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 Thirteen
A Rainy Night in the Emerald City

Year 22
Autumn

"Do you think they're back yet?"

Oscar Diggs was peering out the window of his obscenely warm, red-walled suite again, and had asked this question four times in the last hour. He had good reason – it was a cold, wet, blustery day in the Emerald City, made all the worse by icy winds blowing in from the eastern Madeleines Mountains. Winter was coming early, and while those inside had no more to worry about than a persistent drumming noise in the background, Elphaba and Glinda had gone out that morning to work, and should have long since been home.

In all fairness, they hadn't gone far; a few days ago a ruffled but fairly unimportant district attorney had personally delivered to his Grand Vizier a letter filled with flowing, eloquent phrases that basically boiled down to, "We don't trust the judge on this case and want you to settle it – in our favour". Oscar had been thrilled, all but bouncing as he went on about how wonderful it was that the Ozian people were starting to see any judgement of Elphaba's as a guarantee of fairness, but as dusk began to fall and the pounding rain turned to hail, that joy ebbed, and he took to peering out into the blurry darkness, muttering the same worried questions to himself over and over again.

From behind him there was a muffled sigh, and Fiyero said, "They'll be fine. Glinda probably just got carried away with her consolation speech again."

Oscar glanced back to where the Vinkun was sitting with Chistery and Selky at his sitting room table, studying the old, worn-out playing cards they'd talked him into fetching. None of them seemed particularly troubled.

When Oscar still hesitated, Fiyero looked up and added, "They have a guard with them. Besides, neither of them is going to be outside in this weather – Glinda's outfit is brand new."

At that Oscar chuckled, as he was meant to, and let the curtain drop. "All right, all right, I'll stop fretting," he promised, returning to the table. "Do you think you understand the rules now?"

Fiyero grinned and nodded brightly, but the Monkeys weren't so sure. They had been toying with Oscar's deck of cards and scuffed wooden betting chips for a while now, after they'd been mentioned while chatting about the differences between Ozian card games and those that their Wizard knew from his homeland. Oscar, who had never had a chance to learn about something so commonplace as games while in Oz, found them to be in some ways very strange (round cards?), but they had the same basic themes of betting and bluffing. Fiyero, who had long since grown bored with all Ozian varieties, had been almost puppyish with excitement at the chance to learn a new one.

Chistery shifted awkwardly in his chair, eyes wide as he looked over the jumble of face-up pictures and little painted discs. "Not sure," he answered. "All confusing."

Patiently, Oscar asked, "Do you remember the different sets I showed you in our practice game?"

"Hearts, diamonds, clubs, spates," said Selky, lazily stretching a wing as she randomly pointed to one of each suit.

"Spades," corrected Fiyero, who was lining up the diamonds in numerical order. "Where does the ace go?"

"Either end. I've always played it as the highest card," said Oscar, glancing at the setup. "And the queen should be below the king."

Fiyero, who – despite his own inheritance – had always learned of kings as the less-important husbands of ruling queens, shook his head. "That's strange."

Oscar paused, considered it, and shrugged. "Well, I suppose we could change it. This isn't Kansas, after all."

"You ruled by kings in Kansas?" asked Chistery.

"Well..." Oscar hesitated, trying to work out how to explain states and presidents and tea taxes, then replied, "Something like that."

"No wizard?" the Monkey asked curiously. Oscar shook his head.

"Where do wizards fit into this game?" Fiyero asked with a grin, sweeping up the funny rectangular cards to shuffle. His hands had trouble adjusting to the shape.

"Er... the joker, I guess," said Oscar, gesturing to two cards he'd discarded earlier. Fiyero laughed outright and the magic-less wizard grinned sheepishly. "Or the jack. I've never figured out what he's supposed to be."

"What this game is called again?" asked Selky.

"'Poker'," said Oscar, rescuing his old cards from Fiyero's mangling and shuffling them himself at high speed. "There are names for all the different varieties, but I never bothered learning them; this is just the one I was taught. Ready?"

Chistery was examining his chips and had to be asked twice, but the others nodded. Oscar dealt the down-cards silently, then began placing the next round face-up, starting on his left. "Eight," he said, putting said diamond down in front of Fiyero. "Ace–" (that one was Chistery's) "–queen–" (Selky's) "–and... four" (his own). "Now, Chistery? Your card is worth the most, see? So you get to decide if you want to start a bet."

The Monkey paused, uncertain, hand hovering over his upside-down card. "I can look?" he asked.

"Yes – but only you," cautioned Oscar. "Make sure to hide it from us. Now, if those two cards could make one of the sets I told you about earlier, then it's a good idea to bet. If not, you can pass."

Chistery did look, paused again, and counted on his fingers a few times before shaking his head. "Not bet."

"All right, then we go again," said Oscar, and dealt a second round of face-up cards, going around the table in the same order. "Ten... seven... queen... nine," he announced.

"So it's Selky's turn," Fiyero said, and he knew he was right. Oscar nodded anyway, and the lady Chimp smiled.

"Pair queens," she said. "I win?"

"Not yet; you just have the highest hand we can see. No one knows what's on other people's down-cards. But you can start a bet, if you want."

Selky shrugged and tossed a random chip into the middle of the table.

"Er..." Oscar looked at Fiyero, who was amused, then at the Chimps who, despite their incredible learning speed, had never actually used money. "That one is worth one hundred."

Selky looked at him blankly.

Grinning, Fiyero leaned back in his chair and said, "I'll match you," tossing a chip of equal value into the pot. Oscar, who had so been looking forward to a real game – his first in twenty-five years – shot the prince a look. Fiyero shrugged. "It's not real money."

"All right, all right," grumbled the Wizard, adding his own chip. "One hundred it is. Chistery?"

Once Chistery's counter was in, Oscar dealt again. "Jack... four... deuce – oh, sorry, Selky; didn't mean to confuse you – two, and... six."

"More hundreds!" cried Selky happily, throwing in two chips.

Oscar winced. "Selky... that's a lot of mon–"

"Five hundreds!" declared her brother, pushing over his pile of counters with a gleeful – and rather competitive – grin. Oscar sighed.

"It's not your turn, Chistery," Fiyero explained languidly, matching the bet anyway. "You have to wait for us to decide if we're going to match her bet or raise it ourselves."

"You raise?"

"No," said Oscar quickly. "No, no raise – I'll match," he added, more calmly, putting in the required hundred-counters before dealing the final round. "Seven, and a possible straight," he said, giving Fiyero his last card, "a jack for you, Chistery – no help there, I'm afraid... an eight for the lady, and... five for the dealer."

"More two hundred." Selky was clearly enjoying this. Oscar shook his head.

"Too rich for my blood," he muttered, flipping all his cards upside-down. Fiyero grinned.

"Your two hundred," he said, "and one thousand more."

"Thousand?" said Oscar.

Fiyero chuckled, shrugging. Selky busied herself counting out hundreds, but Chistery, who had lost a lot in the practice game, looked mournfully at his little pile of chips and pushed away the cards, saying, "I lose."

"'Fold'," corrected Oscar. "But you haven't lost, you can play again next time." He paused, then asked, "Selky, would you like some help?" When she levelled a glare at him and replied that she was perfectly able to count, he amended, "I meant with the cards. He might have a straight, and that would beat a pair of queens – or even three queens, if that's what your last card is – but if his down-card is not a nine, then his hand is useless and your queens win. So you have to decide if he's bluffing."

Selky frowned and examined her last opponent, who smiled charmingly and gave nothing away. "Two thousands more," she announced boldly, pushing said chips into play along with those that matched his raise. Oscar shook his head – symbolic or no, that was a ridiculous amount of money.

Fiyero was far too rich to care, and as he'd said, it wasn't real anyway. "Two thousand," he agreed, taking a handful of old wooden chips, "and three thousand more."

Oscar eyed him for a moment. "You do not have a straight."

"No?" Fiyero challenged lightly, loving this. "That's up to Selky. Her money."

Selky studied him, then said, "Three thousands – calling." She pushed the counters forward. "We show cards now?"

Oscar nodded and flipped Selky's down-card for her. It was a three, and useless. They looked at Fiyero.

He had a five. "Take it."

Squealing, Selky reached out with her long arms to scoop up the entire pile, chanting, "I win I win I win I win I win!"

"Yes, you win," said Oscar, patting her shoulder fondly and sharing a glance with a perfectly untroubled Fiyero. "Well done."

She grinned.

Chistery, on the other hand, was sour about missing out on all the fun, and after watching for a moment while his sister gathered her winnings, pointedly said, "It late, Selky. Bed time."

"Not tired!" she chirped.

"Bed time for small ones," he replied, launching himself into the air. "You their auntie, you sing to them. Come on, home time."

Selky muttered something rude (which she certainly had not learned from Elphaba), but finished stacking the counters and – after wrangling a promise from Oscar that she would have all her chips back next time – flew out the door after her brother.

Fiyero gathered the cards. "Again?" he asked.

"Please," said Oscar, his gaze wandering back to the window, "only let's keep to reasonable stakes this time."

The younger man chuckled, but nodded. "Speaking of which, the census results are in. It looks like we scared Earl Garllon into line after all."

Oscar looked back, pleasantly surprised. "The one who was underpaying his Animal workers?"

"They're not underpaid anymore," replied Fiyero, looking extremely pleased with himself. "All ninety-two of them got a 'bonus' the week before our census which upped their year's income to just above the legal requirement." He paused in his card shuffling to glance at Oscar, looking cheeky. "I pretended not to know and told him it was so good of him to treat his workers like that, and that I'd be glad to tell everyone, including you, that he was doing it... every year."

Oscar laughed, just imagining the earl's reaction, and clapped Fiyero on the shoulder. "Well done, son," he said. "Well done."

Fiyero grinned.

They continued to play for another hour, with increasing finesse and boldness, until Oscar no longer felt the need to hold back for sake of a less experienced player. He pretended to, of course, for that was part of the fun, but whatever bluffing games the young prince had learned to play before this, he must have been very, very good. By the time a sodden green carriage rolled and splashed its way through the north gates below, the men were deeply engrossed in their match, both furiously trying to outwit the other while still holding a perfectly pleasant conversation about the population problems in Qhoyre. It was thrilling, addictive, and absolutely delightful.

When Glinda let herself into the sitting room about ten minutes later, the first thing she heard was Fiyero's incredulous voice crying, "A pair of THREES?"

Brow furrowed, she stepped further in and saw Oscar chuckling as he gathered up a large pile of circular wooden chips. Fiyero was slumped forward on his elbows, groaning as he stared at something on the table. "I had a flush," he complained, "and you bluffed me with threes."

"That'll teach you to throw around so much money at once," replied the Wizard happily, and Glinda, who had once played Mobra-ka against Fiyero and lost spectacularly, laughed as she understood.

"And here I thought you two were working," she said, closing the door behind her. They looked up, Fiyero with amusement and Oscar with profound relief.

"Glinda!" he said, quickly standing up. "When did you get back? Where's Elphaba? Was everything all right?"

"Oh – fine," said Glinda, a little startled as she took off her cherry-red overcoat. "It all went fine, really, it just took forever. Elphie'll come soon," she added as Oscar glanced at the closed door behind her. "She just wanted to stop in the library to get some notes for that bridge-building project that's been troubling her."

Fiyero looked puzzled, glancing at the mostly-but-not-entirely-reassured Oscar before saying, "I thought the cabinet put off that question until next week's meeting."

"You know Elphie," said Glinda, rolling her eyes as she joined them at the table, "she never stops. Really, Fiyero, we have to take her out to town again soon or else she'll start forgetting what fun is."

"She is all right, though?" asked Oscar.

"Fine," said Glinda, eyes flitting over the strange cards and chips on the table; "just a bit worried about all the work we delayed in order to settle this case – which was quite dull, to be honest."

"Oh?"

Glinda nodded, looking tired as she poured herself some of the thin, pinkish liquid Oscar and Fiyero had been drinking – it was Gillikinese spring wine, a gift from her grandfather, Lord Arduenna. "We were already pretty sure we'd be supporting the judge's original decision just from reading the court transcripts, but then the lawyer who wrote to Elphie in the first place started making a fuss – I think he just didn't want anyone to have the impression that we'd been called out there for nothing. He insisted on re-examining every bit of evidence, twice, and dragged it on and on and..." she sighed. "Well, we finished eventually, and Elphie made it very clear why we did what we did and why it was fair, so I think it went well." She paused, taking a long sip of the fresh liquid, then looked up hopefully. "Have you two had dinner yet?"

"No," said Oscar, "I told the cooks to wait for you to get back. They should be bringing it soon."

"Mmm, good. I'm hungry," said Glinda, sitting back in her chair. "In the meantime, however," she added with a rather mischievous grin, "I think I want to learn this game. Anything Fiyero can still lose at is more than worth a try."

Fiyero grumbled and made a face, and the Wizard chuckled.

Some hours later, after both his young guests had yawned and wandered off to their own rooms for the night, Oscar Diggs remained in his, restless and unable to even prepare for sleep. He and Glinda and Fiyero had played cards for over two hours, stopping to eat dinner and wonder aloud if maybe they should go and look for Elphaba, who never did turn up. But, given her usual attitude towards interruptions (a gruff "yes, I'm fine – go away" was usually the best one could hope for), they left it, sending her plate back to the kitchen and trusting that she would eat in her own time. This was far from unusual behaviour for Elphaba, after all, and even Oscar had learned to let it go when she chose to devote her evenings to work rather than spending time with them. Tonight, however...

Tonight was a little different. Although he'd known all along it was silly, the awful weather had worried him into imagining all the bad things that might have happened to his daughter and dear Glinda during their journey to the edge of town. It was stupid, he knew, a complete overreaction, because nothing had happened, but some stubborn and strange parental instinct just would not let him curl up and sleep without at least having seen his daughter.

After puttering about for twenty minutes, cleaning up cards and used glasses, Oscar finally sighed, admitted that this was a bad idea, and set off in search of the library.

He went, however, with a fair amount of hesitation. Aside from knowing how Elphaba was most likely to react to anyone checking up on her, it was quite possible that he might not be able to find her at all – simply put, the palace library was huge.

Officially known as "the Royal Archives", it was the resting place for all the country's legal records and every original historical text not owned by Quox or Shiz, but it also held copies of every non-fiction book ever published in Oz, and most fictitious ones as well. It was a winding, ever-growing maze established centuries earlier, and at night, when most lamps were dark and the quiet turned to total silence, it was all but impossible to find a lone person sitting at one of the many reading desks between winding rows of shelves, or tucked into a chair in a dimly-lit corner. That, of course, was why Elphaba liked it.

Thankfully, Oscar managed to find her without having to shout. There were still a few maids wandering about, straightening chairs or picking up rubbish from less-than-tidy ministers and judges who used the place in daytime, and by following their quiet instructions Oscar made his way to the third level of the west wing, where the last four centuries worth of civil licenses and permits were kept.

He found her sitting at a hard-edged desk covered in books and papers, staring blankly through her glasses at some scribbled notes while dried and crusted ink crumbled from the forgotten quill in her hand. In the flickering candlelight, her face was a weary yellow, and she looked far more tired than he'd expected, or ever even witnessed. Oscar stepped closer, hesitantly, but she didn't notice, and didn't move – even her eyes were still, not really seeing anything.

"Elphaba?" he said softly. "Elphaba?"

She jerked and blinked, then squeezed her eyes shut and give her head a little shake. "What time is it?" she asked, in a dry, unused voice.

"About midnight. We were... well," he admitted, "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," she replied, eyes now refocused on the papers. "I'm just... not done yet."

Oscar hesitated, but said, "Elphaba, you've been here for hours."

"I'm not done."

"But maybe if you rest for a whi–"

"I'm not done," she snapped, jerking an arm at him, and some papers fluttered lightly to the ground. Watching them, she sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "I keep finding loopholes in the phrasing of that free marriage law we're trying to pass," she said, groaning. "There's also a new case to review for the supreme court, a presentation I have to write for the next cabinet meeting, a property claim I promised Baron Appleton I'd consider, who-knows-how-many new petition letters to read, and I haven't even seen the bridge proposal yet. I can't stop now."

"Elphaba, you're exhausted," said Oscar, and she let out a harsh, strained bark of laughter. Taking the last few steps to her desk, he reached out to touch her shoulder. "You can't keep doing this."

"It's my job," she replied dully. "I promised."

"Baron Appleton can wait. You're the Grand Vizier – you shouldn't be running to do favours for him."

Her eyes flashed, but she was too tired for this argument. "I don't want anyone in Oz to think I don't have time for them. I promised I'd always help."

Oscar shook his head. "No one thinks you aren't," he said, "but that doesn't mean you should be at their beck and call, either. When did you get the letter about that case you just ruled on? A few days ago? Elphaba, you could have made them wait weeks and it wouldn't have made a difference. Please, take some time off," he urged. "You need it."

She shook her head, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "How can I ask other people to do their best for Oz if I'm not?"

Kneeling beside her chair – and swearing he would never admit to how much his knees ached because of it – Oscar took her hand. "Elphaba," he said, quietly, "no one works themselves harder than you do. No one. People like Appleton spend half their time acting like they have better things to do than work, and they all take time to rest. I know you're strong, but you don't have to be this strong. By this time next year, no one will care if you've taken a day off."

A sigh escaped her. "They'd care now. I can't just say I'm tired – that's no excuse."

"So tell them that the Wizard had a very urgent matter to discuss with you. I could use a day off, too."

Her face smoothed into a little smile, but she shook her head. "I'd be lying."

"We could make it true. Glinda's birthday is coming up and I have no idea what to get for her."

The smile widened and she even let out a brief laugh. "True," she said, "but... I shouldn't."

"It might be safer," Oscar warned cheerfully, seeing that he was winning. "Your friends are conspiring to take you out to town soon anyway, and I don't think they'll be shy about forcing it. Better to go willingly."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of pretending I'm working with you?"

"Ah. True. I suppose I'll have to face the cabinet anyway," he replied lightly, but then his smile faded, and his tone turned serious. "Please, Elphaba. I worry about you. At least come and eat something."

Rubbing her face, she sighed. "All right," she said, and Oscar let out a long breath. Smiling – for she did appreciate his concern, much as it could irritate her – Elphaba added, "And if I can, I'll take tomorrow off, too."

"That's all I ask," said Oscar. "Just promise me you'll have fun."

"I'll try."

Smiling, Oscar patted her hand, then offered his own. She took it, and stood up, and after pausing to pack away her papers and stack the books (librarians would re-shelve them all by morning), the unlikely pair slowly made their way towards the dining room. Along the way Oscar stopped a passing servant, sending him to bring a substitute meal and large pot of hot milk from the kitchens. By the time they reached the red-walled, fire-lit room, Elphaba's mind had set aside all of her pressing work, and she was relaxed.

Over the past year this room, though it was actually attached to Oscar's private suite, had become a communal spot for their little group. It was informal, unassuming and, above all, private. Secrets about the Wizard's lack of power and Elphaba's demands could be freely mentioned in here, and although Oscar and Glinda had little trouble with moving between public and private personas at a moment's notice, Fiyero didn't care for it and Elphaba hated lies. Therefore, as long as the doors were closed she was comfortable, and on this evening she had no trouble walking in ahead of her host and dropping down in a comfortable armchair by the fire.

Oscar joined her, settling quietly in the other chair while she stretched her stiff limbs and warmed them in front of the flames. For a while they sat in companionable silence, waiting for the food, until Elphaba asked, "Did they actually say they'd drag me out?"

"Hmm, sorry?" asked the Wizard, whose mind had wandered. "What?"

"Fiyero and Glinda. Did they say they were going to take me to town soon?"

"Glinda suggested it, and I think they'll both end up taking the day off tomorrow, but nothing definite. Why do you ask?"

"Glinda's birthday; I need to get her something too. If all three of us go out together, Fiyero and I can take turns distracting her so the other can shop."

Oscar chuckled. "I take it she's already suspicious?"

"I don't think so, she's just so perceptive," Elphaba replied with quiet fondness. "It's happened before – her already knowing what I've bought, that is. Last year was the first time I was able to surprise her, and I'd never have managed without Fiyero's help," she added, torn between mild frustration and the cheeky joy of sneaking around to do something nice for her friend. "Anyway, I could look for things for you to give, if you like."

"Actually, I think I'll have something custom-made," he replied. "Something unique. She'd like that."

"Jewellery, then?"

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I'm not sure what else she'd really enjoy."

At that point there was a knock on the door, and as Elphaba considered his words, Oscar got up to answer it. When returned a minute later with the dinner tray, she said, "What she'd most enjoy, I think, would be if we threw her a party."

He paused, eyes lighting up. "A surprise party?"

"If we could manage it, yes," said Elphaba, and lifted the cover from her plate. The rich, wonderful smell of hot pie hit them both, and Elphaba, suddenly realising how hungry she was, took a large forkful before realising that she hadn't finished her sentence. She chewed anyway, savouring the taste despite her hurry, and Oscar watched with pleasure for a minute until swallowed and said, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing... It's just good to see you enjoying it. You don't indulge in things very often."

She shrugged, for it was true enough, and took another bite. "I really shouldn't have skipped dinner. Anyway, Glinda would love a surprise. She expects presents – we'd never not give them, after all – but she hasn't had a real party since we left Shiz."

"We've had cake and wine every year since the three of you moved in," replied Oscar, spooning flakes of chocolate into cups of milk for them both.

"Yes, but you know Glinda," Elphaba said between forkfuls; "she likes things big. I hate to say it, but the best present we could give her would probably be to organise some fancy event in her name – invite her family, friends from Shiz, and let all those 'important' social people come to congratulate her."

The Wizard chuckled. "You sound like you're signing your own death warrant."

She rolled her eyes. "I can survive one night of mindless chatter with a flock of stupid people if it will make her happy."

"I know it would, Elphaba," he said, smiling. "That's very good of you."

Not quite comfortable with such open affection from him, of all people, she just went back to her food, alternating between it and sips of the hot chocolate. Oscar watched her, thinking, then softly said, "We've never talked like this before, have we?"

Elphaba paused mid-sip, feeling the atmosphere of the room change. "No, I guess not," she said, setting down the cup. "Not without Glinda or Fiyero to... smooth it over."

"Hmm, no," he said, gazing into the fire, and Elphaba was struck by how very old he looked, how sad. "I wish things were different between us," he said quietly. "I wish I'd had the chance to be your father."

Her gaze dropped. That was why she'd always avoided being alone with him.

"I know you can't have two fathers," he went on, eyes and voice still distant, "and I know you've never really liked me–"

"It's not you," she interrupted, hating both the guilt welling in her gut and the circumstances causing it. "You're... nice. You're funny and intelligent and kind. I like you. But I can never forget what you've done."

Oscar closed his eyes, but did not turn to her.

"You're responsible for everything I'm trying to undo," she explained. "That's... hard to forgive."

"I didn't start it," he said, but without any of the fire that would have made it easier for her to argue – he was putting up no defences at all. "The bigotry was already there. I just used it. And..." he let out a breath and turned to face her. "Elphaba, it wasn't unfounded. There were extremist groups of Animals trying very hard to overthrow all human authority. I'm almost certain one of them was responsible for killing Queen Ozma and her daughter."

"Did any of those groups include Doctor Dillamond?" she replied, trying not to sound harsh. "Was every teacher and preacher fired because they were all trying to subvert order? And what about the Animals who were losing their voices, and are still afraid it might happen again?"

"I was young and stupid," Oscar said, with regret. "After I took power I never left this palace and never actually saw what was happening. I talked myself into believing there was no real harm being done. I wish I could change it," he said, and to his credit he had never sounded more earnest. "I wish I could turn back the clock, but I can't."

She must have looked sceptical because he asked, "Don't you believe me?"

Her lips pressed together. "I'd like to," she said carefully, "but would you still want that if not for me? Everything you've done these past three years has been for me. You want me to like you."

"That doesn't mean I don't agree with what we're doing."

"Then why did you do it all in the first place?"

Oscar closed his eyes again, resting his head in the cushioning of the chair, and sighed. "In my world," he began, in the manner of one telling a long story, "animals don't talk. They never have and never will. My father taught me that God created animals to serve man, and until I came here, I believed that."

Her brow furrowed. "You don't mean the Unnamed God, do you?"

"He's unnamed, I guess, but we just call him 'God'. I think they're different. We've talked about religion before, haven't we?" he asked, and she nodded – they had, a few months ago, though not in much depth. "Well, I'd never met Talking Animals until I came here, and then only rarely. I was always surrounded by humans – biased humans, but I didn't know that then. They told me Animals were inherently dangerous and I believed them. I didn't have any reason not to. I didn't know a thing about Ozian history or society, and the facts I did have about what happened during the Great Drought didn't help. Last week you said something about it being horribly bad manners to ask a Bull about their horns, right? You learn that sort of thing from childhood. I never did."

To his profound relief, Elphaba did not frown on this blatant ignorance, but considered it and seemed to find it fair. "Why did you never try to learn?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I never realised it was there to be learned. And... I was busy. I was completely swept away by my fame. You must understand what that's like, Elphaba," he implored. "I'd never been more than mediocre, and I'd accepted that, and suddenly everyone was calling me 'wonderful'. Everyone." He held up his hands, shrugging again. "It turned my head."

"That's not an excuse," she said, without venom.

"No," he agreed quietly, "but it is an explanation. And I've tried to do better. For you, yes, but also because now I know I was wrong. I want to fix things. Can't you forgive me? I'm trying my best."

Elphaba looked away. "It doesn't change what you did."

"Nothing will," said Oscar. "Does that mean I can never do good again? That I'm always going to be a horrible person?"

"No," she said quietly. "Of course not."

Sensing, quite accurately, that she was at a loss, Oscar reached out across the armrests and took both her hands. "Elphaba," he said, "the day we met I said I would do anything for you. I meant it. I know that being my daughter means nothing to you–" and there she moved to speak, to protest that it didn't mean nothing, exactly, but he went on, "–but I love you, and it would mean a lot to me if I had your forgiveness."

Elphaba closed her eyes. It was hard for her, listening to all this, for much as she liked Oscar – and she did like him, in a cautious sort of way – she found it very difficult to separate a person from the actions they had taken. For her, the things people did were important; they defined character, in a way one's thoughts or spoken words never could. When she was little, she had learned that Frex was good because he took care of her, that she was bad because she had caused her mother's death, and that the Wizard was wonderful because of the wonderful things he did. In her mind, these things never changed; they had simply faded, until life could move on without their shackles. To accept that the Wizard – that Oscar – could be a good person who had done terrible things was... hard.

But then, Glinda had once been very cruel to her. Fiyero, not so long ago, had been the kind of silly rich boy she despised. They had changed. She'd forgiven them for those faults, just as they – though she didn't know it – had forgiven her for being cold and judgemental. People could change, even if the after-effects of their actions did not. Fiyero's reputation still haunted him, though it had lessened, and Glinda's nasty gift of the hat had fortunately turned into a much-loved symbol of their friendship. The consequences of Oscar's actions were a lot worse, but that didn't mean he deserved to be treated more harshly. He had changed.

So, quietly, and with her hands still gently squeezed under his, Elphaba said, "I forgive you."