First off, I'd like to dedicate this little one-shot to the love of my life, Logan, without whom I would die. Life isn't worth living without him! I can't imagine what I would do if it were him in this position. I don't know if I would be able to keep myself together. But thanks to him, I think I can connect with my more romantic (and adult) characters a lot more...because now I understand...

Second, I'm rusty...sorry! I've been working on this story off and on for about a month now, but I've only just found time in my schedule to finish it up and post it, haha! Gotta love Robin's social life! ;)

Third, enjoy!

Fourth, this story is very roughly based on the song "Lucy" by Skillet. So if you want, listen to it while listening to this! :P

Fifth, I disclaim everything but this idea. The characters are not mine.

Choices I Made

By doodlegirll

...oOo...

Both had made choices in their lives that they had to live up to. Some were good choices, and some were bad choices. Some had irreparable effects on them as humans, such as this moment in which they found themselves alive, and some were forgotten in the winds of time. But for now, those choices meant nothing. Nothing in their pasts mattered; their then mattered. Because their then was all they had left.

She couldn't bear to think about it, to dwell on the horrible truth that stared her in the face, the unjust condemnation that pooled in the depths of his blue eyes as he tried to smile, tried to be there for her, if only for the few short moments they were left with. It wrenched her heart to pieces, made the tears flow from her eyes in rivers. But what was harder still for her, something that would haunt her for the rest of her life, was that it was her choice that had brought her to this, that had brought him, the least deserving of the two, to ruin. He had faithfully stood there next to her, taken that leap, made his choice, and now it was costing him his very life.

Views of how things could be different shot through her with every passing second. The guilt she felt could not be expressed in any form. No embrace, no kiss, she could give him could possibly offer the proper apology.

If you had just stayed in the village, this wouldn't be happening. Kocoum wouldn't be dead, and the only love you've ever known would not be awaiting his final sunrise. Everything that has happened tonight is because of you. You were foolish. Foolish and selfish.

"It would have been better if we'd never met," she whispered, so softly she was almost afraid she hadn't said it at all. "None of this would have happened."

If he could have, John would have reached out and grabbed her, held her close to him, and never let her go. He let the words sink in as he watched silent tears fall from her eyes, usually so bright and joyous with her free spirit, now crushed with the weight of a breaking heart.

"Pocahontas, look at me." He said, and waited patiently until she finally turned her head to look at him. Her eyes met his, and he leaned out as far as the leather throngs on his wrists would allow, splinters from the wooden post poking and digging into his palms and arms, and touched his forehead to hers. He searched for the right words, the correct way to tell her that this was his choice. He had made this for himself, and no matter what happened tomorrow morning, no matter how painful and bloody his death, he would not change a single moment even if he was offered the chance.

"I'd rather die tomorrow," He said. "Than live a hundred years without knowing you."

He knew she understood when more tears flooded into her eyes, and she blinked, forcing herself to look away from him. She shook her head.

"All this happened because of me." She said, her voice breaking. "Kocoum's dead, our people are going to war, and you're going to die. If I had just listened to my father, to Nakoma, maybe..." She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned back to face him. "I'm so sorry."

John shook his head. "What do you have to be sorry for?" He asked. She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. "As far as I'm concerned, you have nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault."

"Yes it is." She said.

"No, it's not." John said. "Something like this was bound to happen, Pocahontas. Once two sides want to fight..."

"Nothing can stop them." She finished for him. "I know." She looked down at the dirt floor, at her hands in her lap. "But I thought we would be able to change that."

He smiled at her, trying to be convincing. "Fear and hate often lead to nightmares." He said.

She sniffed and leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes and trying to fight back the new onslaught of tears as they splashed against the cotton of his shirt. She could hear his heart beating, clear and strong, and suddenly, all at once, she knew she had made the right choice. She knew that the path of peace was the best one, and she had chosen to follow it. She had chosen to get to know this man, and while falling in love with him was completely beyond her control, she knew, oh she knew, that it was no mistake.

"Pocahontas," John whispered in her ear. "I can hear people coming. It might be best if you're not seen with me."

He was right. She could hear the footfalls of warriors, no doubt coming for John, in the soft, dusty earth outside, nearing the hut. She looked back at his face, handsome and alive, and gently reached out a hand to caress his cheek.

"I...I can't leave you..." She whispered.

"You never will." He promised. "No matter what happens to me, I'll always be with you. Forever."

She stood to her feet, letting her hand linger on his cheek as long as she could. She backed out of the hut, her eyes never leaving him, and he smiled at her. The flap that served as a door fell back, and he was gone.

And soon, so was she.

She knew she couldn't stay in the village, not when they were preparing for a war that she did not support. She couldn't stay here, not when she knew that warriors had entered the hut a few moments after she had left - unseen - and dragged John from it, taking him to the center of the village where she had no doubt he would be mocked, slapped, spit on, and possibly even beaten before he was to be led away to his death. All the villagers would be in attendance, and as the chief's daughter and Kocoum's betrothed, it would be expected of her to be there to condemn her fiancée's murderer to a fate worse than death, something she wasn't able to do. Not when he wasn't a murderer, and not when she loved him.

So she ran. She ran as fast as her legs would take her in the direction of the one place she had always felt safe, the one place where she had always felt as though she were right next to her mother. It was best that she not be anywhere near her village this night. It was better for her. If they could not find her, then she would not be forced to witness John's final moments as a degraded prisoner.

It was enough that she had to live with the choices she made...and tonight was not a night she could live with herself.

So she ran.

As the wind whipped through her hair, she felt herself drawing not farther away from her problems, her nightmares, as she wished, but rather she found herself running headlong into them. Her conscience lived forever within her, and it was not something she could run from.

But she didn't stop. She kept going, never looking back.

Because looking back would undoubtedly kill her.

That was her choice.