Disclaimer: I make no profit off this story it is simply a way to amuse myself and anyone who is bored enough to read it.
Summery: Uncas and Alice have such a beautiful love story in part because of how it ends tragically. I wanted to explore more of what they might have said, or not said to each other. Simple put this is excerpts throughout the story up to the fateful cliff scene. Uncas POV.
Warning: Some smutty lemony goodness so if this makes you go 'ick' turn back now. Rated M mainly because I say nipple and breast and I want to be on the safe side.
"What Is Said In The Silence"
Part One
Uncas was, by nature, a man of few words.
What he couldn't communicate through hand gestures and the tilt of his head he spoke with the absolute bare minimal of what needed to be said. Nathaniel was the one who relished words, talking aloud his thoughts. Nathaniel was the unofficial spokesman of their group whether they travelled among the white man or red. The arrangement worked for their family unit. Nathaniel's confident verbal capacities were tempered by Uncas's silent observations and balanced by their fathers wisdom.
When they came upon the Hurons ambushing the English they easily fell into their places like a well oiled machine. Communicating efficiently and covering each other they worked like an army of one, taking out man after man seemingly effortlessly. A Huron's blade catches him unaware to slip through his guard and slicing across his ribs. He is not as strong as Nathaniel or as seasoned as his father. Yet. But even so, for his nineteen summers, he is catching up to them more quickly every day. He turns ignoring the smart of the wound and counters with a fatal blow of his tomahawk. The remaining Hurons have fled by now. He reaches down and counts coup on his fallen enemy, claiming his scalp with one clean swipe from his skinning knife. He attaches the scalp to his side and straightens.
As war cries ceased and the moans of the fallen grew quiet Uncas first glimpsed the two women with the English. White women, one dark haired the other light. Pampered, trembling and frightened. Their once pristine clothing mud stained and blood splattered. They cling to each other to stay on their feet. There is little to hold his interest and he dismisses them easily and moves to untie the horses.
Hands tug and grab at his arms.
"Stop it! Stop it!"
It is the blonde women. Her hands are piteously small against his arm, the skin translucent and paper thin and the nails oval and pearly pink. They are the hands of a pampered English lady. A soft weak creature that has no business being in his frontier. He drops the reins of the horses and they run off, into the forest. She keens a desperate kind of cry and half starts after them. He grabs her below her shoulders and brings her to a halt and her eyes swivel to meet his.
"We need them to get out of here!"
Her eyes are the wide doe eyes of a child in a face as delicate as her hands. Her eyes give him pause. They are the color of a stream under moonlight, dark and full of hidden things. And unlike other white women there is no fear or repugnance in her eyes as she glares up at him. He gentles his hold on her. The other women rushes to her side. She then seems to recollect herself and lowers her eyes from his. He drops his hands from her arms and steps back uneasily.
The pasty faced commander of the English soldiers demands of Nathaniel to know why he released the horses thinking as most whites that he and his father know nothing of their tongue. His way would have usually been to let Nathaniel answer and deal with the pale faces. But he is annoyed. Both at the look of the officer and at himself and the urge he feels to look back at the women's eyes. And so he does something very uncharacteristic of himself. He speaks.
"...too easy to track..."
The words though few are enough in and of themselves to explain. But as his traitorous eyes catch hers he finds himself continuing on.
"...they can be heard for miles... find yourself a musket..."
Her large round eyes widen further. She is surprised by his easy english and he feels the small swell of smug satisfaction. He tells himself that his words were just to provoke the arrogant English officer. It is not, he tells himself, to prove wrong her most undoubtedly easy assumption that he is an uneducated savage. But he shouldn't care to surprise her. He shouldn't care.
He brushes quickly past and determines not to look her way again.
They walk on for several hours.
Chingachgook takes the lead while Nathaniel walks with the English while Uncas brings up the rear. He watched the forest around them carefully. The fort lies over a days journey away and there is still the threat of the Huron. Still his eyes continue to drift forward.
At first the two women walked together leaning on each other for each step. Soon though, the dark haired one moved closer to the officer while the other lingered behind. The white cap she had been wearing had fallen off and her braided and coifed hair was unkempt, wisps of her pale hair falling free to brush against her even paler neck. Her dress, where it was not stained, was a pale rose color. He watched as she struggled to maneuver the heavy skirts swirling round her ankles with each step. He would never understand the white people and their strange clothing. Not only was it completely impractical it also seem like such a waste, the material from her skirt alone would make three or four shirts.
It is a further reminder that this women is a different sort of creature than him. The words of his father, Chingachgook return to him then, "They are a breed apart, the white man. They make no sense." He wouldn't try to understand her for he knew she would never understand him. He forces his eyes away again, studiously scanning the surroundings.
More time passes. From snatches of their conversation that reach him he learns their names. The two women are sisters, daughters of the fort commander, Monroe. The dark haired is called Cora. And the one with the deep eyes is named Alice. The urge to say her name aloud, to taste how it sounds in his mouth is almost overwhelming. The officers name is Duncan. Traveling the stream they reach the base of the hill where water cascades down over earth and rock to crash at their feet. The sight is of the land at its best. It tugs at his heart and sings to his soul and reminds him that he belongs to this land.
The English do not pause to admire the sight. Instead they trudge on heads down to measure their step as they begin to ascend over the rocky hillside. It is another reminder to him. The English do not see the heart of the earth that beats through the soil and water. They see only resources to exploit and use up. He needs these reminders. They help him to remember that she is not as he is.
But then she tramples right over his carefully constructed reminders. She pauses. And with the afternoon sun framing her silhouette she stares up at the waterfall. Her mouth opens with breathless awe and he suddenly wishes he could see what her eyes are saying.
He almost calls her name so she will turn towards him.
Night falls and they make camp at an old burial ground.
He paces along the perimeter or their camp restlessly for the first hours of the night watching for signs of the Huron. Finally his father grabs his shoulder and tells him in their tongue to get some rest. He knows that sleep is impossible, his mind is whirling with all that the day had brought. But he knows better than to argue with Chingachgook and returns to the makeshift camp. Nathaniel and Cora and talk in hushed voices while Duncan watches resentfully several feet away. Only Alice is sleeping.
Despite his intentions to stay as far away he finds himself drifting towards her and sitting down beside her sleeping form. The moonlight makes her skin, even dirt-streaked and fatigued as it is, glow. He rest his eyes on her face and trys to blot out the images in his head. But the sight of the dead body's of the Cameron's burn unceasingly across his retinas. The charred remains of their log cabin fill his nostrils and his throat aches. He is not a stranger to death but he has not had time to say goodbye or mourn them properly. If they were not escorting the whites to the fort they would have buried their friends in the white tradition. But they would have also blackened their faces and wailed their grief sending the spirits into the spirit world. Instead they had to leave the corpses behind to be fed on by wild animals so that the Huron would not pick up their trail. He resents these english for that. He glares at the girl by his side summoning every ounce of grief and resentment into the glare. He can not hold it for long and all too quickly he is noticing furrow lines between her brows and the darker shade of her lashes.
The night around them speaks. Ghost of footsteps and the movement of bodies surrounds. Rolling to his stomach and grasping his rifle he sees Nathaniel do the same and beyond there are the shadowy figures.
He fingers his rifle, sights down the barrel and readies himself for combat. He is now fiercely glad he is near the girl to protect her. The tomahawk at his waist and the knife strapped to the inside of his thigh lay waiting, a silent reassurance. The figures come closer and he can begin to count the numbers. There are far more than they can take. Not Huron as they had feared but Ottawa and French, just as deadly an enemy.
Next to him she stirs and rolls onto her elbows crawling forward beside him. The sound of her breathing increase and without thinking he acts, grasping her to him. His hand covers her mouth while the other wraps around her waist pulling her towards him. She must be silent. To alert the Ottawa means certain death for some if not all of their party. He rolls her half underneath him, his chest pressing against her back which heaves against his. Her hands come up to tug at his and she thrashes beneath him. He leans in and whispers against her ear, "...be still...". She instantly freezes beneath him. Her body is rigid and stiff and he can no longer feel the warm pant of her breath against his palm. He instantly feels consternation for frightening her. "... you must be still... I will not hurt you..."
At his words she releases her breath and sags under him. Tendrils of her hair graze his cheek. Her scent surrounds him. Even under the sweat and dirt of the days journey the scent of cleaned linen and flowery perfume remains, clinging stubbornly to her. It is yet another reminder. It is the scent of a gentlewomen.
The Ottawa back off, respecting the burial ground despite the French's wishes otherwise. Slowly he removes his hand from her face and his fingers brush the swell of her lips. She slides out from underneath him. Slowly. He pushes back a groan. Even through the deep layers of her strange clothes he can still feel the curve of her body pressed as it was up to his. She sits back and looks up at him, those deep eyes of hers hidden in shadows. He stares back at her even after she blushes under his scrutiny and looks away.
He resents her anew.
They walk on after the first hints of light break the horizon.
Everyone is pensive and quiet, lost in their thoughts. Nathaniel's eyes stray far to often to Cora and when he looks away her eyes wander to him. Duncan watches the two, jealousy painted across his face. Uncas wonders what the his brother talked to the white women about during the night. Only Alice seems not to be affected by the dark mood over the group. She talks lightly with Duncan of amusements from her far away home. She talks of fires and hot baths. The mention of baths has him imagining the curves he felt last night without her tattered rose dress to cover them. He shakes the thought free of his head.
He sees now that her words are a farce. Meant to rouse her companions out of their foul moods. She talks on, speaking of gallantry and praises Duncan for his, declaring "...if Cora doesn't marry you, I shall."
The words make him inexplicably angry and he wants to shout out that it is he and his father and brother who saved them from the Huron not the pasty redcoat white man. He wants to take her by the shoulders, shake her and yell at her that it is him that is taking her to her father, it is him that will protect her. Why is it that he feels the overwhelming urge to speak whenever he is around her?
He presses his lips tightly together instead and says nothing at all.
They arrived to a fort under attack. After a few words with the commander they left to mingle with the frontier militia they knew. The sisters stayed.
Uncas feels empty and unfulfilled... as if there was something left to be said between them. Her and him. But then he reminds himself that there is no such thing as him and her.
They converse with some of the frontier men they know who have left their homes to join the English father's militia. Nathaniel tells the men of the attack on the Cameron's. Munro will not release them from their service. Their choice is clear. Under the cover of darkness and the muskets of both him and Nathaniel the men make their escape, back to families that need protecting. It is a good thing, the right thing, for these men to leave. But Uncas knows the English will consider such acts treasonous. It makes no difference. His brother and he do not answer to the English father across the sea.
The firing of his weapon and the repeated recoil of the rifle into his shoulder has sent the gash on his side aching anew. He would have attended to it himself but the wound is enough out of the reach of his fingers to be awkward. He tells Nathaniel as much and heads for the surgery.
And there she is, the women who he can't shake loose from his thoughts. She sits outside the surgery half-sitting half-leaning against the widow casing. She is withdrawn, seemingly blending into the wall and excepting for her beacon of hair he wouldn't have know it was her in the dark. Her hunched shoulders and bowed head speak volumes of exhaustion. As he glides past her she doesn't look up and he feels the sharp sing of the small rejection too deeply. Much too deeply.
He enters the surgery and sits on a cot before Cora only mildly surprised to see her in a surgeons apron. He glances back at Alice and is uncharacteristically annoyed that she still stares down at her hands instead of him. Raising his shirt would have been enough to show Cora the wound but he is still smarting from her sister's refusal to look at him. He is like a child when ignored, irrationally angered and petty. He pulls his entire shirt off hoping to injure her delicate English sensibilities if she looks up. When she looks up.
He concentrates on Cora's fingers, determined not to glance back yet again at her younger sister. The searing stitch of the needle helps distract him. Several stitches and minutes later Cora is bandaging him up, reaching around him to wrap the guaze around his waist. The gesture is impersonal and necessary to bind the wound, yet from an outside observer it would appear as if the two of them were in an intimate embrace.
He feels eyes on him and starting, he looks up and around. Her hands are grasping handfuls of her skirt and even though the night still cloaks her eyes he can't escape the feeling that she is furious at him. He suddenly feels guilty, which is ridiculous. He doesn't want Cora he wants Alice. No... he can't want that. And yet he still wants to cross the space between them and tell her she has nothing to be jealous of.
Not that she is jealous, why would she be jealous. Is she jealous? He wishes he could read her as easily as he reads trails through the forest.
He stares at her as the night of gunfire and cannon blasts fade away leaving only them. Something shifts between them, something he doesn't quite understand. Her spine goes from rigid to soft. Her hands uncurl. Her eyes are lost in the shadows and he wonders what she is thinking of. He wonders what she thinks of him.
"You about done holding hands with Ms. Monroe?"
Nathaniel says the words jokingly but there is an underlying steel in the words, a warning. Nathaniel needn't worry, he only has eyes for the younger sister. He is grateful to Nathaniel for breaking the intense stillness that seems to have settled on them.
Jerking his eyes away he brushes by her, shaking his head as if he can jar her loose from inside.
The night passes to the song of gunpowder and cannons. Then Nathaniel is taken from them, shackled and locked away. Uncas cannot understand it. The English say they will hang him. Uncas and his father will not let it happen. For the moment it does not matter. The white mans battle reaches its end, however temporary, and a surrender is agreed upon. The English will leave the fort and Nathaniel is brought with them in chains. Chingachgook and Uncas follow, ready when the time comes to free him.
Up at the front Uncas thinks he sees Alice in a cream dress beside her sister on a horse. The English march in neat rows out into the forest. Then a shrill war cry breaks the silence. The Huron have followed hungry for revenge and scalps. Chingachgook and Uncas head for Nathaniel felling any Huron who gets in their way. As they reach Nathaniel he is already freeing himself from the shackles. Then they are heading for the sisters. The same sense of urgency that bites at Uncas attacks Nathaniel's heels also. The space between them and the women seem impossibly far.
He is fearful. The image of her beautiful eyes empty and dull blur his vision. Time seems to slow. Huron after Huron blocks their path. He is afraid that it is too late.
Nathaniel reaches the women first bludgeoning the brave who holds a blade to Cora's bared throat. Foot lengths away Alice lays, unmoving. His legs go weak and he forgets to breathe. Chingachgook reaches her and helps her to her feet. Uncas watches her get up and somewhere in his throat his heart begins to beat again.
The minutes following pass in a blur as canoes are commandeered and waterfalls maneuvered. They hide in caves by the biggest waterfall. Duncan has come with them. They seem unable to rid themselves of his presence.
The caves beneath the falls smell of clay and a hint of salt. The others settle in wringing out their wet clothes as best they can. Nathaniel and Cora hold each other and talk amongst themselves, the sound of the falling water hiding their words. Duncan simmers in the corner. His brother seems more attached than ever to the Monroe daughter. Uncas can see his father approves. Uncas is glad.
His thoughts however are turned toward the other sister. But scanning the cave he sees none of her. The open hallway to beckons. He resists, summoning all his willpower. He is not Nathaniel who can belong to both worlds. He will always be red. She will always be white. His willpower is short lived however and he moves toward the corridor. His fathers eyes follow him. Worried, disproving. He wants to assure Chingachgook that he knows she is not for him. A fish may love a bird, but where would they live. She can not be for him.
He follows along the corridor, a wall of rock on his right and a wall of water on his left. He sees no Alice. His feet walk faster. The shelf to walk on is narrow and the water is strong, a pulling force all its own. He suddenly sees her slender body being pulled into the water, thrashed about to end broken against rocks at the bottom. He breaks into a run.
As he rounds the corner he sees her, close toward where they entered. She stands at the edge her body swaying toward the curtain of water. Her eyes are empty, it is as if she is already dead.
NO! " ...GET BACK..." He is grabbing her and shouting with the dull throb of fear in his stomach. He pulls her back and away from the edge and fall up against the hard rock of the cave wall. His chest cushions the fall. Her empty eyes fill with terror now and she begins to hyperventilate fingers clawing at his and her hands grasp his shoulders. She turns, buries her face in his neck. Her shoulders heave and shudder as she cries hot tears soaking his shirt and misting his skin. The water has splattered her hair against her cheek and over her eyes. He pushes back the wet sticky strands and spread his palms over her shoulder blades. After a few moment he feels her speaking and he leans down to hear her. Through her sobs she is speaking nonsense.
"... I saw it... oh god..."
"... and he told us to come... I thought it would be an adventure..."
"... his heart... tore out his heart... so much blood..."
"... this isn't supposed to happen... it isn't supposed to happen this way..."
"... nothing now... there is nothing..."
It is incomprehensible, mumbled and fragmented. He understands it all.
He brushes his lips softly over her head. It is the briefest of touches meant to impart comfort, yet it stills her. He stills himself thinking his touch offensive to her. But when she tilts her head towards his it is not disgust in her eyes. It is desire. Desire for wanting life, desire to feel something other than despair and fear. It is desire for him. Her mouth meets his in a sudden hard desperate press. He pulls back guiltily. This is wrong. It should be Nathaniel and Cora sneaking off to hold each other close not him and this women. He knows this and is about to push her away when she says his name.
"Uncas"
She whispers it softly and full of need. She is asking of him this one thing. That he help her forget the pain of a lost father, the press of death, and the loneliness of an alien land. She asks that for a brief moment he helps her forget all these things. And so even though he knows it is wrong he cannot deny her.
As her tongue seeks his he meets it with own. He is still confused and conflicted but under her touch the lust quickly rises to drown it all out. He will take whatever she will give him.
She has already loosened the front laces of her gown and now her hands tug at his shirt, impatient, until he lets go of her to remove it himself. She moans in protest as his mouth leaves hers but as his shirt clears his head his lips are hers again. And this time it is even better because now her hands touch his bare skin. Not in the timid touch of a well bred lady but the uninhibited caress of a women taking what she wants.
Her fingers leaves his chest and he groans into her mouth at the loss but she guides his hands to her dress and together they pull it up and over her head. Underneath there is still her corset with its tight strings and constricting form. He has never dealt with such a contraption before and his normally nimble finger feel leaden, but she guides his hands and finally they are free of it. She stands back away from him to remove her long sleeve chemise and then she is bare except for a sleeveless white slip rendered see through by the moonlight through the water.
He barely has a second to admire her before she is upon him again, grasping and kissing and touching. Her lips leave his and wander down his neck, to the hollow of his throat, down over his nipple. Gasping, arching into her touch, it is as if he comes undone. It is as if all the words he had never said in his years of living have been jarred loose by her and now he can't stop. Uncas, the quiet brother, the silent one, can't stop the words flowing from his mouth. Half in English half in his native tongue the words come in gasps and pants.
She moves her mouth to circle his other nipple and he tells her about his birth, how he is the last of his kind.
She pushes him to the ground, slides the slip off her shoulders and presses his palms to her breasts. He tells her how her hair glows in the moonlight.
She grinds herself against him, fingers undoing his pants even as she moves one of his hands beneath her hem. He tells her how he feared he would always be alone.
She shudders arching into his hand and then adding her own to his. He tells her of his spirit journey. He tells her how he saw a white doe with eyes as deep and bottomless as hers.
She seats her self on him slowly joining them both and he promises things. He makes promises to her that he can not possibly keep.
The lust drowns out everything even the rational part of his brain that knows she will hate them after this is done; because he is a Mohican and she is a gentlemen's daughter and even in this wild land, even with his hands grasping her hips and her nails coursing down his back, they are still worlds apart.
Slowly she moves, her face full of determination and need; finding her rhythm she tears him apart and he tells her everything.
AN: Wow the last line sounds like a bad BDSM novel if taken out of context lol. So this was intended to be a one shot Uncas POV of the entire book however since I'm pushing 4,000 words I'm going to break up his POV into two chapters. If there is enough positive feedback I might do an Alice POV.
My inspiration for writing this fic was a wonderful Alice/Uncas story by bethsaida called 'Metamorphosis'. So if you liked my fic check out hers... right after you leave me a review...yes?
PS: Main reason for writing this fic was because there just aren't enough LOTM fics. Common people! Jump on the Alice/Uncas bandwagon and bust out your laptops!
