Second and last part of this alternative ending!

The first part of this has generated some, let's say, strong reactions from some of my esteemed readers. It is, indeed, a relatively harsh story - I guess the theme is - with Darcy's death, this world is revealed as it really is: a medieval world, and thus incredibly cruel and violent. Violence from men towards women, from Richard towards Elizabeth, from everyone, towards everyone, really.

And from that depressing stance I try to drag my characters kicking and screaming towards love and redemption. So, thank you to everyone who gave that strange tale a chance!

And now... WARNING: Dark themes and dark sexual themes ahead! And an HEA.

-P-

The first years were dark. Richard and Elizabeth. Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam. Allies by day, enemies by night. They fought through their embraces. A contest of guilt and dominance. He tied her up, sometimes, so she had to submit – she liked it well enough – enough that she did the same thing to him after – he liked that well enough. He beat her. Not that way, in a sexual way, it was a game, she did it too, trying to hurt him – it could get, yes, very dark.

One night Richard dreamed he killed her, then woke up in tears. Fortunately he was sleeping with his back to her, and she never saw.

There were so many things at play. Punition and destruction. He was a perjurer, sleeping with Lord Darcy's woman. Loving her. And she… Elizabeth was punishing herself too, but also, she still loved him, Richard supposed, she still loved Darcy, she hated that there was another man in her bed, that she accepted it – that she had wanted it. So yes, a twisted game of self-hatred – but of power also.

Elizabeth wanted to have him yield, Richard realized. Not physically, but emotionally. She knew how he felt for her. She wanted control over him – but Richard would not be weak. You let a woman walk all over you – especially this woman – and you are lost.

Harsh, half forgotten forces in the darkness, rolling and writhing inside his soul.

("She's too good for you. You deserve the likes of me, not the likes of her.")

("Your own father did not even want you.")

("Your lord and cousin's wife – you should be ashamed of yourself.")

How Molly had been right, about everything. Well, he'll show her. He would show them all.

Pemberley was flourishing. Sure, Richard's methods were ruthless. The people did not love him like they had loved Lord Darcy, but Richard was acting for the common good. And they loved her – Elizabeth, Lady Fitzwilliam – even if most of them still called her Lady Darcy. There was no ill will there, just habit. It did something to Richard each time, when he heard the name.

But yes – it worked. Elizabeth was kind to everybody. Her charm and smiles, her wit and laughs repaired the damage Richard sometimes did. She talked him down when he was angry, she proposed peaceful and fair solutions when he would have preferred efficiency. And he told her when the compassionate option was the bad option, too, and when you should go for the throat.

They trusted each other - on that at least.

-P-

Things got better.

First, there was a war. Or, to be exact, the beginning of an invasion. Not monsters, humans. A greedy neighbor. Richard stopped that in its tracks with such violence and efficiency that not a man was killed in Pemberley, not a field was burned. Half a day had not gone before the enemies were ambushed by Richard's troops, most of them were massacred, the rest fled.

The last traces of defiance against Richard's rule evaporated. Suddenly Elizabeth was Lady Fitzwilliam at last.

Then, there was a quest. The oracles spoke of a monster on top of Lanayru Peak – a monster that Richard should fight, alone. The world was screaming at him to go. Every drifter with the Sight. Every goddess people prayed to, every child gifted with truth.

It was written by the Creators.

When Richard told Elizabeth, she blanched. They were alone in the study – Darcy's study, now his. (Darcy's wife, now his.)

"I am not going to fight that beast," Richard explained. "Fuck the quest. I am sending thirty men, and archers with crossbows. We will see how the monster fare against oil and fire arrows."

"Good man," Elizabeth whispered.

Then she fell on a chair. Still pale. "Sorry," she breathed. "I thought you would…" She sighed. "I was afraid you would do like him – leave, and never come back – go willingly to the slaughter – it seems I have to sit down for a little while."

White light in Richard's brain, again. Pain and hope. Like a blade heated on a fire, twisting in his soul.

Elizabeth did not notice anything. "Do not judge me on this moment of weakness, Richard," she laughed – still shaken. "I am not going to elegantly faint each time there is bad news. This is a one time show of feminine frailty, I swear."

He just nodded.

-P-

Lady Charlotte Collins had come to visit Pemberley. The two women were alone, in a small room, spinning wool.

"So, you did not tell your first husband you loved him, and regretted it bitterly," Lady Charlotte said to Elizabeth. "And now because of guilt for the first one, you are doing the same thing to the second."

"That... that is a very simplistic explanation," Elizabeth protested, flustered. "That is... That is not what is happening, at all.

"It seems to me exactly like you described," Charlotte said, deftly turning the wheel. Mending, sewing or spinning was what women of all stations in life pretend to do when they want to speak in private, and those two ladies were no exception. Charlotte added, "Lord Darcy would have wanted you to be happy, don't you think?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Maybe not. Maybe he would have preferred me to be faithful to his memory."

"Are not those words just a diplomatic way to say 'my late husband was petty?' Was jealousy and control in Lord Darcy's character?"

"No," Elizabeth answered. "But it is hard to imagine a dying man wishing his wife happiness with his cousin." She turned to her friend, her eyes glittering. "Oh, Charlotte, Lord Darcy died hating me. If I had but seen him alive for a last time… If I had been able to confess my love to him before he disappeared, then..."

"Then what?"

"Then he would not have gone with bitterness in his heart."

"Are you sure he did? When I die, I will not spend my precious last instants rehashing past wrongs. Maybe Lord Darcy's last thought was just 'damn, this Guardian is coming at me really fast.'"

Elizabeth burst into nervous laughter.

"Can you love Lord Richard?" Lady Charlotte asked.

"I admire him. I respect him. I have much tenderness for him, and I cannot imagine my existence if he was gone." Elizabeth paused. "I don't know, Charlotte, is that love?"

"Sounds good enough to me," Lady Collins mused. "Not that I would know, really. I would make a very satisfied widow."

Lady Charlotte always encouraged her husband to go on travels or quests. Sadly for her, Lord Collins had always managed to return.

"What if I bear Richard a son?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Then, it will be cause for celebration, I guess."

"I should have born Lord Darcy's children. We should have loved each other to the end. It would have been…"

"It would have been a fairytale," Charlotte said. "But it did not happen. You think too much, Elizabeth, you always have. This is your life – now, and it is a great one. Why not try living it?"

The Beast

Richard's father fell very ill.

"I postponed the trip as long as I could – but I cannot avoid going now, I suppose," Richard told his wife. "Would you accompany me to Matlock?"

"No," Elizabeth answered distractedly. "I want to visit my sister, Katherine, and I thought – I thought, first I would go on a pilgrimage to Madorna Mountain…"

Madorna mountain was where Lord Darcy had died. The knife twisted in Richard's soul.

Elizabeth threw a glance at him. "With my husband's permission, of course," she added.

"Of course."

His voice was cold. Everything was cold. Richard walked to the window. He looked to the horizon.

"Why do you never speak of love to me?" Elizabeth whispered.

He did not look at her. "Why do you not give yourself to me, completely?"

Amusement danced in his wife's eyes. "Am I not already doing that, four times a week?"

"Not that way."

Elizabeth sat on the bed. "Do you ever think, Richard, that…" She paused. "... that I am the cause of his death? Maybe my blasphemous thoughts caused catastrophe. Maybe Lord Darcy should have followed the will of the Creators. They wanted him to marry Fair Maid Caroline – and mayhap he should have."

Richard shrugged. "I do not care about philosophy; it is for old men with books and nothing to do. What does it matter what bride Darcy chose? He still would have gone to fight the monster. He still would have died. What would that have changed?"

"Well, you would be married to Caroline, for one."

He looked at her. "No," he said. "I would not."

Elizabeth smiled at him – it was a beautiful smile, shy, and true – he had to look away.

"Richard," Elizabeth started again, her voice soft, and he knew – he should not listen – he should flee, or he would grow weak – "I could give myself to you, completely – as you wished – if you…"

"I have to go," he whispered.

And he left.

-P-

Elizabeth hiked all the way to Madorna Mountain, clad in men's clothes, her traveler sword in hand. Then she sat on a rock, along the path where Lord Darcy had died. The sky was very blue. The air was very still. Every tree, every bush was defined by the clear, white light.

Here she had knelt near Lord Darcy's body – exactly there, near the oak tree. There the Guardians were hidden – they were gone now. Only scraps of metal left, in a pond, reflecting the sun.

Elizabeth waited for a voice. For a presence, a message. An anger in the skies, a whisper in the grass. A kiss in the wind.

Instead, you know what she found?

Nothing.

-P-

Matlock was a trap.

The dark, oppressive castle of his childhood was lying in wait, hidden like a beast in the black rocks. Richard found his father in perfect health. The man was aging, of course, more bitter and cutting than ever, meanness burning in his paling, greedy eyes – but he was not dying, not in the slightest.

They had dinner together — Richard, Richard's eldest brother the Viscount, and Richard's father the Earl. But not in Matlock Great Hall, under the huge, cold stones – no. The meal was served on the top of an isolated tower, in a small, dull round room, with a small, dirty window, and only one door.

With them, at the table, the Viscount's wife and an old Monk, servant of Matlock Temple.

Standing near the western wall, twenty heavily armed men, waiting.

A trap.

-P-

The first course was served.

"So, you are named Lord Fitzwilliam now," Richard's elder brother sneered. (So much spite, so much irony.) "Do people believe it, you think?"

So that was the plan, Richard thought with a discreet glance at the armed men. His father and brother would insult him. Provoke him till he would lose his temper and draw his sword – then the soldiers would kill him. Which explained the monk. The man would bear witness, before Goddess Hylia, that Richard attacked first. That he threatened his family – that they had no choice but to strike him down.

And then Richard would be dead, and his brother would inherit everything.

The silence was so deep, you could hear the flies buzzing around the plates of meat.

"I am Lord of Pemberley, so yes, people call me Lord, and believe it," Richard answered calmly, before serving himself some roast. The metal plate on his left, with the potatoes, could serve as a makeshift shield – or maybe he could throw it – and try for the window.

"You cannot appoint yourself Lord," the Earl of Matlock retorted. "It is an inherited title. Reserved for the first born."

"What can I say," Richard replied with a smile, "I am a self-made man."

"You are nothing," his father spat. And suddenly Richard could see it: years going by, his father and his brother stewing in bitterness and feckless rage, in the somber depths of that humid, archaic pit they called a castle. Because Richard had gotten it all: the better domain, the better land, the better wife. And it should not have been his – it should have been his brother's, "You are nothing, Richard," his father repeated, "you are a bastard, no son of mine. You slid out of the trash which grew in the hole between your mother's thighs after she opened her legs wide to strangers. She would fuck anybody, the trull, for a smile and a dime…"

"I wonder why," was Richard's answer. "Such a charming husband that she had."

So it was the Earl of Matlock who almost reached for his sword – but he interrupted his gesture, and threw a glance at the monk, then at the men – interesting, Richard thought. So his father did care about their opinion – he was afraid of what would be said if he slayed his second son in cold blood. Maybe the monk had taken a vow of truth – well Richard would not lose his temper and make it easier for them to murder him.

"But you followed the family example," his father continued. "You married Darcy's slut – the one who had already slept with Wickham. Where is she, by the way? She did not come with you? Where is your whore?"

"That would be me," Elizabeth said.

She entered the room, in formal attire, with an extremely polite smile. She curtseyed to the Earl, to his eldest son, proffered the usual amiable salutations to her sister-in-law. She gave a pleasant nod to the soldiers and bowed respectfully to the monk.

Then she took her place on the chair, at Richard's side.

-P-

"I thought you were to visit your sister," Tilney had said, when Elizabeth arrived at Matlock's stable.

"No, I – I changed my mind – I wanted to come here."

"You should not have… Something is wrong, my Lady," Tilney whispered. "They took Richard upstairs – there were armed men – I could not follow him. Nobody would tell me anything. And the steward I came to negotiate with, he's shifty. Would not look me in the eyes."

"How many men do we have?"

"Three. And I am no warrior."

-P-

"So what does it feel like, marrying the brunt of the litter?" the Earl asked Elizabeth at the dinner table. He nodded toward his first born. "Came to see what a real man looks like?"

"Potatoes, dear?" Richard asked, handing her the plate.

There was a warning in his eyes, but Elizabeth did not need it. She smiled and answered the Earl in her most demure tone.

"I would never dare contradict you, Lord Matlock – fathers know best, of course. But you must be a paragon of virtues, brother," she said, looking at the Viscount, "if you are so superior to Richard. My husband protected the land against the hordes, and against two invasions – he fought his enemies, sword in hand, and defeated them with cunning and bravery. Our fields are golden with wheat, our coffers fuller with each year that passes. My husband is fiercely loyal, and so clever – highly regarded everywhere as one of the best Lords and Masters that can be – but surely," Elizabeth concluded, looking at the Earl again, "your eldest son must have all those qualities, and more."

Matlock was in debt, the land falling in disarray. Richard's brother had never seen in a battlefield in his life.

There was a silence.

Elizabeth took Richard's hand discreetly under the table. He held it tight – very tight – for a few moments, before letting it go.

Near the wall, the soldiers were listening intently.

Richard raised his glass and smiled to his wife. "How nice of you, dearest, to hold me in such a high opinion, I have been very lucky, it is true."

"And fate is smiling on you still," Elizabeth said, touching her belly with a reverent expression. "For I am now with child, and the Seer said I was bearing a son and an heir."

Knowing how much Elizabeth despised seers, it was difficult for Richard not to smirk – he avoided doing so by taking a sip of wine.

"I feel so blessed," Elizabeth continued, her voice milk and honey, before turning to the monk. "May I have Hylia's blessing and the protection of the Goddess, O anointed one, for my child and family?"

The monk raised his hands and pronounced the necessary words. The Earl's anger was mounting, and they both saw the moment where he was ready to shout orders – but Richard was faster. Suddenly he was standing, showing his bare hands to the Earl, then to the men.

"It is easy to murder an unarmed man at the dinner table, is it not, father? But is it so easy when the man is your own son – despite the lies that you are spouting – and when that man is here with his wife, heavy with your own grandson, under the eye of the Goddess? But I have known these men as a child," he said, turning to the soldiers, "and they are brave and loyal – they will not murder your guest, your son, to satisfy your own greed – they will not stain their hands with the blood of the innocent – to incur the Creators' wrath, and the scorn of fellowmen for their treachery – they have a heart – they have honor – even if you do not."

There was, again, silence. Richard stifled a yawn.

"And on these words, I am tired from my travels, and I am sure my wife is too. Shall we retire, my dear?"

Elizabeth nodded – Richard grabbed her hand again; they exited the room and walked briskly in the darkening halls.

"We have to leave this place," Elizabeth whispered.

"Fuck yeah."

-P-

Half an hour later the two of them were out in the night, striding north, crossing muddy fields in the darkness – Tilney had taken Richard's horse and traded his clothes with him, before going another way with the men. Richard hoped they would not be pursued, not now, not after such a speech, in front of witnesses – but better safe than sorry.

They climbed the green slopes of the eastern peak hills, then went higher, and higher, in the open air, under the open sky, each step taking them nearer to Pemberley, and farther and farther from the beast – from the bounds of childhood and horror.

"Monsters," whispered Elizabeth, with a glance back in the direction of Matlock – of the Great Hall, of the dining room, of the tower.

"Yes," Richard said, simply.

Maybe it was a fairy tale after all.

-P-

Later they sat on a flat grey rock, side by side, to watch the breaking of the dawn.

"Do you think it is true?" Elizabeth asked. "What the Earl said about you – about your mother?"

Richard shook his head.

"I do not know. And chances are, I never will." Vulnerability in his voice. "Does it matter?"

Elizabeth answered softly. "I see only happy alternatives. If you are his son, then you are noble born. If you are not, then that man's blood does not run in your veins… and that can be only cause for joy."

Her husband smirked - he was tense still - but later, thinking about it, he would only feel free, as if a great weight had been lifted. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a fleeting second, breathing deeply – feeling the rays of the rising sun, listening to the cries of the blackbirds above the waves of autumn leaves. Gold and crisp and crimson – it was a universe of beauty – because Lord Darcy had loved it so, she had for years, made herself blind to its splendor – as each glance at the open skies had reminded her of him. But it was over – now she allowed herself to feel again.

"Are you really with child?" Richard asked.

"No," Elizabeth laughed. "Or – maybe. Who knows? But I will be soon, I hope."

They traversed high pastures at a more leisurely pace – they were safe now, or as much as they could ever be. Richard still held her hand. Hours later, they arrived at the top of the mount and stopped, Pemberley at their feet.

Richard turned to Elizabeth.

"If you give yourself to me," he whispered, "you cannot take it back. You cannot change your mind in a day, in a week, in a year. You cannot… betray me, like…" His voice faltered.

"If I give you my faith and my heart," she whispered, looking at him, her hands slightly trembling, "I will always be true."

His eyes were glistening when he kissed her – on top of the hill – standing tall and proud, Elizabeth's hair flowing in the wind – and no fairy tale kiss would ever equal that one, for the two of them at least. "I love you," he breathed – it was barely a whisper – then they held so tight - later they turned to watch the view unfolding at their feet, Pemberley's castle in all its strength and majesty - the fields and farms glowing in the new day, the heavy fruits hanging in the orchards, the stone bridges – the well maintained roads, the watchtowers and the sturdy walls, people preparing peacefully for a new day's work.

"You did good," Elizabeth said in a low voice. "You did right."

Then she added, "You did right by him."

Richard just nodded.

"I know."