"I could stay here forever," Elizabeth said as they walked along a mountain trail. The valley below them was patched with open farmers fields and sporadic glens. A slow, winding river ran wide through its middle. The mountains themselves were steep and striking.

Utter delight diffused into her features. The way her eye followed the birds, or her face would light up at each new vista. The smiles as she would talk and tease him. The world seemed bright and interesting with her. He was in great danger of falling- of falling… Well, he could never leave her behind.

Since she was the target, she wanted to spend as much time hiding as she could. She asked if he could take her with him whenever he left the city. He tried not to be too over enthusiastic when he agreed.

She wore cloaks and disguises, and he dropped off different horses in different places of the city for her. They would meet outside the wall.

He suddenly had a lot of business outside the walls. He had come up with something several times a week for three months. He was hardly within the city except for training.

Darcy pointed out a creek tumbling through an orchard. Rocky cliffs prevented them from going down to it, but that was part of his family home.

"It's beautiful," she grinned over at him. Since they couldn't see the house, she must have at least approved of the grounds. And, with how much she loved the outside, that was high praise.

Darcy gave a closed lipped smile, however. It was beautiful, but that orchard was where his father and he used to train. He should have loved his family home, but it only had dark memories. It marred the surrounding countryside.

His mother had a daughter nearly six months after his father had left. Darcy loved her the minute he was allowed to see her. He was always playing with her or carrying her around the orchard. She followed his footsteps as much as he followed hers. He had brief moments of joy then. He could also remember impressions from before his father started Darcy's training. But they were so vague he struggled to remember. But he remembered his sister.

Their mother hardly cared. The girl was almost four when his fathers body was brought back.

His mother didn't shed a tear at the sight. Darcy was holding his sister, who watched unknowingly. Their mother took the sword from his fathers hands and thrust it into Darcy's. The hilt knocked into Gigi's head and she started to cry. His mother didn't break stride as she went into the home.

Two weeks later Darcy was in the barracks and his family went back north. He never saw his little sister again.

Darcy and Elizabeth eventually wandered into a little mountain village. Children squealed as they played some game in the afternoon sun. Elizabeth waved at them.

An unbidden, but rather welcome thought was of how suited to motherhood Elizabeth seemed. She loved her younger cousins. He remembered the hammocks and swings she had set up in Aquila. He had made a guard stand there to protect it. The children loved it. She was as interested in the world as they were, and was happy to interact with them.

He also enjoyed her company. True, he sought her out almost daily, and lov— liked her. He pushed that thought down. It comforted his heart that at least her offspring would not have the same maternal struggles that he did. On the contrary, hers would have days filled with delight.

"Captain Darcy," she grinned at him. He met her amber eyes as she smiled at him. "There's a little lake down there. I've brought a book. Do we have time for fishing? One of us can read as the other holds the line."

He wanted to do it with her. The fishing, the reading, the everything, because… because…

Oxoxoxoxox

"Forgive me father for I have sinned," Darcy said as he sat down in the confessional. He had been exposed to Elizabeth almost daily for yet another month. He had love every moment.

He couldn't even push down the fact that he loved her anymore.

"Oh no, what have you done?" He heard Fitzwilliams gruff voice say on the other side of the partition.

"I love a woman, and I can't stop thinking about her."

"That's not a sin,"

"Perhaps not all my thoughts of her are sinful" Darcy said with embarrassment, "but some of them are."

"I see," Fitzwilliam said, "well, I'm surprised at this. I didn't know you could think past your work." Darcy frowned a little, but kept his mouth shut. The priest was one of his only friends. He may have been his only friend.

"But," Fitwilliam continued, "maybe I could talk to her. You're not good for showing ladies how you feel. Showing anyone in fact. I didn't know you felt for ladies." Darcy put his hand over his eyes as Fitzwilliam rambled a little. It seemed ridiculous, but maybe it could work. Fitzwilliam was so much better at speaking to people.

Suddenly, he scowled a bit.

"Father, are you drunk?" Darcy asked, wondering why Fitzwilliam would help now, instead of delighting in watching him flounder. Darcy felt clumsy while trying to speak with Elizabeth. She always smiled and seemed to laugh, but was she laughing at him?

"Ah, never you mind that. It's not a sin to love my boy, only a sin to lust after the body with no care for the soul."

Darcy thought about this. Did he only lust after her person, like the Bishop did? He first noticed her beauty, he was a man after all.

But with every new outing they had, each conversation revealed more of her soul. She was clever, thoughtful, and cheerful with a broad streak of impertinence to draw him well and truly in. Now, he wanted to be with her as much as he could.

But was he like the Bishop? Darcy watched her frequently as well. He watched her at church, from the training ground and when he stayed to watch over her home. He was coming up with nonsense so they could go riding in the countryside... Was he just as bad?

"Darcy," Fitzwilliam burped, "there's supposed to be a ball held after the tournament in a month. The Bishop discovered your lady's preference for dancing and is adamant to hold one. And you, sir, ought to take a wife soon. To be your age and unmarried is a menace!"

Darcy tuned back into his ramblings with an interested smile. The priest, though unorthodox, was his favorite. Perhaps due to the unorthodoxy. The man still practiced folk medicine, instead of wholly rallying on prayers like the other priests were inclined to do. He genuinely cared about his flock and knew intimate details and encouraged them.

Maybe having Fitzwilliam talk to her was best.