Chapter Text
Glinda couldn’t see a thing with the bandana tied over her eyes, and the damn iron cuffs around her wrists and ankles left her barely able to move. The hard, splintered bench she sat on jostled beneath her with every bounce of the wagon, and she could feel the sharp shudders of the ride reverberating through her bones.
But none of that mattered.
All Glinda could hear were the soft whimpers beneath the layered satin of her dress. Whimpers that broke her heart.
She could almost feel him trembling against her thigh, his small body shaking with every jolt of the wagon.
He was afraid.
“Everything will be alright, baby,” she whispered softly, her voice barely audible over the creaks and groans of the wagon. She tried to move her hands toward him, wanting to comfort him, to pet him, to offer reassurance—only to be reminded by the sharp tug of the cuffs around her wrists. She let out a frustrated sigh and whispered again, more for herself than for him this time, “I’ll make sure of that.”
The wagon bounced again—harder this time—and Glinda felt the cub near her leg press closer, shaking like a leaf in a storm.
She turned her head toward where she assumed the guard was standing, summoning the sweetest smile she could muster. “Guard, you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, miss,” came a soft, patient reply. She could work with that. She could charm him.
“Do you know how much longer it will be until we reach the station? I’m afraid all these bounces are scaring the poor cub.”
“Well, miss, I’m not quite sure,” the guard replied, sounding hesitant. “But I reckon it won’t be too much longer.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “Don’t you know the way?”
“Well,” he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment, “I’m quite new to the Emerald City. I was only stationed here for today on account of the soiree. The Wizard wanted extra enforcement, see, but I’m originally from Munchkinland, and—” He stopped himself abruptly, as though realizing he was rambling, then muttered awkwardly, “I don’t know why I just told you all that.”
Glinda laughed, the sound sweet and lilting, practiced to perfection over the years. It was a laugh that could disarm even the coldest heart. “You’re a darling!” she said, her voice like honey, warm and inviting.
The guard’s heart raced.
“What did you say your name was?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, as though genuinely curious.
“Oh, um… it’s Biq!” he stammered, then immediately corrected himself. “No, I mean—it’s Boq.”
“Deputy Boq of Munchkinland,” she repeated, her tone saccharine and soft, as though tasting his name on her tongue. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss…?”
“Glinda!” she chirped cheerfully—far too cheerfully for a woman shackled in a prison wagon. But Boq didn’t question it. He was too smitten to care.
“Miss Glinda,” he said, almost reverently.
Boq cast a glance at her, and what he saw nearly made him forget himself. Boq had seen plenty of fine ladies in his time, but none quite like this. Shackled in irons, blindfolded, and yet dressed like a queen at a grand ball. The lamplight of the wagon flickered over her rosy silk gown, its golden embroidery shimmering like fire-thread. The jewels at her throat and wrists gleamed mockingly against the heavy chains that bound her.
For a moment, Boq wasn’t sure if he was looking at a prisoner or a ghost—something too bright, too unnatural for the grim, dark belly of a prison wagon.
And then the thought crept into his mind.
How could a fine, proper lady have ended up here?
He knew it wasn’t his place to ask, so he didn’t. But the question lingered in his mind, pressing uncomfortably against his better judgment.
The soft whimpers beneath the layers of Glinda’s dress broke the silence, snapping him from his thoughts. Boq’s gaze dropped toward the cub she’d refused to relinquish when she was caught.
“I don’t know what he’ll do without me when we arrive,” Glinda said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “Will he have to go back to that cold, lonely cage?”
“I’m afraid so, miss,” Boq replied, hesitant and uncomfortable. “After all, he does belong to the Wizard.”
“Well, can’t he at least stay with me for now?” she asked, her voice laced with desperation. “It’s temporary, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it’s not possible, miss,” Boq said, rubbing the back of his neck. For some strange reason, he hated saying no to her.
“Oh, but what difference would it make?” she exclaimed, her voice rising with an edge of pleading. “A cage is a cage, Boq, and that poor cub is so afraid he’s hiding beneath my dress!”
Boq’s cheeks flushed as he fumbled for words. “I… I suppose I would let you keep him in your cell for now. It’s only temporary, after all. But I don’t think the sheriff will allow it.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to know,” Glinda said sweetly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’ll stay hidden under my dress. Just for now, so I can calm him. He’s so starved for comfort—we mustn’t let him suffer like this!”
Her voice broke slightly at the end, and Boq felt something twist in his chest.
“Oh, please, Deputy,” she whispered, her words dripping with honey. “It can be our little secret.”
Boq swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling like dry sand. “Well, Miss Glinda, I suppose it wouldn’t make much difference. A cage is a cage, after all, and it’s not permanent, so—”
“Oh, thank you, Deputy Biq!” she said cheerfully, cutting him off with her radiant smile. “I knew you’d understand.”
“It’s Biq,” he tried to correct her weakly. “I—I mean, Boq.”
By the time the wagon stopped, Glinda couldn’t quite tell how long it had taken to finally arrive at the sheriff’s office. The iron cuffs on her wrists and ankles and the bandana over her eyes made the ride feel endless—at least an hour, if she had to guess. But none of that mattered anymore. Not now.
When she felt Boq’s hands fumbling with the cuffs, unlocking them with a soft clink, and then slowly untying the bandana, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. As soon as she could see again, her hands instinctively dove to the lion cub hiding beneath the layers of her satin dress. He stopped whimpering immediately at her touch.
“Come, Miss Glinda,” Boq called gently from outside the wagon.
She stood, cradling the trembling cub closer, and stepped down from the wagon with Boq’s steady hand guiding her. Holding the cub tight, she looked up at the sheriff’s office for the first time.
It was big. Grand, even.
And, of course—
“Emerald,” she chuckled softly, her lips curling in wry amusement. “Very on theme.”
Boq escorted her inside, leading her past the clinking of keys and murmurs of guards to a cell at the far end of the room. Her “new accommodations,” as he politely called them, were plain and wooden with iron bars painted a gaudy green.
As he swung the door open and locked it behind her, Glinda gave him a look—a sweet, delicate tilt of her head that would make any man feel a little lighter on his feet.
“Now, Miss Glinda, don’t worry,” Boq said earnestly, fumbling with his keys. “I’ll be here if you need anything. And I’m sure a lovely lady like you will be out of this place in no time.” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in. “Just… please keep the cub hidden. I could lose my job for letting you keep him.”
“Oh, Deputy Boq,” Glinda replied warmly, her voice dripping with sugar, “thank you for your kindness.” Her blue eyes locked on his with a practiced depth, and before he could look away, she gave him a conspiratorial wink. “It will be our little secret.”
Boq nodded, his ears turning red, and quickly excused himself.
When he was gone, Glinda let out a soft sigh and turned to take in her new surroundings. The cell was small, poorly lit by a single golden window with emerald-painted iron bars. It held two wooden bunks, one above the other, and a single wooden bench sitting far too close to the bars for her liking. It made her feel… exposed.
She made her way to the lower bunk, sitting down with her back pressed against the wooden wall. She adjusted the layers of her dress to hide the cub better, placing him closer to the wall and herself between him and the cell door.
When she was sure no one was watching, she carefully pulled him out from under her dress. He let out a small, shivering breath as she cradled him close, running her fingers gently through his soft fur.
“Oh, darling, what have they done to you?” she whispered, her voice heavy with heartbreak. Her hand stilled as she gazed into his golden eyes. “Can’t you speak? Not even a word?”
The cub only looked back at her, those haunting golden eyes—the same eyes that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go, you know,” she whispered, scratching behind his ear with gentle care. A soft, contented whimper escaped him, and for the first time all night, a faint, genuine smile touched her lips.
“But you just had to look at me with those bloody adorable eyes of yours, and I just had to—” She sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry. A lady shouldn’t cuss like that, but old habits die hard, I suppose.”
The bunk was stiff beneath her, no better than the splintered bench in the wagon. She glanced around the cell again and let out a wry sigh. “They could’ve at least given us a better cell—or a bunk with a mattress on it.”
The cub huffed softly in agreement and leaned into her touch, his small frame relaxing under her caress. Her heart swelled.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “You should be running in outside, doing… whatever it is lion cubs do.”
He responded by licking her hand. She froze, startled by the gesture, then slowly continued stroking him. His warmth against her skin made her feel…
Less alone.
What an odd feeling it was.
She shook the thought away. “Do you know where your mama is?” she asked softly, leaning in close as though he might whisper the answer.
The cub stilled, his golden eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.
“I suppose you wouldn’t, huh?” Her voice dropped, carrying a faint bitterness. She lowered her head, staring at her hands for a moment before lifting her gaze back to him. “What’s your name, darling?”
The lion met her eyes, his mouth twitching slightly. His body tensed as though trying to form a sound, and then—
“Brrr,” he rumbled faintly.
Glinda’s face lit up, her lips curling into a smile so warm and soft that it could melt winter frost. “Brrr, huh, darling?” She chuckled faintly, running a hand over his trembling body. “Fitting. You do tremble awfully a lot, dear.”
The sharp rhythm of boots striking wooden floors made Glinda stiffen, her breath catching in her throat. The clinking of cuffs and the low murmur of gruff voices grew louder with each step, reverberating through the corridor. Someone was coming.
“Come, darling,” she whispered urgently, tucking Brrr beneath the folds of her dress. Her hands pressed the fabric close around him, shielding his small, fragile frame. Her heart pounded as the heavy footsteps stopped in front of her cell, and the key turned in the lock with a harsh clatter.
Two guards entered, dragging a woman between them—a beaten, bloodied figure cloaked in dusty black. She wasn’t walking so much as being hauled, her legs too weak to carry her weight. Her long dark duster coat trailed behind her, dirt and blood streaked across its fabric. Beneath it, her white shirt was marred with red, and a bolo tie dangled askew around her neck. A wide-brimmed hat sat low over her face, casting shadows that obscured her features. Dark strands of matted hair fell haphazardly over her shoulders.
When the guards released her, the woman crumpled to the ground like a discarded doll, her cuffed hands hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The guards said nothing to Glinda, their faces impassive as they turned on their heels and left the cell. The iron door slammed shut behind them with a metallic clang.
Glinda’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Oh—oh my stars! Are you seriously just going to leave her like this? She’s—she’s bleeding!?” she shrieked, her voice rising indignantly.
The guards didn’t so much as glance back. Their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving Glinda alone with the stranger.
A harsh, wheezing cough pulled her attention to the crumpled figure on the floor. Glinda flinched as the woman leaned forward and spat blood onto the dusty boards, the crimson stark against the dull gray.
“Oh, gross!” Glinda exclaimed, recoiling as she tugged her skirts tighter around herself, shielding Brrr from the unpleasant sight he couldn't even see. “W-What are you doing?! Stop that immediately!”
The woman, who until now had seemed almost unaware of Glinda’s presence, tilted her head up slowly. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” she rasped, her voice dry and sharp as a splintered fencepost. “Bleeding.”
Glinda gasped, the sound loud enough to echo in the small space. For the first time, she got a proper look at the woman’s face—and promptly wished she hadn’t. Her skin was unmistakably green, as vibrant and jarring as the Emerald City itself.
“You’re—you’re green!?” Glinda shrieked, pointing as though the revelation were a personal affront.
The woman’s cracked lips quirked into a weary smirk, equal parts sneer and amusement. “Congratulations, princess,” she drawled, slumping against the wall as she tipped her hat lower. “You’ve got eyes.”
Glinda snapped her mouth shut, only to open it again with an indignant scoff. “Don’t call me princess!” she snapped, her voice rising an octave. Her gaze flitted over the woman’s battered form—the blood seeping through her side, the scuffed leather boots peeking out beneath her coat. “How are you even—how did this happen? Did you… did you eat grass as a child or something?”
The woman let out a harsh laugh that quickly turned into a pained grimace. “Wow. Original,” she muttered, pressing a trembling hand to her wound. “Never heard that one before.”
“Well, excuse me if it’s a bit shocking! I’ve never seen a green person before!” Glinda exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “And—ugh, look at you! You’re filthy!”
“Thanks,” the woman replied flatly, her tone laced with sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” She shifted, wincing as she pressed harder on her side. “Don’t let me stop you from yelling, though. I’ll just be over here. Dying.”
Glinda faltered, clutching her skirts tightly as guilt began to creep in. “Well—well, maybe if you weren’t so snippy, I’d—” She stopped mid-sentence, blinking as her indignation faltered. “Wait. Are you dying?”
The woman sighed heavily, tipping her hat back just enough to reveal sharp cheekbones and exhaustion etched into her features. Beneath the green hue, her face was pale. “Not right this second,” she said flatly. “But give it a minute. You can send flowers.”
Glinda gaped, caught between offense and concern. Before she could decide which emotion to lean into, a faint, muffled whimper emerged from beneath her skirts. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she pressed her hands more tightly to the fabric, as if that would somehow silence the sound.
“What was that?” the woman asked, her sharp green gaze flicking toward her.
“N-Nothing!” Glinda said quickly, her voice an octave higher than before. “Absolutely nothing at all!” She turned away, shielding the cub from view. “You should—you should focus on not bleeding everywhere! Really, it’s terribly inconsiderate!”
The woman arched a brow, unconvinced but too exhausted to press the matter. She slumped further against the wall, muttering under her breath, “Great, stuck with a princess and now I’m hearing things. Just my luck.”
Glinda shot her a glare over her shoulder. “And I’m stuck with a rude, green—person!” she huffed, spinning back to fuss with her skirt. “Honestly, why do I always get the short end of the stick?”
The woman smirked faintly, her eyes fluttering closed. “You don’t even know the half of it, princess.”
“Fine, then! You can bleed all by yourself because I’m not going to share my cell with—with—” Glinda sputtered, struggling to form a coherent thought to describe the woman in front of her.
“What happened? Run out of insults?” the woman rasped, trying to smirk through gritted teeth as she clutched her side. “Want me to help you?”
“That’s it! You’re impossible!” Glinda snapped, spinning toward the bars with a huff. “Guards! Guards!”
One of the guards arrived moments later, his sigh heavy with annoyance. “What is it now?” he spat, glaring at her through the bars.
“I can’t possibly stay stuck with this—this green brute! Look at her! She’s bleeding everywhere and is absolutely dreadful company,” Glinda said with utmost seriousness. “I DAMAND a private cell!”
The guard, clearly caught off guard, blinked at her, processing the absurd request before letting out a derisive scoff. “You dragged me all the way here for that?”
“But look at her!” Glinda exclaimed, pointing emphatically at the woman, who looked as though she might faint at any moment, her blood still seeping into the floorboards. “She’s green! And—and dangerous! She could kill me in my sleep!”
The guard took one glance at the woman slumped against the wall, clearly on the brink of collapse, then turned back to Glinda. “Looks to me like she’ll die before she could try anything like that. Now, don’t waste my time again with silly requests.”
As the guard turned and began walking away, Glinda called after him desperately, “Wait! Please, don’t leave me with her! You must have a dungeon or a hospital—or something!” She cast a wary glance at the woman and muttered under her breath, “I’m not even sure where you’re supposed to be between the two.”
The woman winced as her ears rang from all the yelling, her head throbbing with the effort of staying conscious. Still, she came to one clear conclusion: the princess sitting across from her had no idea who she was. If she did, she’d be trembling in her expensive little heels.
For the first time during their short, chaotic interaction, the woman really looked at the girl in front of her. Her attention snagged on the rosy dress and glittering golden jewelry, both of which seemed absurdly out of place in the grimy cell. If it wouldn’t literally kill her to laugh, she might’ve done just that. This girl didn’t just sound like a princess—she looked the part, too.
“So, Blondie,” the woman drawled, her voice hoarse but laced with sarcasm, “Did you get lost on your way to a soiree or something?” She spat blood again, earning an audible gasp from Glinda, who scrambled to press herself harder against the wall.
“Well, actually, I was just at one,” Glinda shot back, rolling her eyes as though that much was obvious. Elphaba instantly knew which soiree she meant. “And please stop doing that—it’s a cell, you know. A closed one. I highly doubt it’s cleaned often.”
“The Wizard’s,” the woman said coldly, ignoring Glinda’s complaint. Her voice was sharp and flat, a dagger thrown with perfect aim. “You look like the type who’d attend those.”
Glinda froze for a moment, the words hitting her like a slap. Her flustered expression hardened quickly, her blue eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said icily.
“Really?” The woman sneered, though the effort made her wince. “So, what were you doing there?”
“Wouldn’t you die to know,” Glinda shot back with a smirk, though her confidence faltered slightly as the woman coughed, choking on her own blood.
The sound made Glinda flinch, her gaze flickering briefly to the growing stain on the woman’s side before darting away in discomfort. She adjusted her skirts nervously, her hands fidgeting with the fabric. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath, “you’re just proving my point.”
The woman let out a dry laugh, though it sounded more like a strangled wheeze. “Oh, don’t worry, princess. I’ve got plenty of time to guess.” She tilted her head, her green skin glistening with sweat. “Let’s see. You were there for the champagne? The chance to rub elbows with the Wizard’s lapdogs? Or maybe you were hunting for a rich husband to match your sparkling jewels?”
Glinda’s cheeks flushed pink, and she crossed her arms defensively. “You’re awfully bold for someone who looks like they’ve been trampled by a pack of Horses,” she said sharply, though her voice trembled. “Maybe I was there for something important—something you wouldn’t understand.”
“Important?” the woman snorted, though the sound quickly turned into a coughing fit. She spat more blood onto the cell floor, earning another horrified squeak from Glinda. “Like what? Picking out drapes for the Wizard’s throne room?”
“Oh, damn you! You will not get a rise from me, Miss—Miss—” Glinda stuttered, realizing she didn’t know the woman’s name.
“Elphaba,” the woman said flatly, her voice strained as her head continued to reel. She clutched her side, the pain radiating with every breath.
“Well, artichoke , I do not owe you any explanations,” Glinda snapped, crossing her arms. “And I’ll have you know, I don’t even like the Wizard!” Her voice rang out loudly, echoing down the cell block.
Elphaba offered no reaction, which only annoyed Glinda further.
“Well, Miss Elphaba,” Glinda said mockingly, “has the cat got your tongue?” She waited, but there was no reply. Not even a sarcastic quip.
Before Glinda could continue, a soft whimper caught her attention. She stiffened, glancing down as the sound came again, this time from beneath her layered dress.
“Shhh, baby,” she whispered, her tone dramatically hushed. “We’ve got company.” She reached into the folds of fabric, pulling out the small lion cub. Brrr blinked up at her with large golden eyes, his soft whimpers tugging at her heart. She gently set him on the wooden bunk, her hands lingering for a moment on his tiny frame before her gaze flicked back to Elphaba.
The green-skinned woman hadn’t moved. Her face was pale—paler than it should be—and her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Her head rested limply against the wall, her eyes closed, exhaustion etched into every line of her features. Glinda’s gaze flickered uneasily over the scars that marked her brow and chin, rough reminders of battles fought and survived. Yet, as her eyes lingered, she noticed the faint sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and nose, soft and startlingly human. The contrast made Glinda hesitate, her hands wringing nervously as she glanced from the unconscious figure to the growing pool of blood beneath her.
“She’s unconscious…” she whispered to Brrr, her voice laced with unease. The cub tilted his head, gazing up at her with a soft huff.
“Oh, please, she threatened to kill me, darling,” Glinda argued, trying to ignore the sharp twist in her chest as she looked at the woman’s face—at the scars etched into her features and the freckles that, surprisingly, softened her appearance. “She could be dangerous. Or worse, she could keep spitting blood everywhere.”
Brrr let out another insistent whimper, his eyes locking onto hers with a look so imploring it made Glinda’s resolve waver.
“Oh, fine!” she huffed, throwing her hands up. “But if she kills me in my sleep, it’s on you!”
The cub’s mouth twitched, and Glinda could swear it was a smile. Muttering under her breath as she crouched beside Elphaba, eyeing the wound cautiously.
“The things I do for you," she muttered, her voice thick with annoyance as her hands hovered uncertainly over Elphaba’s blood-soaked side. She huffed, gripping the hem of her gown, her movements hesitant but determined. The sharp sound of fabric tearing echoed through the cell, startling Brrr, who let out a small huff of protest. Glinda ignored him, focusing instead on folding the rosy strips into makeshift bandages.
Her hands shook slightly as she pressed the fabric against the wound, muttering under her breath, "You owe me a dress for this. A very nice one."
—-
A low groan escaped Elphaba’s lips as consciousness clawed its way back to her. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and uncooperative, as the dim torchlight of the cell came into focus. For a moment, she stayed still, her body stiff with pain and disorientation. The faint scent of blood and torn fabric lingered in the air.
Her hand drifted to her side instinctively, fingers brushing against something coarse. Bandages? She blinked, confusion flooding her as she sat up against the wall, wincing at the sharp tug of pain. The fabric around her wound—soft and rosy—looked out of place, as if it had no business being there at all.
Across the cell, the blonde girl lay sprawled on the hard wooden bunk, her back turned to Elphaba. The rich layers of her torn gown pooled haphazardly around her, the once-elegant fabric now smudged with dirt. Glinda's head rested awkwardly against the wall, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders.
Elphaba frowned, her gaze narrowing as she took in the sight. Something small stirred in the folds of the girl's dress, but it was obscured from view. Her attention, however, moved back to the bandages wrapped tightly around her torso. She shifted against the wall, wincing as the ache in her side flared. Her hand instinctively pressed against the bandages, the improvised fabric faintly damp beneath her fingers. The girl had saved her life—bandaged her wounds, even torn her dress to do so.
But how did she know how to do that?
Why did she?
And who in the name of Oz was she?