Title: Of the Ages
Fandom: Pocahontas
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Pocahontas, Grandmother Willow
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Chieftan Pocahontas visits her grandmother.
Word Count: 1307
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 365: Reverse and 1 Million Words Monday Flash Challenge: A Lone Tree
Warnings: AU
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.









Pocahontas gently touched the gnarled, old tree bark. Her grandmother's face was barely showing these days, but she could always feel her spirit. She would always be able to feel her spirit, the Indian Princess who was now Queen, knew, no matter how old either of them became, but things had reversed between them some time ago. Now instead of her grandmother being the one who gave her strength and confidence, it was often Pocahontas who gave her strength to her beloved grandmother. She closed her eyes now, willing her strength to be given to her and rejuvenate her spirit.

Beneath her palm, she felt her grandmother's face becoming firmer until at last, she spoke to her again, "Ah, my little Mischief Maker." Pocahontas felt her lips curve into a smile.

With her eyes still closed, she continued to give to herself to the ancient spirit. "I hardly cause mischief any longer, Grandmother."

"Perhaps," the answer came on the gentle wind that lifted Pocahontas' long, dark hair, "but my great grandchildren cause more than enough."

Pocahontas laughed, her own face becoming lit with the thoughts of her children. For all the trouble she had caused when she'd been their age, the two of them seemed to cause a dozen times more! Especially when they joined together with Nakoma's brood...

"Ah, there is that smile and laugh I have so missed! Why do you not share more joy, Princess?" She would always be only a Princess to her grandmother no matter how long she ruled her people or what she gave of herself to do so.

She had relinquished her right to join with John Smith only because her tribe had not felt it right, and when her own father had tried at a later date to sell her to the white man again, Pocahontas had waged war. Her people had joined with her, and she had ended up ordering her own father to death. The memories were painful and rarely far from Pocahontas' mind. After all, life had dictated that she perform the very role she had always abhorred the idea of taking when she had been younger, even to the joining with a member from another tribe. The two tribes together, however, had caused a revolt that had eventually successfully sent the English fleeing from their shore.

The memories were always there, and they always would be, Pocahontas knew. On rare moments when she allowed herself to indulge her softer side and ideals, as her mother was rumored to have done, Pocahontas did wonder how her life might have been different if she had not forsaken John Smith. Would she have been happier? Would her father still be living, still ruling with the tight hand of a tyrant over their people? But if he had, how many other young women like herself would he have sold into slavery once the white men had brought that dreaded fire whiskey to their people? So many great warriors had fallen because of that Devil's water.

"Hush, child," her grandmother crooned, the great willow's branches coming around her. Pocahontas leaned into her embrace, her eyes still closed, and listened to the familiar, comforting song. It no longer spoke of new adventures. It had not in some time, but she had also learned long ago that the song was exactly what the listener's heart made it, nothing more or less. Her greatest dream was no longer for herself but for her people continuing to be brave and free and never succumbing to the dangerous, awful world of the white man. Her father had been right in that at least, but even he had succumbed to its temptations and been far worse off because of that surrender. One could not surrender one's values, Pocahontas knew, and ever be happy.

It did not matter that she herself was not happy. She took pleasure in watching her children, her friends, her loved ones continuing their lives. Their happiness created her joy, and if she had left them all those years ago... and learned of their fate later, as surely she would have, she would never have forgiven herself. She was her father's daughter, but moreover, she was her mother's daughter. She, too, had wed outside of her tribe to make the tribe stronger and give it a more lasting future. Pocahontas' tribe would last, and she had already chosen the lifemate of her daughter from the strongest, nearby tribe. Her daughter may well one day hate her for it, as she had once hated her father when he had tried to choose Koccum for her to wed, but their people would be better off for the union. With that strong union, Pocahontas knew, it would not matter when she was gone: Her people would still survive.

"I must teach them soon," she whispered, realizing that there was another member of her people who would not be cared for simply by that well-designed union. She tenderly stroked Grandmother Willow's bark. "I must teach them both to give you their strength."

Again, she felt her cherished grandmother's smile grow. The whistling wind turned both reflective and somehow a mingled joy and sorrow. "Matoaka already comes to me, my sweet Pocahontas. Much like her mother, she found me herself while out rebelling one day and comes very often. She is caring for a family of squirrels beneath my branches."

"Now?" Pocahontas asked in surprise to which her grandmother gently laughed.

"No, granddaughter, not now. But very often. She is full of not just mischief but magic. She will make a strong Queen one day."

"Her husband will be the Chieftain."

"No, she should be."

Pocahontas paused. Her mouth started to open in protest, but Grandmother Willow gently tapped it closed again with a vine. "No. Listen to your grandmother. I know what is best. The boy will not wield the strength we will need. The pairing is right, but he will not last. She will be Chief as did you and your mother before you."

Pocahontas frowned. "I do not understand."

Again Grandmother Willow chuckled gently on the lifting wind. "My dear granddaughter, did you honestly think your father made the right decisions for his people? No. Powhatan was never known for making wise decisions, despite what I allowed you to believe when you were younger. Your mother and his both helped that man make every decision he ever made until his death."

"His death at -- "

Again the vine gently but pointedly tapped her open mouth. "We shall have none of that, young lady. You did what was best for you, for your people, and even for him. It was far pass time he left this world, and he would have endured a great deal more torment if he had kept lingering on that awful fire whiskey of the pales. You did what was best. In the end, my dear Pocahontas, you always do." She yawned, long and loud. "But for now, it is time for your grandmother to take a nap. We old trees need our beauty rest." She winked.

Such a strange phrase, Pocahontas reflected, for no one could be any more or less beautiful than the Maker chose to make them. But it was one of many phrases their people had picked up from the pale-skins. "Very well, Grandmother. Sleep well." She kissed her bark and hesitated a moment longer before sliding down into a crawl-space in her large and heavy roots. It had been many years since she had taken a nap with her grandmother, but she also was tired. Her soul was beyond fatigued. Her people would surely be fine without her for a little while.

Opening a single eye, Grandmother Willow smiled down at her granddaughter. She wrapped her branches around her and held her precious grandchild while they both slept.




The End