I thought I'd give you guys another small chapter to make up for the long break between Chapters 7 and 8. RL has been a pain lately: first I got pretty sick for a couple of weeks then when I got better and just started catching up on everything my dad ended up in the hospital for a few days. He's fine now but I'm behind on everything again. If any non-adults are reading this, do yourself a favor and stop aging while you still have a chance! Things are as tough as our parents promised on the other side lol.

Never before had Fiyero outwardly expressed any interest in his throne. His comment in history class about the potential to construct a trans-Ozian canal just came blurting out of his mouth and had struck him as substantial if only because it seemed so natural at the time. And while it was said in a flippant tone he was completely serious.

Rumination of this revelation and nightmares of brutality and crucifixion in a cornfield lead to another restless night. After waking up sweating and trembling in twisted up sheets, Fiyero tried to focus his blurry vision on the dark face of his clock. There still a couple hours of darkness left before dawn, and though he tried to roll over and fall back asleep, his lurid dream left him filled with the aftereffects of adrenaline and sleep would not come.

Grabbing a discarded shirt and pair of slacks from the floor, he dressed and went to his window, hoping the fresh breeze from outside would cool his clammy body, but it did little to soothe his soul. Sometimes he felt trapped by his private suite, as though the nightmares with which he was plagued were trapped in the space along with all of the memories of his regrets after Elphaba had vanished into infamy, and tonight was one of those times.

Feeling daring, Fiyero climbed onto his windowsill and, using the water spout bolted securely to the brick outside, scaled the few feet up to the roof and swung himself onto the ledge above his room. The effort was well worth it. He stretched across the slightly inclined surface and felt a little freer, as though his mind was finally starting to feel more comfortable with his body now that it too was in a place that existed just a little bit separate from Shiz.

The stars seemed to shimmer down on him with an ethereal radiance as he stared at them, scanning the heavens for familiar constellations and brief streaks of light amongst the fixed specks. The night sky never seemed so beautiful in the Emerald City, but even the view from his dorm was nothing compared to that of the Vinkus. Elphaba had watched those stars through the forest canopy, Fiyero remembered, as she lay awake in his arms. He wondered if astronomy had been of particular interest to her or if the stars became a comfort to her in her years on the run, something constant and stable in an otherwise chaotic world.

In choosing her as he had done, he had given up everything without a second thought: his job, his reputation, his home, his possessions, his family and, consequently, his throne. Now that it was all back again, he was thinking about them in new light.

Part of Fiyero's passivity on his royal responsibilities was in that the Vinkus was rather self-sustainable. A great deal of the country's wealth was used merely in a defense that wasn't necessary, given the mountainous landscape and lack of interest. The Wizard could not see much value in their dry desert. So Oz left them alone and they left Oz alone.

What if he was able to use the power he had always neglected for the greater good that Elphaba herself had never been able to achieve in her resistance movements? A canal alone from the Vinkus could offer his country incredible leverage.

Another part of Fiyero's neglect of his crown had to do with his immaturity. He didn't want to care, so he didn't. But he wasn't that boy anymore, and without the obligations set for him as Captain of the Guard or as Glinda's arm candy, he was free to focus on his other responsibilities. It wasn't as scary anymore, although it was still intimidating.

The next day, he sought out one of the law teachers and requested a transfer into his class, finding one that fit into his schedule in place of his Oz-awful literature class on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons. (How often does one need to analyze the Oziad anyway?) He would begin the subsequent week.