I do not own The Last of the Mohicans.
I do love it so. And this fandom.
Into the Wild
Nëwitaemàk and Nëwicheyok
And now their father speaks again, this time to both of them.
"Come together now and join hands beside the fire if it is what you choose to do."
She sees no hesitation in him, feels no hesitation within herself.
When he is before her, barely a breath between them, she reaches out.
His hands are rough, touch gentle.
She squeezes and feels his brief return.
I am here. I choose you.
Her tears are no more and she wonders if they have not streaked her paint too badly.
Decides she is as she may be.
And does not know that in that moment he sees her as the complete perfection she sees him.
The women who brought her to him have returned and now step forward.
A large, warm blanket they wrap around them, Uncas and Alice.
Larger than the one they each had before.
Warm and enveloping.
These gentle women wrap them up.
Close. And together.
And Chingachgook speaks again.
"Great Spirit and the Maker of All Life, my children have found one another out in the wilderness. They have chosen to bind their lives together for the time they choose their love to last. Teach their spirits to be strong and loyal to one another other. May they walk this land together and in the world to come if that is what they desire."
He falls silent then.
And Alice is overcome, overwhelmed.
Much as she was when she saw Uncas walking across the field at a distance.
Walking next to his father.
Coming back.
Coming back for her.
As then, even much more deeper are her emotions, her love, for him now.
For she does so love him and choose him and will be bound to him all the days of her life.
Love, devotion, shows deep and unwavering in his eyes as she gazes up at him and he down at her in the firelight.
And Alice Munroe understands these people, Delaware and Mohican alike, do not kiss, she knows this.
That it is something purely beyond their traditions, something a breed apart to them.
And decides she does not care.
That she is his and he is hers.
And she may still always be as she is, not quite them, and that she is accepted so.
And she lifts up onto the balls of her feet, up onto her moccasined toes.
And in a brazen gesture suited neither for the propriety of English weddings nor the understanding of Delaware, catches his mouth with hers.
Thrilling as those warm lips press back without hesitation.
She lingers as long as she may, there in front of his father.
And then relinquishes the taste of him.
Though she silently promises herself, and him, that it will not be for long.
And eases back down onto her heels again.
Now only foreheads pressed together he dips his head to keep the contact between them.
Full and deep, she breathes.
Breathes him in. The sage. The campfire. The wild night air.
And then Alice Munroe opens her eyes.
And sees his face, so close to her, so a mirror of her own joy.
And it is this, it is now that she breaks solemnity entirely.
And smiles. So wide and so full that were she to think on it, she would wonder that it would envelope the whole of her face.
But think upon she does not because now her Mohican is smiling fully as well, almost to laughter.
Joyful and broad.
Eyes nearly disappearing, white teeth catching the light.
And she feels she has never been so happy as she is at that very moment.
Chingachgook has gone.
A warm, strong hand upon each of their shoulders as she and the one she loves stood together beside the fire.
His dark eyes warm and full of pride and fatherly love.
And small smile of satisfaction upon his lips, he had turned.
And walked into the darkness in the direction of the village.
The ones who tended to her, painted her, sang to her, guided her here and wrapped her and the one she loves in their large, warm blanket now melted away again as well.
And she must remember in the morning to go to them, find them.
And most humbly, gratefully, thank them.
But for now . . .
"Hallo, Uncas."
. . . she has other concentrations to attend to.
They stand together, she and the one who loves her, wrapped close together within the warm confines of their shared blanket.
And Uncas the Mohican holding the blanket around them both.
She is wrapped in this blanket and in his arms.
And he is gazing raptly upon her, seeming more captivated by her . . .
"Hallo, . . ."
. . . than ever before.
". . . Nëwicheyok."
And now here is a new word she does not know.
Wishes to know now that he has said it.
And so repeats it carefully.
"Nëwicheyok."
Watches him smile.
And asks the next logical question.
"What does it mean?"
Uncas the Mohican grazes a gentle calloused thumb across her her temple.
And his low rumbled reply warms her.
"It means 'wife'."
And Alice Munroe cannot breathe.
And yet . . .
Oh.
. . . she does.
She does manage.
And even manages . . .
"What is the word . . ."
. . . her next question quite well . . .
". . . for 'husband'?"
. . . even so.
Uncas' smile gentles further.
And he speaks.
"Nëwitaemàk."
Alice repeats the word carefully, this most important word.
"Nëwitaemàk."
The one she loves nods.
And she feels the whole world fill with him and only him.
And since she is quite new to this word and must practice it frequently so that she may speak it with ease, Alice speaks this precious word again.
"Hallo. Nëwitaemàk."
And Uncas the Mohican dips his head . . .
"Nëwicheyok."
. . . and gently catches her lips with his own.
Well, how was that? ;)
Thanks to DinahRay, ELY72, sarah0406, and the Favorite Chapter Guest (thank you SO much! I'm so glad it's giving some goodness) for reviewing! Thanks to blanparbe for your kind words as well. You're all so very gracious!
Thanks also to BooRadley-bookworm21 for adding your support to this story!
Which is not over. There is so much more to tell.
And much of it, so sugary sweet.
