Chapter 18: Choices

Turning to Elizabeth's basket in the reeds, Darcy saw the waters around it alive with limbs and shoulders. His own basket was nearly capsizing from the pull of the creatures trying to climb in, preserved only by the ballast of those already inside. But they were boarding his basket only to gain access to its neighbour. He could see other creatures massing over the animal skin covering Elizabeth.

Darcy's blood ran cold. Uttering a cry, he climbed the side of the boat and let himself fall into the water. It was much deeper than he had anticipated, coming above his waist; given Darcy's height, he knew that Elizabeth would surely drown if she fell into the river, especially in the state she was. The shock of the water took his breath only for an instant; he let out a warrior's bellow that came to him from instinct, and lurched towards the baskets, his sword held high above him.

There was tugging at his clothes and the water felt honey-like, but when he brought the sword down onto his own basket, even though his weapon travelled with frustrating slowness, once it landed, more creatures than he could have suspected tumbled out into the water. The next swing caused even greater destruction, and yet Elizabeth remained an age away, floating complacently even as the creatures rose about her. Creatures were now even hanging from his sword.

Darcy wondered if this was a fever dream, because the unreality of it struck him strongly. Wishing only to be at Elizabeth's side, Darcy waded through the water, the weeds, the broken bulrushes, the mud tugging at his feet, but Elizabeth remained further away than ever; and stubbornly asleep.

Then came the stranger's voice again, and even though now, down in the water he could no longer see her, Darcy could picture the old woman with startling clarity in his mind's eye, slumped on the floor of her boat in the morning sun, the pixies moving freely over her as she uttered the words he could hear "Leave her, stranger. Leave her to us."

"Curse you," Darcy muttered under his breath, as he pushed himself forward. "I'll never, never give her up."

"A wise man like you, stranger. You've known a long time now there's no hope for you both. How will you bear it, what now lies in wait for her? Do you long for that day you watch your dearest love twist in agony and walk away, with nothing to offer but kind words for her ear? What will you say to her, when she must make a terrible choice for which she will never forgive you? Give her to us and we'll ease her suffering, as we've done for all the others before her."

"Curse you! I'll not give her to you!"

"Give her to us and we'll see she does not suffer. We'll wash her in the river's waters, the pain will never reach her, and she'll be as in a pleasant dream. Why keep her, sir? What can you give her but the agony of an animal in slaughter?"

"I'll be rid of you. Get off. Get. Off. Her."

Love that was shrouded with falseness is no love at all, Darcy thought even as he fought his way forward. Sheathing his sword and locking his hands together to make a club, Darcy swung one way then the other, clearing a path in the water as he waded on, till at last he was before Elizabeth, still fast asleep in her basket. The pixies were swarming over the animal skin that covered her, and he began to pull them off one by one, hurling them away.

Choosing to forget and not to face the wound of memory was not the road to happiness; Darcy regretted his previous doubts, fearing that it had brought on this other worldly attack. He realised now that only after facing their wounds with each other, if they could still treat each other with forgiveness and love, would he and Elizabeth find their true love and peace. This was his punishment for being angry at her for not remembering him when they met.

And if now, he was too afraid to fight Querig because of Elizabeth's memories, he would do no worse by letting her be devoured by these creatures, Darcy told himself.

"Why will you not give her to us? This is no kindness you show her."

Darcy wanted to carry Elizabeth to the shore, but realised that the distance would cause at least one of them, likely both, to drown. He made a decision that it was more important to get her away from the water than to try and fight the creatures one by one. Thus, he pushed the basket through the icy water without a sense of time, until finally the ground rose up and the basket was sitting on wet mud amidst grass and bulrushes.

Darcy then leant forward and gathered Elizabeth in his arms, lifting her out. Thankfully she came back to wakefulness enough to cling to his neck. He made faltering steps through the water, first onto the bank, then further, into the fields.

Only when the land felt hard and dry beneath them did Darcy lower Elizabeth. There was not a creature in sight anymore. He sat, recovering his breath, and watching as Elizabeth became more awake.

"Darcy, what is this place we've come to?"

"Princess, how are you feeling now? We must get away from this spot. I'll carry you on my back."

"Darcy, you're soaked through! Did you fall in the river?"

"This is an evil spot, Princess, and we must leave quickly. I'll gladly carry you on my back."

"Must we leave the river behind us? Wouldn't it help us find Wickham and Lydia faster? The land here looks as high in the mountains as we ever were before."

Darcy's heart broke into a hundred pieces as he realised that Elizabeth had no idea what had just happened…she had no idea how close he had come to losing her, or exhausted and sapped of strength, how hard he had still fought for her. He felt his eyes burn.

"Darcy, are you alright?

He looked away, off into the river, and composed himself forcefully. I'll always fight for her, he told himself, even if she will never know. Even if, with her regained memories she chose other than him, his love for her demanded that he slay Querig, and restore to Elizabeth her memory and with it her sense of identity and purpose.

"Darcy?"

"We've no choice, Princess. We must get far from here. Come, I'll have you on my back. Come, Elizabeth, reach for my shoulders."

A/N: I probably should have done this several chapters ago when I got a few reviews and messages about this story not being understandable and being confusing. The key, I think, is to not overthink the plot. While non-linear narrative is not frequent in P&P fics, it's kind of like a detective story. Also, The Buried Giant, from which 98% of this fic is taken, is in fact not a fantasy novel.

As a reviewer said about The Buried Giant, "... to say that The Buried Giant is a fantasy novel in much the same sort of way that Never Let Me Go was a sci-fi yarn—or, for that matter, that When We Were Orphans was a detective novel, or The Remains of the Day was a historical romance: very much so, but also hardly at all"

Or, as another reviewer said, "What are our lives except a compilation of memories? What has our time on earth amounted to if we lose all of that? Can we even say we know who we are?"

Is it better to forget the past, live a stunted but painless life, or remember the pain and face them head on? Darcy is angry for the longest time that Elizabeth doesn't remember, but then has to live with the fear of what will be if and when she does remember. What and who do you sacrifice, and when? Will anyone throw Lydia into the abyss in order to salvage their own lives?

Yes, there are ogres, pixies, dragons, wereLydia (as an amazing reviewer named her!), and magical amulets. But really, it's not about any of that, but about the emotional journey everyone (even Wickham) is on. Let the fantastical elements come and go, don't think of it as a fantasy fic with its own rules of the universe that needs to be learnt. All of that is just the means of the journey.

I hope this helps, and that readers are encouraged to stay on a bit longer.

Thank you!