Chapter Text
With all the misfortunate things that had happened during the last years of Glinda’s life (and to their poor world in general), at least the place was right.
The round room in the highest tower of the most magical castle in all Oz — more beautiful than her long-lost family mansion, older than her dear destroyed Shiz University, and more decorated than the tacky Emerald Palace of the evil, horrible, no-good, very bad Wizard. From floor to ceiling, it was covered with intricate carved patterns, with a lonely wooden pedestal standing in the center. The room screamed of ancient prophecies and long-awaited destiny. Even the smell was magical — dried plants, scented potions, and just a hint of a prosperous mold colony.
Finally, the proper setting for Glinda’s big victory.
“Are you ready?” asked Colonel Dillamond, the Goat in charge of their mission, as he placed the Grimoire on the pedestal.
The huge leather-bound book fit there perfectly — one more good sign. The Unnamed Goddess knew the Resistance needed it.
“Just one little thing,” said Glinda, pointing her pink wand at her chest and murmuring a spell under her breath.
With transportation magic being notoriously flickery, Glinda had never wished for a spell to work that hard in her entire life. Maybe entire life was a teeny-tiny exaggeration, but that wish was definitely in her top five — or at least top ten — highest priorities right now.
For a beat, she stopped breathing. Not literally, of course — transportation magic usually took a good half a minute to work, and Glinda didn’t plan to hold her breath for that long. And then — from the first try, one more good sign — her rebellion-issued gray uniform jumpsuit transformed into her favorite dress. The dress. Or even the Dress. Pink and fluffy and waiting so many years just for this occasion.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Colonel Dillamond, his voice exhausted.
Oh, dearest, but obviously, Glinda almost said. She almost gave him her signature all-teeth-and-zero-fakeness smile. But with the Resistance, she had quickly learned that smiles were neither expected nor appreciated.
Instead, Glinda considered his badly altered military coat — with so few Animals left in the high ranks, appearance still wasn’t his primary concern. Definitely not even in Dillamond’s top twenty.
“It is how it should always have been,” she said, trying to summon a tone appropriate to the moment’s somberness (and not to sound excited and childishly happy). She wouldn’t brag about her own Prophecy right now — they would all understand when she came utterly, triumphantly back.
“And the bag?” He pointed a hoof at the not-so-small pink luggage that had materialized at her feet.
“Only the most important things,” she said — then added, knowing it was the argument that would work for him — “It is how it should always have been.”
“Prophecies are not everything,” he said, shaking his furry head. He didn’t bother to hide his doubt that her prophecies explicitly said anything about taking everything valuable — and so very pretty — with her.
Glinda turned away, pretending to be enchanted by the book of spells. When she gently touched the familiar leather cover, it opened to the right page. The page she already knew by heart. Glinda traced the image on the thin yellow parchment with her fingertips. So impossibly gorgelicious.
She was. She really was. Elphaba Thropp — majestic in her chosen-one greenishness. The painted swirls of magic so realistic around her black-gowned figure that Glinda almost felt them.
“I mean…” Glinda started. “I’m sure I’m ready.”
A hoof landed on the ancient page, almost touching Elphaba’s image, almost making Glinda gasp.
“Before you go to their world, you need to know something,” he said.
Oh yes, that tone. He was going to give her the talk, as if this were the first time Glinda risked her life for the Greater Good. At least now Elphaba was waiting there to be rescued.
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, unable to help giving him a small yet enormously charming smile. The smile didn’t charm him. “Be prepared for danger. Very dangerous world. Very. Tall buildings. Mechanical monsters everywhere. People are rude and aggressive. Everything is loud. And the smell is horrible.”
She waved his concerns away — quite literally, with her graceful hand. (Yes, she had spent yesterday evening doing her manicure for the first time in months. So what? She couldn’t meet her destiny with literal claws. No, thank you.)
It’s not that she was naïve or oblivious. She had been — once. Not anymore. Well, maybe just a bit, still. A girl was allowed her shortcomings, even after years of living underground, wearing gray overalls, and eating canned, tasteless food. But she was not stupid, even though some people from her past (and maybe a few from the present) would swear otherwise — yes, Mellinda from the prep academy, Glinda was looking at you and your silly— anyway. Glinda had done her research. She had read everything available about that Earth. She knew the world where Elphaba had been taken and was held captive was one of the smelly ones. And dangerous. Dangerous, too.
“You are right, Lieutenant Upland,” he pronounced her name with emphasis, as if they were still in a classroom in long-destroyed Shiz. “But it’s not about you. Or the world. It’s about her. It’s time to tell you her Prophecy.”
Oh.
“But I know it by heart, I—”
“The Admonition part.”
“But how?”
If the Prophecy about the Chosen One was an open secret — everyone, both in the Resistance and in the Palace (and quite probably everywhere in between), knew it — the Admonition was a secret-secret. An actual secret, as in no one except the Chosen One herself should have known it. In a world where every child had a Prophecy, the Admonitions were the real treasures. And the weapons.
“It is how it should always have been,” he said — the usual phrase, with the usual solemnity — but then added, “We found it. Without it, we wouldn’t have opened the door here. Listen carefully…”
When he finished reciting the verses, the weight of them pulled the breath from Glinda. Exactly for one moment (she was not one to hold her breath longer than needed for dramatic effect).
“That doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not like… Besides,” she looked directly at him, all pretended confidence and natural charisma, “Admonitions are notoriously hard to decipher. Remember that cursed princess you made us write an essay about? Mine was the best in the class—”
“Just keep it in mind,” interrupted Colonel Dillamond, “while you are bringing her back.”
The restless energy was bubbling inside Glinda like strawberry champagne in a hot summer room. She was ready. That was her mission — that was her Prophecy too.
“Should I help?” she asked impatiently, watching him cover the floor with magical symbols. “Maybe if I…”
She tried to move between the drawn lines, complicated curves, and words in long-dead (and probably boring) languages — sweeping half of them with her dress. Oopsie. Maybe even oopsie-shious. Colonel Dillamond gave her his old-professor look but didn’t chide her, at least not out loud.
“Prepare the spell,” he said instead. “We are not in a hurry — the most important thing is not to mess it up. Time is on our side.”
The moment he finished the sentence, the creaking alarm at the base of the tower started wailing. The walls vibrated, books and potion vials went flying. Yes, this place definitely shared Glinda’s appreciation for dramatic gestures.
“They found us!” came frantic screams from their comrades guarding the spiral staircase.
Glinda didn’t need clarification about who they were.
She and Dillamond exchanged looks. He kicked her luggage with his back hoof — bye-bye, all the nice attires and thoughtfully prepared presents — and she grabbed the hem of her gown — sorry, Gown — and tied it almost to her waist. Both bent to the floor, attempting to draw a much, much smaller magical circle.
“Just start it!” ordered Dillamond.
Glinda snapped her gaze to the page — to the beautiful Green One, her black mantle, signature pointy hat, the vortex of green magic swirling around her — and made a decision.
She was SO not ready.
But she whispered the words anyway. Ready or not, that was the only right thing to do. She placed her hand on the image, ignoring the spark of horror in Dillamond’s face when he understood her intentions. He nodded. He knew it too — they had to do it. It was the only way, and the only chance. Not only for the Resistance’s sake, but for Elphaba’s too.
But knowing that didn’t silence the fear. And while the only picture of Elphaba Thropp was disappearing — both from the book and from Oz — Glinda began chanting.
She was on the last lines, colorful sparks were flying around her, the air thick with the smell of spices and raw energy, when the door exploded and the guards in emerald-green pristine velour uniforms stormed the room — the small group of Resistance fighters following them.
She kept chanting while the battle raged on. Glinda tried to ignore everything — which was, admittedly, not easy when your friends were outmatched by the newest, strongest batch of the Wizard’s Animatronics. Beautiful, blue-eyed, and blond, they had always possessed superior strength, but now, even with missing parts and protruding wires from their guts, they kept fighting. Unstoppable. Deadly.
The wind howled around Glinda. Dillamond was screaming.
“What?” she screamed back.
“Admonitions! When it comes to it, you will feel it!”
Well, everyone in Oz knew that saying — not the most useful information to shout in the middle of a standoff between Good and Evil. Glinda would have preferred a secret super-spell, or at least some last wise edifications. She nodded anyway. Hopefully, she would give him her notes on proper parting words when she came back.
And just like that — watching her friends fight a losing battle, unable to help — she was pulled into the portal of all the colors of magic.
If she had expected to glide beautifully through the sky in a nice, comfortable pink bubble — and she certainly had, she had expected it — she was wrong.
She was dragged through time and space and worlds and realms like a dress through a drying spell. And yes, she’d had quite a lot of time to come up with that comparison while the magic was carrying her toward the unknown — but definitely smelly (and dangerous, don’t forget dangerous) — Earth.
She landed on her backside, dress still half up, hair a mess, the Grimoire and the present thankfully still in her pockets (yes, her Gown had pockets — no need to be jealous). Adjusting her hem, sighing, and patting the injured parts — besides her pride, which she, sadly, couldn’t pat, because even though it was injured, it was still not physical — she looked around.
She almost gasped from shock. Then she thought twice about it and decided to actually gasp. So she did.
She had arrived in the wrong place. The battle, the spell, the magical writing on the floor — something had definitely gone wrong and sent her somewhere else.
When people talked about that world, they always mentioned how everything was metal, artificial, burned, and ungodly, horribly, impossiliciously smelly. But Glinda was standing in a green meadow on the edge of a coniferous forest, a blue sky with light, feather-like clouds and lush green rolling hills framing the scene, and a footpath curving through it. And it smelled of grass, wildflowers, and just a bit of stale water.
But the line was there — pale red and barely visible — the magical thread tugging Glinda forward. To Elphaba.
Following it, she soon arrived at BeautifulMeadowVillage, if the sign (for some reason missing the spaces) was to be trusted. The houses around her were so cute that munchkins might call it cultural appropriation. The sun was so gentle. The river so peaceful. The air so crisp.
Then she saw the local civilians — the mean and bad-spirited monsters, constantly rushing to and from their offices, she’d been warned about so many times. But they were smiling. Waving at her. Especially the kids. No monsters. No rush.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” said Glinda out loud, though she didn’t lower her magic wand.
She would do it, she thought, allowing herself a genuine half-smile. Not that she’d ever doubted herself. But she would bring the Green One — the Chosen One — home.