The Wish
By. Babyb26
Rated T
What happens when an intriguing peddler makes an offer that seems too good to be true? Can something so simple as a secondhand locket mend two broken hearts? Find out what ensues when fate decides to intervene in a most unexpected way! Multi-Chapters, original characters, and a blending of history and fanfiction. Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and concepts. Any borrowed original characters I have received permission of use by their creators.
I present this work as a belated birthday gift to HC247- Happy Very Late Birthday! I tried to blend some of your favorite fandoms together and follow the same theme of Soulmate AU. I hope you like this!
Chapter 1: Strange Tea with Strange Strangers (aka It's My Money and I Want it Now)
The carriage rocked side to side as it traversed over the icy wet streets of London. This venture was her first shopping outing from the comforts of Rolfe's country estate or from the palace that she'd had in nearly three weeks. After deftly preventing Radcliff's planned massacre of her people, Pocahontas had been formally ingrained into the word-wind court of King James I. Rolfe had been there, right by her side, as he was now in the creaking carriage. Rolfe gently lifted her gloved hand and brought it to his lips leaving a light kiss on the supple leather of her glove. She gave him a gentle smile in favor, the smile never fully reached her dark eyes. As she intended, he sat contently holding her hand in the carriage, completely unaware of the melancholy rolling inside her that tried tirelessly to burry. It was not good to think long upon the cause of her despondence or that of the other's face. Rolfe was talking to her, his cheerful tone excitedly described where he was taking her. Refocusing her attention, she found out that they were going to what he called the Winter market. Whatever it was, it would be a small reprieve from the palace and the formality of court life.
As they traveled further into London, her mood lightened, and she was grateful for the coming distraction. She could tell from the sharp smells wafting in from the carriage windows and the activity buzzing around storefronts and the open stalls that she saw, that the market had opened and was in full swing. She heard fishmongers and fruit sellers hawking their wares, while groups of men, women, and children wove their way through piled carts of steaming meat pies, breads, and spices. Only one word came to her mind as she watched the people move to and fro, alive, the market was alive even in the chill of winter. An excitement that she hadn't felt in weeks moved through her veins and she willed the carriage to stop so that she could explore the wonders of the bazaar. After a few more clips and clops from the horse team, the carriage came to halt and the carriage driver opened the door for them in a sudden jolt. John Rolfe climbed down the steps and awaited her exit from the carriage. Gathering the blue fall of velvet that made up her skirts, she carefully made her way down onto the snowy cobblestones in her heeled shoes. As soon as she made a connection to the cobbled street, a rush of enigmatic energy rushed up her spine and she suddenly knew that today's market venture wouldn't go as planned.
Arm and arm she and Rolfe passed vendor after vendor, the second coachman of their carriage carried piles and piles of their purchased goods: bolts of silks for the coming spring's dresses, an ermine hat and muff to show off the wealth of her courtly stipend, a gold timepiece for Rolfe, fine glassware for their dining table, freshly baked bread for their plates, pale powder for her face, French lace to decorate her ruffs and cuffs, and a lastly a basket full of books for starting her reading lessons. The pile and burden was so heavy that she knew the young charge would topple over if his burdens weren't lifted soon. Rolfe was eager to make it to an area of the market, which called the Dimond quarter. They continued their trek until, as predicted, the coachmen slipped on the slick pavers and their expensive packages lay strewn in front of a shop. At her concern for the coachman, Rolfe yielded their trek and gentlemanly helped the young man with their items back to the carriage; with his promise of quick return as she entered the shop, it's curious gold painted sign drawing in her attention.
It was an inquisitive shop: clocks of every type hung on gray walls, walking canes of every size tucked in corners, carpets of every color piled one on top of the other, masks of every make flowed out of tall woven baskets, books lined tall bookshelves against three of the store's walls, and jewelry charms of every metal and gemstone sparkled in half a dozen small cases. It was certainly an interesting shop, while well stocked and it seemed as if no one had entered it in a dozen years, as thick dust and cobwebs decorated the shop's bookshelves, cases, and walls. Ever curious, she ran her hands over the spines of books, unable to read their words, she wondered over to the store's corner and picked up an overturned paper mask from the ground. Pocahontas smiled as she saw the mask's oddly shaped thin face; with highly arched eyebrows, thin nose, thin mouth, deep-set eye holes, and a sharply painted black curling goatee. Pulling a handkerchief from her hidden dress pockets, she cleaned a nearby gilded mirror that was caked in dust. Bringing the outlandish mask up to her face, she saw a pair of dark eyes gazing back at her. Startled, the mask tumbled from her hands and back to the ground from whist it came. She turned in an instant, clutching a hand to her speeding heart, as she met the owner of those eyes.
"Ah, my friend do not want mar such a lovely face with that grotesque likeness, he was not good of a man in life," an aging man's words cut through the silence of the empty shop.
The man's accent certainly wasn't English, and he was of a tanned brown hue, like her. It wasn't his strangely pitched accent or the giant white turban, which nearly encompassed his whole frame, which made the little man odd to her. No, it was something in his being that she didn't trust. As if sensing her disquiet, the shop owner stepped back and motioned toward a steaming hot ornate teapot, which was laid out on the store's counter, that she would of sworn was not there a moment earlier.
"Salam, my friend. Some tea?" The man's words were friendly and he continued.
"Good day to you worthy friend. Please, please come closer.
Pocahontas stood pausing a bit, regarding the man carefully, before her head slowly nodded and she followed the peddler toward the oak counter.
"Welcome to my shop you m'lady. Let me pour you tea, it was not my intention to give you such a fright."
"What is this place?" She asked, wearily, and yet intrigued at the same time.
The shop owner lifted the tall brass teapot one-handed, as if it weighed nothing, as his other hand palmed the teacup. The amber tea poured in a perfect arch into the bowl-shaped cup and he lifted the cup upward, in offering, to her.
"M'lady, this is a place of mystery, of enchantment, and the best merchandise this side of the river Themes. I am sure I will have what you desire." His easy laugh broke through the tension and the shop suddenly felt lighter, the air suddenly clearer, and the dim room suddenly brighter.
A light smile moved across Pocahontas' face and she confidently picked up the offered tea. She gazed as the tea swirled in the warm brass cup in her hands and in an adventure mood, she lifted it to her lips and tasted the dark liquid. The tea held a light aromatic smell of mint and tasted of sweet cinnamon, honey, lemon, and something else she couldn't quite name.
"Mumm… there is a taste that I cannot name. What is it?" She licked her lips trying to place the flavor.
"It is cardamom and saffron my friend, it's Arabian tea. You like?"
"Yes, yes I like it." Pocahontas smiled over the teacup.
"I am but a poor peddler of wares, but I can always share a cup tea from my homeland."
The peddler smiled and offered her another cup and at her slight wave, placed it on the counter. Pocahontas moved closer to the counter, the glittering of a throng of objects on top of objects caught her eye and drew her in. Seeing the pretense of a sale, the peddlers quick eyes glanced at the case and at what the young woman saw. Moving along the inner counter, the store owner saw the hammered gold and enamel necklace that had so transfixed the young woman's eye.
"Ooh look at this, I haven't seen one of these completely intact before." The peddler's face was lit in awe, as he pulled the heart-shaped gold locket out of the case. The center of the locket was and enameled red heart with inlaid gold-filled words weaving across it. The chain of the locket were hammered gold links that end with an inlaid pearl closure. The clasp opening of the heart locket was somehow sealed and seemingly impossible to open.
"What do you mean?" Pocahontas questioned. "But you are selling it?" Confusion marred her face.
"Forgive me, my friend, I have seen many of these in my lifetime, yet I was unaware that this specimen was whole, unopened. I have forgotten a many a thing in my age," the peddler waved off his sense of wonder in exchange for the excitement of a potential sale.
"Would milady like to take a closer look?" The peddler gently removed the locket from a black velvet pillow and held the sparking heart out to her.
Her eyes were so transfixed on the locket that when her hand reached out of its own accord and she grasped, surprised to find it's weightiness in her hand. Up close, the redness of the enamel seemed to move, as if there was actual blood trapped inside the piece of jewelry. She rubbed a soft finger over the gold scrolled text, seeking to find meaning in the words.
"What does it say?" Pocahontas asked the trader, momentary blushing at the revelation that she couldn't read.
The older man understood her sudden quandary.
"Peace my friend, it is in the language of my homeland and very few people here could read the language of Agrabah."
Pocahontas swore she could feel a soft hum vibrate from the locket as if it were a living being. She leaned forward eyeing the heart closer.
"In my language milady, it says that whoever possesses the locket and is of pure heart, may have their deepest heart's desire." The peddler's voice softened as he continued in the words of his country.
"Raghba, raghba, raghba, min qalibi. Desire, desire, desire, desire of my heart." As he spoke the low words, the locket seemed to glow in the shops dimming light.
"Raghba, raghba, raghba, min qalibi," she repeated the words and the shopkeeper grinned softly.
"Correct milady…" The soft chime of the door's bell started her and the peddler.
"There you are! Pocahontas, we have been looking for you everywhere and here you are in this musty shop." John Rolfe's waved his hand to and fro as if trying to clear the store's air.
Startled by his sudden appearance and words, Pocahontas blushed in apology to the old peddler.
"Salam, my friend welcome to…"
John Rolfe cut the peddler short, "well are you finished; we must make haste to the Dimond quarter, we have to finish spending your royal purse."
Rolfe's annoyance was palpable. She reluctantly handed the locket back to the trader and turned to walk to the door.
"Wait don't go," the shop owner called. "I can see that you're interested in the exceptionally rare, I think that you would be most rewarded to consider this!"
"What is it that you were looking at Pocahontas? Jewelry? We can get a much more refined necklace in the diamond quarter."
Rolfe's dismissive tone was easily discernable, and the old trader countered quickly. He knew how to broker a hard sell.
"Do not be fooled by its commonplace appearance. Like so many things, it is not what is on the outside, but what is inside that counts."
"What?" Rolfe flippantly questioned.
"This is no ordinary locket; it once changed the course of a young man's life. A young man who was like this locket, more than what he seemed, a diamond in the rough. Perhaps you would like to hear the tale? It begins on a dark night, where a dark man waited with a dark purpose…."
"No, we have to go! Come, Pocahontas." Rolfe waved her forward in irritation.
When he was like this she felt belittled like she was some sort of trained animal; set to preform and obey at his or the court's will. Her small hands balled into fists and she straightened herself with all the dignity she could muster.
"No, then my friend? The peddler turned toward Pocahontas as if he could feel the shifting energy and the rise of rebellion taking over her sprit.
"Milady, I will make you a pretty price for one in need this particular gift." The peddler's deep black eyes caught her own and he nodded to her.
"I will kindly take it, sir." Why should she not buy it, it was her royal purse and she fancied the locket, no matter what strange story the peddler was trying weave about its origins and use.
"Rolfe, my royal purse." Pocahontas raised her open palm up, commanding Rolfe to hand her the coinage. He let out an exasperated sigh. She had demanded something; it had been a long time since she had, and it felt wonderful. Rolfe paid the storekeeper and snorted in annoyance as he walked back toward the store's entrance.
"I wish you happiness milady and it will help you do so." The peddler whispered to her as he handed her the wrapped locket.
Pocahontas slipped the parcel through the folds of her dress and into the sewn-in pockets that lay about her waist. As she exited the shop the peddler raised an amber-brown hand and waved to her.
"Salam, peace be with you milady!"
She nodded a final farewell to the intriguing shopkeeper. When the door closed behind her and she was ushered back into the chaos of the busy London market, Rolfe nitpicked again.
"What a strange man Pocahontas, really!"
"A strange man indeed," she concurred as they moved down the ancient stone streets.
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