A/N: This whole thing is just a dream of Elphaba's; you'll see her reaction when she awakes next chapter.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
She was supposed to remember something important…
There was something, something…
Blurred impressions were all that would come to her, and only at night. But not in her dreams, for she didn't dream. How could she; she didn't even sleep. She lay awake all night in her little cell in the mauntery. It was warm, at least, and there was a bed, a comfortable one. But she would trade it all for the cold and the thin mattress of…before. She hadn't been alone there. The world was pressing in on her, and she felt about to burst into sobs, but laying there, she could only think, and let herself remember, barely:
Snow, like the snow falling now, a year later, outside. Grey sludge on the streets. Cold metal in thick cloth…blood, blood all over her…And then it was like there was a fence around her memories, pushing her back, and within was locked something evil and dark and unnameable, something that would break her with its terribleness. So she didn't, shouldn't, wouldn't try to open it. For deep down, she knew.
But there was something else she was supposed to remember…not from That Night, but from earlier. That morning.
(And now, now in this dream, years later, she finally did remember)
She had slipped out and gone to the old crone down several streets, in the Lower Quarter of the city, to ask her.
The little enclave stank of cat urine mingled with incense, and was oppressive with its many dark tapestries and blankets decorating the walls. The old woman introduced herself as Yackle and went on to speak of herself in the third person, which was more than a bit annoying, but there was nothing to be done. Elphaba had to know.
The old woman led her behind a purple curtain and into an alcove even more heavily stinking of incense, and sat her down on a velvety stool, before a table upon which stood a crystal ball, not at all unlike Elphaba's own magic glass. Yet she was sure this one was fake, just as was its user.
Ordinarily, Elphaba would gave laughed out loud at the p-faith, faux mystical air of the room. But something stopped her laughter dead in her throat. Perhaps it wasn't so 'faux' after all.
"So, my dearie, what is it that you need to know?" asked Yackle.
Elphaba swallowed hard. She had to say it, even if the old woman already seemed to have guessed, judging from how and where she was looking at Elphaba.
"I-I need," Elphaba choked out, "I need to know if I'm pregnant."
The old crone regarded the general area of the young woman's stomach with a frown. She consulted the crystal ball in front of her and frowned again, making a clucking noise with her tongue.
Elphaba wondered if this had been a mistake. How could she trust the old woman's results, anyway? Her father had probably been right all those years ago; it was all showbiz anyway. She wouldn't be surprised if there was a puff of smoke and her mother's "spirit" appeared to tell her she was pregnant sometime soon.
The crone rummaged through some books, regarded one intently, and nodded hard at it. She poked through several drawers before handing Elphaba a small sachet of herbs.
"Spit in it," she instructed.
"Do what?" asked Elphaba in disbelief.
"Spit in it, dearie," repeated the old woman. Elphaba hesitated. "Do what Yackle says," the woman crooned, "it is your destiny."
Elphaba was past ready to bolt. "What is?" she asked.
"Just spit in the herbs, child!" cried Yackle. Rolling her eyes, Elphaba obeyed. Once she had, Yackle took the small pouch from her, shook it, added a drop of liquid from a vial hidden in her sleeve, shook it again, examined it, poured it into a bowl of water and stirred it, examined it again, and smiled oddly.
"What?" demanded Elphaba, drawn in despite herself. "What is it?"
The woman smiled again, wider. "It will be a boy," she said, grinning evilly and exposing a missing tooth, "and forever, you will be unsure."
"Unsure of what?" asked Elphaba, ignoring the bigger news. She would deal with it later, after tonight, after she completed her mission. She couldn't even process it now.
"Him," answered the woman, peering at her crystal ball again. "Your son, but you will not be sure of that."
"How is that possible? I'll give birth to him, won't I?" asked Elphaba, already wondering if she could or should get rid of it. Could she have a child? Was it safe? What about Fiyero? They existed in limbo right now; a netherworld, a time and place that weren't anchored or perhaps even really there at all. A child would change that, force them to deal with what they were doing.
"Yes, you will be unsure, you will not remember," crooned the crone to her crystal ball. Then, abruptly, she frowned. "Unless," she murmured, still staring at the ball.
Elphaba half-believed this was all the truth by now.
"Unless what?" she asked.
"Nothing, nothing," replied Yackle hastily. "Go on now, poppet. Go on to do what must be done."
A shocked expression came over Elphaba's features.
"How do you-"
"Yackle knows all, dearie, but be calmed: all she knows, but all she does not tell."
Elphaba massaged her temples for a moment, trying to clear her head. She pushed what she had learned to the back of her mind and tried to focus on the task at hand.
"How- how much do I owe you?" she asked, standing up and following Yackle back to the front of the little shop.
"Nothing, dear, nothing. No, really, nothing. Go on now, you have work to do, you mustn't fret, child, it's nothing. Pay me nothing."
Yackle watched the green woman- not much more than a girl really, and carrying the weight of all Oz on her thin shoulders- disappear, cloaked, into the falling snow.
"No, pay me nothing now, poppet," she muttered, "for you will pay later. Oh, how you will pay."