Back in Pemberley, Elizabeth waits.
The world sings.
Through troubadours and servants, through soothsayers and priests. The world sings chants of lonely warriors, who meet their fate in solitude. Ballads of friendless heroes, who fight without allies.
The world sings with the voice of the Creators.
Lord Darcy had to go alone, so is their will. In Pemberley, people begin to whisper that their liege might not come back. Knight Charles struggles to be hopeful. "Your husband is strong and brave," he tells Elizabeth, "do not worry," but Elizabeth sees the doubt in his eyes and worries even more.
Cousin Richard does too. A new seer comes to court. His prediction is bleak, so Richard hits him. The seer flees, his nose broken. People are shocked in the Great Hall. Someone protests. Richard almost hits him too.
Fear spreads, and rumors with it. Now there is talk of discord between the Lord and his wife – before he went away. People look at Elizabeth with mistrust. There are whispers that Lord Darcy had taken a mistress. Elizabeth does not believe a word of it, she knows the woman they are talking about, and if this story was a folk song, she would hate her rival, and poison her with flowers or a dress soaked with acid – but these are all stories written by men. Elizabeth does not hate young Marianne. Marianne is an orphan, a frail maid, graceful as a willow – her sister and both her parents died during the siege. Sadness lies in her eyes, but Marianne smiles and sings. Elizabeth knows her husband well enough to know that is why he favored Marianne's company – Elizabeth understands, now that she is back, now that Lord Darcy is gone, that he searched in other women's eyes for the adoration he did not find in hers – and when the seer talks of death (that is before Richard clocks him in front of everybody), it cuts her soul like a blade heated white.
The oracles get worse.
Great warriors fight alone, and die alone, they say. Children sing in choirs about sacrifice. Street poets find words that rhyme with "falling".
The world is screaming that Lord Darcy will die.
Young Marianne grows pale. Of course she has fallen for my husband, Elizabeth thinks, the lord of the land pays you attention – and he is handsome and kind, of course a naive, innocent, lonely maid will lose her heart – Elizabeth thinks she must find a young dashing knight for the girl, and quick, before Marianne loses her bloom and reputation. But for now there is no such man, and Lord Darcy is gone, and there is just dread in both young women's hearts.
News. Bad news. Guardians. They are monsters of steel and electricity, made thousands of years ago when the world was young, by the same power that created the Shrines. That is what stories say at least. It does not make sense to Elizabeth – why would the same humans make things of beauty and things of evil? Most of the Guardians are dead now, metallic carcasses in the grass; children strip them of parts to sell – except some have woken up. They turn hot and red and a very thin beam of red light emerges from their lone eye. They kill you.
And they have been spotted on Madorna Mountain, they say. Where Lord Darcy will meet the monster.
Elizabeth has a very bad night.
-P-
At dawn, she wakes up and braids her hair. She puts on men's trousers, a thick linen shirt, she takes a bow and her father's traveler sword. She summons Richard.
"If Lord Darcy does not come back – if neither of us do – marry Cousin Anne and take Pemberley," she says. "And protect the land."
Anne is of House Darcy, but she is sickly and cross. Richard looks disgusted. "You'd better come back, then, my Lady. Cause those are tough orders to follow." Richard could have married Lady Georgiana – Elizabeth even suspects it might have been Lord Darcy's wishes if no eligible suitor came for his sister. But one did – Lady Georgiana is wed and away. The young man is from a noble line, all raven eyes and golden skin; he ranted and raved when he learned the truth about Wickham, and swore he would bring the villain's head back to his beloved as a betrothal gift – he seemed very disappointed when told that could not be – but it did not stop him from believing his bride the fairest, and he the luckiest man in the world.
And soon Georgiana was gone. Now, Elizabeth thinks, clad in her travel clothes, taking food from the kitchen and money from the coffers, she is the only one that can truly love him – truly love Lord Darcy.
If it is not too late.
-P-
Love is a strange, dangerous word.
-P-
Cousin Richard discreetly walks Elizabeth to one of the soldiers' gates. "Hold the fort," she orders. "Not literally, I hope." Then she sees Richard looking at her – pondering. "Are you going to try and stop me?" she asks.
"I suppose I should," Richard answers. "Lord Darcy would want me to."
"And then what? Lock me in my chambers? The guards would not obey you."
"That is not what halts my hand – I would find a way."
"Every night I thank the Goddess you are on our side," Elizabeth says dryly.
Cousin Richard shakes his head. "I just think that if I was married and gone, I would want my wife to look for me. And if my wife was lost – and it was not Anne – I would go and look for her."
"Then we are in perfect agreement."
"As always."
Elizabeth laughs – she and Richard often disagree – but now she is on the road, and everything and everybody vanishes.
-P-
She walks. The world is green and grey. She thinks of him. (Her husband.) She thinks of the morning she left Longbourn, five years ago now, those same clothes on her back, that same sword in her hand. How her thoughts at the time were polluted by Wickham – it disgusted her – but she also had the recollection of him, of Lord Darcy. The way he proposed, the way he insulted her, the way he saved her. She hated him then – no – she hated his image lingering – she just wanted to be away, and her soul to clear.
-P-
The ground is getting higher.
-P-
Elizabeth remembers her travels – she had nightmares at first. Soldiers dying in her arms in Longbourn Hall, then rising on a blood moon to devour her. Lord Darcy's sword falling on the judges' table, but the judges laughing and sending her screaming to the gallows. But then the nightmares faded. Dream monsters disappeared; real ones were everywhere, and they were enough. She learned to survive.
Years of beauty and fear. Luminous. And empty. (Of people.)
-P-
The massif is huge. Madorna Mountain is there somewhere. Her husband is there somewhere.
(If he is still alive.)
Elizabeth thinks of the Red Dragon at the edge of the world and she wants to cry.
-P-
She finds Lord Darcy the next afternoon, half dead. He hasn't even made it to the west pass. There were three Guardians in the shadows of a rocky path, they began to target him with their beams of red light – at least that is what Elizabeth believes – Darcy must have run and jumped behind the big boulder for protection, hurt his head on the stone, and laid there unconscious, while the Guardians went back to sleep. Elizabeth tries to wake him up, to no avail. She panics. Lord Darcy's heart is beating, and there is no visible injury, except the blood on his forehead, but he will not stir. For a few moments she feels completely empty – as if dread has frozen her spirits. She is not very religious (not at all really) but now she promises the Goddess anything and everything, if her husband just makes it out alive. Somehow that one sided deal with the unknown gets her moving again. He is so very cold. She must get him warm, and out of the Guardians' range.
The sun is setting. She looks around wildly, and she sees it – the Shrine.
Its blue light shines on higher ground – you can only spot it from a certain angle. Why the temple is blue and not orange, as it should be, Elizabeth does not pause to wonder. Lord Darcy is very heavy, but she succeeds to drag him to the trail, and then along it, terrified that Guardians are going to spot her or that she is going to reach the temple only to discover that she has been hauling a dead body, and he expired on the way - she finally reaches the Shrine.
It is blue because it has been opened.
For a while, she just stares at it.
The hero has risen.
(Shrines only open for the hero. So the hero has been here, where she stands. He has opened this door, walked on this stone.)
It is a miracle. Elizabeth checks her husband's pulse – he is still alive. (Another miracle). She drags him inside the temple, in a huge secret cave of sleek stone and ornamented walls. Lights shine, orange and blue. The place is warm, beautiful – technology or magic beyond her comprehension. Lord Darcy is still breathing. Elizabeth makes a fire – no need really, it is warm enough, but she has to do something. She wants to pray again – but cannot – in the abyss of despair her mind did not protest, but now her thoughts are too clear. Lord Darcy is still unconscious, but he needs to drink. To eat. Elizabeth makes strong tea, he swallows some. Elizabeth goes out to look for healing berries – it is snowing – so cold – her husband would be dead from exposure if she had not found him, she thinks.
She succeeds in getting him drink tea again, with honey. The fact that he could swallow is a good sign – it means his spirit works, somehow, right?
There is nothing else to do. She looks around, desperate.
(This is a magical world.)
(Because there is great evil, there must be great hope.)
Elizabeth kisses Lord Darcy's lips. Wake up, she whispers. Wake up, for me.
-P-
He does the following morning.
-P-
Elizabeth is still asleep, her head on his shoulder, when she feels Lord Darcy moving. When she opens her eyes, he is watching her. Then he is taken by a fit of coughing. Elizabeth jumps to her feet, and heats up the tea. He drinks. He looks at her. They are perfectly silent. He eats, after a while, some of the food she brought.
Time passes.
"You have to leave," he whispers.
-P-
His voice is hoarse and talking is difficult. Elizabeth answers,
"No."
"I still have to fight it," he says – they both know what he is talking about. "And I have to do it alone."
For some reason, the word "alone" almost chokes Elizabeth up. "Alone, you are going to die."
"It is the will of the Creators."
"To hell with them!"
Lord Darcy does not look offended. There is no visible emotion on his face. "I know this is your opinion," he states slowly, "but it is not mine – it should never have been mine. I should have obeyed their call."
Elizabeth just watches him wordlessly – before she understands. "You mean, you should have married Fair Maid Caroline."
"Yes. I followed my heart, but I did not heed yours." Lord Darcy pauses – his throat must hurt – he has to drink more tea. "It was a mistake. I should have taken the path that was written for me."
"No, no…," Elizabeth cries. It is so difficult to say, to explain. "My Lord, I followed you here because I feared for your life, of course. But also – you told me to come to you, when I was ready." Her voice falters. "When I would love you. And I do."
He laughs. "That is a lie."
It is not. When did love begin? Elizabeth does not know. Maybe when she came back and found Lord Darcy gone. Maybe when she saw her fear and affection reflected in young Marianne's eyes – maybe when the seer talked of death, in Pemberley's courtyard. Or maybe months before – and she could not read her own heart then.
Anyway – she will not be discouraged. "When did I ever lie to you, my Lord?"
Lord Darcy does not answer. He stands up, stumbles a little, before regaining his equilibrium. "I am leaving now," he says. "And you, madam, and your falsehoods, are going home."
Elizabeth walks towards him. "You cannot fight, not in your current state, not with Guardians skulking around! Let us go to Pemberley together. You will come back with archers, with knights, with seasoned and valiant men..."
"No. This is a quest. The Creators say that I have to do it alone."
"But you do not understand!" Elizabeth cries. "If I do…" Her voice catches, but she soldiers on, "if I do love you, it means that the Creators were wrong to want you to marry another – it means that you do not have to listen to them – it means that you do not have to fight alone!"
"I perfectly understand," he says, his voice so cold. "I perfectly get your reasons, and that is why you are lying. Because you want to save me. I appreciate the intention… But your lips are still spreading untruths."
Elizabeth is ready to scream, ready to sob. She paces the room, then stops before him – she takes his hands in hers. "Listen," she says.
"No."
She draws closer – and feels his whole body tense. "We did not share a bed," she whispers, "but we shared our days – with conversations and smiles, support and confidence. Long walks, and sunrises on the peaks... Do you really regret it? Regret it all?" He avoids her gaze. "My Lord?"
"No," he admits. "But it does not matter, if I regret it or not. What prevails is, it did not work. We did not have a union of shared feelings."
"We did. We do."
"I do not believe you."
"My beloved," Elizabeth begins, and he snatches his hands away, livid.
"Do not even try."
"Why ever not?" she protests, close to tears. "I have never been in love, before you. These are words I have never uttered before… and you are my husband – why would I not speak them?"
"Shut your lying mouth!"
Lord Darcy takes his coat. He takes his weapons. He takes his bag – he looks at her with something that resembles hatred, then walks away into the snow, the cold, the wind and the enemies.
"Do not follow me, madam. That is an order."
Of course she follows.
