A/N - After watching the finale of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, I wanted to write a happy ending for Jonathan and Arabella. I loved them in the book, but I adored them in the TV version.

I failed at giving them their HEA. I'm sorry.

Come and say hi on tumblr if you like - alatarielgildaen

Of all the peculiar sights that Jonathan Strange had seen since his and Norrell's exile to Faerie, the waterfall that marked the border between the kingdoms of Lover's Remorse and Unrelenting Regret may have been the most curious.

The two magicians had heard whispers of a fairy-spirit whose closest allies were the clear night winter sky and sudden thunderstorms in summer, and so they had set out to meet with the spirit, in the hopes that perhaps a fairy who was so allied to darkness could persuade the tower to disperse. It was on their way to the fairy's own brugh that they passed the waterfall. At first glance it appeared like any other waterfall in Faerie; the tumbling waters cascading down the perilous rocks appeared to glow with their own special luminescence, and Strange hardly gave it a second glance. Liberally scattered around the bank were the skeletons of several people, although whether Fairy or Christian, it was impossible to tell. This was not unusual. However, out of the corner of his eye, in the flow of water he saw, for the briefest of seconds, the sight of several well-dressed English gentlemen walking along a cobbled street. But when he turned towards the remarkable apparition, it had vanished.

His interest piqued, he stopped to watch the waterfall for a few seconds. Within the water he caught glimpses of an ever changing landscape. Sometimes it showed a strange, unfamiliar landscape of rich green trees—not the young trees of a tame English forest, nor the wild, ancient trees of Faerie—these trees were old but not malevolent, covered in thick green strands of vine and creeper, with exotic blooms and colourful birds nesting amongst them. Sometimes it showed a modern-looking city, full of fashionable people hurrying along the streets. Sometimes it showed a muddy field of peasants, labouring with scythes and other tools. But none of the sights was visible for more than a second or two; rather, they changed constantly, so that the impression was of impossible speed, giving Jonathan Strange a sense of vertigo the longer he watched. "I say, Mr Norrell, look at this."

"What is it, Mr Strange?"

Strange pointed towards the enchanted waterfall. "Where are these lands?" asked Strange.

Mr Norrell paused for a moment before answering. "I do not know. Now, come away, sir. These visions are giving me a head-ache."

But something within the waterfall seemed to call to him. He removed his coat and set it to one side, and waded into the pool. The ice-cold water reached as far as his thighs and he could not help the gasp that left his throat.

"Mr Strange, what are you doing?" Norrell called after him, but Strange ignored him, and continued to wade closer to the ever-changing water. "Mr Strange! Please do not—"

Without thinking, he stood underneath the waterfall, and as he did so, Norrell's warning was immediately extinguished. Strange had the sensation that without moving, he was being transported between every single landscape. He occupied more than once space at once; he could feel that he was both there, in the cold, icy water in Faerie, and...everywhere else. He was everywhere in Faerie, everywhere in England, everywhere in the whole world. The sensation was akin to drowning, and he gasped desperately for breath, but was unable to move. How long he stood, frozen between worlds, he did not know, but he became aware of a pair of hands, grasping at his torso and pulling him backwards with as much strength as they could muster.

"What do you think you are doing? Have I not warned you time and time again of the dangers of being so impulsive?"

Strange's surroundings were coming back to him as an understanding of what he had just experienced rushed in on him. He was drenched, head to toe, in a pool of freezing water. His former tutor and closest friend was just as cold and wet, a familiar look of concern plastered across his face. But Strange did not have time to worry. He had just made a monumental discovery, and was desperate to share his thoughts.

"I was the rain, sir. Or I was in it. Or on the other side of it. I do not know. But I was everywhere that rain fell. And more than that. There was no tower of darkness above me."

"Let us get out of this water, lest we catch our death."

"But do you not see? This could be a way to return home!" His head filled with thoughts of Arabella, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest. He was annoyed, but not surprised, to see that Norrell was shaking his head.

"It is not a way out of the darkness. You did not go anywhere. You froze like a statue the moment that water ran over your eyes. It took all of my best efforts to drag you away without allowing the water to hit me too. Where do you think all these bodies came from? Most likely they died as a result of misadventure, straying into these waters when alone, without anyone to pull them free." Mr Norrell flashed him his angriest look, which Strange duly ignored.

"There is a way, sir. I am sure of it."

"Mr Strange...Jonathan... There is a way to dispel the tower. And we will find it. But this is not it. You might be able to use it to visit wherever the rain falls for a few minutes, until you freeze, but—"

"Help me," interrupted Strange. He held up a hand to stop whatever protestations Norrell had been about to make, then continued in a strained voice. "I will accept what you say that I may not have found a way to break this curse, but if I have found a way to... to just see my wife again, to be near her, even if only for a short while, then you must help me."

Norrell sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are so many variables. We would need to find a way to get the waterfall to show only the rain in the place you wish to go to, and then of course, if it is not raining already, I do not know that we can conjure weather magic to affect England from here."

"Mr Norrell, we are talking about England. There is a very good chance that it is raining already. Please, help me."

After a protracted pause, Mr Norrell nodded.

"Thank you, sir," smiled Strange.

Norrell stood back and watched the waterfall, which had resumed its constant shifting of scenery. "We need to find a spell that will freeze, not the water, but the images inside. I believe the one mentioned in The Mirrour of the Lyf of Ralph Stokesie will suffice."

Strange took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Not a book I was ever given the chance to read, sir," he said pointedly.

Mr Norrell looked embarrassed. "Yes, well..." he stammered, his eyes dropping to the black waters they were stood in. "Perhaps if this adventure does not destroy us I will be able to teach it to you. But for now, you will not need it. After all, I will be the one casting this particular spell." He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to his friend. "You will need to create a path, a bridge if you like, to wherever you wish to travel. If, and this is where this piece of magic will most likely fail, if it is raining there, you should see the image appear on the waterfall. I will freeze it for you—"

"Thank you," interrupted Strange. He knew what to do. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on forging a pathway between himself and Arabella. Doors opened in the world, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with a clear view of Ashfair. "That, though you have never seen it before, is my home," said Strange. But barely before he had ended the sentence, the house that he knew so well had been replaced by a thousand other houses speeding past.

"Concentrate!" admonished Mr Norrell. "Rebuild the pathway, and concentrate!"

He did as he was told, and beside him he heard Norrell whisper a few words of a spell. The image of Ashfair had returned. "Go, quickly," said Norrell in a strained voice. "I do not know how long I can hold this. Go."

Without pause, Strange stepped directly into the stream of falling water. Once again, he had the bizarre notion of occupying two spaces at once. But this time his surroundings did not flash past in a hazy blur. They remained solid and substantial and achingly familiar. He looked up at the sky, delighting at the sight of the grey clouds illuminated by daylight, and tried to distinguish between the gentle feeling of English rain falling on his face, and the frozen torrents of the waterfall in Faerie.

He reached down and touched the wet springy grass below his feet, and was met with another strange sensation: while he moved here in England, he could tell that his body in Faerie was frozen solid. He tried a few tentative steps to see if he was able to walk, and found that he had to concentrate much more on the simple act of moving. But he allowed his memories of Arabella to fill him, and through her, he found all the motivation he needed to continue.

"Dear God, please allow me this. Let her be here, please," he whispered to himself, before running towards his old home and calling out at the top of his lungs, "Bell! Arabella!"

There were candles lit in the drawing room, and his heart beat faster and harder than ever as he continued to shout. What if Bell had sold the estate, thinking it would be too painful to stay? What if she simply wasn't there, and had gone to stay with friends for a while, making the journey and the magic used to arrive in England wasted? What if she was there but had taken his advice to heart, and he would look through the window to see her with another man?

A beautiful face, pale and shocked, appeared at the window, and in an instant tears were streaming down Strange's face at the sight of his wife. Her eyes widened and in a flash she had disappeared. Moments later she was at the front door, running towards him.

"Jonathan!" she cried as she ran into his waiting arms. "You are alive! You are home!"

"Yes and no, my love."

She did not appear to hear his answer, so enraptured was she by his sudden appearance. Her hands reached up to cup his face, and he closed his eyes, shivering under her gentle touch.

"Jonathan, you are frozen," she said, taking her hands in his. "Come inside, come out of the rain."

He made to follow her, but the closer he got to the warmth and dryness of his home, the more difficulty he had in forcing his limbs to move, as if he were in a terrible nightmare, trying to run from some unknown horror. "I cannot," he said sadly, as he looked down at her small hands, tracing small circles onto the backs of them with his thumb.

"Jonathan?"

"I am not truly here. I cannot stay."

"Then where are you?"

He looked up at the sky once more, blinking the falling drops out of his eyes. "Somewhere on the other side of this rain."

She quieted immediately and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

"I am sorry, Bell. I am truly sorry. I am sorry that I am so selfish as to travel here and upset you. I am sorry that I have still not found a way to come back to you."

"So am I." She held on to him a little tighter, pressing her cheek directly over his thumping heart.

"How long has it been?" he asked her.

"Two years, Jonathan. Two years."

The news came as something of a surprise to him. It had felt closer to the order of two months. But two years? So much could change in two years... "Do you recall me telling you to be happy, Bell? Not to wait for me?"

"I do."

"And...?"

She looked up at him with a touch of impatience, and it was such a familiar expression that it took all of his self-control not to fall at her feet. "I am happy, Jonathan, in my way. I keep myself busy and I try not to grieve for you. But I will never love another, and I would ask you not to tell me to do so again."

It was all he needed to hear. He could wait no longer to claim her, and held the back of her neck steady as he pressed his lips against hers. The steady warmth of her was a lifeline against the cold wetness of his own skin and he held onto her as if he would cease to breathe if he let go.

"I love you, Bell," he whispered into her, as he kissed her again and again.

"And I love—"

It had stopped raining at Ashfair, and in that instant, Jonathan Strange passed rapidly through every other location on Earth where rain fell. The woman in front of him ceased to be, and Jonathan Strange sank to his knees. He felt two hands grasp at him, and pull him backwards, and moments later, he landed with a splash in the icy pool in Faerie, Gilbert Norrell beside him.

"Did it work? Did you see—?"

Strange nodded abruptly, and was grateful that Norrell did not push him for any further information. He stared wistfully at the waterfall that was a temporary gateway to England and so many other places.

A gentle hand alighted on his shoulder, and for a moment Strange started. He looked up into the concerned face of his tutor, who offered him his hand. "Come then, sir. Let us get warm and dry. We should waste no more time upon these follies, when there is a real solution to our problem awaiting us."

With one last glance towards the waterfall, Jonathan Strange nodded, and took Mr Norrell's hand, more determined than ever to escape the prison of darkness.