Disclaimer: I do not own The New World, Colin Farrell, John Smith or Pocahontas. They all belong to Terrance Malick and other cool people like that.
Summary: What if John Smith hadn't sucked so much, and he and Pocahontas had lived happily ever after? You all know you're wondering!
A/N: I saw this movie the day in opened where I live, and I loved it! I loved the animated one too, but I think my taste has changed a little bit since then. Also, it's been forever since my last fanfic, so I may be a little rusty.
"Why have you not come to me, my love?"
"I've never been quite the man you thought me to be."
"There is no evil in you."
Gently, she took my hand in hers and let me to bank of the river. It was a favorite place of hers, and so it was a favorite place of mine. I thought of pushing her away when she kissed my lips, but I could no more refuse her than the shore refuses the sea at high tide. Everything about her was entrancing, her dark eyes, her mahogany skin, her raven hair, but most of all her spirit. She was indomitable. At first, I was hesitant, but her lips and skin were like fire one mine, and the more I tried to smother it the brighter it burned. Eventually my only care became her happiness, and I started to regard all other pursuits as of little importance. The more I sought her out, the more time we spent together, the clearer it became that she was a part of me. Although she was, and still is today, a strong and independent woman, one of us without the other has always been less than whole. Her name, Pocahontas, means playful one, in the language of the naturals. The longer I know her, the more I see how fitting it is. It also became apparent to me that anything I could do that would cost her even a drop of that playfulness, that innocent guile and charm, would be nothing less than sin. After she came to me one night I lied awake and listened to her steady breathing next to me. I was afraid to sleep for fear that I would wake in my bed in England and have nothing, not even her scent intermingled with mine to remember her by. I wanted her to be happy it was true, but most of all I wanted her to be with me, forever. Before sleep overtook her she laid her head on my chest and listened silently for the longest time. At last I asked her what she was doing. "Listening to your heart," she said, "to see if it beats. I feel as though it shouldn't have to, for you seem a god to me."
"I belong to you," she told me a while afterwards, and I knew it was true. She could ask me anything and I would tell her. Any time she felt pain or heartache, I was pained also. I could sit in a darkened room, completely closed off from everyone and everything, but if she was outside in the sunshine, it warmed me as well. Maybe we could be happy. I was happier then than I had ever been before, but I could imagine more joy was if I was able to spend more time with her, to be a good husband. I find it funny now that not one of the lovely ladies in England I ever encountered could have made me contemplate, even in jest, thoughts of matrimony, and now my mind was occupied by nothing else.
The naturals care little for this ceremony, as men are entitled to more than one wife, if they are good providers, and women are entitled to more than one husband, if they are not. This could never be the case with us. I would have only her, and she only me. I tried to imagine this was so as I held her that night, and I fell into such a deep and restful sleep that I did not wake until the sun was beaming hotly down through the roof, and she was sitting cross legged beside me, and staring with mirthful eyes. I loved her. Later that morning a new thought entered my mind. If her father ever released me, I might be obliged to leave her people and return to Jamestown. The name itself seemed a mockery, for no one would have considered it a town.
All too soon the day I dreaded most next to the final judgment arrived. Chief Powhattan called me to his house. His shamans and wise men had advised him to kill me. I knew that once again she was the only reason I was still alive. My legs shook with every step I took because I knew that they could only be taking me farther from the truest part of me. The long house was dark, and at first I could see nothing but the outline of the large chief against the backdrop of the painted animal hides and furs. It was a moment before she stepped out of the shadows. My throat constricted at the sight of her. Hair was shone with oils, and the care of many hands. It was carefully braided, beaded, and woven into a tapestry that's majesty matched that of the untouched landscape surrounding us. Her typical simple buckskin attire had been shed in favor of elegant deerskin adorned with feathers and petals of many colors. When we first landed on these shores the naturals asked us if we descended from heaven, and for the first time, it seemed like a legitimate question to ask someone. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but the elated expression on her face told me they were tears of joy. I looked from Pocahontas to old Powhattan, hardly daring to breathe and certainly not to hope. He beckoned me forward, and my body moved of its own accord. He said something in the Algonquin tongue that sounded like a question, but my mind was far too frazzled to understand. Knowing me as she did, Pocahontas didn't miss a beat.
"He asks if you take me for your wife, and if you promise to love and provide for me, and to put my happiness above all others, even your own. He says if you do not, you are not worthy of such a fine prize as his daughter, and he will know that your people are dishonorable." My throat was so dry I had to swallow several times before I could utter a sound.
"Tell him I promise all this and more. No woman has been or will ever be more revered by a husband if you should do me the honor of becoming my wife. I swear I will do any and all in my power to attend to your every happiness, if you'll let me." She relayed this back to her father, apparently to his satisfaction because he called for the ceremony to begin immediately after. No sight has ever affected me quite as like the angelic glow from above that bathed her features, except, of course, perhaps for the one that radiated from within.