running back home (to you)

by Mayverix

Summary:

It was wishful thinking. It had to be the truth. Glinda may not know much but she knew performance, and the more she thought about it the better it fit. Elphaba’s death didn’t make sense. Glinda had seen it with her own eyes and had stupidly believed that was proof it had happened.

Elphaba’s melting shadow had been wearing the hat. Glinda wasn’t sure of the scientification of melting, but surely either all or none of her clothes should have melted. Surely Elphaba herself shouldn’t have melted. Fiyero’s body was missing, and Elphaba’s hat was in her hands.

Glinda stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she realized she must have been crying. She looked crazy. It didn’t matter.

Elphaba was alive.

Notes:

title is from Fresh Out The Slammer by Taylor Swift

rating is maybe closer to G, but we're going with T mostly for the themes of grief

this fic came into being because of two moments in the musical. one is "I just wish that Glinda could know that we're alive." the other is the fact that I think Glinda would try to throw Fiyero a funeral and discover there is no body, and from there I think she would figure some things out.

Chapter 1

Glinda’s journey to the rest of her life began at what felt like the end of it. 

 

Elphaba was dead. Glinda didn’t know how to live with that knowledge, couldn’t figure out how to bear it, so she just didn’t. She pulled her mind away from it, as if her grief would process itself if she ignored it for long enough or replaced it with something productive. She drove the Wizard out of Oz, she locked Morrible up, she went to tell the people what had happened. It was what she could do. It was all she could do.

 

She stared over the crowd and whispered “for good,” a moment of mourning for none alive to hear. She kept it together until her bubble was high and far enough away that no one could see her cry.

 

She travelled around Oz for a few weeks, verifying, reassuring, telling the outlines of Elphaba’s story as best she could. She didn’t try to clear her name, but she wouldn’t lie when asked directly. The people loved her too much to care. She felt like she was dying. 

 

The time passed painfully. Glinda lay in bed at night struggling to make her lungs work, not understanding how she could continue to draw breath in a world where Elphaba didn’t. 

 

She knew she should work to be the person Elphaba had thought she could be, but she wanted to lie down and never get back up. It was a mark of how much Elphaba had changed her that Glinda did not simply take what she wanted.

 

When she made it back to the palace, she found the guards chatting amicably amongst themselves. There was nothing left inside the building to protect, nothing for them to do except follow a futile routine and soak in relief. After all, the terror of the last few years was over. 

 

Glinda didn’t know what to do in the face of their joy. The only person other than her who would have mourned Elphaba had been killed by these very guards. The Gale Force logo shone brightly on each of their chests. Glinda watched the light glint off of it like it would off a blade, and knew in that second that the lot of them would have to go, though not before they outstripped their usefulness. 

 

Glinda internally took all that she was and set it aside, creating a version of herself that could handle this the way it needed to be handled. Glinda the Good could wait, Glinda the Honest and Brave and Not At The Mercy Of Her Need To Be Loved, Glinda as a whole, Glinda as a person. They could all wait. For the moment, Glinda had to be Great and Terrible. She had to be Oz. 

 

“Sir Cherrystone,” she said, voice carrying and commanding and not quivering a smidge. The guards all jumped to attention, and the one she had called stepped forward with a salute. “I want to hold a funeral.”

 

He looked briefly confused, and she clarified, “for my fiance. You remember, you beat him to death, oh, three weeks ago now?” 

 

The colour drained from his face, and she savoured that. The things these men had done in the name of the Wizard were unforgivable, though she was aware that just thinking that made her quite the hypocrite. 

 

“Of course Madame,” Cherrystone said. “A private affair? I can inform the palace staff you will be in mourning for-”

 

“No,” Glinda interrupted. “The people loved Fiyero. They deserve the chance to say goodbye.”

 

Cherrystone hesitated, which was wise. Then he spoke anyway, which was not. “Madame… not to speak ill of the dead, but he was a traitor.”

 

Glinda thought of Fiyero standing in the Wizard’s antechamber and saying “I’m going with her.” She thought of “you know me. I’m always happy.” She thought of his gun to her chest and the moment of complete understanding, the moment of envy, wishing she was brave enough to do for Elphaba what he was doing. 

 

“They don’t know that,” she said, “and they won’t find out. I want his body-” here her voice did waver slightly, exhaustion and grief catching up to her. In the last month her nation had lost its leader. It had undergone complete political upheaval and she had placed herself at the helm. In the last month she had lost the two people she cared about most twice over, first to each other, and then to death. In the last month she had lost everything, and no one could ever know. 

 

She may not have been in love with Fiyero in the traditional sense, but she sometimes felt they acted as one person. He talked a big game, but hadn’t been able to resist the shine and attention of being head of the guard, just as she had fallen into being Glinda the Good. He didn’t understand that she had taken on her role for Elphaba too, that she had moderated the vitriol as much as she could, that every press release Morrible gave came across her desk first and was edited down. He’d had no reason to notice that the hatred against Animals was slowing as people’s attention was directed elsewhere, as she directed it elsewhere with a delicately gloved hand.

 

She hadn’t done enough, of course. Fiyero had. She supposed that was why Elphaba had chosen him. She supposed she hadn’t given her much of a choice. 

 

She couldn’t think about Elphaba yet.

 

Glinda had loved Fiyero in the way she loved herself, and for the last five years he had been her constant companion. She would mourn him, and she would not be deterred from doing so publicly. She cleared her throat. “I assume his body was brought to the morgue and embalmed? We don’t leave our own out to rot, even the treasonous ones. I want him given to the sorcerers in the funerary arts. They’ll make him look asleep, and we can have an open casket.”

 

“Madame, isn’t that a bit-”

 

“You will not say another word about him,” Glinda said, and it was not a request. “I want a focal point, somewhere for people to direct their grief. This celebration will not last, the change Oz is about to go through is not to be understated. An era is ending, and people must grieve it. Fiyero will represent that era. Oh, and I don’t want to see his body until the sorcerers have done their work.”

 

Cherrystone had been getting steadily paler as she spoke, and he was now shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Very good, Madame. Just one small problem.”

 

Glinda raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Yes?”

 

“Fiyero Tigelaar was left to bleed out,” he said slowly. Glinda noted the use of “was left,” the passive voice, the way he distanced himself and the guards from the act of leaving, the act of making Fiyero bleed. “We regrouped to send men after the Witch, and when we returned… he was gone.”

 

Glinda felt her overtaxed and emotionally upturned brain grind to a halt. She stared at the man in front of her—a moment ago so repulsive—as if he was a messenger of the Unnamed God. “Say that again.”

 

“He was gone, Madame. He couldn’t have survived with his injuries for long, but, well. There is no body.”

 

Glinda swallowed hard. “I see. Well then.” She slammed the butt of her sceptre against the floor suddenly, and the guards all jumped. She felt a bit insane. “It’s very late, you’re all dismissed. We will discuss what to do about that tomorrow.”

 

“Madame, we had night shifts under the Wizard.”

 

“Get used to changing a lot of what you did under the Wizard,” Glinda said sweetly, her tone so light that anyone who knew her well would know to be quite afraid. Cherrystone did not know her well.

 

“Madame, for your safety-”

 

“I said. You are dismissed.” 

 

Cherrystone looked to the other guards, then back to Glinda nervously. She gave him her best winning smile. She felt it was the last one she had in her, felt that the cracks in her mask were wide enough to let what was behind seep through, like sunlight through broken stone.

 

Whatever he saw in her face must have been enough to convince him, as Cherrystone turned and rammed his spear into the ground in a melodic pattern. After a moment, guards began streaming out of the palace and marching towards the barracks. Glinda watched them go before she entered. 

 

She walked the empty halls feeling like her mind was on fire. She thought of Elphaba.

 

Elphaba, receiving a note from Chistery. Elphaba, stubborn as sin, suddenly giving up. Elphaba, who had known Fiyero was being taken. Elphaba, who had loved Fiyero. Elphaba, who was the most powerful sorcerer Oz had ever seen. 

 

Glinda thought hard, and did one of the things she did best. She looked for opportunities to lie. She considered how those lies might have been formed, who benefitted from them, and who they had been intended to mislead. 

 

“We’ve seen his face for the last time,” Elphaba had said. Not “he’s dead.” Not “he’s gone.” 

 

Glinda thought of the Tinman, poor Boq telling his story to the murderous masses. If Elphaba could make a person not-a-person, could make that not-person continue to live without a heart, and could do all that for her sister, then surely she could do it for herself.

 

No one had seen the Scarecrow. He had vanished in the aftermath, and rumours ranged from him having left with Dorothy to the Witch killing him in her final stand.

 

Glinda had seen the group enter the Wizard’s throne room, all of them returning from Kiamo Ko alive. Glinda had seen Dorothy return home, alone.

 

She closed her eyes, trying to picture the Scarecrow. His hat had been pulled low over his face, his outfit the same green as that of the Gale Force. He had asked for brains. His voice had been odd, affected, but familiar.

 

It was absurd. It made perfect sense. 

 

Glinda sat heavily on her bed, rubbing her temples. Where would Fiyero go? More importantly, why? He would be hailed as a hero now, no one knew who he really was. He could have come home. He had nowhere else to go anymore, no one else to be with. 

 

I became Captain to find her and I’ll keep looking.

 

What? Water can melt her? People are so empty-headed they’ll believe anything!

 

I’m going with her. 

 

No one else to be with. Unless. 

 

It was wishful thinking. It had to be the truth. Glinda may not know much but she knew performance, and the more she thought about it the better it fit. Elphaba’s death didn’t make sense. Glinda had seen it with her own eyes and had stupidly believed that was proof it had happened. She looked up, over to the hat that lay on her dresser. She’d asked Chistery to put it in her room. None of Elphaba’s other clothes had been left. Why would they have melted while the hat stayed? 

 

Glinda walked over and picked it up, heart beating so fast she felt she might take flight. Elphaba’s melting shadow had been wearing the hat. Glinda wasn’t sure of the scientification of melting, but surely either all or none of her clothes should have melted. Surely Elphaba herself shouldn’t have melted. Fiyero’s body was missing, and Elphaba’s hat was in her hands.

 

Glinda stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she realized she must have been crying. She looked crazy. It didn’t matter. 

 

Elphaba was alive. 

 

Glinda slept with the hat in her arms, the last tangible thing she had of her friend. She woke up with more lucidity, and couldn’t stop the thought that maybe she was just losing her mind. 

 

She gave the idea serious consideration, but it couldn’t explain away Fiyero’s missing body. Even if he’d just escaped, he would need somewhere to go, and only a spell could have saved him from the damage the officers would have inflicted. She needed more evidence. She needed to go back to Kiamo Ko. 

 

She got ready for her day with a vigour she’d thought she would never feel again. Her visit to Kiamo Ko would have to wait a while. The place was politically radioactive, emanating death. 

 

In the meantime, she would investigate in other ways. Glinda hated the hope she was allowing herself, hated how necessary it was. Her heart was wounded enough, but she couldn’t help wishing. In any case, assuming she was right, Fiyero and Elphaba would be trying to leave Oz. A scarecrow and a green woman. The Scarecrow and the Witch. They weren’t exactly an inconspicuous pair.

 

Glinda guessed it would be Animals helping them, and that Fiyero would pick up the slack where that wasn’t possible. That meant there would be scarecrow sightings. Of course, Glinda expected sightings of Elphaba as well as Dorothy’s whole group stemming from a mix of paranoia and basic deceit, but if she was right there would be real ones in there. No one was better at reading Oz’s rumour mill than she was. She would just have to pay extra attention.

 

She left a message on her desk for Chistery, assuming he would come to her at some point. He would know if Elphaba was alive, she realized, and in the same beat realized he would not tell her if he did. His loyalty was admirable, but inconvenient. She tightened her grip on her sceptre and examined herself in the mirror. 

 

She was presenting herself like a queen, tiara and all. The Wizard had presented himself as a king. It was an effective method, but not one she particularly wanted to emulate. 

 

She brushed out her hair, letting it fall into more natural loose curls, and picked out a long powder blue dress with a colour-coordinated overcoat. Glinda knew how to cultivate image, knew exactly what she wanted to be conveying, and tended to be pathological about it. She lifted the matching hat for the dress, then Elphaba’s hat. With a few waves of her hand, her blue hat had straightened and sharpened. She put it on and turned her head, watching herself project philanthropy and vulnerability while steering clear of commonality or performativity. She put the sceptre down and picked up her wand, tucking it into the coat’s belt loops. The people had already accepted her. Now they needed to accept what she would do. 

 

She did not assemble herself the way she usually would before stepping outside, did not create a version of Glinda properly suited to the day. Instead she schooled herself just enough to be sure she would not seem either depressed or manic, and went to give what she decided would be her daily address to the people.

 

She told them she would henceforth be known as Glinda the Good Witch, taking the title Dorothy herself had bestowed upon her. She informed them that there would be a public celebration of life for Fiyero. She did not tell them this was because she did not want to throw a funeral only to have to introduce him back to the public later, as people did not take kindly to that sort of switch. She then informed them that she would be lifting all restrictions on Animals effective immediately.

 

She knew she had to sell it harder than she’d ever sold anything. The people still needed a place to direct their powerful hatred, and like a pack hunter scenting blood, she was going to provide. 

 

“We have used our fear to hurt innocent citizens,” she said, holding the microphone like it was going to marry her, like it was going to be her salvation. “We have become distracted from what really matters. We must stand strong against those trying to divide Oz from the inside. Animals are Ozians too. Remember, when anti-Animal advocates come for the rights of citizens, they could come for yours next. The violence and surveillance that the Wizard didn’t root out are being pulled now, like the weeds they are.”

 

She left the stage to thunderous applause. Within twenty-four hours, pointed hats of various colours had flooded the market.

 

Chistery came to her that night. “You know where she is, don’t you?” She asked. He did not reply. “Alright. Alright, that’s fair. Do you go to her when you leave? You can’t tell me, sorry.” She rubbed her face, exhausted. “Do what you need to do. Keep her safe, if that is what you’re doing. You’re dismissed from service, though you will always have a home here.”

 

He put out his hand for her to shake. “Thank you,” he said, struggling to get the words out. When he left he flew northwest. Glinda made a mental note to pay extra attention to sightings on the route to the Impassable Desert.

 

Inevitably, people began to get restless, but Glinda had not learned nothing from her predecessor. She wasn’t calling for their heads, but she did have enemies and she was happy to share them. She spoke of poachers in the Vinkus, mining companies in Quadling Country, Gillikinese landlords in Munchkinland. Gillikin branded her a traitor and she turned her attention to preserving the architecture and art that gave the place its history, knowing the only way to win them over was through continuity and tradition. Much of it still hated her, but it wasn’t enough to overrule the rest of Oz. She set up a council to hear the most pressing concerns, and arranged it to have as many Animals, Quadlings, Munchkins, and Vinkans as Gillikinese. The Council was her magnum opus, the tool she would use to affect real change.

 

Three days before it launched, she found herself still with one empty seat. She had been saving it, but she had also been putting off the necessary conversation with its intended recipient.

 

Glinda was out of time. She went to find the Tinman. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said when he opened the door. 

 

“Glinda?” He said, and time seemed to become fluid, malleable. They were eighteen again and she was calling him Biq, they were twenty and seeing each other for the last time, they were almost friends, they were almost enemies, they were never anything, really. 

 

“Please, come in,” he stammered, finding himself back in the present and forcing her to do the same. “I’ll make you some tea, we can chat-”

 

“I’m not here for pleasantries Boq,” she said as gently as she could. “I’m here to ask three things of you.”

 

He nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

 

“One is forgiveness. I was cruel to you in school and my actions have touched the rest of your life. It is partially my fault that Nessa bound you to her. It is also my fault that you agreed to be with her in the first place. I am deeply sorry.”

 

Boq blinked at her with the gentle creaking of metal. “Please come in,” he said, sounding extremely overwhelmed. She relented.

 

“I forgive you,” he said as he poured her tea. She thanked him weakly, and they sat in silence for a moment.

 

“The second,” she said, “is that I want you on the Council. You know Munchkinland very well, you have intimate knowledge of the political workings and the general population’s opinion of the Eminencies, and you’re a public hero. You’ll lend credibility and expertise to it, and you’ll be paid well, and-”

 

“I celebrated when you announced it,” Boq interrupted. “You don’t need to sell it to me. I’ll do it. I want to do it. I want the Munchkin voice to be heard.”

 

“Good,” she said, “because the third is that I want you to be Governor.”

 

Boq stared at her like she had grown a second head. “There is a vacancy,” she continued. “The last of the Thropps are… gone.”

 

“Dead,” Boq said gently. 

 

Glinda swallowed hard, and let herself live in the possibility. “Dead,” she repeated. “I think you’ll be right for the job. The people adore you, and you’ll be fair because you know what it’s like to be one of them.”

 

“I need some time to think about it,” Boq said.

 

“You have until The Council’s first meeting in three days’ time,” Glinda replied.

 

Boq arrived in the City the day before the meeting to help her organize the press release, and she realized this man could have been a true friend to her. Perhaps he still would be. 

 

The days blended together. At night Glinda slept holding Elphaba’s hat, both dreading and yearning for the answers she might find at Kiamo Ko. She had to be patient. She felt like it was killing her.

 

Slowly, carefully, she began to leak some choice information about the Wizard’s regime. It was not enough to make the people paranoid, nor was it enough to make them question her, but it was enough. The air of faith and worship that had surrounded him began to fade. Glinda could feel it as it happened. Slowly, the Gale Force was disbanded. The guards were given hefty pensions and airtight NDAs, and Glinda began to hire de-escalation officers. Privately she called them the Breeze Force, and when this was leaked she released a charming statement about the news getting wind of the name. She told the people this was the kind of hand she wanted to take, the gentle hand she wanted to guide with. As the Wizard became less and less prominent in the minds of the people, Glinda made sure to introduce herself as a Witch at every opportunity. It was a small step, but one she knew would work. 

 

Oz’s rumour mill produced sightings of Dorothy and the Witch at an almost equal pace. The only thing Glinda ever paid attention to was the rare whisper that the Scarecrow and the Witch had been spotted together.

 

She organized Fiyero’s celebration of life herself. It was beautiful. She stayed for the entire thing, trading stories with as many people as she could, and did not have to fake her tears. The people loved her more for her vulnerability. 

 

Days turned into weeks, and before she knew it two months had passed. Oz was unfathomably vast, and Fiyero and Elphaba had to be travelling mostly on foot, but she knew she was running out of time. The last sighting she considered reputable had them nearing the Thousand Year Grasslands. If they got beyond the borders of Oz, it would be very hard to get them back.

 

She had slowly lessened her own responsibilities, placing herself back in the role of a face instead of a true ruler. She was working on a five year plan to transition the Council into being an elected body. She knew that the greatest achievement of her rule would be ending it without anyone noticing.

 

Still, this would likely be the work of at least half a decade, and there was an infinite amount to do in the meantime. By candlelight she studied the Grimmerie, decoding and deciphering as best she could. She visited Morrible in Southstairs and cajoled help out of her. 

 

“You’ll never get far in that dear,” Morrible had snapped. “Only Elphaba could read it properly, and that was because of her… unique bloodline.” 

 

“You don’t get to decide what you do and don’t teach me anymore, Madame,” Glinda had replied.

 

There was some magic in her veins, and whether it was that or the parts of Elphaba she always seemed to find in herself she wasn’t sure, but she was making real progress. The spells did not make sense to her, but she could read them, and thanks to Morrible and the transcriptions the Wizard had left behind she knew what most of them were supposed to do. She tested the less dangerous ones with promising results, knowing that to catch someone as powerful as Elphaba she would need to match her.

 

It was a lonely life all in all, but she found herself getting steadily closer to Boq. She could tell his feelings for her had died, a childhood infatuation and a desperate desire for freedom all that had kept them burning. They worked well together as friends, and eventually Glinda trusted him enough to tell him her theory about the Scarecrow.

 

Boq was quiet for a long time. “He didn’t want the Wi- Elphaba dead, I can tell you that much,” He said at last. “And he never told us exactly where he came from. He knew more about Elphaba than perhaps he should have, and after the throne room I never saw him. I hadn’t seen Fiyero in years, I doubt I would have recognized his human face. I assume he wouldn’t have remembered me either. It would make sense.”

 

Glinda knew she was shaking. She put her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “And Elphaba?”

 

Boq looked surprised. “Elphaba?”

 

“Did you see her die?”

 

“I wasn’t in the room. But Glinda- none of this proves anything.”

 

“No,” Glinda said, staring down. She took a deep breath, tossing her hair back. “No,” she repeated, “but it doesn’t disprove it either.”

 

She stood abruptly. “I’ll be taking a public relations trip next week,” she announced. “I’ll visit all of the four corners of Oz. It’s important that people feel close to me, that they interact with me directly.”

 

Boq eyed her. “Will you be visiting the Vinkus?” 

 

“Of course,” she said. “It is one of the corners.”

 

“Yes,” Boq agreed, “but Kiamo Ko isn’t.”

 

Glinda looked at him, her face carefully blank. “Why would I be travelating to Kiamo Ko?” She asked.

 

Boq smiled. “You know, you only use strange words when you’re stressed or playing stupid. You can’t fool me with that anymore, Miss Glinda.” The honorific stopped her in her tracks, threw her back to her University days. Boq was such a time capsule sometimes. “There is an impressive brain in that pretty blonde head,” he said.

 

“Elphaba said something similar to me once,” she admitted, and her tone was far too raw. 

 

Boq watched her carefully. “I am sorry,” he said, “about what I said about her. About what I helped the Wizard do. But you need to accept there is a chance we really did do it.”

 

Glinda rubbed her eyes. “I know,” she said, “but I need to be sure.”

 

“I don’t know what you’ve been told about her death, but it was… vivid,” Boq said. “I did hear her scream.”

 

Glinda smiled ruefully. “So did I.” She hadn’t yet told anyone that she had been there for the melting, too aware of the implications, but she knew from Boq’s expression that her gamble had paid off.

 

He covered for her, taking on the Council’s leading role while she was on her trip. Glinda went to Gillikin first, trying to improve her reputation there, then went clockwise around Oz. It was another month before she made it to Kiamo Ko.

 

The guards who had been stationed there were hand-picked by her. They were all Vinkans, some Animals, mainly Arijiki. Some had known Fiyero personally. They let her pass without question, and she thanked them quietly as she entered.

 

The castle was as large as she remembered, but it did not feel nearly as foreboding. She saw dusty papers dotting the rooms, chairs pushed to the side, items of clothing on the floor. She smiled, remembering what sharing a room with Elphaba had been like. This place was filled with her, but it didn’t feel haunted. It felt like home. 

 

Glinda made it to the central chamber, the window looking out over the plains looming behind her. She lifted a hand and felt her own heartbeat. “For good,” she said aloud to the empty room. It did not echo. She deposited her satchel against the wall, and got to work.

 

Glinda the Good Witch lifted skirts made of the finest fabric money could buy and got down on her hands and knees on the dusty floor. She crawled the length of the room from end to end, then did it again. She sneezed as she kicked up dust, and wiped watering eyes on her jacket. She tapped the floorboards, examined cracks in the wall, eyed the burned down torches in the corners.

 

She crawled to the back corner she had watched Elphaba from, and drew the curtain. She sat in the light of the window and drew lines in the dust with her fingers, trying to pinpoint the place where her shadow had faded from. 

 

She stood for a moment, thinking. Glinda was smarter than almost anyone gave her credit for, but it tended to be in the interpersonal sense. Her brain did not lend itself to this kind of investigative work the way Elphaba’s did. 

 

And Elphaba’s would have, she realized abruptly. Elphaba would know all the facts and angles she had to hit to make everything look right, Elphaba would know how to hide the evidence. 

 

What Elphaba would not know was her audience. She would be focused on making her death look realistic to the girl, not to Glinda. She hadn’t known Glinda would come. This is where she had the edge on Elphaba, the art of performance.

 

Glinda pulled the curtain back and stepped over to where Dorothy had been. She mimed throwing a bucket of water, trying to imagine the splash. Elphaba would have needed to use magic to make it look like she was melting, but there had to be somewhere for her to go. Glinda got on the floor again and ran a sharp pink nail across it. When that nail caught and snapped, she stopped. There was no crack in the floor, yet the nail seemed a quarter inch shorter than it should be, sunk into what appeared to be solid stone. Glinda took out her wand and cast a revealing spell. The air shimmered in a square for a moment, then stopped. Of course, spells Elphaba had cast—with the Grimmerie no less—would be a bit above Glinda’s pay grade. Examining the spot her nail marked like a small pastel flag, Glinda began to run her hands along it. Though her fingers couldn’t feel anything, her nails were finding more edges. She bit off four and marked the corners as she found them. She was grateful the guards hadn’t insisted on accompanying her, knowing how absolutely insane this entire endeavour made her look. 

 

With the borders of the door—because it had to be a door—marked out, Glinda set about studying it. There was no handle of course, no irregularities at all. She knocked on it, and it sounded as solid as the rest of the floor. 

 

It was time to stop holding back. Glinda strode over to her bag, and pulled out the Grimmerie. It always seemed to hum in her hands, and she could never tell if it was warning or welcoming her. 

 

She flipped to the revealing spell she had bookmarked before she left the city, and smiled at her own foresight.

 

She read the words as carefully as she could, and felt the power rise in her throat like honey and glitter, thick and shining. The spell poured out of her with a force she was not used to, and she staggered back to lean against the wall when she finished the recitation. A gold glow seeped into the cracks in the floor, coalescing around the trapdoor. 

 

When it faded, the floor looked exactly the same. Glinda stepped towards it and ran her hands along it, immediately jamming her finger on an invisible handle. She forgot the pain instantly, too excited to care, and pulled up with all her might. 

 

The door creaked as it opened, but she still could not see it. Carefully, she pushed her hand down on the stone. Her arm sank up to the elbow, and she couldn’t feel the bottom. She pulled it out and took off her heels, then spun herself to sit on the edge of the hole, feeling for something with her toes. The edge of her foot grazed metal, and she explored further. There was some kind of metal box about two feet down. Glinda eased herself into it. As soon as her full weight rested on it, it began to quietly and slowly sink. When her head passed through the stone illusion, Glinda looked up and saw that it was one way only, and from below she could see the ceiling of the room above. She examined the box she was standing in, and found gears and pulleys bringing her deeper. She wondered if there was a spell to make tiktok things, or if this had been installed by Fiyero’s family as some kind of basement lift. 

 

When the box touched down, one side of it swung open. Glinda murmured the incantation for light, a spell she could do without the Grimmerie. A glow emanated from her hands, and she held them out in front of her. The chamber was plain stone, but she didn’t take the time to examine its architecture, her eyes stuck on what was thrown in a heap in the corner. 

 

It was unmistakably Elphaba’s dress. Glinda stumbled over to it, hope making her clumsy, and picked it up. It was unzipped. Elphaba had died in that dress, but it had been deliberately taken off. Glinda sank to the ground, pressing it to her face. She felt manic. She wanted to laugh, but it came out as a sob.

 

She’s alive, she thought, she’s alive. Oz, Lurline, God. She is alive. The Witch of the West lives. 

 

She cried into the dress for a long minute, then breathed herself back to a state of equilibrium. When she felt calm enough, she lifted it and shook it out. Something small and white fluttered to the floor. 

 

Glinda bent and picked it up. Her own name stared back at her from a folded piece of paper. 

 

Her hands were trembling so much it took her six tries to unfold it, but unfold it she did.

 

My dear Glinda, it read. Fiyero tells me no one can know we’re alive if we want to be safe, you included. However, if you’ve found this you’ve already figured it out, and if anyone else finds it it will appear blank, so I don’t see the harm. He doesn’t think you will find it, but I know one thing you have in common. You’re both much smarter than you look.

 

Glinda laughed, wiping her eyes before her tears could blot the paper. She read on.

 

I’m sorry for not telling you. Please understand why we felt we had to do it this way. I can’t tell you where we’re going, because truth be told I’m not sure yet. We’re going to leave Oz, try to settle somewhere where no one’s ever heard of us. I’ve read of lands beyond the Badlands, lands just out of reach.

 

But I’m rambling. If you’re here, you haven’t let us go. You must let us go. If there was another way I would take it in a heartbeat, but my name cannot be cleared, it can only dirty yours. Live your own life, Glinda. Do whatever good you can. My dearest wish is as it has always been: I hope you’re happy. 

 

Goodbye, my sweet, and good luck.

 

Forever and for good,

Elphie.

 

Glinda tucked the letter carefully into her pocket, then put her head in her hands. Live my own life? She thought furiously, I tried that. For five years I tried it. Not a day goes by I don’t wish I had gone with you when you asked. You were my life. You still are. 

 

If Glinda was a less selfish person, she would listen. She would let Elphaba and Fiyero go, she would shape an Oz they would never see in their name. 

 

Glinda had never been selfless, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

 

She flew back to the City determined to get a message to Elphaba somehow. She figured news of the Animal bans being lifted had reached her by now, but it clearly wasn’t enough.

 

Drastic times, she thought to herself, and prepared to commit political suicide.

 

Boq stopped her before she could release Elphaba’s official pardon to the public.

 

“Are you out of your mind?” He hissed. “It’s been barely four months!”

 

“She is alive,” Glinda snapped. “I need to make it safe for her to come home.”

 

“This won’t do that! It’ll only drag you down with her. It’ll undo everything you’ve done here.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“I don’t believe you. Another Wizard will rise to take your place, and the Quadlings and Animals and Vinkans and Munchkins will be back where we started. You can’t tell me you don’t care about that.”

 

Glinda sagged against the wall, the fight going out of her. She did care. She cared deeply about how Oz treated people that were different. Maybe it was that seed of difference within herself, the one that made her linger too long when she helped her friends lace up their dresses, the one that made her first three boyfriends dump her for being a prude, the one that made her believe she wanted Fiyero in the same way she believed she wanted everything; focusing so hard on what she should want that she lost sight of what she did. Maybe it was the myriad ways in which Elphaba had changed her, made her better. Whatever the reason, Glinda could not deny that she cared.

 

“What do I do?” She whispered. 

 

Boq shook his head. “You’re the political genius, I’m just the Tinman.”

 

Glinda sprang up. “You’re the Tinman,” she said, “they love you more than they hate her.”

 

“They love you too,” he pointed out, uneasy.

 

“But you're one of the Witch hunters. If you ask me for a pardon, most of the Council will get behind you, and from there most of the population.”

 

Boq shook his head. “I can’t jeopardise  Munchkinland’s chances like that,” he said. “I can’t put us first in the line of fire.”

 

“Fine,” Glinda snapped, “fine. Then I’ll find someone who can.”

 

There was only one other being who really made sense, and it didn’t take her long to track him down.

 

The Lion’s name was Brr, she learned. “It was misguided,” he said mournfully. “She saved me, and I blamed her for it. I want to make it right.”

 

Glinda smiled. “So do I.”

 

She did not mention the risk he took, putting this idea forward as an Animal. She did not share Boq’s logic with him. She told herself that she would handle any Animal related fallout, but she did not warn him of the possibility of it. Great and Terrible, she thought as she left. Good was not always enough.

 

Brr took the idea to the Council as part of their weekly City Hall meeting. In full view of the politically involved Ozian public, The Lion asked for posthumous mercy for Elphaba. The silence was heavier than any Glinda had heard before, and she opened the floor for debate with a barely concealed tremor in her voice.

 

It went as smoothly as it could have. The people were terrified, angry, and uncertain. Brr was brave, steadfast, and sad. Glinda and Boq moderated, the Council heard counter-proposals, and the meeting adjourned with no injuries and the promise of a balanced conclusion after three days of deliberation.

 

They didn’t end up needing three days. Glinda listened to the debate and began to realize that during Elphaba’s reign of terror. the edges of Oz had not been nearly as vulnerable to the Wizard’s propaganda as the centre of it. His veins of power got thinner the farther from the Emerald City they got, and Elphaba had been successfully forcing them back from the fringes. The Wizard had hid the progress she was making, but Glinda suddenly understood why he had been so desperate to capture her. Elphaba was not only the sole powerful dissenting voice in a world of lies, she was succeeding in spreading the truth. More than that, she was charismatic in an inexplicable way that Glinda understood intimately, and there were more people on her side than Glinda would have ever imagined.

 

The Vinkans on the Council saw Elphaba as one of their own because of her time spent there and her efforts in helping the Arijiki while Fiyero was gone. The Animals saw her as theirs because of her marked outsider status and her constant advocacy for them. The Quadlings claimed her for her childhood spent in their swamps and her efforts in removing the Wizard’s pawns. The Munchkinlanders were wary of Thropps in general, but Elphaba had never been in line for the Governorship, and once Boq was on board they all followed suit. The Gillikinese were terribly susceptible to suggestion, and between Glinda, Brr, and Boq they had gotten it into their heads that Elphaba had been some kind of tragic martyr. Glinda was relieved Dorothy was back home, and out of reach of anyone suddenly swinging too far in the other direction. Somehow, the other Witch hunters seemed safe from this political pendulum, their technically clean hands enough to keep them adored.

 

The vote was near-unanimous, the only holdout being a Gillikinese Lord who had been Glinda’s token conservative appointee. He was given the chance to argue his side, was shot down within ten minutes, and acquiesced. 

 

Glinda watched as the people she had lifted to the seat of power in Oz chose forgiveness, and felt truly Good . 

 

For both of us, Glinda thought as she signed the pardon. 

 

She planned for the pronouncement like she was going to war. Every word, every accessory, every movement was deliberate. She sat on the floor the night before it was to be made, strategizing.

 

“Do these heels say noble suffering or out of touch?” Glinda asked, holding up five inch stilettos. 

 

“I don’t know why you think I would have anything helpful to say to that,” Boq said, grinning at her. “I don’t know the first thing about branding myself, you know that.”

 

“But you have had firsthand—or firstfoot—experience with the most important shoes in Oz.” 

 

Boq rolled his eyes. “Seriously, why are you asking me? Don’t you have a PR person? A stylist?”

 

Glinda scoffed. “As if anyone knows how to do this better than I do.”

 

“That still leaves us with the question of why you’re asking me.”

 

Glinda stared at her ridiculous shoes, then took out some sensible black boots. “I don’t know,” she said, “maybe because you’re my only friend in the world right now.”

 

She meant it to come out as a joke. It did not.

 

“That’s pretty depressing,” Boq said. 

 

“Yes, well, my two best friends faked their own deaths and ran off together, so I’m working with the materials at hand alright?”

 

He didn’t respond. Glinda looked up, catching herself in callousness. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unnecessary and cruel. You’re not a replacement or a substitute, you really are my friend.”

 

Boq patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. “I believe you,” he said. He was always gentle with her these days, as if worried she might break. 

 

She stared down at her boots, then asked, “do you think I’m crazy?”

 

He considered the question for a minute. “No,” he said finally. “I think you’ve been through a lot, and that can do things to people.”

 

“Like Nessa?”

 

Boq tensed, and Glinda almost regretted the question. Nessa was a marked absence in their conversations, more notable for not being there. Glinda had told Boq once that it was her fault Nessa was dead. He had thanked her. 

 

“Nessa was crazy,” Boq said. “Maybe my fault, maybe yours, maybe Elphaba’s. Maybe no one’s. She deserved better than what she got, but we deserved better than what she did to us.” He smiled weakly at her. “You’re not about to tell me she’s alive too, are you?”

 

Glinda returned his expression. “No.”

 

She had uneasy dreams that night, half memory and half fiction. 

 

She was back in the Ozdust ballroom, watching tin creep over Boq’s body as he took Nessa to the dance floor. She kissed Fiyero and tasted straw, she watched Elphaba coalesce into herself from a puddle on the ground. She looked up and watched everyone dancing, the moves Elphaba had made and she had changed, and felt what it was like to really work with someone, to really help them. She stared at Elphaba’s hand, wanting to touch her more than she had ever wanted everything. She grabbed it, so used to taking what she wanted. Glinda watched the dancers turn into her Council, each of them touching Elphaba as they passed, each of them making her a little more solid, a little more real. 

 

The dreamscape changed, and she was in the Wizard’s attic, but wearing the teal dress she’d announced her engagement in. She watched Elphaba say “I really hope you get it, and you don’t live to regret it.” 

 

“I will,” she screamed, “I do.” 

 

The guards burst through the door and grabbed her, demanding she tell them everything was going to be alright, that goodness would prevail, that happiness was possible. 

 

One of them became Fiyero, pointing his gun at her in that field. “I’m going with her,” she said to him, throwing Elphaba the hat and running after her into the corn. 

 

“It wasn’t like that,” Elphaba said when she caught up with her. 

 

Glinda took her hand. “Well,” she said, “it was,”

 

Then she watched Elphaba die, as she did most nights. Even the paper proof of her survival tucked into Glinda’s breast pocket every day was not enough to stop this particular nightmare. The curtain wasn’t there this time, and Elphaba’s skin sizzled where the water touched it. It burned through her, and Dorothy turned to Glinda with tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t you save her?”

 

“I will,” Glinda promised, pleaded. “I will.” 

 

Glinda woke with a headache. She groaned, remembered her days of sleeping in and skipping class. She often wondered what would have happened had she gone to history the day that Dillamond had been fired. She realized that constantly combing over and trying to rewrite her own life probably contributed to her odd dreams, and resolved to stop. 

 

Glinda swung her legs over the side of her bed and opened the curtains. This should work. This would work. 

 

She dressed in navy. It wasn’t her colour, but that was the point. She was evoking dissonance from the jump, preparing her audience for the unexpected. She grabbed her sceptre from where it stood propped against the wall and twirled it. Power was in the eye of the beholder, and Glinda was not about to appear weak. She put her hair in a bun and secured it with a sharp silver pin. 

 

“You can do this,” she said to herself in the mirror. “Don’t overthink it.” It was what Fiyero used to say to her, back when she had just started speaking to the public and would get nervous, back when he still cared about her enough to comfort her, when they still had hope for Elphaba’s return. Glinda felt that hope now, pulsing under her skin like a second heartbeat. “For Good,” she said. It had become a mantra of sorts.

 

Glinda stood on the podium with Boq and Brr a few steps back on either side of her. It was a powerful image, and she wielded it well.

 

“My dear Ozians,” she said. “After careful consideration, the Council has reached a conclusion. As proposed by The Lion Brr, and supported by representatives from all four corners of Oz, we have decided to issue an official pardon to Elphaba Thropp. This is an apology, of a kind. The sanctioning of her murder by the previous regime was not the way a governing body should behave. We are leaders, not assassins. We feel that the people of Oz deserve to trust their government, and that atonement for past plunders is an important part of that goal.” Glinda took a deep breath and studied the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as she could. “I understand there will be concerns about this decision. This is not authorization for vigilante justice, theft, kidnapping, or violence of any kind.” 

 

Staring into her audience, Glinda saw openness and understanding looking back. She realized the faith these people had in her was nigh unshakable, and made a decision. She went off script. “As many of you know, I knew Elphaba personally. I know that many of the things people believe she did, she did not ever do. Many of the positive changes we have made in the past few months were things Elphaba was trying to start. Her method may have been different, but there was no room for calm debaterizing in the world we lived in so recently. I hope to continue making Oz better. I wish she were here to see it.” Glinda blinked back tears, but made sure they would still be visible. “Since she isn’t, this seemed the right thing to do.” 

 

She glanced over to Boq who was miming writing something, and quickly added, “The Council will be setting up mailboxes in different areas of Oz. If you have further concerns, please write to us. We are here to help. Thank you all for learning and growing with us.” 

 

She stepped off the podium to loud applause and immediate conversation. She left the Council to answer questions and all but ran for her room. When she got back to her quarters she fell onto the bed dramatically. She had done it. They had accepted it. Her friends could come home. 

 

It was almost worse, wondering if Elphaba would choose to return now that she had the choice. Glinda touched the piece of paper tucked close to her heart. She would have faith. She had to. 

 

Many of the flying Monkeys had chosen to work for her, winging around collecting complaints and requests from the citizens of Oz. They were paid well, and Glinda knew their new image as kindly messengers would help Elphaba’s case. She left a blue ribbon tied to her balcony now, an invitation. 

 

A Monkey by the name of Listril flew in a few minutes later. Glinda greeted her with a smile and a coin.

 

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I’m not asking you to tell me if you do, but do you know where Chistery is?”

 

Listril nodded, and Glinda beamed. “That’s fantasterrific. If you could bring this to him and have him deliver it, I would be in your debt.” 

 

Glinda held out an envelope. It was addressed to the Scarecrow in case of interception. In it was a copy of the pronouncement and a note to Elphaba that read, I broke my promise. Please come home. 

 

Listril took the envelope and nodded again. Glinda thanked her, and watched her fly away. It was the same direction Chistery had gone months ago, which put her mind somewhat at ease. 

 

She collapsed into a padded armchair and just sat there for a few minutes, trying to keep her hope under control. It was overwhelming, that hope. It drowned her like an undertow, it wrecked her against sharp rocks like the sea. It hit in waves, and every time she felt she had managed to temper it, it would build to another crest. 

 

After an indeterminable length of time she heard a metallic knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, and Boq stepped inside. 

 

“I can’t believe you almost forgot the mailboxes,” he said. 

 

“I was improvising a bit,” she admitted.

 

He snorted. “I noticed. It was the right move though. You’re good.”

 

She smiled. “I know what you mean.”

 

He sat down next to her and just looked at her for a minute. “How are you feeling?”

 

Glinda opened her mouth and was surprised to hear how shaky her exhale was. The tears she had felt before began to suddenly spill as if they had just remembered they’d been denied the chance earlier. “Oh damn it all,” Glinda snapped, angry at her body for betraying her. “It went well. It went really well, why do I feel like it’s over?”

 

“Because it’s out of your hands now,” Boq said, passing her a tissue.

 

“I just miss them,” Glinda cried. “I miss her. I’ve been missing her for longer than I ever knew her. I just don’t know what to do now.”

 

“You keep working,” Boq said, not unkindly. “Keep helping people until you have something else to focus on. You’re doing real good here, Glinda.”

 

“I don’t care,” she whispered.

 

Boq laughed. “Yes you do. We just proved that.”

 

“If I could undo all of this and it would mean getting her back, I’d do it.”

 

Boq shrugged. “Then we’re all lucky that’s not a choice you’ve been given.”

 

Glinda said nothing to that. She found herself thinking about it after he left. He was right, it wasn’t that she didn’t care. She was just aware of the things she cared about more. There was a seed of unwavering, unselfconscious selfishness embedded into her soul, and she knew it made her undeserving of her position and even less deserving of Elphaba. Yet it was that same selfish nature that made her so good at what she did, and that was going to help her bring Elphaba back home. Selfish people got things done, something Glinda had always known. 

 

Fiyero had been unflinchingly, heartbreakingly selfish. She wondered if he told himself he was a hero, saving Elphaba, nearly dying for her. Glinda knew better. He had taken what he wanted with reckless abandon, and he was out there somewhere now. As always, she did not begrudge him his victory. She only envied it. 

 

Still, she had been as selfish as she could. Boq was right. It was time to keep working. 

 

So she kept working. Speech therapy for Animals who wanted to learn, sorting through every letter from any Ozian with a concern, training with the Grimmerie, waiting, strengthening protections against tyranny, reorganizing the Emerald City, waiting, removing power from the aristocracy so gently they barely noticed, waiting, waiting, waiting.

 

Fiyero, the asshole, didn’t give her any warning. 

 

She was writing in her office one evening, trying to figure out phrasing for a proposal to help with the homelessness problem in Gillikin when there was a timid knock at the door.

 

“Come in,” she called, and a member of the palace staff entered. Glinda had released them all early on into her reign, but many were good at and loved their jobs, so Glinda just raised their pay and increased their benefits. The palace was their home, and they had chosen to stay. “Ah, hello Pilmeny. What can I do for you?”

 

“You have a visitor, Miss Glinda,” the girl said. Glinda could tell she was rather excited.

 

“Unannounced?” Glinda asked. “Alright, who is it?”

 

“Well, Miss, it’s the strangest thing. He walks up to the gates, happens ten times a day, but people are craning their necks around to get a glimpse. He’s got a big hat on, one of those farmer ones, so I went down to see what all the fuss was about.”

 

Glinda felt like she was going to either throw up or dance a jig. “And?”

 

“And… well, you won’t believe me Miss, but it’s the Scarecrow. The Scarecrow, I mean. He said to tell you he’s here, and that you were expecting him. Though from your face I think maybe he was pulling my leg.”

 

“No, I was, thank you,” Glinda said, feeling faint. “I just thought I’d have some warning. Alright. I’ll come down to meet him, give me a moment.”

 

“Of course, Miss. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

 

“Yes, do,” Glinda said. “Pilmeny?”

 

She stuck her head back through the door. “Yes?”

 

“Was he- did he come alone?”

 

“Yes Miss.”

 

“Alright. Go on.”

 

Glinda gave herself sixty seconds. Twenty to be irritated that Fiyero hadn’t written back to tell her he was coming, twenty to worry about Elphaba, and twenty to dread the idea that she was about to see the Scarecrow’s face, and there was still a chance she’d been wrong. 

 

Then she took a deep breath, arranged her face appropriately, and walked out of the office. 

 

~

 

Fiyero waited impatiently in the palace foyer. It was odd to be a guest in the place he’d lived for five years, but he knew it was for the best. Everything seemed to have changed for the better in his months away. The Emerald City had been thriving, full of people of all kinds, people of kinds Fiyero had never seen, people of kinds he’d never thought he would see here. There were Vinkans in the shops he passed. He wanted to run in and ask them things, their tribe, their honours, but he would catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window and stop. His deep brown skin had become cloth of the same shade, his braided hair dark sticks. Colour palette was all he shared with his people now, at least from their perspective.

 

He was brought out of this reverie by the familiar clicking of heels on stone. He knew from the rhythm of it that it was Glinda, and that she was exceptionally anxious. It hurt, the little intimacies he still held for her, the knowledge that comes with sharing a life with someone for years. 

 

He wondered what of their past selves they would still recognize in each other now.

 

Glinda—Glinda the Good Witch, as the newspapers Elphaba always made him get told them she called herself—turned the corner. The Scarecrow turned to look at her as she stepped into his line of sight. 

 

“Hello,” he said, in a voice he knew he shared with the man she’d almost married. 

 

Glinda didn’t even blink. Instead, she said, “pleasure to meet you Mr. Scarecrow! Or do you go by Mr. Crow? Well, we can talk about that later. I heard you wanted to see me. Come, we’ll go to my quarters.” 

 

She started walking immediately. Fiyero didn’t follow. “Come,” she said slightly more forcefully, and years of conditioning ensured that he did. “Pilmeny, this man and I have much to discuss. I will arrange quarters for him tonight if he stays, please see to it that we are not disturbed. We will take dinner in my rooms” The woman who had greeted him nodded and set off through a different door. 

 

Glinda led him upstairs silently, walking into her room and shutting and locking the door behind them, then turned to look at Fiyero. He took off his straw hat and smiled at her. Elphaba had told him more than once (usually while insisting he let her help make him a disguise if he was going to be anywhere near Gale Forcers) that he still looked human, underneath it all. He wondered if that’s what Glinda was seeing now, or if she was seeing all the ways in which he no longer was.

 

“Hey, Glin,” he said. 

 

She scrunched up her face, and he readied himself for a laugh, a scream, for her to start demanding he explain himself.

 

Instead, she sobbed. A split second later he found himself with his arms full. He caught her, holding her up when she collapsed against him. She was weeping, crying like she was exorcising some part of herself. He held her close, wondering if it was the last time he would, wondering if she remembered the happy moments they’d spent like this or the horrible ones. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. It seemed the only thing to say.

 

She calmed herself down after a minute, going to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, then stopping to grab a tissue. That made him smile. Glinda the Good Witch, like Glinda the Good, like Galinda Upland, would not dream of getting saline on silk. 

 

Fiyero deposited her onto her favourite armchair, then looked around. He realized he was looking for his usual seat, the shining red one that he would always spin around and sit backwards on.

 

“I got rid of it,” Glinda said quietly. He looked over to her. She was watching him with… trepidation? Guilt? It wasn’t an emotion he could remember ever seeing on her before. “The night you left, the first time. After our engagement ball.”

 

Fiyero blinked at her. “Ah,” he said, and sat on her desk chair instead. In spite of himself, he asked “got rid of it?”

 

Glinda smiled. “Well. I set it on fire.”

 

Fiyero raised his eyebrows, almost impressed. “I guess that’s fair.”

 

She hummed, and started fiddling with her necklace. 

 

He watched her, looking out the bay window to the city below. It was as populated and peaceful as ever, but more colourful than he had ever seen it. “Glin… what have you been doing?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Fiyero studied her for a moment before answering. “I saw Animals on my way here, more than I’ve ever seen in my life, working in the banks, in the schools, everywhere. I saw Vinkans, too, common Vinkans. I don’t know if I ever saw another Vinkan the entire time we lived here. And the palace! There were no guards. In fact, I haven’t seen a Gale Forcer in the city at all. We’d heard that the Wizard was gone, and that you were changing things, but this is…”

 

“Wonderful?” 

 

Fiyero laughed. “Yeah. You did this?”

 

“I had help,” Glinda said, and he grinned. “What?”

 

“Nothing. I guess I just never thought I’d see you being modest.”

 

“Yes, because I’m the one who’s changed,” Glinda said with a smile, gesturing at him.

 

“You have, though,” he said quietly.

 

“I know.” Glinda took a deep breath, then on the exhale said in a rush, “is she okay?”

 

Fiyero smiled. “Yes. She’s not far.”

 

Glinda slumped back against the cushioned back of the chair and put her head in her hands. “Thank god,” she whispered.

 

“Thank goodness,” Fiyero said wryly. 

 

“How is she? How are you? Where have you both been, where have you been staying? Where were you going? Why-”

 

“Alright, alright, hold your horses!” Fiyero exclaimed, and Glinda huffed.

 

“She would hate that expression.”

 

The edge of distaste in her voice made him pause. “You hate it, don’t you?”

 

Glinda shrugged. He kept looking at her. “It’s distasteful,” she blurted, “it doesn’t differentiate between Horses and horses. It allows us to casually compare Animals to beasts of burden that we control. It seems small, but ingrained prejudice like that has been one of the most solid barriers to what we’ve been doing. It was part of what made it so difficult for us to legally change the definition of Persons.”

 

Fiyero stared. If not for the obvious aesthetic differences, she could have been Elphaba. “Have you been… studying?” 

 

“I had to,” she muttered. “How else could I have made Oz actually fair? I didn’t know enough. I never cared enough. I didn’t know anything.” 

 

Comprehension broke over Fiyero like the first rays of sunlight over a desert plain—a straight, uninterrupted shot. He realized that Glinda had changed Oz, all of Oz. He realized that she really cared about everything she was doing. He realized that despite that, she had first and foremost done it all for Elphaba.

 

“Elphaba’s doing well,” he said, deciding he would rather answer her questions than process that just yet. “I’m doing well. She’s missed you. We both have. She misses Oz. I think she misses herself, she’s had to hide so much of it. I call her Fae where anyone else can hear, Elphaba’s not a common enough name. We’ve been… well, everywhere. We travelled around the fringes, trying to find a way to safely enter the Badlands. We hadn’t found one yet, and she was also looking into disguise spells so we could just pretend to be normal people and live in the Vinkus somewhere. We were staying with mostly Animals, a lot of them rebels who helped her over the last few years. I can go where I need, of course, so when we were desperate I would just get a room somewhere and she would sneak in. Did I miss anything?”

 

Glinda started to shake her head, then stopped and said, “yes.” Fiyero waited. Glinda looked down, then said to her lap, “why didn’t you tell me?”

 

It was the most hurt he’d heard her since that night in the Wizard’s throne room. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We should have. She wanted to. But news of the Wizard’s departure hadn’t reached us yet, and I wasn’t willing to risk any message being intercepted.” He paused, then took a risk. Flattery had always worked wonders on the old Glinda. “Besides, it seems you figured it out all on your own.”

 

She smiled, wiping her eyes. “Well,” she said, “I tried to throw you a funeral and was told there was no body.” 

 

Fiyero grinned back. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” he said.

 

“So… Can I see her?” Glinda asked. She sounded so, so young. Fiyero’s heart ached. Glinda was such a master of performance, but he’d never found her difficult to read. He could see it all on her face now, every emotion etched like a word. Guilty, terrified, hopeful, lonely, and frantically in love. 

 

“Of course,” he said. “But not here.”

 

“Where?” 

 

Fiyero glanced around, saw the open window and the people below. Glinda noticed.

 

“Fi, it’s safe.” The nickname lodged itself in his chest. Oz, he had missed her. They may never have loved each other the way they were supposed to, both sighing Elphaba’s name in their sleep, but they did love each other and he had nearly forgotten that. 

 

Glinda seemed to notice his sudden emotionality, and reached out to grab his hand. “I would never do anything to put her in danger,” she said, desperately. “I always tried to keep the worst of it away from her, and now I can do so much more than that. I wasn’t brave or strong enough when she needed me to be but I am now. You can trust me. You can trust me with her.”

 

He squeezed her hand, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I know. I know. I just can’t-”

 

“Lose her again? Believe me, I understand.” Glinda smiled. “So protective. It’s like you’re married already.” Fiyero hesitated, and Glinda raised her eyebrows. “Are you?” 

 

She was doing an admirable job of hiding it, but again, he knew how to read her. There was pain, anger, and jealousy behind her eyes, but he was suddenly convinced that if he and Elphaba had been getting married, Glinda would officiate it herself and never say a word about how she felt. These revelations were many and crushing, an avalanche of comprehension, boulder after boulder. Loneliness had made Glinda selfless. They couldn’t have that. Selfishness got things done. 

 

“No,” he said. “Not at all.” He paused, unsure of how to explain it to her. “We’re not… together, anymore, not like that.” 

 

Glinda squinted at him. “Just two friends on the run?”

 

And how to explain? How to describe that feeling, when the first person you ever love is someone you barely know? It is the feeling you get when your life goes to hell and you convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, if you had just been with that one person, things would have been different. Things would have been better. How to explain that the real person each of them were could never match the fantasy they’d created of each other? How to describe that the real person was so much better, but still convey that it was not the same and didn’t need to be? He and Elphaba had never been friends first, had never thought to see if they worked better that way, had never been given the chance to. They did not fit neatly into the definition of any type of relationship. Their sheer aloneness in the face of a hostile world meant they did things couples would, but the reality of their relationship was too circumstantial and mercurial to ever last as truly romantic. 

 

Most impossibly, how to explain to Glinda that he had gotten what she truly wanted and chosen to let it go? 

 

“We knew each other for a single second in school, and a single second in an impossible situation,” he said. “I love her. It’s impossible not to. I gave everything for her, and I would do it again. But we were one spark, you know? One. We were fast, and powerful, and perfect for a single second. Our relationship just wasn’t built to last like that, so we chose stability instead. We aren’t just anything. But we aren’t that.”

 

Fiyero watched as this sunk in. Then he added, “anyway, she’s sort of mad at me right now?” 

 

Glinda blinked, registering the tone change. He watched as her expression shifted to match it, a single, fluid movement, and thought the same thing he’d thought the first day he met her. You’re good. 

 

“What did you do?” She asked with a smile. 

 

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t give her your letter.”

 

Glinda said nothing for a moment. Then in a tone so calm he wanted to start running she said, “you what?”

 

He looked her in the eye. “I hid it. I wanted time to think, to see if it was actually safe. I wanted to listen to people’s conversations, see what the general attitude was. She may not be meltable, but she’s not immortal either. I wasn’t willing to risk it.”

 

“You could have told her all of that,” Glinda said like it was obvious, which, alright, it was.

 

“I could have,” he said, “but she would have come right back here the moment she saw that you said ‘please.’” 

 

Glinda stared at him, uncomprehending. He looked away. “Let’s just say you’ve been as present in my relationship with her as she was in mine with you.”

 

Glinda—gossipy, prying Glinda, who always wanted to know in great detail what everyone thought of her—did not ask any follow-up questions. This solidified for Fiyero that she must be terrified. Whether she was more scared of the possibility of being right or being wrong, he didn’t know. He wanted to help her, but he truly did love Elphaba, and wasn’t yet sure Glinda could be trusted with her life or her heart. 

 

“She wanted to come with me, here,” he said, breaking the silence. “I told her I couldn’t let her just stroll into the Emerald Palace in broad daylight.”

 

Glinda grinned. “Bold as brass and green as grass,” she said, and Fiyero barked a laugh. “How did you manage to convince her to stay out of sight? I can’t imagine her listening to… well, anyone.”

 

“I promised I would bring you to her,” he said.

 

Glinda dropped her head down, hiding her face. Fiyero took a moment to look around, giving her a second of privacy.

 

“You will take me to her?” Glinda said, and it came out as a question. 

 

“Of course. At night though, please. I need to be sure.”

 

Glinda nodded. “Fine.” She looked out the window. She looked proud. “I hope she does get to see this place though, someday soon.”

 

Fiyero followed her gaze. “The city you made for her,” he said. 

 

Glinda nodded again. No defence, no pretence. An admission. A confession. It struck Fiyero that he had taken Elphaba away from the world she cared about so much, and had torn her from her life to keep her safe. He didn’t regret it, he had seen no other option. But Glinda had. Glinda had built her a better world she could be safe in. He watched his ex-fiancée survey her city, and he knew that he could trust her with this, with Elphaba.

 

“It still doesn’t feel real,” she said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her. “Even with the note. Even with you, here, alive, telling me she is too. I keep thinking I’m going to wake into the nightmare of those first weeks, that this was all some wonderful dream.”

 

Fiyero touched her shoulder, grounding. He was familiar with that feeling, and knew nothing he said could help with it. It had taken months for him to start trusting that Elphaba was just in another room when he woke to an empty bed, and he hadn’t even had to deal with thinking she was dead. 

 

Glinda sniffed, and he looked away again to give her a second to surreptitiously wipe her eyes. They’d never been good at sharing their vulnerabilities, understanding each others’ weak spots too well for it to be anything but unnecessary and awkward. 

 

“Well, we have lots to talk about in the meantime,” she said after a moment, spinning around to face him. “Like logistics!”

 

“Logistics?” Fiyero asked warily.

 

“Whether you want to be re-integrated into society as The Scarecrow, as yourself, or not at all. I’ll ask her too, though that might be a bit more confusifying.” 

 

“I think Fiyero Tigelaar needs to stay gone,” Fiyero said. It wasn’t the option he wanted, but it was the one he figured would be best. Besides, he thought, looking down at his straw hands, it’s the option that feels true.  

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

Fiyero shrugged. “It’ll save both of us from the broken engagement scandal. Besides, people tend to dislike it when public figures suddenly rise from the dead.” 

 

“I did think of that,” Glinda said. “I threw you a ‘celebration of life’ instead of a funeral.” Fiyero smiled at her aggressive use of air quotes. 

 

“Smart,” he said, “but still, it’s less complicated this way. The layers of this situation-” he gestured towards himself, “well, no one can really understand.”

 

Glinda grabbed his arm suddenly and he startled. “Boq can!” She exclaimed.

 

He furrowed his brow at her. “Boq? That munchkin from Shiz who was obsessed with you?” 

 

Glinda beamed. “Yes. These days he’s better known as…” she paused, and he realized it was for dramatic effect.

 

“As?” He prompted.

 

“The Tinman.”

 

Fiyero blinked twice. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“I’m not!” Glinda squealed, delighted. “He’s been excellent, actually, really lending credibility and perspective to the Council. And he’s been a great friend.”

 

“He tried to kill her,” Fiyero said, a warning in his voice.

 

Glinda glared at him. “I would never put her in danger, do you understand me? Never. If I say something is safe for Elphaba, I mean it is safe for the Eminent Thropp, the Wicked Witch of the West, Elphie, Fabala, Fae.” Fiyero realized this was the first time she’d said Elphaba’s name. Glinda continued. “I mean that I have checked, and double checked, and enacted precautions, and it is safe for everyone she has ever been and everyone she will ever be. You’re right that I can’t guarantee that the city is safe. But I can guarantee that Boq is. He’s done his penance. He and Brr—that’s the Lion—helped me get her pardoned, which is the reason either of you are even here.”

 

Fiyero held his hands up, placating. “Alright, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

She smiled. “You’ve changed inside too, you know. Apologizing. Empathizing.”

 

“I guess she just has that effect on people.” 

 

Glinda laughed, and looked towards the door. He could feel her restlessness, but as much as he trusted her, he was not willing to lead her to Elphaba in the harshly revealing afternoon light. 

 

“Alright,” he said, “tell me about what you’ve been doing. Tell me how you’ve changed the city so much in six months, I’m dying to know. And how did you get rid of the Wizard?”

 

Glinda explained thoroughly, starting from the beginning. When she told him about two green bottles years apart, Fiyero’s hand flew to his mouth. “No,” he said. She just nodded. Fiyero winced. “Are you going to be the one to tell her?”

 

Glinda shrugged. “If she wants me to.” 

 

She told him of Morrible’s incarceration, of a dawning realization, of a quiet loss of mind. He reached for her when she talked about telling the people about Elphaba’s ‘death,’ and she let him. 

 

“How did you explain my death?” He asked when she mentioned his celebration of life.

 

“Oh that,” Glinda said. “You know Morrible was planning to make it out like the Witch had killed you while you were in pursuit? Well, I couldn’t very well say that could I? So I told the truth, at least a version of it. I said you were killed mistakenly by members of the Gale Force who were far too eager in attempting to apprehend the Witch. It didn’t harm her reputation, and it was during the time I was disbanding the Force.”

 

“You made me a martyr?” Fiyero asked.

 

“Does that upset you?”

 

“No,” he said, “it’s smart.” It was selfish, too, and it had worked. Who was he to complain about that?

 

She eyed him silently for a second. “What?” He asked.

 

“Always happy,” she said pointedly. He winced. He had lied to her a lot in their years together, sometimes unintentionally, other times less so. Whenever Glinda cared enough to, she could always spot a lie.

 

“Alright. I don’t love it. I’m glad it worked though, that system was monstrous.”

 

“What upsets you about it?” Glinda asked, and he could tell she was really trying to understand. Are you studying? He thought again.

 

“I’m a hero to these people, for a terrible reason. I’m a martyr to them for a lie. I don’t get to be human anymore, fine. But I don’t even get to be me anymore.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he could tell she meant it. 

 

“I’ll forgive yours if you forgive mine,” he said, making light of the millions of tiny transgressions that lay between them, knowing the big ones could not be forgiven when they were so entirely understood. It was odd, he reflected, spending time with a woman who was almost a mirror. It was a shock after only Elphaba for months. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. 

 

“Deal.”

 

Glinda told him about setting up her council, recruiting Boq, the smear campaign waged against her by Gillikinese high society, the progress she had made in removing impediments against Animals, and her trip to Kiamo Ko. 

 

“You can read the Grimmerie?” He asked, startled.

 

Glinda tilted her hand from side to side. “It’s not easy. I got some help from Morrible, but I don’t know. I think it accepts me.”

 

“Accepts you? Is it sentient?”

 

“It’s ancient. It’s unknowable. Maybe. I think it wants me to return it to her.”

 

She continued, telling him about Elphaba’s note, about her decision to clear her name no matter what. Fiyero was intimately familiar with that desperation. Glinda had always been the one to stop him, half out of genuine fear for his life and half for her own self preservation. 

 

“Who stopped you?” He asked, knowing full well that backing down wouldn’t have been a decision she could have made on her own.

 

“Boq. He told me it would undo everything I’d done.”

 

Fiyero looked at her for a minute. “You almost did it anyway, didn’t you?”

 

“I did do it anyway, didn’t you get my mail? I just had a script. A plan.” She looked up at him, eyes intense, and he understood that they had taken different routes to the same conclusion. They had both chosen Elphaba over everything.

 

“Do you like your position?” He asked. 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Being Glinda the Good. Being in charge. Do you like it?”

 

She waved a hand. “I’m not really in charge, I’m more of a figurehead. The Council does more than I do.”

 

“Do you like being a figurehead?” He asked again.

 

“It does good,” she said quietly. “Real good. I’m helping people, I’m changing things, and I’m good at it.”

 

Fiyero took note of that answer, clear as if she’d actually said it. No. 

 

They talked until the sun began to set. A woman came to check in on Glinda around then, bringing food which they accepted gratefully. Glinda thanked her by name, something she had done with the palace staff as long as they’d lived there, in the shadow of the Wizard. Fiyero had always been impressed by how many names she could remember. She’d told him once that it was her mother’s training, what with the Arduenna clan’s vast numbers and the importance of knowing exactly which gestures to use when greeting someone of whatever standing. They’d been similar on that point too, loving but very distant relationships with family members who really were as shallow as they pretended to be. 

 

Fiyero suggested they go at midnight, and Glinda scoffed. “Yes, because there’s nothing suspicious about that. If what you want is the cover of darkness, we go as soon as it gets dark. The city is alive at any time of night.”

 

Fiyero agreed, and Glinda was standing the second the Time Dragon Clock closed its eyes. “I have to change,” she said, “put this on, cover up a bit.” She threw a dark green cloak at him, and he realized it was actually his. 

 

“Didn’t get rid of all my things then?” He asked.

 

“Of course not,” she said, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was because she hadn’t wanted to let go or because she couldn’t stomach throwing out such fine fabric, so he asked. She grinned, unbuttoning her dress. “Both.” 

 

“Are you changing here?” He asked. 

 

“Oh,” she said, stopping. “Right.” It hung there for a moment, the knowledge of what they no longer were and never properly had been. Then Glinda shrugged and continued undressing. “Nothing you haven’t seen. Turn away, if you like.”

 

He wasn’t about to negotiate that relational minefield, so opted to rifle through her closet to see what else of his she had kept. 

 

“Alright,” she said. He turned to find in her a satin blue dress with white lace slits opening onto a white petticoat. The sleeves were off shoulder, the neckline heart-shaped. He stared.

 

“Did you- did you dress up?” 

 

Glinda blushed furiously. “Well you didn’t warn me you were coming,” she huffed. “I was in my work clothes.”

 

Fiyero bit his lip to keep from grinning. It was so Glinda to be dressing up for a reunion, and clearly using that as a way to assuage her nerves. He was glad she hadn’t become entirely unrecognizable.

 

She threw on a black cloak over the dress. It covered it completely, and with the hood up he couldn’t see her face, yet the cut and material made her look simply like a stylish woman in a hurry. It was clearly designed to hide someone while keeping them from looking suspicious, and it did its job admirably.

 

“Did you just have that?” He asked.

 

“Must you critique all of my clothing choices?” She demanded. “I made it recently. Sometimes I like to just exist in the city instead of above it.”

 

Her sewing had always been impressive, the care and consideration she had for fashion shining through each piece. No one had known Glinda the Good made most of her own dresses, as it just hadn’t fit the image of the distant but loving aristocrat. He wondered if she’d told anyone that Glinda the Good Witch was a seamstress.

 

She grabbed a piece of paper and began to scribble something on it. “A note for Boq,” she said in response to Fiyero’s quizzical look. “Letting him know I’m with the Scarecrow, and to handle anything that might arise while I’m gone.” She dropped it into a box that folded into her wall. Sorcery was generally lost on Fiyero, but he trusted that the note would find its recipient.

 

He offered his arm, and she linked hers through it. “Off to see the Witch,” he said, and they went.

 

Glinda took him out through the servant’s entrance, and they walked down the street with their heads close together, like just another pair of lovers taking in the splendour of the Emerald City at night. Fiyero could feel Glinda getting steadily tenser as they went, and he put one hand to her back, pressing lightly. Comfort and strength, the way he used to give it to her before public appearances, standing solidly at her side. 

 

They took a train to the outskirts of the city, keeping their heads low and covered. No one looked at them twice.

 

Fiyero led her to a small house at the edge of the north end of the city, and executed a complicated knock on the door. There was the sound of some elaborate unlocking, then it swung open. 

 

“You scared me, Mr. Fiyero, being out so late,” Janera said. She was a tall and elegant Antelope who had worked in Animal resistance movements for years. “Miss Fae’s been beside herself. I had to sit by the door for a while to make sure she wouldn’t charge out looking for you.”

 

“Sorry about that Janera,” Fiyero said. “We wanted to wait until dark.”

 

She waved him off with a shake of her hoof, then turned to Glinda. “And this is?” Glinda removed her hood. Fiyero stepped forward to make introductions, but Janera beamed and said, “Lady Glinda! I didn’t recognize you under there. How are you?”

 

“I’m well, thank you Janera. How are you? How’s your daughter?”

 

She stamped a hoof on the floor, clearly satisfied. “She’s just fantastic. Her writing job’s been fully reinstated, thanks to you. She’s even been promoted!”

 

“Well that’s nothing to do with me, Kallio’s a great writer,” Glinda said with a warm smile.

 

Fiyero watched, amazed in spite of himself. He’d had to stop Glinda from running here, had to physically hold her back so they wouldn’t look suspicious. As she talked she was taking off her cloak, and her hands were visibly shaking. He knew she was dying to see Elphaba, and knew she had no reason to need this Antelope on her side, so the only explanation was that she just genuinely knew and cared about her. Knew her and her daughter by name and cared enough to ask about her family. He wondered if a person could actually change this much in six months, or if he’d just never paid enough attention over six years to notice it happening.

 

“Well, let me take you up,” Janera said, clapping her hooves together. “We shouldn’t leave Miss Fae waiting, she might pace a hole through my floorboards.”

 

Glinda went very quiet, and Fiyero put his arm out to steady her, seeing that the trembling had spread. Janera pushed a loose board in the wall, and a section of the ceiling unfolded into a ladder, clearly a tiktok thing. Glinda started up it, and Fiyero followed.

 

“Fiyero, is that you?” Elphaba’s voice came from behind a door in the surprisingly spacious attic. “I swear, if you’d taken any longer I was going to send out a search party. I mean honestly,” she continued, flinging the door open. “How long can it take to-”

 

“Elphie?” Glinda said, voice too small for the amount of emotion it held.

 

Elphaba stopped. Everything stopped. It wasn’t metaphor, it was magic. Oz hung in that moment, Time Dragon Clock unticking under Elphaba’s accidental spell. Fiyero couldn’t be sure how long it lasted. Time meant nothing when time was unmoving.

 

Then everything started again, and like thunder following lightning, Elphaba whispered, “Glinda.”