Hi. I missed you all.
Now may I present: His Royal Majesty.
Under the mellow Shiz sunlight, standing at the forefront of the antiquated blue-stone walls of the university and ornamented by the pink and white trees in bloom, King Marillot Tiggular was an impressive sight. His brown hair was thinner – his slightly receded hairline was something Fiyero noticed was similar to the one he would begin to have in a couple years' time – and far darker than Fiyero's, and his full, trimmed beard framed a frown with which the prince was very familiar. Like Fiyero, Marillot favored modern clothing instead of heavy ceremonial garbs that many people often expected out of Arjiki clansmen – his dark, pinstriped suit was well-tailored to his physique – but unlike the prince, the king represented his heritage with a colorful, hand-woven Vinkun stole draped over his strapping shoulders.
It had been a very, very long time since he was faced with the stare-down from that intimidating gray gaze. When he had visited home during breaks from school, he avoided his father in favor of his mother's company. No way had the King of the Vinkus ever bothered to visit him before at school, having always sent family representatives to deal with the disciplinary actions required by universities every time he was booted from one. Most recently, he had seen his father briefly when the man passed through the Emerald City and they met for drinks at the costly social clubhouse to which they both were members. Fiyero had been a lieutenant in the Gale Force at that time, so in this timeline, it had never happened. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his father before Shiz.
He certainly had never seen his father at Shiz.
Fiyero cleared his throat uneasily. "What are you doing here?" He ran a nervous hand through his hair and was horrified to find the little leaves Crope had adorned it with. He hurriedly brushed them away.
His father raised a stern brow appropriate for both the leaves and the question. "Am I not allowed to visit my son if I so choose?"
"Yes, but…I cannot stress enough how much you shouldn't be here."
"I realize that my visit is rather unprecedented, but so was the post I received from you."
He spoke of the letter to Kiamo Ko, the one in which Fiyero had sworn six different ways that he was a changed man and focused on the future. Fiyero had forcefully put it out of mind since he given it to a courier weeks ago. Its contents were embarrassing enough to linger on; no correspondence in return was just insult to injury.
"I'm appreciative of your interest, but a return letter would have saved you hours of travel time."
"I considered it," Marillot said. "But your boasted personal betterment deserved one in return. I deemed the likelihood might be worth the effort."
Fiyero wasn't a boy anymore. As much bitterness as he harbored for his father's disregard in the past, the man was here now, apparently curious but undoubtedly unconvinced about the value he had been promised to see in his son. Fiyero bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and said, "I'm honored by your visit," surprising himself with his lack of sarcasm.
Fiyero's father had a way of thoroughly conveying himself with taciturnity and heavy expressions. As they stood there in uncomfortable silence, it seemed as though the normal platitudes – Hello, it's nice to see you, what weather you have here – were given in the deep lines in his skin around his eyes. The Perhaps there's something to this was in the upward twitch of his cheek. But the king was prepared to be disappointed, almost challenging him with crease of disdain as his brow pinched together and the twisting of his mouth.
Fiyero wasn't like that. He internalized his state of mind and filtered it through a carefully constructed façade, which growing up seemed to be the rational instinctive reaction. He willed his apprehension far behind his walls, mimicking his father by putting his hands in his pockets and adopting his normal casual demeanor. Caring about things was a choice, and he decided there was no use fretting about his father's unexpected presence.
"Let's walk," Marillot demanded, not as a king would but as a father would.
They slowly trailed the curving bank of the canal, saying nothing; having the advantage of maturation from a career in the military was surprisingly useless when by all reason it didn't exist. Fiyero was twitchy, simultaneously engrossed in mental timelines and theories of special relativity and buzzing in his skin.
"I recently had a very curious meeting with Malkim," the king said finally. "Do you remember who he is?"
"Our EC banker."
"He seemed rather reticent to bring up a rather substantial withdrawal you made," Marillot said, stopping their short stroll at the nearby bridge to face his son with rigid intensity. "He was unable to justify it on your behalf and seemed afraid of my reaction to such news."
"I apologize for causing Malkim undue stress," Fiyero hedged politely.
"Fiyero, I've been very tolerant of your behavior over the years in expectation that your flippancies and your cavorting would sort itself out in time; however, I am not interested in discoverating that you extracted and squandered a small fortune of our country's capital for selfish gains. Should such evidence come to light, I would insist on considering more supervised arrangements be made to your education from here on out."
"That won't be necessary," the son replied tepidly, not rising to the bait. "The money was invested, not squandered."
"Invested," the king repeated, his head angling slightly in his intrigue. "In what, exactly?"
"A somewhat chancy venture that I think potentially benefits the Vinkus as much as it does the rest of Oz," Fiyero explained, "in addition to a variety of smaller, more lucrative stocks of emerging enterprises that should completely replenish the missing funds and more within a couple of years."
"And what is this venture, exactly?"
"Scientific research here at the university. The substantial returns we will see in the next few years from my investments were made to more than compensate for the endowment to the school—"
"You sound confident."
"You could say I've done my homework. I know the best places to place my money."
"Please explain to me why you, of all people, would take an interest in academic research and how you can possibly rationalize it."
"There's a professor here at the university who is experimenting on the biological differentiation between humans, animals, and Animals. With any luck, we will be able to establish that the Wizard's Animal Banns have no scientific basis and oppose his repression of entire races of innocent people, including the thousands that call the Vinkus their home."
"When I consulted with her, your headmistress didn't mention your interest in the life sciences."
"It's not her business."
"She didn't seem to have much to say of you at all, as a matter of fact. She acted as though she had forgotten you attend her school. Rather daft, if you ask me. I didn't much care for the woman."
"I abhor her, but Elphaba thinks magic light shines from her ass or something—"
"So," Marillot interrupted loftily. "This is about a girl."
"Excuse me?"
"Fiyero, I never doubted that one day you'd outgrow your dancing and your philandering and your scandalizing of all of Oz," Marillot said, leaning against the white stone of the bridge. "But I know you, son. You're no philanthropist. You're no soldier. You're no scholar. Yet you claim you're determined to graduate with a degree in law and you're giving away your money and involving yourself in a controversial matter with which you have no direct claim."
"I don't understand."
"Son, the moment I received your letter, I knew it meant that you had met a girl. Someone special that made you want to be a better man. Is it the blonde?"
"The blonde?" he repeated stupidly, following his father's pointed nod to the group of his friends – of Galinda, Elphaba, Nessarose, Boq, Tibbett and Crope – still sheltered underneath his favored pearlfruit tree.
"She seems like your type."
He was embarrassed. Was he little better than just a man made by his love for a woman? Was that even such a bad thing? From here, Galinda's hair seemed to catch the sunlight in a way that made her glow but it was Elphaba, blending into the shade and the grass, who attracted his gaze. In one life he chose Galinda and he ended up with a life of empty, lonely success. But in choosing Elphaba this time, he knew his servitude to her could be nothing but a noble choice, one without regret or indignity.
"It's not the blonde," he admitted.
"But you don't deny that there is someone." Marillot stepped toward his son and put an unexpectedly sympathetic hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. Fiyero met his eyes unflinchingly. "Fiyero… Before I married I was not so different from you. To be born with obligations as we are is daunting, and no intelligent man wouldn't be disheartened at the prospect of the challenges of leadership. I myself was adolescent and bitter – so much so that I attribute your overall amicability to your mother – and I contested vehemently against every mandate my father ever had for me, even the idea of marriage. But even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and wedding your mother was the best choice he could have made for me. She tempered me in a way he nor my duties never had before.
"Men like us come to terms with our fates differently than others. I could have forced upon you my expectations the way they had been unto me but instead I let you parade about and let you suffer the weight of your lot however you saw fit; never had I a doubt that one day you'd return a wiser man to assume your birthright."
"You make your negligence seem so sage."
"I have yet to be proven wrong."
How incongruous it was that King Marillot of the Vinkus had indeed gravely miscalculated and yet would never be proven otherwise, for once his young son had irreversibly deserted his throne when he liberated the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard's palace and did so without remorse.
"Congratulations," Fiyero muttered resentfully.
"Acerbity doesn't become you," Marillot replied coolly. "However you turn out is no reflection of my parenting skills, I'm aware of this. Whatever kind of man – the kind of king – you become will be owed to you and perhaps to whatever woman has inspired you so. You still haven't told me about her. This…this Elphaba."
"I didn't realize we had that kind of relationship."
"Change is in the air," he remarked. "What is she like?"
"She's stubborn, idealistic," he bit at his father to satisfy him, but realized that confessing his admirations was so cathartic after years of keeping them to himself. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to tell someone all the things about Elphaba that spurred such impetus and devotion within him. "She has so much integrity that just being around her when she's impassioned is exhausting and exciting all at once."
"Is she beautiful?"
"So beautiful," he confessed. "She doesn't comprehend that. No one really does. She's different. Really, truly different, but I find that exceptional and nothing you could say could convince me otherwise."
"And why would I…?" Marillot began, following Fiyero's pining stare to the pearlfruit tree, where his friends were collecting themselves as they did at the end of every lunch hour. Elphaba was absorbed with carefully assisting Nessarose into her chair as everyone else chatted cheerfully around them, playacting as though they all weren't spying on and gossiping about the Vinkun men down the canal from them. "The crippled girl?"
"No," Fiyero said, waiting for the truth to strike.
Sure enough, a second later, Marillot narrowed his stony eyes disbelievingly. "Is she—?"
"Green, yes," Fiyero said, impulsively riled. "But if you even think for a second that—"
"You don't know what I think," Marillot interrupted forcefully, pointing a cross finger in Fiyero's face. "I'm shocked, certainly, as anyone in their right mind would be, but don't you dare project your insecurities about the rest of the world on me! I'm chieftain of a diverse, colorful nation of people. Did you think your acceptance of her skin color was so remarkable, as though you weren't raised in a land of sundry tribes?"
"I didn't mean—"
"Of course you didn't; you're young and naïve," Marillot said condescendingly. Fiyero crossed his arms in front of his chest petulantly. "But I understand your pessimism. Racism has always existed as an epidemic in Oz— against us Winkies, against those Animals you evidently care so much about. But it also exists within our culture as well. You and I are no different than the other mixed men of our lands who are too light to fit in with our countrymen and too dark to blend in to the rest of Oz. I can only scarcely imagine how difficult this girl's life has been to be so…distinctive."
Her green skin is but an outward manifestation of her twisted nature…
This distortion, this repulsion…
She's evil…
Wicked…
A horrible taste settled in his mouth. "You have no idea."
"How would it affect her job as queen?"
"Queen?" he yelped. "I never said anything about marrying her!" Not that there would ever be anyone else.
"But one day you might," Marillot reasoned. "And when that day comes we will have to reprise this unpleasant discussion whether you like it or not. So indulge me. What makes a green girl suited for the crowned prince of my nation?"
Fiyero was crawling within himself, disgusted with having to endorse her for such a role for which she didn't know she was even a contender. He liked to hope for a future with Elphaba but he still had yet to find a middle ground between the distinctive parts of himself – the prince, the soldier, the scandalacious playboy, the inamorato of the most abhorrent person in Oz– and to try to do the same to Elphaba, who didn't even know she had a throne in his castle in the sky let alone in his family home, was preposterous.
But what if, in some idyllic future, she would have him as hers?
"She's the best student at Shiz, bar none," he said grudgingly but proudly. "Scary smart. And she's daughter to the governor of Munchkinland…though it is her sister who will succeed their father."
"Her sister is older?"
"No, just paler and meeker."
"Ah. So…Governor Frexspar is afraid of his eldest."
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to," Marillot said shrewdly. "A weak man fears anomaly and candor and revels in control. A girl like you've described would threaten that and be spurned for it. It says a lot about his character, and there's nothing more valuable than the knowledge of a man of power." Was this one of many lessons his letter invited now that his father had deemed him worthy? The king's hard and focused expression unnerved him. "She sounds like someone I want to meet."
"Perhaps someday."
"No. Tonight, for dinner. Bring her to the club."
"What?" he sputtered. "No, that's not possible."
"And why not?"
"It wouldn't be appropriate."
"Son, it doesn't matter how green she is, she should accept an invitation with me on virtue of her Thropp pedigree alone, regardless of your doting protectiveness of her. Invite her to dinner or I will."
"You misunderstand." Oh hell, he could feel the heated rush under his skin and he tensed at his father's unwavering attention to him in his discomfort. "She doesn't know. A-about me. About how I feel. We're…just friends."
"You're telling me that there's a girl out there who has managed to turn my carefree, unmotivated son into a straight-laced champion of her politics and you're telling me she's just a friend?" Fiyero ground his teeth but didn't argue. What was there to say? That was the patronizing gist of it. Marillot let out an astounded scoff. "Well I'll be damned. Fine. Invite that professor then—I want to know where my money is going."
"I'll see if he is available."
"Does he have any preferences for dinner?"
"I doubt he's finicky." His mouth twitched up at his father's creasy expression. "He's a Goat, after all."
"Well boy, you certainly pick interesting company, don't you?"