Title: The Grand Vizier of Oz
Author: Sedri
Rating: PG-13 / T
Summary: "Please come back - you're my daughter, I'd do anything -!" She stopped, hand half-raised and ready to cast a spell. "Anything?" AU, Fiyero/Elphaba. Complete.

Disclaimer: Neither Wicked nor the world of Oz are mine in any way.

Author's notes: Dillamond's initials (I. M.) are on the cover of the prop book that can be seen in the "Behind the Emerald Curtain" tour, but I made up the actual names.

Chapter Three
The Need For Friends

Year 19
Spring

At Shiz University, when it was close to midnight and most students had gone into town for a fun night at the pubs, Fiyero Tiggular sat alone in his dormitory, feet propped up on the headboard, reading.

Yes, reading. It was unintentional and almost embarrassing, but he was reading, and honestly enjoying it.

He'd been trudging through the library in search of a text assigned by their new history professor – Animal Education: An Unnecessary Luxury? which he was sure would outrage Elphaba by title alone – and literally stumbled across it. Someone hadn't restacked the shelves very neatly, and a few volumes were poking out from their floor-level home just as his foot came around the corner. He hadn't actually fallen – dancers did tend to have a certain grace, after all – but he had needed to grab hold of something to keep his balance, and that something just happened to be a book.

A fairly slim, comfortable-looking book entitled Early Ozian History,by Dr I M Dillamond.

His first thought, which he really should not admit aloud, was, Elphaba would love this.

He had no way of knowing, of course, that this was the previous class text which had only just been removed from their reading list, nor did he know that, if he looked, he would find an identical copy at the bottom of his trunk, along with everything else the family servants had bought and packed for him.

For a school textbook, it was oddly interesting. He'd only flipped through it for a moment, skimming the chapter headings in search of something impressive to know, but a few words had caught his eye, and there were a couple of phrases he didn't understand, and suddenly he'd found himself annoyingly, but rather hopelessly hooked. Doctor Dillamond wrote in a very clear, direct manner that made his prose easy to follow, barely restraining a heartfelt passion that made him sound like an older, less commotion-prone version of Elphaba.

Elphaba.

"Elphaba!"

Fiyero blinked. The voice was faint, but it couldn't be... Glinda? He peered out the window, grateful for the calm, balmy night that had made him leave it open in the first place. They weren't expected back from the city for at least another day, but there was a carriage outside the girls' dorm, and a coachman was lifting down some cases for the pair of figures who waited impatiently by the door.

"Elphie, what is it?" came Glinda's voice, floating plaintively on the breeze. "I don't understand why you–"

Slamming doors obscured any reply. The hired coachman took off, horses trotting ahead of the taxi, and Fiyero watched as a small shape that had to be Glinda snatched up a ridiculous number of bags and stumbled through the still-swinging main door. Elphaba was already inside.

For a moment, Fiyero hesitated, then put down his book and closed the window.

The world was going by without her.

Elphaba sat on the floor of the dorm room, knees drawn up to her chest and eyes staring blankly at the little green bottle that hung in her hands. She couldn't speak – didn't want to speak, and simply couldn't. She knew it was driving Glinda crazy, but that knowledge was distant, as though she'd have to open the window just to see it, and she couldn't bring herself to care. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elphaba knew that she should care, should do anything in her power to avoid driving off her one and only friend, but she couldn't.

Her body wouldn't respond to commands even if she had found the energy to give them.

The bottle was green. That was all she could think of. Green, green, green. A pretty green, not quite emerald, not quite jade, but soft and translucent, dark at its base and neck, with a few sticky drops of old liquid wedged firmly in the grooves. Everything about it was green.

For Elphaba, it was easier to observe the colour, dully noting the perfect match to her long, thin hands, than to ponder the implications of it. It was easier to examine the tiny chinks and imperfections in the glass than to remember Madame Morrible, or the screaming Monkeys, or that person who lied to them all yet claimed to be– wanted to be, and by all rights had to be–

No.

The bottle was green, and she could see the carpet through it.

Glinda's yellow heels had been kicked off in one corner and she moved barefoot across the room, her painted toes flickering oddly through twisted glass. Faintly, Elphaba heard voices at the door, a deeper sound following Glinda's worried tone, and her ears tried to relay the fact that Glinda was saying, "I don't know what's wrong! She was fine the whole way home and suddenly..."

It was hardly sudden.

The train ride had been soothing, once they were aboard, and Glinda had spent most of her time digging through all the neon green bags they had collected during their one perfect, happy day, searching for some trinket that might distract her friend. Elphaba had curled up in her seat and slept, the gentle rocking soothing her in a way that no thoughts could. She dreamed that her mother was standing in a giant bottle, reaching out to hug her as though she were a normal child. Then there was a stabbing, painful wrench as Melena turned into Morrible, the soft hands into claws, the loving smile into a glassy grin of death. Then suddenly it was the Wizard, holding her tight, blood pooling in his hands, blood just like hers, leathery wings flapping in her face and Monkeys screaming as Diggs smiled and–

She'd woken up, panting.

Glinda, so perfectly gentle and innocent, had asked if it had been about her father.

Elphaba turned away wordlessly, knowing that that liar was not her father and couldn't be her father because Frexspar Thropp was her father and one little bottle didn't prove anything.

That had been her chant ever since, as they stumbled toward a hired carriage, into the dorm and towards the bed where her mother's bottle lay peacefully under a pillow. Identical, she knew, to the one she'd held before. It doesn't prove anything, Elphaba told herself. It doesn't prove anything, it doesn't prove anything, it doesn't prove ANYTHING.

But really, it did, and in her gut she had a sinking feeling that no matter what happened now, she was completely and utterly trapped.

There was movement around her now; warmth. Glinda was back by her side, a slim gold form just visible through the curtain of black hair. Someone else was with them, sitting close on her other side, and it was only when a large hand rested gently on her back, palm warm between her shoulder blades, did she realise it was Fiyero. She stiffened habitually, a trace of embarrassment making its way out of that firmly-shuttered corner of her heart, but all he did was run his fingers gently over her spine, rubbing circles through the black fabric of her dress, and after a moment she softened, soothed.

He was saying something. "Elphaba? ...Elphaba, can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly, a small turn of the head that allowed him to meet her eyes if he leaned over far enough. He was sitting on the floor, just as they were, their backs against the bed frame, and she dimly noted that he looked concerned.

"What happened, Elphaba?" he asked. "Did... Did the Wizard refuse to apprentice you?"

She laughed. A strained, mirthless, near-hysterical cackle that no one knew she was capable of. It ripped through her like an earthquake, and left behind a body so tired and frail that she began to tremble, to shake violently, and suddenly four hands were touching her arms and shoulders, brushing back her hair and asking unintelligible questions.

Someone pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders; Glinda. Over her head, Fiyero was asking, "What happened out there, Glinda? I didn't even know you were going with her."

"Well, I... just wanted to get away for a while." A sharp nudge on her shoulder. "Elphie? Can I tell him?"

It took too much effort to shrug. Some sound came out of her throat, a garbled choke, utterly disconnected from the eyes that stared again at her green bottle, and Glinda sighed irritably. After a moment, she began to speak.

Elphaba didn't need to hear the words; she saw it all again, as clearly as though she were still there – the brilliant city, the frightening lights, the lying little man and the beautiful old book. The stately teacher, a swirl of lime green silk, and the spreading stain of red that soaked it from the inside out. She shuddered, clenching the bottle as she squeezed her eyes shut, and Fiyero's palm rubbed a little harder, his thumb running lines across the sharp angle of her shoulder blade.

Glinda's hands appeared before her and took the fragile bottle away. For a moment she did nothing, limply letting it go, but then her hands closed around empty air and she blinked as though woken, then looked up at Glinda. "Give it back," she said.

"Talk to us, Elphie," Glinda insisted. "Tell us what's really wrong."

Elphaba's eyes closed and she looked away, but the movement was enough to rouse the muscles in her neck and spine, and she began to feel her body again. She noticed the itchy carpet and the faint smell of cologne, and that the desk lamp was awfully bright. She breathed deeply, almost sighing, and her lungs said hello to her ribcage. She blinked and suddenly she was in the room with them, and there was a question to answer.

Fiyero's hand was on her back, comfortably warm. She liked it.

"I hoped I was wrong," she admitted quietly. "I hoped it would be different, that there was some sort of mistake."

Glinda's nails clinked against the bottle as she said, "You hoped he wasn't really your father."

A rush of anger. "He's not."

"Elphie–"

"He's not!" she shouted, defiance boiling through her veins. "I want nothing to do with him!"

"That's not fair, Elphie," snapped Glinda. "You can't keep saying that! If you really believe it's not true, fine, but you can't say it and make all those demands at the same time. You'd just be taking advantage of an old man's loneliness."

She opened her mouth to speak, to say that he wasn't just a man but a selfish liar and a cheat, but Fiyero's warm hand moved to her shoulder and held her back, and he quickly asked, "What demands?"

Glinda kept her eyes fixed on Elphaba. "The Wizard–"

"Don't call him that."

"–Mister Diggs–" she amended "–promised to take back the Animal bans and speak out against all this prejudice. He's going to turn everything around, for her, just because she's his daughter. Because she asked him to."

Fiyero glanced between them, confused. "But... isn't that a good thing?"

"Good?" snarled Elphaba, whirling on him. "How can it be good for all of Oz to follow a man whose morals change at the drop of a hat?"

He shifted awkwardly, pinned by her glare. "Well, it's not, but–"

"But what?"

"But he's still doing the right thing," said Fiyero. "That is what you want, right?"

"What I want is for him to really be what he pretends to," said Elphaba. "I want him to be

a wizard, to be wonderful, I want–" her voice caught in her throat. She shuddered. "I want..." She sniffed, her breathing roughened, and at last she spat out, "I want him to be what we believed he was."

Glinda brushed back her hair and offered a handkerchief. They waited.

Elphaba drew shuddering breaths as she fiddled with the cloth, preferring to look at it than their faces – she was so vulnerable now. "I used to hope... dream..." she confessed, "that he could do anything. I thought maybe... someday, once I'd earned it..." Her eyes fixed on her hands; her green, green hands. Fiyero understood.

"You hoped he could change you. Your skin."

Crying now, she buried her face in those green hands and nodded.

"Oh Elphie," cried Glinda, flinging both arms around her, "I don't want you to change."

Elphaba scoffed, but the sound was lost in a sob, and Fiyero carefully slid his own arm under Glinda's, making for an awkward three-way hug. Elphaba sank into it, tears spilling down her cheeks, and for a moment she didn't feel lost or afraid; she was safe, surrounded by friends who were willing to be strong for her. They were protecting her, in their own way, and Elphaba couldn't possibly describe how badly she needed that.

When at last it ended, Glinda had regained her determination. She pulled back and knelt right in front of Elphaba, holding her shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. "We're going to make all of Oz love you just as you are," she declared. "You're going to walk down the street and people will look at you and say, 'Oh, she's green – she must be that amazing Grand Vizier that's made Oz a better place'."

Fiyero started. "Grand Vizier?"

"Yes, Elphie's going to be the Wizard's first advisor," said Glinda, eyes busy examining her friend's features. "Not really an advisor, of course, since she's the one giving all the orders, but that's what they're going to call her, and the first thing we have to do is make everyone in Shiz like you."

Elphaba shook her head, worn out and sighing. "You tried to make me popular already, Glinda. It didn't work."

"This is very different from being popular, Elphie," her friend replied as though it were obvious. "You have to be respected. You're going to give orders and people have to obey them – everyone, not just people our age, and you're going to be at the very top of Ozian society. It's so different from what we did before." She snatched up some paper and began scribbling notes. "We'll have to design your image really carefully – a whole new wardrobe, just as a start – and you have no manners, so etiquette lessons, and you'll need to know all about who's who in society, and how to dance, of course – Fiyero, dearest, you can help us there, can't you? – and–"

"Glinda, this is about more than parties."

Her friend looked a little hurt. "I know that, Elphie," she said seriously. "But I also know that if you want to make people believe in you without scaring them with a silly metal head, you have to play by their rules. So!" she chirped. "Lessons!"

Elphaba groaned, rubbing her forehead, and tugged the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Fiyero, still close beside her, said, "I'll help if you want. Being a prince has to be good for something, right?"

She blinked and smiled through slightly swollen eyes. "I'd... like that," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled at her and shrugged, hesitating a moment before getting up from the floor. Glinda was already standing, unfairly perky for one o'clock in the morning, and Fiyero offered a hand to help Elphaba to her feet. She accepted, and after a moment's awkward silence in which no one was sure what to do, Fiyero moved to the door and bade them both goodnight.

It didn't take nearly as long to sneak out of the girls' dorm as to sneak in, and Fiyero was back in his own room within a few minutes. It was dim and quiet, and he sank down to his bed with a sigh, rubbing one hand over his face.

Life had just become a lot more complicated.

Elphaba. Crying. It was something he'd never thought to see. Not that he blamed her, of course – who wouldn't be after a day like that? Morrible dead, the Great Oz a liar... those things bothered him, and he hadn't been there to see them. No, it was hardly surprising that she was upset, and he might have been more troubled if she were calm and collected, but still. She was usually so strong and fierce that seeing her like that was... unsettling.

He wanted to help. He wanted to make her feel better, feel safe and wanted, and those feelings were so absurdly strong that they frightened him. It only occurred to him now that Glinda had been upset as well, struggling to cope with her crestfallen best friend, and that he ought to be worried about her, too.

But Glinda would be fine. So would Elphaba, in time, but he worried anyway.

Groaning, Fiyero flopped back against the pillows. This wasn't going well. For weeks now, his feelings for both girls had been muddled by constant thinking – when had that begun? – and the more time passed, the more certain he was that something had to change, soon.

Well, he thought wryly, something had changed – now the two of them were closer than ever, united by the need for secrecy, and no matter what he did, he was going to hurt someone. Quite likely, himself.

But now he was part of this too, and damned if he was going to leave his girls to deal with it alone. He might not enjoy politics, but he knew that world better than either of them, and they would need all the help they could get.

Doctor Dillamond's history book was lying open nearby, a dog-eared page looking up at him. After a moment's thought, Fiyero picked it up and flipped to the very beginning.