A/N: Thank you all for your very kind words! I honestly did not mean to leave everyone on such a dire cliffhanger! Life intervened but I am posting the rest of the chapters tonight. And now, let us dive in...

Chapter 15: Darcy

She disappeared, right before his eyes.

"No!" Darcy shouted, the word echoing that tiny, frozen pocket of the earth. "No, Elizabeth! No!"

He'd followed his instincts—and her footprints—from the back gardens of Netherfield, out into the wilderness. She'd veered to the right, trying to avoid a particularly deep area of snow. And then her tracks had led around a wooded area, up a small hill…

And directly onto a tributary of the river. Darcy recognized the area from when he and Bingley had first scouted the estate. He could see that, with the world covered in white, Elizabeth must not have known that she was venturing out onto a wide expanse of water.

When he crested the top of the hill and saw her, in the very middle of the water—his heart had dropped. He'd begun shouting at her to hold on, to wait. And then she had dropped from view.

He'd shouted. No, it was more than that. It was some animal sound jerked from his very soul. He'd flown down the hill, hoping to god the footmen and help were just behind him. He reached the river just as she disappeared into the dark water below the ice.

"Elizabeth, God, no—hold on!" he shouted, racing out onto the frozen surface and hearing it crack.

Immediately.

He froze. If he went down here, he'd be no good to her. But she was at least fifty paces in front of him. He could not see her face but one arm, her hand pale, still stretched across the top of the water.

Was her face in the water?

"Holy God, save her," he whispered. He could not remember the last time he had prayed—truly given his soul to God—but ever since he'd met Elizabeth, he'd felt himself opened up in new ways. And he had no time to think beyond God help her, God save her, God I would do anything to pull her alive from this water, and then he took another step onto the ice and felt the surface give beneath his weight.

He knew if the river were not covered in snow, he would be able to see the spiderweb cracks as his weight cracked the ice. In his mind the shards spread like lightning, and at any moment he felt he could plunge into the icy, black water.

And then he'd be no use to Elizabeth at all.

"Elizabeth!" he shouted. "I'm here! I'm coming. Hold on!"

If she heard or moved, he could not see—but her pale hand on the ice's surface gave him hope.

An image flashed in his mind's eye—something from long ago. From childhood. Winters when snow covered all of Pemberley, when he and Wickham were the only two children nearby. Memories he had pushed away, tried to forget. Erase.

But it came back to him then. Two little boys, wearing matching hats his mother had knitted for them, kneeling on the lake's bank.

Snow had been everywhere, snow for days, and finally—finally—they'd been allowed outside to play. Darcy remembered being entranced by the trees covered in ice, and the lake covered in ice as well. He and Wickham had taken their mitten-covered hands and brushed off the thick layer of snow.

Beneath that was the ice, grey and white and hard and magical.

They'd ventured out onto it, almost old enough to know better, but not quite. Who knows how far from shore they were when they were discovered—by Wickham's father, no less. He'd yelled at them something terrible, his hoarse voice made even more bear-like from cold.

And, Darcy now realized, from fear.

Darcy and Wickham had turned back, running toward the older man. It was only then, when they were still thirty paces from safety, that the ice began to crack. What a grand, loud sound it had been—until they'd realized what it meant.

"Down!"

Darcy could suddenly hear old Wickham's shout, as if the man still stood behind him, on this Earthen shore.

"Down, boys!" he'd shouted, instructing them to lay flat and roll all the way back to the bank.

And it had worked. By dispersing their weight, they'd kept the ice from cracking and lived—

The memory faded as Darcy lowered himself. Quickly, as gently as his shaking limbs allowed. He found himself on his knees, and then on his stomach. And then he began to crawl, slowly, spreading this long legs and arms as wide as he could.

"Elizabeth," he shouted. He called her name over and over again. As he made his way closer to her, the ice began to move under him. He could feel it swaying underneath his widespread fingers, his entire world unsteady. Cracking open.

If he looked down, he imagined he could see the dark waters rising. But God help him, he would not look down. He would not stop. What would his life be worth, if he let something as petty as fear stop him from—from rescuing the woman he loved?

The woman he loved.

"Elizabeth!" he cried. It had only taken him a minute, maybe two, to get this far, but it had taken an age too long. From behind him, he thought he heard Old Wickham shouting again. But then he realized, no, his prayers had been answered—it was the footmen. Perhaps there was Bingley's voice, as well, but he could not turn to look for them.

"Here!" he shouted, never stopping his forward momentum. "On the ice!"

He heard men yelling for ropes, and to form a chain, but he did not stop. And then he was there, where the ice crumbled into a black hole of water.

"Lizzy, Lizzy," he said. And then he touched her, grabbed her hand, cursing at how cold—how frozen—her flesh was.

How had she stayed afloat? And then as he wrapped one hand around her arm, she looked up, her face almost blue and her eyes fluttering weakly.

"I'm here," she said.

She was shaking so badly she could barely speak, and though she did not smile, he felt her eyes recognize him. He saw some small spark shine through.

And then she whispered, "W-w-what took you so long, then?"

If he felt tears on his cheeks, then, he would never admit it.

"Grab onto me," he ordered.

But he soon realized that she could not. Her limbs were frozen, and her hands—bloodied, bruised—could not even close.

"I've got you," he said again. He stretched both arms forward, plunging them into the water. It was freezing. It was colder than he could have imagined, and how long had she been out here?

"Elizabeth, I've got you," he said again. He had her arms now, but he couldn't reach her waist. He tried to move forward, but the ice gave a terrible, warning groan. Darcy cursed her thick skirts. He knew she must weigh next to nothing dry, but with a cloak and water-logged skirts, trying to pull her felt like trying to pull an oak tree from the ground with his bare hands.

And then the ice beneath him began to shake, and he felt his entire body fall—just enough to scare him. Just enough to lower him into the water, the sudden shock of the cold making him shout.

"S-s-stop," she said. "Don't come any closer. Y-you'll fall through."

"I won't," he said. "And they're coming—help is coming. They're right behind me."

He could hear them shouting his name. It was Bingley's voice, shouting hoarsely that they'd get him, they were almost there. They were almost there.

"Hold on," he said. "Hold on to me."

She smiled then, so beautiful, so cold. "I'm trying. Don't come c-c-closer without rope."

They stared at each other, and even now he could not stand the beauty before him. Snowflakes clung to her dark, wet hair. Water lapped around her neck, like the most awful, living jewelry. Her deep brown eyes matched the woods behind her. She was like a fairy-tale creature come to life, a siren he'd gladly give his soul to. His chest hurt so much he thought it might break and shatter before the ice did.

"Elizabeth," he said. "Hold on. Hold on. I love—"

And then her tired eyes widened and she gave a slight gasp, her hands reaching up and for him. And then her weighted body fell straight down into the icy deep.

Darcy scrabbled forward, heard himself shout no, over and over and over again, until he took a great, deep breath and dove in after her.