Death and Night

Content Warning: Click Here for Warnings (Possible Spoilers)

"Art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation?"

Death wasn't what Fitzwilliam had expected.

Of his death, he had no question. He remembered the attack well - the struggle for the dagger, the mask the assassin used to cover his face, and the intense pain in his shoulder when the blade cut him. The world grew hazy from there as he felt increasingly sick and weak. Fitzwilliam last remembered his humiliating slump on Tybalt's back, Juliette's sobbing beating his ears as he lost grip with the waking world. It could not have been long after that he died and woke up in this place.

He didn't know what to make of this place, the afterlife. If the church was to be believed, this couldn't be Hell - it was too chilly and damp for that, thanks to the frequent rain showers. However, it was very unlikely to be Heaven either. In his search for an exit or at least the limits of this place, he had found himself to be entirely alone. God was not present, and he saw no angels or departed souls. If it was purgatory, as he supposed it must be, it was essential to find someone. Fitzwilliam wanted to pay off his spiritual debts as quickly as possible, and he doubted he could do so by wandering around in the fog.

The wanderings of his mind were more painful. He hadn't listened to Juliette, and for all he still couldn't think anyone had prophetic dreams, he knew she would now be tormented by them the rest of her life. She deserved to be happy. It made him sick to think of someone else making her happy, but someone had to and he was obviously not worthy of the task. Juliette would marry another. He would be that man all her children were happy had died, so as to make room for their father. By the time that bright lady was scooped up into Heaven, he would be a distant memory to her. 

Georgiana would marry too, and he worried that she would do it with haste to address the problem he had left her. Naming her the heir had been a harmless necessity at the time. If his daughters were Capulets, they couldn't also be Darcys, and that left Georgiana. Even if he never had a son, Fitzwilliam expected to be present to teach his sister all that was necessary and protect her from fortune-hunters. Now, she was quite literally the last Darcy and without any preparation. Would their mother be able to pick herself up yet again to help her? Even if so, Georgiana could be taken in by a scoundrel or feel obligated to sacrifice the rest of her life to some 'sensible' choice of a partner. The comfort of knowing she and his mother would have bread and four walls was very little next to that shame.

If I could do it over, God, I would. I would be more responsible, more careful. I wouldn't take chances with their futures. I would learn more, work harder. I would be a better man. 

"Oh, what now?" He had been moved. In a moment's time, he had been transferred from one place to another without any memory of the trip between. He blinked and his surroundings changed - not in essence, but the physical location was not the same. And stranger still, there was now a person with him. A familiar person. "Father? Father is that-"

"Certainly not."

"Who are you?" Fitzwilliam demanded.

The stranger sniffed. "Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Of all the things Fitzwilliam had been forced to accept recently, this was the one he could not swallow. He could be dead, adrift in a perpetually damp underworld, and he could have encountered his doppelganger - but he would never know another man who had his name. That was one absurdity too far. "Tell me your name!"

"The correct term would be our name. After all, we are nearly the same man." This Fitzwilliam showed little recognition of the puzzled horror of the other. "Nearly, I said. I am the man you wished to be while you sulked - more cautious and responsible, who takes fewer chances, who is more serious... who is a better man than you were."

"I don't believe you."

"You prayed to God for a second chance, and here I am. My family leads, it does not follow noble relics who have outlived their time. I won't be murdered on Christmas and ruin the lives of everyone I care about. My lady won't be a widow before her own wedding." He raised his left hand, a perfect match of Fitzwilliam's own down to the unique, blue signet ring. 

Fitzwilliam looked down at his own hand, doubting his own identity. He knew there was only one Darcy ring, only one that had ever been made. 

"You have your wish. I am you now, and I'll take much better care of everything than you ever could. Mother and Georgiana are safer with me, and so is-"

"No! No, they love me and Juliette lov-"

"Who?"

"Juliette."

"You mean Elizabeth."

"No, I mean Juliette. My fiancée, Juliette Capulet."

"Capulet?" he snorted. "I thank God that there aren't any Capulets in Percria."

Fitzwilliam exploded. "You went back to Percria? That was how you protected everyone, by taking everything my family ever worked for and running back to Percria? I suppose you bought Pemberley, too?" It was a bitterly-spoken joke. Pemberley was the long-deserted summer home of the long-gone Dukes of Percria, approximately five miles from Lambton, where the Darcys had lived. Anyone who came into money there joked about buying Pemberley. 

His twin had, apparently, not remembered the joke. "Where else should I live?"

"In Verona! In Verona, you opportunistic-"

In the blink of an eye, the other Fitzwilliam disappeared.

"Coward!"

Whether it was hours or days later, Fitzwilliam didn't know. There was still no sun, and measuring time in how many rain showers had come and gone was pointless. He was walking still, chewing over the implications of meeting a copy of himself. More than anything, he wished he could learn more about this place he walked through, but Fitzwilliam hadn't seen another living creature. He and the ever-changing yet somehow constant landscape were the only things in the universe. 

And then, quite suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore. 

"My lady, I beg your pardon, but can you tell me where this is?"

"You tell me. You're the one who has been here for forty years," she sighed, her back still turned.

He couldn't hear the voice - worn and cutting - for the words. "Forty years?" How could forty years go by so quickly, even here? "Are you the keeper of this place? How do you know how long I've been here? Do you know what's happened to me?"

"You died, fool."

Oh, God. In his private thoughts, Fitzwilliam had always hoped he would be the one to die first. He hadn't planned on it being at twenty-one, before he had even married her, however. The ideal was to do it after a long life, leaving just enough time to work off any spiritual debts so he could be there to greet her when she took her rightful place in Heaven. As it happened, he hadn't even had time to work out where he was, but perhaps it was for the best. He hadn't had to watch her be happy with anyone else. "I am so happy to see you, dearest."

The first crack in her angry façade appeared, flickering briefly through the paint. "No-one has said that in quite a long time."

"I can't imagine why."

Juliette pushed him away. "Something to do with giving new meaning to the title of Red Duchess, wouldn't you say?"

"Duchess?" Fitzwilliam saw a dangerous, possibly evil glare in her eye. It reminded him of her brother. "You led a revolt?"

"A revolt wasn't necessary. Something had to be done to avenge you, though Heaven knows you didn't deserve it," she spat. "We annihilated most of the Montagues. I called a halt after Tybalt died, but then old Lord Nowell died and left that idiot in his place, your uncle tried to side with the Montague remains, and the church..."

It was during Juliette's tirade that Fitzwilliam saw it: a gold wedding band. He knew he should be happy she wasn't alone in her life, especially in such a difficult life, but he couldn't help but feel gutted. "And you married?"

"Yes, of course I did. And it was quite a providential match, too. I not only quieted the church and everyone else, but I got to kill Romeo myself."

"Romeo... Romeo Montague? You married a Montague?"

Her grey eyes hardened. "I didn't have a choice. The church said it would be a peace offering to marry my enemy, to marry the man who killed Tybalt with his own hands. So, I did." Smirking, she toyed with the gold ring. "Three days after the wedding, I made it look like he killed himself."

Just as he was ready to mourn what had become of Juliette, hope sparked in Fitzwilliam. Her story, horrible as it was, contradicted his doppelganger's. The other Fitzwilliam had run back to Percria, never to become engaged to Juliette. This Juliette had been engaged to him, and he had died as Fitzwilliam remembered. Was she, a Juliette who killed with her own hands, any more credible than the doppelganger? Perhaps he had created her, the way the doppelganger implied he had created him, with his thoughts and regrets. And if he was in a place where he could create alternate existences with thoughts, perhaps he could wish himself into one as well.

And if he could, then this Juliette never had to exist.

"Dearest, I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry for Tybalt, for all the deaths, and for... for everything."

"You're sorry? Perhaps forty years of death has inflated your head, Fitzwilliam, but you had very little to do with anything. You were a pawn in a game. Your death changed the course, but there's only ever one end."

"No, there's not. Juliette, there's more than one end. Infinite ends could be possible. In another existence, none of this will happen. We're going to live happily, just as I told you that night."

"Tell it to someone else, Fitzwilliam. Tell it to someone who cares."

"You do. I know you do. And I'll tell you one more thing: I love you."

"Goodbye, Fitzwilliam."

He watched her go with little regret. That Juliette wouldn't exist ever again. Dead or alive, he wouldn't settle for that bitter, angry lady being Juliette's future. If he had to contrive to summon God Himself, he would do it. But, perhaps, I should start a little lower. Puck might know something. If not Puck, then Oberon or Titania. Queen Mab, if it comes to it, but Puck first.

When a small area suddenly it itself as Fitzwilliam approached, he thought he might have had some success. Fitzwilliam craned his head to see if anyone was hiding in the fog or shadows. He was disappointed to see no-one else. The semi-closed area was deserted but for what looked to be a sarcophagus, which he approached carefully. Damn it, Puck, you're no good to me dead...

It wasn't Puck.

It wasn't a sarcophagus, either. Although she looked dead to the eye, her skin was warm to the touch, he noticed. Even Juliette hadn't felt alive. Georgiana was not dead but asleep - and the swell of her belly said she didn't slumber alone. He tried to wake her but to no avail. She was locked away under her pale, sickly face, laid out like a lady of myth. She was another victim of his false realities. Frustrated, he fell to his knees when he couldn't wake her and laid his head on the cold stone slab beneath her. He stayed there for a long while, absorbing the quiet. What do I do next, God? How do I get out of this place? 

"Who are you? Get away from her and show yourself!'

Fitzwilliam's head shot up and craned around. He knew that voice. It was a memory but a memory of the kind that never faded. "Father?"

"God in Heaven!" George staggered back as his son stood to face him. "No. No!"

"Father-"

"You shouldn't be here!"

"Father, I'm so happy to see you again." Fitzwilliam held onto his father as long as he could. The last time they had embraced, his father had been so much taller. Now, they were of a very similar height and build, but Fitzwilliam felt more like the parent. His father felt small and tired. "That is, I had hoped to see you... but if..."

"I know. This wasn't what I had hoped for either, Will."

Fitzwilliam's shoulders fell out of a years-long, unnoticed hitch. Only his father had ever used that name. "Why did you stay behind there? Why didn't you come with us?"

"Do you remember the man in the valley, the one who came to welcome us to 'his' village?"

He nodded. "The one who gave sweets to Georgiana and to me. He..." When Fitzwilliam saw the hurt, disgusted look on his father's face, he groaned. "Oh, God. God, no..."

George shook his head. "It still is very common in Abbadon's Valley, to buy children simply to replace the dead ones. That man wanted the two of you. It wasn't so much of a request as a demand. The villagers tried to tell us you would be cared for, that these purchased children are highly valued, but your mother and I weren't going to give either of you up. I stayed behind to make it appear as though we were all still there, so you three could get away unnoticed."

"And they killed you."

"They did, Will, but it was a kindness. I was sick when we left Percria, and I had only begun to suspect it when we were separated. After I died, I learned I might not even have made it to Verona. It was for the best."

For you - you died a good death. It wasn't for the rest for us, not to even know what happened to you. Fitzwilliam twisted his signet ring against his skin to distract himself. "Is it? I'm here, separated from the rest of the world. Am I dead? What is this place? It is enough to make a man lose his mind, if he still has it. It is a torture! I've conjured visions of myself and Juliette, and now Georgiana, all of them so different, so unlike how I knew them, how I left them!"

"Then she's... then she's well?" A strange, sad look of relief passed over George. "I conjured Georgiana in that state shortly after I arrived; I was worried about her and that boy, and my thoughts got away from me. It took everything I had not to think of the rest of you. It was so lonely here, not being able to check in on any of you, but I was afraid you and your mother... oh, Will, your mother! How did you leave her?" he asked urgently. "Is she still well?"

"Both of them were perfectly well. We were celebrating Christmas with the Capulets when I was attacked. I thought I had died, but now... is it foolish to think I'm not?"

"I don't know much about this place except that it isn't the afterlife. I only arrived here recently, when my soul was summoned by a witch and not properly returned. As far as I have seen, there is no limit to this place and no exit. You may not be dead, but I don't know how to send you back."

His heart hit the floor, but he kept a strong face. It wouldn't do to cry in front of his father. If he had survived here, perhaps Fitzwilliam could learn to. Perhaps if we're together, we can keep a perspective on reality. Perhaps we won't go mad...

"Fitz! Psst!"

"Puck?"

Puck opened his arms, glancing at his form. "Not bad! I like this coat. I should have one of these made for me."

"Puck, what the hell is going on!"

"Sorry, Fitz. It's my first spiritual summoning. You weren't hearing Mab, and she thought this might work better. The short of it is you have to follow me back to life or they'll kill you permanently."

"Then I'm not dead!"

"No, but nearly. The jackal that attacked you used a poisoned blade. You'll never believe what we've been doing when I tell you."

"That's good to hear, but let's get out of here first!"

George grabbed his son's arm. "No, don't listen to it. That's how I was lured out of the afterlife. It was a disembodied voice pretending to be your mother."

Worried, he looked between his father and his friend. It appeared to him that Puck could see George, because he was looking right at him. "Father, I can see him. I trust him." Suddenly, a thought struck him. "If a voice lured you out of the afterlife, maybe it could send you back into it! If you come back to the living realm, you'll be sent to the afterlife again. Come back with me."

Puck held out his hand. "No, Fitz. Mab specifically said not to bring anyone else with you."

"He's dead, Puck. What else could possibly happen to him?"

"Mab is going to kill you."

"I'd rather be dead than leave him here." Firmly, Fitzwilliam grabbed his father's hand. He pulled him along as he resisted. "Father, come with me. This is the way out."

"Will, there's nothing there! You don't know what's on the other side. It could be Hell proper!"

"Fitz, we have to go before they start chopping you up. Come on!"

Fitzwilliam turned to his father, who was trying to back away from him. "I'm sorry, Father, but this is for your own good."

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