Name: Come Away

Rating: PG-11

Summary: Captain John Smith and his love return home to everything that feels right.

Disclaimer: I obviously can't own these people if they actually lived nearly four centuries ago.

Authors Note: I was not happy at all about Pocahontas' decision over which man to pick in the end of her story, before she died. I wanted her to be with Smith because they loved each other, but it's history, one that can't be changed. But this here is an alternate, what I would have liked to see as an ending. So please, do not flame me for this. I know I can't change history, but it's just pure imagination here.

Warning: If you have not seen the movie, do not read this. Contains some spoilers.

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Pocahontas gazed up through furrowed eyes at Captain John Smith.

The overcast skies blew a chilling breeze across the groomed garden of the estate in England, disrupting the hushed talk to the destined lovers. John fondly scratched his black beard, ticking the short hairs under his lips; he was waiting, impatient but willingly patient. He had just inquired it this woman—the very princess that saved his life from a violent death when he set foot in her Indian tribes territory many years ago—had feelings for him. He knew the answer, she had expressed it more than once, but he wished to hear it from her lips.

She stopped and glided across the cut lawn, the soft grass squishing under her heels. She folded her hands in front of her nervously, pacing and every so often looking in between the house windows and John's expectant face. The lavishing princes, daughter to Chief Powhatan, curled a strand of long chocolate hair behind her ear and halted her pacing. Her dark eyes fluttered up to John, who was shifting his weight and looking across the deserted estate.

She had hooked her fingers in his within twenty seconds, smiling slightly up at him, her eyes quivering. "I belong to you." she said shyly. The words were fond to her ears for they were the last words she had told him in his arms before she was told of his fraudulent death.

John smiled down at her, his fingers gently stroking her brown skin, running across every curve and angle of her face. She leaned into his touch, eyes still locked on him. How could she have left him go? Everything had died in her when she was told of his death. Only the small prospect brought on by meeting and beginning a life with John Rolfe had filled a small portion of that emptiness. Both knew that their hearts truly belonged to other people; she had died with John Smith and he fleeted with his deceased wife and daughter. But she was young and had created a life with another man out of a lie. A child, a son, had progressed and she could no longer run. She was trapped…trapped in this world of black and white, of war and corruption, of poison and death.

Her dreams swam back to her home, her true dream of the place that she really longed to be in. She would wake in the night, sneak away, and cry. These thoughts brought, too, the images of John Smith and their forbidden love for one another. Everywhere they went someone was watching; their only escape was the forest where they had been together, a vanished pair from the world that swirled away. Their time together felt like heaven on magic, almost too much. John admitted he felt like everything he had witnessed with her, all those feelings, had been a dream.

"And your husband?" John finally spoke, covering his hand over hers that was laid upon his cheek, her thumb grazing his rough skin.

Pocahontas tilted her head to the side. "He understands. He knew my heart belonged to you from the beginning." A sudden memory of his most recent words to her came back and she couldn't conceal a beam. "I am free. He has let me go. To you."

John bowed his head, hiding his expression of pure happiness that was threatening to show from the eruption in his chest. His hands ventured to her shoulders, recoiling at the feel of forced fabric covering her body. She looked concealed in these clothes, unnatural on her. These clothes, only meant to please these people so she could somehow fit in with everyone else, hid the real her and confined her. Her spirit was locked away.

"Does he know? About…? That we…long to be together." he asked cautiously.

"Yes. He has accepted it, I hope."

"And your son? We cannot avoid that fact, that you have a child here. How would he feel if his mother dragged him from his father and traveled across the world to an unknown area?" John ranted, dragging on a sore subject.

Pocahontas' brow furrowed. She hadn't thought about Thomas Rolfe, her son. She had been too overwhelmed with the happiness to being able to be with John that she had completely disregarded the boy. If she left with John, to wherever they started their lives, she would no longer be Rebecca Rolfe, as people knew her. She would be Pocahontas, the princess of a tribe.

Her arms fell to her side and she stared down blankly at the ground. She fell into thought, oblivious to everything else. She brushed past John and proceeded up the gravel path to the front door, hands wrung together in front of her, thumping against her bold legs that carried her across the yard. She heard John following her and she looked back at him once, but never stopped. They came to the front door, where John's black horse was still waiting, and she stopped, making him halt in his tracks as well.

"Wait here a moment." she instructed.

She fingered a strand of his hair, the wet texture sticking to her hands, and turned to leave. John caught her hand and held her back for a moment. She looked back at him, lightly tugging on his hand. Then she felt like the young girl running through the tall grass, her infatuated eyes locked on John as he played along, watching her free spirit soar with the eagles. He released her and she climbed the steps to the room she had left her husband in. Her heels clinked against the dark stone, reverberating off the silent passages, announcing her presence into every room. She found John Rolfe in his study, blindly staring at a book open in front of him. His cheek was pressed into his knuckle, head tilted to the side as his eyes opened and closed rhythmically.

Pocahontas lightly knocked on the door and bowed when the man looked up at her. She tried to smile for him, but that easily evaporated when she noted the unpleasant tint in his eyes. He straightened and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead he stood and maneuvered around the desk to stand before her. He took her hands in his and gazed down at her. She refused to meet his eyes.

"I knew from the beginning. Your heart and soul lies with someone else." he told her gently, not once letting his tone rise or falter. "You are meant to be with him and I won't stand in your way." She looked up at him. "Go."

"But Thomas—" she started.

"I will tell him something. Not to worry. Everything will work out."

Silence followed this hushed encounter. Nothing was left to say. What could be said? Pocahontas stood on tiptoes and laid a tender kiss on his cheek, a silent way of bidding good-bye. She walked back to the door, head tucked in and hands together, but looked back once. John Rolfe smiled and waved at her; he knew she belonged with the love of her life.

XXXX

The sun shown brightly down on them as the vast ship plummeted under the force of the rapid waves, trotting high and low. The crewmen worked busily on the ship, putting up the cast or placing the anchor in its position to be bore down in the sand in several minutes. Pocahontas sat huddled on the deck, legs drawn up to her chest, staring at the green land she remembered all to well. She gulped as she saw black figures running through the trees, following the ship as it sailed for land.

The wind whipped at her hair, which she kept held up in a barrette. It was habit now even though she was back in her skimpy dress she used to wear to keep cool during the warm summer. She made sure to keep anything unmentioned cleverly covered from the men since her dress was short and had slits up the sides, baring the sides of her toned bottom and legs.

John steadily walked towards her, gripping the dangling ropes for leverage as the ship swayed in the rivers waters. It'd been easy to fall into the water. He held out his hand to her and she happily took it. He pulled her up to him, locking her in his arms. She slid her hands up his chest, feeling the broad plane that was partially uncovered from his unbuttoned shirt, revealing his brawn upper torso. She smiled at him, biting the inside of her lip.

He leaned down and laid a tender kiss on her lips, his facial hair tickling her cheeks. She blushed under his eyes when they parted. He held her tight to him, running his hands over her naked shoulders. His eyes traveled over the water to the land that was their home, in the forest; they were nearing and they could both feel it. It was strong. Would they be welcomed back? Would there be open arms waiting for them or would they violently discover they were savages in a forbidden area? They could only pray.

"I liked to believe there is something good in store for me. A destiny all my own." John once said when Jamestown was first founded; standing on a ship headed for the place he and his love would forever call home, he felt that again.

John reached in his pocket and withdrew the bird feather Pocahontas had given him. He'd kept it for so many years, brushing it when his thoughts routinely drifted to her. When he had left deliberately, he had thought she would be gone. The anger that followed this decision resulted in total destruction of his makeshift room. He had been found by one of the commanders huddled in the corner of the tent, clutching the feather, tears staining his cheeks. That day had been the worst; he was forced to leave the only thing he wanted, the only thing that felt right to him in a world of betrayal.

Pocahontas brushed her fingers over the smooth feather, slipping over the brims of and falling down to the stem, and smiled. John reached behind her hand pulled the barrette from her hair, watching as it cascaded down her back and across his hands. She watched him do this, but her eyes left his and trailed the feather when he moved it away. Never inching from her warm body, he slipped the feather in her hair, above her ear, so it fit perfectly.

The couple made quite a sight: the Indian princess and death row captain, fallen in love under the worst conditions. Feathers symbolizing their love adorned both their beds of hair, fluttering and flying in the wind.

"Are you ready?" John asked after a moment when he noticed that were at their point of anchor.

Pocahontas hesitated, but eventually smiled. John embraced her; no matter what was to come, he would be at her side. There was no changing that. Why would love be given to us if we aren't made to take it?

The ship suddenly thudded to a stop, embedding itself in the damp sand. Two men jumped down first so they could tie the ship to a tree or something so they would not find it halfway out into the water when they returned. Once this was accomplished, three more men jumped down, their boots sinking. John left Pocahontas long enough to jump down and converse with his right-hand man for a brief second. He held his arms out to his love, offering support for her descent back into familiar soil.

She carefully sat on the edge of the ship's deck and slid off, plummeting to the ground. John caught her, hands grasping her waist. He was her anchor, supporting her so she landed safely. He kissed her cheek when they were definitely on the land, the fallen tree branches creaking and breaking under their bare feet. He wound his arm around her waist, possessively holding her close, as two Indian warriors approached them, displaying their bow and arrows, their weapons.

They stood still, knowing full well that unless they received confirmation that they could venture back into the tribe they wouldn't get too far, and let these two men, their faces and bodies painted black and blue, examine them. The taller of the two recognized Pocahontas first. He fell into a kneeling position, mumbling something to his companion whom instantly followed suit, and spread their hands out, retrieving them from their position on their forehead. The warriors stood and eyed John suspiciously. He was obviously not recognizable.

One of them poked at John, eyes narrowed in concentration. The other one lightly swatted him on his arm when he tugged forcefully on John's hair, making him wince. Pocahontas snapped out something that John didn't catch because he was too busy trying to tune out the pain from being yanked on. But he words apparently did something; the two men beckoned the couple forward and led them to the city. As they walked, nearing the place of refuge, the two began to yell in their native language, fast word. John heard them and could just barely make them out from what he'd been taught. They were announcing the princess had returned.

They reached the village and weren't surprised to see everyone had stopped whatever they were doing and were lined up to greet their visitors. But this greeting was not the happy one expected; it was more like hundreds of eyes boring into them and judging them. John held Pocahontas tighter, eyeing all of them right back. The two men led them straight towards the chief's house, lined with animal skin and sturdy wood. The older man, Pocahontas' father, with long hair and his lower face painted in a black design, drew back his fur hood and stomped his foot. His eyes roved over John and Pocahontas, studying them as neither uttered a word. They knew better.

Chief Powhatan circled them once then stopped in front of them, ordering them to look at him. His right arm appeared in mid air and wove towards them. One by one he placed his palm against their chest, covering their thundering hearts, then smiled. He opened his arm to Pocahontas. She smiled and embraced him. He closed his eyes, enveloping her body, then reached out and squeezed John's shoulder.

He stood back from Pocahontas and clasped his hands around her neck. "Welcome home, my daughter."

XXXX

One year later…

The tribe was buzzing around the blazing fire, the orange and black shadows reflecting off the dancing bodies performing the particular dance. They sang and danced around the fire, moving in unison with each other, swaying, turning, and twisting their bodies. John danced among them, positioned in between two warriors.

His black hair fell across his face, a small braid slapping his cheek as he moved with the music. The orange embers lit his body, showing his many tattoos and blood red handprint stamped on his bare chest. He was a blend of orange and black, heightening his attractiveness. He opened his eyes, feeling the seductive dance closing to an end, and scanned the audience for her. He found her sitting where he had left her when he was dragged to his feet by her brother—one of many—to dance.

The light brightened her face beautifully, casting her into a mysterious air. The dance ended and another quickly picked up, but John bowed out. He stumbled over to her and collapsed beside her, staring up at the stars. No matter how many times he danced, keeping these peoples pace always seemed to take his breath away. He sat up, his hand braced behind Pocahontas so they were near, and smiled at her. She returned the smile, gazing into his eyes, but she looked down, her smile widening.

The baby bundled in her arms, tucked securely in hand-woven blankets, giggled up at her parents. John extracted his index finger and waved it around in his daughter's line of vision. She happily grasped it, wrapping both her small hands around his large finger. John laughed; she already acted like her mother, curious about everything. He leaned down and laid a kiss on her forehead then looked at her mother. She still radiated her exquisite beauty, despite her age, and truly grew more gorgeous as the day went on.

Slowly, he leaned in and captured her lips, stroking her cheek. The fire danced across their bodies, lighting the family. That's that they were, a family.

XXXX

FIN