Disclaimer: Wicked and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.

Part I

You see?”

He saw. You are going to be married to the heir of a highly esteemed family…

Elphaba crumpled the letter into a tiny ball. “Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck every last one of them.”

Fiyero put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to—not if you just tell your father that we’re married.”

“Tell him?” Elphaba raised her head. “If it were as easy as that, Fiyero, we wouldn’t have been keeping it secret for the last year and a half, would we? If it were as easy as that, life would also be a hell of a lot simpler.”

Simpler. Relatively, what did that mean? The constant feuds, the hidden marriage, the work for the Resistance, trying to simultaneously keep up with school, keeping all this up after graduation. Well, in this situation it didn’t look like there’d be any problems. Just dealing with a fucking arranged marriage…

“Who are they?”

She looked up at him. “The Sakvils.”

No. Bloody no. “As in Tellion and Minna Sakvil? The Loyalists and Purists that are on the list of top ten worst adversaries right up with the Wizard?”

“You answered it yourself. It’s not a very common name, Fiyero.”

“But—but the Sakvils! They’re one of the oldest and richest families in Gillikin; their mansion alone must cost more than the national debt, and so much of the money poured into hate—”

“I know about them!” she yelled at him. “I knew about them already, and now it looks like I’ll have to know much more about them!”

“What’s his name, anyway? I didn’t know they had an heir—couldn’t be just a son with the Sakvils, of course.”

The name was burned across her eyes. “Kian,” she said. It tasted like sour metal. “Lord Kian Sakvil. Lord Kian and Lady Elphaba Sakvil. Judging by what my father writes, I’m supposed to be excited that I’m getting a title.” She snorted. “I’ve been an Eminence Descending my entire life, a princess for over a year and I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

“You get an immediate title.”

“I have an immediate title,” she spat out. “I’m a princess. I’m your wife. I’m also the daughter of the Eminence of Northern Munchkinland, who’s devoted himself to starting even more wars than there already are through Oz, not the least of which is with my husband’s tribe. I don’t need to carry around being heiress to some scrap of Purist Gillikin and a stuffy manor.” Elphaba looked around Fiyero’s apartment, which she’d called home for the last year (she’d written to her father that she was living with a friend, and there was no danger that he would ask after her any further). Being a prince, he could afford a decent place, but it was still kind of crappy. And it was home. “I don’t want to go.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “And I don’t want you to go. But you do realize, you’re making this happen. I mean,” he explained as she turned on him, eyes flaming, “you can try to see what will happen if we tell our parents. But you don’t even want to.”

“You don’t know my father,” she said darkly. “He won’t give a damn. All he cares about are borders. And his Vinkus feud. He’ll kill you, and your parents. I’ve seen it done—One of our maids once wanted to marry someone from outside Munchkinland, and it just so happened that Frex had been insulted…both families, exterminated.”

He stared at her in horror. “I never thought…. In the Vinkus we have our disputes, but…”

“That’s why I think I’d love it there. And Our Glorious Wizard, sitting pretty in the Emerald City and blaming everybody else.” She sighed. “And we can’t run—the Resistance.”

“But they have places, don’t they?” He’d heard rumors, and they sounded very well-founded. “For people that can’t stay in Oz anymore—we’ll sneak out—”

“You fool, that will never work,” she snapped. “That’s only for inexpendable members whose lives are in danger, not teenage love affairs! And do you realize how well a Sakvil marriage will work out in terms of espionage, from their point of view? Whoring the secrets out of him…” Her voice caught, and she saw a similar look on Fiyero’s face. “And we’re a dangerous marriage as it is, with the Arjiki stuck in that fight with Eastern Munchkinland. I don’t know why we got into this in the first place, it’s all stupid, stupid, stupid!” She stopped to take a breath, and when she did that she caught sight of his face and the anger trickled away. “Oh. Oh, God, Fiyero, I’m so sorry.” She came to him. “I love you. Yes, the whole idea is stupid, but I don’t regret it in the least. I just don’t want to have to leave you to live the life of purist nobility.”

“I know…I know.” He kissed her hand. “So what do you suggest we do?”

She looked down. “Can we take this step by step, please? Maybe we can get out of it somehow…”

“Fine.” He didn’t think it could happen, but they could hope. Flip go the roles…. “So what else does the letter say?”

“I have to meet them—the Sakvils. To make sure that Kian and I measure up to the standards of our respective parents, and so that we’ll be able to see each other and discuss the wedding. And I do it tomorrow.” Her face brightened. “Maybe we can find an irreconcilable difference!”

“I do hope so. But let’s just say we don’t?”

“Please, Fiyero.” Malky, their cat, wandered over and she took him in her arms, burying her face in his fur. “Please, let’s just not think about it.”

Fiyero didn’t have much to give to comfort his wife except himself, but he did what he could. She accepted him, and for a while the letter was forgotten and it was only them, as it had always been.

As it should always be.

Stupid, I know, to begin a new multi-chapter fic at this overworked point in my life. But it was screaming for release. So...how do you like the subversion of the classic forced-marriage plot? (pats self on back)