Princess Fantasy D X-2
A/N: I have never been inspired enough to write stories about any fanart before, until I saw the work of deviantart artist Skirtzzz, specifically her Final Fantasy Disney Dressphere series. With her blessing, this will be another part of a series of final scene rewrites, using the powers of the dresspheres to possibly change the script, or failing that, make the scene worthy of a Final Fantasy series. Replicating the feel for such an incredible franchise will be a challenge, but I swear I'll do my best!
If you haven't seen any of the movies or their endings, this could be a little spoilerific, but if you have or don't mind, hang on for the ride!
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Spirits and Savages
It is said that the spirit of every living being on earth is connected to one another, each a part of the Great Spirit, the Gitche Manitou, that gave birth to everything. Those that are attuned to their own spirit can minutely sense the changes in the world, and those with a deep connection to the earth like trees are best at this sensing.
So it was no surprise that Grandmother Willow, one of the few trees around that area that had grown past her 1000th ring and gained the ability to commune with the spiritually-aware, was shaking in her roots at the coming chaos. The land itself was trembling, as the fires of war started to darken the sky, and all because of one terrible misunderstanding.
In all her long years, Grandmother Willow had never witnessed such strife occur right outside her branches, right on the cusp of understanding and peace. In the space of a few days, the Chief's spirited daughter, Pocahontas, and the unusual but well-meaning settler John Smith, had developed a connection that could've spelt peace between their peoples. But in the space of a few moments, all that was torn away when Pocahontas's betrothed happened upon them and attacked in a jealous rage, causing one of Smith's nearby companions to kill him to protect his comrade. As a result of this, Smith was captured by the Algonquian tribesmen and sentenced to death, all while the settlers along the riverbed were preparing for war to rescue him. Such an outcome would only end in bloodshed, and the land was crying out like a baby chick in the jaws of a fox.
The dawn was only a short while away, when the old tree felt a familiar hand brush aside her vines. Pocahontas slipped into the shelter of her branches, her face tear-stained and distraught. The sight of the normally strong, self-assured young woman like this was much too foreign for Grandmother Willow's liking. Closely behind her were the hyperactive, peckish raccoon Meeko, the worried hummingbird, Flit, and some dog that they had found during their adventures.
Pocahontas sniffed as she made her way to her seat below the old tree's knotted face. "They're going to kill him at sunrise, Grandmother Willow," she said despondently. "I've been trying to tell them to stop, but no-one is listening."
Grandmother Willow's face wrinkled even more with concern. "You must stop them!"
"I can't!"
"Child!" Grandmother Willow had never heard Pocahontas sound this hopeless, and it sounded even more unnatural than it looked. "Remember your dream?"
"I was wrong, Grandmother Willow! I followed the wrong path!" She buried her head in her knees. "I feel so lost…"
Meeko himself was more distressed than his friend, but a thought suddenly came to the little critter. Scrambling up the tree towards a small hollow, he rummaged around in it until he found what he was looking for. Then he scuttled along the willow's branches and lowered himself on a frond next to Pocahontas. When she looked up, he chittered and offered the inedible brown disk to her.
Pocahontas took the disk, and looked through the glass front to see the black arrow bobbling before the colored backing. "The compass…" she murmured. As she turned the disk in her hand, she noticed something she hadn't before – no matter how she moved the object, the black arrow kept turning and pointing in the same direction.
Turning… spinning…
"Spinning arrow…!" she whispered in sudden realization, the memory of her dream suddenly coming to the fore.
"It's the arrow from your dream!" Grandmother Willow cried out.
Renewed hope blossomed in Pocahontas's heart. "I was right! It was pointing to him!" As she rose to her feet, a leaf-filled breeze blew in from outside, swirling around her and causing the arrow to whirl around wildly.
As she stared at the arrow, suddenly her head flicked up. For a moment, she thought she had heard her name being whispered on the wind… "Pocahontas…", spoken in the rough accents of Unami, a Eastern sub-dialect of the Algonquian language.
The old tree beamed at Pocahontas's reaction. "Ah, you heard it too, child? The spirits are calling for you!"
The Algonquian woman's eyes widened. "The manitou?"
"Look! They come!" Grandmother Willow pulled aside her fronds, shining the first rays of the morning sun onto Pocahontas and the other animals. A tumultuous gust of wind swirled in, throwing her hair into a inky-black wave.
When Pocahontas emerged from Grandmother Willow's branches, she couldn't believe her eyes. Cantering in front of her were five different wild animals, all looking as the winds had carried them there: a majestic golden eagle perching on wisps of cloud, a loping gold-eyed wolf surrounded by dancing leaves, a burly big-horned bison snorting at the blades of flying grass around it, a sleek cougar with a dense dust cloud at its feet, and a tall, elegant heron with an aura of sparkling water droplets.
"Welcome, Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan," the eagle spoke in the same tenor she had heard. "We have been waiting for you."
"Who… are you?" Pocahontas could almost feel the mysticism rolling off these magnificent creatures. "Are you… manitou?"
The bison inclined its head in a nod. "We are the Heralds of Ketanetuwit, the Creator Spirit," it answered in a gruff voice, "Under his orders, we have been sent here to end the strife that would tear the earth asunder."
"The land has told us of the coming conflict. Even now, your people march for the landing place of the people from across the ocean," said the cougar in a soft, female tone, "and with the blood of your new companion on their weapons, they seek to slay them to the last man."
"But what they don't know is that the ocean people have decided the same thing, and they too march on your people," growled the wolf. "When the two forces meet on the northern plains, the bloodshed will scar this land for generations."
"Which is why Ketanetuwit sent us, Eagle-of-the-Central-Skies, Wolf-of-the-Western-Forests, Bison-of-the-Southern-Plains, Cougar-of-the-Northern-Mountains, and Heron-of-the-Eastern-Rivers," said the heron. "He told us of a woman who was spiritually attuned to the land enough to see the path laid out for her, and that she was the only one who is capable of ending this peacefully."
Pocahontas's face grew ashen, but her gaze was firm. "I know. I don't know what I can do to stop this, but still, I have to do something!"
"Then let us, the Spirits of the Earth, guide you," declared Bison, stomping the ground with a hoof. "Let us grant you our strength, and show these men the folly of their actions!"
"Let our courage bolster your heart! Tell them of the pain they will cause the land if they proceed with this foolishness, and snuff it out!" spoke Wolf.
"You are our voice to these people. Proclaim our message to them, and let the sun rise on a day of peace, and not war!" Cougar bared her fangs.
"This may be your path to follow, but you shall not travel it alone!" Heron spread his wings. "The Land and the Creator are on your side, and with their blessings, you shall not fail!"
"Then please, help my feet to fly!" At her words, the winds from around the animals reached out to envelop her, shrouding her in a cloak of wind-borne leaves, dust, cloud and water. "Spirits of the Earth and Sky!"
"Well-spoken!" Eagle leapt from his perch and swooped down upon her, his compatriots stampeding close behind. "Then let us bear you on your path! Pocahontas!"
Five forms disintegrated into clouds still bearing their animal shapes, as the winds swirling around the woman grew to storm-bringing proportions. As Pocahontas's form was lost in the growing cloud of white and colour, Meeko, Flit and Grandmother Willow watched with a growing sense of awe.
"Good luck, child!" whispered the willow tree.
How did it come to this? This was the only thought running through John Smith's mind as the two Indian men dragged him from the teepee into the dawning sun, past an entire army of glaring Natives, to the top of an embankment facing the forest. Waiting for him was the stone-faced Indian chief, carrying a wooden club that looked more than capable of caving his skull in.
"Know this, savage," growled Chief Powhatan as Smith was forced to his knees in front of him, "that today is the day your kind is cleansed from our lands. And for slaying my comrade, you shall be the first to die."
Smith didn't have time to figure out what he was saying before his head was shoved to a rock cheek-first. As he watched Powhatan's shadow raise his weapon, he thought to himself wearily, So this is how I meet my end. And right when we were making progress too… I'm sorry, Pocahontas…
The shadow fell…
"STOP!" came a deafening shriek in a familiar voice, and yet unfamiliar language, but also mingled with the screeching of birds and the roaring of beasts. A sudden gust of wind both rolled Smith onto his back and staggered Powhatan, forcing him to use the club to keep his balance. From the shouts from the Indian army, the gust was strong enough to blow them off guard as well.
"What in the name of the Great Spirit was…" Chief Powhatan's exclamation was abruptly cut off by a figure darting in between him and Smith. This was followed by a few muffled sputterings, before a disbelieving "Pocahontas?"
Smith at least recognized that name, as he struggled to a sitting position, enough to get a good look at the new arrival… and his eyes proceeded to try and vacate his head.
Chief Powhatan stared in shock at the young woman that was his daughter, his rage at the invaders now held back by a wall of disbelief, both at her defiant position in front of him, blocking him from the white man, and from the new clothes she was wearing.
Instead of the plain deerskin dress she normally wore, the only actual clothing on Pocahontas was a woven forest-green thong and orange sash that only just covered her lower modesty. Her upper modesty was covered by a bra that looked to be made of wolfskin, as did the full sleeves, paw-like gloves and animal claws. On her feet, she wore similarly-skinned boots, with fluffy blue hems, scaly eagle-like feet, and razor-sharp talons. Heron-blue feathers adorned her elbows, spiky, dark-red armor that looked to be carved out of polished wood and decorated with tree moss covered her shoulders, and a woven, beaded headband affixed two gigantic bison horns to her head, her inky hair weaving down around them to her waist. In addition to all of this, her tanned thighs, stomach, chest and cheeks were adorned with paint, accenting the svelte, lithe muscles underneath. The claws, talons and horns that she wore looked too solid, too real, and too deadly to be imitations.
But despite everything that she wore, what the chief found most shocking was that the air around Pocahontas's feet was swirling and twisting around her ankles, as if the winds had literally carried her here. Powhatan couldn't ignore the obvious spiritual signs.
But neither could he ignore the flames of hate that were still flickering in his blood. "Daughter," he said in a barely-level tone, temper and disbelief still warring inside him, "What is the meaning of this? Why are you here, wearing this?"
"I come as the voice of the manitou and the Creator, Ketanetuwit," Pocahontas answered, voice filled with passion. "They have spoken to me! They can see the bloodshed that will happen if you follow your hatred, and it will scar the land for ages to come! I will not let that happen!"
"The Creator?" said Powhatan, his eyes narrowing. "But you are not a metinuwak, and none of our elders have even heard a whisper. How can you hear what our shamans cannot?"
His daughter did not falter. "I do not know why, but the fact is I have. These clothes are the symbol that I come bearing His name in my actions! Believe what you will, Father, but they have told me of the devastation that we will cause with our hatred: our brethren dying, our homes in ruins, and the land crying in agony for many long years! Can you not hear it? The sobbing in the winds?"
Her eyes were filled with a mixture of desperation and determination. "After all the land has given us, do we really want to throw it all away for hatred?"
Here, Chief Powhatan twitched, only now noticing the morning breeze flowing past him, and its soft murmuring in his ear did indeed sound like sobbing. He glanced to the side at the tribe's warriors, and more than a few of them were fidgeting with their weapons in unease, looking around them at the dawn sky.
Now sputtering under his uncertainty, the bloodthirsty flames in his heart made one last attempt to reignite. "But Kocoum… his death will be left unavenged… how can I leave my comrade's spirit in such turmoil?"
Pocahontas's eyes briefly closed in sorrow. "If you follow through with your resentment and revenge, all you will be doing is staining his spirit with the blood of those who had no part in his death, for every death of the new people will be done in his name. And if you do that, he will never find peace."
She took a deep breath. "And that is why I choose this path of peace, the path that puts me between you and war." She spread her clawed arms out, leaving herself unguarded to her father's weapon. "I stand here out of love. Love for my people, love for this land, love for you… and love for John." She glanced back briefly to a gobsmacked Smith, who was blinking at his name being mentioned, before turning back to a startled Powhatan, eyes boring right into his. "I beg you, Father, please do not follow this path of hatred any further. Because if you do, if you still choose to kill him… you will first have to strike me down where I stand."
That last statement was spoken with such certainty that Powhatan nearly flinched. He stared at his daughter, a young woman bearing the strength of the land in both her body and soul, baring herself to his potential fury. And, seeing the faintest trace of a tear slip down her cheek, he knew that despite all that strength, she would not defend herself and strike the father she loved so dearly.
And it was this, after everything, that finally extinguished the flames of hatred in Powhatan's heart.
The Chief's grip on his club slackened as his daughter's words finally hit home. As if responding to his emotions, the morning breeze turned into a full wind, that swept leaves past him in a rainbow of color. He took a deep breath, feeling the land smile at his epiphany, and he gripped his club with both hands at either end and raised it into the air.
"My daughter speaks with the wisdom beyond her years," he proclaimed to the waiting braves. "We have come here with anger in our hearts, on the verge of war, but she comes with peace, understanding, and the blessing of Ketanetuwit Himself." He placed the club's end on the ground. "I will respect her wishes. If there is to be any fighting today, it will not be from us." At his word, the whole mass of Native men lowered their weapons, looking rather moved by the words of the chieftain and his daughter.
Smith watched the whole scene with a sense of awe, wondering just what was being said in the Natives' language, but at the same thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't going to die after all and that the dream of peace was suddenly a reality once again. As the spiritual winds coiled around him, he suddenly felt something shift within him, and a whisper carried on the wind reached his ears, speaking in two languages at once: "The pursuit of peace is something we all must strive for, and must become a reality for the land to survive. The gift I granted Pocahontas all those days ago, I now grant to you, John Smith. Listen to your heart, and use it well."
Smith didn't have time to process what he had heard before Powhatan pointed to a nearby Indian brave and said, "Release him." The settler blinked suddenly, upon the realization that he'd understood what Powhatan had just said, despite him speaking Algonquian!
As the brave severed his bonds with a sharp splint of wood, Smith stood up, rubbing his wrists. "Thanks," he said offhandedly. "Sorry for all the trouble."
"Don't mention it," muttered the warrior as he cut his leg bonds, before he froze in astonishment. Both Powhatan and Pocahontas turned to stare at him, surprise written on both their faces.
"John?" Pocahontas was the first to speak, curiosity and happiness mingling in her voice. "How… how do you know our language?"
The settler shrugged. "Probably the same way you know mine. The wind told me to listen to my heart." A small smile crossed his face. "And I'm so glad I did."
A smile crossed her face. "As am I!" Thankful that everything had turned out fine, Pocahontas threw herself into his embrace, trying to keep her claws away from him.
Chief Powhatan sighed. "I am too old for this." Stepping forward, he fixed Smith in his gaze. "You… John, was it?"
"John Smith, sir," Smith answered, releasing Pocahontas and bowing slightly. "I guess I should apologize on behalf of my men, for these past few days."
Powhatan's face did not lose its neutral expression. "Indeed. The melees on my braves, the damage to our land with your digging, the loss of my best warrior…" He took a deep breath as Pocahontas winced slightly, "but out of respect for my daughter, and given your knowledge of our language, I will allow you to explain yourself."
Smith cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir. My crew came to this New World for a couple of reasons," he started, "to make our own fortunes in a new land, and to mine for gold, a precious metal to our people. Other journeys to the New World had found large amounts of gold, so many of us came here expecting it. Our orders were to dig into the earth to find it, and defend ourselves against the Natives."
The Chief's eyes started to narrow again. "So you come to our home with the intent to desecrate the earth in a search for precious rocks that do not exist in our soils, without care of who you harm? And yet your people believe we are the savages?"
"That is what I thought at first," Smith admitted, "but after I met your daughter, that has all changed. I've seen the beauty and harmony this land has to offer, and the potential for us to make a new home here without harming it. And knowing that you've actually managed to thrive in these lands, that just means you have so much to teach us about it! I can't just tear all that away, not for all the gold beneath these stones."
This seemed to mollify Powhatan. "That is good to hear. But what about your crew? Are they going to give up their quest for this… gold so easily?"
Smith looked thoughtful. "If I talk to them long enough, and show them what Pocahontas has showed me, I think I can convince them. The crew respects me enough for that." He frowned at this point. "But there is one man I don't think I can convince. That greedy Governor Ratcliffe wants all the gold he can find, and he won't let anything stop him from getting it. Last I recall, I heard him saying something about the savages hoarding all the gold for themselves and leading a battalion to exterminate you."
At Powhatan's infuriated growl, Smith quickly raised his hands. "Easy there, sir, I certainly don't agree with him, and none of the crew find him very agreeable either, given he's had us digging for all these days with nothing to show for it. But without me, the men will be looking for a leader, and Radcliffe will certainly use that to his advantage."
Pocahontas suddenly gasped in sudden realization. "The manitou! They told me that the settlers are marching on our people, under the pretense of trying to rescue you, John! They'll be here any moment, coming through the southern forest!"
"What?!" exclaimed Powhatan, similar cries of outrage coming from his warriors. "Hatred or no hatred, I cannot let my people be wiped out!"
"Then let me try and talk to them. I can speak their language; I can reason with them!"
"Absolutely not! These men do not believe in Ketanetuwit; you cannot reason with them the way you reasoned with me, and I am not putting you in danger!"
"They may not belive in the Great Spirit's power, but His wisdom still flows through me, and that they cannot deny! I can reason with them, Father, you just have to believe in me! War is not the answer here!" Pocahontas said determinedly.
"And don't forget me," added Smith. "If I know my boys, they'll only be following Radcliffe just to get me back safe. If the men see I'm alright, they'll at least be more willing to hear you out. Ratcliffe may not agree, but he's only one man."
"Father, please," his daughter pleaded. Powhatan looked between the two peacekeepers, before making a decision.
"Opechancanough!" he called out to a warrior that looked only slightly younger than the Chief himself. "Take the braves to the western woods and hide there closeby. I will remain here with my daughter and Smith, and try to reason with his crew."
"Are you sure about this, brother?" asked the chief's younger brother. "What if there's treachery?"
"Then you and your men will be in position for an ambush," answered Powhatan, raising his weapon upright like a staff, "but only if I or my staff fall. The moment you see either I or my weapon fall, attack. Not before. When I raise it like I did before, all has gone well, and peace has been declared. Then you can stand down. Understand?"
"Yes, my Chief!" Opechancanough answered. He barked a few orders to the braves, all of whom then ran off towards the west and were gone in the blink of an eye.
Chief Powhatan turned back to his daughter. "Daughter, you shall be my ears and my voice. It is my duty as the Chief to defend our people, whether it is by words, or by force. With the wisdom of Ketanetuwit at our backs today, our lands will be preserved."
Turning back to Smith, he said, "Smith, I know these are your crew, but the safety of my people comes first. If we cannot reason with them and they attack, my men will be forced to do battle."
Smith nodded grimly. "Then I'll just have to make sure it doesn't come to that." He glanced at Pocahontas, whose determined expression had not changed. "Your daughter came here with the promise of peace, and I swear to see that promise through with my life, for both our peoples." He held out his hand to Powhatan. "How about you?"
Powhatan accepted the handshake firmly. "A thousand times over."
The battalion of settlers, muskets, blades and torches in hand, pushed north through the woods, approaching where Thomas, Ben and Lon had first seen the savages, thinking that their territory was near there. At the front line, Thomas was trudging along, breathing heavily from the ordeal a while ago.
The army had run across a deceptively muddy patch of land near the river, and many of the cannons had gotten stuck before anyone knew what had happened. Although a few of the men were all for leaving them behind, Ratcliffe had steadfastly refused. Thomas wasn't sure exactly what the governer had said, but he remembered a lot of blustering and "teaching those filthy savages a lesson in firepower", which had led to the men wasting a good few hours hauling the ordnance out. Daybreak was already upon them, and they had yet to see any Indians.
He spared a glance next to him at Ratcliffe, the puffed-up man strutting at the forefront of the entire army, one hand at his sword. The glimmer in his eyes seemed to hunger for the glory of the coming conflict, or the gold hidden away by the Indians… Thomas didn't really care. The sooner they got Smith back, the sooner Ratcliffe would get off their own backs.
Soon, the army caught sight the morning light through the trees, and sped up. The sight of a savage-looking silhouette so close made Thomas's blood surge, and his feet started to speed up. As a result, he was the first to emerge from the treeline, musket at the ready…
…only to come to a dumbfounded halt at the sight of an older, authoritative Indian man standing at the top of a rock outcropping, and shaking hands with a smiling Smith, who was clearly standing up, free of any bonds, and not looking like he'd been hauled away by savages.
The young man couldn't move for several long minutes; all he could do was stare at the bizarre sight, mouth moving, but not making any sound. He dimly heard the clanking of the men as they came out of the forest, saw Smith and the Indian Chief, and ground to a stop, stunned at what they were seeing.
Ratcliffe's reaction was the most extreme of all. The moment he saw a decidedly unbound Smith, his jaw practically distended and his eyes almost popped out of his head, all his rallying fervor to the men leaking out of him like air from a balloon. He could only stand there, making little sputtering noises of "Smi… Smi-smi… Smit…"
It was this sputtering that finally caught Smith's attention. "Oh, hello boys!" he called out cheerily. "Glad you could finally join the party!"
"John!" Thomas was the first to find his voice. "You're alright! But… but…"
"Well, of course I am, Thomas!" said his friend, still grinning like he'd just been on a great adventure. "I thought you had more faith in me than that!"
"But… but…" Thomas's eyes were flickering back and forth between Smith and the Chief so quickly he was almost cross-eyed. "You… the savage… the gun… and now you… and him…"
Smith just smirked at his younger companion's stunned babbling. "Oh, this chap? Gents, I'd like to introduce you to Chief Powhatan of the Algonquian peoples. He's actually not so bad once you get to know him." Powhatan let a small smile creep onto his face as Pocahontas, who was a little ways behind him, whispered what Smith was saying to him. "We actually just finished talking about a few things."
"What things?" Thomas asked, finally feeling his brain start to straighten out enough to speak coherently. He spared a small glance towards the other men; they didn't seem to be that far along yet, and Ratcliffe's flabbergasted expression hadn't budged an inch.
Smith smiled. "Just a few issues about peace between us and them. I never realized just how much we could learn from these people if we just took the time to listen. Honestly lads, what they can offer us, I think is much more valuable than gold."
It was the mention of gold that snapped Ratcliffe out of his stupor. "SMITH!" he all but screamed up at the supposed captive, shaking his fist furiously. "What is the meaning of this?! We come all this way to rescue you, and now we find you consorting with savages?! TRAITOR!"
Powhatan wrinkled his nose, and said something calmly in Algonquian. Pocahontas, still out of direct sight of the men, translated for him. "Governor Ratcliffe, I assume? Don't you think someone who is howling up at us and frothing at the mouth while calling us savages is a little stupid?"
Ratcliffe's face turned blue as he tried to recover from the snub. A few men listening sniggered at the counter, while the remainder were stupefied yet again at a supposed savage speaking their language so fluently. Smith held back a snicker. "Traitor, sir? Hardly! I've got no intention of betraying anyone; all I'm doing is trying to end this battle before it begins!"
The portly governor made to splutter something, but Ben gave him a nudge. "Quiet, governor, I'm listening here!"
"See, this is what not running in shooting everything in sight does for you." Pocahontas couldn't help but smother a snort at the irony of Smith's words. "I managed to explain what we were doing here, but instead of the Chief here getting mad, he showed me something that I'll never forget in my life."
Smith's eyes misted over as he remembered the sights Pocahontas had shown him. "He and his daughter showed me the land that has sustained them for generations, its wonders, its gifts, its marvels. In just one night, I've played with bears, ran with deer, swam with otters, and danced with eagles. I heard the songs of howling wolves and saw the art of the starry heavens. I witnessed the most glorious sunrise I will ever see in my entire life, and painted with all the colours of the four winds."
Powhatan's small smile grew just a bit bigger as Pocahontas poetically translated his words. "I must say, your friend can certainly speak well," he murmured, before declaring something else in Algonquian.
His daughter smiled as she translated his words. "The wonders this land holds are precious to our people, and in the name of peace between us, we offer to share these wonders with all of you. To respect the land and all its creations, we welcome your people to our shores with open arms."
Smith jumped off the outcropping and slid down the embankment, to stand directly in front of the battalion. "Don't you see? This new land holds a new future for us, men, and Chief Powhatan and his people can help us get there! They've lived here in this wild for generations, working with the land instead of tearing it apart. If we learn from them, we can make a new home here, for us, for our families, for the future!" He spread his arms towards the men who were now listening in wonder.
He spoke his conclusion with a smile. "So, tell me, men, is a bright new future in a bright new world still worth destroying for greed?"
At this, the men shared glances, obviously won over by Smith's charisma and his words. A few of the men had dreamy looks on their faces, thinking of this new future, and a few more were gazing up at the sky, wondering about the marvels they could see. Thomas, hope brimming in his eyes, was the first to speak up, "…Smith, I… I want to see this future. Whatever you decide to do, I'm standing by you." Murmurs of agreeement started to come from most of the men standing around him, as the young man put out his hand towards his senior.
Smith grinned and put out his own hand, but Thomas was suddenly rudely elbowed aside by Ratcliffe, the governor taking his place in front of the settler. The two men exchanged pointed glares; from Smith's raised position, he and the burly Ratcliffe were eye-level with each other.
"Well, Smith, once again you prove your presence over my men. All you have to do is warble a few words and they rally to your side," Ratcliffe said, his voice snide.
"That's because I have earned their trust," Smith answered, eyes beginning to narrow as he lowered his hand. "I fight with them, I bleed with them, and they know I would never put them in harm's way. Their loyalty is my reward. Which is more than I can say for you, Governor." He declared the last word with more than a slight mocking air.
Ratcliffe twitched, but kept his voice level. "Indeed? You never put them in harm's way, you say? Then I must say…"
Without warning, his bracer-clad arm shot up and smashed Smith directly on his helmetless temple. "… you're more of a fool than I thought!"
Many of the men let out disbelieving shouts as Smith started to fall, but one meaty hand reached out to haul him back upright by the neck. The governor's other hand drew his blade with a swish, and rested the tip against Smith's throat.
"John!" Thomas exclaimed, as Pocahontas started in shock. Even Powhatan was caught off guard by the brutality. All eyes turned to the governor.
"What in the name of King James's crown are ya doing, gov'ner?" blurted Lon, his face a mixture of anger and shock. "Have ya lost yer bleedin' mind?"
"Do you actually believe that your 'Chief' will keep his word?" Ratcliffe snarled in Smith's face, before whirling around at the men. "Do you idiots actually think that his drivel about a future actually exists? Those savages can't be trusted! The moment we let our guard down, they'll swoop in and slaughter the lot of us!"
Powhatan couldn't help but tense up at his guess. His hands tightened on his staff.
"Then what was…" Ben couldn't get a word in edgewise.
"Smith, I honestly thought you were smarter than this," Ratcliffe drawled condescendingly to the still-dazed Smith. "Surely you could've seen through all that false rhetoric these savages were spouting, even through that archaic tongue that you've somehow managed to decode. If you didn't, that makes you a fool to end all fools…"
He stopped suddenly, as if realizing something, "… or you did see through it… and you went along with it anyway… that's it, isn't it?" He pulled Smith in so they were blurry-eyed face to fury-filled face. "You knew all along that they were planning an ambush, and yet you followed their plans… to kill us all… which makes you a traitor."
Pocahontas's heart was hammering in her chest, as she watched Ratcliffe make the situation visibly worse and worse. Her claws started to dig into her palms, and she started to tremble…
The men were by now completely bewildered, looking from one man to the other. "Sir, you can't possibly think that John-" Thomas started to say, obviously distressed.
Ratcliffe paid him no heed. "And do you remember what I said would happen to traitors?"
Smith only managed a groan in response.
The fat man's eyes were burning. "They are hanged for treason." His sword drew back.
"Stop!" shouted Thomas, lunging for the weapon, but he had barely taken a step when an earsplitting roar of a dozen different animals split the air. The settler stumbled slightly, then stared.
Ratcliffe stared in sheer incredulousness at the figure now standing in front of him, both clawed hands wrapped around his wrists. The woman's tattooed face hadn't changed from its calm state, but her eyes were flashing fire. Powhatan did a double take, realizing his daughter was no longer standing next to him, but was now facing someone more than twice her age and twice her size.
"You… you dare…" Ratcliffe gritted out in barely restrained fury.
"No more than you dare spreading lies to fuel your hate," Pocahontas's voice still retained its serene quality, but the flickering in her eyes sped up. "John is not a traitor, and we are not liars. We came here for peace, and the only person that wants a war is you."
"What are you waiting for, men?!" Ratcliffe shouted at the men. "Shoot her!"
Chief Powhatan glanced quickly at the line of armed men, ready to drop his staff at a moment's notice… but the men didn't, their rifles lowered, and their bewilderment now turned to suspicion. Ben stepped forward. "Look gov'ner, I don't know what you're thinking, but Smith, a traitor?" He scoffed. "Poppycock! He's been a friend of the Virginia Company long before we even heard of you, and I'd sooner take his word over yours."
"Aye!" Lon said, the red-bearded man stepping up beside his comrade. "'Sides, I agree with Smith. Why throw our lives away in war when we can live and make our own future in this new land without dying? I'd rather the living one meself."
"You imbeciles! Have you forgotten why we came to this world?" Ratcliffe was beside himself, trying to move his sword, but Pocahontas's grip was like iron. "The gold! The riches that lie beneath our feet and that these filthy savages have squirreled away for themselves! There is enough here for a bright future for all of us, and you're going to give it up when it's this close?"
That statement had all the settlers blinking in sheer disbelief. Pocahontas shook her head. "How long are you going to keep deluding yourself, Ratcliffe? There is none of what you call gold in our land, and my people most certainly do not squirrel it away. The riches you want so badly do not exist here!"
The sound of Ratcliffe's mind snapping at the refusal to accept that his goal was nonexistent was almost audible.
"LIAR!" One boot shot out in a callous kick towards her, but Pocahontas saw it coming and deftly leapt back, pulling the portly man off balance. Ratcliffe and Smith hit the dirt with a painful clank, but the armored governor was up in less than a moment. Pocahontas tensed herself, but instead, Ratcliffe turned and started up the embankment towards the Chief, sword in hand. "I know you're hiding that gold, barbarian, and I'll find it even if I have to cut the location from your skull!"
Powhatan tensed himself for a fight as he watched the mad governor climb closer, but a shout of "Rush of the Bison!" caught his attention alongside the recognizable low of a bison, and a blur that was his daughter rammed into Ratcliffe horned-headdress-first, sending them both tumbling back down the embankment. The Chief glanced in the direction where he knew his braves were; if he had to defend himself, his warriors would see it as the signal to attack and the whole situation would go from bad to worse.
The governor crashed clumsily to the ground as Pocahontas somersaulted gracefully through the air, rebounded off a tree, and landed neatly on her feet a short distance away. "You stay away from my father!" she shouted.
"Impudent-" Ratcliffe bit off his words with a roar and lunged, swinging with his blade. The native woman backflipped gracefully away, with an enraged Ratcliffe chasing after her.
As Smith groaned and started to come to, Thomas darted to him to help him up. "John, are you alright?"
"Just peachy," muttered the captain, rubbing his head. "Of all the times to forget my helmet…"
"John, you didn't really betray us, did you?" Thomas asked concernedly. "Ratcliffe was going on and on about how you had betrayed us to the… natives."
Smith gave Thomas his best incredulous look, but Ratcliffe's furious scream distracted him from actually voicing it. Everyone turned to watch the apoplectic man swinging his sword furiously at Pocahontas, but getting nowhere fast.
"Stay still!" The longsword whistled through the air again but missed Pocahontas by a mile, as she danced around him like a bird. "I'll get the gold from you even if I have to drag it from your cold, dead hands!"
"Is this what comes of your greed?" Pocahontas cried, not sounding fatigued at all despite the blade-filled dance. "Is this what your want of gold has driven you to? Why? What do you gain by getting all this gold?"
"Everything I've ever needed!" Ratcliffe shrieked, sounding more unhinged by the moment. "Wealth! Fame! Power! All those fat bastards in the English court, royal backstabbers, the lot of them! They laughed at me for all those failed trips; well, I'll show them! They'll be kissing my feet when I return with all the gold this land possesses!" He stabbed out with his sword, but Pocahontas took a giant leap over his head, her taloned feet knocking his hat off.
"He's gone off his rocker!" exclaimed Thomas, watching as Ratcliffe twisted and turned, his face a mixture of exhaustion and outrage. "I've got to do something!" Before Smith could say or do anything, the youngster raced forward at the man's back, gun raised like a club.
With all his strength, Thomas swung the butt of his gun at Ratcliffe's temple, but the armored governor moved just in time that it bounced off his shoulder pauldron instead. His face suffused with fury, Ratcliffe whirled around and violently cracked Thomas across the temple with the pommel of his sword, toppling him like a felled tree.
"Thomas!" came the horrified shouts of Smith, Ben and Lon.
Rage bubbled up in the dark-haired man's eyes. "Alright, that's the last straw!" he yelled. "I don't care if you're King James's grandmother, nobody messes with our mates and gets away with it!" He started forward, weapon raised, but a lead ball struck him in his helmeted head, denting the metal, knocking the gun from his hands, and sending him staggering back into the other men, sending them all to the ground in a heap.
"Ben!" exclaimed Lon in shock.
"And that goes for any more of you scoundrels!" Ratcliffe spat, holding Thomas's smoking musket in one arm. Corpulent or not, the man was no pushover. Casting aside the smoking gun, he turned back to the downed Thomas, his sword in his other hand.
"You've disappointed me for the last time, boy! I will have my gold, and no-one, not Smith, not these savages, and most certainly not you, will get in my way!" As the young settler lay on the ground, clutching his bleeding head, he saw the blade come down and closed his eyes…
… then opened them again when no impact came. Looking up, he saw through blurred eyes, the native woman standing above him, oversized nails blocking the blade.
Ratcliffe stared, fury replaced with raw shock, at what he had pushed over the edge. Pocahontas's expression had hardened to resemble her father's stern visage more than ever, and the flames in her eyes had not gone out, but taken on a whole different timbre.
Something… feral.
When she spoke, her voice resonated with the spirits that had given her power. "Your hate and greed have stained this land for long enough." She shoved the sword away before crying out, "Dance of the Heron!"
A heron's call rang out, and before Ratcliffe's eyes, Pocahontas vanished into a blur of motion, moving so fast it seemed she was made of wind. She darted over and around the dazed man, peppering him with blows that dizzied his brain and forced him away from Thomas, step by step. It was Smith's turn to run in and drag Thomas out of the way, eyes fixed on the battle in awe.
"The moment this conflict started, I swore something to myself," the woman declared in that resonant voice of hers, even as Ratcliffe tried to block her strikes with his blade. "I swore that I would not give in to hatred; to want to strike down those who would harm the ones I love." One final kick right into the man's armored gut knocked him flat on his rump.
Pocahontas slowed to a stop, and then intoned, "Fangs of the Wolf!" Claws bared, she flew at Ratcliffe with a feral, canine growl, who only just managed to block her first swipe in time, but had to scramble to defend against the ones that quickly followed. "That is why, even faced with the threat of war, I would not raise my hand against my father, nor any of my kinsmen, nor any of John's comrades. Their hatred comes from fear of the unknown, and they are not to be blamed for it. Only understanding can banish such fear." The rest of the men stood back, staying out of the way of swinging claws and steel.
Finally, one claw slash knocked the governor's blade out of position, leaving Pocahontas's free hand to gouge four deep scratches into his metal breastplate. The vicious feat was enough to leave Ratcliffe gaping in horror at her strength, and she took full advantage with a backhand to his face, sending him sprawling in the dirt. The governor stared up at her with a bloody nose, as she continued, "But you, Governor Ratcliffe – the hate you feel comes from more than just fear. It is your greed that drives you, feeds your lust for gold and power, feeds your hatred for those that keep you from your prize. And in your mind, this perfectly justifies your act of war against this land, all to drain it try of treasures it does not conceal."
In one swift motion, she was directly in front of him again. Ratcliffe tried to raise his now-battered weapon, but a taloned kick bloodied his hand and sent the sword spiraling into the air, where it was caught by a furry claw. Pocahontas's feral gaze fixed on the governor's as she raised her other hand.
"And too many times, you have shown that your greed is beyond reasoning. In the eyes of the Creator, this will not stand." Her muscles flexed as she snapped, "Nails of the Cougar!" A savage, feline roar echoed out as she brought her hand down, claws bared, upon the steel sword. The sound of splintering metal was nearly deafening as the forged steel blade shattered like glass under the spiritually-empowered woman's blow.
Ratcliffe had now lost all colour in his face at he tried to scramble back out of reach of the inhuman woman. Many of the onlookers were only a shade less pale, watching the chief's daughter turn her gaze on the beaten, beleagured man, who frantically crab-walked backwards even faster. But suddenly, he froze, feeling something familiar under his hand, and a glint of desperate glee appeared in his eyes.
Seeing Ratcliffe freeze, one of the men's eyes fell on what he had obtained, and he gasped. "Ben! He's got your musket!"
No-one else had time to react when the governor pulled the loaded musket from behind him, took desperate aim at Pocahontas's head, and with a scream of, "You've made a mockery of me for the last time, redskin whore!", pulled the trigger with a bang. Everyone flinched.
When Chief Powhatan could finally think after being caught off guard by the shot, his eyes immediately registered two things. For one, the hand holding his cudgel was now covered in splinters, drifting down from the hole the lead ball had made in the head of his weapon. For another, and what he was most thankful for, far from a bleeding body in the middle of the field, his daughter was nowhere to be seen.
As John's heart slowed down from the near miss, the sudden howling of the wind above him caught his attention, and he looked up to see Pocahontas herself carried on the winds they had danced in all those days ago. She looked more in tune with the spirits of the land than ever as she gazed down at the governor, who, by his desperate look, had completely exhausted his options.
"Enough is enough, Ratcliffe. It is time for this dance to end," Pocahontas proclaimed, her inky black hair swirling behind her and her voice thrumming with power, "As the bearer of the Heralds of the Creator, I cast you out from these lands for all eternity. Never again will you step foot on these soils! Now, begone!"
With that, the winds around her body shifted and howled, sending her rocketing towards the corpulent man like a stooping bird of prey, talons outstretched. Too slow to even think about dodging, Ratcliffe could only let out a wail of anguish and defeat as Pocahontas's final shout and the eagle's piercing scream deafened him.
"Crushing Talons of the Eagle!"
The governor's metal breastplate shattered into a million pieces as the human-shaped arrow careened into his chest. Ratcliffe's world exploded in pain, and he was flung backwards like he was shot out of a cannon. The men scrambled out of the way as the fat man flew past them, bounced a few times, before crashing against a tree, utterly defeated, while Pocahontas somersaulted off a cushion of wind to land lightly on her feet.
Instantly, he was mobbed by a dozen men, as they tore away his weapons and armor. "Put him in chains, lads," said Smith grimly as he approached him. "We can't let a despot like him get away without being properly tried in court."
"I'll… see… you all… hanged for this…" the barely-conscious Ratcliffe managed to wheeze out, blood dripping from his mouth.
"And gag him too!" Thomas added, leaning onto Smith for support, his bleeding head bandaged with a strip of cloth.
Smith chuckled at the lad's pluckiness, before nodding to Ben and Lon, the former removing his dented helmet and rubbing the goose egg that had formed. "Ben, Lon, get Thomas to the ship doc. He needs proper care, and so do you, Ben!"
The two men took Thomas off Smith's hands, as the captain turned towards Pocahontas, who had settled back on the ground. The feral look was gone from her eyes, and now only exhaustion remained. "John…" she murmured softly.
"Peace, Pocahontas," soothed the settler, walking up to her, "you did it. Ratcliffe is finished. You brought peace to this land, and our peoples."
Pocahontas gave a soft smile and embraced him. "No, John, we did," she whispered. As the two clung to each other, she felt the air around them start to whirl and blow, and heard the voices of the Heralds speak to her over the singing of the air.
"The land is safe; our duty here is done. Now, we must return to the side of the Creator. But remember, Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan, as long as you keep your kindness and strength alive, the power we have granted to you today will never wane. When you need our aid, we will be here."
Chief Powhatan watched in quiet awe as a gust of multicoloured leaves whirled up around Pocahontas and Smith, obscuring them from view, as the words of a familiar native song of peace reached his ears. He smiled, sending a silent prayer to Ketanetuwit that no-one had lost their lives from this ordeal, before a crashing and whooping caught his attention. He turned to the forest, as his battalion of braves burst through the underbrush, his younger brother in the lead, only to come to a screeching halt at the sight of an unharmed Powhatan, a whirl of foliage around his daughter, and an incarcerated black-suited governor being hauled away by the other settlers. In unison, they all turned puzzled (and somewhat hopeful) glances on their leader.
"There is no need to worry, my brothers," Powhatan said, raising his hand. "The source of the settlers' greed has been vanquished with the aid of Ketanetuwit and the manitou of our home." He raised his damaged staff proudly. "Let it be known that on this day, our nations have declared peace!"
The listening natives immediately burst into whoops and hollers again, this time with joy and triumph. The listening settlers, although not understanding the chief's words, recognized the victorious tone in his voice and let out shouts and cheers of their own, raising their hands to the air and smiling like the sun above them.
And through it all, the two people that made it all possible continued their long embrace, simply enjoying each other's presence and comfort, only barely noticing as the winds and leaves died down around them, leaving Pocahontas once again in her modest deerskin tunic and a small strange card clasped in her hand.
In future years, the legend of the native woman that had been blessed with the strength to stand up to her foes and forge peace between two warring groups would spread across the seas and through many generations. Although such an account would more often be taken as fiction rather than fact, one thing was undeniable.
On the anniversary of the Day of Peace, the Virginia winds would sing an Algoniquian peace song to all four corners of the land, as they had did on the dawn of that very first day.
Sheesh. When I started this project, I knew this picture was going to be a challenge to write out, and I have to say that I was not wrong. Do you guys have any idea how hard it is to give berserker powers to a Disney character whose main awesome moment was for pacifism, and make it look epic without being OOC?
And yes, I still hate writer's block. I don't know whether it's the lack of any reviews or interest, or something else…
Once again, I hope this chapter passes muster. This was a lot harder to write than I thought! I might go through it again a few times if I feel it needs perking up.
Skirtzzz, thank you so much for waiting again! Once again, I'm so, so sorry I took so long! I really don't have any excuse aside from the aforementioned writer's block, and who knows when I'll get my groove back?
Yeah, I know I took a lot of creative liberties with the Algoniquian people (I cite Wikipedia for the origin of Powhatan and Pocahontas), and I apologize to any readers who have first-hand experience and can see all the mistakes I've made, historically, culturally and mythologically.
Find Pocahontas's berserker costume, created by the talented DeviantArtist Skirtzzz here (scrap all the spaces)!:
skirtzzz . deviantart dotcom / art / Berserker – Pocahontas – 191715143
Review and Critique please; I'd really like to know someone's reading this! But please, no flaming!
Next Chapter: Damsel of Darkness