Disclaimer: The fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only; I do not own or profit from this fic, so to please not sue the historian.

After a conversation with a friend, this plot bunny managed to burrow its way into my head. Please stay with it, read to the end, and then I think you will understand what I was doing with this work. Enjoy!

In Her Darkest Hour

By

Babyb26

"Friends, are the family you choose."- By anonymous

Soft sunlight filtered into the longhouse. Her smooth brown hands clutched the worn leather that protected her from the outside world. As she stood near the doorway, the woman peered back, once again, at the image reflected in the surface of her copper plate. Dark brown eyes looked back at her, the long midnight hair that normally ran down her back, was placed into a tight coif at the back of her neck. A copper and feather peak adorned her head. Although, neither a single gray strand nor wrinkle touched her form, she felt utterly old; lost, and disillusioned with life. Her happiness had come with a price, a price she had been willing to pay. Yet now as she stood at her doorway, one that she had not been out of for months, the sounds of perpetration-just within ear shot- fueled her anxiety and coaxed her from her darkened world. Continuing to hesitate near the reed structure, she questioned herself

'How had it happened?'

With no answer forth coming, Pocahontas adjusted the band that circled her head, it marking her status as Powhatan's daughter and wife to his blood brother, as she walked out into the bright spring afternoon.

Her heart raced with each foot fall as she walked the short distance to her destination. As she drew closer to the woven reed door, she felt herself scowl.

'That would not do,' she thought, it was to be a happy occasion.

Steeling herself, the woman called out for admittance and slipped on a hollow smile. The smile found a home on her radiant face, until the voice inside her head revealed her hidden truth. She dreaded this coming. The somber part of her knew that this day would come, but as she stood at the entrance of the other long house, she now knew it was inevitable. It was expected and needed if she ever wanted the true happiness that she sought in life. With this revelation, a smile slowly began to creep back on to her face. After all, it was what she had hoped and prayed for.

The distinct sound of shuffling roused her from her inner conflict. Within heartbeats she entered and braced herself for what she would endure. Making her way along the familiar path, she noticed the acute gazes that followed her every move. Most of their eyes showed pity, yet in a few, she recognized sheer rancor. Refusing to cower at those mocking orbs, Pocahontas continued her path to the inner sleeping chamber. The trail of her long doe skin dress moved softly along the woven mats of the floor, until she came to a stop at the room's arched entrance-way; there she called one last admittance. Pocahontas was unable to hold in a gasp of surprise, when the flap of the inner room was hastily pulled aside. Two handmaids stood with the woman she had come to see, one maiden gently wove white seed pearls into the shorter hair. The younger woman looked breathtaking.

"Pocahontas!" The woman uttered, surprise and shock clearly marring her face.

Hearing her name called from the other woman, Pocahontas approached. Feeling her chest tighten, she turned to the two helper women.

"Leave us," she commanded, not trusting her expression to relay the demand.

Bowing in response the women left, but Pocahontas knew they would be listening from the doorway. Facing the young woman before her, she made her way to the dressing area. Pocahontas could tell that she was sick with anticipation; after all, their lives would change this night. Making it to her destination, Pocahontas placed a comforting hand on the woman's hair and wove in the final pearl strand herself. She said the only thing she could,

"What is it?"

Without replying the woman reached out for Pocahontas' hand. They trembled. In comfort Pocahontas squeezed the hand that grasped hers, a smile once again breaking through her own fear. For what seemed like an eternity, the two women looked at each other in the reflective copper surface. Turning in her seat the young woman hugged Pocahontas to her. As if reading the volumes of books her husband so treasured, Pocahontas read the words metered out within that hug; sorrow, love, friendship, and forgiveness. Of the emotions the younger woman imparted to her, the last was not needed; she had done nothing to need forgiveness for. Bending down, Pocahontas grasped the woman's chin and pulled it upward. With their brown eyes meeting she said, "Thank you for your sacrifice to us."

Forgiveness was not needed, when the younger woman was doing this for her. The woman in Pocahontas's arms nodded, finally knowing she truly had her blessing; thoughts of anger and jealousy would be abated as much as possible. Hearing the drum beats from outside, both women knew it was time.

Staring at the orange flames of the fire, Pocahontas lay prone across her bed that night. Alone, except for the soft bear skin that fell across her body, she watched the flames dance across the walls. She knew what it would be like for the younger woman, she remembered. Enclosed in lean muscled arms, as she was pulled softly to an alabaster chest. Calloused hands moving softly over her hips as he explored her body entire. Soft kisses, as lips traversed across her full breast. The strength of hands as they grasped her hips to his. Blinding pain, as she was made a maid no longer. The movement of his body, bringing with it the heat of womanly pleasure. Finally, she remembered the yielding of their bodies as they lay spent and wrapped in each others arms. Pulling the skin tighter around her body, Pocahontas extinguished the flames of memory and reminding herself that she was getting what she wanted. Closing her eyes to the night, she remembered he would be back with her soon.

Pocahontas had lost track of the months as they flew by, early spring had given way to late winter way too quickly. Now she stood, again, in front of the arched doorway. Unlike her last visit, her admittance was fully expected and more than welcomed. Approaching Nakoma, she grabbed a damp cloth and wiped at the beads of sweat that dotted across her friend's brow. Looking at the pain that contorted across her face Pocahontas could not resist asking.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Was her terse response.

It was a lie, but Nakoma saw no reason to alarm Pocahontas, the woman who was like her sister and now so much more. The hours passed by as each pained contraction brought them closer and closer to their goal.

"Pocahontas I can't…!" Nakoma's voice faltering as she gripped the birthing pole tightly, what little strength she had left, was quickly leaving her. Interrupting her closest friend, Pocahontas pulled the worry from her voice and said in a hushed tone,

"You can… and you will… for us." Doubt marred Nakoma's face as another contraction coursed through her body. Forcing herself to breathe through the pain, Nakoma, in a low whisper asked,

"What will happen to us?"

The slightly older woman felt her breath catch in her throat, as she looked upon her friend's pained face.

"We are family now. It will be as much my own as yours."

Pocahontas' words hit home and brought peace to her friend. Nakoma found the strength to push harder. With her heart pounding and the smell of coppery blood in the air, Pocahontas caught the crying infant as it escaped from its mother's womb. Falling to the floor's reed mats and thick furs, Nakoma grasped at her friend's hand for strength.

"It is a son," Pocahontas replied in a smiling voice, as she laid the boy child into his mother's awaiting arms.

Tears of joy trailed down each woman's face as they hugged in the cold winter night, both celebrating the birth of a son, born of one- but shared between them. Pocahontas rocked the child as the midwife cared for Nakoma, as strength slowly returned to her.

"What will he be called?" Nakoma asked in a voice gone horse in the pain of birth. Steadily rocking, Pocahontas glanced into his watery pale eyes and responded

"His father will name him."

"Then take him to him now," Nakoma replied, noting that the traditions she held on to, would be remembered.

Nodding her head and gathering the child to her chest, Pocahontas made her way to her longhouse in the winter's frozen night. With her heart pounding inside her chest, she entered her home. When the woman entered, she saw his frame sitting near the blazing fire, he had not noticed her. Sitting there facing the flames, she wondered if he was remembering her births, which all ended in blood and death; the last nearly killing her. Moving nearer to the flames, she knew he had heard her when he asked,

"Is Nakoma alright," fear and concern being heard in his solemn voice.

Silence stretched between them until the life that lay in her arms, made itself known to his father. At the sound, pale blue eyes turned toward her and John Smith beheld his first wife. Holding in her tears, after ten long years of heart break and barrenness she asked,

"What will you name him?"

Getting up from his place by the fire, John Smith walked toward his wife and only surviving child. Taking Pocahontas and his son into his arms, tears of joy fell from his blue eyes. It had been what they wanted most, the sound of a child's laughter filling their hearts and home. As he held the newest member of his small family, born of his second wife, John Smith's mind remembered the four that lay in Jamestown's cemetery. Although her body was full of her own life, Pocahontas could not carry nor no longer create life. After years of heart break, a solution presented itself. In the beginning, he had highly resisted the thought of sharing his life with another, yet as he watched Pocahontas- the love of his life- crumble to despair, he gave in to her request.

Nakoma had been a godsend. While he loved her as much as a friend could, her sacrifice for them and the love she had for her best friend, warmed his heart. Through condemnation from his own people, who considered her nothing more than a concubine, and ridicule from her own, for being the second wife of a Tassentasse, Nakoma had persevered and brought his wife back to life; by being willing to bare and share her own. For this, in his own way, John Smith had come to love Nakoma. Cradling the child closer, recognizing himself in the small face, he vowed that this little one would know the boundlessness of love, from himself and the two women whose spirit, determination, and unbreakable bond of friendship, brought him forth. Taking Pocahontas' hand, their fingers interweaving, they walked toward their other home and the woman that had given them the greatest gifts of love and friendship. Coming to a stop under the star filled sky, John Smith whispered,

"Mawchick-Chammay."

Pocahontas nodded to her husband, her smile taking note of its meaning, Nakoma would approve. It was a good name for a child, whose mother had saved her, in her darkest hour.

*Mawchick chammay in Powhatan means best of friends.

* Tassentasse in Powhatan means pale foreigner (derogatory for paleface).

For these references, please refer to "American Language Reprints: A Vocabulary of Powhatan," by no other than John Smith (Evolution Pub & Manufacturing: 1997).

There were a few historical pointers in there, did you find them? Don't forget to R&R, constructive criticism is welcome. But, please note that take that I am an Early American Historian (PHD'ed) with a particular focus in European-Native relations. Therefore, please don't send me flames related to me altering history.