Chapter 4

Despite his mother's early influence, Darcy did not consider himself a spiritual man. He was a Christian, of course, a good Anglican, and he went to church every Sunday, made sure the chapel on his grounds remained in good order, and that the parson wanted for nothing. He tended to estate affairs with proper diligence and was considered by all a fair and generous landlord. He loved his family and was good to his friends. Beyond that, he supported various charities, some that no one knew of. In keeping with the Lord's teachings, he would not make his charitable giving public to seek the praise of men.

All in all, he espoused a practical Christianity, and if he had to clear his throat several times during a particularly fine performance of Handel's Messiah, he was in good company with the rest of the ton. Nothing to be ashamed of there. In fact, until he met Elizabeth Bennet, he was quite pleased with his life of order and daily righteousness, and it wasn't until her fiery rejection that he realized that perhaps his pride had not been under good regulation after all. She had humilated him, and the process was by no means complete, but still, it was an earthly scourging and one that he understood. To him, spiritual matters were like the gears of a watch, a beautiful synchronicity of precision, balance, purpose, and function designed by a master. An apt metaphor to his logical mind and rather good sense.

Mystics and mystical matters had no place in his daily routine or personal study. He had always waved away conversations on ethereal topics such as the workings of angels and the Holy Spirit. After giving them their respectful due as creatures of God's design and aspects of Himself, he thought no more on them and quickly dismissed any conversation headed in such directions.

"How can we know such things, Bingley?" he had asked once at Netherfield after his exuberant friend had given an account of a book he was reading. "We can discuss and postulate all evening and come no closer to understanding anything concrete, anything practical." Of course, Bingley had laughed and chided him for lacking imagination.

"Perhaps angels are listening in on this very conversation, Darcy! Think on that, old chap." Darcy countered that God would not detain them from more important business for something as trivial as their conversation.

He had accepted Thorin's identity because he didn't have any evidence to the contrary, and he needed to move forward. Besides, Thorin Oakenshield was someone one didn't want as an adversary. He was a soldier, no, warrior in truth. He could see it his eyes, those large, blue eyes that constantly evaluated and assessed. Darcy thought deeper about the matter of him appearing suddenly on his property and replayed his earlier idle thoughts. His mother used to read to him every night, and she always included a story from the old family Bible. He remembered the story of Satan being cast down from Heaven. Thrown from heaven to land on earth. But that had happened before time was time. He looked Thorin over again. If he was one of Satan's minions, he wouldn't appear as a dwarf. At least not likely. No. Most unlikely, and he certainly wouldn't be lost—at least not in the physical sense.

He reviewed other his thoughts about a guardian angel. Artistic license aside, he knew from mother's readings that angels weren't meek creatures, nor did they wear nightgowns. In fact, people often fell to their knees in fear. A cherub then? Darcy never believed that any angel would choose to appear as an overfed, naked toddler. Absurd, maudlin posh. But a smaller, heavily armed creature radiating power and authority? Could it be? Mmm. No, for the same reason that angels under God's direction would likewise know where they were and what they were doing. Unless Darcy was being tested. Perhaps like the story of Abraham entertaining strangers who were angels in disguise? Was the Lord testing him to see if he had truly repented of his pride? Possibly. Then again Thorin knew nothing about God Almighty and seemed to have a pantheon of his own.

All the same though there was something old, something ancient about Thorin that gave Darcy the slightest glimpse into a shrouded past, but any notion that he had sprung from Celtic or Norse lore was a door Darcy wouldn't open. Starting to get a headache, Darcy decided to work with what he knew and forgo speculation until more information presented itself.

"Will you come with me to my house, my lord?" he asked, gesturing down the road. "It is about a mile off, and I'd be glad if you'd take …." He stopped there. Somehow tea didn't seem appropriate. "… have a drink with me? Also, you must be hungry." Thorin looked up at him from under his lashes. He missed nothing.

"What were you going to say?" he asked with his fists on his hips. Darcy sighed internally and braced himself.

"I was asking if you'd take tea with me but then thought you might like something stronger." He looked down to see Thorin's inscrutable expression and wondered what he was thinking. He didn't have to wait long.

"Halflings enjoy their tea," he said evenly, "but I've never taken to it. A fine red wine if you have it or ale if you don't." Darcy was surprised when a twinkle appeared in those discerning blue eyes. "You need not fear of offending me every minute, Master Darcy. I'm not such a brute to spurn generosity when it's offered. You've treated me fairly for all your surprise, and I thank you."

"You're very welcome, and call me Darcy, my lord." He waited for Thorin's reply and was further astonished by the small smile he saw hiding under his mustache.

"And you may call me, "my lord." Darcy's mouth dropped open and Thorin caught him with the merest upturn of his lips. Joining in, Darcy made a slow, clean bow from the waist.

"My Lord King Thorin Oakenshield." Thorin responded with a regal dip of the head. It was a natural, unstudied response even in jest.

"Thorin will do."

With the air between them cleared for the moment, they started down the road on equal footing. Darcy had thought that Thorin would be angered at being stranded in another world, but while the king was thoughtful, he no longer appeared unduly distressed. Darcy knew he wouldn't be so easy if their situations were reversed.

"I must say that you're taking this better than I would be," Darcy said with a sidelong glance. Thorin nodded and shrugged.

"I am uneasy, to be sure, and concerned about my kin. But I have come to no harm, and I trust that Mahal has his reasons; that is, unless you summoned me here?" He stopped and turned to Darcy. His brow furrowed. "Are you a wizard?" Darcy was taken aback at the novel question.

"No. We don't have them here." Darcy's left eye twitched, and Thorin's eyes narrowed. Fitzwilliam Darcy's complicated walk home was becoming more complicated by the minute. Thorin Oakenshield wasn't the kind to let anything go. By the time they reached Pemberley, he might well know everything Darcy wanted to hide.

"But?"

"I am no wizard."

"You didn't answer my first question. You hesitated. I'll have the truth now." He stopped and folded his arms across his chest. Darcy surmised that they could stand there all day and night, and Thorin wouldn't budge an inch until he had his answer. "You could have ridden one of your horses to your keep, yet you chose to walk. Why?" Damn his perceptiveness!

"My thoughts were troubled, and I wanted time to think."

"What thoughts?"

Darcy withheld all but the slightest wince, and Thorin nodded as though the answer was in front of him.

"What thoughts?" Darcy took a deep breath. Richard knew of his failure and humiliation, and if Thorin was Providence's response to his troubles—however unlikely—would it help to keep them from him?

"I am troubled over a relationship with a woman I wanted to marry." Flushing with embarrassment over sharing his private business, he glared at Thorin, daring him to scorn his misfortune, but the king said not a word and simply stared at him with a blank expression.

"And what went amiss? Do not attempt to deny your errors, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You would not be as troubled as you are if all were well." Darcy fumed at feeling called out like an errant schoolboy, so he lifted his chin and attempted to stare Thorin down, but the dwarf king withstood Darcy's arrogance without blinking. Soon, a knowing smirk joined his steady appraisal of Darcy's disdain. "Now I see why your lady spurned you." Darcy dropped his pose, defeated, and his brows drew together.

"I may have misrepresented my intentions."

"Indeed, and you called out to your gods for guidance?"

"You might say that." Darcy braced himself for the contempt to come, but it didn't. Quite to his surprise, he observed that Thorin seemed deep in thought himself, and he waited.

"To feel love for another is a gift indeed," Thorin said finally. "Women are scarce in our race, and it is a blessing to find one to love."

"Do you have a wife and family?" Darcy asked with a glimmer of hope.

"Nay. I have never found such, but I have a sister, Dis, and her sons, Fili and Kili." One glance was enough to see Thorin's true love and pride for his family. He understood that if nothing else.

"I have a sister. Her name is Georgiana."

Well, I hope this didn't disappoint, but please review regardless!