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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"I love you," he saw Elizabeth mouth to him as the horse carried her away. Her once white wedding dress was ripped from the battle and stained with blood.

This is what their life together would be like. Constantly struggling. Losing those they loved. Fighting a battle that could never be won while Wickham lived. Death lurking around every corner. Living in an imperfect world washed in blood. But… it was their world. If they had to fight, they would do so together. If the battle raged on, as husband and wife, they would persevere day after day. If they were dripping in blood, they would wash each other clean. If death lurked about, they would embrace their fate as one. If trials separated them, they would fight to get back to each other, whatever the cost. Until death do us part.

"Wickham!" Darcy yelled furiously. The Four Horsemen kicked their horses into motion and began to follow single file behind their leader up the road.

Darcy swung his katana and decapitated three undead in his path before taking off in a run, chasing after the brigade. Flipping the dagger Elizabeth had given him into his hand, blade now in palm, he stopped after a few minutes, drew it back, and forcefully released the weapon. It soared through the air and plunged into the back of the final horseman's skull, sending the rider plummeting to the ground. The horse bucked wildly in terror.

Darcy ran towards the pale steed and swiftly mounted, urging it after Wickham. He could see the remaining four horses in the distance and dug his heels, urging it onward. With any luck, they would slow around the narrow bend, giving him an opportunity to gain some momentum. At that point he wound try taking down the riders one at a time.

He saw them disappear at the dip in the road some distance away. Lowering himself closer to his horse's mane, Darcy dug his heels in the horse again and verbally urged it to continue faster. The horse obliged and they quickly approached the narrow curve. Grasping the reigns tighter Darcy was ready to command the horse into a full out gallop after they rounded the corner. Instead, he pulled the reigns back, abruptly halting their advance.

In front of him stood at least a dozen zombies waiting, blocking the narrow road. They all smiled creepily as he approached, teeth bared in mocking repugnance. It appeared as if they had been waiting for him and he narrowed his eyes. Once again Wickham had been one step ahead.

Neither Darcy nor the undead moved, which gave him time to breakdown the situation. The forest surrounding the road was thick and although it would provide shelter the way would not be quick. He could turn around and try to evade the undead but who knew what other traps Wickham had laid out for him. Nevertheless regardless of whatever choices he rationalized, the quickest way to Elizabeth was on the road. So there was no other option. That would be the route he would take even if he had to plow through the dozen zombies blocking his way. Without another moment's hesitation, Darcy brandished his katana and kicked the horse into gear just as the undead began charging towards him. He griped the hilt tightly as he had to make the most of his blade, for it was his only line of defense apart from the steed.

The horse made contact with the first undead, trampling it to the ground. He tried urging the steed forward but the horse remain in place, unable to move due to the volume of undead before him. Three undead, two young men and one middle-aged woman, descended upon Darcy. They tried clawing at his right leg, attempting to pull him off. Darcy promptly brought his katana downward and rid them all of their hands. Pulling the reigns to the left, the horse trampled the stunned undead to the ground with its hind legs. He then turned his attention to the left side of the horse where two more zombies attacked. Both had their mouths open, ready to strike, but he swiftly decapitated the undead, one after another. Darcy then brought his katana around to the other side once again, stabbing one young undead female through the brain and sending blood splattering onto the fur of the horse.

Six other undead were descending upon him and even more emerged from the woods. Darcy urged the horse forward, off the path, and into the dense forest where the zombies would have difficulty following him. Darcy ducked under low branches and urged the horse over fallen logs through the rough terrain.

He could hear leaves crunching under foot, and the too close growling of the mob on the nearby road as he made his way onward. A male undead suddenly came upon him, grasping tightly to Darcy's cravat, dragging alongside the horse. Darcy began losing his balance on the steed, his body listing to the right. He reached into his coat and removed a small knife, remembering the forgotten blade Elizabeth gifted him that morning. Bringing it near his throat, he quickly made work of cutting the cloth from around his neck, sending the undead to the damp ground.

Darcy urged the horse back in the direction of the path, knowing more could be hiding about. Hooves soon hit gravel and the horse galloped quickly towards Meryton.

He rode for several miles before he approached a divide in the road. North or south? Darcy cursed under his breath and pulled back on the reigns, bringing the steed to a halt. Glancing around, he saw no indication of the direction they had taken. Dust was not settling to the earth, there were no fresh tracks, and he could hear no hooves in the distance. She was gone.

Darcy cried out in frustration. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the gray sky. He had lost her.

A movement suddenly grabbed his attention, and Darcy glanced down. A lone zombie meandered towards him on the northern road.

"Where is she?!" Darcy hollered angrily at the undead male. The zombie wore a black apron and what appeared to be a once white tunic. Dry blood caked his mouth and chin, and his dark hair was disheveled for it was overly grown and had twigs sticking out in various directions. There was nothing in his hands, but Darcy guessed he had at one time been a blacksmith for the undead hunched slightly.

The zombie remained silent, enticing Darcy to descend from atop the horse and storm towards it. Gripping the undead by the collar, Darcy brought his katana to its throat and asked again, "Where is she?" saying it slowly, enunciating each word.

The undead male scoffed but remained silent.

"Tell me!" Darcy hollered into the zombie's face, pressing the blade into the undead's throat.

The zombie simply smirked and haughtily retorted, "Maybe in another life."

Darcy cried out in rage and swiftly decapitated the zombie's head. Once it fell to the ground, he bashed it in with his boot. He wiped his foot off on the nearby grass and walked back to the middle of the road. Darcy stared silently up each path for some time, trying to regain composure and rationalize how best to proceed.

"I will find you," he vowed silently to the wind after some time. With one last glance around, he reluctantly turned back the horse and proceeded in the direction of Rosings Park.

Darcy slowly ascended the steps into the heart of Rosings, dreading what was to come. He had been thinking about what he would say, knowing no matter how he worded it, he would come us short for he had lost her; his Elizabeth. His wife. Their sister. Daughter. Friend.

"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana called as soon as she spotted him in the hallway. She threw her arms around her brother in a tight embrace. "I am so happy you're alright."

She pulled back, holding him now at arms length, and began examining his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, immediately sensing his distress. "Bingley, Jane, and the others have just returned, but I saw you riding up the road and wanted to wait for you. I thought Lizzy would be with you," she added, glancing around him.

He continued to stare silently at her, and saw the realization slowly coming to her face.

"No!" she gasped, her hands rising to her mouth in shock. "Oh, dearest, I'm so sorry. Did an undead…"

She let her sentence drift off, and Darcy simply asked her to lead him to the rest of the party, not wanting to relive the last few hours more times than necessary.

She took him into Aunt Catherine's throne room and immediately all eyes fell upon him.

"Where's Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet inquired upon seeing him. Darcy slowly met his gaze.

"He took her," Darcy responded quietly, his mind still processing the words even as he spoke them. He walked towards the corner of the room, already sick of the scrutiny. Pausing, he was quiet for several moments before he began shaking his head in disbelief, his breathing growing rapid. "He took her!" Darcy roared in pure anger, promptly kicking over a nearby candelabrum, sending it crashing to the floor. Sparks flew when the metal hit the cold marble floor and the flames snuffed out from the force.

He stood there seething for several moments before his anger turned to shame for his lack of control. Elizabeth could be anywhere in Great Britain by now. Possibly dead. Or undead. He had to focus. Yes, focus and find her. He had to save his wife.

Darcy ran his hands over his face wearily. "I'm sorry," he choked out, completely distraught. When he looked up again, Darcy met Mr. Bennet's eyes. Where he expected to see shame and contempt, he instead saw worry and determination.

"It's not your fault, son," Mr. Bennet said to him, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide his emotions. "We will find her. She's strong, our Lizzy."

"Oh poor Elizabeth!" cried Mrs. Bennet from her seat by Lady Catherine.

"Damn that Wickham!" one of her sisters said.

"Which way were they heading?" inquired his aunt.

"They were on the road heading east. I lost them at the fork by Meryton. From that point they could have gone anywhere: south towards Brighton to board a ship and flee the country, or north to vanish in the vast countryside. Either way, only the good Lord knows where they are now and what state she is in," Darcy said. He turned to Jane. "Did Lizzy mention any other places aside St. Lazarus to you? Anywhere Wickham felt at ease? Somewhere he could hide?"

"No," Jane replied sadly. "To my recollection that was the only place she spoke of. Though she did say he was never in one place too long for he was traveling with the militia constantly, so it sounded like he didn't get much opportunity until he was stationed in Meryton."

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana said quietly after a few seconds. He turned towards his sister, curious, as she never liked speaking out in front of strangers. "What about Pemberley?" She took in a nervous breath. "He took Lydia to St. Lazarus last time. If he is following that same pattern, the only other place where he felt comfortable or at home was Pemberley."

Darcy mulled over his sister's suggestion, his brow furrowing in concentration. Wickham took Lydia to St. Lazarus, knowing he would come to save her although he had never previously been to the church himself. And now that he had Elizabeth, Wickham also knew that without a doubt or moment's hesitation he would search for her until the day he died. But Wickham wanted his revenge. He wanted to pain him in the greatest possible way. He had already tried with Georgiana and one of the Bennet sisters. However the best way of doing that would be to kidnap Elizabeth. His wife. And now he would retreat to another playing field, wanting to demonstrate his strength and sheer force. Somewhere he would think of. Somewhere they were both familiar. Somewhere he knew was presently unoccupied. Somewhere Wickham thought was supposed to be his. A place north of Rosings Park. The road the undead was blocking.

"Georgiana is right," he announced to the room as he placed an arm protectively around his younger sister. "He has taken Elizabeth to Pemberley. It makes sense. He wants his revenge on me and the best possible way to accomplish that is to kidnap Elizabeth and seize control over my estate. I will not disclose past woes, but his history with my family definitely makes it a possibility, and I believe it is our best hope."

"So what shall we do?" asked Bingley, ready to spring into action, an attentive Jane by his side.

"Fight," Darcy replied.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth woke with a moan. Her body ached and the continuous motions of the horse did not provide any relief to her pounding head or sore body. Squeezing her thighs tighter against the saddle, she could still feel the outline of her daggers under her skirts. That provided some solace given the situation. Opening her eyes, she had to blink several times before making out the vast countryside in front of her. Rolling green hills spread as far as she could see, and the sky had transformed from a muggy gray to a serene light blue. Lazy clouds floated above, taking various shapes and providing shade to select portions of the landscape. It could not have been any more dissimilar from the scene she had left earlier that day.

Wincing, she felt a sudden shoot of pain at the back of her head. She moved a hand, trying to examine the bump she could feel growing beneath her hair. When her hand didn't budge, she glanced down in panic. Instead of seeing wounds or a bite mark, as she anticipated, she saw her hands bound and secured to the saddle. She began pulling forcefully at the restraints.

"You slept for some time," noted the figure behind her.

"Slept?" Elizabeth scoffed, mentally noting the bump once more. "You knocked me out. And do you really think I couldn't escape these bounds if I wanted to?"

"Oh I have seen your skills and do not doubt your abilities or…talents," replied Wickham, his warm breath tickling her ear. His left arm wrapped around her waist with his good hand gripping the reigns against her torso, pushing her against him. Wickham's makeshift arm swung back and forth to her right, taunting her and making Elizabeth cringe. "They are merely to slow you down in the event you do try to escape, which would be foolish."

He paused before continuing.

"Don't mistake me Elizabeth, for every attempt at fleeing I will order the turning of one of your family members, starting with your sister Jane, until all are at my undead beckoning. And Darcy. Well, you may have saved him for now, but he wont even get the pleasure of becoming undead."

She remained silent, not trusting her sharp tongue to win a battle against his threats, for Elizabeth knew they were not idle. At this point he was capable of virtually anything to complete his mission. If only she knew what that mission was. To lure in Darcy? Set another trap? Another cat-and-mouse game to bring about revenge?

So far he had mislead Georgiana, swindled Darcy, turned his father, kidnapped Lydia, attempted to kill Darcy, and interrupted their honeymoon, the latter of which angering her the most at present. Wickham could have just as easily taken him over her. So there must be a reason why she was with him galloping to who knows where and for who knows what reason. All the thoughts rushing to her mind did not offer any solace.

That's when she mulled over his comment, all are at my undead beckoning. Did that mean he could control the undead? That whatever he ordered them must be done without question? It made sense given how all the undead rushed towards Hingham Bridge and completely disregarded their primal zombie urges to attack her while she rode through the horde. If that was the case, they were in more danger than she originally feared.

That's when another memory crossed her mind from the Netherfield ball. When she knelt over Mr. Bingley in the dark kitchens before Darcy jumped over the railing to eliminate the threat. In the stillness she asked how the undead orphans had gained entrance to the house, and the eldest undead boy had responded, "Our new friend showed us the way in." She could hear him clearly as if he stood before her now. His raspy voice indicating what she could finally now confirm.

"You showed the undead orphans how to get into Netherfield during the ball didn't you?" Elizabeth accused, turning her head slightly to the side to ensure he heard her. She saw him smirk in confirmation and then immediately turned back to face the road, sick at the sight of him.

That explained Wickham's sudden disappearance after Parson Collins whisked her off to dance. She should have known. And he had told her to heed Parson Collins' warning about the Day of Reckoning. He knew. Not because of his status with the militia as she originally surmised, but because he was undead. Their leader. All the signs were there from the beginning. Oh if she had but known then what she did now. Despite herself, Elizabeth busted into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Do you care to share what is so dreadfully funny?" Wickham scowled.

She smirked, even though he was unable to see it. "Parson Collins said the undead would be lead on the last day of mankind. Given your rather 'heroic' entrance on the field earlier, I suppose you believe to be that leader."

"I am," he boasted. "As I mentioned before, they do my bidding."

"But you are missing one detail, Mr. Wickham. From appearances, you believed today to be the last day of mankind and yet here I am. My family lives. Darcy lives. And more undead are destroyed. You failed."

"No, Miss Bennet, you are mistaken," Wickham retorted cunningly. "Today was not the last day. It was merely the first of several days that are to come until you meet the end."

She smiled, happy she was finally getting information out of him, but she could not continue holding her tongue.

"Darcy," she abruptly responded.

"Excuse me?" he queried.

"My name. It's Mrs. Darcy," she spat at him. She could feel him stiffen behind her, and Elizabeth smirked despite herself.

"Not for long…" he retorted quietly, gripping the reigns tighter.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon as Wickham lead the caravan off the road and onto another dusty path. After some distance they approached a worn-down wooden stable that stood on the edge of a small clustering of trees, sheltered by the surrounding hills. Several undead stood waiting patiently with five saddled horses.

"Heed my warnings, Elizabeth," Wickham reminded her as he brought the steed to a halt. He didn't need to tell her that they were simply changing horses before continuing on. Wickham lithely slid from the horse and looked up at Elizabeth. Removing a knife, he cut the rope that held her bound hands to the saddle before offering her some water an undead had just procured. Her pride and body were at odds for only a few moments before her hands reached out for the cool drink.

When she had finished, Wickham ordered her to dismount. Elizabeth struggled for a few moments before her feet hit the ground.

"Might I have a few feminine moments before we proceed?" she inquired of Wickham as he began leading her towards the fresh horse.

"As you wish," he responded, releasing his grip from her arm. "You know what is at stake if you run."

Elizabeth walked slowly into the woods, grateful for the respite. She knew they were in the North Country, but was at a loss of a specific location. Her palms twitched to remove one of her concealed daggers, release her bindings, and flee, but she knew not where. And the thought of Wickham turning round and targeting Jane was enough to make her change her mind.

Once she was out of sight, she bent over and ripped some strips from her already torn dress. Hoping Wickham would not notice given its already disheveled look, Elizabeth tucked the scraps discretely into the sleeve of her dress. She was just finishing her task when she heard leaves shuffling behind her. A male undead had been sent to retrieve her. She glared up at the undead and reluctantly followed him back to the horse. The three horsemen all watched silently as she emerged from the woods and made her way towards where Wickham stood.

"What happened to the fourth?" Elizabeth asked Wickham, remembering the Four Horsemen both from the surge that morning and when she spotted them in the graveyard late last year.

Wickham turned his gaze on her, his eyes narrowing as he ordered her to mount. Once more, he secured her bound hands to the saddle, tighter this time, before taking his place behind her. He dug his heels into the sides of his new steed and they carried on.

Darkness had enveloped the countryside by the time they hit the main path. Elizabeth slowly adjusted her hands and began pulling one of the white strips from her long, white sleeve. She let it fall onto her dress before it blew off onto the road. She waited a short time before discretely removing and releasing the remaining few strips of cloth, one by one. Hopefully it was not too late to provide some sort of breadcrumbs for her husband.

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeth asked after what seemed like hours, unable to remain silent any longer. As a warrior she had trained for all situations, but that had never alleviated her fear of the unknown.

"You'll find out soon enough," he responded.

Elizabeth was about to protest and demand a more forthright answer when they turned onto an avenue. The moon provided enough light to make out the trees lining the gravel pathway. They soon approached a beautifully sculpted covered bridge, the hooves echoing in the confined space as they passed through. Rounding up a small hill, a marbled archway emerged from the darkness. After riding underneath, Wickham halted the group. As her eyes adjusted to her new surroundings, Elizabeth could soon make out a glorious mansion in the distance. A warm glow filled the windows of the house and she dared to believe it more spectacular than Rosings Park.

Between their position on the hill and the house lay a vast field. Elizabeth imagined it used to accommodate leisurely strolls or afternoon picnics, but now she gasped in horror for it was filled with undead. She guessed there were thousands present, unlike the mere hundreds they encountered that morning. They all groaned and turned in welcome upon noticing Wickham and the horsemen.

Wickham kicked his horse into motion and they rode towards the horde. The horse slowly made it's way through the undead, who raised their hands, daring to touch the horsemen and their leader. Bloody hands grazed her dress, legs, feet and arms, making Elizabeth cringe.

She was speechless. Terror turned to shock and then fear consumed her once more. They had been under the impression Wickham would assemble all his forces and attack their wedding, turning their day of happiness into the Day of Reckoning, but that was utterly wrong. What they experienced this morning was only a fraction of the remaining undead and the battle that was inevitably to come.

They now rode through the middle of the horde. Zombies covered the ground as far as her eyes could see, and she felt her heart quicken at the sheer vastness of it all.

She heard Wickham chuckle behind her, sensing her apprehension and awe.

"Welcome to Pemberley," he whispered.

Chapter Text

"I don't understand how Wickham and all those thousands of undead escaped from the depths of The Canal," voiced Darcy thoughtfully. He leaned over a mahogany table covered in maps of England, London, and Pemberley. A silver candelabrum sat to his right on the table, the flames offering a warm glow over the charts. His shoulders were tense as he tried to determine how best to proceed. Frustrated, he rose up, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He began pacing absentmindedly about his aunt's throne room, which now served as their provisional base of operations.

"What have your soldiers discovered?" inquired his aunt at the opposite end of the table.

"Very little," Darcy responded, eyeing her. "My men are surveying The Canal now and they have yet to return with a report."

"And what of Lizzy?" inquired Jane quietly from where she stood beside Charles.

"Yes!" bellowed Mr. Bennet. "We have to save her now before they reach Pemberley otherwise she may not stand a chance."

"It's about a day's ride to Pemberley from Rosings," said Darcy calmly. He had already talked himself out of mounting his horse and making after Lizzy so many times since returning, but he knew it was exactly what Wickham was hoping for. They needed a plan. A solid plan.

"They most likely have already reached the grounds by now, so immediate aid is unfortunately not an option" he continued. An overwhelming ache consumed him. Pushing it aside, he continued, focusing on the task at hand. "My home, like Rosings Park, is a fortress, sir." He reached for the map of Pemberley and spread it out over the table. Pointing to the outer wall, he said, "The brick walls are fifteen feet high with iron wheeled spikes. Outside that stands a barricade of wooden spokes. Both were designed to keep out the undead or any opposing threat. The house sits upon a hilltop surrounded by abandoned countryside, allowing one to see any threat advancing from all directions for miles. Cannons are atop the roof, pointing in every direction, and lookout towers have been erected to serve as additional protection. I have sent three riders to examine the grounds and report back about Wickham's whereabouts and Elizabeth's condition if they indeed made their way there."

"Militia riders?" asked Mr. Bennet, who stood to his right.

"Not all of them," said Darcy shaking his head. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and looked at his father-in-law. "One is a leftenant who fought with me on The Great Barrier, another is a member of my aunt's Black Guard, and the third worked for me at Pemberley, so he is familiar with the grounds."

"How long until they return?" asked Jane.

"Hopefully within the next two days time," Darcy said. "We have to await confirmation. I will be nothing but prepared this time. Especially with Elizabeth's life at stake."

"Did any undead flee with him?" asked Mr. Bennet.

"When I saw him, he was with the Four Horsemen alone, however I managed to send one to meet our Maker," Darcy offered. "What about the undead upon the field?"

"All were slain," said Bingley. "I did not see a single one escape. You mentioned running into several upon the road though?"

"Yes," Darcy verified. "I encountered at least a dozen, maybe more, and then another at the fork by Meryton. Many I managed to strike down."

"So that means," said Jane hopefully, "that he only has those three Horsemen and a few undead at his disposal if they mange to regroup with him. For the ones that attacked us on the field are all destroyed, and the remaining undead are trapped within The Canal."

Darcy considered this for a few moments. Could Wickham only have the three Horsemen and a handful of undead remaining by his side? All other roaming undead slain by their hands? It is possible. However, Wickham would never leave himself in such a vulnerable state. Besides, Darcy knew him to be more resourceful than that. He would never take that risk.

"No," disputed Darcy after thinking quietly for several moments. "He has to have more undead at his beckoning. Most likely they have already gathered at Pemberley. Regardless, he could still find a way to release those within The Canal and call upon them to fight on his behalf. He managed to evade it somehow already. So no, Jane, unfortunately I do not believe it will be that easy. I think it was more strategic… He placed the undead along the road to block my way knowing I would follow after Lizzy. He wanted to thwart my attempt. Meanwhile, the other zombies were on the field to distract the remaining warriors. He has resources. We just need to determine what they are."

"I agree," said his Aunt Catherine. She turned her stern gaze on him. "But until we hear back from the riders and the militia at The Canal, no planning can be done." Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but his aunt raised a firm hand, silencing him. "We cannot foil his plans with minimal information. I recommend we all retire, and reconvene in the morning afresh."

Bingley spoke then, agreeing with Aunt Catherine that rest would help clear their minds. Taking Jane's hand in his, they bid their good nights, and retreated to their room. A pang of jealously shot through Darcy that he and Elizabeth, unlike their friend and sister, would be separated on their wedding night.

His aunt nodded as she passed, pausing to inform him that she would speak with the other parties in the parlor to provide them with the latest updates. He nodded in thanks, grateful he would not be forced to endure the prattling of Parson Collins or any more probing questions. He sighed and met his father-in-law's gaze. Walking over, he said, "You are welcome to the library if you wish to find refuge. Despite what my aunt says, I know I shall not sleep knowing Lizzy is within Wickham's grasp, and I imagine your fate shall be the same."

"Indeed. Thank you, son," Mr. Bennet said, grasping Darcy's shoulder tightly in response.

"I shall notify you should I receive any news," said Darcy. The gruff man offered him a smile before quitting the room and heading in the direction of the quiet library.

Darcy walked out of the throne room and through the threshold of his bedroom, ridding himself of his overcoat, vest, and cravat. Grabbing the hilt of his katana, he left his room and made his way to the main floor of Rosings. Once the staircase lowered, he escaped the confinement of the house and turned up the gravel pathway and into the garden. Closing his eyes, Darcy took several deep breaths, drinking in the cool, night air. He rolled his shoulders and began swinging his sword lithely through the air.

Mentally considering their numbers, he knew he could call upon the militia and his aunt's Black Guard in addition to the Bennet sisters and Bingley. Georgiana would insist on fighting, however he would propose she stay behind in the secure confines of Rosings. But would that be enough? Darcy advanced upon an unsuspecting topiary, promptly slicing off the top before rounding upon another bush.

Staring at the rounded shrub upon the ground, he imagined Wickham's head in its place, blood oozing from the opening. He knew leaving would be reckless, but the guilt consumed him. Elizabeth should be safe in his arms, not within the clutches of an undead madman. He felt so vulnerable. Helpless. He was supposed to protect her; his headstrong, beautiful wife, but he had fallen short. The thought brought tears to his eyes. He continued cutting his blade aggressively through the dark air, letting the tears fall down his cheeks.

When he could see no more, he stabbed the tip of the blade into the gravel suddenly needing some form of support. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his hands clutching the hilt to his forehead. Taking in gasping breaths, he allowed his emotions to devour him. Anger. Fear. Sorrow. Regret. Without her he was inadequate. He wasn't strong enough. He stared up at the sky, tears streaming down his cheeks. I'm sorry, he whispered into the cold night air.

When nothing remained, he used his blade to help his weary body rise. He stood for some time trying to regain composure. Running his hand over his face, he wiped away the remaining moisture and collected himself, focused on his wife. How she challenged him at every available moment, saved him from Wickham's grasp, and chose to fight beside him for the rest of her life. He worried that time would be cut short, but quickly brushed the thought away, focusing instead on what he could control. Hearing the gravel shift behind him, he turned, his blade slicing through the air and stopping just short of piercing the pale neck of Ashton Trafford.

The young gentleman still wore his attire from the wedding that morning. Even in the moonlight Darcy could see that dry blood caked his white linen shirt and light gray overcoat. His cravat hung loosely about his neck and his light blonde hair was disheveled. His left hand lay comfortably on the hilt of his katana, which hung from his weapons belt around his hips.

"Colonel Darcy," Ashton said in greeting without a flicker of distress passing over his calm face, despite the susceptible position he currently found himself in.

Darcy lowered his sword. "Mr. Trafford," he said, offering a polite nod of his head.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Ashton continued, "but I wanted to see how you were faring."

Mr. Trafford was the youngest son of the heir to Thornton Hall, a stately manor close to Rosings. Darcy had often sparred with his two older brothers during his many visits but alas both were killed about year ago on a rainy day in April. The brothers were traveling home on an abandoned road when they happened upon a swarm of undead. They tried to fend the zombies off, but undead hands sprung from the damp earth, fixing them in place, and the zombies were soon upon them. There was not much left by the time Ashton happened upon the gruesome sight. Unfortunately his parents had also met an untimely end thanks to the undead, leaving Ashton the last living member of his family. Although he was closer in age to his sister, Darcy viewed Ashton as a valuable ally and confidant, particularly due to his skill with a blade. Apart from his aunt, Ashton was the fiercest warrior in the county, when Darcy was not present, and despite his young age his killing ledger was quite impressive. Darcy recalled seeing his expert maneuvers on the field that morning alongside the militia, the Bennet sisters, Bingley, and a few townsfolk.

"As well as can be expected," Darcy responded glumly.

"I am sorry about Elizabeth," Ashton offered sincerely. Darcy nodded his thanks and wondered with embarrassment if the man had witnessed his moment of weakness only moments ago.

"I fear for her," Darcy admitted, turning to look at the man.

"From the short time I've spent with Elizabeth," said Ashton with a smile, "I gather it is Wickham who should be fearing for his life. Not her."

Darcy chuckled despite himself. He made his way to a planter and leaned against the stone encasement. He dipped the end of his katana into the gravel and leaned the hilt against his leg before folding his arms across his chest. Trafford followed his lead and rested his own body against the planter before speaking again.

"Your aunt has kindly offered me a room so I do not have to make the journey back to Thornton Hall tonight," said Ashton.

"Yes, she has been quite accommodating."

"She said we are awaiting word on the situation at The Canal and confirmation of Elizabeth's whereabouts," said Ashton without looking at him. "Do you really believe she is at Pemberley?"

"I do," Darcy responded, gazing out across the garden.

"When do you expect to hear some news?"

"Hopefully soon," responded Darcy. "The riders I sent to The Canal were dispatched hours ago and so long as the militia there have a solid count already, we could expect an update at any moment." Absentmindedly, he stole a glance at the road leading to Rosings. "The Pemberley riders will unfortunately take longer. I do not expect to see them until the day after next, permitting they do not encounter any unforeseeable circumstances."

"Hopefully we can consolidate a plan in the meantime," Ashton said, determination spreading over his boyish face.

"This is not your burden," said Darcy quietly.

"Any occurrence involving undead is the burden of the living," Ashton responded calmly. "I am at your service."

Darcy turned and looked at the lad before saying, "I will not ask you to risk so much."

"I have nothing left to lose," Ashton responded quietly, staring at his feet.

"You have a great deal to lose, son," said Darcy, turning to look at him. "But I am grateful for your altruism, and if what I suspect is true, I shall have great need of your sword in the near future."

Ashton nodded at him, and the gentlemen fell into a comfortable silence.

"You will save her," Ashton said after some time. "I am certain of it."

Darcy smiled at the man for his kind words, but did not endeavor to believe them. For getting his hopes up at such a time would only result in pure anguish and utter abandon should the worst come to pass.

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana called quietly as she approached them. Her small feet shuffled along the gravel path, and both gentlemen turned in her direction. She had changed from her soiled gown and now wore a modest dress. Her dark brown hair was pinned loosely atop her head by two thin knives he had gifted her on her last birthday. Ashton instinctively ran hid hands through his unruly hair, trying to make himself more presentable even in the darkness. Darcy glanced down at his own appearance. His linen shirt and boots were still coated in blood and his dark breeches now contained rips and snags from his earlier encounters with the undead.

Darcy pushed off the wall and smiled at his sister, for he should have known she would check on him given her kind and overly protective disposition. Ashton offered a low bow when Georgiana reached them.

"Mr. Trafford," she said with a curtsey. "I am sorry to interrupt. Fitzwilliam, I was hoping I would find you out here." He suppressed a smile, knowing it was her way of discretely chastising him for not being in bed or, at the very least, resting inside the house.

"I shall leave you to it then," offered Ashton. "Good night." Giving a polite bow, he made for the house, despite Georgiana's protests.

The siblings watched the man's form fade into the darkness before Darcy spoke. "How are you coping?"

"I was about to ask the same of you," responded his sister. "I asked for a bath to be drawn for you and a plate to be brought to your room, but the servants said you had fled the house."

"I did not wish to be confined," he responded.

"Maybe so, but you ought to at least change your clothes."

He glanced down. How could he explain to her that he did not wish to remove his wedding attire; the one thing still linking him with his wife. He felt close to her despite the rips and undead blood.

"Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana, moving her hand to his cheek and raising his head to meet her understanding gaze. "Elizabeth would want you to change and rest. Get your strength back."

Sighing, he knew she was right, but it didn't make him want to all the same.

"Come along," she insisted, pulling his hand in the direction of the house.

They followed several paces behind Ashton. Setting a slow pace, Darcy wrapped a protective arm around his sister's shoulders. His other hand held his blade. They turned up the path leading towards the stairs, which had already descended for Ashton but moments ago. Glancing up, Darcy saw the guards on either side were fidgeting from side to side and his friend was nearing the top of the steps. He suddenly heard Ashton shout from above. He heard the word more clearly the second time.

"Rider!"

He and Georgiana turned and ran towards the road, meeting the red-coated man on his horse.

"Colonel Darcy," the rider said nodding in subservience before brandishing a letter. "From The Canal."

Ashton reached them as Darcy grasped the letter and ripped the wax seal, hastily making towards the house to read the elegant script. It was short and straightforward, as he hoped it would be, however it confirmed his fears.

"There are still undead trapped within The Canal," he paraphrased as he read it, "but not as many as they originally calculated. Initially numbers were in the tens of thousands and over the past weeks they have subsequently dropped to mere hundreds."

"He's assembled an army…" voiced Ashton quietly.

"Yes," Darcy confirmed. "And in a few days I anticipate confirmation that they are gathered at Pemberley with Elizabeth."

Chapter Text

Elizabeth glanced out the window, staring at the multitude below. Their groaning had not ceased since their arrival yesterday and despite her exhausted state, she had not been able to sleep a wink. She observed them in a delirious state all night, wondering how Wickham had managed to organize such a multitude. What was he planning? How could she get word to Fitzwilliam and her family? By this time, she knew her husband would be planning some sort of rescue attempt, but would he even know where to begin looking? Would he even consider Pemberley? Or would he venture back to the In-Between somehow? She had to send word, as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But how? There was no paper, quill, or ink. No one to even deliver a message if she did manage to write one down. And glancing around there was nothing in the barren room apart from the bed, an empty wardrobe, nightstand, table, and a heavy chair; nothing that could be used as a weapon or thrown out the window to create a means of escape.

Food had been brought to her that morning as well as a new dress. Elizabeth ignored the dress and instead opted to stay in her tattered wedding gown. She eagerly rushed towards the plate of fruit, cheese, and bread as soon as the servant had left however, her pride be damned. She wondered if Wickham had kept the household staff alive to tend to him, or rather her, seeing as he didn't need to eat. Or Is that what they were to him? Food. The thought sent a shiver through her body.

After she emptied the plate, she walked about the vast room once more. Her windows looked at both the back and side of the house. Both directions must have boasted spectacular countryside views at one point but now contained haunting views of the undead mulling about below. She placed her hands on the mantle and leaned over, glancing downward through the glass. The room was possibly four stories high and there was no trellis on the house to allow for an easy escape. Reaching up, she tried pushing the window open but it wouldn't budge. Upon further inspection, she saw it had been sealed shut. She was trapped.

Elizabeth paced over to her bedroom door and pulled, panic finally overcoming her. She hated feeling restrained and wanted to know why she was here and what his plan was. To her surprise, it opened with perfect ease. She stood there stunned for a second before taking a quiet step into the dark hallway. It was empty. The corridor ended directly to the right of the bedroom door so she slipped out in the other direction. She walked with slow, deliberate steps, keeping her back to the wall as much as possible. All the doors were closed. She contemplated searching them but gave up after the first few were locked. Instead she was steered to the main stairway. Glancing up, she saw an elaborate chandelier and gilded molding. The ceiling above her was painted to mimic the sky on a bright blue day. White puffy clouds were even included in the realistic representation. Her feet echoed loudly on the marbled steps, but she made it to the second story before hearing any other sounds of life.

Elizabeth clutched the dark wooden railing and peeked over. Servants, or undead, roamed the floors below. She wasn't sure which was which at this point, and although one could assume that those with black and white servant frocks on were still among the living, it was better to be safe than sorry and presume that everyone was a threat. Though how would she protect herself? She had no weapon. Realization dawned on her through her exhausted haze. Of course. Leaning over, she patted her hand against her gown. Through the fabric she still felt her two daggers hidden. She gave a quiet sigh of relief before standing once more, gratitude coursing over her that she had some form of protection and was not completely defenseless in a house surrounded by thousands of zombies.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," said a voice behind her. Turning, she faced Wickham. He wore a bright new uniform, and his eyes gazed intensely at her. She wondered how much he had seen. "I am happy you decided to venture out. Come, join me in the parlor."

He motioned up another hall. She was surprised by his calm, open nature. He almost appeared to be as he was before; all smiles, charisma, and the appearance of goodness. But she knew better. Liz walked slowly, trying to memorize as much of her new surroundings as possible. He eventually directed her into a rather large parlor room. Light paper lined the walls and all the furnishings were upholstered in rich red fabric. Despite the circumstances, everything was spotless. The numerous windows brightened the room, making the paintings on the walls easy to view. The ceiling in this room even possessed a mural of angelic beings perched gracefully atop clouds. Like in the stairwell, gold molding outlined the ceiling as well as the walls. It was the second time Elizabeth truly comprehended what kind of a man she married, the first being their initial approach towards Pemberley. Her mother had repeated over and over how wealthy Fitzwilliam was in comparison to Mr. Bingley, but to Elizabeth it never really mattered. Instead she admired his caring heart, his protectiveness towards those he loved, the way his brow furrowed and eyes darkened when she teased him, how his warm lips felt against hers...

As she anticipated, undead lined the room like guards. They wore spotless regimentals, which took her by surprise. Wickham sunk into a chair in the center of the room. Elizabeth took a seat in the couch opposite, placing a small table between them.

"How does it feel to be home?" Wickham mocked.

She offered him a stony glare and remained silent. The house and everything within it was foreign to her, but yet it strangely did feel like home. Not for its familiarity but that it was Fitzwilliam's. That fact alone made her feel closer to him despite the miles of distance between them. This was his home, and her home now, and she felt defensive knowing that undead were plaguing something else precious to her husband.

"Is it quite like you imagined?" he persisted.

She decided to play along. "I admit the arrival was a little different than I pictured, as well as the surrounding landscape."

She shot him another harsh glance.

"Well, as the lord of this house," said Wickham, "I will do everything within my power to make you feel at home."

"Think of yourself how you will, but you'll never be lord of Pemberley," she spat back.

"All in good time," he responded good-naturedly.

A female servant no older than two and ten walked in then with a tea tray and biscuits. She nervously placed it onto the table between her and Wickham, the teacup tinkling all the while against the saucer. She shot a timid glance in Wickham's direction before eyeing Elizabeth, her eyes growing wide in shock, before quickly curtseying and fleeing the room.

"I thought you might like some tea," he offered, gesturing to the tray.

"Let that poor girl go," said Elizabeth, sitting defiantly on the sofa.

"No," he responded curtly. "Despite her age, she is well trained. Darcy would obtain the best servants… Anyways, I don't intend on turning her or any other member of the staff… but things do happen." He smiled devilishly.

A sickening feeling arose in Elizabeth's stomach, and her body instinctively leaned forward into an attack pose. Two undead began moving towards them, but Wickham motioned for them to go back to their positions along the wall.

She knew attacking him now would not accomplish anything, and sat back once more. He sought something and was attempting to gain her trust by calling off the undead guards.

"What do you want with me?" she asked him outright, not expecting an answer, but unable to hold her tongue any longer. She was surprised, however, at his response.

"I am very sorry I lost the pleasure of dancing with you."

"Excuse me?" she asked, confused.

"At the Netherfield Ball," Wickham clarified. "Your cousin interrupted us, and I never had the opportunity."

"If I recall correctly, you were too busy showing the undead orphans how to enter the kitchens and turn the servants," Elizabeth retorted bitterly.

"I was happy to see you emerged unscathed."

"Was all that an act?" Elizabeth asked angrily. "You taking me to St. Lazarus. Wanting to form an alliance between the living and the dead. Getting close to me. You were just after Aunt Catherine's money. For what? To arm your undead army? Get revenge on Fitzwilliam?"

"I knew Darcy fancied you," he responded, leaning back in his chair and propping his elbows on the arms. "I knew from the very moment he came riding into town and saw us together. I also saw the way your cousin eyed you. From then on I understood if I wanted to get close to Darcy's aunt, it could happen through either one, but what with my background with Darcy, your ignorant cousin was the best option. After I heard you had rejected Parson Collins, I realized you wouldn't be making Lady Catherine's acquaintance, so I had to create a way for you two to meet, knowing you would invite me along to defend the cause. That's why I put the idea into your cousin's head to propose to your friend. Parson Collins would invite her to stay and gain Lady Catherine's approval and she, in turn, would require a chaperone. Someone she was close to. Someone who could hold her own against Lady Catherine: You. After you heard my plans, I knew you would sympathize and invite me to plead my case. What I didn't anticipate was Darcy being there. I should have known though with his attraction for you."

Elizabeth stared at him dumbfounded. They had all been pawns in his elaborate scheme from the very beginning. "And what about your affections towards me?" she inquired, not caring for the answer, but wanting to determine where he stood now.

"I asked you once before to run away with me," he began. "You rejected me. And shortly thereafter trampled me with your horse."

She was surprised he didn't say it with any hostility, but rather as fact and with complete indifference, which made her uneasy.

"And taking Lydia?" she inquired. "Did you take her to spite me or gain revenge against Fitzwilliam?"

"Both," he replied with a smirk.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked after a few moments. She dreaded his answer for the only probable reason she could conjure up was because she would not live long enough to relay the information to anyone else.

"Because, my dear Miss Bennet," he mocked, remembering her correction from the day before, "you aren't going anywhere."

He scrutinized her for some time before questioning, "Do you wish to know my plan?"

"Why would I believe a word you say?" Elizabeth responded. Her voice was calm and, to her delight, it was having an annoying affect on Wickham. "You lied about Darcy's treatment of you. About his father being slain in the Second Battle of Kent. About what you really were."

"He turned me into this!" Wickham shouted, his façade crumbling. He stood and hurled the tea tray across the room. It soared into the wall, barely missing one of his undead guards. "If Darcy had given me the living promised I would never have been in the militia or been infected. I just want what is owed to me."

Elizabeth recalled the letter Darcy wrote to her last year. The one in which he stated Wickham had received what Darcy Senior had indicated and that he squandered it. More lies. He was baiting her. Trying to gain her sympathy even though he new it was a desperate move made by a desperate man... undead. But why? She suppressed her desire to either strike him down or flee the room, knowing the undead would be on her in an instant.

"So you plan on taking everything that is my husbands," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Indeed, madam," he responded. "Everything."

He was looking at her in a way he had no right to. Elizabeth wished she had left when she had the chance instead of sitting here defiantly trying to ignore the knowing look in his eyes. She knew what he was implying, what he wanted, but she tried to plead ignorance. She wished Fitzwilliam were here. She would feel safer, more secure. She felt like half of herself was missing without him. And even if they had been captured together, at least they would still be together: two halves of a perfect whole. Fitzwilliam would slice Wickham down in an instant, without the slightest hesitation or thought, for making such a comment and that gave her some sense of satisfaction. That he would be there to defend her honor as both a warrior and woman for the rest of her life, but yet he wasn't. Because Wickham knew this posed as the largest threat for them both: they were each other's greatest weakness.

She wondered what her husband was doing now while she sat here in the midst of their enemy. While the undead they hated most was trying to gain her trust and affections by sizing her husband up to being a monster even more barbaric than he, an undead. A zombie.

Her hands writhed in her lap and she knew if she did not occupy them soon, they would reach for the daggers beneath her skirts but then all of her cards would be on the table, and she would loose her advantage.

She was surprised when Wickham walked around the table towards her. Elizabeth stiffened. He kneeled next to the couch and leaned towards her, his face mere inches from hers.

"This should have been mine," he said, indicating the home, room, and belongings. "And this…"

He placed a hand on her knee, right where a hole in her tattered dress revealed her porcelain skin, and shot her a suggestive look, as if he had hoped she would opt to remain in her wedding gown. Elizabeth gazed at his hand and then turned her narrow eyes upon the undead kneeling in front of her. In one swift motion she reached under his arm and thrust it upward. The gesture was enough to throw him off balance.

She decided to save her daggers for a more opportune time and instead stood up and delivered a swift kick to Wickham's chest, sending him flying onto the table. It broke beneath his weight and sent him falling to the ground. She made for him but undead were upon her before she could deliver another blow. Their fingers dug into her skin and she soon felt her arms going numb.

Wickham broke into a fit of laughter from his place on the floor, his chest fluttering with every quick breath. After what seemed like several minutes he stood and straightened his jacket.

"I expected nothing less, my dear," he said with a smirk as he ran his hand through his hair. He then moved it to her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin for a few moments before lowering. "Until next time," he said with that same devilish grin. "Take her to her room."

Chapter Text

"Lady Catherine," said Parson Collins, "let me take this time to thank you so much for your generous, I repeat, generous hospitality during this trying time."

Darcy watched his aunt offer a brief nod as a response. He thought he detected a hint of annoyance spreading across her face, but that came second to the praise, which she relished in. They were all gathered in a parlor room awaiting news from the north. Darcy had the letter from The Canal in hand. He read it over and over, hoping to discover some detail he had overlooked. His index finger moved lazily in a back and forth motion against his lips as he concentrated.

"My dear cousin is so fortunate to be of your intimate acquaintance, as we all are, in this unfortunate circumstance. I am sure Mr. Wickham knows of your superior warrior skills and is dreading the moment when he shall cross blades with you, your Ladyship," prattled Parson Collins on nervously. His wife sat silently by his side. She, Darcy noticed, had not said a single thing since Elizabeth had been taken. Instead her face was solemn and occasionally he would see her wipe a stray tear from her cheek.

All of Elizabeth's sisters were present. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary all sat in the corner cleaning muskets and sharpening blades. Mrs. Bennet had taken to her room and only came out on the rare occasion to eat. Bingley and Jane sat closest to his solitary spot in the corner. They had a glow about them and, despite the circumstances, shared occasional knowing looks with each other that would send a reddish hue to one or both of their faces.

Sick of his new cousin's prattling and Charles and Jane's glances, he folded his letter and made for the door. Georgiana shot him a worried glance as he walked off but he offered her something resembling a smile as he exited the room, which eased her enough at present, and she soon began polishing her musket once more.

He needed to get away. He wanted his loneliness to crash down around him like a wave. To feel its sharp sting like the first time Elizabeth had rejected him. Like after he sliced his father's head clean off his body. Or even the way it had overpowered him after his mother had been eaten by undead when he was just a boy. He realized he anticipated these moments in his life. As soon as he embraced feelings of joy and bliss they were ripped away as if the good Lord didn't want him to endure too much happiness in his life. Instead he was meant to suffer in a world plagued with undead at every corner. In one where his wife, the most fearsome warrior he knew, was kidnapped and possibly dead.

He turned up the hall and opened the door of the library. Entering into the dim room, he embraced the comforting, musty smell that only old books could provide. Walking to the cabinet, he removed a bottle of liquor and turned towards the desk. Despite himself, he was surprised to see Mr. Bennet sitting comfortably in a chair. He was equally shocked when he noticed the man held no book in hand, but simply had his head resting against the back of the chair. Darcy lifted the bottle up, silently voicing his question.

Mr. Bennet nodded in the affirmative, and Darcy removed two glasses, carefully pouring them each a glass. He sat across from his father-in-law and they both took their first swallow together.

They then sat in comfortable silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. He knew not how much time had passed before Mr. Bennet asked, "What are you thinking of, my son?"

Darcy broke from his reverie and looked up at the older man. In the dim light he could almost imagine it was his own father sitting before him.

"When I asked you for Elizabeth's hand," Darcy admitted with a smirk.

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied. "You said, 'Love her well, lead her with wisdom, comfort her in times of trial, and always remember to keep your blade ready for both defense against the undead and her sharp wit.'"

Both gentlemen chuckled for a moment and the room fell into silence once more.

"I hate seeing you bearing the burden of Wickham's actions all on your own," Mr. Bennet said, "but that just confirms my belief that there is no one else worthy of her."

"I feel helpless," he confessed. "If Wickham is at Pemberley with the undead from The Canal, then that leaves thousands against mere hundreds. Us, the Black Guard, and remaining militia cannot take on such numbers. And odds are he had Elizabeth trapped somewhere inside. What should I do?" His eyes pleaded.

"Think of your home," Mr. Bennet said. "Is there anything that may give us even the slightest advantage if we battle at Pemberley?"

Darcy sat back and pondered this. He and Wickham had both grown up together so they shared mostly the same experiences, apart from the years Darcy went to Japan to train. But their childhood was filled with adventures in the garden, swimming in the lake, afternoon rides, and playing near the outer wall, sometimes even sneaking through the bars to the open countryside. He thought of a game they once played in their youth. They would blindfold each other and see who could walk the furthest from the safety of the wall before fear overtook them. Darcy always ventured the furthest. On many occasions Wickham would even pretended to be an undead, growling and moaning in an attempt to scare Darcy into a loss.

Darcy also thought of their games of hide and seek within Pemberley on rainy days. The home was filled with secret passages and rooms and only he knew where they all were, which could work to their advantage. But that was only in the event they could make it into the home. If Wickham had somehow managed to get thousands of undead to Pemberley, then they would have to go through them. Or under them, he thought.

Darcy glanced up at Mr. Bennet, his eyes bright. "I think I know how," he said.

Darcy ate little at dinner and grew more frustrated with Parson Collins' insatiable appetite. He was not sure if his distaste for the man stemmed from his general character, his initial attraction towards Elizabeth, or his complete disregard for her current well-being. Darcy raised his glass to his lips, taking another sip of water in an effort to hold his tongue.

He and his father-in-law worked out the particulars and set a general plan. All they were waiting for was the riders from the north to return, which Darcy expected to be any moment.

As if on cue, the dining room doors flew open and Franklin rushed in, two of the three northern riders following closely behind. The introduction was lost in the commotion as everyone took in the appearance of the gentlemen. Their faces were blackened with dust and their eyes were weary. Both were taking deep breaths as if they had run the distance from Pemberley instead of riding upon horseback.

Darcy rose to his feet and ran towards the men. He grasped Leftenant Watters' arms and pleaded for him to speak. He saw Ashton grip the other man and they led them both to nearby chairs and ordered for glasses of water to be brought. Darcy's eyes scanned from Leftenant Watters, to the Black Guard member, and back several times before the former spoke.

"We made it to Pemberley," he breathed out, moving into an ungentlemanly position in the chair.

"And?!" bellowed Darcy after the man paused.

"And there were thousands and thousands of undead. They were hardly visible in the moonlight, but we could hear them," Watters said. He paused to take a sip of water. "We weren't there long. Henry's horse got spooked, and he was bucked off. The undead all turned and began running towards us. We barely escaped through the hole in the outer wall. Once we crossed over I glanced back, and Henry was completely surrounded."

"Did you see Elizabeth?" Darcy asked urgently.

"No. I am sorry, Colonel," Watters responded. "But we could see candles burning in the lower windows. We also found scraps of dirty white cloth on the northern road to Pemberley like a trail of breadcrumbs. Sadly they were in Henry's satchel and are now all lost. But if I were a betting man, I would hazard to guess Wickham and Elizabeth were both inside."

Darcy sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair, moving the dark strands from his eyes. They found her. And his quick-witted wife had made certain of it.

"These undead," Watters continued, "were the furthest gone I have ever seen. It was as if all the humanity had been drained from them. Lord knows how much human blood they had consumed to reach that point. I shudder to think where it came from. And they surrounded the house as if they were specifically ordered to protect it. It's like they have no choice. They wandered in the same area until they were alerted to our presence. Then they followed us to the outer wall before rounding back to the house. It was as if they were following direct orders. "

"Yes," responded Darcy calmly, finally letting one truth free. "Wickham can control them."

Everyone shot him shocked expressions.

"What do you mean?" his aunt asked.

"I have been mulling over the idea for some time," said Darcy. "When Elizabeth and I were racing back to Hingham Bridge they completely disregarded us while we rode through. They could have killed us and eaten our brains, but they were so focused on reaching the bridge it was as if they were programmed for a specific mission, everything else came secondary- including their primal urges. Parson Collins, do you remember when you spoke of the zombie antichrist leading the undead in the end times?"

"From the book of Revelation?" Parson Collins verified, pieces of scone falling from his mouth. He swallowed. "Of course I do! I am, after all sir, a man of the cloth."

"I believe there is more to it than him simply leading the undead," Darcy continued. "I think that he can control the undead. All undead."

"Then, if what you say is true," commented Ashton Trafford, "they are the largest unified militia in the world."

Darcy nodded.

"Now," Darcy thought aloud, "we have to determine how far their bond reaches. Can they break their trance? If so, what are the barriers? What orders have they been given? Does he have to voice their orders or is it innate? And, most importantly, if we kill Wickham, do they all die?"

"How do you plan on testing this?" inquired Ashton Trafford.

"I have not the slightest clue," Darcy admitted with a sigh. "We will have to plan for the worst and hope for the best. But rest assured, if I have any chance to put my blade through Wickham's skull, I will not hesitate. Truth be told, I should have done it a long time ago."

"Well, we already know one thing," Ashton said optimistically. "They cannot go beyond the outer wall."

"And we shall use that to our advantage," said Darcy. He decided to voice part of his plan. "When I arrived back from my training in Japan, my father would take me on walks of the grounds. We would occasionally do this to check for stray undead, and if we happened to find one, it meant there was a breach in the outer wall. One day he took me past the outer fence towards a cluster of trees just south of the Pemberley limits. It was the area with the most shelter, and, it just so happens, the only area where one could spy upon the house without being seen. Behind one old tree was a grate. He opened the hatch and told me to climb inside. I took the stairs downward into the darkness, and at the bottom was a long, dank corridor. He grabbed a torch nearby and soon the fire lit the path in front of us. It seemed like we walked for ages before the tunnel revealed another set of stairs. My father glanced down at me and said, 'Under no circumstances are you to tell anyone about this. It is a secret passed down from one Darcy man to another. Only use this passage if we are under attack, but just bring your sister.' He then told me to proceed up the stairs. It leads directly underneath Pemberley to the back kitchens. This," Darcy concluded, "is our way in."

Darcy sat at his desk writing five letters by candlelight. Now that he knew their whereabouts, he needed to call all available militia to come to their aid. If he could send out the letters tonight they could have reinforcements tomorrow night at the earliest. He instructed each to bring as much ammunition as possible, and in his letter to those still stationed at Hingham Bridge he ordered any leftover explosives to be brought from when they detonated the bridge.

Lifting the ladle containing the red wax, he poured a glob onto the paper before pressing his signet ring into the hot liquid. Once the Darcy crest cooled on each, he took all five letters in hand and left his room, making for the main floor of the estate. He told five of the militia members already at Rosings to ready themselves after dinner. They met him at the stairwell, and he handed each a letter and accompanying region. They were dressed simply in their regimentals, uniform overcoats, and hats.

They shuffled down the stairway together and made for the horses standing ready at the end of the front garden, Darcy voicing commands the entire length. He reiterated to them the importance of assembling all available militia and that this battle was literally the end battle between the living and the dead. If they lost, soon all of England, Scotland, and then the rest of the world would be undead. The five riders mounted and then were off. Darcy watched them ride away until they blended into the night.

He rested his left hand on the hilt of his katana. After they were out of sight he realized for the first time he had hope. If their plan worked, he could be with Elizabeth the day after next. Although the men hadn't seen her, he knew she was alive. He was certain of it. He could feel her presence with him even now, comforting him. Guiding him. He bent his head and gave a silent prayer that the plan would succeed, for Elizabeth to remain unharmed, and that Wickham would soon meet the Maker and be damned for all eternity.

Darcy turned and walked back to the house, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. He heard another sound resembling a moan behind him, and turned around sharply, removing his blade. But nothing was there. The riders had long since gone and the Black Guard remained fixed in their positions.

Sheathing his katana once more, he rubbed his hands over his weary face and continued towards the stairs. As he approached the landing, he noticed Georgiana and Ashton standing in an intimate fashion by one of the windows, talking softly. They stepped further apart upon noticing him.

Darcy shot a stern glare towards Ashton and then at his sister. Deciding he had best save this discussion for a time when his brain wasn't clouded from a lack of sleep, he instead asked where the others were.

Ashton found his voice first, for his sister was still in a state of shock at his silence on the subject.

"The younger Bennet sisters are in the throne room with your aunt and cousin and Miss Bingley preparing the last of the weapons," said Ashton. "Mr. and Mrs. Bingley are with them. And Parson and Mrs. Collins have retired to their room for the evening."

"Shall we join them?" encouraged Darcy. He ushered for them to proceed in front of him up the hall to the throne room.

They all sat upon various sofas and chairs sharpening blades, polishing muskets, and taking note of their ammunition supply. Darcy walked over to an available whetstone near the door and began sharpening his katana. He could hear his younger sisters-in-law quietly talking about Ashton Trafford. He smirked. They were going to be disappointed when they discovered he might soon be courting his younger sister.

Lydia then turned her eyes on him and smiled. She had all but recovered her lively disposition but her smiles did not quite yet meet her eyes. He could still see the anger that haunted her but now it was mixed with determination; this was her moment of retribution.

Her eyes then flickered to the doorway and her smile fell, all the color fading from her face. Darcy turned to his right and gripped the hilt of his katana tighter for in it stood five and twenty members of his aunt's Black Guard. Fresh blood trickled down some of their chins and they all stared forward, eyeing the ladies and their fresh brains. They moaned and snarled at the party, their bodies blocking the main entrance to the room. All movement ceased as the others too realized the precarious situation they now found themselves in. The undead had infiltrated Rosings- the safest place in England.

Chapter Text

The undead opened the door and thrust her into her room. Elizabeth fell to the ground, but lithely jumped up and ran towards them. The undead snickered as they slammed the door in her face, locking it securely. She was caged, trapped in her own home.

She surveyed her bruised arms and knees. Minor scrapes, but no puncture wounds. She walked to one of the windows and gazed upward, choosing to ignore the assembly below. She could have killed him. She should have killed him. That was probably the only opportunity she would receive for next time he would not be so careless. Yet there was more she had to know of his plan. What were his intentions with all the undead? Were they merely a defense in case Fitzwilliam came charging in with the Black guard and remaining militia? Or was he going to lead them around Great Britain, turning those they encountered until no one was left except her family? And what would happen to the undead if he died? She knew he could control them, but how far was that bond tied? Would they all die as well? She had to figure out any boundaries to their connection.

Gray clouds had gathered in the sky and soon the heavens opened, soaking the undead. They were completely unfazed by the change in weather and continued mulling around the grounds, completely unaware. They must have been turned for some time for they lacked all reasoning skills, a sense of awareness, compassion- anything that made them human. Even from this high up she saw dirt and blood caked their bodies. Their clothes were tattered, some barely having enough cloth covering their bodies. Instead they stared blankly at the ground, sky, or undead in front of them, but they never ventured too far from the house.

Elizabeth guessed they had been ordered to surround the house for the meantime, provide an added barrier of protection, which meant even if she could scale the walls or manage to break out of the room with the help of her hair pins, she would not make it far.

She sat upon the mantel and leaned her head back, staring up at the sky once more. Releasing a sigh, she knew it was hopeless to try and escape. She already understood she wouldn't make it far and would have no idea where to go for she had been passed out for most of the journey. Besides, if she did manage to break free she only knew that Pemberley was located in the northern country, but in relation to Rosings, she had not a clue. No, it was better for her to stay put and hope that Fitzwilliam would figure out she was located at Pemberley. Her objective now was to stay put and attempt to get more information from Wickham if she was summoned and then possibly get word out to Fitzwilliam.

She saw the sun had begun its descent in the sky, casting shadows on the landscape below. She heard a commotion outside and her door was suddenly sprung open. The same servant girl from that morning entered, carrying a plate of tea and food.

Elizabeth peered out the doorway and saw the two undead guards still stood on either side of the door but did not enter or glance into the room. She got up and approached the girl as she placed the tray on the table.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. The girl looked up and shared a cautious smile. Lowering her voice, Elizabeth clutched the girl's hand and said, "I am Mrs. Darcy. I need to get a message to Rosings Park, to Mr. Darcy, that I am being held captive here."

"I can try madam," the girl replied softly, "but there are undead guards watching our every move too."

"I could even write one if you get me a quill, ink and paper," she suggested.

The young girl opened her mouth to respond but an undead guard had entered the room. He eyed them before forcefully yanking the girl out into the hallway and slamming the door shut, locking it once more.

"On your way!" she could hear the undead growling at her. Her little feet echoed in the halls and then there was silence once more, apart from the horde below.

Elizabeth made her way back to her spot by the window and prayed silently that the girl would be successful. And that Wickham would not get wind of their brief encounter, for she would hate to risk the lives of the few living beings around her. She did not hear the undead leave, so she assumed her secret was safe, at least for now.

She eyed the horizon and admired the various trees and shrubberies on the grounds. Pemberley boasted spectacular gardens she realized and her anger rose once again at how everything in her life was being trampled on at present.

The zombies mulled around almost in a hypnotic way. Her eyes would follow one after another as they walked aimlessly about the parameter. Occasionally there would be some sort of upset causing a change in their character, such as a deer or other oblivious animal wandering too closely. The undead would then lurch in that direction, eager for any blood, brains, and intestines the targeted object could provide. Their teeth would bare and arms would reach towards the morsel, fingers clenching and unclenching, trying to grasp it for themselves.

Elizabeth was watching one such event now. A doe had wandered unknowingly towards the horde. The undead below chased after it, stretching and growling at the potential dinner option. One undead, who either had turned after the rest or had not consumed as much human blood, lead a few other undead behind the animal, allowing them to trap the doe within the horde. It was surrounded. Elizabeth glanced away.

She watched the sun finish its pattern in the sky as it dipped below the horizon, its last rays of light turning transforming pale blue into shades of pink and orange. Once the landscape turned navy blue she walked over to the tray that was left many hours before. She ate a few bites and walked back to the window, wishing she had a book or some other occupation to keep her mind from this incessant turning.

Her eyes landed on a tall tree past the horde, and though the sun had set she thought she saw movement in the diming light. Were more undead summoned to defend Pemberley? Was Wickham anticipating an offensive attack? As her warrior eyes adjusted, she saw three men on horseback taking shape. The Horsemen? They continued approaching the home and as they grew closer Elizabeth saw they did not boast The Horsemen's typical garb. Only one, in fact, was in regimentals and another a white shirt and dark overcoat. They ducked behind another tree and she realized the third was wearing the uniform of Aunt Catherine's Black Guard. Fitzwilliam had sent them! Elizabeth wished she had a candle or some way of signaling to them to turn around. She knew they could hear the horde, but she feared that if they continued hiding and making for the house, they would eventually encounter the undead, which were all but invisible in the now near darkness.

As if on cue, a horse began bucking about, catching the attention of the horde. They all turned in the direction of the three men and a large section of undead began chasing after them, snarling at the prospect of human brains.

That same horse, in its frightened state, sent its rider flying off before galloping away, abandoning the rider. Another rider turned his own horse around in an attempt to save the man but the horde had already descended, surrounding him. Elizabeth offered a silent prayer for his soul. The remaining two men rode swiftly out of sight, undead chasing after them. Although they had not seen her, she knew Fitzwilliam would make sense of it all.

The door burst open an hour later and Elizabeth turned, expecting her dinner tray. Instead a burly undead stormed in.

"Mr. Wickham wishes to see you," he said in a gruff voice.

Elizabeth raised her chin but went willingly, curious why he was summoning her so soon after their squabble that morning.

They escorted her to a different room this time. They wove their way through corridor after corridor before leading her to a grand room. Two elegant chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a large table that could seat everyone within her intimate acquaintance with ease sat in the middle of the space. Upon the table were four innate candelabras, all lit, and casting light in the vast space. On the walls hung pictures of Pemberley and, she supposed, other parts of the ground for she recognized the covered bridge they rode over when they first arrived. Wickham sat at the head of the table in one of the elaborate chairs. His elbows rested on the arms, his hands folded together in almost a pensive state.

Three others sat at the table, all to his right, and he motioned for her to take the unoccupied seat to his left. She eyed the others as she sat down and recognized the three remaining Horsemen for they still wore their golden masks, all eyes watching her through the narrow slots. The table was set for a dinner party and she couldn't help but admire the dinnerware, despite the circumstances, especially when she saw a carving knife easily within her grasp. She quickly darted her eyes away from the object and instead glanced at Wickham. He was watching her, humor dancing in his eyes.

"Feel free to use it," Wickham goaded, his mouth curving into a smile.

Elizabeth remained still and defiant, her glare focused on Wickham's smug face. Two undead stood a few paces behind her chair, so she wouldn't be able to make it far anyways.

"I thought it would be nice if you joined us for supper," Wickham stated. He snapped his fingers and the doors opened.

Servants poured from the wings with their pre-plated meals, and soon a male servant stood behind each of them. Wickham's was placed before him first and the rest of the servants followed suit. They all left single file through a door that she assumed lead to the kitchens. As the youngest male servant, left, he eyed her and offered a sympathetic smile. Maybe the young girl had gotten word out, Elizabeth thought hopefully.

"Please, enjoy," Wickham said before removing the covering from his plate.

Elizabeth lifted the metal cover and gulped. Before her was a severed head. The man's eyes stared blankly back at her, wide with fright. His mouth was open in a silent scream, and blood pooled around the bottom of the plate where his neck should have been. It looked like his head had been ripped from the rest of his body as opposed to being swiftly sliced with a katana. She would not give Wickham the satisfaction of slamming the cover back on. Instead Elizabeth placed it gently on the table and glanced calmly around the table at the other plates. She soon noticed they all also had body parts from the once living man in addition to a side of intestines. Wickham's plate held the heart and brains.

"Normally I only opt to consume animal brains," said Wickham, "but today I am making a special exception."

He lifted his fork and knife and cut into the brains, pushing some onto his fork. Lifting his utensil, he made sure to catch her eye before bringing it to his mouth and savoring the bite.

She glanced away and instead met the blank eyes of the Three Horsemen. They all reached up and removed their masks, placing them on the table. Elizabeth gasped in horror. The skin on their faces was completely removed, exposing the bones and nerves beneath. Their eyes sunk back into their heads, and parts of their faces were red as if they were permanently stained with blood. They were almost all skull with nothing human about them. They stared expressionlessly at her, their yellowish eyes glazed over.

One broke form and gave her an amusing smirk, the muscles and nerves pinching around his mouth. Another stared at the empty seat beside him with what looked like an angered expression. They all dug into their meals together, in the same civilized fashion as Wickham.

Elizabeth tried to think of anything other than what was happening around her. The poor man must have been dragged back to the house, where Wickham most likely tortured him given the state of his face. The only shining light was that one head was upon the table, meaning the other two managed to escape. There was also the fact that they were brought to Wickham instead of torn open by the undead outside; they were under direct orders not to feast upon any living.

She thought about the riders making their way back to Rosings. They would report to Fitzwilliam and he would soon learn her position and liberate her. But Wickham knew this she realized. He knew the riders would deliver the news to Darcy, and he would stage a counter offense. Her time to get information was limited.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a bite?" Wickham said, provoking her.

"I'll pass," responded Elizabeth dryly. Her stomach was starting to clench.

"He wont be able to save you," Wickham said directly towards her, moving more onto his fork.

"You should know me well enough to know I can save myself should I choose to," she spat back.

Wickham grinned before saying, "You're as brazen as ever, Miss Bennet."

He took another bite and then grasped his glass, downing the red liquid. When she sat down Elizabeth initially thought it was wine, but now she knew better. She looked at her own glass questioningly.

"There was something I wanted to mention before you cut our talk short this morning. I always give credit where credit is due, and I must say I was quite impressed that you managed to eliminate a substantial amount of my army in one swift blow after your wedding. Quite impressive."

Wickham raised his glass, gesturing it towards her, before taking another sip.

"But I have the advantage now," he added.

"So you believe," stated Elizabeth. "You have many tricks, sir. Concealing your identity, escaping The Canal, attacking us on our wedding day."

"And many more to come, I assure you."

She thought of her family. How worried her father must be. She wondered if he had slept or eaten since they were last together. Her mother's nerves would have taken over her body, leaving her bedridden. Jane. Sweet, gentle Jane, would feel guilty that she would not have been there fighting by her side during the battle as she had been doing their entire lives. And Fitzwilliam, her handsome husband, she could only imagine how distraught he was; His shame for his inability to keep her safe or killing Wickham when they had the chance. If he were here now she would take him in her arms and assure him that it was not his doing. That he could not have planned for such an outcome and remind him of all the things he had done for her: saving Lydia, risking his life for her family, reuniting Jane and Mr. Bingley, disregarding his family and following his heart.

At least he was safe. They all were safe. And to her now, that was all that mattered. That she was in the lion's den, not her parents, not her sisters, not her husband. She could survive this. She could handle what was to come. Unlike her sisters, she embraced the warrior side of her. It was a part of her. She was trained to think of even the most innate object as a potential weapon. But most of all, she was a fighter. And she would fight until her dying breath.

"Do what you wish to me!" said Elizabeth. "I do not care. All that matters to me is that you meet your Maker and that my family is safe. And there is no safer place than Rosings at present."

"Yes…" he agreed. "There is no safer place than Rosings." He smiled his devilish smile before proceeding. "That husband and family of yours had best prepare for within the safety of Rosings the end is about to begin."

Chapter Text

How long had undead been hiding on the grounds? Had they been present this entire time? Sneaking around, gaining information to report back to Wickham? How had they not noticed? Were all the Black Guard undead?

Someone gasped, immediately breaking Darcy from his reverie.

He glanced at his sister from across the room. Her eyes were widened with fright but they quickly narrowed, turning into a look of fierce determination. She held a musket in hand and he saw her discretely pull the trigger back, readying to fight. Her other hand reached for a nearby dagger.

He glanced around the room and saw everyone else preparing. Miss Bingley held two daggers she had been sharpening, the Bennet sisters were surrounded by ammo, muskets and other weaponry, and Charles and Jane sat ready as well, Charles with his katana and Jane with her fighting stick. Ashton grasped the hilt of his katana at his hip. His aunt didn't have any weaponry nearby on the platform, but she could easily access something.

The next several moments moved in slow motion. The undead were unusually silent before one in the middle broke into a ferocious growl. They all then began running into the room, their blades high in the air, teeth bared. Darcy jumped up and began attacking from the side. His sisters-in-law created their regular formation, minus Elizabeth, and attacked the front. Georgiana and Ashton picked off any stray undead that managed to make it past their defenses, while his cousin cowered in the corner.

Darcy swiftly decapitated three undead before kicking a chair towards another, knocking it off balance. The undead fell overtop the chair towards Darcy, its head landing near his leg. Darcy raised his blade and thrust it downward into the undead's skull.

He pulled his katana out and turned around quickly, sensing something behind him. Another undead was within inches of him and Darcy plunged the blade upwards into their neck, the tip of his blade ejecting from the top of their head. The undead fell to the floor as he removed his blade with a kick to the undead's chest. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and surveyed the room during his brief respite.

The sisters had surrounded a small group and his aunt had a pile of bodies at her feet. His eyes darted back towards the door in time to spot a stray zombie run out the door and escape into the hallway. Darcy gripped his katana tighter and took off in a run after him. After he quit the room he realized the precarious situation in which he found himself. No backup. His surroundings open, leaving him vulnerable to another unsuspecting attack, but it was too late to turn back. He found the undead by the main stairway waiting for him.

Darcy slowed his pace as he approached; walking carefully toward him, his katana in the air while his eyes quickly scanned the open room. The undead leaned casually against the bannister with his arms crossed. The stairway leading to the outside below was lowered and those leading to the higher levels where the undead stood were clear of any living or undead.

The undead smirked at Darcy and said, "The infamous Mr. Darcy. We meet at last."

Darcy remained silent and glared at the undead man. He wore the Black Guard robes but appeared younger than was normally permitted to become a member of his aunt's sentinel.

"I must say, you are not as tall as I thought you would be," the undead continued, sizing him up.

"What do you want?" Darcy asked. He knew Wickham had sent him but to what end? He had already rendered the Black Guard completely useless, as was his primary mission he supposed, but why? Was their objective to kill them all? What worried him most was the baiting, and the fact that the undead blocked the stairway leading towards the upper levels of Rosings. He was attempting to distract him once more. But why? To buy time? If so, for what? What did they have planned?

"I have already accomplished my mission," the undead said, ignoring Darcy's question. "I might be so inclined as you tell you Wickham's plans, but it would require some promises on your part."

"I don't negotiate with undead," Darcy said outright, his eyes narrowing.

"Suit yourself," responded the undead as he wielded his sword once more. "Wickham ordered for you to remain unharmed, but I think a few scrapes might pacify your ego."

The undead kicked off the first step and soared into the air. He landed in front of Darcy, their katanas thrashing against each other. The undead circled around and attempted another blow at Darcy's shoulder, but he managed to deflect it once more. The undead then pulled a dagger from his boot and began slashing it wildly through the air. Darcy took several steps back in an attempt to avoid the sharp blade. He felt the wall at his back, and the undead pulled his arm back, ready to stab Darcy in the heart.

"What Wickham doesn't know won't hurt him," the undead said smugly. As he drove it towards Darcy the undead's eyes grew wide, shock and frustration eminent in them, and his blade forcefully impacted the wall above Darcy's shoulder instead.

Darcy raised his katana in the air and made a swipe as to decapitate the undead but the undead ducked and swiped Darcy's feet out from under him. Darcy fell onto his side and quickly jumped back up. The undead had taken the opportunity to run into the opposite corridor.

Darcy wrenched the dagger from the wall and swiftly pursued the undead once more. He could see him running several yards ahead. Stopping, he drew the dagger back, aimed, and released the blade. It soared through the air, eventually connecting with the undead's head, and sending him tumbling to the ground.

He attempted to quiet his breathing as he stood in the now empty corridor. His warrior ears could make out the sound of large footsteps on the floors above and he knew more than those five and sixty had infiltrated Rosings. It was best to assume that all Black Guards, aside from Watters, had been turned.

He heard a scream from the rooms above and remembered that not all of the parties had been within the throne room during the initial attack. The servants, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and his mother and father-in-law were all unaware of the situation they currently found themselves in.

Darcy went in the direction of the closest room- the library- his eyes and ears alert. He opened the door and walked into the room quietly, his katana at the ready. He kept his back to the wall and waited for his eyes to adjust in the dim light.

"What's going on?" a quiet voice asked.

Darcy sighed with relief.

"The Black Guard have been infiltrated," Darcy explained to his father-in-law. "We were just attacked by a swarm of them in the throne room. I expect another wave will come. Do you have any weapons?"

Mr. Bennet answered in the negative, and Darcy walked towards one of the many bookcases. He removed a book and a painting on the opposite wall opened, revealing a makeshift armory. He handed him a katana and spare dagger.

"Where are the others?' Mr. Bennet inquired.

"In the throne room last I saw but Parson and Mrs. Collins are still oblivious to the fact. I make for them next."

"I shall join you," Mr. Bennet said eagerly. "My wife has retired as well."

"Our best bet is to take the servant's stairs," said Darcy. "Follow me."

The men advanced into the hallway, Darcy taking the lead, his father-in-law covering their backs. The door was only a little ways down up the next hallway. Darcy pushed the door opened and listened. It appeared to be empty and the men entered, making for the next floor. He placed his ear against the door on the next landing. Nothing. He peaked it opened and again it was empty, which he did not expect. It seemed too easy.

Three doors away on the right was the room the Collins' were given. The door was cracked open and Darcy slowly opened it. He crept in and noticed the bedroom was empty. The sheets were all matted but otherwise the room appeared to be in order. He heard Mr. Bennet enter after him as he walked around to the other side of the bed. Darcy stopped in his tracks. On the floor rested the lifeless body of Charlotte Collins. Her face had been ripped opened and her brains were removed. Blood pooled around her head and splattered the side of the bed and washstand.

Darcy removed the white sheet from the bed and placed it over his wife's best friend. He offered a silent prayer for her soul before turning towards his father-in-law.

"We have to find Parson Collins," said Darcy, "and your wife."

Mr. Bennet nodded in agreement but thought again.

"I think we should first find the rest of the group," Mr. Bennet voiced. Darcy glanced at him confused. Surely he would want to save his wife above anyone else. He thought of everything he would do for Elizabeth. This very moment he would gladly take her place to ensure her safety and Mr. Bennet was instead wiling to risk the safety of his own wife. "My wife may suffer from her nerves but she decided long ago that if it came down to it, my own safety was of more importance than her own. As much as it pains me to say, I must honor her wishes, and we have to get to my daughters first and then attempt a rescue. Despite what others may think, she knows when to remain silent when needed."

Darcy was about to protest but agreed it was the safer option than the two of them gallivanting through the house alone with so many more undead about. Besides, he was not about to defy his father-in-law.

They exited the room and made their way back to the servant stairs. Again, they met no resistance and entered the throne room in time to hear his aunt say, "I don't understand," as she glanced down at the bodies. Charles and Ashton stood near the doorway, ready for any additional attacks.

"Wickham had undead infiltrate the Black Guard and turn them all into his own subjects," Darcy explained, but his aunt did not seem to hear him.

His aunt began walking among the bodies, inspecting the faces of the undead. "I recognize them all," she said, "except for this one."

She pointed to a single undead, another one who had stood in front of the group before leading the charge inside. Darcy walked over and even though blood flowed from the crater in the male undead's head, he still recognized him. He flashed back to the day of their wedding. When he was surrounded on the road in his pursuit of Elizabeth with all the smiling undead faces staring back at him. Here was one of those undead. Why did he stand out to him now against all those other faces? Had he followed him back and been slowly changing over his aunt's guard since then?

"He attacked me on the road several days ago," Darcy said. "One of many others."

The others, he thought, remembering Mrs. Bennet, Parson Collins and the servants. They had so little time.

"We have to alert everyone else. Caroline and Georgiana, go down to the kitchens and tell the servants that Rosings has been taken over. Use the back exit. Georgiana, accompany them to the chapel to wait and Caroline, run to the stables and tell the remaining militia the Black Guard have been compromised," he ordered. "We will reconvene with you both in the chapel after the rest have been vanquished. Everyone else, come with me to find Parson Collins and Mrs. Bennet." He grabbed another dagger and began to walk towards the door once more.

"What about Charlotte?" asked Jane quietly.

Darcy stopped in his tracks and shot her a mournful glance. Jane crossed herself in understanding, and he noticed Charles squeeze her hand in an attempt to reassure her.

"Let's go," Darcy said gruffly as he turned around. He could feel the frustration rising in him. With the Black Guard now rendered useless they only had the few militia already on the grounds, the hundreds that would hopefully be arriving from The Canal, and those currently present in the room. Now they were hunting the very men that were supposed to be aiding them. Valuable time and resources were being wasted and he knew they had all but lost any advantage they once had.

Approaching the main stairway, they halted and stared down into the empty gardens below. No figure was within sight and it confirmed all the guards were inside Rosings. He motioned towards the lever at the side of the room and they made for it. Darcy began cranking the wooden beam around and around, closing the stairway. He heard a snarl and halted. Several undead guards approached and Mr. Bennet moved forward with the others, slicing them down with more grace than Darcy thought possible for his age. He noticed some similarities between his and Elizabeth's fighting styles. They both wore the same stern faces with narrowed eyebrows, eyes bright from the exertion. Mr. Bennet moved with equal fluidity, able to transition from one undead to the next without a break in his movements.

Three more entered into the lobby but Kitty and Lydia eliminated both with ease. Another tried to sneak from behind them, but Ashton sliced him to the floor with a grunt as Darcy finished raising the staircase. Now the undead guards were trapped inside and they soon would meet the Maker.

The party progressed towards the marbled stairway leading to the next floor. Upon hearing the snarls from the upper story, they broke off into two groups on the landing. The plan was for each to make for the outer stairways utilized by the servants and proceed up to the top floor in an attempt to surround the undead two stories above them. They reached the stairs with ease, everyone climbing silently. When they neared the door a shout pierced through the silence. Mr. Bennet pushed past Darcy and threw the door open with a loud grunt upon hearing his wife.

Mrs. Bennet was knelt in a defensive pose in the hallway, three undead Black Guards stood ready to pounce on her at any moment. Her cheerful demeanor was all but gone, and Darcy was surprised to see a severity about her quite unlike the usual gentility he had come to know. Mr. Bennet ran up the hallway, his katana shining in the firelight, and he rapidly sliced down all three surprised undead in one swift motion.

Mrs. Bennet gazed up affectionately at her husband. Despite her incessant bickering and Mr. Bennet's longing for isolation, Darcy could see they truly and deeply cared for one another. The moment was short-lived, however as Mrs. Bennet decided to reprimand her husband for risking himself at such a time when surely one of the younger warriors within the party could have stepped forward. Mr. Bennet promptly ignored his wife, and instead planted a chaste kiss on her mouth, silencing her needless chatter.

She then suddenly broke into another scream of terror. Behind her stood Parson Collins. His hands still grasped Mrs. Bennet's left arm. Blood trickled from his mouth, down his chin, and dripped onto the wooden floor below. He gazed up at the party and offered a sickening smile. His eyes did not yet hold the yellowish hue common of undead beings, so Darcy rationalized he had not been turned much before they came upon Charlotte previously.

Mr. Bennet yelled out in anger and ran his blade through Parson Collins' brain. His body dropped to the floor with a thump. Mr. Bennet reached out for his wife, but she held up her right hand, halting his movements. She began shaking her head in disbelief and tears began streaming down her face.

She glanced at Lydia and her face held all the adoration and love a daughter longs to see in the eyes of her mother. She then glanced at Darcy, her face changing, voicing silent questions and promises: save Elizabeth and protect her family, her most beloved treasures. He nodded in understanding. She offered a small smile of gratitude and then turned to her husband. Darcy could see silent tears streaming down his face now as well.

"You know what to do," she told her husband.

"No," he responded, his voice shaky.

"Don't you dare let me turn into one of them!" she chastised her husband. "We promised."

Mr. Bennet sighed roughly. Darcy knew all too well what he was about to do. Slaying his own father had made him cold and distant, and he did not want that same fate for this man. Mr. Bennet drew in a shaky breath and Darcy stepped forward, placing a hand on his father-in-law's shoulders.

Mr. Bennet broke from his wife's gaze and turned to face him. Darcy quietly asked him if he wished to pass the responsibility on to him, but Mr. Bennet refused. His respect grew even more for the older man, who seemed to stand taller now despite his slumped shoulders.

Darcy stepped back and Mr. Bennet raised his sword. He heard Lydia sobbing next to him and he placed an arm around her shoulders, much like he had done with his own sister throughout the years.

Mrs. Bennet offered him and everyone else one last loving smile before nodding at her husband and closing her eyes, accepting of her fate. Darcy always believed Elizabeth got all her strength from her father, but he could see that strength now echoed in her mother.

Darcy felt Lydia dig her face into his arm, not wanting to see, but he watched the blade rise up and strike her through the head, sending her body collapsing to the ground.

They stood there in silence for some time, each offering a prayer for her soul before Darcy took the lead once more. They resumed quietly up the hallway, and he knew the other undead surely heard Mrs. Bennet's cries and would be investigating. They reached the end of the first corridor and Darcy halted the group. Peeking around the corner, he saw a horde of undead Black Guards making for them. He turned back around and motioned for them to all hurry back the way they came. They needed more room to fight for a battle in a narrow hallway would put them in a severe disadvantage. He led them to one of the ballrooms they had just passed on the upper floor. Grasping the first doorknob, he pushed and sighed with relief when it opened.

His group flooded into the room and arranged themselves in fighting stances by the two entrances. The torches and candelabras were lit, showing the expanse of the room. The wooden floors would allow for easy movement and was open enough to permit the fighting that was about to commence. Darcy had once inquired after why his aunt placed a ballroom on one of the upper floors of her home as it was not traditional. She had looked at him those many years ago and responded, "My dear nephew, you never know when you'll be in need of the vast space within a ballroom. Besides, who wants to be traditional in such times?"

He turned towards where she stood next to him. She smiled, no doubt recalling this same memory as well and finally being able to be proven right. Mr. Bennet stood by the accompanying doorway, Lydia by his side, ready to eliminate the threat as soon as they tore through the entryway. He could see the pain radiating from their tense bodies. His cousin Anne was behind the rest. She was not as skilled as the others and he hoped, for his aunt's sake, that she would survive.

Darcy could hear the growls and footsteps of the undead as they approached.

"Make ready!" he yelled to his companions. He wished they had not separated for their five persons were no match against the some five and thirty descending upon them. Darcy prayed Charles, Ashton, and the rest of his sisters-in-law would not encounter any more obstacles to ensure their aid as quickly as possible for it was desperately needed.

The undead Black Guards broke into the room. Like the others, they all held swords and bared their teeth, threatening to turn or kill anyone within reach.

Unlike last time, they ran in and began a swift, planned attack. Some ran straight and others flocked towards the sides in an attempt to surround the few living beings within the room.

Darcy and his aunt fought back-to-back, and soon they had piles of bodies like a blockade around them. During a brief respite Darcy could see his aunt turn a concerned eye toward his cousin, who was struggling to stab a quick stepping undead. His aunt ran towards her, slicing down two more undead before stabbing the threat directly in front of her daughter. Darcy turned towards Lydia and his father-in-law. They too had bodies piled around them and seemed to be standing their own ground.

He turned back towards his side of the room and another rush of undead flocked into the room. Close on their tail were Charles and Jane, Ashton, and the other Bennet sisters. The room turned into complete chaos as the living fought off the well-trained and orderly guards. The floor was slippery from the blood and Darcy had more than once almost fallen to the ground after tripping over a lifeless body.

At one point, Darcy found two undead cornering him in one side of the room. An undead managed to lock his katana with Darcy's and force it up into the air, leaving Darcy defenseless. As he approached, he grasped the candelabra near him and set the undead on fire. They screamed in agony and he reached for his blade, which now lay abandoned on the floor. Using the hilt, he broke the glass of the window behind him and leapt to the other side of the undead. Grasping the candelabra once more, he shoved the burning undead out the window. Their screaming ceased once they hit the ground several stories below. The candelabra fell to the floor with a clang, and he examined the room once more. Undead were still scattered about but their numbers had dwindled significantly. His aunt had hundreds within the Black Guard, and, counting those they had slain earlier with those currently in the room, he expected another wave to arrive at any moment.

He turned around, preparing for his next victim, and paused upon seeing the Black Guard that had accompanied Watters standing before him.

No, he thought in agony.

The undead raised his sword and attempted to strike Darcy. Darcy hesitated and the blade cut deeply into his arm. He winced in pain and swung his katana in the air, decapitating the undead. He kicked the head across the floor, its mouth still sneering from its new place behind the door.

He glanced up and in the corner of the room he spotted an undead chocking one of the young females. He would have recognized the raven colored hair anywhere. Georgiana. No! No, he had told her to stay in the chapel. Darcy surveyed the ballroom, trying to determine a direct route to his sister, but there was still a wall of fighting undead between them. He would never make it to her on time. That's when he saw Ashton run towards the undead. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pursed tightly together in anger. He dodged several undead who made to grab him but sliced off their hands as he ran. The undead before Georgiana was stunned at his speed and began lowering his mouth towards one of her shoulders. His teeth were hovering over her skin when Ashton's blade pierced through the undead's skull.

Darcy saw Georgiana throw herself into Ashton's arms before an undead blocked his vision of the two. He turned his attention to the new threat in front of him, and Darcy stepped back as the undead's katana sliced through the air, barely missing him. He raised his own katana in his right hand, pretending to make a strike, while his left hand rose up, dagger in hand, and pierced the brain of the undead guard.

Darcy looked about the room and saw his cousin surprisingly standing her ground, his aunt still within close proximity to her. His aunt had five undead around her and she fought angrily, striking all down within seconds. Despite knowing each man personally, her face remanded blank and indifferent. She had been forced to kill her husband after he turned and that event had turned her into the ferocious warrior famed throughout all of England.

Mr. Bennet and Lydia struck down the final ones on their side, with the help of Jane and Charles. Darcy noticed his father-in-law limping and Jane was at his side, helping him into one of the few chairs in the room.

Ashton was still by Georgiana's side, shielding her from as much danger as possible. He swiftly decapitated the last one before him. Kitty and Mary killed their remaining few and slumped against each other in exhaustion.

Darcy grasped his arm and inspected the cut he had received. It was beginning to ache and he had been fighting through the pain. Blood splattered his clothing and his boots were almost completely coated with red.

The next group he was expecting did not come. He knew there were at least fifty more Black Guards somewhere on the grounds and he glanced over at his aunt. He could tell she was thinking the same as she threw a worried look at the doors. Apart from their rapid breathing the house was silent. They needed to find them.

"We should leave," Darcy said. "Kill the rest now." All eyes fell upon him. "Is anyone hurt?" He eyed his father-in-law.

"No," Mr. Bennet responded as he rose from his chair. Their eyes met for a moment and upon seeing the determination in his eyes, Darcy moved on, scanning the faces of everyone else.

"Very well," Darcy responded after they all remained silent. "I don't know where the remaining undead are, but I want to get this over with as efficiently and safely as possible. Everyone wipe off your weapons and shoes and follow me, stay in formation. We shall continue down the main stairway. If they continue to follow the same pattern, they'll come to us."

"Brother?" Georgiana voiced after he had taken his first step towards the door. "What if they intercepted our plans? The rest could be enroute to Wickham with them right now."

Darcy looked at his sister and smiled, proud of her keen mind. "I hid the maps earlier," he assured her. "They wont find them."

He proceeded onward again and heard Jane inquire after their mother. He did not hear Lydia's reply and tried to ignore the soft sobs coming from the girls. There would be a time to grieve, he thought, but now is not the time.

They paused at the top of the main stairway that descended through the heart of the house. It was still silent.

Darcy stepped onto the marbled stairs and saw bloody tracks following him. At least the undead would find them. When they reached the second story landing the undead had them surrounded. They crept out from the now darkened hallways, and even blocked the path from whence they just came. The living all broke off into sections. Darcy ran down the steps, trying to disperse the undead, his Aunt Catherine, Georgiana, Ashton, and cousin Anne following close behind.

It worked. Half the undead had followed them to the lower level. Two undead jumped from the upper floor and landed to his left. He swung his katana towards the first, piercing it through the brain. He swiftly kicked the first off his blade and went to pierce the second, but the undead ducked from his path. The undead lurched towards him before he could attempt another strike. The undead's arms grasped his jacket and he pulled Darcy towards his bared teeth.

A blade pierced through the undead's skull and he saw Mr. Bennet kicking the undead to the floor.

"No undead will harm any son of mine," he said with a surprising amount of affection.

They continued eliminating the rest of the undead, being sure to pierce them through the brains. Darcy was making for another undead when a loud bang ricocheted through the house as his intended undead's head exploded mere paces away.

His face changed from shock to confusion as he glanced around the room. No one was armed with a pistol. Upon examining the room he saw the stairs had once again been lowered and that's when the intruder spoke.

"Well ye certainly found yerself in a situation, laddie."

Darcy smiled despite himself. An unexpected cavalry had arrived.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth fell backwards with a sigh, dropping her head onto the pillow upon her bed. She growled in frustration. What did Wickham mean by they had better prepare? Was he sending a horde from Pemberley to attack Rosings?

Before she could inquire more Wickham had ordered for her to be forcibly removed from the dinning hall, and she had been fuming in her room ever since. What was he planning?! And when would she learn to control her emotions? If she had, maybe she would have more information by now.

She turned on her side and faced the empty space next to her where Fitzwilliam should be. Absentmindedly, Elizabeth reached her hand out and brushed it over the fabric. How she missed him. Since the day Fitzwilliam proposed he had always been at her side. Sharing intimate glances from across the room. Sneaking private moments in the garden. Practicing in the dojo to regain Fitzwilliam's strength, warrior against warrior. She longed for the Fitzwilliam only she knew. The one who had removed all walls and defenses. The man who would go out of his way to do something kind for one of her sisters because he knew it would please her. The man who cared not what others thought of him, but only how he appeared in her eyes. The man who would put his arms around her and whisper sweet sentiments in her ear. The side of him that would smirk while she was scolding him for some act and, instead of retaliating, would pull her close and silence her with a kiss. The one who continued to write letters to her with such overwhelming passion and intimacy. The man who would press the small of her back so she would be flush against his warm body. She longed for the feel of his soft hair under her fingertips. His strong hand upon her cheek. His deep eyes communicating silently with her what did not have to be said aloud.

She wanted him by her side here in their house, lying next her. Her frustration and anger turned tangible as she found herself weeping. She fisted the sheet and couldn't keep the tears from flowing down her face, dampening the soft pillow. How she loathed Wickham. She cursed the day she had met him in Meryton and, even more, the day she did not slaughter him in the In-Between. He had killed so many innocents and taken away from her what should be the happiest time in her life. What if Fitzwilliam didn't survive the attack? What if no one survived and all that she hoped for was in vain? Would Wickham keep her here as his prisoner forever? Or would he turn her?

Elizabeth cried until she had no tears left. Her sides ached and her eyelids were heavy. She stared at the ceiling for some time, thinking the worst. She tried to recall a happy memory, but as soon as one came to mind, it was immediately replaced with a vision of Fitzwilliam outnumbered against a horde of hungry undead, Jane decapitated, her father being tortured….

She fell asleep with agonizing thoughts in her head and awakened some time later from a nightmare only to recall that she was still living one. Elizabeth took in slow, steady breaths to calm herself and stood, using the moonlight to guide her way to the window. Sitting down upon the mantle, she saw the dark cluster roaming around below. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and stroked her gown. It was even dirtier now than when she arrived- almost all trace of its original white gone, but the movement comforted her as she thought back to their wedding day. Her mother's giddiness, Jane's matching glow, Fitzwilliam's face as she walked towards him. She opened her eyes and saw a shimmer mirrored against the glass. Glancing down, she saw her golden wedding band brilliant in the moonlight. Running her fingers over it, she soon fell to sleep in the windowpane. For she knew Fitzwilliam would live through this. He had to. Any attack Wickham would conjure up, he would fight his way to her. Their perseverance and love was echoed in the band around their fingers. For as long as she wore it, there was hope. Hope in anther day. Hope that Wickham would meet the Maker. Hope that Fitzwilliam would rescue her. And hope that she would be in his arms once more.

Elizabeth followed slowly behind the undead guards as they guided her out the doorway leading into the gardens. The sun was already beginning its descent in the sky and the ground was cooling, to her relief. The undead surrounding the house immediately cleared a pathway much like Moses did when parting the Red Sea. The party walked towards a large tree where Wickham stood, staring blankly towards the south. He broke from his thoughtful state upon seeing them arrive. After she was within a close distance, he motioned for them to leave. She felt one of the undead stiffen beside her and glance her way, but Wickham dismissed them once again. This time they left without pause. Wickham stood and came to a stop beside her. He glanced over at her and extended his arm.

"Shall we walk together?" he asked, indicting for her to take it.

She longed for exercise but glared at him for some time before he lowered his arm and motioned for her to proceed through the gardens, his smile staying present upon his face.

"Very well then," he said.

Ashamedly, she too eagerly began walking the way he indicated. After only a few paces he caught up to her. They walked quietly about the grounds, rounding the vast back yard twice before he spoke.

"This was my favorite spot growing up: the gardens. It is where I held my first sword, rode my first pony… You know, after you are turned, your memories gradually slip your mind. The more you feed on humans, the more you forget your human self. You become barbaric, consumed with need for one thing, which is why I exist: to bring order to chaos. But the normal rules do not apply to me. No. I can recall every memory with perfect ease, even those I did not remember from my infancy or youth. The most perfect memory, however, is the day I was bitten and reborn."

Elizabeth turned a questioning eye towards him but remained silent. He chuckled and said, "No need to hide your inquisitive nature, Miss Bennet… We were at a camp in the In-Between when a group of undead attacked. I was asleep in my barracks when an undead lurched onto me and bit me in the chest. I reached over, grasped a nearby knife and shoved it into its brains. Upon hearin a fellow leftenant calling my name, I quickly threw on a shirt to hide the puncture, knowing he would have no choice but to end me. It took many months before I realized the influence I had over the other undead. I was in the forest once doing a sweep around our camp with two other soldiers when I realized I could order an undead to do my bidding. And they would have no choice but concede. A female undead was stalking towards one of my fellow soldiers some paces in front of me, her teeth bared. The soldier closest to my position, a young boy, glanced at me in horror, his body frozen in place with fear. I did not even have to say the word 'stop' just think it and the undead stopped in its place. To keep up pretenses, I lifted my blade and sliced it down. The two other soldiers brushed it off as abnormal undead attributes, but I knew better. I went off on my own that night and realized I could get all the undead around my camp to do whatever I wished.

"At first I tried to find a way for undead and humans to live together in harmony. If I could achieve that, it would make me more renowned than your husband or his precious aunt. And it would not be for slaughtering undead, but for ending the war and bringing about peace. Knowing what I was, I could use my abilities, but I also wanted money. Why exhaust all my own resources and come up empty? Especially if they discovered I was one of the undead- they would strike me down without a moments hesitation. That was when I stumbled upon St. Lazarus. It was the perfect plan. Solicit the idea, say the money was going towards appeasement and instead I would pocket the funds myself and have authority over both the living and the undead. Then I could live with all of Great Britain at my feet. I just needed someone with the right influence to put my plan in motion. And, well, you know the rest," he concluded with a devilish smile.

"You're going to turn me," Elizabeth stated quietly. He would not be telling her all of this if he had any intention of her among the living.

He ignored her statement and steered them towards an old tree with a wooden circular bench around the trunk.

"This is where I bit the late Mr. Darcy," Wickham stated nonchalantly, pointing towards the ground before them. "And that," he continued, indicating the bench, "is where your beloved husband dismembered him."

Elizabeth remained defiantly silent. She did not judge her husband for slaying his own father for he had told her long ago of his story. She had even seen the results of the nightmares that still plagued him due to that night. The dark circles that rimmed his eyes. His ever-constant state of weariness. How he fought to remain strong but broke down on occasion when he could feel the blade piercing his father's flesh. How she too would strike down her own father should the same happen to him. For the living were tasked with annihilating Satan's undead. She trained for years, having that instilled into her very soul. Regardless of the person, whether they be husband, sister, mother, father, cousin, or aunt, they were no longer living the moment they were bitten and the transformation began.

"Why are you showing me this?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes fixated upon the bench where dry blood still stained the wood in painful memory. Fitzwilliam's words came rushing to her mind. It was left to me, his son, to provide a merciful ending. She had long ago wept for the man who wrote those words to her, but now, seeing the exact spot, she also wanted to weep for the man who died as well. The one who had left his children behind. The man who had raised such a strong son. The one who had molded him into one who was capable of such love and devotion; unshakable honor and sense of duty.

"Because I wanted you to learn some Pemberley history," he responded with a smirk before turning serious. "There are two types of undead, Miss Bennet: the kind that embrace what they are and those that do not. I admit I fought what I was for some time before coming to terms with it. I did not have the same cravings and yearnings I once had, but I lived with it and adjusted to the lifestyle. I ate the brains of animals in secret, avoided fellow officers when I had gone too long without consumption, and soon even took pleasure in my secret, knowing I had fooled all my superiors and fellow soldiers. But through all this it was not my sustenance that fueled me. No. It was Darcy. He made me what I am by forcing me to enlist and soon after I was turned I realized the power I had over the undead. I could finally have something he did not. After growing up knowing he would inherit the estate, and seeing him be given the finest clothes and the sharpest blade, or being sent away to Japan for the finest training. I finally had something he did not and could not have. Influence of such immensity he could only dream of it."

"You are nothing more than a jealous git," Elizabeth spat back.

"Do you really think he would not hesitate to kill you?" asked Wickham as he stepped closer, leaning his head forward. "If I were to turn you now, would he even waver before slicing his blade through your skull?"

Elizabeth took in several rapid breaths.

"I thought so…" Wickham said. "And if that day comes, I will be there to protect you."

"I don't need you to protect me from my husband," Elizabeth said.

Wickham smiled and bared his teeth, bringing them closer to her flesh. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Your threats are useless," she concluded. "You say Rosings isn't safe. I can only assume you mean to kill my husband and family. Then what will it matter?"

"Oh everything matters, Miss Bennet. It all serves a purpose. Like this," he said, standing straight once more. He places several strips of fabric into her hand. "I can endeavor to presume the purpose behind these."

She fisted the fabric tightly in her hand, but tried to remain calm. She glared up at him. So that is how the men had found her. The poor soul who laid in pieces upon their table last night had followed her clues right to death's doorway.

"They were found in his satchel, in case you were wondering," Wickham mocked. "But even if the surviving riders do make it back to Rosings, they wont live for much longer, just like the others."

"I don't believe you," Elizabeth said incredulously.

"All in good time, Miss Bennet," he responded simply.

Chapter Text

The Scots had finished eliminating the remaining undead and began a sweep of the house at the request of their leader. Darcy turned and saw a group of three highlanders still standing before him. They all donned the kilts of their clans and the same stern looks- the grimmest of which belonging to a tall, brown-headed man standing in the middle. He was older than the others, with creases around his eyes and the slightest hint of gray in his beard. As the Scot took one booted step forward, he felt his sisters-in-law, Charles, Ashton and the others stiffen, raising their blades instantly, unsure if the new intruders could be entirely trustworthy.

At the beginning of the outbreak the Scots had raised a barrier similar to the Great Wall that used to surround London. It divided English soil from the highlands occupied by the Scottish, with its tips ending in the ocean further than the eye could see. Marksmen walked the top, shooting any undead that got through the wooden spoke wall that served as their first line of defense against the undead. To ensure zombies would not plague Scottish soil and its inhabitants, English were not permitted to cross, even if they had no bite marks or symptoms of the undead plague. Two thick metal checkpoint doors were carved into the wall in the event highlanders wished to escape to the south, however most were turned away upon their return, which was why Darcy was surprised to see this familiar face and his men standing before him.

He continued staring at the intruder as the man proceeded towards him. The Scot's eyes soon danced with humor and he extended his hand towards Darcy. He took it eagerly and drew the man into a hug.

"It's been donkies since a last saw ye," the Scot said with his gruff accent, patting Darcy on the back.

"Indeed," said Darcy as he pulled away. "And you could not have come at a better time. How did you know?"

"We ran into one of yer riders and he said ye were in need of help. We heard aboot Hingham Bridge and Wickham's efforts and came a runnin'. Didna think we'd find ya in such a state though, laddie," he answered as he eyes the dead bodies on the ground before turning to face the others in the room. "Ye mind telling 'em to lower dem blades?"

Darcy rounded and nodded towards the others, who skeptically obeyed. Since the Northern Wall was erected, English did not look kindly on the highlanders for abandoning them in their time of need. In their eyes, they were weak for fleeing behind the safety of their barricade, and greedy for using the situation as a means of seizing their own land.

"Pleased tae meet ye," he said with a short bow of his head in introduction to the others. "Ma name is Alastair William James Ferguson. Met Fitzwilliam here when he was jist up to ma knee."

"He was a close friend of my father's," Darcy explained, "before the Northern Wall was built."

"I was sorry to hear of his passin'," said Alastair sincerely. "He was a braw of a man."

Darcy nodded and smiled fondly.

"Word in the north is Wickham is back and takin' vengeance," continued Alastair. "And we want to join ye. Took about 'e quarter of ma men wi' me here. The rest await ma orders in the North."

"Your assistance could not have come at a more opportune time," responded Darcy. He informed Alastair of Wickham's new status as the undead antichrist and the events hat had taken place since his wedding, ending with their recent loss of the Black Guard. Alastair whistled slowly through his teeth.

"But the question remains," concluded Darcy, glancing at his aunt, "of how undead were able to infiltrate Rosings and, more specifically, the Black Guard."

Charles was the first to respond, which surprised Darcy, as he normally was an observer, whereas the one he anticipated to answer, his aunt, demanded her thoughts be known even when they shouldn't be. "They must have followed the surviving members back the day of the wedding. It would have been easy for them to seize the clothing off a fallen guard and take their place without anyone noticing. Especially since we were all focused on other things in the chaos."

"A stray undead or two could have dragged bodies into the surrounding woods, changed into the uniforms and none of us would have noticed," added Jane quietly. "I know I was only focused on Lizzy after I heard her screams for help."

"As was I," agreed Darcy. He glanced around at those within the room. What a sight it was. Clansmen stood as still as stone, their kilts blowing slightly from the breeze that made its way into the house via the open stairwell. The Bennet sisters clung together around their father, all faces downcast and absentmindedly seeking comfort in close proximity. Their warrior constitutions demanding their attention at present and Darcy knew all mourning for their mother to be set aside until the moment presented itself at a later time. How strong they were- just like his Elizabeth.

Bringing himself back to the present, he thought for many more moments on the Black Guard. Had there been a change in the last few days? Some warning that could have alerted him? Darcy recalled his interactions, but couldn't pinpoint any caveat until he recalled the guards by the stairs swaying and twitching in anticipation that same night. And then the growl he assumed was just the wind or a figment of his imagination. The Black Guard were ordered to be fixated at all times, with not the slightest movement or sound. All warnings he had ignored. All opportunities he had been gifted but not taken. How could he have been so blind? Now his mother-in-law and sweet Charlotte lay dead in the supposedly safe confines of Rosings. Even Parson Collins. He had never cared for the man, but he did officiate their wedding and was Elizabeth's cousin. He knew Lizzy would be devastated upon hearing the news of the deaths of her mother and best friend. Her mother was a constant presence in their lives and, despite his initial prejudices towards her, Darcy had come to loved the woman just as his wife did. Likewise, Charlotte was her confidant and devoted companion. He wanted to be the one to tell his wife about both her mother and Charlotte. But first, he had to get to her.

He broke out of his reverie when Alastair spoke. "Takin' yer lass. That's a mistake if I e'er seen yin. But dinnae worry laddie, weel get yer lady back."

With that, Alastair removed a flask from his satchel, raised it up in salute, and took a long pull. "Tis a shame about the mess," Alastair continued, as he watched his men carrying undead bodies down from the upper floors and tossing them out the window to be burned later that night.

"At least one good thing came of this," Darcy said distractedly, glancing around at the bodies that still lay upon the floor. "We now know who Wickham can and cannot control."

At his statement all chatter ceased and every pair of English and Scottish eyes curiously fell upon him.

"I fought a zombie tonight who said all of them were under specific instructions not to harm me," began Darcy. "At one point an undead had me cornered, his blade in hand, ready to pierce my chest. But as it was coming downward towards my body, the zombie had no choice but to deviate its path and drive it into a wall behind me, leaving me unharmed. The second was newly turned and most likely had not had an opportunity to feed upon human brains. He was able to pierce my skin with his blade." He held up his arm, indicating the wound. "I believe that once they ingest human brains they must follow Wickham's every order, but not before. It explains why those undead at St. Lazarus acted the way they did. They were merely bitten, but he could not control them until after I fed them the brains of the dead soldiers."

"Well, it sounds as if we came to the right place," Alastair said. "Dae ye hae a plan?"

"Yes," responded Darcy straightforwardly. "We ride for Pemberley and save my wife."

Chapter Text

Undead appeared and dragged her off towards the house, Wickham following closely behind. Even though she had countless questions, she had learned quite a bit from Wickham's babblings. He could control undead with his mind and didn't even have to utter commands aloud. She could be controlled. Elizabeth shuddered at the thought. But not only her; all of the militia, her sisters, Fitzwilliam. The concept was so outrageous it hurt to even think about. The vastness alone was inconceivable.

The undead numbers had not dwindled around the house, and Elizabeth had to reason that there was more his plan than he was letting on. So did he already have an undead horde hiding near Rosings? It was possible. But how would they infiltrate Rosings without alerting her husband and aunt? They would have to sneak past the outer barrier and gain entry into the mansion all without being seen by her Black Guard. And they were posted everywhere about the grounds. Unless…

Elizabeth halted and turned her head round to face Wickham.

"It's the Black Guard, isn't it," Elizabeth stated matter-of-factly.

"You are quite clever," Wickham responded. The undead turned her round to face him.

"How?" she inquired.

"I can't reveal all my secrets," he answered, "but don't worry, I left strict orders for that husband of yours to be left unharmed. I want to deal with him myself."

A stray animal soon began exciting the undead and a feeding frenzy commenced. "Take Miss Elizabeth back to her room," Wickham ordered the undead guards as he reached for Elizabeth's hand and raised it towards his lips. She yanked it away before his flesh touched her skin.

He smiled devilishly at her and uttered, "I will see you in the morning," before she was whisked away into the house.

The following morning Elizabeth awakened to the first rays of sunshine streaming through her window. Glancing around her room she saw a new dress laid out overtop the chair in her room. It was a lovely corseted deep blue gown with off the shoulder sleeves. She walked over and ran the silky fabric between her fingers before a sickening feeling caught in her stomach. How had it gotten here? Someone must have entered her room as she slept and she had not even noticed. Curse her lack of sleep for it had weakened her warrior ears.

Her own tattered wedding gown still clung to her body, but it grew more and more tattered by the hour. Just then, the door opened and the same servant girl entered holding a tray with a simple note.

"What does it say?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not know madam," the girl responded, her voice shaking. "But he said I was to stay until you read it and then deliver your answer to him directly."

Elizabeth walked over to her and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder before taking the envelope. Ripping it open, she read:

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I hope the gown is to your liking. Please join me for breakfast this morning in the ballroom. If you choose to not come, or wear the gown, I will turn this servant girl. It's your choice.

Regards,

Wickham

Elizabeth roared in frustration and ripped the letter in half, sending the pieces floating to the floor. The girl stared at her wide-eyed.

"Don't worry," she assured her with a smile after she had calmed down. "I will not let him harm you."

The girl forced a weak smile and Elizabeth asked for her assistance with donning the gown. She reluctantly removed her tattered wedding gown and the girl gasped upon seeing her hidden daggers. Elizabeth raised her finger to her lips, telling the girl to remain silent on the matter.

After she was dressed, the pair left her room and walked down to the ballroom accompanied by the undead guards. The two zombies standing on either side of the grand doors pushed them inward and Elizabeth walked in, followed closely by the young girl.

Wickham smiled upon seeing her. "I knew you'd see reason."

At that moment two undead seized the girl. After they had dragged her to one side of the room, one raised her arm to his mouth, threatening to take a bite.

"You said she would remain unharmed if I wore the gown and joined you," she spat. "Well here I am!"

"And she shall remained unharmed," he retorted, "so long as you cooperate."

He smirked as he rose from his place at a small table positioned at the far end of the room. Soft music came from the piano in the corner where surprisingly an undead female sat playing. As he neared, he held out his hand, indicating for her to take it.

Reluctantly, she played along, for the girl's benefit alone. If the girl's life were not at steak, she would have stabbed Wickham already, her life be damned. She would keep her promise though and do whatever she could to keep this girl safe.

Wickham lead her to the center of the dance floor, his hand pressed against the small of her back until she was flush against his hard body. Elizabeth turned her head sideways so she didn't have to look at him. Her other hand had to lightly grasp his barbed makeshift arm. She felt queasy and was praying a word of thanks for her empty stomach when the melody changed. She recognized the tune immediately as the song she danced with Darcy at the Netherfield Ball. Her brow furrowed in both fond remembrance and present query.

"Yes," Wickham answered her silent question. "I did command her to play this song. I said earlier, I regretted not being able to join you on the dance floor that night. This dance should have been ours."

Elizabeth glanced at her left hand and saw it had begun to bleed from the sharp barbs. Blood trickled down her arm, little droplets falling to the floor about their feet. She ignored the pain and he attempted to spin her. It took all her might to twirl back into his arms instead of running for the doors. As if on cue, however, they were forced opened, and a dark gentleman appeared. His clothing and weapons shimmered with fresh blood and his eyes were narrow and fierce, giving him a dangerous pretense. Behind him Elizabeth could see the slew of dead zombies that had been slaughtered in his pursuit.

"Fitzwilliam!" she gasped.

Chapter Text

Darcy gripped Combat's reins tighter. Kicking the sides, his steed galloped faster over the dirt road, his katana bouncing steadily against his leg. They were drawing closer to Pemberley grounds and he knew he should slow down and remain alert should an undead attempt to take them by surprise, but he did not want to waste another moment. He could feel the anxiety, anger, and frustration fleeing his body with every mile they got closer to Pemberley. Alastair and his men had ridden out after aiding with the cleanup and burials at Rosings Park. It was decided that they would reconvene some distance from Pemberley and then the final battle between the living and the undead would begin.

The remaining militia had arrived at Rosings from The Canal with supplies, explosives, and all available horses, which were quite numerous given the circumstances. Mr. Bennet rode alongside Darcy, followed by Charles and Jane, Georgiana and Ashton, Caroline and his other sisters-in-law. The remaining militia held up the rear of the convoy. The typically two day journey only lasted a night and a half given the fast pace Darcy ordered, but all were especially eager for the battle. Many present had personal vendettas against Wickham and his undead, and the anticipation of their impending retaliation grew with each passing moment.

They arrived at Thornton Hall before Alastair and his men. At Ashton's insistence, it was decided that his abandoned home would be used as their base of operations, mostly due to its close proximity to Pemberley. After sweeping it for undead, the party moved on the grounds. It was difficult work maneuvering around with only the moonlight aiding them, but they did not wish to alert Wickham of their presence by building fires or lighting torches. They made quick work of organizing horses, and distributing weapons, food, and other necessities before sleeping rotations were assigned.

Darcy opted to remain awake, knowing sleep would not come to him. Instead, he occupied himself with other tasks. While he was sharpening his blade on a whetstone Georgiana walked over and held out some bread. "You need to keep your strength up," she insisted. "If you aren't going to sleep, you should at least eat."

Knowing he would save time by not arguing, Darcy took the food without protest and downed it in two bites before turning back to his task. Admittedly, his head was feeling woozy from a lack of sleep, but he had to focus. There was too much for him to do, and his training could not fail him now when it mattered most. He had just gotten all his strength and mobility back from the blast at the bridge and subsequent coma thereafter, and he needed his blade to be sharp as possible for when he drove it through Wickham's brain.

After many had retired, Charles arrived discretely by his side and knelt down. "Do you think it's time?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," responded Darcy as he scanned the camp cautiously. All his sisters-in-law seemed occupied. Jane was chatting with her father. Georgiana was bringing some food to Ashton, and Caroline had retired long ago.

The pair rose and rounded to the back of the house. On foot, they began their journey towards Pemberley. The men knew the way by heart for even Charles had spent many days as a guest at the great mansion, wandering around on occasion in the surrounding lands hunting for undead. After some time they could see the fortification around the property in the distance, Charles and Fitzwilliam crouched down and spied for several quiet moments, trying to discern different shapes in the night.

A twig snapped behind them and Darcy rounded quickly. In one swift motion he jumped up from his position, removed his katana, and swung it in the air. It struck another blade, both stopping just short of Lydia's neck.

He lowered his blade and took in a deep, calming breath. Grasping her shoulders, he quickly lowered her into a crouch next to Bingley.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"I saw you sneak away and wanted to see if I could get a look at the undead bastard myself," she demanded. Her eyes were full of loathing, narrow and rimmed with dark circles from many sleepless nights. This was her moment of retribution and, like him, she was not going to let it slip away.

"Fine. Keep out of sight and follow my lead," Darcy ordered. "We only want to see their numbers for ourselves and determine if the tunnel is even an option. Stay close, stay low, and don't make a sound."

He led them over several small hills and then towards a group of trees near the grounds. They waited in the shadows of the tree trunks for a few moments before maneuvering stealthily towards the iron grate Darcy's father had showed him when he was just a boy. From there they peeked around the sole tree sheltering them and could make out a solid black mass of undead walking around Pemberley. Darcy could never have imagined such a sight. His home was completely overtaken. In numbers alone they did not stand a chance, but should his plan work, it could give them the advantage they so desperately needed.

He reached his hand out and slowly began opening the hatch, lowering it quietly onto the ground. One by one they entered the dark, dank space. Gliding his hands along the walls, Darcy found the torch once used by his father and several matches as well. After removing one match and pocketing the rest, he motioned for Lydia and Charles to place one hand on each of his shoulders the other on the wall as they walked onward in the darkness. Darcy did not want any light escaping the tunnel, so he waited until after they no longer saw moonlight streaming in from the hatch. He then lit the torch and they continued the rest of the way in complete silence, finally arriving at the other set of stairs that led to the kitchens.

Darcy sighed with relief at their small victory. He turned and smiled at his companions and then towards the trap door above them. Not much longer, my love, he thought. Not much longer.

Darcy ordered several militia members and Ashton to follow him upon his return to Thornton Hall. Gathering as many explosives as one could reasonably carry, they made their way back towards the grate and began wiring the detonations beneath Pemberley. Once his group returned, Charles left with the next, and so on, until only a small walkway was left by the stairwell beneath Pemberley.

Much to their blessing, the night was calm with clear skies, and the undead remained ignorant of their presence. Alastair and his men had arrived during his third trip to the tunnel and he insisted upon inspecting the grounds himself. Accompanying the men and some highlanders, Darcy and the group made their way cautiously across the countryside to the wall surrounding Pemberley grounds. The groans of undead grew exceedingly louder the closer they got to the outer wall, which helped conceal the sound of their footsteps.

Darcy steered them towards a break in the fence and motioned for everyone to stay silent and vigilant, out of sight of the undead, lest their cover be blown and all their work be for naught. He led them to a small shed on the backside of the house, which provided the perfect angle to observe the undead meandering around. As the riders had mentioned, they walked around the house in a circular pattern, never breaking off unless some unfortunate animal found its way in.

After familiarizing himself with their behaviors, Darcy took in his home. The upper stories were dark, with no undead upon the rooftop. He sighed in relief. However, the first and second levels of his home were full of life. Light from candles showed movement of both living and undead beings and the ballroom was lit to its proper glory. The shimmers of glass and crystal shimmered through the windows and danced upon the ground at the feet of the undead.

Although there were no undead on the rooftop, many were stationed around the parameter of the house. There were not as far gone as the others for they were as still as the Black Guard and Darcy could see the yellow in their eyes constantly move around scanning the grounds for any potential threat. He would have led them all to their deaths, or undeaths, if he had taken a direct assault.

The group sneaked back to Thornton Hall and arrived at first light. The ground was cool and fog coated the land, providing them with coverage they desperately needed. Dark clouds had also filled the sky, threatening to bring rain.

Darcy reached into his coat pocket, ensuring the matches were in place. His katana was at his hip, and he took three extra daggers as well. He, along with a small group, would sneak back into the tunnel and enter the house to retrieve Elizabeth. Meanwhile, the militia and Scots would keep the zombies, and hopefully Wickham, occupied with the assistance of his aunt, Ashton, Lydia, Kitty, Mary, and, to his dismay, Georgiana. Mr. Bennet, Charles, Jane, and Caroline would journey through the tunnel with him. Lydia had fussed about not being able to confront Wickham, but Darcy could not trust her for at present her emotions were clouding her judgment.

He walked through the chaos towards Ashton. The boy stiffened slightly at his appearance, as Darcy had never revisited the intimate moment between him and his sister the other night. Ashton opened his mouth to speak, seemingly to apologize, but Darcy spoke first.

"Take care of my sister," he ordered. "I am trusting you with one of the things I cherish most in the world. Keep her safe."

"I will, sir," Ashton responded sincerely. "Best go get your wife," he added with a smirk.

Darcy smiled and turned as if to walk away but then rounded back. "I have a favor to ask of you," he added slowly.

Ashton glanced quizzically at him. Reaching into his pocket, Darcy removed two matches and placed them into Ashton's palm. "A time may come when I am the only living soul inside. If that happens, get everyone to safety and then take it down, but by God you had better take Wickham with me."

Ashton stared at him, his mouth hung open in shock before realization hit him. "You plan on trading yourself for your wife."

"Yes," said Darcy earnestly. "It's always been about me. I am the only one that can finish this, and if I have to sacrifice myself, then so be it. But I trust you to do as I ask- for no one else would, should I have requested it of them."

Ashton stared at him for some time before reluctantly nodding his head once.

"I pray it does not come to that," said Ashton. "But if I must, I shall check and detonate them myself." Darcy nodded and walked away, mentally preparing for what was to come. 

Darcy lit the torch and moved the group silently into the tunnel. He cautiously knelt down, noting the trigger wire running along the floor.

"The wire runs all the way through the tunnel to the explosives at the other side," he explained. "It will be quick to detonate so you must be swift in lighting it and escape as soon as you can. As you could see when we entered, the tree provides shelter from the house, so no one will see us standing there guarding the entrance, but I anticipate undead will wander in this direction once the battle has begun."

He looked around him, taking in every face, before reaching for the spare torch and lighting it. "One more thing," he added, holding it out to Charles, "I'm going in alone."

"No!" Bingley retorted.

"Charles, I know the house better than anyone else. I will be able to sneak in, get Elizabeth, and get out without being seen. And I will not put others in peril needlessly. Stay here and guard the tunnel. We cannot risk loosing this advantage."

Bingley started shaking his head. "William," he began, taking a step towards him, "I know you are capable of completing this mission on your own, but what if the worst should occur and Wickham captures you? You need at least one person in there watching your back."

"I will not drag someone else into the lion's den," responded Darcy. "I go in alone."

Bingley began protesting once more, but Darcy cut him off. "I cannot loose anyone else, Charles!"

Bingley shot him a hurt expression, which gradually grew to understanding. "Fine," Charles began. "You have one hour." He took out his pocket watch and Darcy instinctively did the same.

Elizabeth had surprised him with the watch the morning of their wedding. As tradition dictated, the he and Elizabeth swapped gifts. He found a lovely pair of daggers he knew Elizabeth would cherish along with a new katana bearing her new last name and she had given him his father's pocket watch. Something he thought was long gone. Along with the gift was a note in her elegant scripted writing. As he was being carried off what remained of Hingham Bridge, she found it lying on the ground. The face was broken and it no longer worked, but a clocksmith in the village had made it his mission to have it as good as new by their wedding day. He had never been happier.

Darcy smiled at the memory and ran his thumb over the front before clicking it in unison with his friend on command.

"Be safe, my dear friend," said Bingley, taking him in a brief hug. "One hour. And then we aid in the rescue."

"We'll be out before then," he encouraged, offering a small smile in the direction of Jane and his father-in-law.

"Be careful, my son," Mr. Bennet said, grasping his shoulder affectionately. Darcy returned the gesture before began his journey through the tunnel and into the depths of Pemberley.

Darcy placed the torch in a mount on the wall before creeping up the steps. He paused by the doorway and he could hear shuffling on the other side. Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and pounced into the room.

Familiar faces surrounded him, all of which held the same shocked expression. The servants rushed towards Darcy and in hushed tones asked how he had managed to infiltrate Pemberley. He pointed to the hidden door behind the counter and answered their other questions as best he could but wanted his own answered as well. They informed him Elizabeth was in the ballroom with Wickham but there were undead guarding all the hallways. Even the kitchens were monitored every so often.

"Listen," he said, gathering everyone together, "I want everyone to leave. Go down the stairs- It will lead you to a narrow tunnel. Put your hand on the wall and follow it to the other side. There are friends there who will take you to safety. Be discrete. Only a few go at a time, so as not to draw attention in case undead should return."

"I cannot go!" exclaimed one maid who he vaguely recognized. She grasped his arms and he could see tears streaming down her redden face. "He has my daughter. Please don't let him turn her!"

"I'll save her," Darcy promised, gazing down at the woman. "Her and my wife. But you have to go through the tunnel." He glanced at his servants. "Close the hatch after every group flees so the undead do not see it. And be mindful of the explosives just at the bottom here."

At that, their eyes grew wide with fright. "Explosives?!" one exclaimed, throwing her hands over her mouth.

"That is why you have to get out now," he explained. "Go."

He urged several towards the trap door in the floor before walking to the door leading to the main dining room. Darcy removed a dagger from his boot and gripped his katana tightly in his right hand.

Taking a deep breath, Darcy pushed through the door and was greeted by a swarm of undead dressed in militia uniforms. He crossed both blades and slit the throat of the first guarding the kitchen doors before twisting around and piercing the other through his skull. Another began running towards him. He kicked a chair in front of the zombie, sending him falling to the ground. He landed face down in front of Darcy, who put the male undead out of his misery. Several more tried surrounding him, but he ducked and swerved, stabbing everyone last one of them. Never had he felt so in tune with his blade: fluid and agile. Bodies soon covered the floor, and after wiping the bottom of his boots clear of blood he pressed on towards the ballroom.

He ran up the hallway past the dining room and encountered more undead in the foyer. He threw the dagger at the first, who fell and skidded to a stop. Going to his knees, he swept the legs out from under the next and pierced it. He yanked the dagger out of the first and stood as the final ran towards him. Darcy lifted his katana and it impaled the zombie through the stomach. The undead reached his arms out, grasping at Darcy's face, his mouth growing closer to his skin. Darcy pulled his katana towards him and stabbed the undead in the skull with the dagger. Kicking the undead off, he leaned over and cleaned both blades on its militia clothing.

Darcy rose and stalked his way up the final hallway leading to the ballroom. Two undead guarded the doors. Upon noticing him, they snarled and began running at him, teeth bared and yellow eyes narrow. When they were within range, he lifted his blades and pierced them both at once. They tumbled to the ground. Nothing stood in his way now. Darcy swept his hair from his face and made for the door. Pushing it open, he sauntered inside the bright room and was overwhelmed by the sound of familiar music.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth blinked, not believing what her mouth had uttered. What her voice had realized before her brain did. Her husband was here. Standing before her now. She tried to calm her rapid breathing and take in the moment. This moment. The one she had been dreaming about since she was taken, kidnapped by Wickham; for the instant when her husband would walk through the door and they would fight towards freedom together.

She watched as William's eyes frantically surveyed the room in search for her. She could see the tension flee his body once his eyes landed upon hers. His shoulders loosened and his eyes grew rounder, relief flooding his face. Then he rose up and regained the confidence she recognized from their many skirmishes together. He was taller, focused, confident- stronger now in her presence. And so was she.

She felt Wickham grasp her tighten, drawing her closer to him. Spinning her around, her back to his front, he brought his makeshift arm up tauntingly to her neck.

Darcy's eyes darkened as he took a step forward. He threw her a concerned look; one that asked a million questions within a single desperate glance. All knowingly, she forced a smile, assuring him that she was fine, despite the circumstances. She then discretely raised her eyebrows and broke their eye connection, indicating for him to follow her gaze to the servant girl who stood at the mercy of the undead at the other end of the room.

"Not another step," Wickham ordered Darcy, brining his arm closer and allowing the barbs to barely prick Elizabeth's skin.

"It's me you want," Fitzwilliam said, addressing Wickham but keeping his stance wide to ensure he would not be taken off-guard should an undead attack him from behind. "Not her."

Wickham took him in before resuming. Elizabeth could see her husband discretely inspecting the room from his spot near the entryway. Movement in the hallway drew her attention and she could only assume Wickham had called undead to block the exit and their path towards freedom. They would have to find another way out. The windows or glass doors perhaps?

"I used to want everything that you had, Fitz," Wickham stated. Elizabeth could feel his breath upon her neck. "Your home. Your wealth. Your status in the militia… Your wife." He threw a smirk in Darcy's direction as he caressed her cheek with his hand before moving it over her arm in a seemingly tender gesture. Darcy's glare grew darker. "But then I became this. I hated you for it. Still do in fact. Your actions brought me here."

"Your actions made you this!" Darcy shouted, tightening the grip on his katana in frustration. "Your actions brought you here. Yours and yours alone."

Wickham ignored his outburst and continued, "But then I saw the whole picture. I was created for this: To lead the undead. Raise them up and be the leader they so desperately need. To be the one that could control them and have my every whim carried out. But before I can reach my full potential, I realized I needed to get anything out of the way that was holding me back; namely, you. Granted I tried at St. Lazarus but then your wife here had to go and trample me with her horse, knocking me unconscious."

Elizabeth winced as his grip tightened. She could feel bruises beginning to form on her arms, waist and the other various places he had been clutching her.

"Then," Wickham continued, "imagine my delight when I heard Hingham Bridge had blown up with you on it. Oh the irony! My foe had been slain neither by my hand nor that of the undead, but by the living. The ones he had spent his entire life fighting for, defending. I reveled in my achievement until I heard you still lived and were in fact marrying Miss Bennethere."

"I knew you would lure him to me," Wickham added, addressing her. He moved his arm around her waist, and Elizabeth cringed as he brought his mouth close to her ear. "Fitz wouldn't hesitate to save his wife regardless of the trap set before him. Well," Wickham scoffed, addressing Darcy once more, "you have managed to find your way inside, but there is no way you shall escape. Thousands of undead await you just outside these walls and more shall descend upon this ballroom the moment I order for them to come."

"I have no intention of leaving," Darcy admitted.

"You mean without your wife?" Wickham mocked.

"Let her go," Darcy said, taking in a deep breath and slowly releasing it, "…and you can have me."

"No!" Elizabeth shouted. Her husband glanced at her and pleaded for her to understand. She tried to fight free from Wickham's restraining grip, and could feel blood begin to trickle down her neck from the new gashes. She would not let him do this.

Her blood began to boil and rage consumed her. For the helpless state she found herself in since her wedding day. Towards the undead man pressed against her back. And now because her husband was willing to sacrifice himself yet again for her safety, this time knowing he would inevitably die.

Elizabeth fisted her hands tightly and jerked her head back as hard as she could muster. Wickham blanched and released her, his only hand instinctively gripping his now bloody nose. Turning to face him, she kicked him swiftly in the groin with a shout, sending him stumbling back several steps before falling to the floor in pain. Elizabeth removed the two hidden daggers from beneath her skirts and whirled towards the piano player, striking her dead. The other two undead had since abandoned the servant girl and were running across the room towards Darcy. Elizabeth hurled one of the daggers across the room, lodging it right in an undead's brain. Her husband had just finished killing the second undead as she approached him.

Bending over, she dislodged her blade from the undead's head and cleaned it off on his uniform. She then stood up and came face to face with her husband.

Opening her mouth, Elizabeth took in a breath to reprimand him, especially after everything she had endured on the bridge, but Darcy spoke first.

"Yell at me later," he breathed before pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately. Immediately all of her rage abandoned her. She fell into him, not believing it was real. He was exactly as she remembered: strong and warm. His protective arms wrapped around her and she felt like she was home. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and draw him closer. All too soon, he released her all and quietly said, "Save the girl. Bring her to the kitchens. There's a hidden trap door behind the preparation tables. It'll take you to a tunnel that leads underneath the grounds and out of Pemberley."

Elizabeth shot him a stern look. No. There was no way she was leaving him here to fend for himself. Especially when Wickham lay so helpless on the floor. He could walk over there, stab him through his brains, and they could flee together.

"I'll follow right after I take care of him," Darcy promised as he threw a wicked glance in Wickham's direction.

Elizabeth considered protesting, but she had a promise to fulfill.

"You had better," she responded, kissing him quickly before running towards the girl, who was now cowering in the corner of the room crying.

"Come with me," she said, grasping the girl's arm and pulling her upright. They began moving towards the door. "I can take you to safety, but I need you to direct me to the kitchens."

Elizabeth paused at the door and saw Darcy approaching Wickham, who still lay helpless on the ground. She would come back, regardless of what Fitzwilliam said. She would be back to ensure he followed after her.

"Stay behind me," she ordered, "in case we come across any undead."

Peeking around the corner, she saw the hallway was empty. She furrowed her brow in confusion but cautiously proceeded into the open space, her daggers up and at the ready. The girl directed her up several hallways, gasping wide-eyed at every lifeless undead they came across. Elizabeth smiled at each one however, knowing it was yet another Darcy had killed in his attempt to free her. She had to get this girl to safety as quickly as possible so she could get back.

They arrived at the foyer and Elizabeth paused, glancing around the open space. She couldn't get over how easy this was. Where were the other undead? Shouldn't there be some obstacle that was meant to keep her from escaping? She heard movement to her right and raised her daggers higher, ready to slice down the zombie.

"Elizabeth?" she heard a deep voice ask instead.

"Father?" she asked incredulously. Mr. Bennet emerged from a hallway and stealthily approached them.

"What are you doing here?!" Elizabeth hissed.

"Trying to help your husband," he answered. "You need to get out now."

"Not without William," she said. "He's still in the ballroom with Wickham. Take this girl to safety. I am going back to help him."

Elizabeth turned to run but Mr. Bennet grabbed a hold of her arm, fixating her in place.

"You don't understand, Elizabeth," he said urgently. "Fitzwilliam is on a suicide mission. There are explosives rigged below Pemberley, and he ordered for them to be detonated with him inside should you manage to escape. Mr. Bingley tried to talk sense into him, but Fitzwilliam wouldn't see reason."

Her eyes grew wide as she comprehended the enormity of what her father was telling her. He lied. Again. And she was right not to trust that he would follow after her. Well he may want to sacrifice himself, but she was not going to let him be a martyr. Not today.

"You tell whoever is manning those charges," she said angrily, "that they will have me to deal with should they kill my husband."

"There's another thing," he said quickly. "Wickham can control the undead."

"I know," she said despairingly. "He said as much during one of his coarse conversations with me."

Elizabeth saw a pained expression blanket his now dazed face but he immediately suppressed it. "What is it?" she asked quietly, worried.

"It is for another time," her father added somberly after a brief pause. "Be safe, my Lizzy."

He kissed her on the forehead as she responded, "I will. Now, I'm off to have some choice words with that husband of mine."

Mr. Bennet chuckled quietly despite himself before ushering the servant girl up the hallway he had come from. After they were out of sight, Elizabeth turned on her heels and ran back to the ballroom for she would rather die with her husband than face the rest of her life alone.

Chapter Text

Alive. Elizabeth was alive. But she would be back. He knew her well enough to know she would never abandon him. He stalked over towards Wickham where he still laid on the floor. This was easy. Too easy. Darcy approached him with caution, examining the room, eyeing the glass doors and windows, and studying the doorway every few seconds. If Wickham was in need of assistance, surely he would have called for undead to come to his aid. But yet here he was seemingly defenseless, and this troubled him. He needed to be wary.

Darcy could hear the Scottish battle cries outside and the deep growls of the undead as they attempted to defend the mansion from invasion. Muskets were being fired and people were shouting in the distance. It sounded like chaos, similar to what he encountered during his time on The Wall. He broke from his reverie when a light chuckling echoed through the room.

"Do you really think you stand a chance?" Wickham taunted as he still lay on the ground. "Your little soldiers and friends won't stand long against my undead."

Wickham sat up and leaned back upon his hand. "Do you feel as though we have done this before? We fight, someone wins the upper hand. We fight again, another winner is declared. And here we are back at it. It's a never-ending cycle between us, Fitz. Why don't you just give up?"

Darcy remained stoically silent.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Wickham chided as he stood up.

Darcy glared at Wickham and raised his blades in a defensive pose.

"So be it," replied Wickham as he swiftly unsheathed his katana and charged towards Darcy.

Their blades clashed together and both men took a step back, readying for the next assault. Darcy moved first, swiping his katana from left to right with as much force as he could muster, his rage fueling him. Raising his dagger high, he sliced the air in several quick strokes in front of Wickham, who managed to side step every attempt. Darcy changed his strategy and moved his katana in a swipe parallel to the ground, aiming for Wickham's neck.

Wickham blocked Darcy's attempt to behead him and pushed his blade forward, attempting to knock Darcy off balance. Darcy instead took a step back onto his right foot, anticipating Wickham's trickery, and propelled himself forward instead. Wickham stumbled back several paces before falling once more to the floor. Maneuvering his katana tip down, he raised it over Wickham's head, and thrust his hand downward.

A sudden force knocked Darcy's legs out from under him and his katana fell from his grasp, sliding across the floor towards the doorway. Darcy went to the ground, his head hitting hard on the marble surface, and he tried to roll into a crouch but found a blade trained against his neck. He ceased all movements, discretely hiding his dagger below his right palm and arm, and glared up at a smirking Wickham.

"And here I thought you would be more of a challenge," Wickham boasted.

He moved the blade up to Darcy's face and cut a thin gash across the length of his cheek. He could feel the blood gushing from the wound and trickling down onto the floor. He tightened his grasp on his dagger.

Wickham brought the katana back to Darcy's throat and knelt down beside him, his makeshift arm pressing lightly against Darcy's stomach.

"My original thought was to kill you," Wickham admitted. "What could be better than my enemy being gone for good? But then I realized there is a better fate for you. One in which you do my bidding for the rest of your miserable existence with no choice but to obey me. And what better way for your change to accelerate than by feeding on that wife of yours?"

"Elizabeth is gone," Darcy said.

"Come now, Fitz, we both know she will be back for you," Wickham responded. "Just like at St. Lazarus."

With that, Wickham moved his makeshift arm against Darcy's throat, pinning him to the ground, before placing his katana on the floor. He grasped Darcy's left arm and yanked it in front of him, promptly undoing the buttons and pulling the sleeve up, revealing the skin beneath.

"The living do not understand what it is like to be in transition," Wickham stated. "Right after you are bitten, you can ignore the pull to feed upon human brains, but as time passes, the need rises and grows until you have to give in. And after you ingest her brains, you'll be at my mercy."

Wickham bent over Darcy, bringing the man's arm upward towards his open mouth. He closed his eyes as his teeth grew closer to Darcy's skin, for he wanted to savor the moment, and Darcy seized his opportunity. He shifted beneath Wickham, rounding his dagger upon the undead.

Wickham's makeshift arm made contact with his jaw, but he cared not. With one swift maneuver, his dagger penetrated Wickham's arm. Wickham yelped in pain and instinctively released Darcy's in return. Darcy rolled to his knees and sliced Wickham in the back of the leg before springing to his feet and running in the direction of his katana. By the time he had retrieved his blade and turned around, Wickham was charging towards him. He began running at the undead and met him with full force, their blades clanking together once more.

Despite his anger, his head was clear. He could anticipate Wickham's moves before he did them, which allowed him to slash Wickham's arm several more times, each wound making his opponent more angered and fierce. But for every gash given, Darcy gained one in return.

Wickham never lost form. He had trained one-handed, Darcy realized, and in such a short period of time. The thought distracted him, however, and he didn't see Wickham's blade hilt coming towards his face until it was too late. The blow sent him fumbling backwards, his back ramming into the piano. He raised his hand to his already tender jaw and then readied his blades again.

"Who would have thought that by loosing an arm," Wickham boasted, "I would prove to be the better swordsman?"

"Then how about loosing another?" Darcy asked. "That should make us even!"

He pushed himself off the piano and swiped his katana from left to right, his blade locking with Wickham's, forcing their movements to an abrupt halt. Moving his left hand, Darcy brought his dagger forward and promptly sliced off Wickham's other hand just as Wickham's makeshift arm was swinging towards his head. The hand fell to the floor with a clank, the now lifeless extremity still grasping tightly around the hilt.

Darcy grinned in triumph. He was ready to end this. After years of agonizing over what this man had done to his father. And later seeing his sister's suffering. And then his tormenting of poor Lydia. And not to mention the grief and worry he had brought upon his wife. After everything, he was finally putting and end to it all: an end to the destruction, sorrow, guilt, misery, and anguish. Wickham would be no more, the undead would perish, and the plague would come to a swift end. After all this time, the living would win.

Wickham fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Blood spurted from his arm and Darcy knew if he were not undead he would bleed to death there in front of him, but it would not be that easy. He stood over the undead man, glaring coolly down at him.

"Any last words?" Darcy asked.

Wickham ceased his cries of pain and offered a devilish smile in return.

"As you wish," Darcy said, raising his katana. He was ready to make swift work of this and wipe that smirk off Wickham's face. Darcy brought his katana downward, but his movement was halted once more. He turned his head and saw it was one of the Horsemen standing behind him, clutching his arms. Another appeared and Darcy tried to resist but their grips were too strong. The undead grasped his wrists tightly and disarmed him, forcing his weapons to the floor with a clang.

Seizing his moment, Wickham struggled to his feet and hobbled towards the door, a line of blood trailing after him. Darcy continued struggling against their strong holds. He had to kill Wickham. He just had to. And nothing would stand in his way.

"Come back you coward!" Darcy yelled at Wickham as he reached the doorway. "Sending your Horsemen to detain me so you could make a getaway? Then what? We will just wind up back here like before. Just like you said. You want to end this? Here I am! Let's end this."

Wickham turned and stared coolly at Darcy. Darcy returned his glare with equal measure.

How had it come to this? Darcy thought. How had the entire fate of the living come down to a mêlée with someone he once considered a friend?

There once was a time when he would have fought proudly alongside Wickham. Killing the undead. Saving the living. But now, Wickham was one of them. But not just that. He was their leader. Their governor. And he had to be brought to justice.

Darcy fisted his hands, trying with all his might to free himself, glancing back at Wickham just in time to see his figure vanish into the hallway. He would get away, and it was his own doing. Once again he had failed.

"Come back!" Darcy hollered in anger, managing to pull the undead a few paces closer to the door. "Come back and fight, coward!"

Darcy's knees buckled and he yelled out in anguish. He had overpowered two undead before but these Horsemen were stronger and more agile. What were these undead ordered to do now? Turn him? Force him to kill Elizabeth? No, Wickham would be back. He would want to relish the moment and possibly bite him himself. What a cruel twist of fate.

The third Horseman walked into the room some time later, blood staining his hands and black overcoat. His mask also contained a bloody handprint, which Darcy had surmised the Horseman placed there after mending the injured and now handless Wickham. The Horseman closed the door before walking over to Darcy and gazing down at him, his blank eyes staring into his for what seemed like hours before seizing him by the coat and lifting him to his feet. He then, with the help of the other two, bound his hands and led him to the corner of the room. 

He could hear the fighting continuing outside, and his feet started to hurt, which alerted him to just how long he had been waiting for something to happen. For Wickham to walk into the room… or Elizabeth to return.

Had she been captured by Wickham? Darcy wondered. What if she had abandoned him and realized that the price of his life was worth ending the plague and saving all of the living? Darcy did not know which was worse. The door was then flung open, and he turned his head in time to see his wife walk in, but she wasn't alone.

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The first thing he noticed were the scars and blood on her face, along with the faint hues of purple and blue making their way to the surface around her right eye and jaw line. Elizabeth took several meek steps into the room and looked dazedly around, trying to gain her bearings. What happened to her? He reluctantly looked away from his wife and, he hoped, at someone who could offer some sort of explanation.

Caroline? His brow furrowed in confusion for only a moment before he met her yellow eyes and saw the dagger she held to his wife's back. Realization dawned.

"You're undead," he stated.

She threw him a mock kiss as she led Elizabeth further into the room. They walked to the opposite end near the piano and Caroline ordered Liz to kneel. He heard his wife moan in agony after Caroline slapped her across the face for not willingly carry out her bidding. Darcy screamed in protest as Caroline began bringing her blade dangerously close to Elizabeth's neck. That's when the bloody hand-printed Horsemen rushed to the other side of the room to aid her. The Horseman grasped Elizabeth's shoulder with one hand and forced her downward. He stood guard over her while Caroline stalked back toward his side of the room.

"How could you do this?" Darcy asked.

"Quite easily, I assure you," she responded.

"Caroline, listen, you know Wickham is controlling you, but you have to try and fight it," Darcy encouraged.

"Fight it?" Caroline questioned. "Why would I want to fight it? He is going to give me everything I want. All my wishes and desires shall be satisfied."

"He's manipulating you," Darcy said. Caroline threw him an irritated glance and he decided to change tactics. "Think of your brother," he added, choosing to appeal to her familial side.

"My brother?" she spat. "Charles never paid Louisa or myself any mind. Especially after he set eyes on Jane. He always knew I fancied you but made every attempt to keep us from forming an attachment. Even at the Meryton Ball he would rather see you dance with some country strumpet than his own sister!"

Darcy recalled that night, as well as all the others in which Caroline practically threw herself at him. Charles was well aware of his distaste for both his sisters, particularly Caroline, and attempted to keep his friend at ease by distancing him from Caroline whenever possible. What Caroline never seemed to understand, however, was that her countenance and overall demeanor were never appealing to him or most of the people in their acquaintance. Furthermore, Charles spent his entire life doing what his sisters expected of him, and her speaking about Charles, and not to mention Jane, in such a manner made him want to rip her throat out.

He struggled against the confines of the Horsemen, knowing it was a hopeless attempt. He stopped and shot her a poisoned look.

"Oh. Did I hit a soft spot?" Caroline mocked, offering up a smirk before turning her attention back to Elizabeth. "I bet I know where to find another one."

She walked back over to Elizabeth and grabbed a fist full of hair, yanking her head back. The Horseman released Elizabeth as Caroline dragged her closer towards the middle of the floor. His wife screamed in agony.

"Stop! Let her go!" Darcy hollered, trying to stand to his feet and save her. A Horseman hit him forcefully on his back and he bellowed over, coughing. He glanced up, his hair falling in front of his eyes, and met Elizabeth's calm face. She offered him a modest smile.

Caroline blocked their contact and knelt down in front of Elizabeth. He could not hear what she was saying, but he was about to plead once more when Caroline was thrown onto her back.

Elizabeth flew on top of her and grasped the blade Caroline had just dropped. In a flash she smirked and stabbed Caroline in the brain. She removed the blade then rounded to take on the Horseman behind her. He made several steps towards her before she jumped into the air, wrapping one leg around his neck and the other under his right arm. With her legs locked in front, she brought her blade down into his skull and he fell forward.

She landed gracefully on her feet, but Darcy did not miss the wince she made when she hit the ground. She was injured. Elizabeth began stalking towards his captors. He had never been so proud of his wife. One of the Horsemen guarding him ran towards his Elizabeth, giving Darcy the upper hand. He escaped from the other's clutches and slid to where his katana had been kicked aside earlier.

Standing, he began piercing his katana through the air at the Horseman, occasionally throwing glances in his wife's direction. He had successfully stabbed his opponent through the head when he noticed the horseman had Elizabeth in his clutches, his barred teeth making towards her flesh.

Darcy's eyes widened in horror. He wouldn't make it in time.

"No!" he heard someone yell as they rushed into the room. Darcy gasped as he watched the Horsemen's teeth bear down onto Mr. Bennet's arm instead. There was no way he was loosing another father. Darcy ran over and swiftly beheaded the final Horsemen. He needed to remove the appendage before it had time to spread. Darcy removed his cravat and tied it around his father-in-law's upper arm.

"It's no use, my son," Mr. Bennet said from his place in Elizabeth's arms.

"I have to try!" Darcy responded, glancing hopefully at his wife for support, but was met with only a despairing, tear-stricken face.

"No," Mr. Bennet said again, putting his hand atop Darcy's in an attempt to lower the blade. Darcy resisted the man's attempts, but finally conceded, lowering his blade to the ground. "Promise me you'll take care of my daughters," Mr. Bennet asked after several quiet moments. Elizabeth looked down at her father. Darcy nodded only after meeting his wife's blurry eyes and then looked back at his father-in-law.

"You're like the son I never had," he said with a smile. "Your father would have been mighty proud of you."

Darcy fought back his own tears.

"Thank you, sir," he choked out.

"Now, please, go and do what you have to," Mr. Bennet said before turning to face Elizabeth. "I need to talk to my favorite girl."

Darcy kissed the man on the forehead before turning to his wife.

"Stay here," he whispered into her ear before giving her a chaste kiss. She nodded silently as he ran his thumb over her cheek to catch some falling tears before he stood.

Walking to a Horseman at the other end of the room, he removed the dagger wedged in their skull, cleaned it, and made for the door. Before leaving, he looked back in time to see his wife fall into her father's open arms, as they both sat there weeping together.

Darcy turned on his heels and closed the door. The house was eerily quiet apart from the battle noises outside, but he tuned them out and instead focused on determining the quickest route to his destination. He knew where Wickham would be: His old bedroom on the upper floors. From there he would be able to see the entire battle below.

Darcy took the stairs two at a time and paused at the landing, taking in a steady breath, trying to control his anger. He needed a clear head and swift movements. Rage would only weigh him down and cause rash decisions. After his brief mediation, he headed up the hallways leading towards Wickham's old quarters. Pausing at the door, he attempted to focus once more. Bringing back the pain he felt when his father had turned and it was required of him to slice him down. The anger he felt when Wickham used his sister. His jealousy for Wickham's initial bond with Elizabeth. His own foolishness for not killing him when he first had the chance. Where would they all have been if he had just killed Wickham that day at Rosings? But he knew more than most that the past cannot be rewritten. His past was his kindling and the fire that shined bright inside of him. It gave him the power he needed to complete what was to come.

He marched into the room. It was exactly how he had left it- untouched since they were children. Three couches lined the middle of the sitting room, with a lit fireplace along one wall. A card table occupied the other side of the space still held the same chips and deck of cards. The wall opposite the door held four windows, all looking out onto the back of the grounds. Wickham stood by one, his back to him.

"I could have killed you in the woods near the chapel," said Wickham, instinctively knowing who was behind him. "One bullet through the head and you would be done. But this is where it all began." He turned around to face Darcy. "It's proper this should be where it ends as well."

He saw Wickham now had two makeshift arms; one similar to the club and wire one from before and the other held a dagger where his hand once was.

"Yes, it is," Darcy responded. With his katana in hand, he ran the length of the room, bringing his blade up. He jumped over the sofa standing between them and brought his blade down against Wickham's clubbed arm. The force broke it in two, sending pieces of splintered wood to the floor, rendering one arm completely useless.

Wickham raised his other hand and met Darcy blow for blow with his daggered hand. They fought around another sofa until they came to a blank wall that held a painting of two small boys fishing in a pond on the grounds, their backs to the artist, and Pemberley sitting in the distance behind them. Darcy remembered when his father had gifted it to Wickham. Darcy's father had always treated him like a second son, and even had given him his own rooms near Darcy's own personal quarters. When Darcy had returned from training, the two remained close, until Wickham let money, greed, and jealousy consume him.

From then on, Darcy distanced himself from Wickham; quietly paying off his gambling and other debts whenever necessary at the risk of his father learning of Wickham's vices. Most of Darcy's time, however, was spent in his dojo or with his sister or Charles during his frequent visits. It wasn't until after his father's death that he dedicated his life to the militia. Seeing the painting now, it reminded of him of what had been. His reality now was quite different from where they had started: Friends to foes. Before him stood not a friend but rather an undead that needed to be slaughtered.

Darcy stopped another one of Wickham's blows and spun around, slicing him in the back of the leg. Wickham growled in frustration and tried to bring his daggered arm around to strike Darcy, but Darcy blocked it with his own blade. He brought his left hand up to Wickham's neck and pushed him back against the wall, locking the undead against it. Wickham made helpless attempts at biting him, but Darcy's grip remained fixed.

Wickham then brought his knee up and swiftly kicked Darcy. He doubled over and Wickham brought his daggered hand downward in a killing strike aimed right at Darcy's head.

At the last minute, Darcy stepped aside and rose up with a smirk, stepping back a few paces.

"I was originally going to turn you," admitted Wickham after he regained his footing, "but right now I would be more satisfied watching you slowly decompose into the earth." Wickham ran towards him, teeth bared, but Darcy was determined. He lifted his blade and severed the daggered arm from Wickham's shoulder. Wickham cried out in agony and stumbled backwards before falling to his knees.

"Any last words?" Darcy asked. After Wickham remained silent, he added, "So be it," before swiftly plunging the entire blade through his undead brain.

Blood leaked from the wound and trickled down his face. Wickham's eyes were locked on his own and he couldn't look away. For many moments he stood there, not believing it was truly over. He had pictured this moment for so long. His enemy was finally dead. His father, sister and Lydia had been avenged. Wickham would hurt no one else, nor could command anything else of the undead. He had done it. Darcy sighed with relief.

The commotion outside brought him back to reality. The undead had not fallen, he realized. He needed to return to Elizabeth. Kicking the undead off his blade, he cleaned it on Wickham's coat, and stood. Turning back towards Wickham's lifeless body, he spoke two more words, and fled the room.

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"Where are we going?" Elizabeth panted as they rushed down another corridor.

"The kitchens," Darcy responded. He continued running until he no longer felt her presence behind him. He halted several paces in front of her and opened his mouth to ask why he was hesitating, but she spoke first.

"The explosives will be of no use now," she began to explain, her one hand clutching her leg. "Caroline said she told Wickham about them."

"Well, currently that is our only way out," he responded, turning around as he began running once more, "so we at least have to try."

He had seen the battlefield below. Most of the undead still surrounded the house, so leaving out one of the doors was a suicide mission. Besides, after he slayed Wickham, they had gone back to their unpredictable selves, ruled by only lust for brains and flesh. Several had even begun pounding upon the windows and doors as they fled the room. Should more join in, they could easily break the glass and chase after them. A smaller horde had branched off and were fighting a few militia several paces from the rest. They were impulsive and would no longer stay within the confines of the grounds. He had to strike now while they were all grouped together surrounded by the Scots and militia. The tunnel was their only hope.

They made it to the kitchen with relative ease, only having to kill one or two stray undead along the way.

He walked over to the door and cautiously opened it, expecting an ambush, but there was none.

He turned questioningly to Elizabeth and she too began lowering her blade. The explosives were untouched.

"She lied," Elizabeth supposed.

"Possibly," he said as he stepped through and placed a foot on the first step. Removing the torch from the wall, he inspected them and the detonation cord for any changes. They were still favorable.

Elizabeth followed him in, closing the door behind her. He saw she took the stairs carefully, one step at a time. As she sat on a step and pulled her skirts up, he saw why; the run had caused her once dry blood to crack, allowing fresh blood to now pour down her leg. He thought the wounded had expanded as well. She grunted as she began tearing a piece of fabric from her gown. Darcy knelt next to her and took the cloth in his own hand, tying it around her leg, trying to slow the bleeding.

"Can you make it?" he asked.

"I think so," she responded dazedly. She rose and placed her foot on the ground. He saw her wince in pain as she fell into him.

"Here," he said, taking the dagger from her hands and securing it in his weapons belt. With the torch in one hand and his other arm around her, they slowly began making their way through the tunnel.

Halfway through, Elizabeth asked if they could stop. He could tell she was suffering; her eyes were glazed over and she was lethargic. She leaned against the wall and slowly sank into a sitting position on the floor. Raising the torch higher, he could see the sheen of sweat on her pale brow and the red now coating her entire leg and part of her dress.

"Elizabeth, we're almost there," he encouraged, pushing the hair out of her face.

"Just a few minutes more," she said. The quietness of her voice scared him.

A chilling growl echoed through the tunnel just then. Undead. He saw her eyes grow wide as she felt frantically for the dagger at his waist while struggling to stand. Darcy reached for it and instead handed her the torch as she leaned against the wall. He caught parts of her angered expression in the dim light.

"Elizabeth," he implored, "you can barely stand. I can fight, but I need you to hold the torch so I can see."

When she offered no further disputes, he knew she needed to get to a doctor. They stood silently. Occasionally, he would throw a protective gaze in his wife's direction before turning back to the darkness once more. Were the undead behind them or in front of them? Darcy gripped his blades tightly, waiting for the figure to enter the light. He wouldn't have much warning once it arrived, unless it continued to make noise. The sound of shuffling feet grew louder and louder until it suddenly ceased.

He stared into the black void, Elizabeth shielded protectively behind him. His eyes flickered around trying to pinpoint even the slightest of movements. His own shadow was motionless on the floor, blending into the darkness. He hated wasting these precious moments.

A small figure lunged at him with a growl, but he was ready. His katana met the undead's neck and the dagger easily pierced it's brains. He kicked the undead off and it fell to the floor. He raised his blades, ready for another attack, but none came. It was a stray.

"Let's go," he said, turning to Elizabeth and placing his arm around her once more.

"Look," she said, staring down at the lifeless figure.

Fitzwilliam glanced down and met the familiar face of his cousin, Anne de Bourgh. No. How did this happen? Did his aunt know? He blinked away the moisture threatening his eyes, knowing how heartbroken his aunt would be upon learning. Pushing the thought aside, he carried Elizabeth onward; she needed to get to a physician.

When they reached the other end of the tunnel, the grate was wide open and chaos was ensuing. He peeked out and saw the majority of the battle was commencing on the posterior grounds of Pemberley, but undead had wandered to this small cluster of trees. Jane and Charles were fighting together, trying to fend them off. He sat Elizabeth on the steps.

"Stay here," he said. "I'm going to help them and will be right back."

She didn't reply. He kissed her quickly and exited the tunnel, closing the grate securely behind him. Raising his blades, he came up behind the undead and started slaughtering them one by one. Charles threw him a relieved expression before slicing down another.

"Where's Lizzy?!" Jane hollered to him.

He ignored her, not wishing her to be distracted. After the last zombie had been killed, Charles ran over, pulling him into a tight embrace. Fitzwilliam told them of Elizabeth's injuries as they ran towards the grate. Elizabeth's eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow.

"Elizabeth?" Fitzwilliam said eagerly, gently stroking her face. "You need to wake up, love."

She moaned and peeked up at him through narrow eyes. Her hand was now covered in blood from grasping her thigh.

"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane said, gently clutching her sister's hand and bringing it to her lips for a kiss. "What happened?

"She was stabbed in the thigh and lost a lot of blood," Darcy explained. "We need to get her to a physician."

"Wickham's dead," Charles asked matter-of-factly.

"Yes," he responded, knowing his friend wasn't asking a question.

"We figured," said Jane, "given the change in the undead's demeanor. But they didn't die like we hopped."

"We can still take them out," said Fitzwilliam, "but first, we need to regroup. Charles, where is Alastair?"

"Will she be alright?" Darcy asked nervously.

The Scottish physician was hardly what Fitzwilliam had envisioned. An older man with wrinkles around his eyes had ran up to him as he hollered for help while carrying Elizabeth into Thornton Hall. The front of his clothes were stained with red from other wounded individuals. His dark kilt rose uncomfortably high as he leaned over to inspect his wife. After examining her for some time, his thick red beard moved as he said, "Yes. She will be just fine."

Darcy sighed with relief. After the physician closed her wound and made his way to his next patient, Darcy knelt down next to Elizabeth and took one of her hands in his. Gripping it tightly, he brought it up to his forehead as if in prayer.

"Forgive me," he whispered before kissing her hand and making to leave.

"Where are you going?" she asked, opening her eyes.

"We have to end this. For good," he responded.

"I know what you're planning to do," she said. He sighed softly. Of course she did. She knew him better than anybody. His strengths. His weaknesses. His faults. "I'm going with you," she added, taking his silence as confirmation.

"You can barely walk, my dear. How will you fight?" he responded. "You're not indestructible."

"Yeah, well neither are you," she retorted. He knew she was right. The others were perfectly capable of accomplishing what needed to be done. But he was a leader. A Colonel. It was his duty. And she knew this. That is why she would forgive him.

A figure rushed into the room just then, and Darcy turned in time to see the winded face of his best friend.

"Alastair is outside," Charles said breathlessly. Upon seeing Darcy's face, Bingley murmured that he would wait outside as well before quickly turning to leave.

Darcy turned back to his wife, meeting her stern expression. He could tell she was fighting back the tears. And he ached inside. He was once again causing her pain. Leaving her, risking his life for the greater good. He knew the warrior side of her understood and that she would come to resent him if he stayed here to hide, but it was still hard to ask so much of her.

"I know you're hurt," he said, "but I have to... And you would do the same."

He slowly met her eyes and after sometime, they softened. She nodded and reached a hand out, cupping his cheek.

"Come back to me," she whispered.

He leaned into her palm. "Always," he said before kissing it lightly and walking out the door.

"It maucht wark, laddie," Alastair said with a toothy grin. "It jist maucht…."

Darcy smiled.

"Then let's go," he said.

The Scot leaders and a few ranking militia quickly ran back to the battle while others went towards the carriage house and tunnel. As he grabbed his newly sharpened katana, he felt someone grasp his arm.

"Wait," Charles said, his voice lowering. His eyes were anxious and face grew glum. He sighed heavily before asking, "Where is Caroline? She said she was going in to help."

He had been dreading this moment. Granted he knew it was coming, but he hoped it wouldn't have come so quickly. How could he explain? What could he possibly say to make it better? He fought his entire life to protect his dear friend, and here he was about to tell him something that could break him. His sister was dead. She had sided with the enemy and tried to kill his wife. And in return, his wife had run her through. Such was their society.

He slowly met his friend's eyes, and saw the realization slowly come to Charles' face as he registered what was there.

"What happened?" Charles asked, desperately seeking out any information Darcy was willing to give.

Since he loved this man like a brother, since he valued his friendship, and could not deceive him, he told Charles everything.

Once he had finished, he expected his friend to yell. Scream in his face. Holler about how he was lying or that it was must be some misunderstanding. To be angry with Elizabeth for she had killed his sister. The Lord only knew what he would do should something happen to Georgiana. But Bingley just stood silently, gazing numbly at the ground, still retaining all Darcy had told him. Fitzwilliam wiped his sweaty palms on his breeches as he fidgeted in place, awaiting Charles' harsh reaction. But it never came.

Charles slowly met his eyes and nodded, accepting what he had said as truth.

He should never have doubted him. His friend was too good. The most forgiving person he had ever known.

"I am sorry," he offered, placing a hand gently on Charles' shoulder.

His friend's mouth quivered, as he, in turn placed his own on Darcy's shoulder like the used to do when they were younger. Fitzwilliam heard him clear his throat.

"We should carry on," Charles said quietly before taking off in a run.

Darcy nodded and ran after his friend and they hastily made their way in the direction of the barn.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Charles asked him as he now kept pace at his side. His eyes were red, but Darcy was happy he was changing the topic of conversation.

"It certainly offers the potential for the least amount of casualties," he responded. "Well, at least on the side of the living."

He offered a sideways smirk as they reached the barn, which Bingley halfheartedly returned. Throwing the doors open, they walked towards their awaiting horses and led them out. Darcy stroked Combat's neck before sticking his foot in the stirrup. Once he ensured Charles was situated atop his horse as well, they made for the carriage house.

There, two men assisted with attaching the horses to the black carriage with as little harnessing as possible, and they were off in the direction of the tunnel. From his seat in his saddle, Darcy could already smell the rotting flesh and brains they had placed in the carriage. It had better work, he thought as he breathed through his mouth.

They made good time and most of the explosives had been removed when they arrived.

"Let's start loading," Ashton ordered as they rounded the carriage as close to the grate as possible.

He hopped off the horse and ran to help the others, trying to ignore the stench. Together, their small group carefully placed the explosives into the carriage, avoiding the putrefaction.

"I still don't understand why we can't just detonate them where they are," Jane said. "Why risk moving them?"

"Within the tunnel, the explosives are currently underneath the house," explained Darcy. "Now that Wickham is dead, their compulsion isn't restricting them within the parameter around Pemberley. They have journeyed further and further from the house and now threaten to flee out the gap in the back wall. Alastair said he and his men widened the hole so the carriage will fit through and will fight with the militia to keep them within the boundary for as long as possible."

He saw Jane glance worriedly in her husband's direction before meeting his eyes. Darcy offered her a small smile, ensuring her he would take care of him. As in her typical sweet fashion, she offered a kind smile in return.

Kitty and Lydia placed the remaining explosives within the carriage and sealed the door firmly shut. He glanced at Mary. She nodded and indicated she was ready, removing her glasses with one hand and raising the matches Ashton had given her in the other.

Darcy grabbed the saddle and was about to mount Combat when he felt someone hug him from behind. He stiffened and uncomfortably turned. Upon seeing his sister, his tension eased, and he circled his arms around her.

"You'll be back," she said. He could tell she was trying to believe her own words; that saying it aloud would hopefully make it true.

"I'll be back," he promised before kissing her head. Squeezing her tightly one last time, he glanced at Ashton, who nodded at him. He returned the gesture, completing their silent agreement, and turned back around.

With Charles mounted as well, they took off.

His grasped the hilt of his katana and unsheathed his blade. Charles did the same. They were death's drivers and needed to lure the undead from the wall and towards the carriage.

The commotion of the fighting grew louder the closer they grew to the gap, and Darcy could feel his heart pounding, the way it always did before a battle.

Six Scottish soldiers stood upon the wall and shouted a warning to those inside the grounds, letting them know they were almost to the breach. They rounded the carriage past the militia on the outside of the wall and broke the boundary.

Alastair and his men had given them just enough space to come through. Darcy sliced down several undead that made a run for him, and he saw Charles was doing the same. More and more undead began breaking from the Scottish and militia grouping and chased after them, hoping for better luck with the newly produced flesh.

Darcy kicked one away and saw that half of the Scots were already beginning the second part of the plan. They ran to the other side of the wall while Alastair and the rest that remained continued fighting, blocking the undead from freedom. Although they were outnumbered, the living seemed to be prospering.

Fitzwilliam and Charles lead the carriage erratically around the grounds, slicing down those that got in their way. When they made it to the middle of the park, Darcy gave Bingley the signal and they both turned around, breaking the harnesses that bound their horses to the carriage.

Once Darcy was freed, he made for the gap, urging Combat onward. He saw Alastair, his men, and the militia now stood on the opposite side of the wall and had barricaded the gap with a wooden spiked wall. Several undead were making for him and he was about to strike them down when he felt a chill roll down his spine.

"Darcy!"

Charles. He rounded Combat and they made for Bingley, who was still attached to the carriage and swinging his katana desperately at the harnessing.

"It won't come undone!" his friend hollered frantically.

The undead were almost upon him as he rode up next to his friend. With one swipe, Darcy broke the harnessing and plowed over a small group of undead that had broken from the carriage and now pursued Bingley, slicing through those that he could.

"Follow me!" he shouted over the growls. He kicked his heels into Combat, urging him to go faster. Peeking over his right shoulder, he saw Bingley beside him.

Many undead now stood between them and the gap. They needed space to jump over the barricade. Sweeping through one section, Darcy and Bingley were able to thin out the horde enough to make one attempt.

"You first," Darcy ordered his friend while he continued to slice down the undead.

Bingley and his horse galloped towards the gap and cleared the spiked wall, landing safely on the other side. Several undead began running after him in vain, for the wooden spikes quickly impaled them all. He galloped away, trying to lure some from his destination, but it didn't work. Those that were originally by the carriage were now making for his position near the gap as well. He needed a new plan.

"Ya!" he shouted, gripping Combat's reigns tight and leading the horde in a large circle around the yard. On horseback, he was faster, and as soon as he neared the carriage, he stopped, luring them in. Glancing nervously towards the gap, he saw it was now clear, but he had a great distance to cover. The undead ran blindly towards him, leaving the pathway clear. Combat took a step forward, wishing to bolt. He could sense his horse's uneasiness.

"It's ok boy," Darcy encouraged. "Just a few more seconds."

As soon as the undead were close enough to reach out and touch, he urged Combat onward. Alastair and another man had pierced the brains of the undead caught in the spikes, making for a clean getaway. When he was near the gap, he looked at Mary and shouted, "Now!"

All went silent. The shouting from the Scots has ceased. The zombie growls were no more. Even Combat's hooves were hushed. Then, they were flying through the air.

The sky lit up before he heard it- Bright yellow and orange clouding his vision and then the enormous boom that propelled him forward in his saddle, his face pressing into Combat's mane.

Combat landed safely on the other side, and Darcy gave him an encouraging pat on the neck. Glancing back, he turned just in time to see the rubble returning to earth. Pemberley. It was gone. Through the dark smoke, he saw all that remained of his home were two walls standing majestically amongst the rubble. A large crater was in the ground where the carriage once stood. Body parts, stone, and personal artifacts were strewn all over and dust fell from the sky. The smell of death clung in the air. But it was over. Wickham was dead. The undead from The Canal and St. Lazarus were gone. The war had been fought and the living had won.

He heard the Scots and British soldiers shouting triumphantly. Lydia and Kitty were hugging each other in victory. Jane and Charles were sharing an intimate moment. And Mary, whose feet were now fixed firmly on the ground, raised her bow and remaining flaming arrows in a toast in his direction. Her aim had been true. But of course, he thought, she learned from the best.

He dismounted and sheathed his katana, glancing dazedly at the commotion surrounding him. Elizabeth should have been here with him. Fighting by his side, drawing off of each other's strength. But now the fighting was over. And apart from the few stray undead that remained throughout England, the zombies were no more. The pestilence would end.

"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana cried, breaking his reverie. He hugged his sister tightly, drawing her as close as possible. When they pulled apart, he didn't even have to speak his intentions before she smiled and said, "Go."

He grinned and hastily mounted Combat. He needed to get to Elizabeth. To ensure she was all right. And to tell her that it was finally over.

Her eyes were closed when he entered the room. It seemed he had just left moments ago. Kneeling next to the bed, he grasped Elizabeth's small hand in both of his and kissed it gently. He stared at her face, hoping the movement would wake her, but she didn't stir. His heart quickened. Darcy hastily leaned forward to check if she was breathing. Placing his ear near her mouth, he waited. After what seemed like years, he heard her quiet steady breaths. She was sleeping. He sighed with relief and took the opportunity to watch his wife.

Her mouth was slightly agape and her eyelashes fluttered as if she was in the middle of a dream. Raising his other hand, he moved a stray curl that had fallen across her face. Unable to resist, he placed his lips softly upon hers before wearily lowering his head onto the bed next to her, eventually drifting off into a deep slumber.

Darcy awoke to the stroke of fingers running gently through his hair. His neck and back ached, but he remained still, not wanting to ruin the moment. Only when they stopped, did he open his eyes and raise his head.

Elizabeth stared back at him. Her eyes were brighter and her face was no longer pale, but the bruises upon her face had darkened. Just when he thought she was about to open her mouth to reprimand him, she wiped a finger across his cheek, and held it up to him, revealing a smudge of black dust now upon the tip. She smiled and he laughed, all the stress fleeing his body.

She joined him but winced as pain shot through her body.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Fitzwilliam asked worriedly, cupping her head with his hand.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered automatically, grasping his extended arm with her hand. "No…" she admitted, tears streaming down her face. "Charlotte… My parents…" she sobbed, cracking on the last word.

Darcy sat upon the bed and took her in his arms, feeling her tears soak his shirt and skin. He rocked her gently like a child, soothing her until she had no tears left. He recalled how he felt when his own parents had died. The ache he felt in knowing he would never ben able to see or speak with them again. The empty void that had been inside of him for so long. When his mother had died, he was still a child and was free to grieve freely and openly. But when his father passed, it was different. He was a man, and his father had been turned. He sliced his father clean through and bore the agony inwardly. He had endured the pain twice, the first preparing him for the latter, but his dear wife had lost both at once. Two times the heartache. Two times the grief. And he knew she would soon also feel the anger, frustration, and guilt that followed.

They pulled apart until their noses barely touched and stared silently into each other's eyes relishing in each other's comfort until the physician knocked on the door and entered. After examining Elizabeth, he concluded she should not place too much weight on her leg and remain off it if at all possible. The Scot then rushed off to attend to other injuries.

"The undead?" she asked him once the door was closed again. Her eyes were still reddened and he could tell she was trying to think of anything other than those they lost.

"Gone for good," he responded.

"And Pemberley?" she inquired.

He glanced sadly at her. Everything inside had been ruined- all his parent's possessions, priceless paintings, his favorite books, Georgiana's belongings- all of it had been destroyed. But that was not what he cherished most. All of that could be restored. He could not say the same for those he loved. And he would destroy all of his worldly possessions again if it meant saving those he cherished most.

"Oh, William," Elizabeth said, "I am so sorry."

"I can rebuild," he said, grasping her face gently with both hands. "We will rebuild."

Chapter Text

"Where are you taking me?" Lizzy asked with a laugh. A blindfolded covered her eyes and her husband's hands held hers firmly, carefully pulling her in the direction she was meant to go. From what she gathered, he was leading her slowly through the front gardens of Rosings to, what she assumed, was a waiting carriage.

She felt the gravel under her feet and raised her head slightly, trying to see beneath the dark fabric for any clues.

"No peeking, Mrs. Darcy," he taunted.

She pouted her lips and was met with an unexpected kiss from her husband. She giggled excitedly, and he led her forward once more.

He told her to step up once and then again before she was instructed to sit. She placed a hand on her still tender leg and felt her husband take his place next to her. The neigh of the horses as the carriage lurched forward prompted her to say, "Really, William, couldn't you have blindfolded me once I was inside the carriage?"

"Now, Mrs. Darcy, what fun would that be?" he teased.

She could get used to these cheery moods of his. Ever since the day of Wickham's death, he, as Charles had put it, became his old self again. Fitzwilliam was more carefree and content. He walked as if he had no care in the world and she found him smiling more often than not. At first she was worried at this sudden change in him for she was so used to his brooding, unyielding character she could scarce believe it was he. As time went on however, she realized the man she initially fell in love with was a molded man, sculpted from the world around him: a warrior, soldier, leader. A man with a fierce sense of duty and pride. One who would not let anything hinder him from successfully completing a mission. But now, the mission and everything he had been training for was coming to a close. The major threat had been eliminated, and all that remained were the stray zombies that happened to still be roaming around England. Fitzwilliam told her he assumed Wickham had summoned all undead to Pemberley for the final battle, but he was not taking any chances. At his order, militia had been dispatched to survey every last inch of England. All undead would be slaughtered and burned, bring the plague to an end.

Elizabeth reached blindly in Darcy's direction, trying to take his hand in hers, craving his touch. Her palm instead met the hard tip of his knee. His swiftly covered it, entwining his fingers between hers and began dragging it onto his thigh. She knew she shouldn't feel uncomfortable, they were after all married, but she couldn't help the blush rising to her cheeks. She hoped the blindfold covered most of it. He ran his fingers lightly over hers and her initial rigidity soon waned to contentment and warmth.

How different they were now from their first meeting. From loathing and contempt to love and fidelity. There was still so much she didn't know, but she looked forward to peeling back the layers of this man, her husband, one at a time.

"Are we there yet?" she inquired, turning her blind eyes towards her husband.

"Almost," he responded, squeezing her hand tighter and not giving anything else away.

They had been riding for some time now and she was growing weary. From the silence outside, apart from the chirping birds, she knew they had to be in the country somewhere. She was wondering if they would be able to make the journey back during the daylight when the carriage slowed to a stop.

"Come," Fitzwilliam said before placing his hands around her waist and guiding her carefully out of the carriage. Placing her down, he took her hands once more and she could feel the ground changing from rough pebbles to soft grass beneath her feet. A cool breeze blew her hair gently about, and she took a deep breath, drinking in the crisp, clean air as best she could.

She felt her husband move behind her, his warm chest pressed against her back, as he went to undo the knot.

"My love," he whispered in her ear, "welcome to Lady Anne Hall."

The blindfold fell from her eyes and she squinted in the bright sunlight. Raising her hand to shield the sun's rays, her eyes were met by a beautiful gray-stone manor. Darcy placed his head alongside hers and wound his arms protectively around her as she took it all in.

It was about the fourth of the size of Pemberley, boasting three stories. Vines crawled up the sides, shaping the windows and white molding. The large white door in the front was also filled with glass and a circular window shined above it like a halo. A small fountain stood in the front yard and she could see a second story terrace elegantly held up by white columns on the side of the house.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, grasping his arm tightly.

"It's yours," he said. She stood there silently for a moment before turning in his arms, mouth agape. He continued, "It was my mother's. My father's gifted it to her shortly after they were married and it became a sort of retreat for them. And…" he added hesitantly, "I thought it would the perfect place for us to honeymoon."

She took in the manor again before slowly turning to face him once more, sensing another slight blush rising to her face. His hand rose up and gently tucked an unruly curl back into place before cupping her face, his thumb stroking her reddened cheek.

"Do you like it?" he prodded after she didn't said anything else. 

"You know I would be happy if we had nothing, Fitzwillaim, but I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve," she said with a grin.

Elizabeth raised her hand and placed it tenderly over his, intertwining their fingers. She stood there, memorizing his touch, the warmth and roughness of his hands. The hands that had fought on so many occasions against the undead. The hands that had saved her sister. The hands that had killed Wickham. The hands that could hold her so lovingly.

She opened her eyes and met his soft gaze. He leaned down and kissed her before scooping her into his arms and carrying her over the threshold of her new home.

Elizabeth was still in awe of the house. Her house. She determined it was only slightly larger than Longbourn and that made it feel like home all the more. A group of four servants met them within the main foyer. Fitzwilliam had lowered her to the ground before they made proper introductions. After freshening up, dinner was served and then Fitzwilliam gave her a tour of the home, including the kitchens, den, sitting room, and library.

"My mother was an avid reader as well," he said after revealing the glorious two-floored library.

Shelves were lined with books all the way to the ceiling and a small walkway ran around the room halfway up the wall, made accessible by a circular stairway. Inviting chairs and couches sat by a lit fireplace, with several candelabras on tables around the vast space. Widows let in the brilliant moonlight, casting shadows on the floor.

"It's glorious," she breathed.

"Come," he said, pulling her hand towards the door, "there's one more thing I want to show you."

Fitzwilliam led her out of the room, past the main stairs, and up a hallway. He opened a doorway that led to an elegantly decorated sitting area.

"This will be the beginning of your private chambers," he said.

"Beginning?" she questioned with raised eyebrows, feeling overwhelmed.

He led her through another doorway at the end of the room that held a bed, vanity, fireplace, and other necessities. The walls were a dusty rose color with golden detailing. A large mirror hung above the fireplace and the drapes framing the windows were drawn back, revealing the moonlit gardens at the back of the house. Empty traveling bags sat in the corner of the room and the more she glanced around, the more she noticed her personal belongings throughout the space. Fitzwilliam had thought of everything. And, naturally, the servants had unpacked for her during dinner. That would take some getting used to. Elizabeth turned then to admire the bed, which looked plush and inviting after the journey.

"How lovely," she said, reaching out to feel the soft topper before nodding in the direction of the wall next to her bedside table. "What's through that door?"

He smirked and led her to it. Grasping the handle he turned and pushed the door opened, revealing his own room.

"My private quarters."

"B-But…" she stammered, "I thought you would sleep with me..."

Before she could even grow embarrassed for her forward and suggestive declaration, he explained, "My father talked in his sleep and it would keep my mother up many nights, so they had this room made for him."

"Don't worry," he added. "Unlike him, I fully intend on sharing a bed with my wife all night."

Fitzwilliam pulled her flush against him and kissed her. His hands wound around her, pressing against the small of her back, drawing her even closer. A hand then broke and began trailing up her back and tangled into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grasping the hair at the nape of his neck, falling completely into him.

"I have loved none but you," he whispered between kisses.

Elizabeth was about to draw him closer to the bed when he stopped.

"My darling," he breathed. "Forgive me, but I have to go check the grounds."

"Now?" Elizabeth panted, trying to bring his mouth to hers once more.

"The zombies from Pemberley may be gone, but we have to ensure no others remain. One of the servants said they saw a stray one yesterday but they aren't capable of killing them, so I must check. No one has searched the grounds since the start of the war and we cannot let them grow in number once more. Besides, if I don't go now," he added, his eyes gazing over her body, "I never will."

"Then I'll go with you," Elizabeth stated matter-of-factly, stepping towards the door.

"No, my dear," Fitzwilliam responded, pulling her back. "Tonight, you are my bride."

He kissed her once more before grabbing his katana by the doorway.

"I won't be long, and then, we will continue," he said before she saw him rush out.

Elizabeth stood in front of her mirror in nothing but her white shift. Her brown hair was unpinned with her curls hanging loosely around her shoulders. She quickly grabbed a brush and began running it through her unruly hair. After several quick strokes she put it down, glanced cautiously at the door in the mirror, and went to stand next to the bed, her eyes never straying from the handle, waiting for it to turn. She could hear the rain falling on the roof above and hoped he would return soon.

She felt foolish and thought maybe she should sit to assuage her uneasiness. She sank into the comfortable top and rethought that idea after realizing it would make her appear clunky. She took in some deep breaths when she was standing once more, trying to calm her racing heart.

She knew what to expect, after all she was an avid reader and not all authors just skim the surface on such topics. But it's different when it's your reality.

She was nervous. But she shouldn't be. This was Fitzwilliam. Her confidant. Her love. Her husband.

Elizabeth was rethinking the lighting in the room when the doorknob turned and the door slowly opened. As soon as she saw him, nothing else mattered.

William gently closed the door and stood fixated in his spot. She watched as his eyes ran down her body and she took the opportunity to examine him as well.

He stood in the dark beeches and white linen shirt he had left in, but now he had on his overcoat as well. The wet white shirt clung to him, revealing dark chest hair peeking out of the top. His damp hair was falling over his eyes with little droplets falling to the floor, but she could tell he was too distracted to notice and this made her smile.

As soon as his eyes met hers again it was as if a current were pushing him towards her. He walked determinedly towards her. She breathed in, reading herself, but he stopped just short of touching her, their noses barely any distance apart. From here the fire in his eyes was as vibrant as ever.

Elizabeth dug her fingers beneath his jacket, making the first contact. Slowly she guided it over his shoulders and down his arms before letting it fall to the floor.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Her heart was overwhelmed. Her loving, caring husband stood before her and, as always, he was being as selfless as ever.

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly, fisting his linen shirt and pulling him the remaining distance, willing their bodies to mold together as they fell back onto the bed.

"You're so soft," Darcy observed as his fingers moved idly back and forth over Elizabeth's bare back. His wife laid draped over him, her head resting against his chest and legs entangled with his.

She stared up at him for a few moments before running a finger over the gash on her husband's check.

"I don't think it will ever go away," he said solemnly.

"Good," she responded, resting her head against him once more. "I like it."

She continued idly running her fingers over his chest, relishing the feel of it steadily rising and falling beneath her. She felt him kiss her head.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her after many moments of silence.

She had been staring absentmindedly. So many thoughts and questions were swarming her mind at present. The love they had just shared. Their first impressions of each other. What their future held. But Elizabeth chose the one that she was most inquisitive about. When did he know?

"Did you admire me for my impertinence?" she asked, answering him with a question.

Her head rose and fell with her husband's laughter. After giving it some thought, he replied, "For the liveliness of your mind, I did, and your superior warrior skills. I may not have realized it at the time, but I was yours once I saw your crane form at the Meryton dance."

She smiled, remembering the fight.

"If I had but known your heart and your true self," Elizabeth said, running her hand along his chest and down to his stomach, "everything would have been so easy."

"I was wrestling with myself at the time," he admitted with a sigh.

"Oh, I remember," Elizabeth said with a chuckle before quoting him. "'Miss Bennet, although I know many consider you to be decidedly inferior as a matter of your birth, family and circumstances, my feelings will not be repressed...'"

Darcy moaned, and she chuckled.

"At least I knew when you did agree to marry me, it was for me. Not my rank or wealth," he admitted.

"Well, rumor has it a large income is the best recipe for happiness," Elizabeth responded teasingly.

"Is that right?" inquired Darcy, tickling her sides. Elizabeth hollered with surprise and broke into uncontrollable laughter. She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball as he loomed above her, his fingers pressing into her exposed ribs.

"How's your leg?" he asked once he had stopped, placing his hand gently on her hip from where she was now positioned below him. "Was the walk earlier too much?"

"No," she responded quietly, all humor now gone. His eyes met hers, and he removed his hand from her leg. Replacing it on her face, he traced the now faint bruise marks on her face, then along her shoulders, and down her arms. His touch was so faint she felt goosebumps on her flesh.

"They're almost healed," he said as his hand came to a stop on her thigh. Her husband's eyes raked over her naked body before meeting hers questioningly. She wrapped her legs around his waist in response and smiled, happy to see he was once again ready. As his mouth crashed down onto hers, she pressed into him, ready to become one flesh.

Chapter Text

Darcy stood outside Lady Anne Hall, his arms wrapped protectively around his wife.

"I'm anxious to see my sisters, but I am sorry to go," Elizabeth admitted.

He knew how she felt. Rosings would not provide the same privacy they had cherished the past several weeks. After the memorials and a brief period of mourning, he was happy to whisk her away but their return would only bring the memories to the forefront once more.

"Don't worry," he whispered into her hair, sensing her dismay. "We'll come back."

"Promise?" she asked, turning up to face him.

"I promise," he answered before bringing his lips to hers. Taking her hand, he assisted his wife into he carriage before following.

He had always hated riding in carriages. Being cooped up, unable to see the surrounding landscape. It made him vulnerable having to rely upon others due to the confining carriage and minimal windows. Not to mention there was no escape, especially from any unwanted prattling. If given the choice he would much rather be on Combat, riding about the lands enjoying the silence, feeling the wind in his hair, able to see potential threats approaching with his own eyes. But now, sitting next to Elizabeth, feeling her warm hand within his, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, he wouldn't change it for anything.

"What's wrong?" he asked upon feeling her stiffen.

"Nothing," she replied all too quickly.

"Elizabeth," he urged softly. He cupped her chin and forced her face towards him. He had become quite good at reading her expressions, and she was definitely hiding something. She had been quieter than usual. Maybe she was feeling ill. They could turn back and he could call for a physician.

"Please…" he urged

He heard her sigh.

"I'm just worried about my sisters," she admitted finally. "Where are Mary, Lydia and Kitty going to live? Pemberley is in crumbles. Would they all stay with Jane and Charles at Netherfield? Your aunt…"

"Our aunt," Darcy said corrected her.

"Our aunt," she corrected, "has been so kind taking them in for so long, but we cannot encroach on her kindness any longer. And I don't want them to be a burden, but Jane shouldn't take all the responsibility. Besides, Kitty and Lydia would hate to be parted and it is good for Mary to have strong feminine influences. She keeps to herself too much."

Elizabeth sighed again.

"Anyways, this isn't for you to fret about," she concluded after fretting more.

"You're my wife," he responded. "Your worries are my worries. We will get it all sorted out when we return to Rosings. But in the meantime, agonizing over it isn't going to do any good."

"Relax," he spoke into her hair, "and try to enjoy these last hours of peace together."

"You're right," she admitted, placing her hand on his knee and giving it a squeeze before smiling up at him.

He gently put his arm around her, pulling his wife closer, and kissed her. She settled her head against his chest once more and he thought yes, there was no other place he would rather be.

"Lizzy!"

Darcy could hear his sisters-in-law shouting from the front of Rosings as they traveled up the gravel drive. He would miss the quite of the last weeks, more so than Elizabeth. He had grown used to the silence but it was a small price to pay, as he was anxious to see his sister.

Glancing out the window, he saw them all standing in a line as the carriage pulled to a stop. Lizzy didn't wait for the servant to open the carriage. Disregarding her leg, she hopped from the carriage, and ran into Jane's waiting arms, her three other sisters circling them to form a larger embrace.

Darcy was met first by his sister after emerging from the carriage.

"I missed you," she whispered into his chest. He smiled and voiced his agreement.

She stepped aside and Charles walked over, griping his hand firmly. His friend was as jovial as ever, asking questions about their journey and honeymoon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aunt Catherine begin to approach his wife. She and Elizabeth had been civil since she returned, however he knew Elizabeth still harbored feelings of hatred and resentment towards her after all that had passed between them. Deciding it was best to intervene, he excused himself and made his way over.

"Ah!" she exclaimed as he joined them. "My favorite nephew."

Lady Catherine affectionately kissed his cheeks and then turned back to face Elizabeth. "I was just telling your wife what a joy it has been having her sisters here this past month."

He was stricken speechless. His aunt had never approved of Elizabeth's sisters before and had found their presence to be, in her words, exhausting, deafening, and overbearing. Now she sang a different tune. She praised them for their fighting skills, despite their Chinese training, and mentioned at least once that they were charming young ladies. He didn't know what shocked him more, the fact that his aunt genuinely had come to care for his sisters-in-law or the change in her overall character.

Darcy then thought of his cousin, Anne. His aunt had suffered dearly in loosing her only child and now she was desperately clinging to those girls for they were everything she wanted Anne to become but would never be. Elizabeth was going to have a difficult time dragging them from here now.

They all settled in one of Rosing's lavish parlors. During his walk through the gardens, up the main stairwell, and then through the hallway, Darcy noticed almost everything was back to normal, apart from the presence of his aunt's Black Guard. The blood had been cleaned from the marbled floors, broken glass had been removed, and everything had an eerie calmness that he was still trying to get used to.

Darcy sat with Charles at one end of the room. From his position, he saw Elizabeth chatting quietly with Jane on the opposite couch. His aunt was glancing between Lydia and Kitty, demonstrating a better sword technique. Mary sat quietly by one of the large windows reading a letter she had just received. His sister was reading as well and throwing occasional thoughtful glances in his direction every few minutes. He knew she was itching to ask him about his honeymoon, but that was not a subject he would share with his sister in vivid detail. Glancing back towards Charles, he reinvested himself in the conversation.

Charles told him how there had been no zombie sightings on the grounds since they had left. He asked his friend about Lady Catherine's spirits and Charles sobered.

"She was down for at least a week after you had left," he stated. "Georgiana tried to coax her outside and failed. She either just sat atop her chair in her throne room, her head turned to the right, gazing longingly at her daughter's chair, or walked through Anne's room, absentmindedly picking things up and placing them back down."

"What changed?" Darcy inquired, leaning back in his seat.

"She was standing by the window in Anne's room one day and saw Lydia and Kitty in their training clothes walking towards the dojo, swords in hand, their heads thrown back in laughter. From then on, she clung to those girls. Mary too."

"And, naturally," Darcy said thoughtfully, "you learned all this from Jane."

"Of course," Charles said with a smile. Raising his glass he said, "To our wives."

Darcy chuckled.

"To our wives," he echoed, clinking his glass to Charles'.

"So how was that honeymoon of yours?" Charles inquired. Darcy smiled amusingly at him before answering.

"Worth the wait."

Charles laughed and nodded in agreement as he took another sip of his drink.

"How was Georgiana after we left?" Darcy asked, knowing his friend had been tasked with caring for her in his absence.

"As kindhearted as ever," he replied. "Granted, she too was somber for the first few days after you left, but she perked up. Especially whenever a certain gentleman visited."

Darcy knew all too well whom he meant.

"Ashton is a good man," Darcy admitted, rolling the remaining liquid around in his glass. "He loves my sister and protects her even when I cannot."

"So you will give him your blessing then?" Charles prodded. Darcy downed what remained in his glass and glanced at his friend.

"I already have," he answered with a smile. "I wrote to him before we departed Lady Anne Hall."

"You should know Georgiana came to me asking if I thought you would do him in upon your return."

Darcy laughed, which drew the attention of the room for a few moments.

"I want my sister to be happy," he said after everyone had resumed their conversations. "And he makes her happy. It's as simple as that. He has proven himself time and time again to be a worthy sort of man, and who am I to deny Georgiana this when she has never asked anything else of me?"

At that moment, a servant announced Ashton's arrival. He entered the room and, after polite greetings, asked Georgiana if she would walk with him in the gardens. His sister looked to him for his blessing, anticipating what was to come. He nodded at her with the hint of a smile.

After the couple had left the room, they joined Jane and Elizabeth.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Elizabeth asked him all-knowingly.

He answered by placing a kiss atop her head.

"She will be close to Rosings, and Aunt Catherine can keep an eye on her. Besides," he added, "he knows I will have no trouble putting a sword through his brains should he hurt my sister."

They all chuckled, unsure just how serious he was being.

"No!" shouted Mary suddenly in disbelief as she finished reading her letter. She stood and ran to the window that overlooked the gravel drive. Everyone was stunned at her sudden outburst, for Mary had never raised her voice except in the midst of battle.

"What is it?" Jane asked, rushing to her side.

Mary didn't answer. Instead she stared out the window, eyes wide, for several moments more before turning round and running past them all, fleeing out the door. The letter fluttering to the floor in her wake.

Darcy watched his wife pick it up and quickly scan the two pages for answers. Expecting the worst, his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his katana, only to meet the empty air. Hoping no one noticed, he moved his hand to Elizabeth's shoulder instead.

"What is it?" he asked, repeating Jane's original question.

Her eyes widened as she reached the end. After glancing up, she burst into a fit of laughter. Her hand flew to cover her mouth and minimize the sound but it was no use. Tears soon began streaming down her face.

"Lizzy!" shouted Jane as she took several steps towards her. "What is it?"

Elizabeth tried to calm herself and explain but she only broke into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"She's gone loopy," stated Lydia.

The normally patient Jane sighed exasperatedly and tore the letter from Elizabeth's hands. After reading it she gasped.

"This cannot be!" she cried. "Lizzy how can you laugh at something like this?!"

"What is going on?" Bingley asked.

"One of the Scots that aided us in the final battle against Wickham has been corresponding with Mary," Jane began explaining. "He has asked her to marry him and according to the letter he's come to whisk her away..."

"No!" gasped Lydia and Kitty at the same time. They both turned and looked at each other before dashing to the window.

"There he is!" shouted Kitty.

The girls ran out the door and the rest followed.

As Darcy descended the main stairwell he saw the lone man on horseback riding quickly towards the house.

"What's going on?" Georgiana asked him when they reached the gardens, Ashton at her side.

"Mary is running away with a Scotsman!" Lizzy answered gleefully. She laughed once more.

"I didn't see that coming," Georgiana responded.

"Neither did I," added Elizabeth. "This is the most un-Marylike thing she could possibly do."

The continued through the gardens and approached Mary just as the Scot was nearing the gardens. He could now see he was a strong, burly man. His jacket was a bit worn and his brown and gray kilt flapped in the breeze. His unkempt auburn hair blew into his eyes. His face was stern, but appeared to soften once Mary began running towards him, her hair falling out of her usually tidy bun.

"Yes!" Darcy could hear her shouting as the Scot, who he now recognized as Alastair's son, closed the distance.

The man flashed a brilliant smile and leaped off. Mary ran in his arms, and he kissed her passionately. They released their embrace, and he mounted his steed once more. Offering her his arm, he hoisted her up behind him.

"I'll write! I promise!" Mary shouted back at them with a wave as the Scot nodded his regards. In the blink of an eye, they took off back up the drive.

Elizabeth made her way to his side, and he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation they found themselves in.

"I cannot believe that just happened!" Lydia said in disbelief as soon as they were out of sight. "Who knew she had it in her?!"

"I find their northern way of doing things very agreeable," added Kitty with a grin.

"I'm surprised she left all of her books and spare pair of glasses behind," Lydia commented with a chuckle.

Darcy could feel Elizabeth laughing under her breath. He then glanced at Jane, who still looked dumbfounded. And Charles was making quick glances between his wife and the rest of the party trying to figure out how best to proceed.

"We can't just let her leave!" Jane shouted suddenly. Darcy jerked back, surprised at his sister-in-law's sudden outburst.

"We don't even know his name!" Jane continued. "Or where he is taking her!"

"Charles," Jane pleaded, "go after them!"

"No," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Lizzy!" Jane retorted.

"Jane, Mary is the most sensible of us all," she reasoned. "She has never done anything rash in her entire life. So if she is willing to leave with him, then he must be trustworthy. There is more to this than we have seen here today."

"Lizzy is right, Jane," Lydia said after a brief silence. "Mary would never do anything impulsive without thinking everything through first."

"Jane, if it makes you feel better," Darcy began explaining, "Alastair's son is a righteous and just man. She will be alright. I do not care for the Scottish way of taking brides, but rest assured that Mary will be safe."

He watched Jane's face change from worry to her normal happy disposition. Elizabeth offered him a smile.

"I admire her," said Georgiana after no one else spoke up. "She did what she had to do to find her happiness."

She beamed up at Ashton with a look Darcy had never seen upon his sister's face before. She was radiant and poised, for she was in love. Everyone else seemed to sense the change in Georgiana and their suspicions were proved correct. Kitty and Mary squealed with delight and everyone took turns congratulating the couple.

Darcy heard Elizabeth mention something to Jane under her breath about engagements in their family always occurring in pairs, to which Jane chuckled with laughter.

"Well, shall we head back inside and celebrate?" suggested Lady Catherine.

Darcy began making his way to the stairwell with the others, but Georgiana tugged his hand, silently asking him to remain behind.

Tears began pooling in her eyes, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," she cried. "Whatever will I do without you?"

"You'll never be without me," he replied. "If you need anything, I will come. I am, and always will be, your brother."

"Thank you," she said.

He felt the weight of the words. They weren't just for his blessing, but for everything. Teaching her to fight. Giving her an education. Showering her with gifts just because he wanted to express how much he cherished her. For never raising his voice even when she was being quite irritating. For being her protector and confidant. For raising her after their parents had passed. For refusing to let her ever feel like a burden. For all these reasons and more, she was grateful.

He closed his eyes, treasuring this moment they had together for soon she would be married and gone. She would no longer be his to protect, and although he knew this day would come, he was hardly ready for it to come to fruition.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth asked him as he entered the throne room. They stood alone in the corner by one of the massive windows lining the wall.

Much to his surprise, it was a throne room no longer, for his aunt had transformed it into a lavish parlor. Various sitting areas occupied the space, mixtures of inviting couches and chairs made for more intimate sitting areas. Candelabras stood on ornate tables and rich rugs framed each sitting area. A pianoforte sat where her seat once stood, and her artifacts from Japan were displayed throughout the space.

He felt Elizabeth run a hand through his hair, and she gazed worriedly into his eyes, waiting for his reply.

He nodded in response and kissed her palm.

"Are you?" he asked tenderly. She had just lost yet another in her family. Not in the same way as her parents, cousin, and best friend, but who knew when or if Mary would ever return to England.

"Yes," she responded quietly. Her thumb idly caressed the scar along his cheek. "She is happy, and so am I. My only concern now is for Kitty and Lydia."

Darcy watched his wife cast a worried glance in their direction. Her wrapped her in his arms, wishing to shelter her; to let her know that he would be her rock, a constant presence for her to confide in and lean on. To take some of the weight off of her shoulders, for he knew Elizabeth's anxieties for her sisters echoed his own for Georgiana.

His aunt glided over at that moment. Her black eye patch matched her dark training clothes that she had not yet changed out of from her earlier training session with Kitty and Lydia. Ever since his cousin's passing his aunt had taken to wearing only black clothes. She declared that her mourning period would last the number of months she had spent with her daughter.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Lady Catherine said calmly, "but I have something I wish to discuss with you both."

He glanced curiously at his aunt, unsure of what she was up to.

"As you can see, I have become quite attached to those sisters of yours, Elizabeth," she began, addressing his wife. "And I was wondering… how you would feel…. about them staying at Rosings with me… Permanently."

Elizabeth had never hesitated at giving their aunt her honest opinion regarding anything, and he readied for whatever she would say. But shockingly Elizabeth remained silent, probing their aunt to continue.

"You see, they are so much like myself at their age, and I would be able to care for them. Provide them a motherly influence and a sort of teacher. Not that you and Jane wouldn't be able to care for them," she added quickly. "I would raise them to be good, proper girls, and teach them to harness their warrior spirit. Something my dearest Anne could never do."

He had never seen his aunt flustered before. It almost appeared as if Elizabeth intimidated her but then Darcy realized her character wasn't stemming from apprehensiveness but rather from love. He knew Elizabeth loved her sisters and his aunt had come to care for them in the same way as well. And the risk of his wife denying her request had put more fear in his Aunt Catherine than any other obstacle she had ever taken head-on throughout her life thus far. Darcy, more than anyone, understood that what his aunt feared most of all was finding herself alone.

"I shall have to discuss it with Jane," Elizabeth replied. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at his wife's response.

"Thank you," Lady Catherine responded, reaching out to give Elizabeth's arm an affectionate squeeze.

"What did Jane say?" Darcy asked Elizabeth later that night.

His wife's head rested on his bare chest, her legs tangled in his. Her brown hair cascaded down her creamy back, and he moved his hand gently back and forth over it. He could feel her breathing on his skin and it awakened all his senses.

"Oh, you know Jane," she responded matter-of-factly. "She seemed agreeable to anything that would make them happy. We're going to discuss it with Kitty and Lydia in the morning."

"That's wise," he responded.

"How long will it take for Pemberley to be rebuilt?" she asked him.

"Some time," Darcy responded sadly.

He missed his home; the memories and familiar surroundings. He missed the ability to see the sweeping countryside in every direction, and the feeling of being close to his parents. The books his father cherished so much and the flowers in the garden his mother had tended. Training in the dojo with his father at such a young age. He would never be able to share any of this with Elizabeth. At least not in the way he truly wished to.

"What are you thinking?" she asked after he said no more.

"I just wish… I wish that we were there. Living in Pemberley," he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I would destroy all my worldly possessions all over again for the chance to save you and the whole of mankind, but it's just occurring to me exactly what I lost. I could have shown you what the boy in me experienced. Trekking down to the pond to sneak in an afternoon swim, laying in the stable loft reading or playing with a sword my parents didn't know I kept hidden up there, where I fenced with my father on the grounds out back or where I would hide when sneaking hot pies out of the kitchens. Wickham may not have taken you away from me, or the others that I love, but he took my home. He knew how much it meant and understood that I would have to sacrifice so much to get it back. It was my identity, and the only other thing besides Georgiana that links me with my parents. It will never be the same. And I will never completely get to share that with you."

Elizabeth leaned up on her elbows and faced him. He fought back the tears pooling in his eyes. Forcing himself to be strong, he sniffed and sighed, trying to reset his mind.

"Then let's go there," she said, her face determined. "Show it to me. Show me everything."

"Elizabeth…" he began protesting, but she cut him off.

"I'm serious," she maintained, sitting up on her knees. "Why should we wait ten years after it is rebuilt before you can share all these memories with me? Who knows what will happen between now and then."

"I love you," she said, taking his head between her two small hands, "and I want to know everything you're willing to share. And I don't want to wait."

He had never loved his wife more than in this moment. He raised himself up, bringing their faces closer together until all he could see was her. He could feel her move her hands to the back of his head and he quickly closed the remaining distance.

The following day it was decided, with the affirmation of Lydia and Kitty, that the girls would remain at Rosings. Darcy had never seen his aunt so happy, a smile consuming her entire face. She had lost one child in the war but had gained two as a result. Lydia and Kitty looked equally happy, giggling about living in such a house, fighting over what rooms were to be theirs, and hugging Aunt Catherine as if she had been their guardian for years.

His aunt glanced up at him and smiled. He saw her eye was tearing up. She was one of the fiercest women he had ever known and wondered if his mother would have exhibited the same strength as her sister had she survived. Seeing the three of them now, embracing and clinging to one another, he realized how everything had worked out for the better. The Bennet sisters had lost both parents, but they had a guardian in his Aunt Catherine. He knew from experience she would love them unyieldingly and look after them as if they were her own for she had done that for him after his father had passed on. She was his guardian and mentor. And now she would be able to be the same for those girls. 

After the Kitty and Lydia had settled on the new arrangements, Darcy and Elizabeth announced their plans to make a journey northward to Pemberley. Despite it being met with some complaints, primarily from Georgiana, Jane, and Charles, they assured everyone it would not be a long journey, and should return within a fortnight.

"Good," Jane replied, "because I don't want you missing a thing."

Jane touched her stomach tenderly. Elizabeth shouted in joy as his best friend and sister-in-law formerly announced their pregnancy.

Darcy smiled and took Charles in an embrace, congratulating him. Never would he have imagined that stepping into the dance room at Meryton would have taken him to this moment. He and Charles wed, Wickham dead, the undead being all but extinct. Now was the time to rebuild and remember those they had lost. To leave the pain of what was behind and look to the future, as it was full of possibilities.

He felt Elizabeth at his side and he wrapped his arm protectively around her waist.

"That will be us someday," she said quietly, leaning her head against his arm.

"And it will be one of the happiest days of my life," he responded, kissing the top of her head. He heard her sigh contentedly.

"Promise me something," Elizabeth said after some time. Turning to face him, she placed he palms against his chest.

"Anything," he responded anxiously, enclosing her hands with his. For he loved this woman with all his being and he would give her anything, should she just ask. She was what he didn't know he needed or was searching for until he found her. He would protect and serve, honor and cherish her until his last breath, and whatever she uttered now he would do so without question.

"Promise me," she said, "that whatever the future holds, we conquer it together, side by side."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, my love," he replied. "For you and I are one."

He moved a hand beneath her chin, and lifted her face to meet his. Her fingers grasped the lapels on his coat and drew him closer towards her. Disregarding propriety, he kissed is wife passionately. Her warmth was like a fire, consuming him. He wove his hands in her hair and down her back, pulling her closer. He never wanted to let go. One of her hands pressed against the nape of his neck while the other cupped his cheek. They pulled back slowly, foreheads touching, neither wanting to be apart, but not wishing to draw any attention from the others in the room. Staring down at her, he knew that whatever the good Lord held for them in the future, he could conquer it with her by his side.

The End