Disclaimer: However much I might wish I could be a character in it, I do not own The Last Of The Mohicans.

Note: I may have rearranged the sequence of events in this scene slightly in order to suit my purposes.

Wedding Night

His blood drips slowly to the dirt, and I know his very flesh has tensed with unyielding love in an effort to preserve that strength. But flesh can only stand so much; he collapses, and his proud eyes die as they turn to me, soft not with that gentle protectiveness that once crushed my heart with love, but with faltering pleas to forgive. I shatter under his gaze, sobs forcing my lips apart and tears bursting from the eyes that I try desperately to instill with comfort.

See the words my horror suffocates, I pray. I never expected you to save me. I never wished for you to die for me. Surely you knew only death could follow this – more a gesture than an attempt. I hesitate, thoughts swarming distractingly in my mind, but know as I see the wistful softness of his expression what that gesture meant. This is your gift to me, then – the knowledge that you would set me free if you could. Limitless death sanctifies a pledge of love far better than the fragile promises and dedication of one short life of happiness together could ever hope to.

Perhaps he understands; defiance grips his face, acceptance steadies his gaze, and I see a flash of fierce love as he stumbles to his feet.

In seconds he falls again, blood splashing his attacker and drenching the ground as it bursts from his chest in a violent splintering of life. And for the first time, I hope that he will die and deliver me into the abyss of wearied calm that would follow. I am sad, but not sorry, when he falls.

I slip away from those around me; they do not stir to stop me. Perhaps they know, as I do, how foolish it would be to coarsely grasp at me with their steadfastly solid hands, when I have become more insubstantial and remote than the clouds overhead. How could they hope to retrieve me? My hand trails behind me as it once did late at night when I felt my way home along walls in the darkness. But my wall is invisible, and only my vanishing memories and dreams can guide me.

Behind me, an infinite expanse opens, and I know only inches lie between my heels and one final fall.

With a nearly unbearable effort of will, I force myself to look at the mob clustered around me, and my eyes bleed tears at the cruelty present there. Can they see what they have done painted on my face? Killing a man is terrible enough, but how much worse it was to gut love of all its hope.

Magua's proffered hand repulses me. How dare he pretend to offer me refuge as Uncas had? Would he die to save me – his prize and concubine? I turn my gaze to the only other choice.

Far away, I see his body – a crumpled figure wrapped in a halo of blood. I had never repaid that devotion. He knew my love for him, but did he wonder in his dying moments if mine was less than his, when I had given nothing in exchange?

And even now, as I face Magua once more, I think that all my efforts will not equal his sacrifice. How can I pretend that I do not do this for myself as well? No tears soften my eyes now, but a hard smile flutters on my lips. I am not your slave, I think. You fool, did you believe you had defeated him and won me? Weak as I am, love survives in me, driving me relentlessly to return what I was granted. I will save him from the loneliness of death, and I pray that my choice may yet wash away his blood.

I step off the cliff, soothed by the promises of this wedding I had longed for – sealing a marriage so much more indivisible than the tawdry earthly kind. My eyes fall shut, and his fingertips brush my face in the wind's gentle strokes. I might fall forever in his caresses, never seeing the ground, and living in this ecstasy eternally.

My arms spread wide as I embrace him, and words rise from my lips.

I love you.