I am not sure what it is about being in Arkansas that gives me inspiration to write this story, but it really does. Like, this is the third trip to Arkansas I've taken in which I've written for this story, and have felt the real inspiration to do so. Maybe it's a lack of my usual distractions? Or maybe it's that I wrote A LOT of Pocahontas fanfiction while in Arkansas staying with my Gran for the summer when I was 13...I'm not sure. Either way, hooray new chapter!
(Kayla, please call off the attack dogs and the ninjas. Here's your chapter.)

I did some pretty extensive research into the use of opium during the 17th century to aid with pain relief, so I feel quite confident in the information I've conveyed in this chapter, but if I am incorrect, please let me know (and send links!). It's actually pretty interesting! I also never thought "recovering from being whipped" and "how to treat whip lashings" would ever be something I'd type into Google, and thank G-d I have my own computer, because I am more than certain my parents would be concerned if we still shared a desktop if they checked that search history.

Anyway! Enjoy!

CHAPTER SONG: "Feeling Invincible" by Skillet & "Stitches" by Shawn Mendes

Pocahontas awoke slowly.

At first, she was almost unsure as to where she was. It took her a moment to realize that she was cocooned in a nest of lush bedding, nearly drowning her in blankets and pillows. It truly was comfortable, though before tonight she had never slept in one before. She was accustomed to the bedding of her people, the warm and comfortable furs upon the mats of their huts, the glowing embers of the fire casting shadows on the walls. Meeko and Percy were curled at her feet, Percy snoring loudly, and Flit had nestled himself into the soft fur between Meeko's ears.

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up there in the first place. Uttamatomakkin must have carried her here, because the last thing she remembered was sitting at the window, anxiety gnawing away at her resolve, as she waited for—

In an instant, Pocahontas threw the covers off of her body and jumping to her feet, jarring her animal companions from their peaceful slumber, but Pocahontas didn't notice as she practically flew to the door, and threw it open.

She rushed out into the hallway, and crashed headlong into a solid human body. She reeled back, and nearly fell, had the body she'd hit not reached out and grabbed her, steading her.

It was Thomas.

"Pocahontas, as you all right?!" He asked.

"Thomas!" Pocahontas threw herself at her friend, catching him in a fierce hug. "I'm so glad to see that you're back safely!"

She withdrew swiftly, and looked at Thomas, searching his face for the worst.

"Thomas, where is John Rolfe?! Did you make in time?! Did you find him?! Is he alive?!"

"Easy, Pocahontas," Thomas said, placing his hands on her shoulders, silencing her. "Calm down. We got to him in time. He's alive."

Something about his expression told her there was something he wasn't telling her. If he was alive, then where was he? She had hoped to awaken to find him waiting for her, a smile on his handsome face, just as she had dreamed every night for the past two years. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"But…is he alright, Thomas?" She pressed, suddenly very unsure if she wanted an honest answer.

Thomas sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well…we got to him in time…but not before Ratcliffe got to him first." He explained, slowly. "He whipped him, pretty badly, Pocahontas. Took the skin right off his back."

Pocahontas knew she must have paled, because Thomas squeezed her arms, steadying her again.

"He'll live, Pocahontas," he assured her. "He's one of the toughest people I know, and one hell of a fighter. But he's going to be in pain for a while. It will take a while to heal, and he'll bear the scars the rest of his life. But he's going to live."

She felt tears welling in her eyes, threatening to fall, and she bit her lip to keep them at bay. She took in a shaky breath and nodded. She rubbed her arms to soothe the gooseflesh she felt rising there, and swallowed the lump at the back of her throat. She looked back at Thomas.

"Can I see him?"

Thomas smiled at her, if a bit sadly. "Of course. He's sleeping right now; John Rolfe ran to the apothecary to procure some drugs to help with the pain, so he's resting, if only for now, but of course you can."

He put his arm around her shoulder, and led her down the hall. They stopped outside a door, slightly ajar. Thomas put his hand on the door and pushed it open.

"Be careful," he warned. "He's in a good deal of pain. Try not to let him strain himself if he wakes up, okay?"

She nodded, and Thomas stepped aside to let her in.

Pocahontas slipped into the dim room, the curtains pulled tight to allow very little light to enter. She slowly made her way forward towards the bed at the far end of the large room, her bare feet making no sound at all on the smooth wood floors.

She gasped when she felt something cold press against the back of her ankle, and she looked down to find Percy looking up at her, his head cocked to the side inquisitively. Meeko, as usual, was not far behind his companion, and Flit buzzed in the air next to them. They must have slipped behind her through the cracked door.

"Percy!" She scolded quietly, but sternly. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Percy whimpered guiltily, and his tail lowered in dejection. She sighed, and bent down to pick him and Meeko up.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, nuzzling her companions' heads. "I don't mean to be short with you. I'm just worried, that's all." She turned her head and looked back towards the bed, at the outline of the figure sleeping there. "This isn't how I imagined our reunion would go."

Pocahontas gently deposited her companions back onto the floor, and ventured forward to the side of the bed.

John Smith lay on his stomach in the plush comfort of the bed where he'd been placed. He was sleeping, if only just barely, with his face pressed into the pillow, his breaths shallow and pained. Though the room was cool, his hair was soaked in sweat, the blond strands sticking to the back of his neck. The blankets had been pulled up only to cover the lower half of his body, and Pocahontas gasped when she saw the tight bandages that covered his back. Though she could not see them due to the bandages, she could tell that what Thomas had said was indeed horribly true: John had been whipped, and judging from the amount of blood seeping through the gauzy cotton, she could tell there were a lot of them. The remaining exposed flesh of his shoulders and parts of his sides were bruised, and less severe lashes were raised in angry red welts. She pressed a hand to her mouth to silence the sobs she felt boil up through her, and she stepped back, away from the sleeping body of the man she loved as the tears finally fell.

This is all my fault, she thought miserably to herself. She choked on a sob.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to find Thomas, who looked at her sympathetically, and nodded over his shoulder, indicating she should follow. She allowed him to escort her from the dark room into the hallway, where he drew her into another comforting hug. She buried her face into Thomas's chest and wept.

"It's my fault, Thomas," she whispered. "It's all my fault."

"Hush, now," Thomas said softly. "This isn't your fault in the slightest."

"But it is." She insisted. "If I hadn't been there, if I hadn't been at the Hunt Ball at all, then he never would have snuck in to see me, and maybe if I hadn't made Ratcliffe so angry…" She shuddered, and Thomas hugged her tighter.

"Pocahontas," he said. "None of this is your fault. John knew full and well the risks when he decided to sneak into the palace, and he did them anyway, because he felt that they were with it, if only to see that you were alright. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this when it was his own decision to be there. You didn't even know the man was alive at the time!"

Pocahontas shook her head. "All I have ever done is sentence him to a life of misery," she cried. "All he has ever done is love me, and all I have done by loving him in return is doom him to pain and suffering time and time again."

"Hey," Thomas pulled her back, and looked her in the eye. "Don't ever think that, Pocahontas. If there's one thing I know about my friend, it's how much he loves you, how much he absolutely adores you. He has told me time and time again how happy and grateful he is to have met you, how he wouldn't trade any of it for anything in the world, even the pain. John could never blame you for any of this, and he'd be beside himself if he knew that you blamed yourself."

Pocahontas sniffed, and wiped away some of the tears on the back of her hand. She knew Thomas was right, deep in her heart, but she could not seem to shake herself of the guilt she still felt.

"Still," she said softly. "I feel so guilty that there isn't anything I can do to ease his pain."

Thomas tried to offer her a reassuring smile. "Rolfe should be back any minute now from the apothecary," he said. "He'll have something that will help, I'm sure." He looked back into the room where John still slept. "Until then, I think it's best we let him rest. He's…he's been through a lot."

Pocahontas nodded in agreement, and looked back towards John.

"Can I stay with him?" She asked. "I'd…I'd like to be there, when he wakes up."

Thomas smiled, and nodded.

"I think he'd like that." He said.

He led her back into the room, where he pulled one of the plush chairs from beside the fireplace over to the bedside, close enough that she could reach out and hold John's hand, if she so desired when he awoke. He lit the candle on the small table next to the bed, and parted the curtains just enough to allow cheerful sunlight to filter in, without it shining on the bed. Pocahontas settled herself into the cozy chair, pulling her legs up underneath her, and Meeko and Percy jumped up to join her in her lap, Flit alighting on the table beside her.

"I'll go and make you some tea, if you like." Thomas offered. "Mrs. Jenkins has gone to catch a bit of sleep, since she was up all night, and she helped us take care of John as soon as we returned, but I can make a somewhat decent cup."

Pocahontas smiled for what felt like the first time in ages and nodded.

"That would be wonderful, thank you." She said.

Thomas gave her a single nod, and turned to walk out the door, leaving Pocahontas alone with her thoughts as she gazed at the sleeping form of her love, and contemplated the future that stretched out ahead of her.

...oOo...

John slept rather peacefully for another few hours, during which Pocahontas never left his side, even when Rolfe returned from the apothecary, and came to find her.

"Thomas told me you'd awakened." He said softly as he came to stand beside her. He pulled several small glass bottles with corked tops and squat jars full of creamy pastes from a satchel at his side, and sat them on the table. Pocahontas reached out and picked up one of the bottles, and uncorked the top. She sniffed it. A pungent, sour odor that made her eyes water assaulted her nose, and she immediately replaced the cork.

"What is that?" She asked.

"Alcohol." John Rolfe explained. "To clean the wounds and ward off infection."

"And this?" She picked up one of the squat jars of cream.

"A salve made from clove oil, saffron, and cinnamon."

"And this?" She picked up a small bottle with what looked like seeds the size of ants inside.

"Opium, to help with the pain, should the opiate salve not be strong enough." Rolfe reached out and took the bottle from her. "I have seen men become wasted fools on opium, prone to fits when they can no longer obtain it. It's worse than genever, if you ask me. I won't give it to him unless we've no other choice." He tucked the bottle behind a few of the others, and pointed to the second squat jar. "That is a salve made from crushed opiate seeds. I'm sure it will be just as effective."

"In my homeland," Pocahontas recounted. "We crush the bark of willow trees to make salves to ease pain." She looked at John Smith's – for now – peaceful face. "I gave him some the bark when he was shot two years ago to bring back with him, to help with the pain. I doubt he still has any of it, and I didn't think to gather any from Grandmother Willow before I left. I didn't think I would have use of it."

John Rolfe nodded, solemnly. "You could not have known, Pocahontas," he comforted. He pulled a small package tied with paper and string from the satchel as well. "Clean bandages," he explained when Pocahontas looked at it curiously.

She sighed, and looked back at the sleeping face of John Smith. "I feel so useless," she said. "I hate to see him in such pain."

Rolfe took her hand in his, and squeezed it gently. "I know." He said softly. "But I am sure that your presence alone will be enough to give him the spirits he needs to recover."

"Thank you." Pocahontas said. She gestured to the medicines on the table. "For doing this for him, and for us. I will never be able to repay you for your kindness."

"It is only what is right." She saw Rolfe swallow thickly, his brown eyes sad, and again she felt the pang of guilt stab her in the heart at the sadness she knew she'd caused him, if inadvertently. She looked away from his gaze, back at John.

Rolfe patted her hand. "I'll leave you for now." He said. "I am going to try and rest for a bit. I haven't slept since the night before last. Mrs. Jenkins should be up within the hour, and if you need anything, do not hesitate to call for her, and to wake me, if need be. Alright?"

Pocahontas nodded. "Thank you."

With a final squeeze and a small smile, Rolfe turned and walked from the room, leaving her alone once more with the slumbering John Smith, and her animal friends. She sighed as she uncrossed her legs to stretch them a bit, and she scratched behind Meeko's ears; the raccoon purred delightedly.

She closed her eyes, and was just about to nod off when she heard John Smith begin to stir on the bed next to her. Within an instant, she was out of the chair and at his side. He groaned in agony as he rolled onto his side, his brow furrowing, and his face formed into a tight grimace. Instinctively, Pocahontas reached out a hand and gently touched his cheek to try and soothe him.

No sooner had her cool palm made contact with his flushed skin did his hand suddenly lash out and grab her wrist in a vice-like grip, his eyes flying open, wide and blazing in alarm like a frightened animal, cornered by hunters. Pocahontas gasped, too shocked to move. A second later, realizing what he'd done, and just who it was beside him, John released her, and he opened his mouth to say her name, only to be met with a bought of harsh coughing instead.

Pocahontas reached out once more and brushed some of the damp hair from his forehead, allowing the golden strands to fall through her fingers like water.

"Shhh, it's alright." She soothed. "You're safe. It's alright."

He still fought to catch his breath, and he pressed his face into her hand, his eyes tightly closed, a pained groan escaping his gritted teeth. He routed the sheets of the bed into the fist of one hand, while the other came up to grip her own hand as though it were the only tether he had in the world.

She swallowed the lump that was quickly forming in the back of her throat, trying hard to hold back the sobs that threatened to wrench their way forward once more. She leant forward and pressed her lips to his forehead, and she felt him begin to relax at her touch, finally beginning to catch his breath.

"I love you." She heard him whisper hoarsely. His voice, usually so mellow and warm, a voice she had missed every single day, a voice she had heard calling to her in her dreams every single night for the past two years, was riddled with agony and cracks, as though he had been screaming.

She realized, bitterly, that he probably had been.

"I know." She whispered back, pulling away to look at him. His blue eyes were locked on hers, never wavering for a second. She couldn't stop the tears that began to fall as she tried to smile. Despite the circumstances, she could not help but feel so much joy at having been finally reunited with the man she was sure she'd lost forever the moment she'd seen him fall at her father's feet. "I love you, too. I never stopped."

"I tried sending letters," he said, swallowing. "But after…after everyone thought I was dead, I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk…putting you in danger."

"Shhh," Pocahontas reached out and pressed a finger against his lips. "I know. Thomas told me everything. I understand."

"I wanted to." John pressed, gritting his teeth when he moved and pulled at the bandages. "I thought of you every day."

"I missed you so much." Pocahontas whispered, and she squeezed his hand. "When they told me that you were dead, I…" She trailed off.

"I'm sorry," John said.

"We're together again," Pocahontas smiled. "And that's what matters."

"Pocahontas, Ratcliffe, he—" John let go of her hand to attempt to sit up, going completely pale as he pulled once again at the lashings. Pocahontas, acting on pure instinct, was at his side in a second and was gently supporting him, to prevent him from falling back onto the bed and injuring himself further.

"John!" She said urgently. "Don't move so quickly; you'll pull the cuts."

Still, John continued to try and push himself up. "You don't understand," he said, hissing in pain and clenching his teeth. "Ratcliffe. He's going to...he's going to kill all of them, Pocahontas. All of your people, unless…unless we can stop him."

For a moment, blind terror threatened to overtake her as her vision swam with the news John had just given her, and she felt her blood run cold in her heart, completely freezing her for a few solid seconds.

Ratcliffe couldn't possibly hold enough power to completely destroy her entire people…could he?

"John, what do you mean?" She demanded of her injured beau. She sat down next to him on the bed.

John looked at her. "Last night, when he was…" Pocahontas could see the way he chewed on the word in his mouth, as though it were bitter and tasted of poison, "When he was whipping me, he told me that he sets sail for Virginia in a week's time, with an entire armada of men to wipe out your entire people, and take back the gold he's still convinced your people have. He's convinced King James that your people have the gold and that the only way to get it is to take it, by any means necessary."

"But there is no gold!" Pocahontas cried.

John nodded. "I know." He said. "But the King will not listen to us, not when he's had Ratcliffe whispering lies in his ear for two years."

"We have to stop him!" Pocahontas felt herself beginning to slip into a mild panic. "We cannot let him get away with this!"

"And we won't." A voice said from the doorway. They both turned their heads to see John Rolfe, closely followed by Uttamatomakkin and Thomas, enter the room.

"John Rolfe!" Pocahontas said.

Rolfe walked further into the room, and the look that crossed his face for just a split second when he looked at the two of them sitting side by side was not lost to Pocahontas. Thomas grinned as he neared John and held out his hand to his friend, who returned his grin, if weakly, and shook it.

"Glad to see you awake, John." Said Thomas. "How are you feeling? How's the pain?"

"What pain?" John's grin widened, and Pocahontas's heart flipped in her chest when she saw the mischievous, good-natured glint return to his eye that she loved so much. "I've been in worse pain than this."

Thomas laughed. "Now that I believe."

Pocahontas turned her attention back to John Rolfe, the moment sobering considerably.

"John Rolfe, we have to stop Ratcliffe." She insisted. "He's going to…"

"He isn't going to get the chance to even think of harming your people." John Rolfe interrupted her, stern and confidently. "Because we're going to stop him."

"How?" Pocahontas asked, the anxiety and fear for her beloved people rising. She rung her hands.

"Simple." Thomas explained. He nodded to John. "We implore the King to listen to us, and we uncover the lies Ratcliffe has told him, and proceed from there to stop Ratcliffe in his tracks."

"But how will we do that?"

"Me." John said, the answer dawning on him. "You're going to use me to expose Ratcliffe's lies."

John Rolfe nodded.

"Word on the street is, John Smith was discovered to be alive and well after over a year of believing him to be dead, after he broke into the palace and was found sneaking about the halls during the Hunt Ball. He was taken to the Tower from there, and died early this morning from wounds sustained during interrogation, where he admitted to all charges against him and the Crown." Rolfe recited. "It's all over London." He looked at John, somewhat amused. "You're a dead man less than a day after your resurrection, Mr. Smith."

"For the best." John nodded. "Then that means Ratcliffe has told the King that I'm dead, and that I told him that Pocahontas's people have the gold."

"It's also likely he's told him that the only way to get it is to go to war." Thomas added. "The bloodier the better." His eyes flicked to the bandages around his friend's torso. "Speaking of which, we should probably change those."

Rolfe nodded his agreement. "Agreed. In the meantime, Mrs. Jenkins has risen, and I'll have her put together lunch for us all." He regarded them all seriously. "There is much to discuss."