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Fiyero woke up. That was odd since he hadn't slept since turning into a scarecrow. Waking up just wasn't something he did anymore. There was no reason for him to wake up and yet, he did.
Awareness came back to him slowly, as it did he realised everything ached, another point in the odd column. Pain wasn't something he had felt in a long time, this ache was deep and all encompassing. There wasn't a part of him that didn't ache in some way. When one is made of straw they can not feel pain and yet he did.
The room around him turned into something recognisable, something familiar yet nostalgic. Somewhere he hadn't been in a very long time. Kiamo Ko, the Arjiki castle and the home of the Tigelaar family. There was no way he should be here, no way for him to ever step foot within its walls again. Yet, here he was.
That was three times something had not added up, three times, and it was starting to become a pattern.
Slowly he extracted his way out of the bedding he was covered in, deciding to make his way to the large mirror he remembered having. Perhaps it would provide some much needed answers.
The moment his hand touched the air he froze, he could feel the coolness of the air. Temperature was one of the many things that had eluded him while straw filled. Slowly he turned his head to look at his hand, he couldn't help but stare at it. He marvelled at the colour and state of it. No longer was it a floppy, worn glove, but a truly flesh and blood hand. He probably spent the next several minutes just moving his hand and watching as it did exactly what he wanted it to do.
Finally he managed to drag the rest of himself out of the bed, unfortunately finding his coordination had become so attuned to a body without structure that trying to move with it didn't work so well.
With great effort he made his way across his room to the mirror, bumping into just about everything along the way. It didn't help the deep ache that hadn't gone away, making moving a lot more tiring than he remembered it being. His legs felt ready to drop out from underneath him by the time he made it.
A part of him was scared about what he would find when he looked. Would he look like he used to or would the decades of being a scarecrow have changed him beyond recognition?
After taking a moment to summon some courage he faced the reflective surface.
In sequence he saw the faces of the people he had been. First, was the scandalacious Prince Tigelaar, with a reputation for charming all those he came across, someone who danced through life, yet was horribly depressed. It transformed into the captain of the Gale Force, sullen and commanding, a man pushed to desperation while doing all he could not to drown in the act. Next was perhaps the most familiar, the face he had spent the longest wearing, the almost expressionless face of The Scarecrow, the definition of “Life is more painless for the brainless”.
Finally it became an amalgamation of them all, and it was Fiyero that stared back, tired and weary but hopeful too. This was a man that had lived, died, and lived again.
In the same trance that he had stared at his hand with, he stared at his reflection. It didn’t seem real or possible and yet here he was. Slowly, he pulled off his sleep shirt, not quite sure what he was expecting.
His bare chest was covered in the traditional Arjiki markings representing his history, his tribe, and his place in the tribe. Historically, they were painted on but with the introduction of more Ozian clothing the markings had become tattoos, although they meticulously painted over the top of the tattoos for important events. The patterns of the Arjiki tribe were made up of blue diamonds; he'd missed them over the years.
The other striking thing was the scars. Now, Fiyero had picked up many scars throughout his life both from his 'adventurous' youth and his time in the Gale Force. Despite that there were far too many, plenty that he couldn't have acquired while still living in the Vinkus. No, these scars could only be from one thing.
His death.
Don't get him wrong, Elphaba, his beautiful witch, had saved his life but it was only just. His conscience had left him at the time of the transformation, he had been convinced of his death when awareness had left him. If she had been any later casting that spell Dorothy Gale would have been rounding the corner to see a corpse. Fiyero may have lived, but flesh and bone had died that day.
Eventually his legs did give out, sending him to his knees, unused to physical exhaustion, unused to muscles and structure. The landing was somewhat cushioned by the plush rug underneath him. The noise that came out of his mouth surprised him, it had been so long since he felt pain. It made him want to laugh at the absurdity of it.
It had been a long time since he'd been more than some cloth and straw magically held together.
The deep set ache hadn't dissipated in the time since his awakening, he wondered if it was another consequence of his death that had followed him through whatever had happened.
What had happened? It was surely too much pain for it to be the result of his second death, yet he was in a place that was so very distant in both time and geography. The only other thing that would be able to describe the situation was some kind of time travel. That, maybe, he really was in Kiamo Ko, in the past before everything went horribly wrong.
The energy to do anything more escaped him. Fiyero laid down on the rug, using his shirt as a makeshift pillow, though it wasn't very effective. Someone would come and get him at some point or he would rest enough to move and ponder more on his situation.
Time blurred together.
Sleep came intermittently and with many interruptions, leaving Fiyero feeling both exhausted and irritable. He felt as if he'd forgotten how to sleep, as a scarecrow it wasn't something he needed to do or something he even could do. The other main problem was the nightmares, they were constantly grasping at his mind, often following him into the waking world.
It was difficult to remember both the needs and limits of the human body as he hadn't needed to for so long.
Food kept arriving in his parlour room having been delivered by some servants; he felt glad that their cultural pride at self-reliance meant that he didn’t have any personal servants. The idea of facing someone, someone who might ask questions that he didn’t have the answers to felt like standing at the foot of a mountain while being expected to climb it without any equipment. Any that did try to investigate were quickly turned away.
The whispers he heard through the walls were talking about some big restriction or law that had been passed by the Wizard that was greatly affecting the Vinkus. He remembered it, the details were a bit fuzzy but he was sure that they were talking about one of the first big restrictions on Animals, one that they couldn’t ignore or pretend to follow. That had all happened at the start of the summer before he went to Shiz, the last summer he’d spent in Kiamo Ko.
Knowing when it was, reminded him that Feldspur was on holiday and visiting his family. What he couldn’t remember was when the Horse was supposed to be back, Fiyero hoped it was sooner rather than later.
The ache hadn't left either, keeping him drained. Some days he could almost ignore it completely and others it was all encompassing.
In the time that had passed he could still barely believe his theory about time travel. It wasn’t something that should be possible, yet here he was, so he couldn't just dismiss it.
Some time later his father arrived to investigate, Fiyero couldn’t have told you with any certainty how long it had been since he’d first woken up anly that it had been at least a few days.
His father was Marilott Tigelaar, king of the Vinkus and Chieftain of the Arjiki tribe. He was not a man Fiyero knew well, his job often pulling him away from parental duties, yet he was the first person at the prince's door once an oddity had been noted.
Fiyero was pacing around the room feeling increasingly restless and on edge. He was so inwardly focused that he missed the knocking and the door opening after no response.
"Fiyero? Son?" He spun around so fast that he nearly toppled over, still feeling uncoordinated when trying to move. Panic rose within him, how could he possibly explain what had happened? There was no way he could act like he used to, he had no idea what the last conversation he was supposed to have had with his father was.
Staring at his father's face, Fiyero couldn't help but remember the final time he had seen him, eyes that had screamed forgiveness in the horror and compassion in the certainty. The longer his father was in the room the more the future overlapped with the present, the more the memories of what was replaced, the knowledge of what is.
Feeling like a cornered animal, he could feel the rush of blood, the quickening of his heart and the way his breath strained as his father approached.
In a flurry, he grabbed a cushion from the chair next to him and swung it out in front of himself while screaming "Don't!” Backing up he crashed into the wall behind him.
The elder stood there for a moment stunned, not expecting the outburst. Slowly he nodded and left the room, plunging Fiyero back into solitude.
The tension drained out of him as he slid to the floor, burying his head into the cushion that now laid on his knees and hugging his legs tight. Then he cried. Cried like he hadn't done for so very long, cried like he couldn't do before. He cried for all that had happened, for all he had felt and all he had lived. He cried with years worth of emotion behind it. He cried.
His father tried again in what Fiyero could only assume was hours. Having migrated to the couch, he was in a much better position to pay attention to the door. The knocking was brisk and purposeful, his father didn't wait for an answer this time either impatient or concerned.
"Fiyero?" He didn't dare look at his father, not wanting to risk time overlapping again. "Son?"
The whole experience had left him feeling stripped raw and vulnerable, his father wasn't the person he wanted to talk to, not that he wanted to talk about it at all. He watched as his father stepped into his field of vision, his presence demanding some kind of answer.
Finally Fiyero found his voice, "Hello Father." He knew his attitude was starkly different to who he had been, who he would have been.
"Fiyero, no one has seen you in the past several days, you’ve turned away all the servants. We thought it might just be because we're sending you to Shiz. However, given your display earlier," Is that it was? A display? Another act to add to his repertoire? He knew the kind of person he was before, but how bad had it been that even his father assumed it was dramatics rather than a genuine response. "I am inclined to believe something else is afoot."
Something else was certainly one way to put it. It was such an unbelievable story, but he had to at least try telling it. There was no way he could lie about it. No way he could pretend that it was anything other than what it was.
While his father waited for an answer he sat on the matching chair still in Fiyero’s view. The elder would be patient, but he would not be leaving without an explanation.
Fiyero's voice came out small and uncertain, "I hold no pretence about the believability of what happened, but it is the truth regardless of your opinion on it,"
"Eloquently put," His father's voice came out smooth and confident, a direct opposition to how Fiyero felt. "Tell me anyway I shall make my own decision on how believable it is."
The breathlessness came back as he tried to say it, to admit it out loud. With far more effort than he would have liked, Fiyero managed it. "I remember the future."
It felt like the best descriptor of what had happened, given he had awoken in a younger, but also vastly different body than the one he should have had.
"Ah." Fiyero continued to sit in the silence while his father processed his words, he found a comfort in the silence that he never had in true youth.
The voice startled him as his father began to speak, "There is something I wish to check, but I do believe you. I remember being told stories of great people who claimed to have either come from the future or had seen a long and detailed vision. What you have described could be the same thing."
It was Fiyero's turn to be stunned, astonished that anyone could have done the same thing before, "You want to find the stories."
"I do," His father got up and moved closer. Fiyero still refused to meet his father's gaze. A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and comforting.
"I may not know what has happened since you last saw me, but know that I do love you." Despite the distance between them that was not something Fiyero had ever doubted, though it was nice to hear the reminder.
His father had made it all the way to the door before Fiyero spoke again, "Father," he could hear the elder shuffle as he turned to face the prince, "The last time I saw you, you died."
Thankfully his father had the presence of mind to leave instead of interrogating Fiyero. If the elder had tried that, he thinks he would have ended up screaming again.
No one bothered him for the rest of the day, although food did still arrive in the parlour room at dinner time. It was a far simpler meal than what he had been left with before, it was less overwhelming than the richer dishes and far more agreeable to his body.
He was thankful to have the space after having to explain, feeling completely drained despite how little he had said.
The next day found him stumbling to get ready after he had got a message that his father wanted to meet him in the main library.
The main table had quite a few books piled on it when he got there, the result of some fervent research.
His mother was sitting at the table looking amused, likely at the enthusiasm of his father. Where Marilott would have made a great historian if he hadn’t had to be the king, his mother Baxiana of Upper Fanarra was made for politics, her ability to say exactly what she wanted while still sounding polite was unmatched. There was very little the court members wouldn’t come around to if she was leading the proceedings.
“Mother,” Her head turned to him in response.
“Good morning Fiyero, your father has informed me of the situation, I shall trust his judgement regarding it,” He wasn’t surprised that his mother was sceptical, he was more surprised that his father wasn’t.
The chair dragged slightly as she stood up and made to leave, “I will inform the morning court on the subject that has drawn him away from his duties” Knowing what he did about the political atmosphere Fiyero winced but did his best not to feel guilty, he needed an explanation for his own situation, needed to know that he wasn’t going mad.
His mother walked out of the door, at the same time his father rounded the corner of one of the shelves carrying another book in his hands.
"Ah, Fiyero, good. Come here and I can show you what I have found," he gestured to the chair next to him as he opened up a book to show off its contents.
Fiyero gratefully took the offered seat as his father launched into an explanation of what he had discovered. It was somewhat ironic, he supposed that the country with the least amount of infrastructure and permanent structures had perhaps some of the best written records of Ozian history.
"Every record I can find states the prophets talking about a whole life lived that sometimes stretched quite far into the future. Then with their death in that future they returned to their past life. There is only speculation on whether they really returned from the future or just had a very vivid vision.”
Fiyero was pretty sure it was the former, the aches of past injuries, the scars of them too, it was all far too real to just be a vision.
The elder continued unaware of Fiyero’s thoughts, “Regardless that would mean that you are one of these prophets," He wasn't sure how he felt about being named a prophet, he didn't want to be expected to make some crazy statement about the future, all he wanted to do was prevent the need to leave Oz.
His father was gesturing wildly, excited about his research. It reminded him of Elphaba, of all the little things he loved about her. That was a list far too long to name.
The stories continued but veered into the more personal aspects of them, which while interesting, wasn't particularly relevant to Fiyero's own situation.
There was a question forming on the tip of his tongue, one that felt so incredibly important, "Are there any records of more than one person coming back at the same time?"
There was a moment before his father responded, "I'm afraid not, however, that doesn't mean it's impossible." Fiyero appreciated the attempt, but felt his heart sink all the same. Coping without her, without them, would be near impossible. Giving up wasn't an option, things needed to change and he refused to lose hope entirely until it was confirmed.
The discussion continued on for a short while. As it ended his father mentioned something that he wanted to find out and that he would get back to Fiyero about, not that Fiyero had any idea what that could be.
In the following days Fiyero got some very important news. Feldspur was back. Reuniting with the Horse felt like coming home. Even if Feldspur didn't remember, he had been with them the whole journey out of Oz and their life beyond.
They went for a ride out into the grasslands, something so familiar and foreign at the same time. Feldspur was quiet until they stopped, Fiyero was sure that the Horse had noticed the change in his dementor.
The place they had stopped in was a spot they had often come to in the past when the castle had felt too stuffy and suffocating. It was a safe spot that gave him a wave of nostalgia. It was the right place for the conversation they would need to have.
As he dismounted he took a moment to breathe and enjoy the landscape of his childhood.
"Sire, are you alright?" Being called sire again by Feldspur was jarring, he hadn't been called that once they'd started the journey to the Badlands.
Some part of him was grieving the closeness they'd had before he came back, before he had to do everything again. That closeness was the reason why he knew that eventually he'd tell the other everything. Not all at once and not without much difficulty, but Feldspur would know. Maybe he didn't have to start with the beginning, there were many stories from the decades in the Badlands that he wouldn't mind sharing.
"Sire?" He must have been silent for too long. He was sure that he kept doing that, a problem that had arisen now that Fiyero was thinking.
No matter how choked up he got, no matter how hard it was to speak, he refused to lie to one of his oldest friends. "I'm… I'm not ok Feldspur. So much happened, or will happen, I suppose,"
"I might require a tad more explanation." He may have been a Horse but Feldspur was rather expressive, Fiyero could see the confusion on his friend’s face.
"Right, of course. I remember the future. Apparently this makes me a 'prophet'. I think my father is just happy to have a new research project."
Feldspur looked contemplative, "That sounds difficult."
Remembering wasn't the hard part, at least not in isolation. The consequences of remembering, the nightmares and the times memories overtook the present were far more so. Not forgetting the physical consequences of being a scarecrow for decades as well. Difficult felt like an understatement, like it was diminishing all of the different struggles, but it wasn't inaccurate.
Under his breath Fiyero couldn't help but say, "You have no idea."
"I shall be here if you require assistance," Feldspur had probably heard him but continued speaking as if he hadn't.
It warmed Fiyero's heart that the other was willing to help despite having so little idea of the situation, "Of that I have no doubt my friend."
Much like the ache never truly disappeared once he had awoken, there were some days that didn't let Fiyero forget he was human again. He was glad to be human again but breathing could be so obnoxious. Feeling overwhelmed by the feeling of his heart beating and his blood pumping wasn't appreciated. Even the temperature of the room or the way his clothes brushed against his skin could be too much.
It took a couple of weeks, but his father did get back to him, it turns out he was looking to see if there were traditional markings for those that were prophets. There were. They were facial markings, the kind that were often reserved for important positions or jobs. Technically, he should have some as the crown prince but he'd refused in the past due to the general opinion in the rest of Oz. It wasn’t the tattoos that were the problem, it was the cultural implications. The Vinkus had been blamed almost as badly as the Animals for the great drought, it caused friction, they couldn’t pretend that you were like them if it was literally written on your face. Jumping from school to school all over Oz left him pretending to fit in exasperating the problem.
His father, aware of the previous refusals, asked clearly expecting the same answer as before, "Fiyero, are you willing to don the traditional patterns of a prophet?"
The pattern itself sat on the temples and faded back into the hairline. He pondered for a moment if he'd be willing this time around, then decided that yes, he was. "Yes, I will,"
"You will?"
"I let myself, I made myself forget I was Vinkun last time. I refuse to do the same this time." In some ways he had had to, there would have been no room for cultural expression under the Wizard. The things he had done or turned a blind eye to in that time haunted him, they were not things he could ever bring himself to repeat.
He watched his father's face flit through several expressions, hope was the one that stayed, "What about the markings to denote your position as crown prince?"
Agreeing to those ones felt like a whole other beast. After everything that had happened he couldn't say that he felt like he deserved them, not with how it all ended. "Not yet."
"May I inquire as to why?"
"Let me prove to myself that things have changed."
"Fiyero?"
"Things didn't go great last time, I need to know that they won't end the same way before I can accept."
"Alright." He could tell that his father was disappointed even if he had accepted Fiyero's answer, "We'll get things sorted then."
Perhaps it would have been practical to send letters to Elphaba and Glinda, both of them lived in places with an easy enough to find address. He couldn't though, the fear of neither of them remembering as well kept him. Moreover, either of them receiving letters from the Vinkun prince and it becoming known could quickly turn them into the subjects of rumours and speculation. If they did remember, he wanted to give them space, if they didn't it would cause unnecessary drama.
Fiyero got the message that Sarima was visiting all of about ten minutes before bumping into her in the corridor. Sarima was a cherished childhood friend, they had drifted apart when she decided he wasn't mature enough. The pressure of the royal court looking at her as a potential marriage for him and future queen didn't help matters either. He was sure that if Sarima and Elphaba got the chance to meet that they'd get on like a house on fire and he'd lose what little dignity he had left. Of course, he meant that in the best way possible.
Sarima sized him up and down, analysing him with a look, "I'd heard that you had changed, I just didn't realise that it would be so much."
He knew his dancing through life philosophy had alienated her and pushed them apart. Maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to rekindle their friendship and gain an ally for the eventual fight.
"Hello to you too." That didn’t mean, however, that he was going to let her get away with everything.
"Yes, yes. Hello and all that. What happened?" There was genuine concern in her voice as she asked, such a dramatic change generally didn't mean good things.
"I remember the future, therefore I'm a prophet. Please just look it up, I don't want to have to explain." He was somewhat surprised at his own easy admission of the situation, knowing that there were records of other prophets helped a lot in that regard.
"The future?"
"Yes, the future."
"I'm guessing you don't want to tell me about the future then."
"Not particularly, no." Much of it felt too fresh despite the decades of separation. The knowledge that it could happen again wasn't conductive to peaceful thoughts,
"You do look exhausted, are you ok?" That was a question he kept hearing anytime he interacted with anyone who knew, it was starting to get on his nerves.
"I'm alright, I'm managing,"
"Are you sure?" Sarima was his friend no matter how long it had been since they had talked properly, but all the questions were wearing his already thin patience.
In response he snapped "Yes. I'm sure." He hadn't meant to be rude, he knew that she meant it out of care. "Sorry."
That caused a strange look on Sarima's face, one he couldn't decipher. "Alrighty them, Fiyero," She paused for a moment in a way that he knew whatever came out of her mouth next was completely serious, "If you ever need help, ask. I'll do what I can,"
"I will, thanks."
There was another odd look as she turned around and started walking away. "See you ‘round, pretty boy!"
Shouting after her, "you too!" Things had already started to feel that they were going to get a little better, he hoped that it would lead to bigger things down the line.
The knowledge that Kiamo Ko had records of people that had experienced the same phenomenon as him was eye opening. It made him wonder what else could be found in the library of Kiamo Ko.
A library had never been Fiyero's kind of place, but exploring the depths of this library turned into a kind of adventure if only because its layout was so maze-like. The deeper he went, the clearer it became that no one had been here for a long time. There were piles of dust all over the shelves and books. There hadn't been much of a plan when going in so he just stopped at a point that felt sufficiently far in.
Reading the book titles proved to be a challenge as they were all written in a far older version of Arjiki and somehow he didn't think there was a translation guide for him to use. There were a few words he could make out, Fiyero gathered that they were books on magic potentially dating back to the construction of the castle. They could contain lost information on how the place managed to manipulate gravity in the way it did.
While there was no way he was ever taking those books from the library, it just felt too risky, he made a note of where they were. He wanted to see if he could translate them to modern Arjiki and then he could show them to Elphaba if he ever got the chance. They seemed like the kind of thing she'd be really interested in. Maybe he'd even learn to do some kind of magic as a result.
Thinking about Elphaba reminded him that he'd never told her. Never admitted that there was only one castle, they owned other property sure, but there was no other castle. The truth of the matter wasn't something he'd ever told anyone. Fiyero wasn't sure if he could. The place had likely been dusty enough that Elphaba hadn't batted an eye at his story about it not being used. It was half true, it wasn't being used anymore. He wondered if she'd ever had any suspicions, wondered if she had connected the dots in the following years. If Elphaba had, she had never confronted him about it, never asked and for that he was glad.
As the start of term got closer and closer, Fiyero remembered that he had been kept at home for the first term, officially being part of The Royal Vinkun Academy. He needed to make sure he was going to be at Shiz University from the start, thankfully he was sure that it'd be an easy sell given his new status.
There had been slightly more resistance than expected. His mother was happy to let him go earlier than planned if he was confident that he could make this one last, if anything his plans were to make it last longer than last time, long enough to graduate. His father was more reluctant perhaps in response to the struggles he’d witnessed Fiyero have but eventually agreed as well.
In the end he managed to get them to agree to just him and Feldspur making the journey with the Horse's assurance that he would look after the prince.
The rest of the time passed through rediscovering his relationships and his new translation project, eventually the summer came to an end.
Now it was time for Shiz.