones.

And after what seemed like days for Elphaba but in reality had been only a couple of hours, the first scream of a child echoed through the cabin.

"A girl." Yantar announced as she cleaned up the baby.

"Is it-" Elphaba couldn't finish the question. She already feared the answer.

"Not green."

And she thanked every unnamed godess that the child wasn't green, that the curse of having green skin had passed her child.

When Yantar had handed her the wrapped bundle Elphaba felt new tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Hello Arwen, I am your mother", she greeted the little girl as she tried to get comfortable in her bed.

Elphaba was completely energized in that moment. She sensed that someone, Yantar, was hovering very closely over her, but she was only looking down at her newborn baby girl. And after a moment, her eyelids fluttered open. Cradling her daughter in her arms, Elphaba's shaking fingertips touched the rosy cheeks of the child. Her tiny, stubborn fists clenched on either side of her head, which was dusted with dark tufts of hair. She was perfect, so very tiny and so very perfect.

Reverently tracing a fingertip over the tiny button of a nose, then along the curve of the child's lips, she could not help but stare in wonder at the accidental miracle that one night had produced.

Her daughter, the Child of the Wicked.

During the first few days with her newborn daughter, Elphaba was confused. She didn't know how to handle a child but thank Oz for Yantar and her help.

And she missed Fiyero. She knew that she would never see Fiyero again, but with the birth of Arwen the longing to see her lover again grew. Arwen should know her father not only by her telling the baby stories about him. He should know that he had a daughter. Elphaba had already browsed through the Grimmerie, looking for a spell to bring back the dead, but there wasn't a spell for everything.

Now she stood at the window, gazing outside at the country, Arwen in her arms, rocking her to sleep.

"Arwen I am sorry. I killed your father. It's my fault that you will never know him. I wish I could turn back time and give you the chance to get to know him." She whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.