Author: Pirate Turner
Rating: R
Summary: They tried to hide their love away into the shadows, but nothing could ever stop John from loving his wonderful, beloved Pocahontas . . . not even death.
Warnings: Het, Character Deaths, Tragedy
Word Count: 1,361
Date Written: 2 December, 2010
Disclaimer: Captain John Smith, Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, Flit, Grandmother Willow, and John Rolfe are & TM Disney, not the author; are used without permission; and may not be used without permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
They spoke of the legend of the woman he had known and loved. They spoke of her beauty that captivated many men. They spoke of the woman who, though her father had betrayed her, had dedicated her entire life to forging a new world for her people and peace between two people who were as different as night and day. They spoke of her courage and her transformation from savage into lady.
But what they feigned to forget about was the Captain whose heart she had first captured. They kept his name to the shadows and belittled his time with her to mere friendship when theirs was the only true love either had ever known. They stared at him in horror at his ungentlemanly manners as he grieved the lost of his love, and they turned and scampered away into the night from him when he screamed and howled out in misery upon hearing of her death.
When he made his way, trampling over everything in his path, including the ends of his own cape, to her graveside, they crossed the road to stay away from him. They whispered that he had gone insane, but they knew very little about that which they spoke. They could not begin to imagine what it felt like to have one's entire world ripped away - after having only been allowed that wonderful world and amazing love for a mere short time and forcing oneself to stay away to give one's love a better future.
Even the gravekeeper turned his old, craggily back to the blonde man who stumbled into the cemetery that night. None dared to look upon him lest his insanity prove to be contagious, but John Smith did not care. His world had ceased to exist when he had lost his love, but he had stayed in her shadow when she had first come to the New World and had always done all he could to protect her. He had been unable to save her from the sickness that had caught hold of her, and though he'd heard some whisper that it was no sickness at all save a failing heart that had lost his love, he'd not dared to believe it.
She was a golden jewel, and he had failed to return for her. Though that failure had been no fault of his own, John still blamed himself for it and for Pocahontas turning to the John who had become her husband and wore the right, honor, privilege, and pleasure that should have been his. It was too late for regrets now, however, or for second thoughts. It was too late for everything save this aching, empty hole inside his chest, a hole he hoped to soon appease the only way he knew how.
He crept into the graveyard, and as the sun began to rise, and with more memories flashing through his mind, the once-proud Captain fell to his knees. He had been crying ever since hearing the news of his love's death, but now sobs raked him openly. He fell faced forward upon her grave, his hands clutching the stone where her name, which, though lovely in its own accord, could never do justice to her astounding, breath-taking, world-altering beauty, and let all the rest of the tears that remained in his heart and soul flood down his frozen cheeks.
He felt movement from the shadows and did not need to look up to see who came forward. He had known they would be here, waiting to join the woman they all loved more than life itself. A buzzing sounded at his ear, and he did not even think once about shooing away the tiny, despairing hummingbird. A soft whine caught his other ear as a little dog, who was nowhere near as big as John remembered him being, fell down upon his snow-soaked boots.
"Forgive me," John Smith whispered, his voice cracking as he looked up into the soulful eyes of the raccoon with whom he and his beloved Pocahontas had once played many spirited games. All that remained now of his lady love was her spirit, untouchable and unreachable by those other miserable souls whom she had left behind, and John knew only one way to reach her again and at last admit his love once more and make the apologies he should have made so long ago.
Meeko chirped as John pulled a dagger out of his jacket. The little raccoon looked at the knife, and then his eyes met John's anguished blue orbs again. He nodded his understanding and wrapped his black, velvet-filling paw around John's trembling hand as the Captain dove his knife into his own heart.
The man who had never once stopped loving the heroic Indian Princess who he had saved his life so long ago out of far more than the mere friendship the stories depicted their relationship as at the Queen's request fell forward onto his love's grave and did not rise again. Her brothers, whom the world saw only as the three, strange animals who persisted in doing their very best to follow her in every step she made, nestled into his body and were found there the next morning, as cold and lifeless as their hearts had been made when their beloved Pocahontas had been stolen away from them.
The legends spoke of a woman who gave everything to save her people while trying to live a life that was never to be her own, but they failed to speak a word of her true life. They told of a father who betrayed her but overlooked the family who never once stopped loving her. They spun the story of a friendship that outlasted the ages and perhaps changed history forever, but they did all they could to dim a love that could never be dimmed, a love that truly did change history and outlast the ages, a love that still burns bright today in the Heavens and mists, in the other world, the next realm that hangs just beyond the barrier to our own.
They spoke of courage, of loyalty, and of friendship, but yet they forgot the four strongest examples of those three virtues. They took the life of a wondrous woman whose beauty and valor knew no ends and twisted it to fit their own desires. The historians overlooked those who grieved for the woman who was as they penned the stories of the woman whom she had forced herself to become. They overlooked the true elements of the legend that will last for all time and a love that will span millennias and beyond, but now you know the real story, my friend, and the greatest power of all - that of true love -, and if you listen, you might hear a raccoon laugh, a tree bubble with merriment, a hummingbird buzz.
If you peer into the mists as the sun rises and touches the earth, you might just catch a glimpse of a man and a woman dancing while animals race all around them. You might just see the Indian Princess and take notice for yourself of a love that never dies, and if you're truly lucky, you might just find such a love for yourself. I have, and I know that mine will last just as long, for all time and beyond the beyond, and be far happier. I wish you the same in your own journey. Just remember to look beyond the white clouds and to always peer beyond the horizon, and one day, you, too, my friend, will have found the love you deserve.
History will never speak of us as they did of them, but then again, would you really want them to when they got their story so wrong? The tale of the Indian heroine, Pocahontas, was far much more than the histories will ever allow us to know, and its beauty far outshines any creation man alone could ever conjure. Just listen to the song of the Willow, keep your eyes open wide, and she'll tell you all the truths as she told me and my love.
The End