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.

Chapter Seven
Lurlinemas

Year 20
Winter

The Emerald City was lovely in winter; fluffy snow piled up on the streets and roofs and windows, softening the intense green of stone walls and glass panels until only their edges were visible, peeking out of a white coat. The Ozians who lived in the city – permanently, not the tourists – had a habit of adopting darker shades of green during the winter, and they moved through the whitened streets like little jewels, shiny coats sparkling as they shopped and laughed and enjoyed their lives under the Wizard's protection, looking up at the grand green palace that spiralled into the sky. Several of them were Animals.

Lurlinemas was close, and as tends to happen when money-makers see an opportunity, a dazzling array of themed decorations were advertised, bought, and sprinkled over almost every building. Green was unnecessary, of course, and so all the ribbons and banners were gold, which, when augmented by the multitude of candles that people placed in their windows, gilded the entire city in a soft light.

As her train pulled into the Emerald City Station, Elphaba decided she'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Travelling first class had its benefits, not the least of which were large windows and a private compartment. Glinda had spent most of their ride enjoying the luxury of large couches which doubled as proper beds, and blushed when Elphaba teased her about being rocked to sleep like a baby.

"Well, it's a nice feeling," she defended, neatening her gold hair as they stood up to depart. "Have you seen my coat? I don't think I packed it up again."

Elphaba deftly pulled the now-wrinkled garment from under one of the many pillows her friend had been lounging on. Glinda looked horrified, but as the conductor's whistle sounded for the second time from out on the platform, she swallowed hard and pulled it on, picking up her bags in such a way as to hide as much of it as possible.

There was a knock at the door, and through the glass Glinda was startled, but quite pleased, to see two men in porter's uniforms, each wearing the golden badge of palace servants. Elphaba's eyebrows furrowed as she let them in, then raised to her hairline when the men bowed, said nothing, and picked up most of their luggage.

"Er... thank you," said Elphaba. The men smiled politely and Glinda smothered a giggle at her friend's bewildered expression.

Elphaba was wearing black again, despite Glinda's objections, but she had, at least, paid heed to the last year's worth of lessons from her friend and picked a dress which hung in straight lines, sweeping the floor, and did not cover her throat. Her birthday necklace dangled in front of it like a little star. Glinda said the outfit made her look older, and at the same time less intimidating, which would make it easier to talk with Mister Diggs as an equal. Elphaba said she couldn't care less.

The platform was busy, snow kicked into slushy piles on either side of the footpaths. Glinda and Elphaba followed the porters with only one carry-bag each (Elphaba's held the Grimmerie, which she would not give up under any circumstances), and as the train pulled out, another man – this one dressed as a butler, Glinda noted – approached them and bowed.

"Miss Thropp, Miss Upland," he said formally. "Welcome to the Emerald City."

"Thank you," said Glinda. "And you are?"

"Danal, ma'am. His Ozness sent me to escort you to the palace."

Elphaba rolled her eyes and muttered something about the huge building being a little hard to miss, but Glinda kicked her ankle and smiled brightly. Danal, trained to ignore such behaviour, led them out of the station and down stairs to the road to a stately green carriage. He held the door open and offered a hand to help each lady up the step. Glinda accepted with a smile; Elphaba climbed in on her own.

As soon as the door was shut she grumbled, "This is ridiculous. We could have walked."

"Oh, Elphie, that's just the way it is. They're doing their job the way everyone expects. You'll have to get used to it. Right now they just think we're the Wizard's apprentices – wait until you're officially the vizier."

Her friend snorted. "If. Nothing's decided. And it's still a silly waste of time."

"I like it."

"You would."

"That's not a bad thing."

Elphaba sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Glinda. I'm just... tense."

Raising one eyebrow, she said, "I noticed." When that failed to amuse her friend (and sometimes it was very hard to tell what would amuse her), Glinda added, "It won't be too bad. We're only here for a week."

"A week with him. I don't know what to say to him." Elphaba sighed and slumped down in the comfortable seat, listening to the clop-clop-clop of hoof beats as the cobblestone streets slid past. "I don't trust him. Those letters sound sincere, but this is still the man who started all of our problems, and I can't figure out why. I just can't believe that he doesn't have some other plan going on behind our backs."

"Well, I can," said Glinda calmly. "Really, I can. We've been learning and watching for more than a year now; you know as well as I do that Animals are getting their rights back, and the last mutes signed out of hospital six weeks ago."

"The last ones that are publicly acknowledged," Elphaba pointed out. "Nobody knew that Doctor Dillamond was imprisoned; there could be more."

"Do you really think Mister Diggs is lying to us?"

She hesitated. "...No. But I still can't shake the feeling that this is all too easy. He must have been working against Animals for at least ten years if all those Shiz professors were dismissed because of him – maybe longer, if you consider how long it's been since a non-human was hired. It doesn't make sense."

Glinda shook her head, smiling fondly. "Oh, Elphie, you make everything so complicated."

"Do I?"

"He loves you," she said simply. "He loves you and he wants to make up for his mistakes; that's what a parent does. All he wants is to hear you call him 'father', and it hurts to see you use that word for someone else. He'd do anything, don't you see that?"

Elphaba shrugged, the honest answer being 'no'. "Even if that's true, I still don't trust him. I can't see how anyone could spend so long working towards a goal without really caring about it, and I don't see how he could care and then just turn around and ignore it."

"So ask him," said Glinda, shrugging. "Ask him how all this started, and why. You know he'll tell you."

"I'm not so sure he would – at least, not the whole truth. And if I ask outright he'll watch what he says later. I'm not sure what to do."

Glinda leaned over, letting the weight of her head pull her over until she could nudge Elphie's shoulder. "Then leave it for now. We're here to have fun, remember? We're here to make him happy, to make a start on you being a public figure, and to have fun. Worry later."

Elphaba chuckled. "Thanks, Glinda."

The palace was as beautiful as ever, a crystalline structure edged in white and gold, decorated with enough non-green items to make the smooth walls and arched ceilings look soft and welcoming and special rather than dully blending in with everything around them. Danal led them past the public halls and into a more private wing, which they would later learn was where all the Wizard's most important guests were housed. Ministers and attachés were always given rooms on the first six floors – small rooms – while the next four were filled with suites only ever occupied by visiting royalty, governors, and ambassadors; Frex and Nessa, if they ever came to the city, would be housed there, as would Fiyero, probably.

Glinda and Elphaba were lead to the eleventh floor, which was in a tower.

The rooms, each a semi-circle that together ringed the smooth green spire, were massive and lavishly decorated. The beds were big enough to fit three people and each room had four windows that gave a grand, sweeping view of the city. There were private bathrooms with pearl-inlaid handles and marble fireplaces surrounded by polished quoxwood furniture, all elaborately carved with images out of myth and history, depicting the Ozma queens as often as the Wizard. It was fancy and expensive and fragile and special and just... too much.

Elphaba left her cases unopened on the floor and turned to Danal, who had been saying something about there being more than an hour to dress and ready themselves before dinner with his Ozness.

"I don't need to change," Elphaba said. "I need to see the gardens."

Danal blinked. "The gardens, ma'am?"

"Yes. There's something I have to do."

Madame Malia Morrible
1637 BW – 19 AW
Beloved Headmistress, Sorceress, and Friend
A Fine Woman
She Will Be Missed

Elphaba knelt on the cold stone path, laying down a neat handful of freshly-cut flowers – roses and lilies, though she had no idea if they were appropriate – and looked up at the imposing marble obelisk which stood alone in a quiet corner of the royal gardens, a lonely and solemn tribute to the flamboyant, unpredictable old woman.

Though Ozians always burned their dead, Diggs had set up this monument to house the urn which held her ashes, and personally commissioned artists to engrave not only Morrible's name and epitaph, but an image of her face and torso, arms spread wide in a regal, somewhat domineering gesture of greatness that even included her ridiculous sleeves. Up and down the back and sides of the pillar, short sentences were carved in the stone, detailing her life and her many contributions to Ozian society. She had been married once, apparently, though it had only lasted a year before the man's death, and was the only child of a minor nobleman.

The very last line read: Discovered and Tutored Lady Elphaba Thropp in the Magical Arts.

The rest was blank.

"I'm sorry, Madame," said Elphaba quietly. "I never meant for this to happen. I didn't want anyone to be hurt. I couldn't control it. I swear, if I could live that day again, things would have happened differently."

Morrible's eyes looked down at her, slanted and cool, and it felt as though they were saying, Doesn't do much good now, does it?

Dropping her gaze, Elphaba said, "I am sorry. I respected you, Madame. You gave me a chance when no one else would, regardless of my looks, and no matter what you had planned for me, you were the first person to value me for my talents. For that I can never thank you enough. I'm sorry." She let out a tight breath, and her guilt, long since shoved aside guilt, seemed to close in on her from behind, running up her shoulder blades and closing around her ears. Fiercely, she pushed it all away. "I hope you can forgive me," she said in a whisper. "I... really need you to forgive me."

No answer came; no response, no absolution, no faint voice on the wind that reached out from the depths of the afterlife. The snide, cynical part of Elphaba's mind asked her why she'd bothered trying – there was no afterlife. Mourning rituals were useless, there was no one to ask forgiveness from, and no point in any case. It was over and done, and her guilt would just serve as a reminder to keep anything like it from ever happening again.

Or so Glinda had said, when trying to comfort her.

Slow footsteps clicked on the path behind her, and after a moment her friend's white hand rested on her shoulder. Glinda had stayed behind to change for dinner, and now wore a long, heavy cloak, as dark and sombre as her friend's, over her gown. She knelt as well, but only long enough to put down her own flowers and say, "Rest in peace, Madame."

Elphaba stood up, brushing snow from her skirt. "I should have been at her funeral. We could have made it."

"She'd understand, Elphie."

Elphaba just shrugged, glancing at the clock tower and at Danal, who waited patiently at the gate of the memorial garden. "If you say so," she muttered, and wordlessly allowed Glinda to fuss over her damp clothes while they made their way back to the palace for dinner.

Once inside, Glinda took off her cloak and, in the bright interior lights, suddenly shone like a small sun. Elphaba blinked, then laughed. "I see you're getting into the spirit of things."

Glinda adjusted her Lurlinemas-gold gown and straightened a single piece of emerald jewellery. "And I see you aren't," she replied, nodding at the dull black. "Really, Elphie, I thought you'd have changed into something better. Are you trying to be contrary, or is this another of those I'm-not-religious-so-I-won't-be-involved things?"

Her tone was light but curious, and so as they followed Danal through a multitude of corridors and stairwells, getting farther and farther from the cold, dead obelisk garden, Elphaba took the question seriously. "Mostly the second, but a little of both. I don't like letting people assume that I believe the same things they do. And it's not like I could wear those colours anyway," she added, waving a green hand.

Glinda said nothing as they scaled another set of stairs, passing by the occasional guest or servant, and critically eyed her friend. When at last they reached the next landing she said, "I think you could. Wear holiday colours, I mean."

Elphaba raised both eyebrows. "If you put me in gold I will look like a Lurlinemas tree."

"I meant green, actually – oh, don't give me that look, I'm serious. We'd have to try some different shades, but I think a really dark green would work. Not too blue or too yellow, and not too bright in any case, but it would work. We wouldn't be able to make your skin look white, of course, but we could probably make it less obvious. I thought you'd like that."

Shifting uncomfortably, Elphaba kept her gaze ahead, trying to remember all the twists and turns they had taken; they were on the upper floors again now, and the halls were getting more ornate. She shrugged. "This is your department, Glinda. If you think it'll work, I'll try."

Glinda beamed. "Then I'll take you to a tailor when we go out tomorrow. You've got to start wearing something other than black; we want to make you look like a noblewoman, not an executioner!"

It wasn't that funny, but Elphaba grinned anyway, as distracted as Glinda hoped she would be as they walked side-by-side through the Emerald Palace.

Only a few walls away, in the oldest and grandest rooms in the entire building, Oscar Diggs was fussing.

Ever since he'd pulled off that ridiculous lie about "taking human form" (in order to "take a more active role in the leadership of our fine country", as he'd said in his speech), the palace staff had fallen over themselves to ensure that his personal suite of four grand, lavishly decorated rooms were always in perfect order. The outermost of these was a private dining room, where as yet only his two closest advisors and the Vinkun king had been privileged enough to eat in, and although the fine china was laid out perfectly, with sparkling crystal glasses ready for wine, Oscar was starting to fret that maybe this entire shindig should be moved to a less extravagant room – Elphaba scorned any waste of money. On the other hand, this was one of the few places where Oscar could ensure absolute privacy, and she would undoubtedly be saying things that the general public should never hear.

A last-minute switch would look odd anyway, he decided – as though these guests weren't important to him, which was the last impression he wanted to give. Ever since Elphaba's name had begun to spread among higher Ozian society, largely thanks to Doctor Dillamond telling everyone he knew about how he was rescued, Oscar had done everything in his power to encourage people to connect only good thoughts to the words "Elphaba Thropp" in hopes of building her reputation before formally introducing her to the public. He might not care that she was green, but he was her father, and didn't need to put his future in her hands. People had to trust her, and rumour was a surprisingly effective way of convincing them.

After all, it had worked to discredit the Animals.

Slouching in one of the chairs – he had deliberately arranged for a round table, with every setting identical – Oscar fiddled with his embroidered gloves and tugged irritably at the collar of his ornate robe, which the royal seamstresses, who had been mostly out of work since the Ozmas died, had been delighted to create for their currently-human Wizard. His beloved stovepipe hat was gone, replaced by a cap made of the same reddish-gold material that his coat was. He hadn't wanted these clothes, and certainly hadn't asked for them, but the tailors had been so proud of their gifts, and if it made them happy...

Well, too late to change now.

A thumping sound came from outside his door; the familiar bang of two soldiers striking the ends of their staffs against the floor as a visitor approached – it was a good warning system for him, particularly since no one ever wondered if he might not be ready, and so they never asked. Oscar got to his feet.

The door opened, and Elphaba came in.

She looked... well, green, and that was all Oscar could decipher. She looked calm and collected, but not comfortable, and was otherwise expressionless as Danal formally announced their arrival. Her eyes met his steadily, but without a challenge, and aside from a flicker of exasperation when servants held out chairs for each diner as though they couldn't do it themselves, he had no idea what she was thinking.

More servants came in from the side door, carrying the first course, and Danal's underlings efficiently tidied up the additional two place settings which were obviously not going to be used. Oscar said nothing as they did so, keeping an eye on the doors and waiting until they were firmly shut before turning to his guests and gladly pulling off the itchy hat. Glinda was leaning over, speaking softly to a now-confused-looking Elphaba and pointing at one of the four different spoons. His daughter nodded and picked up the outermost, the soup spoon, then looked up at him.

"Elphaba," he said slowly. "It's good to see you."

She hesitated, then said, "It's... been a while."

He nodded, not having really expected her to return the fond sentiment, and silence reigned for several moments before he asked, "How are you?"

"Fine," said Elphaba. Then she added, for lack of anything better to say, "A little tired. It was a long trip."

Glinda smiled proudly and Oscar asked her the same question. "Oh, I'm fine," she replied brightly. "I don't get as tired as Elphie seems to. I like trains."

"I like trains too," Elphaba said to her friend. "They just wear me out. And I didn't sleep through the whole trip."

"Well, we got up early," muttered Glinda, slightly red, and Elphaba's lips quirked in a half-smile, for a moment looking comfortable as she bantered with her friend. One flicker of her gaze in his direction, though, undid that.

More silence.

"I, uh... I've been looking forward to seeing Chistery again," said Oscar. "The letter he sent last week sounded very eager – well," he amended, "I think that's what he said. His handwriting is terrible."

"His spelling is worse," said Glinda, amused and spooning up some more soup (pumpkin, to be precise; a fancy variation of the most common meal in Munchkinland). "But yes, he was looking forward to this trip. He sends his apologies."

"Has something happened?"

"His sister lost her baby," said Elphaba quietly. "Two days ago. She asked him to stay; she... really needs her family right now."

"Selky?" asked Oscar, startled. "Is she all right?"

"Depressed," replied Elphaba. "But there was nothing we could do. The doctor you employed said she was in good health and there was no reason for her to miscarry. It just happened."

"I'm so sorry," said Oscar, shaking his head and remembering the cheerful little Chimp who had been the sparkle of joy amongst his pets. "I'm so, so sorry." In an attempt to lighten the mood, he added, "I trust that Prince Fiyero didn't suffer a similar tragedy."

Glinda's head shot up. "He was invited? Elphie! You told him not to come!"

Elphaba winced. "I thought it would make things difficult. I wanted this holiday to be fun."

"I'm not that fragile, Elphie," snapped Glinda.

Her friend looked contrite, and her stiff shoulders softened a little. "All right, I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"Yes, you should." Glinda sighed, then looked at Oscar. "May we talk about something else?" she asked. He nodded and, noting that they both had emptied the shallow bowls, pulled the cord to call for their second course.

Once it was delivered and the servants gone again, Oscar leaned forward on his elbows and said, "I've been doing a lot of thinking recently, about the Animal situation."

He instantly had Elphaba's full attention. "It's not going as well as it should," she stated.

"No, it isn't, and I've been trying to figure out why. Legally, there are no more rules to keep them from sharing the same quality of life as humans, but so many little things happen every day anyway and there's no clear reason why."

"It's the bias, isn't it?" asked Glinda, sipping her drink. "Humans are biased against everyone else – Quadling, Munchkin, and Animal – and it shows up in things like the Shiz scholarships. They make little rules that aren't actually wrong but keep non-humans out anyway."

"Exactly," said Oscar, smiling at her and praying Elphaba wouldn't point out that this bias was all his fault in the first place. "And I can't make laws addressing every single one of those issues – there are just too many, and being that strict would only cause more problems. It's not a good solution."

Elphaba frowned. "So what are you planning to do? Brainwash everyone into being friends?"

"...Actually, I thought I'd leave that to you."

Startled, and sharing a wary glance with Glinda, she replied, "I don't understand."

Pausing to eat a bite of the richly spiced pheasant, Oscar followed it with a sip of wine and explained, "What the people of Oz need is idealism. Right now they're all perfectly content to be exactly what they are – biased – because they think I can make everything right all on my own. And you don't like that," he added quickly, before Elphaba could open her mouth. "It needs to change. So what I think Oz needs is... a hero."

His grand, flourished proclamation did not have exactly the effect he'd intended. The girls looked at each other, puzzled, and Glinda said, "A hero?"

"Yes," said Oscar, not the least bit deflated. "A hero can embody everything that we need the people to be, and to aspire to. They have me, of course–" and he said this without any arrogance or modesty "–but they don't believe they can ever be like me. You, on the other hand," he said, sweeping his arms out to both girls; "you can do that. You can stand somewhere between them and me and symbolise everything that an Ozian should be. Elphaba," he said, trying not to sound too eager, "how would you feel about being the living personification of justice?"

She blinked. "...Inhuman. No one's that perfect."

"You don't have to be perfect, they just have to think you are. If you can embody something that abstract – if everything you do is seen as reasonable, and if everyone in Oz comes to believe that having you settle an issue will ensure a fair ruling – then you can lead the changes you want to make."

Elphaba slowly shook her head, bewildered. "Be 'justice'?"

"Well, I thought about 'goodness'," said Oscar, "but I think Glinda here might be more suited to that. To do what you want with your power, Elphaba, you'll probably have to scare people, or at least overrule them. They can like Glinda – she can make anybody happy – but you'll need to be the image of strength. Then when we put the two of you together..." He smiled fondly. "You'll be the greatest team Oz has ever seen."

Glinda looked at Elphaba. Elphaba looked at Glinda. Glinda raised a hand to cover her gaping, grinning mouth, awestruck by the notion, and Elphaba touched her forehead, trying to grasp the extent of Oscar's plans for them. It was... appealing. Her ego was jumping, but her logic was cold. This plan was risky, but at least it was better than the last one.

Slowly, she said, "I... don't know if that would work. You're gambling a lot on public opinion of people – of me. How can you be sure they'll think of us the way you want them to?"

"Well, we can never be sure, Elphaba, but I think it's our best bet. If people's feelings are part of the problem, then shouldn't they be part of the solution too?"

She shook her head. "This isn't something I'm good at. I don't understand people, and they don't understand me. I can work with rules, not feelings."

"I think that's where I come in, Elphie," said Glinda, delighted. "If you can see what needs to be done, I can be there all the time to soften it and smooth things over. It's perfect!"

Elphaba was sceptical. "What if it doesn't work? At all?" Oscar shrugged.

"You'll still have power, as Grand Vizier, to make laws as you see fit and stop people from acting on their bias. It'll be a lot more work, and you could end up widely disliked–"

"That's not important to me," she declared, though between the waver in her eyes and the sympathetic glance Glinda sent her way, Oscar doubted it. He said nothing.

"It would still work. You'd have all my power, and the chance to go out there and use it. I thought that's what you wanted."

"...It is," she said quietly. "I just didn't think it would be so easy."

Oscar smiled, glad to have pleased her, and for a few long moments there was silence again, but this time, a comfortable one. Then, remembering something, Oscar got out of his chair and moved to one of the dining room's elaborate display cabinets, opening a small drawer near the bottom.

Returning to the table, he offered them each a small, wrapped parcel, Elphaba's flat and Glinda's more cubical. Both pairs of eyes widened, mostly in surprise, and as Elphaba accepted hers, she actually, however faintly, smiled. "What's this?"

"An early Lurlinemas gift," said Oscar. "I've been meaning to give this to you for a while now, and–"

"Oh!" cried Glinda, who had already unwrapped hers. "Oh, sir, this is beautiful!"

Both he and Elphaba turned to see Glinda practically bouncing as she held up a sparkling gold bracelet, inlaid with blue stones, that even Elphaba could recognise as both expensive and fashionable – exceptionally so, if Glinda's reaction was anything to go by.

"Oh, Your Ozness," she breathed, "how can I ever thank you?"

He smiled widely, parentally, and said, "Call me 'Oscar'."

"Oscar, then – thank you," squealed Glinda, putting the bracelet on. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he said, and reached out to tweak a twist in the chain so it fell neatly around Glinda's slim wrist. "There," he said, tapping it, "perfect."

Glinda beamed.

Elphaba opened hers slowly, hoping she wouldn't have to find a kind way to explain that, birthday necklace aside, she wasn't a big fan of jewellery. Then again, the package she held was flatter and harder, but if it wasn't another fancy trinket, what could it be?

It was a picture of her mother.

Blinking, and briefly forgetting that the others were watching, Elphaba reached out to touch the face that laughed behind the glass. Melena was young, and would never grow older, and had just turned to face the camera when the image was captured. Her hands were still holding the small sandbags she had been throwing for a carnival game, and someone fully-dressed was surfacing in the tank behind her. Clearly she had just won, and was jumping around in childish victory, her feet bare and dirty. She looked happy, absurdly so, and it suddenly occurred to Elphaba that, aside from a few candid shots from her time at Shiz (where she had failed all her classes, or so rumour had it), she had never seen such a genuine image of her mother. Everything at home was posed, but this...

Oscar was watching, waiting on tenterhooks to know if she liked it.

Elphaba looked up at him... and smiled. A real, real smile, one he hadn't seen since the moment they had met. Her eyes sparkled, face completely lit up with joy. "Where did you get this?"

"I took it," he replied, relieved and hoping his explanation wouldn't cause more trouble. "This was the Munchkinland Harvest Festival the year that the Ozma Regent had me acting as his emissary. I was touring the country as part of that duty and Governor Thropp suggested that if I wanted to better understand Munchkinlanders, I should spend an evening being shown one of your traditional celebrations."

Elphaba's brow furrowed. "He doesn't like the festival. He avoids it every year."

"That's... why he didn't come," Oscar said carefully. "I assume you know that until her death, your mother was officially the reigning Madame Governess."

"She was?" asked Glinda. Elphaba nodded.

"Inheritance passes to me and Nessa through her bloodline; fa–" she cut herself off, remembering Glinda's words "–Frex just did the paperwork because he was better at it, and took over as a regent when she died."

"But before that," said Oscar, "they shared the work, and your mother took on all the social obligations her husband hated. Including giving a pesky visitor a tour of the festival."

Elphaba looked back at the picture, caressing the simple frame and the image inside. "She was having fun," the daughter murmured. "I don't remember her ever having fun."

"That's why I want you to have it," said Oscar, slowly reaching out to tighten her hand around the frame. "For Lurlinemas," he added quickly.

"Thank you."