A/N: Hi all!

I've decided to start a Pocahontas fanfic. I've recently gotten on this Pocahontas obsession as of late, watching anything I can get my hands on. I've truly missed this community of readers and writers. After many many years of strictly writing one-shots, an idea for a full-length story has come to mind. (Though, I will always and forever write one-shots.)

Please do not hesitate in leaving feedback! I truly appreciate any reviews.

I hope you will enjoy this!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything to do with Pocahontas. Disney owns the movie rights; history knows the true story of Pocahontas and John Smith. I also know the history; I just like to have fun with the characters from the movie above.

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The warriors stretched his arms above him as in one quick moment they were securely tied above his head. The man trying to not wince as his shirt was sliced from his already bruised and beaten body.

Captain John Smith briefly bowed his head; his mind already trying to think of any way that he could possibly escape his current situation. There was no one here that knew him, no one to neither save him nor speak for him on his or Powhatan's behalf. The captain knew what was to be expected of him as he felt the unmistakable sharp lash of something hitting his back. He could feel the droplets of blood slide down his legs as he struggled to keep standing.

There was no Pocahontas, and for this fact John was grateful. They had already been through so much, this would only add to it. If this was how it was all going to end, he knew it was best she not see anything at all.

'No.'

John mused as he tried his bindings, he being not surprised when they did not give.

'It is better she does not see this.'

The captain watched as a tall older warrior approached his bound figure. John's eyes narrowed as the man, with a dark look in his eyes touched the blade of his own knife to his throat.

"Say your name."

The man commanded as the crowd fell silent and the captive swallowed.

"I tell you to do something," the chief spoke in broken English as a trickle of blood slid down John's neck, "Tell us what your name is now."

"John," the captain spoke as forcefully as he could, "John Smith. I tell you the truth that.-"

His sentence was sharply interrupted by a heavy backhand across the face leaving him with a quickly swelling left eye.

"I only told you to state your name. Why do you come to this territory? We are not like Powhatan, weak and easily dissuaded from our ways."

"We came here in peace," John began his voice low, "Powhatan is my brother for I saved his life. Powhatan's people and mine are united by.-"

"I do not care! No longer does this matter! You know the law!"

The captain recognized the flash of rage in the warrior's eyes before the knife slashed a gash in his chest. The action seemed to start up the crowd as the man stepped away, crossing his arms over his front before smirking at his prisoner.

"God have mercy," he silently prayed as the sunlight disappeared behind the clouds and the chanting along with the drum beats began.

..-...-...-...-...-

It did not matter how long she lived with this tribe, the woman simply could not forget her own people. She knew that her marriage to the chief's eldest son of the Massawomack tribe would insure peace, just as Pocahontas's marriage to John Smith insured the peace between her original tribe and the settlers.

Sighing, Nakoma placed down the garment she had been mending as her husband entered the hut.

"Good evening Hassun," she greeted as he silently knelt by the fire.

"Bandage my hand," he replied as he held out said hand.

The woman nodded as she silently gathered her supplies before kneeling at her husband's side.

"How was the hunting today?"

The native asked as she began to clean her husband's wound, "This looks like a..."

"It is a slash from a knife," he answered, "We captured a white intruder along with some other men in our borders. He and the men claim to come in peace however we all know how false.-"

"Hassun," she interrupted him as he glared, "If our people harm these men we will not only have the Powhatan's to deal with but the Whiteman's people. I have seen the weapons that they have..."

She let her voice trail off as her husband narrowed his eyes, "Do you doubt me? Do you not think I can keep you safe?"

"Not at all," she replied as she started wrapping his hand, "However, are tribe is not big enough. These people will not be easy to defeat."

Hassun sighed as his look softened as he gazed at her. The man moved to embrace her form, he gently kissing her cheek.

"Has anyone ever told you that you speak too much?"

Though his tone was light, Nakoma could sense his underlying meaning. Though Hassun had never been directly cruel to her, his attitude was still not very friendly towards his wife.

"You can come with me tomorrow. My father is requesting that everyone attend."

"May I inquire as to what we are asked to attend?"

Nakoma asked as she turned towards the fire in order to fetch the pot of stew from the flames. After serving her husband they ate in silence before he answered her question.

"The execution of the prisoners. That is, if they are not already dead from our treatment."

Nakoma sharply looked up, "Hassun please, I beg you to reconsider this move. After all, is not our marriage the reason for the peace between Powhatan and this tribe?"

"It is," he nodded, "However, we did not make peace with the whites."

"Hassun," Nakoma tried again as she could hear the underlying fear in her voice, "Pocahontas has married a Whiteman and you know that the whites and-."

"Pocahontas," he spat her best friend's name as he clenched his fist, "She is nothing but a whore who would lay with any man if it suited her or her father."

"That is not true!"

Nakoma protested, "She has done so much for her people-."

"What has she done? I will tell you the only thing that woman has done was to lie on her back and allow a white savage to spread her legs. You know it is true, that whore is a traitor to your people and you sit there and defend her?"

He was raging at her as Nakoma straightened, forbidding the tears from falling as Hassun degraded her friend's good name. The woman dare not speak until she could control her emotions as she cleared her throat.

"My husband," she said after a moment of silence, "Surely, your father must know of the agreement between the white men and my original tribe. If we harm these people it will incite war. They will find and murder us all."

"We want war. Let them come, we and our brothers to the north and west will be ready for them."

Nakoma tried hard to fight the deluge of tears that threatened to fall down her tan cheeks. The native knowing that if her husband spoke the truth that it was quite possible that the Powhatans and the whites could be destroyed.

"Let us not speak of it until tomorrow," Hassun declared as he turned her face towards him, "Do not cry my wife. All will be settled in a few days. This is a good thing Nakoma; the Great Spirit has finally given us a chance to drive these white devils out of our midst's forever. You will see."

He finished his speech as Hassun gently yet firmly pushed her back onto their sleeping mats. The native barely registering that he was untying her dress or that his hands gripped her body. The young woman was to busy clenching her brown eyes shut as she felt him begin the dance that was as old as time.

It was not until afterwards when her husband was asleep that she silently cried, releasing the tears that she had been forced to keep at bay for what felt like years.

All had been so well after Pocahontas's marriage, and then the Massawomacks had started making trouble. Since neither Pocahontas nor John wanted war, Nakoma had offered to marry Hassun after much discussion.

"I will be alright," she had said before the wedding ceremony, "I have at least spoken with him. We seem to have a lot in common and although he is a bit serious and stoic I truly do not mind that."

"Of course you do not," Pocahontas had replied as the light banter between childhood friends continued for a few more moments.

That had been nearly a year ago, and relations had already begun to unravel. Not because of the Powhatans, however the blame she knew was on Hassun and his father.

Trouble that up until now Nakoma had not seen how far her husband and father-in-law were taking it. Though she knew it could be for naught, Nakoma silently arose and slipped on her native dress.

"Forgive me," she whispered as she gazed at Hassun's sleeping form before exiting the hut.

The woman followed the flames from the burning fires as she made her way towards the torturing grounds. No matter the tribe, the woman always loathed these events and the feeling grew stronger as she neared the scene. She could already view the torturing poles and could see the shadows of men that had been bound, their chests bare and arms pulled taut.

The native woman stopped at the edge of the firelight, concealing her shadow as the gruesome dance continued in front of her. Throngs of people blocked her view as her eyes strained to see past the blood and smoke.

It only took a moment before Nakoma stepped silently in to the circle of the firelight, she straitening her form as she neared the first prisoner, a determined look on her countenance.

-..-…-…-…-…End of Chapter 1.-…-…-…-…-