I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.

I do still love them so. And this fandom.

Into the Wild

After Birth


She comes to in increments, Alice does.

Morning already?

And finds that she is on her side.

And yet dark?

Lying in bed.

Why has Susan not come to open my windows and awaken me?

And quite . . .

Oh, I really must tell Cora . . .

. . . relaxed.

. . . I had the most delightful dream.

And as her conscious rises, . . .

There were red men and waterfalls . . .

. . . she realizes without thinking of it that the bed is not quite so soft and downy . . .

. . . and babies crying.

. . . as it should be.

I was scared and sad but ongoing more happy as well.

Nor the scratchy blanket.

And it was a good the babies were crying. I do not remember why.

And then Alicia Elizabeth Munroe . . .

She will think me such a silly girl.

. . . of Portland Square . . .

But it really was such a wonderful dream.

. . . opens her eyes.

Oh.

And surmises . . .

This is not my room.

. . . something is not quite right.

It is much too dingy and dark.

She also finds . . .

There is a red man here. Is that safe?

. . . she is not alone.

Oh but, his hair is quite beautiful.

And then he turns.

I would very much wish to touch it.

And she sees him fully.

Oh.

And her mind clears.

It is you.

And she is in complete, blossoming, contented joy.

My Uncas.

Breaking smile so broad upon her face . . .

You are no red man.

. . . that it almost hurts.

You are simply a man.

And his chiseled face is in a touch of bewilderment.

And such a wonderful . . .

Questioning expression seeming to ask . . .

. . . man.

. . . what makes her smile so.

Oh, I love you.

She speaks not, Alice. Only uncurls the hand tucked under her chin.

Laying it out toward him.

I love you so.

Motioning to come near.

My Mohican.

And he acquiesces, Uncas does.

My love.

Leaving the hearth where he was busying himself tending the fire.

"Hello, Uncas."

And coming to her side, taking that offered hand in his warm one.

"Hello, Miss."

And kneeling there before her.

Strong and gentle and kind.

Alice reaches out the other, wanting hand.

To the braided pale and dark that lays against his neck.

His collarbone.

His chest.

Running her fingers slowly along the length of it, the twisted hair that was the first of their intertwinements.

As she gazes dreamily into his dark, deepset eyes.

And he . . .

So long as I may have breath and life within me, my love, . . .

. . . into hers.

. . . I am yours.

And then, voice barely a murmur, Alice . . .

"How fares my sister?"

. . . speaks.

The man she loves nods.

"She is well."

Brushing a tendril of her hair . . .

"My brother cares for her."

. . . from her sweat-dry forehead.

"And his new son."

Keeping his gaze riveted to hers

"My father is with them."

. . . as he does so.

"Making his own introductions."

He smiles just a bit, expression amused and fond.

"I do not think he will leave their side until they have gifted him the child."

And as they chuckle together, Alice finds herself responding lightly.

"I am not certain they are willing to give him up just yet."

And Uncas moves to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I believe he will wait."

And she lets him.

"Yes, I believe you are right."

And then a new need introduces itself to her as her body continues to awaken.

It is time.

And Alice moves to rise . . .

"Oh, mmm-"

. . . only briefly before dispatching with the notion rather quickly.

As her neck and back and shoulders protest in earnest.

Perhaps not.

And she sags back onto the rope bed.

Her Mohican does not miss her attempt to hide her discomfort.

And she notices him noticing.

And weakly attempts to reassure . . .

"I am . . ."

. . . the now hovering man . . .

". . . alright."

. . . who loves her.

"You and your sister say that quite alot."

Still gentle and kind, his tone is.

"And yet I am not certain . . ."

Yet also a tinge dry and vexed.

". . . it is always true."

She has no argument for this . . .

He does not approve my self-dismissal.

. . . and so dutifully amends her statement.

"My body aches."

The man who loves her eases a bit at her admission. Nods.

"You were taxed in your labors with your sister."

And Alice huffs.

"Her labors, not mine."

Just a bit.

And now it is the one who loves her whose turn it is to concede.

"No."

Though not entirely.

"Though you were a in a labor of your own."

Alice decides the need she has will not be put off any longer.

"Yes. That is true. Still . . . I must rise."

And so renews her efforts to move once again.

"Why?"

To the consternation of the man who thought he was breaking through her self-imposed stubbornness.

"I must make water."

Though in the end . . .

"Oh."

. . . he is supportive of her decision after all.


By afternoon, those parts of her body attached to her arms scream with pain if she attempts to raise them more than a few inches.

To her neck.

Or the crown of her head, for instance.

"Blast-"

And, of course, her watchful Mohican notices.

And . . .

"Here, . . . "

. . . takes action.

". . . I will do it."

And he brushes out her hair for her.

Not with any hairbrush of horn or ivory.

"That feels nice."

But with his fingers.

Strong, gentle fingers

That work their way patiently through the tangled stringy tresses of blond hair.

Carefully loosening knots with patient consideration.

As she sits before . . .

"Thank you."

. . . the warming hearth.

"You are welcome."

Then he plaits her hair once more, with surety and ease.

Applying the thinnest veneer of bear grease to smooth and set the braid, make it last longer.

Alice feels this process for the first time upon herself, rather than observing him at work with his own head.

And finds it both soothing and relaxing.

"Kwëlaha lësinèn làpi kwëti kishku."

I would have you do that again one day.

As well as mildly erotic.

"Nich. Ki kwëlahta."

I will. If you wish it.

Though she would not speak it aloud.


Uncas is securing his work with a length of sinew as Alice speaks to her sister sitting as comfortably as she may in her bed.

"It is quite the pleasure to be so kindly cared for by these kind and gentle men . . ."

As Chingachgook, having steeped pain-reducing herbs in a tin cup, . . .

". . . is it not, sister?"

. . . hands it now to the recovering mother . . .

"'Tis."

. . . of his very first grandchild.

"Perhaps you should birth every day."

The gathered, serving men included, chuckle good-naturedly.

"No, dear sister."

Mild horror passing over Cora's pallid face.

"I do not think that will be necessary, . . ."

Even as she responds with characteristic aplomb.

". . . even so."

In the only rocking chair, freshly anointed pater families Nathaniel serenely rocking his son upon his chest . . .

"Yes. Perhaps we should see what we may do with this one first."

. . . seems to agree.

"He is naught but a morning old."


Cora is up much quicker than Alice would . . .

"It is good for the blood."

. . . prefer for her.

"Despite what Aunt Eugenie has said."

A day it has been.

"Sister, sister, I really must protest."

Only a day.

"There is nothing for it, Alice."

Though she moves with tender . . .

"I mustn't make water on the floor of my own room, shall I?"

. . . and careful consideration.

"Well, no-"

And enlists the help of whomever is closest to her.

"Now if you take my hand, dear husband, before I fall over . . ."

As must needs be.


And by week's end, she is moving much easier.

"Here."

And shall continue to improve and strengthen.

"Husband, I am capable-"

Even more so . . .

"Yes . . ."

. . . with such a considerate, self-aware husband by her side.

". . . as am I, Wife."

Who cares for her so.


Hands-on Daddy Nathaniel, anyone else's uterus exploding? ;)

Thanks to BryannaRaven, DinahRay, BlueSaffire, MohawkWoman, ELY72, blanparbe (so gracious, thank you), The Guest Who Cried (*proffers tissue and hugs and encouragements to open your account -would love to chat!-*) for taking the time to review this chapter.

Next up, a name and the closing of this arc.