A/N: A Christmas gift to my beta, Navona, who requested a story about Avaric. She was expecting something more amusing and scandalous, but she got this mess instead.

Those reading this as an Avaric/Glinda romance may need to read it again. Much like the novel that inspires this nonsense, its truths remain hidden between the lines.

It was a marked celebration in the stately mansion of the late Sir Welsingham Randor; a festival of lights, music, and laughter painted in silver and gold. The graduating students from Shiz University had reserved the hall for the night in what was to be termed 'The Final Salutation' for friends and lovers alike. All had gathered in their finest apparel to affect the maturity of their station. The ladies arrived in beautiful gowns, the men in debonair suitcoats. Carriages and consorts lined the promenade under the radiant lamplights. No expense had been spared or decoration undone in the company's jubilant assembly.

The evening began with formal greetings and sincere congratulations. To have survived University was a feat no student was likely to take for granted. Soon, however, the exaggerated civilities turned to lively banter, and once the champagne made its way to the tables, all manners were entirely discarded. Scores of handsome and spirited couples made their way to the ballroom, where an elegant eight-piece band of musicians was playing a variety of dances.

Yet in the midst of the bustling crowds and boisterous, raucous laughter, a small group of students had gathered in a corner away from the party's revelers. They seemed a very attractive company, if not uncharacteristically somber. In truth, this circle of charmed companions was a shade of its former self. Where once they were the picture of mirth and love, they were now a reflection of sobriety. Handsome faces in fashionable apparel, oblivious to their surroundings.

Boq and Milla spoke in subdued tones about their plans to elope. Fiyero nodded with a half-hearted smile and wished them both 'good luck.' Nessarose and Nanny were among their party, wearing pinched and nervous expressions. It would be another year before Nessa and Fiyero formally graduated themselves. Crope stood at a short distance off next to Glinda, Pfannee, and Shenshen. His expression was dull, grey, and lifeless. He had no idea how to act. Glinda would occasionally hold his hand or allow him to lean on her shoulder. As for Avaric, he was nowhere to be seen, which vexed both Shenshen and Pfannee.

A lively dance had begun to play, and students began filling the room. Glinda excused herself from the party with a silent nod to Nessarose. She moved through the crowd with a careful turn of her beautiful, cream-colored gown. She looked as stunning as ever that evening, wrapped in Appleruian satin and her grandmother's diamond collar.

Several balcony doors were left open in order to cool down the room. Glinda slipped through the tinted glass doorway and out into the light blue evening. She quietly shut the doors behind her and rested her back against them. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply and let the night dull her senses. She was glad to leave the music behind and the voluble noise of the crowd. Upon opening her eyes, she began walking forward to the balcony's furthest ledge.

The gardens below were dark and breathtaking from her view above. She rested her arms on the cool marble ledge and drank in the silence surrounding her. A cold evening breeze touched the skin on her back, traveling down the delicate slope of her bare neck and shoulders. The light of the stars shone brightly above in the rich pool of moonlight.

"Quite the spectacular evening, isn't it?"

Glinda nearly froze.

The voice had startled her from the shadows along the balcony, low and all too familiar.

She spun around and looked behind her with an angry, earnest expression. When her eyes adjusted to the subtle darkness, she found Avaric beside the doorway, stretched out on the balcony's ledge. His back was resting against the building; his arm was slumped on his knee. She quickly took in his disheveled appearance with a questioning air of disapproval. The starched white linen of his collar was loose, his cravat was lazily untied. He cradled a bottle of champagne in his hand that looked to be nearly empty. His facial features were strangely rigid, though his eyes were as artful as ever.

Glinda stiffened under his gaze and haughtily raised her chin.

"Have we taken to lurking in the shadows, Master Avaric?"

Avaric smiled handsomely at her and tipped the bottle to his lips. "I'm merely enjoying this fine summer's evening… made even lovelier by the welcoming vision of a beauty as arresting as yourself."

Glinda scoffed and turned back towards the ledge. "Oh really, Avaric… don't you get tired of the useless flatteries you dribble? We've known each other long enough to spare ourselves of such nonsense."

"You may be right," he said, leaning forward. "Call me a creature of habit. But whether I'm a fool or a poor drunken brute, you do look perfectly exquisite."

"You're a fool indeed," she evenly replied, though a ghost of a smile touched her lips. "What do you mean by hiding in the shadows and scaring me half to death?"

Avaric shrugged before stretching himself out, one boot crossed over the other. "The party was giving me a terrible headache, so I decided to get some fresh air. I've never been fond of formal galas dripping with all this pretention. Besides, there won't be many evenings like this once Highsummer hits Gillikin."

Glinda slowly looked up at the stars. "No… I don't suppose there will be."

He regarded her with open curiosity as he took another drink of champagne. "Well then, Glinda, what brings you out here away from the high celebrations?"

She rubbed at her arm. "I have a headache as well."

Avaric laughed at this spiritedly. "Is Boq still trying to coerce you into a closet?"

"Hardly that," she replied. "Have you forgotten that your friend is engaged to Milla?"

"I haven't forgotten, but I reckon he'd still love to take a short trip up that dress of yours."

Glinda was mildly (though properly) offended. "You're an absolute scoundrel, Master Avaric."

"Now what's with all of this 'Master' nonsense? We abandoned formalities a long time ago. If you don't want to endure my practiced compliments, I want none of your formal little honoraries."

"I suppose that's fair," she said with a sigh, resting her arms on the ledge again. "Pfannee and Shenshen are looking for you."

"Ah yes… the ladies Pfannee and Shenshen." He hopped off the ledge and joined her on the farthest end of the balcony. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of time to seduce them into a broom closet later this evening."

Glinda smirked and shook her head. "I don't know why I endure your perversities."

"You endure them because it's a gorgeous night, and it's the last night you'll have to do so."

They stood together on the moonlit terrace, gazing down towards the gardens. The music filtered out through the door with the muted laughter of the crowds. Neither spoke for a long stretch of time as each were lost in their respective thoughts. Eventually, Avaric looked over at Glinda and noticed her somber expression.

"Tonight really isn't the night for melancholy," Avaric quietly spoke. "One would think you'd be overly happy to finally be rid of this place."

Glinda didn't immediately respond as she slid her fingers together. "I once believed that my life would begin at Shiz, and yet, I feel like it's ended." Her lips curled up in slight distaste, either towards the confession or herself. "I'm not sure if that makes me pathetically amusing or just terribly pitiable."

Avaric snorted and took another swig of champagne from the bottle. "The old place has left its mark on you, eh?"

"Something like that," she responded. Her voice had turned suddenly softer. She still was unable to look at him. The music inside had quietly shifted into a slower, steadier arrangement.

Avaric looked out over the distant horizon that vanished behind the hills. The shadows of night lent them a mystery that was equally remarkable and foreboding.

"You know," he began, "when I was a kid, I used to dream about traveling around Oz. Just me with my horse, a musket and a pack, following the road wherever it took me. I always imagined there was something greater beyond our Gillikin hills. Savage brutes… Beautiful maidens… Wild and fantastic adventures."

He was staring intently at those hills as he spoke, rolling off into the distance. The quiet mirth that graced his features was replaced with an unreadable expression. "That isn't the life of a Margreave, though. I was bred for a better purpose; to walk in the footsteps of my noble father and every Margreave before him." He turned to her with a sardonic grin and leaned against the ledge. "I'm a fortunate prat, aren't I, dear Glinda? The envy of every bastard here."

She turned to him as he quietly chuckled with open and mocking derision. "I'm the envy of everyone," he darkly muttered. "Avaric: the Margreave of Piss. How little they know; how incapable they are of understanding the burden of expectations. You grow up with it your entire life… it becomes ingrained in your skin. And you laugh and you lie and you pretend you don't care, when really, it's all that you are. There is no Avaric; there never was. I was born the Margreave of Tenmeadows."

He drank deeply from the near-empty bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. When he looked down at Glinda, she was staring at him with a strange and even troubled expression.

"Oh hell and Oz," he crossly muttered, "I sound like a fucking mincer." He drained the last contents of the bottle and tossed it into the garden. "But such is life, eh, Glinda love? We're all a tad pathetic. Little did you know I'm an even bigger fool than you had previously suspected. Dear Master Avaric has graduated with honors and is now right-properly fucked. I'm off to marry some fat, silly shrew and take charge of my family's estate. It'll be a marvelous life of wealth and privilege with precious little substance or meaning." Avaric grinned. "Do you know that I'll listen to Boq prattle on about purchasing a farm in the Fallows, and I swear, by Lurline, there are times when I envy that fresh-faced, cheerful little bastard?"

He laughed a little and turned back towards the building, resting his elbows on the ledge. "I'll miss this time. I'll miss this place. I'll miss the idea of freedom. Sure, someday I'll forget every bit of it, but for now, I'll enjoy the evening."

He was about to shift away from the ledge when Glinda grabbed hold of his arm.

"You could run away," she said in a whisper, her voice slightly trembling. "You could run away and never look back. Leave all of this behind you."

He was startled by the intensity in her eyes, the way she grasped his arm. Glinda seemed to be looking straight through him and down to the depths of his soul. For the life of him, he couldn't comprehend the desperation that had gripped her so fiercely.

Avaric placed his hand over hers. "I'm too much of a coward," he replied.

Something in Glinda visibly fell when he finally spoke the words. He was a little shocked to hear himself say that so candidly in front of her. They gazed at each other for a long, fractured moment that spoke more loudly than words, and it was then that Avaric finally understood the anguish that graced his friend's features. The truth of his own personal cowardice was a reflection of Glinda herself; a hurt that had lasted longer than anyone could have expected or imagined. It was ironic, in a way, that they should share such a strikingly similar fate. They were two handsome people with the world at their fingertips, and neither of them wanted any part of it.

"Are you ashamed of me, Glinda?" he quietly asked.

Glinda looked away. "If I've ever known shame, or ever understood it, it's because I live it every day."

Only silence could follow her response as Avaric had nothing to say. He studied her anguished and beautiful profile in the soft halo of starlight. Muffled applause sounded in the building as the band began their next number. They could hear the strings of an Arjikiian viola begin weaving a gorgeous melody.

"Here," he said, turning her around and lightly taking her hands. "It's a lovely night, so why don't we make the most of it like proper, well-bred Gillikins? I've yet to dance a waltz this evening, and I believe there's one open on your card."

Glinda was hesitant. "Avaric, I…"

"…don't know the steps? Don't worry. Neither do I." He slid his hand to the small of her back; the other gracefully clasped hers. "But why waste the night with regrets and apologies when everything else is perfect? The stars are out, the music is playing, and tomorrow is nowhere in sight. I can pretend that I'm never going to become the Margreave, and you can pretend I'm someone else."

She briefly looked up when he spoke these last words, her eyes searching his. There was no mockery or malice in his handsome features. There was only compassion. Understanding. It shocked her to see so much depth in his gaze, and it must have shocked Avaric himself. He should have been embarrassed or even amused by it, yet he only held her closer.

The music played, and Avaric guided her through the first steady movements of the waltz. The trill of the nightbirds accompanied the refrain of the softer harmonies surrounding them. His manners were neither firm nor suggestive; in truth, he was surprisingly gentle. Glinda leaned her head against him, savoring his warmth, his closeness.

Her eyes drifted shut as the music played on, and she caught herself in a dream. A dream where she was waiting in a simple little room somewhere in the Emerald City. Every detail was fixed in her mind, equally beautiful and preposterous. Perhaps a large window looked out over the city, or there was a small balcony like this. And the arms that held her were smaller; more slender. They were also fiercely protective. Glinda wanted them to hold her even closer. She didn't know when she'd started crying.

As for Avaric, it was the first and last time he felt perfectly content with his life. The winsome girl he held in his arms was the beauty of a thousand possibilities. They could have been dancing together in a cottage somewhere on the road to Pastoria; drunk with wine, filled with laughter, and without a care in the world. It was a pleasant thought that actually surprised him with its free and honest simplicity. For a moment, he wondered if that life could exist if he were only a little bit braver.

The music eventually came to a stop. Still, they continued dancing. Glinda's hands clung to Avaric's shoulders. He rested his cheek on her head. After a time, their bodies shifted and their movements quietly stilled. Glinda's lips were under his chin, and yet, her eyes remained closed.

The kiss was soft and strangely bittersweet. It had no definition or meaning. To Avaric, it tasted of unknown horizons; to Glinda, it was the want of a memory. It lasted as long as moments are able when people can only pretend.

They opened their eyes and stared at each other.

It was almost a perfect evening.

The death of the Witch and the Wizard's abdication had caused quite a flurry throughout Oz. The Emerald City was bustling with activity as every notable profiteer was out to make the most of the fanciful chaos.

Avaric had called several times at the manor where Lord and Lady Chuffrey were established. He'd hoped to request an audience with her Ladyship amidst Oz's administrative disputes. Every time he was met by a servant that regretted to inform him that she was indisposed, or not receiving any visitors. Today's visit had been no exception, regardless of his persistence. So he left his card with a formal bow and climbed back into his carriage. This would make it the third or fourth visit where Glinda had refused to see him.

Allegedly, there had been a flood of callers to the Chuffrey's town estate. Glinda's temporary appointment to the throne had made her prey to the scoundrels and money-lenders lurking in the recesses of the palace. It was undoubtedly assumed that Avaric himself was after similar gains; that he'd hoped to establish himself as a favorite within her Lady's confidence.

As he made the long journey to his home near Shiz, he asked himself just why in the hell he was so damned anxious to see her. Was he really after power and influence, or was this simply boredom? A man of his wealth and stature was likely to have any number of ambitions, but as he watched the city drifting past his window, he couldn't invent a single reason.

He silently considered the last few weeks and everything that had happened; the recent deaths of the Witches of the East and West regions, respectfully. What small acquaintance he'd shared with either of them wasn't much to warrant any grief, but he'd remembered something on the night that Elphaba stole her way in from his balcony. The dim recollections that surfaced that night had managed to give him pause, and once he'd learned of the green woman's death, his thoughts strayed to the Lady Glinda.

Miss Glinda Arduenna—the Frottican beauty who had beguiled his Munchkin roommate. The same girl who had asked him one night long ago why he didn't just run away. He remembered the hands that clung to his shoulders and the tears that soaked through his vest. He guessed that there had been no one to hold her when she'd learned of Elphaba's death.

He arrived at the Emperor's Green days later when it was rounding six o'clock. He exited the carriage and brushed past his horseman in a careless, aimless fashion. The door to the hall was opened in front of him, revealing a brilliant interior. He had not made it past the twin marble pillars before his wife was angrily upon him.

"Where have you been?" said the Margreavess heatedly. She was dressed for formal company. The door to the parlor, from where she had entered, was filled with laughter and chattering.

Avaric casually discarded his cane on a nearby Greyvinian table. "I was paying a visit to the Chuffrey estate to call on Lady Glinda." His voice was perfectly nonchalant, as were his manners towards her. "Have I kept you waiting, dear jewel of my heart? How abominably rude of me."

The Margreavess was not at all pleased. Furious was a better description. She quickly glanced in the direction of the parlor before rounding on her husband again. "For Lurline's sake, keep your voice down! Do you want to embarrass us in front of our friends?"

"Do we have company? What am I saying; of course we have company. Silly me. Then permit me to excuse myself from the revelry, darling. I'll be in my study for the night."

He began walking up the mahogany staircase when she angrily grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"How long do you intend to make a fool of yourself, Avaric? You must know that the servants are talking. This little obsession of yours has got to stop if we're to be spared of further ridicule. I will tolerate the whores you engage at your clubs, but I will not have you flaunting your marital indiscretions with that glittery tart in public!"

Avaric gave her an affable grin that was clearly laced with derision. "My darling wife, how deeply I'm charmed by your pretty little temper-tantrums. You're never more becoming than when you're ridiculous or displaying such awful naiveté."

He slid his arm roughly out of her grasp and continued to ascend the staircase.

"Avaric," she hissed under her breath once more, "what am I supposed to tell our guests?"

"Why don't you invent some clever anecdote about your little toy mastiff? Order another case of brandy… make love to the fops you play bridge with. I'm sure you'll think of something clever to while away the hours, dearest. Perhaps you can invite a servant girl in—take turns whipping her with your guests."

He left her there with a shocked expression as he made his way into the study. The doors were opened and quickly slammed shut before his wife could protest any further. He carelessly removed his coat and jacket before flinging them on his desk. A cool breeze drifted in from the window left open near the garden terrace.

He settled himself on his black leather couch and lit a Fannarian cigar. The smoke filled his lungs and briefly relieved some of the tightness he felt in his chest.

He looked out over the rolling hills to the horizon that lay beyond.

He had no idea what any of it looked like.

Still, he could always pretend.