Chapter 25: Justice And Honour

"He's going to kill you," Wickham said flatly. "Have you even skinned a dead animal? Because killing a grown man is considerably harder."

"Enough, George," Darcy snapped. "This is not helping."

Elizabeth was seated on the ground, her own cloak as well as Darcy's wrapped around her. She looked across to her father, who was leaning on the rocks, looking away. Wickham shuffled, a short distance away from them.

Darcy sat down next to her, and tightly pulled her into him, and they stayed that way for some time. Finally, Darcy spoke. "Princess, just say the word, and I will do what is necessary. There is no need for you to do this yourself. Wickham words it badly, but he is right about the risk to you. About the…I am a warrior. Taking another's life is part of my duty. Your life is not worth sacrificing for…for…"

"I love you, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, her voice breaking. "I know that it took me time, and that I do not remember all. But I know what I feel, what we feel in our hearts, and I know it to be the only thing which is true."

"Elizabeth – "

"That is why I must do this. If it were to be you, we will never have a future of peace. I want to grow old with you, watch our children play in the sun, worry together about crops and harvest, instead of dragons and poisoned goats. But we shall never have peace. Britons will always hunt for you, the killer of a knight of Arthur. And Britons as a whole, myself included, meanwhile, will never be cleansed of the sins of my father, of Merlin, of Arthur. This circle of hate must be broke. And it must be by a Briton. For all this land, just as much for you and I."

"Princess, I love and cherish you. I cannot bear the thought that you may…that I may walk away from here alone. In loving you, I must respect your choices, but how can I stand aside and watch you walk into certain death?"

Elizabeth squeezed Darcy's hand. "Have faith. My father shall perish in exactly the manner that he lived."

This entire journey, Elizabeth had followed others, not knowing what she was to do or which way to turn.

But now, finally, she had the knowledge she had sought. She was her father's daughter. It fell on her to right her family's sins. Elizabeth had the strength of her convictions behind her. Those convictions, she knew, would not steer her wrong. She also had faith; faith in herself. She did not meet Darcy again by accident, it was her destiny. It was her destiny that had led her to this spot, and that was because she too had a duty to fulfil. Elizabeth refused to believe that she had made it thus far only to be killed by her father.

Darcy made Elizabeth take of all the cloaks, coats and such she had wrapped in to stay warm. "You must be able to move, light and nimble, and all these coverings shall not do. Walk about some, to become used to the cold. It will also warm you just enough."

Elizabeth nodded, and did as she was told. She had been able to lift Darcy's sword, but with its weight, she could do little more than lift it. Wickham gave her his sword instead, and she insisted on taking his scabbard as well and fashioning it about her waist. Darcy was curious but silent; Wickham was disapproving.

"You need to hold on to the sword at all times," Wickham complained. "You're not a warrior, or even a soldier, to be able to draw it in a trice. What will you do with a scabbard? Do what you can to win, not to die with proper regalia."

Elizabeth just smiled. She had her reasons, which she thought best to keep to herself.

"George, leave it be. Let her do what she feels. You and I are not walking out there, Elizabeth is." Darcy turned to her and spoke quietly. "He will be sharp with his sword, but slower with his feet. Jump away if you must, to recover or gain an advantage. He is also without his helmet; he has become distracted through this journey. He will react delayed."

Both men parried swords with her for a time, but little trickery could be done with Sir Bennet watching them intently.

"My child…"

"I am ready."

"Elizabeth, you are asking me to defend myself from my own flesh and blood. Will you really try to slay your father?"

"You slaughtered a sea of Saxons, be they warriors or babes. It may just be Darcy and Wickham here today, but yet, there are many more across the land. They shall come from all over. This circle of hate must be broken, sir, not forged instead in iron by me today. God will forgive me for least attempting to cleanse this land of Arthur's sins, as well yours. Those were not deeds God would ever smile upon."

Elizabeth turned to Darcy, holding his hands tightly in hers.

He whispered to her. "I love you. I always have. What I feel in my heart for you, I have never felt for another, and never shall. Please come back to me."

"I shall return to you, and then wait in equal agony as you go to slay Querig. Thank you for having faith in me," she whispered. "Our love will lead me back." He kissed her, bittersweet and with shining eyes, and then she stepped forth to meet her father.

"Let us meet with our swords drawn; I will give you that concession my child," Sir Bennet stated. Elizabeth noted the coldness in eyes, which did not match his voice.

"You may do so, but I shall draw at my pace."

The old knight drew his sword and placed the point into the ground, just as he had done earlier at the cairn. But instead of leaning on it, he stood there regarding his weapon up and down with a mixture of weariness and affection. Then he took the sword in both hands and raised it, and Sir Bennet's posture took on an unmistakable grandeur.

He then pointed his sword downwards, Elizabeth thought so as not to exhaust his arms. At most five strides apart, Elizabeth angled slightly to the left away from her father. She still did not draw her sword. They held these positions for a time, then she moved three slow steps to her right, so that to all appearances, her outside shoulder was no longer protected by her sword. But to take advantage, Sir Bennet would have had to close the gap very rapidly.

Sir Bennet acknowledged her move with a taut smile, and himself moved to the right with deliberate strides. "You still have not drawn. You cannot fight my sword with your bare hands, daughter of mine."

"I shall draw when the time comes."

They held these unmoving positions for a long time, before Sir Bennett changed his hold, letting the sword's weight fall from the right arm to the left.

Elizabeth knew somehow the contest had reached a critical point; that things could not be held like this for long without one or the other combatant being forced to commit themselves.

"I learned long ago," Sir Bennet said, "not to fear Death as I fought. Yet I thought I heard his soft tread behind me as I face you. Long in years am I, yet you may yet get the better of me. If I die, let it be by your hand, my brave and honourable Elizabeth."

"I shall draw now," she said. The time had come.

Elizabeth did not look away from her father. His eyes widened and he was taken aback when, instead of struggling to pull a sword from its scabbard, Elizabeth reached to draw her strong knife.

She had carried it, when she had attempted to secretly meet Wickham. She had the knife drawn when she had run into Darcy at the outskirts of the village, in the thick fog. And Elizabeth had carried her knife with her throughout this arduous journey, never once having need to use it. She knew her strengths, and knew that in this battle, what she needed was her trusted knife, and not a wayward soldier's sword.

Elizabeth did not let her father collect himself. She rushed to him, the space between them vanishing, almost as if she ran to him for an embrace.

It happened quickly.

She aimed for the open space on the knight's neck, exposed skin where the armour didn't meet but a helmet would have covered, had it not been forgotten in a forest.

Elizabeth was carried by the momentum into turning a near circle, and came to halt, almost falling over herself. She spun round to face her father again.

Sir Bennet, with a look of astonished relief, reeled halfway round and sank to one knee. Blood streamed down his neck. He then lowered his other knee to the ground. Then he fell slowly, twistingly, onto the dark grass. When his face was turned to the sky, even though his legs were still folded untidily beneath him, Sir Bennet seemed content.

A/N: Yes! I am back!

I know, I know. There is nothing adequate to say about this enormous delay, except to say that this never-ending cycle of covid lockdowns and enforced inhuman isolation took enough of a toll on my mental health to abandon joys like writing. But I am back now, to finish this story!

Apologies, obviously, to all my readers.