The land is beautiful and full of secrets.

Darcy is lord of the mountains in East Necluda. He is an important man, so it is understood he will take an important wife. It will be Fair Maid Caroline, all the oracles agree. Fair Maid Caroline is the sister of one of Darcy's most trusted knights. On every rock, on every hill, the world whispers that Darcy should marry her. Every drifter with the Sight tells Darcy so. Every goddess he prays to, every child gifted with truth. It is written by the Creators.

Lord Darcy is in love with Elizabeth Bennett.

That is his first secret.

Lord Darcy has to protect the land against monsters. They are many, even more since the Calamity, and when you kill them, they turn to ash, but they come back on every blood moon. The moblins, the lizalfos – those dreadful creatures every peasant, every knight had to fight at least once – they die, and then they come back to life.

Lord Darcy organizes hunts and watches and barricades, but still, they come back.

The blood moons are bloody indeed.

But monsters come in many forms, some you might not expect. Lady Georgiana, Darcy's youngest sister, has been seduced by one – a human one, with a face of an angel – George Wickham, Darcy's father own ward. Georgiana was fifteen. If people knew, she would be condemned to death.

It does not matter if it was rape. Not a virgin, but still unmarried – this is the law of the land.

But nobody knows. And he will never tell.

That is Lord Darcy's second secret.

-P-

Everything feels heavy, sometimes. His most trusted knight and best friend, Charles, has to drag Darcy to the Netherfield celebrations. "You have to put your mind on other things than war and death, my Lord," Charles says. "There will be sweet wine and food and fireworks, much rejoicing – and many pretty faces, and round bosoms, I believe."

As Lord Darcy is shadow, Charles is light in every way. Charles's hair is full of sunlight, his laugh is luminous, and the ladies adore him. But Charles's gaze has been arrested lately by a beautiful maid's face, and that is a problem for his lord and liege. Fair Jane is the eldest daughter of one of Darcy's lesser vassals – there is hardly a crown in old Bennett's coffers, they say. Still the maid is very pretty – Charles deserves better, but if the man want to makes a fool of himself, marry the Bennett girl and call that love, good luck to him – Darcy is the master of Charles's sword, not of Charles's heart – and the oracles seem to agree with Charles's choice. When Charles goes on a quest, the quest bringer mentions a beautiful maid's clear eyes and golden hair – of course Charles thinks this describes the lovely Jane. (Privately, Lord Darcy thinks the description could apply to many.)

They go to the Netherfield celebrations.

Charles dances and dances with sweet Jane. The dancing, the buffets, the music, it all happens outside. The evening is so gorgeous that before joining the fray, Lord Darcy stops on top of a green slope and looks – mountains everywhere the eye can see, secret valleys, lavender and green and mist – it is so beautiful that he gets tears in his eyes, and he swears he will defend this land till his last breath.

As is written by the Creators.

The people are merry and the night is long. Lord Darcy dances with Elizabeth Bennett once. Just once. She is perfectly unsuitable. Too poor. No land to speak of, no useful alliances to be had. Well-born maybe – on the side of old Bennett, but her mother's family – better not mention it.

Elizabeth's sisters, also. No.

Oh, Lord Darcy knows his heart is lost. To her. To the second daughter of that sarcastic, difficult, impoverished vassal. But she will not do.

The world is screaming he should marry Fair Maid Caroline, and he will.

(One day.)

Dawn rises and there is still music and dancing, and when the night shifts into a new day, colors melting on the horizon, staining the peaks with crimson and purple, Darcy is again taken by a strong emotion. This is a universe of beauty. They say the Creators are many, they said they made this world stone by stone, crafting each grain of sand, thinking about the role of each strand of grass and each reflection on the sun on the water.

Why they also made the world so cruel is Darcy's question, but he will never have the answer. He has his role in the scheme, and he will play it.

Elizabeth Bennett laughs nearby, she is dancing with a very smitten young squire, she is barefoot in the grass, light and grace in the rising sun, and she is not for him.

-P-

In the early morning, all the noble-born guests find their way on Mount Floria, for the glider show.

It is a splendid spot for flying – so knights and heirs and second and third sons run toward the end of the cliffs and jump into the emptiness, opening their glider at the last moment – and off they go, flying, miles above the valleys and the precipices and cliffs – like birds in the immense sky. Peasants and merchants look at them from below, they do not have gliders, of course – and it is as it should be – their role in the scheme is different.

Soon almost everyone is gone – when you glide for miles, finding your way back can take days. So now there are only eight or twelve guests left, while the sun goes lazily up. Footmen are serving sparkling white wine and honeyed fruits under an apple tree, on an oak table spread with a white cloth. Charles, a glass in hand, is whispering sweet poems in fair Jane's ear.

Elizabeth Bennett – Elizabeth – is looking at the men flying away with such need and wonder in her eyes that Lord Darcy asks, without thinking, "Do you want to try?"

Elizabeth stiffens with surprise, and Darcy almost regrets his offer. It is very improper, of course. Women cannot glide. Only men – noble men – have gliders, magically connected to them. So for a woman to try, she has to fly with a man, and he should hold her tight in the skies, very tight, an arm around the maid's waist, another holding the glider. Rumors has it that the king's daughter tried it in Hyrule's palace, and her aunt too, a duchess, but they are all long dead now, the members of the royal family – killed by the Calamity – except the princess, maybe – legend has it say she is still in the castle, frozen in time, locked in an eternal battle against evil.

Maybe it is true. Darcy does not care so much. With the fall of the kingdom, the realm has burst into a hundred splinters. He has his mountains to protect and his monsters to fight.

Elizabeth Bennett. Watching him. She hesitates. Colors a little. Then she speaks.

"Yes, my lord. I very much would like to try."

Lord Darcy realizes everybody's listening. "Any other lady present wants her turn?" he has to ask, hoping they will refuse.

The guests are silent for a moment, some shocked glances are shared, of course Charles saves everything by saying, "What a splendid idea! You are very right, my lord – certainly the ladies should have their share of the skies too! Is not the sun drawn for all of us? Fair Jane, shall you come into my arms, and shall we fly on to the heavens?"

Fair Jane goes crimson, and politely refuses – she seems tempted, but terrified.

"I would not go for all the crown and jewels of the world!" Fair Maid Caroline screeches. "What a scandalous activity for a genteel born woman!" She glares at Elizabeth Bennett, and if looks could kill, Elizabeth would be reduced to ash, like a moblin. "No lady with dignity – or real birth – would ever dream of entertaining such an idea!"

Fair Maid Caroline is kind of a horrible person, Lord Darcy realizes.

He knows that, of course. He has known his friend's sister for years. But hearing her now, seeing the two maids side by side – Elizabeth with the sarcastic erudite father and the empty coffers, and Fair Maid Caroline, with her studied manners and elegant attire – Darcy wonders why the Creators want to pair him with a woman whose soul is gravel.

Elizabeth Bennett is still unsuitable – no question. But when all the ladies have demurred and Fair Maid Caroline has left in a huff, when even Charles has flown away, Lord Darcy puts his arm around the unsuitable maid's waist and holds her unsuitable body very, very close.

Elizabeth has bound a ribbon around her skirt, so the winds would not blow it up, and she is smiling. "Are you ready?" he asks.

"For truth, my lord I do not know," she says laughingly. "Does not it seem like a perilous idea now, so close to the edge, to jump into the void with only a triangle of cloth to carry you?"

"It does," he answers, laughing too.

"But I certainly want to see the world with wings. How often can you be a bird?"

"You will be today."

They jump.

-P-

When they land they are very, very far from home. It is a long walk back, and it takes two days and one night, on very dangerous ground.

It is not what Darcy had in mind. He just wanted to land on the opposite slope – but the winds caught them – one of those ascendant currents that captures adventurers sometimes, and sweeps them to the top of peaks that they would never have dared to climb, in so high altitudes the air turns to ice, and you die in a few moments. Fortunately this is not the case here – their flight just took them farther north. Not far from Lanayru heights, Lord Darcy assesses, when he climbs on top of a huge, dead tree for orientation. There is a korok stone up the tree. If Darcy picks it up, a forest spirit will appear, but they are strange creatures, and he has no time for them.

Elizabeth lingers behind, on the trail, in her white dress, made for dancing – not to hike on perilous ground. He watches her a while, in silence, from above – she is admiring the new horizons. When he gets back to her, her eyes are shining.

"I have never gone so far from home." She makes a quick, amused curtsy. "My Lord, I thank you."

"For putting you into danger? I think not." He pauses. "Please do not believe that I…"

"Please do not believe that I did that on purpose, to be alone with you, with nefarious intentions," he wants to say, but she does not seem to have the slight suspicion in that direction – her gaze is perfectly friendly and trusting.

"I should have anticipated the currents better," he concludes.

"This is an adventure," Elizabeth comments, looking at the trail before them – the cold breeze bringing pink to her cheeks. "I will astound everybody at home, with tales of our woes and your heroism."

The long hours that follow are not that heroic – they are just exhausting – soon Elizabeth's skirts are brown with mud and dirt. They are attacked twice. Lord Darcy rapidly dispatches the Moblin. When night falls, he has more trouble with the undead – one of them has a bow, and the arrow misses him by a hair. He is generally not that clumsy, but Elizabeth's presence unnerves him. She has found a solid tree branch, and tries to help – it is not very efficient.

When the monsters have turned to dust, they both seat on a log to catch their breath. The moon rises – it is a white one.

"Thank you, my Lord," Elizabeth says – again.

"Please do not thank me, madam. It has the opposite effect – it reminds me it is my fault you are in his position."

"Very well, I will obey my liege's orders," she answers with a hint of a smile. She sighs. "I wish I could wear men pants. And fight. Elegance is not of much use in those circumstances."

"Is it not a privilege ladies have, to be protected?"

"Maybe. Sometimes I wonder…" she begins, but before she elaborates, her breath catches. "Look!"

It's a shrine. They see its orange light beaming uphill; it is hidden in a fold of rock, if the rising dead attack had not led them off the path, they would not have seen it. It is impossible to resist – they have to walk to it – they contemplate the small, closed temple for a while. The shrines are scattered among Hyrule, and their doors will open only for the hero, when he rises – they are remnants from an ancient power, reminders that the world is very, very old, and with many forces as play.

"Beacons," Elizabeth whispers, as though she has followed his thoughts.

He just nods.

They go downhill, and find a stable, with golden light, burning fires, friendly faces, food and beds to rent.

They eat outside, by the flames, a very simple fare. They speak of women wearing men pants and ladies being protected – of the rules of the Creators. Red, tiny insects buzz and a night bird sings faraway.

"The world seems unfair," Lord Darcy states, "it is true." He is thinking of Georgiana, of course. And maybe of Fair Maid Caroline, somewhat. But he chases the image away quickly. "But we have to believe the Creators thought everything for the best."

Elizabeth hesitates. "My father…" she starts slowly, then she looks at Lord Darcy as if she fears he will disapprove of what she will say. He gestures at her to continue. "He studies the, er… the makings of creation, I suppose. He dives into ancient texts, he draws maps, he compares. He is persuaded that… I am afraid I will offend your convictions, my Lord."

"Please continue," he says in a soft voice, with a smile. "You cannot stop now – I am very intrigued."

"My father thinks the Creators are humans, or at least comparable to humans, in the way their mind works. His opinion is that our world is clearly… made, conceptualized with a knowledge of how humanity thinks. The koroks, the shrines, the treasures, the quests. The enigmas, the secrets. They are made to be found."

"And?"

"And, doesn't it mean that the Creators have a human mind, to think like we do?"

Lord Darcy takes his time before answering. Because he wants to ponder the question.

Because he wants the night to last forever.

Soon he will be back to Charles's sister, and endless responsibilities. He won't be free, lost in the wild, with nobody watching him, discussing religious philosophy with the woman he… with a clever and merry maid.

"With all due respect to my most loyal vassal," he finally says, "I do not see why it is important? Even if the creators are… human like, they are so much more powerful than we are, that we can just consider them as Gods."

Amusement dances in Elizabeth's eyes – they both know that Bennett is not "Lord Darcy's most loyal vassal." He is a cranky old man, with a sharp tongue and no money, a misanthrope who likes nothing except his books and his two eldest daughters.

"Oh no," she protests, "the nature of the Creators is very important. Because if they are human like, then they are fallible. And their rules and predictions are not absolute."

It is a radical thought – one Lord Darcy knows Elizabeth would not have uttered if there were witnesses present – it is a fascinating one, in theory at least, and they discuss it till they are so weary there is nothing to do but to say good night and drag themselves in their respective narrow beds in the round common room, where itinerant merchants snore and children cry in their dreams.

He is so in love it hurts.