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cowboydisaster · 2 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes

part XII: Clemens Point i

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem reader

word count: 12.2k

summary: Having had a few weeks to adjust to the new camp, you're itching to get out. The cure to your cabin fever ends up being a rather troublesome trip to Rhodes with Arthur and Sadie. You and arthur are interrupted when Hosea invites you to a fishing trip, and the trip itself proves to be more trouble than you had planned.

a/n: I'm back! Most of you know that my dog had an emergency vet visit last Wednesday, and he ended up going under. He's doing much better now, thank you to everyone for all your kind thoughts and wishes for him. Sorry for the delay in posting!

warnings: graphic violence, brief sexual themes

beta read by @margowritesthings

series extras

SERIES MASTERPOST

Water laps at the shoreline, running over your boots as you walk through the grassy sand. Arthur is by your side, leading you in the direction of camp. It’s been a busy week, and you find these little walks along the lake a perfect distraction from the madness of the new camp. It’s been nothing but chores, and you haven’t even gotten the chance to venture out into town yet. You're going stir crazy, and the lake seems to be your only escape.

Arthur started joining you soon after he picked up on the habit, and now sometimes you’ll go out for hours, getting lost in conversation while sitting in the grass. He'd gone out with you early in the morning, and you're just making your way back now.

“Likin’ the new camp?” Arthur asks. Your eyes are on the sand, watching how it shifts under your boots with each step.

“Yeah, actually, I do. It’s nice bein’ by the water.” You hum, watching the sun rise over the lake.

“Ain’t the heat buggin’ you?” Arthur chuckles, and you smile, glancing over at him. Even in the early morning hour, beads of sweat cling to his forehead, soaking through some spots on his shirt. He’s always warm, it’s no wonder this heat is miserable for him.

“No, I enjoy it.” You admit, basking in the warm sun. You’ll take the warmth over the cold any day, especially after Colter.

The heat is not the only change that moving south has brought about. The dirt roads have an oddly orange-red hue, the trees have changed from oaks and pines to mangroves and bald cypresses, even the people have changed. From what you’ve heard, this is a more dangerous place to be. People are less understanding, and some are even stuck in their heads, acting like it’s the 40s. Stupid bastards. There are pros and cons, but really, you’re just glad to be away from the Pinkertons.

“Don’t you like it?” You ask him, looking up at Arthur as the two of you walk the shore. He cocks his head in thought.

“I don't know. It ain't the same, I guess.” Arthur hums, and you nod. You know he really enjoyed the nature in New Hanover. He was frequently sketching the wildlife and the cliffs. You reckon he’ll find that passion here too, he just hasn’t seen all the beauty Lemoyne has to offer yet.

“Lots of memories in Horseshoe.” Arthur sighs.

“That there are.” You agree quietly. You walk side by side for a while, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sounds of Flat Iron Lake. It's a beautiful morning spent together, and you try to soak in as much as you can.

“We outta go to the fence, cash in those gold bars.” Arthur says, and you perk up at the thought. Not only are you excited for the money, you want to get out of camp.

“Is there one around here?” You ask, looking up at Arthur. The morning sun is casting him in a bright orange glow as he rubs at the stubble on his chin, thinking of any acquaintances that might know of a fence.

“Probably. There’s a town nearby called Rhodes. I reckon there's a fence there. If not, Emerald Ranch ain’t too far.”

You approach the outskirts of camp, and you can hear the stomping before you even see her.

“You!” Grimshaw hisses, stomping from her bedroll. Arthur shoots you a pitiful look as Grimshaw grabs your arm tightly and drags you back into camp, “Quit lollygaggin! And Mr. Morgan, stop distractin’ her!” Ms. Grimshaw yells.

“Sorry Ms. Grimshaw." You whisper, hurrying behind her as she pulls you along.

“At least you have manners. Now there’s laundry to be done, so get to it.” Grimshaw yells, shoving you towards the bins of lye and water where the other girls are. You fight the urge to call her an old bitch, instead opting to curse under your breath.

The girls are sitting on a blanket around the bins of water, lye and clothes., and you take a seat at the washing station. Looking up, you're met with a bittersweet glance from Arthur, before he parts and starts on his own daily tasks.

"We've missed you!" Marybeth calls, smiling brightly as she sits beside you with her wash rack and pail.

"Yeah, we never see you anymore! Too good for us now? A high society lady like Molly?" Karen chastises, and you glance across camp to the red-haired woman, filing her nails on Dutch's cot.

"What?" You ask, not understanding how they could possibly equate you to Molly. You listen on, taking one of Jack’s shirts from the pile and rinsing it in the lye mix.

"We ain't stupid!" Karen laughs loudly. You still don't understand, and you shake your head, eyebrows pulled together. Marybeth leans forward, biting her lip with a juicy piece of gossip on her tongue.

"We see him goin' in your tent at night." Marybeth whispers, pulling away to squeal excitedly. Karen laughs, winking at you.

Immediately your face falls– this is exactly why it was meant to be kept quiet.

"It ain't what it looks like." You bite.

"What? So you're not laying with Dutch's right hand man?" Karen teases.

"Karen." Tilly warns from beside you, speaking up to stop the girl from embarrassing you or herself. But unsurprisingly, Karen doesn't listen.

"It's not just– it ain't like that." You huff, shaking your head, "Sides, what business is it of yours?" You snap.

Karen goes quiet for a moment, but you see the crack of a smile on her lips as you continue working dirt stains out of Jack's shirt.

"So… you are havin' a tiff with him!" Karen points out, "When can we expect little Morgans runnin' around?" She snorts, and Marybeth covers her mouth to stop herself from cracking up.

"Leave it." You hiss. Karen and Marybeth take the hint, backing away from your bite as their giggles die down.

"I'm sorry. It's just… nothing ever happens in camp– nothin' good anyway, nothin like this." Marybeth explains.

You understand, you do. But this is something new, good and intimate between you and Arthur and you don't want it gossiped over or turned into something it's not.

"I never meant to upset you, Star, really… Here, let me do your hair. Grimshaw ain't lookin." Marybeth says. Her tone is back to hushed and sweet instead of teasing.

You nod, placing down your things before sitting down on the ground. Marybeth sits behind you, intertwining her fingers into your hair. She starts a braid at the back of your head, leaving a few loose pieces hanging down to frame your face.

"Do you love him?" Marybeth asks you quietly and you huff.

"I feel like a lot of people been askin' me that." You sigh, "I– It's all new." You excuse, knowing that you absolutely do love him, more than anything. And that little fact terrifies you.

"Is he good in the sack?" Karen asks.

"Now, come on, Karen. That's no question to ask." Tilly stands up for you, raising her eyebrows at Karen until she backs off, "And Marybeth, this isn't a romance novel. Both of you, leave the poor girl be."

It grows quiet as Marybeth pulls your hair into a loose braid. You flick the rowel of your spur, watching it spin a few times as you think.

"This is the only reason I wanted to keep it quiet. Especially with Micah comin' back any day, and how some of the boys are. This is special, and I don't want it spoiled by the likes of the men in this camp. Usually I'd just start hittin 'em but I can't afford to be on Dutch's bad side right now." You admit.

"My lips are sealed." Marybeth says at your back and you turn your head to the side, nodding.

"Of course, we won't say anything." Karen adds, dipping a shirt into the soapy water.

Marybeth ties the bottom of your braid off with a red ribbon, making a little bow with the fabric.

"Flowers?" Marybeth asks hopefully, holding up a little woven basket of stemless flowers that she'd plucked from the new camp's surrounding woods.

"Sure." You hum, looking back to sift through the basket. You're wearing a black shirt, and the red contrasts nicely, so you pull out a few crimson colored geranium petals and hand them to her.

"Good choice." Tilly smiles, seeing the way you match perfectly.

"We oughta get you some red lipstick!" Karen hoots, and you chuckle.

"I don't need no damn lipstick." You smirk as Marybeth places the petals in between the woven hair of your braid.

"Yeah, cause it'll end up on Arthur's lips anyhow!" Marybeth snickers, and you reach behind you to smack her knee.

"Hush up." You bite playfully, shaking your head at their banter.

"Uh, what is goin' on over there?" Karen asks. You glance up from your lap, eyes scanning around the camp for the apparent disturbance.

You lock onto the fight happening behind Pearson's table, eyes going wide. Marybeth's hands still in your hair as everyone watches on. Sadie and Pearson had been chopping vegetables for the night's stews but now their knives are up and pointed at each other. They're about to go at each other's throats, yelling at eachother with heated looks. Just as you're about to stand up and stop the apparent fight, Arthur stomps over, placing himself between the pair of fools.

"What is wrong with you two?!" Arthur tells, shoving them apart. Sadie practically snarls, her knife still pointed in Pearson's direction.

"I ain't choppin' vegetables for a livin'!" She yells from across camp, and Tilly huffs from behind you.

"Get used to it." Karen bites quietly.

Arthur nearly laughs at her statement, putting his hands on his belt.

"Oh, I'm sorry madam, was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?" He asks sarcastically, taking a step towards Sadie so that she can see the annoyance playing out on his face.

Marybeth puts a few more flowers into your braid before you turn and thank her quietly, standing up to help ease the situation. At least in Colter, Sadie trusted you. Though you haven't really seen her since then, she's been a shell, until now.

“Look, I ain’t lazy, Mr. Morgan. I'll work, but not this.” Sadie says, her voice coming down a notch as you approach Arthur, standing by his side.

“Well ain’t cookin work?” Arthur huffs, perplexed by the idea of Sadie picking and choosing what she does and doesn’t want to do. Sadie ignores Arthur’s question, and her eyes flicker to you as she scans you up and down.

“She gets to run with the men.” Sadie points out in a hiss, her finger pointing at you before she looks back to Arthur with crossed arms, waiting for an explanation.

“I want in.” She growls, “If you leave me here with this fat old coot for another second I’ll skin him and serve him.” Sadie hisses, raising her knife back up to Pearson. Pearson scowls as he steps forward, enraged.

“Watch your mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!!” Pearson roars, and Sadie lunges at him. You grab Sadie by the waist, pushing her back away from Pearson. Arthur puts his arm out, stopping Pearson.

“Enough!” Arthur roars, putting an end to the childlike argument.

“You want to run with the men?” You ask, stepping up to Sadie, “Then let’s go.” Your voice is irritated. Running out on jobs isn't fun. Sure, you have more freedom, but you’ve nearly died and lost the people you love more times than you can count.

“Wait–” Arthur protests, but you raise your hand, stopping him.

“No. If she wants to go out, let her. She wants to get shot at, she wants to kill? Let her. I ain’t stoppin’ her.” You say, irritation thick in your voice at the prospect of wanting to be an outlaw.

“I don’t know.” Arthur shakes his head, worried that something might go wrong. Sadie rolls her eyes, pointing her knife towards you. It’s not a threat, just an extension of her hand as she addresses Arthur.

“Did you ever question her this much? Jesus.” Sadie asks. Arthur rests his hands on his gun belt, leaning back.

“No, I didn’t. But she was runnin’ from the law before I even knew her.” Arthur explains, and Sadie glances to you, seeing you in a new light.

“Let's go then, prove yourself if that's what you wanna do.” You hum, looking up and down at Sadie. You know that she has what it takes, but regardless, you think she’s crazy for wanting to go out. Arthur cocks his head, going with your plan.

“Alright then, Mr. Pearson, do you need anything while we’re out?” Arthur asks, and Pearson steps forward, pulling a folded up piece of paper from his dirty apron. He extends the paper out to Arthur before reaching back into his apron and bringing out a wad of cash and an envelope.

“Here’s the grocery list, and could you mail this letter for me?” Pearson asks, and Arthur nods.

“Sure.” Arthur says, gesturing towards the wagon on the outskirts of camp as he looks back at you both, “Ladies.” He invites you to go first.

“I’ll take the back.” Sadie says, eagerly jogging towards the wagon as you fall into step with Arthur. Arthur puts all of Pearson’s items into his satchel as he walks towards the wagon with you.

“She is somethin’ else.” You whisper, chuckling.

Arthur holds his hand out to help you climb onto the wagon, and you take it as you step up. You take the front seat, sitting down just before Arthur climbs in beside you.

Your head snaps up as you hear yelling from across the camp. It’s Dutch, hollering over to you three.

“Arthur! No fighting in Rhodes. I don’t want a single weapon leaving its holster, understand? We are lying low!” Dutch yells, and you roll your eyes.

“Like we laid low in Valentine?” You snap under your breath, and Sadie snorts. Arthur nods to Dutch, taking his instruction before glancing back at you.

“He’s– he’s tryin’, Star.” Arthur defends Dutch, flicking the reins over the horse backs as he drives you out of Clemen’s Point. You know it’s a sensitive subject for Arthur, so you gently place your hand on his knee for comfort, voice hushed to a whisper.

“I know he is.” You say quietly, reassuring Arthur. It’s not an easy thing for Arthur to realize that Dutch is losing it, you’ll give him all the time he needs.

Arthur looks over to you with a small smile.

“You look real pretty with them flowers in your hair.” Arthur compliments quietly, and your hand moves to intertwine with his own on the wagon bench in between you both.

“Thank you.” You hum.

Sadie sits in the back of the wagon, trying not to eavesdrop. The conversation causes the constant ache in her chest to hurt a little more, and she finds herself looking for a distraction to numb the pain.

“Where’s that letter?” Sadie asks, and Arthur huffs, shaking his head. The wagon breaks from the trees as you enter Scarlett Meadows, driving over the orange tinted roads towards town.

“Oh, you’re reading his mail now?” Arthur chides.

“What are you doin–?” Arthur huffs as you let go of his hand, reaching over him to dig through his satchel.

“Star–” Arthur grumbles, amused and surprised as you pull the envelope from his satchel.

“Read it out loud, I wanna hear this.” Sadie chuckles. You take the crisp white envelope, breaking the seal with your nail before pulling out the letter. Arthur shakes his head, chuckling as you clear your throat.

“Dear aunt Cathy, I haven’t heard from you in some time… blah blah blah.” Your eyes scan over the page until you find a particularly interesting paragraph and you pause, reading it, “I am yet to take a wife, but it is not for a lack of suitors!”

Arthur laughs out loud, a hearty boisterous sound as you and Sadie chuckle.

“Has he ever even talked to a woman he ain’t paid for?” Sadie asks, lungs aching from her laughter. Your finger follows the line of words as you try to focus, ignoring the bumpy drive.

“Oh– there’s more!” You chime, eyes focusing back on the letter, “The group that I travel with has picked up two women since I last wrote, and they both court me….”

You pause, eyebrows pulling together as you continue, “Both are too fierce-tempered for my tastes, but nothing that can’t be worked out…”

Sadie leans up behind you in the wagon, glancing over your shoulder at the pages to ensure she’s heard you correctly. Arthur is far too quiet for your liking.

“Is he talking about us?” Sadie asks, eyes running over the letter.

“He has to be…” You whisper, feeling uneasy at the thought, “That’s… disgusting.” You admit, shivering at the thought of being courted by Pearson.

“Put that away. I don’t wanna hear it no more.” Arthur grumbles, a dull rage bubbling up in his chest at the idea of someone else bragging about being courted by you. He knows it’s bullshit, and he knows that you’ll deal with Pearson if he doesn’t.

“I reckon I don't either.” Sadie growls as Arthur takes the wagon over the train tracks.

“I’ll deal with him later.” You shake your head.

It grows quiet as you roll on, stuffing the letter back into the envelope. You place it down on the bench seat, intertwining your fingers back through Arthur’s. Instantly he relaxes, shoulders losing their tense state at your touch, and you can hear the breath that he releases. You have a way of calming him down.

“So Rhodes, what’s it like?” Sadie asks, looking ahead to the buildings she can see.

“It’s a decent town, I've only been here once or twice n’ that was years ago.” Arthur says, rounding the bend towards the saloon.

“The people leave somethin’ to be desired.” Arthur grumbles, a sour taste in his mouth.

The wagon rolls on, going past the saloon until Arthur pulls the horses alongside the general store. He grabs the letter from the bench and hops down from the wagon before stretching a hand up to help you down.

“Alright, why don’t the two of you grab what we need from the store, I’ll go send this damn letter– and remember, no guns.” Arthur adds, handing you the list and money before grumpily storming off towards the post office. You and Sadie watch him go for a few moments before she turns to you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, he’s no fun.” She sighs, tapping her holster before walking towards the general store doors.

“We can still have fun without guns. We’ll have them load up the wagon, and we’ll go drinkin’.” You hum.

Sadie pushes the door open, stepping straight up to the shopkeeper.

“Ladies, how can I help y’all?” He asks, a big blonde mustache hiding his smile from you. You follow Sadie, placing the list down on the counter.

“We need all these items loaded into our wagon.” You chime, pointing through the window to your wagon. The shopkeep nods, picking up the list and giving it a onceover.

“Sure thing, miss, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Sadie looks you up and down, eyeing your outfit. Then without a word, she walks to the clothing section, sifting through the mens clothes until she finds small enough sizes. She picks out a plaid yellow shirt, a pair of jeans and cowboy boots before walking over and slamming them down on the counter.

“Add these to the tab, where can I change?” Sadie hisses at the poor shopkeeper. He points behind him to the inventory room.

“Well I got a room back here, but it ain’t for customers–” He begins, but Sadie is already behind the counter, striding into the room. You can hear the fabric of Sadie’s dress tearing, and when she comes back out, dressed in a similar style to you, the dress is left behind on the ground.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” She chuckles, gesturing to the fact that both of you are wearing men’s clothes. They’re more comfortable, breathable and easy to wear… You hate the curious, and often rude, glares you get, but it’s worth it in the end.

“This should be more than enough, just go ahead and load it all up, please.” You say, leaving the billfold down on the counter.

“Thank you both!” The man says, sounding a little confused. He glances at the destroyed dress on the floor of his inventory room as you and Sadie exit through the front door.

“To the saloon.” You smile, walking up the slope towards the Rhodes Parlor House. You can hear the music before you reach the doors.

You place a hand on each door, pushing them open theatrically as you step inside. Sadie follows suit, walking up to the bar with you. The bartender is polishing glasses and setting them up on the bar. A few patrons line the bar, and you slide in beside a finely dressed man, leaving enough room for Sadie to stand beside you. A pianist plays music on the other end of the saloon, and you hum along before flagging down the bartender.

“A whiskey.” You order, looking to Sadie for her preferred poison.

“Make it two.”

The bartender nods, reaching under the bar to pull out a sparkling bottle of Tennessee whiskey. He pours two shots before sliding them across the bar to you, and you toss a dollar onto the counter.

“Watch this, it’s how I met Arthur– a sort of specialty.” You smirk, downing your whiskey before turning to the man beside you. He’s dressed in an expensive outfit, with many pieces.

“Excuse me mister?” You chime, and the man turns towards you. He’s clearly intoxicated, a drunken smile stretches across his face as his eyes fall onto you.

“I'm new to these parts, sir. Do you happen to know where I can buy some sugar? They was out at the store, and I was planning on making my famous apple pie.” You smile sweetly, faking an innocent demeanor, but your fingers are slipping closer to the pocket of his jeans. You keep eye contact to distract him as your hand slides right into his pocket.

“Oh! Well, miss, I don’t know–” he hiccups, “Maybe ask the store if there’s any in the back!” The man says, smiling brilliantly down at you.

“Them flowers in your hair are real beautiful, miss.” The man smiles, and you bite back a remark as you smile, gripping onto something papery in his pocket and pulling it out. You shove it into your pocket, eyes scanning over the man.

“Thank you.” You hum, seeing a lump in the pocket to his vest. The man turns back to the bar, but you grip his arm.

“This is such a nice vest! Where ever did you get it? My husband would suit one so well.” You smile, hand running over the front of his vest to feel the fine material, and a pocket watch right in his vest pocket.

“The tailor in Saint Denis! He’s a great feller. He’ll have your husband lookin’ sharp.” You thank the man, waiting for him to turn away from you and face the bar again. Through your peripherals, you watch as he looks away, and you quickly snake your supple fingers into his vest pocket, pulling the chain until a huge platinum pocket watch slips out. He’s too drunk to notice, and you slide it into your satchel before turning back to Sadie.

“Well, shit.” She chuckles, “You pickpocketed Arthur? That’s how you got wrapped up in this?” She whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. You nod, and Sadie shakes her head.

“I like you.” She chuckles as you both make your way towards the saloon doors, escaping before the man realizes that you’ve stolen from him.

Just as you approach the door, it swings open and a group of greasy, dirty men stomp through. One of them knocks right into your shoulder, and trips you. You fall to the floor with a gasp, knees and hands hitting the ground harshly. Pain shoots up through your limbs as you turn to glare at the bastard. Sadie reaches for her holster, but you stand up, gripping her arm to stop her.

“Watch where you walk, bitch.” The man spits out through only a handful of teeth. You glare daggers at him, breaking eye contact only as he steps up towards the bar.

“We’s the Lemoyne Raiders! And this fine establishment owes us a tax!” He yells, and all the men unholster their weapons.

“Go, quickly, go.” You whisper to Sadie, shoving her out the door. You run down the slope towards the wagon, seeing Arthur leaning against it.

“Where the hell have you two been?!” Arthur growls, but you ignore him, jumping into the wagon.

“Drive!” You yell, and Arthur looks around before sighing and clambering into the driver's seat. Sadie jumps into the back of the wagon just as Arthur slaps the reins over the horses’ backs.

“What did you two do?” Arthur growls, driving the horses quickly out of town.

“It wasn’t us. A gang of fellas came in and started demanding a tax, knocked me to the damn ground.” You sigh.

“We needed to get out of there before it got violent, I wasn’t about to go against Dutch’s orders on my first outing.” Sadie adds. Arthur looks over at you, scanning the dirt scuffed on your knees and the scrape on the palms of your hands.

“They hurt you?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I'm alright.” You reassure him, mind wandering back, “They call themselves the Lemoyne Raiders, just make sure everyone knows to keep an eye out.” You say as Arthur pushes the horses closer to home.

Wild boar squeal, running in all directions as Arthur speeds through the meadows, trying to get home. You reach into your pocket, pulling out the cash you’d stolen. You count the bills, eyebrows popping up.

“We made fifty bucks." You hum, counting out twenty five and handing it back to her. Arthur does a double take, looking back to see you going through the money.

“Aw, hell. What did you two do? How did you get that?” Arthur mumbles, sighing as you chuckle.

“Star here has quite the talent when it comes to pickin’ unsuspecting pockets.” Sadie laughs as the wagon pulls through the trees.

Arthur looks over at you sighing.

"Dutch said no trouble." He huffs, and you dangle the platinum pocket watch from your hand, showing it to him.

"He said no guns." You correct, "and I didn't use any guns."

"Don't mention this to Dutch. We just get the supplies back and that's that." Arthur orders, softening his tongue as he looks over his shoulder, "You two handled yourselves well today."

You glance back at Sadie with a smirk, proud of yourself and her. Your intuition was right, she can handle herself just fine, and she'll make a nice addition to the working members of the gang. You look forward to riding out with her in the future.

"Don't you worry, our lips are sealed." Sadie huffs, rolling her eyes lightly.

Arthur pulls the wagon through the trees towards Clemens Point, slowing down as he enters camp. He pulls the wagon near Pearson's table, and a few of the boys come to help unload it.

“I’ll see you around.” You smile at Sadie, and she tips her hat to you before jumping down from the wagon.

"Star, take the horses." Arthur calls to you, untying them from the wagon before handing you their reins. You take the reins of the two bay Shires, noting the white sweat that clings to their fur and the hot, heavy breaths that they take. Arthur had really pushed them to get back quickly, leaving them tired and sore. The horses walk with you, whinnying and nudging your pockets for treats as you take them to the hitching posts.

It doesn't take long for you to hitch them and grab two pails of water from the lake. You place the buckets down, glancing to where Arthur stands in the wagon, handing boxes down to Charles on the ground. You watch for a moment, distracted by the way his muscles flex under his shirt. He smiles, laughing at something one of the boys said and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You pick up the metal pail of water, pouring it over the stallions back. The water cascades down, washing away the sweat and cooling down the shire. You shake your head, pulling your eyes away from Arthur to focus on the horses.

You're not sure what's gotten into you but he's so distracting, you can't take it. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing his thick, muscular forearms as he wipes some sweat from his brow. You burn as your eyes watch his suspenders flex and move with his shoulders, and you curse yourself for being so filthy.

You can't help it. It's been a week since he's touched you. With the move and everything going on in camp, there's been no time for it.

You quickly pour water over the second shire horse, making sure that her breathing has calmed back down. Her nostrils are no longer flared, and all the puffy white sweat has been washed from her sides. You double check that there is hay and water in their trough before patting both horses and walking back into camp.

Arthur jumps down from the wagon as you approach, adjusting his hat with a smile.

"Horses okay?" Arthur asks, hoping that he hadn't pushed them too hard. You nod, walking towards your tent, subconsciously leading him there.

"Yeah, they're just fine. Gave them some water n' got them cooled down." You say, gripping Arthur’s arm.

“We have some time, right?” You ask, watching as Arthur’s eyebrows pull together and he pulls his pocket watch from his vest. He glances at the time before putting the fine watch back.

“A little, why?” He asks, and you grip his arm impossibly tighter, pulling him through the canvas to your tent.

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks, worried until the canvas falls shut and you wrap your arms around his neck. Coyly, you pull him down to you, and his hands find your waist as you kiss him. A shiver runs down your spine, and you chase after the feelings he gives you as you moan into his mouth.

“I’ve missed you, we’ve been so busy.” You explain, pulling away from his lips to speak. You’re breathless as you expose your neck, and he begins kissing the soft skin just under your jaw.

“Missed you too.” He echoes, knowing exactly what you mean. It’s been too long since you’ve had each other like this.

"I'm supposed to be leavin' soon. I'm goin' fishin' with Hosea and Dutch." Arthur says, but his hands don't stop yours from unbuttoning his shirt, and his lips are still kissing your neck between words.

"We'll be quick then." You murmur, tugging his shirt out of his jeans to reach the last few buttons. You pop them open, shoving his shirt to the ground before running your hands up the expanse of his chest.

And then his lips are on yours again, kissing you messily, quickly, as he rushes to pull your shirt off. You're short on time and it's been a week since he's touched you like this. You've both been too busy during the day, and exhausted during the night, but now you have a sliver of time and you'll be damned if it goes to waste.

Arthur’s arms scoop under your thighs as he picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Your breaths turn to needy whimpers as he carries you towards the bed, lips never breaking contact on your skin.

“What if someone hears?” You whisper as his lips kiss the fading dark spots on your collarbone.

"No one will hear, we'll be quiet." He murmurs against your skin, nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You chuckle, feeling like a damn schoolgirl.

Your smile falls quickly when three loud knocks sound out on the beam of your tent.

"Star?" Hosea calls through the thin piece of canvas, just a step away from the scene you're making.

Your skin turns pale as Arthur's lips pull away from your skin and immediately he loosens his grip on your thighs, letting you slide back down to the ground. Arthur quickly grabs his previously abandoned shirt from the ground, throwing it over his shoulders, unbuttoned, just as Hosea pulls the canvas to the side

"Dear girl, we're going fishing. I wanted to invite you–" Hosea starts, stopping in his tracks upon seeing Arthur in your tent. His eyes scan over the situation, and he sighs.

"Arthur, get out." He calls to Arthur, "Get dressed and get out."

Your cheeks burn red, feeling as if you're being scolded by a father for your carelessness. Arthur quickly starts dressing up the buttons to his shirt as you toy with your fingers.

"You two are damn lucky it was just me coming in. There's things that need done, so save your foolin' around for later." Hosea bites, turning his attention to Arthur then, "Now, we are going fishing. Star, you can join us if you like, but you better be at the hitching posts in five minutes… and clean up, both of you." He snaps.

"Goddamn children." He whispers under his breath, shaking his head as he pulls the canvas shut behind him and heads off towards his own tent to grab his pole. You glance up to Arthur with a fierce blush on your face, still catching up from what's just happened

"Did we just… get caught?" You huff, not imagining that you'd ever be caught in the act at this point in your life. You're no teenager, but you sure as shit feel like one now.

"Red handed, darlin'." Arthur chuckles, hands undoing his belt just enough to tuck his shirt back into his jeans. You watch as he gets dressed, fixing the little pieces of his outfit that you've just worked so hard to undo.

"You coming then…? Fishing?" Arthur asks, and you nod.

"Might as well." You sigh, disappointed that your moment has been taken from you.

“Hey,” Arthur calls, seeing the downcast look on your face. He grips your hand, pulling you to his chest, “Later, okay?”

“Mhm.” You hum, a smile stretching across your face as he leans down to kiss you one more time. You lean up into him, pressing your lips to his before giving him entrance to your mouth. Arthur groans, wishing he had more time with you.

“C’mon then.” Arthur grumbles, pulling away from you. It’s clear that he’s going to be in a sour mood for the rest of the day thanks to Hosea, but you’ll try and cheer him up. You adjust your gun belt, blushing as you step outside the tent. You’re sure that someone heard Hosea’s scolding, but no one acknowledges it as you step out of your tent with Arthur. Dutch steps out of his tent as well, falling into step in front of you and Arthur.

“Are you joining us on this fine evening of fishing?” Dutch asks, neck craning to the side to speak to you. You nod.

"It seems I am, though I never actually fished before. I went along once but… that time didn't turn out so good." You sigh, remembering the fishing trip with Jack back before everything happened. The Pinkertons had shown up, threatened you all, the train had happened, the massacre in Valentine, and here you are.

"Well Hosea is a fine fisherman. He taught me everything I know about sinking worms. Arthur here, well he lacks skill and finesse, but we'll talk more on that later– I've got plenty of stories." Dutch chuckles deeply, hands resting on his gun belt as he leads you towards the hitching posts.

"Great." Arthur sarcastically grumbles, looking up to where Hosea mixes herbs for his cough.

"Hey old girl! Why don't you show us this creek you've been pissin' in?" Dutch hollers up, smiling brightly at Hosea. Hosea looks up, coughing lightly before abandoning his mixture and standing to meet you all.

"Were they always like this?" You ask, chuckling at Dutch's pet name for Hosea.

"It's gettin worse with old age." Arthur mumbles under his breath, hand on the small of your back as he leads to you the horses.

"You don't look too rosy, old friend." Dutch says to Hosea as he mounts onto his white Arabian. The skittish horse swishes his tail nervously as Dutch adjusts in his saddle, gripping the reins tightly.

"I'm afraid my days of lookin' good are long over." Hosea chuckles, coughing. It's a raspy sound, deep in his chest. You frown as you approach Athena, looking into her blue, sparkling eyes.

"Hey there, girl." You coo, petting her neck. Arthur watches your interaction fondly, hiding a smile from behind Balius.

"I know a good spot, up north along the bank." Hosea explains, groaning as he mounts up onto Silver Dollar. You and Arthur both climb into your saddles, and you fall into the back of a square formation. Dutch and Hosea rode side by side ahead of you while you and Arthur ride together behind them.

"Why don't we just fish here?" Arthur asks, "We got a whole lake of 'em."

"Because I need to get out for a bit." Dutch's booming voice hollers back to you. You know exactly how he feels, and you're glad to be back out after being stuck in camp for so long.

"Me too." You hum, squeezing Athena into a canter behind Dutch and Hosea. They veer out of the trees, following the orange tinted roads towards Hosea's spot.

"It's good to have the old guard together." Dutch calls out, a smile on his lips, "Just the three of us, like the old days– except for the addition of the beautiful Ms. Star."

You can feel Arthur's grip tighten on his reins, seeing the way his shoulders tense, but he keeps quiet. Dutch knows he's crossed another boundary, but he enjoys the rush. You roll your eyes as everyone keeps riding on.

"Does Molly know you're callin' other women beautiful?" You bite, getting sick and tired of Dutch's games. He has no problem admitting that you're attractive, and yet he has no faith in you, and believes you to be the reason that the Pinkertons are on your tail. He's a messed up bastard, and you watch as he laughs boisterously.

"What Molly doesn't know won't hurt her." Dutch says, and you look to Arthur with a shocked expression. Arthur looks like he wants to say something, and he opens his mouth to make a comment, but Hosea changes the topic before the conversation can continue to deteriorate.

"You did good finding this place, Arthur." Hosea calls back, thankfully changing the subject.

"It was more Star than me." Arthur explains, reaching into his satchel to pull out an oatcake. He extends his hand down to Balius, giving the shire horse a little snack for his work.

“It’s a good spot. I feel like I can breathe again, thick and soupy as this air is.” Dutch calls back, “Might even do your whistling pipes some good, Hosea.”

Hosea glances up at the sky, sighing as a bittersweet look crosses his face. He seems to be lost in a memory, and you watch on curiously until he speaks up.

“I was once in this country with Bessie… Oh, it feels like a lifetime ago, now.” Hosea says. Dutch ignores the older man’s hurt, moving the topic forward. It must be hurtful, you think, to be run over by someone who used to be so close to you. You can only imagine what Hosea and Arthur must be going through, watching Dutch slowly descend. Arthur won’t even admit it to himself, still too caught up in the past. It’ll take time, and you pity Arthur for the day he realizes.

“It was a lifetime ago. But what a life we have lived, how we have fought.” Dutch’s eyes grow dark as he canters on, getting lost in his head, “But now, when we are desperate… we must stick to the plan.”

You roll your eyes. All Dutch ever talks about is his goddamn plan, but you’ve never even heard it.

“What exactly is your plan, Dutch?” You snap. His shoulders tighten at your attitude, but he doesn’t turn around to look at you. After a few moments, he finally speaks up.

“My plan is to make money, and then escape somewhere that nobody will find us.” Dutch grits through a clenched jaw. You want to ask how in the hell that’s a good plan. ‘Make money and leave’ is extremely vague, and you’re not so sure that making money is such a good idea right now with how the past jobs have gone. You open your mouth to question him further, but Arthur sidepasses Balius closer to you and touches your thigh. The brush from his fingers pulls you back, and startled, you glance over to him. Arthur shakes his head no, signaling you to drop it. You want to protest, but he mouths the word ‘no’, sternly.

Your face falls into a scowl as you continue on. You have to merge into single file as a wagon passes by, and you fall into the back of the line. You make a note to ask Arthur about it later. It bugs you that he asked you to stop. You have every right to question Dutch’s decisions when they directly affect your life, and the lives of your family.

“These goddamn fools.” You whisper to Athena, leaning down to pet her neck. She tosses her head, seemingly agreeing with you. As you continue, Dutch slows The Count down to a trot. You move back up beside Arthur, watching as a train passes by and blocks the road. You’ll have to wait for it to pass. There is one wagon waiting at the crossroads, and you squint at it, noticing the metal bars that form a cell on the back of it.

“Law up ahead, play it cool.” Dutch says back to you all, tone hushed compared to his earlier bravado. You pull Athena back to a walk as you approach the wagon. There's a few people in the back, and you squint to see as you get closer and closer.

“Hello gentleman, miss.” A voice calls meekly from the wagon cell. It's a familiar, accented voice, and when you search the wagon again you see Josiah Trelawny handcuffed in the cell amongst a group of other men. Your eyes go wide, and you sidepass Athena to lightly smack Arthur’s arm and get his attention.

Everyone realizes the predicament, and Dutch glances back to you all before walking The Count up to the front of the wagon. There's two lawmen sitting on the drivers bench, and Dutch tips his hat to them.

“How are you boys?” Dutch asks, playing up his charisma. The man in the driver's spot has bloodshot eyes and a massive mustache. His blonde hair matches his pale face, and he seems a bit shaky in his arms. The man next to him is a bit younger, clean shaven with dark brown hair and a bowlers hat.

“We’re fine.” The driver exchanges, not feeding into whatever he believes Dutch to be inquiring about. Dutch isn’t about to walk away, and he is not about to be ignored again. So, he plays up his charisma again, picking an angle.

“Some beautiful country you folks have here.” Dutch compliments, and this time the driver glances over to Dutch. He eyes him up and down quickly before looking back to the train ahead.

“We like it well enough.” The man says, still partially ignoring Dutch. Dutch smiles brightly, holding his hand up to his chest as he introduces himself.

“Hoagy Macintosh, at your service.” Dutch introduces himself. You hold your hand over your mouth to hide your smirk as you snort a laugh, and Arthur lightly chastises you with a glare. You can see the smirk on his lips though, and you know he’s trying to hold back laughter just as much as you are. Hoagy Macintosh finally gets the lawman to open up and introduce himself and his deputy.

“Leigh Gray, and this is my deputy, Archibald McGregor.” The sheriff introduces. Dutch smiles ear to ear, extending his hand up to shake the sheriffs. You almost laugh at the situation. A crook, wanted in three states, shaking the hand of the sheriff.

“You a Scot?” Sheriff Gray asks, and Dutch grins. You’re growing bored of their banter, wishing you could just shoot the lock and run off with Trelawny instead of all this dancing around.

“Partly,” Dutch leans in as if he’s about to tell some inside joke, “the best part.”

Your eyes roll back into your head again as you wait for the damn theatrics to end.

“Can’t we just shoot the lock?” You whisper over to Arthur. He readjusts in his saddle, looking over at your impatience.

“No. Just a few more minutes. Dutch has this.” Arthur whispers back to you. You watch on as the show continues, foot tapping against your stirrup. Even Athena is getting tired of standing, pawing at the ground in annoyance. Finally the train begins to move, going east.

“Tell me, sir, what did that silly, fancy fop back there do?” Dutch asks, pointing back at Trelawny.

The conversation continues on for a while as you watch the prisoners in the back. Josiah is pressed tightly up against the cell like a cornered cat as the other, much bigger, men work on unlocking the door. One of them is picking the lock with something, cursing lightly as he fumbles with his wrists outstretched from the bars.

“Uh… Arthur? Hosea?” You whisper, nodding towards the wagon door just as it swings open.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” Trelawny yells, extending his hand out from the wagon before pulling it back. He makes no move to escape as the three blonde haired men file out, pushing past Josiah and running towards the train. Trelawny gets the attention of the sheriff, who turns around and realizes that his convicts are escaping.

“Shit! The Anderson boys! I can’t have more scandal!” Sheriff Gray yells, jumping down from the wagon. He takes his hat off, squeezing the felt between his hands as he tries to figure out a plan, watching as the Anderson boys all leap onto the caboose one at a time, pulling each other up.

“Well, allow us to help! Arthur, Star, take Archibald and go on.” Dutch orders.

Archibald leaps down from the wagon, running up towards Athena.

“Go on his horse! She don’t like men!” You yell to Archibald as Athena pins her ears and rears up lightly. The deputy runs towards Balius as you push Athena forward after the train. She was bred to race, and it doesn’t take long for you to catch up with the train. Her strides are long as she stretches them out in a gallop. You turn in your saddle to see Arthur a ways behind you. Poor big Balius was not made to run.

“Jump up there, miss! This man rides like my grandma!” Archibald yells up and you laugh over all the noise as Arthur bites some comeback.

The train goes over a small bridge, and you run through the valley as you chase alongside it. There's a man running over the top of the train that you keep your eye on. When you reach the plains, and have a straight shot to jump, you slip your feet out of your stirrups and stand up in your saddle. It's difficult to balance, and you focus on not looking down as you leap onto the train. You land on a flat car, rolling as you hit the wood. You barely have time to stand up before a man knocks you back to the ground. He hits you like a brick wall, knocking you flat on your back as the train pushes forwards.

You cross your arms over your face, blocking his swings until you find an opening. He falters for just a moment, and you knee him straight in the groin. The man screams out in pain, grabbing at his jeans as he falls down. You scramble up, kicking the toe of your boot straight to the man's forehead and knocking him out.

You spin around as Arthur leaps from Balius and lands on the same cart as you.

“I need Anders Anderson, he’s in the back!” Archibald yells, sliding up into the saddle, “I’m gonna go stop the train!” And then he takes off, galloping forward.

You extend your hand down to Arthur, helping him stand up as much as you can.

“You okay?” Arthur asks as he stands.

“I’m fine, let's go get this bastard.” You remark.

Arthur leads the way, running down the moving train car. It makes you dizzy, and bile rises in your throat that you force back down. Arthur leaps, grabbing the top of the next train car and pulling himself up. It takes everything in you to jump and reach the top, and your hand just barely grips the roof of the rail car before Arthur grabs it.

“Thank y–” You begin, cutting yourself off with a gasp as a man jumps up from the other side of the train and grapples Arthur. The man knocks him to the ground on his back, and Arthur’s head dangles over the side of the accelerating train. You’re left to pull yourself up, and your arms strain painfully as you struggle to reach the top. Arthur’s hat falls off, plummeting down to the ground as the bastard wraps his big hands around Arthur’s neck and begins to squeeze the oxygen from his lungs. The panic of seeing Arthur struggle gives you enough adrenaline to pull yourself up. As soon as you’re on your feet, you grab him by the backs of his cotton suspenders and pull him back as hard as you can with a growl. He falls backwards off of Arthur, and rolls right off of the train.

“Jesus.” Arthur coughs, clearing his throat as he watches the criminal fall and hit the ground. You peer over the side of the train, a shocked look on your face.

“He should be fine.” You hum, snickering before you start jogging down the length of the rail car. Arthur is quick behind you with a smile on his lips.

“Besides the broken ribs, sure!” He chuckles, playing up that famous Arthur Morgan sarcasm that you’ve grown so fond of.

There's only one more car between you and Anders, and you jump to it, landing on your feet with a grunt as you push yourself to keep running. You glance up to the engine car, finding Archibald as he jumps from Balius onto the platform.

At the top of the train car is another man, the only thing separating you from their leader.

“I got this bastard!” Arthur yells, running past you to tackle the dark haired jailbreaker. Arthur’s fists immediately dig into the man’s ribs. Blood spatters as Arthur gives hard hits and blocks his face. He does a lot more damage than he takes. You watch them brawl, focusing on anything but the train's movement until Arthur pulls the bastard to the side of the roof and you can run past. The last car is some sort of meat cooler, and you jump down from the roof, landing ungracefully with a curse.

“They sent a goddamn lady after me!” Anders laughs out loud, and your blood boils as you look up at him. His long blonde hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and his crystal blue eyes are cold and emotionless. He reminds you of Micah, and you grind your teeth, readying your fists for the beating they’re about to give.

“You best turn around little girl… I ain’t goin’ back there without a fight.” Anders snarls. You take a few slow steps through the threshold, and then stumble slightly as the train screeches to a stop. Archibald must have gotten to the brakes. You hear Arthur’s blows landing behind you as you squint at the gang leader ahead of you.

“Try me.” You bite. Anderson steps forward with every intention of knocking you out cold, but he is too large and unagile for his own good. His movements are more sluggish than yours, and you have plenty of time to block his hit. He aims for a right hook to your cheek, but you pop your forearm up, blocking the hit as your right arm swings up into his gut. Anderson leans over with a groan, surprised by the force of your hit before he shakes it off.

“Don’t kill him!” Archibald yells from outside. He distracts you, and Anderson lands a hard blow to your ribs. You hiss in pain, eyes flash dark at the man before you.

“Why not?” You bark to Archibald, watching Anders sneer. Arthur is still fighting behind you, and when you hear a body fall from the train you instinctively panic and turn around. Relief floods your mind when you see Arthur wiping dirt on his jeans, spitting some blood down to the ground. He’s okay, and won the fight.

“Star!” Arthur yells, eyes going wide. Your panic has completely sidetracked you and by the time you turn back around to Anders, it's nearly too late. “Star, he's got a knife!” Arthur yells, eyes wide as saucepans.

Anders rams into you, knocking you flat on your back. He straddles your waist, shoving the knife down towards your throat as you fight against him. You yell out, fighting against his hands as the knife nearly knicks your throat. He's pushing it down with everything he can muster, just as you fight back.

“Arthur!” You grit out through clenched teeth, begging for help as you fight for your life. Your legs kick out from under you as you attempt to get him off you. A big brown steel toed boot kicks directly into Anders’ head, knocking him out cold.

“Goddamn bastard!” Arthur growls from above you as the knife clatters to the ground. You lay on the ground for a moment, catching your breath as you splay out.

“You alright?” Arthur asks, kneeling to the ground beside you. His warm hands find your shoulders as he encourages you to sit up.

“Fine. You?” You ask, wincing at the pain in your ribs.

Arthur smiles. Even now, you’re always dismissing your own pain, too busy worrying about everyone else's.

“Oh, I'm just fine, don’t you worry about me.” Arthur hums, taking your hands and looking at your bloodied knuckles.

“I’ll patch these up as soon as we get home.” Arthur hums, more to himself than you. He knows that if he doesn’t, you won’t. He looks over your knuckles with a small frown, hoping that they don’t hurt as badly as they appear to. He saw you take a punch in the gut too, and he makes a note to check on it later.

“You fought well.” He praises, and you smirk at the compliment. Then with a groan, he stands up, pulling you with him by your hand. Arthur leans down to pick up Anders, slinging him over his shoulder as if he’s only a sack of potatoes.

You exit the meat cart, walking down the two steps before jumping down into the dirt. Archibald is waiting there with your horses and a satisfied look on his face.

“Go ahead and put him on your horse there and then we’ll head to Rhodes.” Archibald remarks, whistling for his own horse.

“Great. Back to Rhodes.” You groan as Arthur throws Anders over Balius’s croup.

“Hang on, I gotta go find my goddamn hat.” Arthur grumbles as everyone mounts up.

It’s not a long ride, but it sure as shit feels like one. Archibald doesn’t shut up the entire way there, and the only thing keeping you mildly entertained is Arthur’s thinning patience. The deputy explains some old feud that the entire town is wrapped up in– the Grays and the Braithwaites. One stole from the other, or something of the like, but it was so long ago that nobody really knows what happened. The hatred has been passed down through generations, and apparently everyone in Rhodes has picked a side. It makes your head hurt, thinking about the foolishness of the whole ordeal. By the time you arrive at the jail, you’re basically half slid out of your saddle, ready to hop down and get it over with. Dutch is waiting with Sheriff Gray outside the jailhouse, and Trelawny and Hosea are chatting.

“There they are! I told you, these folks have a passion for justice. Dutch chuckles, patting Sheriff Gray on the back. Archibald takes Anders from Balius, parting through the group to take him into the jailhouse.

“Thank you folks, your friend here is free to go.” Sheriff Gray responds, and now that you’re close, you can see the dark purple lines under his eyes. You can smell the alcohol on his lips and your lip turns up slightly. Sheriff Gray turns to Dutch, extending his hand out to shake.

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” Dutch smiles, playing up his charisma. You’re not sure what his angle is, but you know he's seeping through the cracks of Rhodes, slithering like a snake to find any tips he can get.

“Mr. Macintosh, it has been a real pleasure.” The Sheriff says as the two shake hands. You place your hand over your mouth, hiding the smirk at his stupid fake name. Arthur smirks, unable to hide his smile from the way you struggle to contain your own.

“Ah, ah, my friend, call me Hoagy.” Dutch corrects, and you turn around to hide your face as a small snort leaves your lips. Arthur would chastise anyone else for it, but he can’t bring himself to be mad at you, especially not when Dutch is making it so difficult.

“Rhodes welcomes you all. And thank you for getting Anders back.” Sheriff Gray addresses you, and you turn back to nod at him. He turns back around, walking towards a boy who is sitting outside. He shoos him in the jailhouse, and you watch for an extended moment as he chastises his son, you assume.

“Beau, these better be ugly rumors! I heard you were seen with that wretched Braithewaite girl.” He calls, and your eyebrows pop up as you glance back at the group. Trelawny and Hosea regroup, and you all begin walking down the main road.

“Where you been?” Arthur asks Trelawny, striking a match against his box before lighting a cigarette between his lips. A veteran without a leg, standing on a crutch, is begging for money outside the general store. Passing by, uninterested in the conversation ahead of you, you stop to place a few dollars into his hat. He thanks you, and you smile before rejoining the group.

“I've been renting a caravan behind the church. It's awful, but no one comes looking.” Trelawny chimes, and you snicker.

“Apparently someone came looking, locked up as you were.” You point out as everyone begins escorting Trelawny back home.

“I heard about your bounties… makes mine look like nothing but a penny.” Trelawny remarks back. Your anxiety picks up at the thought, and you look up to Arthur, holding your hand out in a silent question. He hands you his cigarette, and you take a drag from it before handing it back. Smoke fills your lungs, and when you release it, some of the anxiety floats away as well.

“It’ll take them months to find us down here.” Dutch counters, confident in his leadership decisions. You’re not entirely sure if he's right on that account or not.

“Well, they’re good bounties…” Trelawny adds, and you hear the trepidation in his voice, the nervousness hinting that they’re tighter on your tails than you’d originally thought, “And Miss Star, you’ve become quite the news topic. You’re a real point of conversation in the West.”

Your blood runs cold as your stomach flips, and you try to comprehend what he’s said, and how he means. Even Arthur tenses at the admission.

“A lady outlaw– they’ve conjectured quite the story about you.” He adds, and you take a few quick steps to catch up to him.

“Where did you hear all this?” Dutch growls. Whether he’s mad at you, Trelawny, or the situation, you’re not sure.

“A group of fellers near the state line. They said there was talk of it in bars five hundred miles to the west. There was talk of super agents.”

Dutch laughs at that, and some of his bite falls away, “Super agents, huh? It’s just talk.”

You’re not so sure. After mixing with Cornwall back in Blackwater, robbing his trains and wagons ever since, and killing half his men in Valentine, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did hire some super agents.

“I’m sure, but I had to tell you.” Trelawny defends, just as nervous as you.

You approach the caravan in which he’s staying, and he walks on a few steps as you all stop. He turns to you, bowing for show.

“Adieu.” He remarks, before walking back towards his rental. You and Arthur share a worried glance as Dutch and Hosea turn back, whistling for their horses. Stories aren’t good– talk isn’t good, and right now the attention seems to be on you. Arthur doesn’t like it one bit.

“Arthur, Star, poke around the Braithewaite’s place. Hosea, see what you can find out about the Grays.” Dutch orders as your four horses trot towards you together.

“Sure.” You hum, watching as Arthur tosses his spent cigarette onto the grass. The sun is beginning to set, and it casts Rhodes in an orange light as you mount up onto Athena.

“Some fishin’ trip.” Arthur mumbles, sore in the jaw from his earlier brawl.

Dutch, adjusting in his saddle, turns back to the three of you.

“There’s still time. I’m up for it if you two aren’t burned out from your merry chase.” Dutch says, gripping his reins tightly as The Count paces.

“Sure, why not?” You hum, knowing that Arthur’s been looking forward to the trip for a while, “Hosea take us to that spot you’re fond of.”

“Let's see if we can avoid any more excitement.” Hosea chuckles before leading the way on Silver Dollar. You follow, leaning back in your saddle to prepare for the long ride.

— — — —

Hosea's spot isn’t too far away, but it feels like it with the way your ribs ache. He leads you up north a ways, past Clemens Point up near the state line.

“Just down here to the left.” Hosea says, leading you down the bank to the lakeshore. The sun casts a golden glow over the water as you approach a decent sized boat along the lapping water.

“I’m sure no one will mind if we borrow one of these, c’mon.” Hosea hums, stretching after he dismounts his stallion. Everyone follows suit, walking towards the boat.

“Madam.” Arthur hums, holding your hand as you step into the boat. You blush, still getting butterflies from the outlaw.

He, Hosea and Dutch all push the boat into the water, jumping in one by one. Hosea rests at the front of the boat on the same bench as you the while Arthur sits in the middle and Dutch in the back. Arthur picks up the oars, watching you in the golden light as he begins to row.

“I’ll row since you’re too old for real labor no more.” Arthur jokes.

“And you’re too dumb for anything else.” Hosea quips, and Arthur laughs loudly as you smack Hosea lightly on the knee.

“You’re still too quick for me, old man.” Arthur chuckles, rowing the boat out into the middle of the lake.

“I enjoy picking on children.” Hosea hums, and Arthur huffs, pointing at you.

“You don’t pick on her.” He points out.

“No, I applaud her for putting up with you.” Hosea jokes, and Dutch laughs from the back of the boat. You shoot Arthur an apologetic look for the snicker that leaves your lips. The boys continue chuckling as Arthur rows the boat to a decent spot in the center of the lake. You remain seated as they stand, pulling out their fishing rods.

“You don’t know how to fish, huh?” Arthur asks, and when you shake your head, he extends his hand out to you, “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You take his hand, soaking up the way it envelopes yours so wholly. He pulls you up, situating you in front of him with your back to his chest. Hosea watches on fondly, thinking of Bessie as Arthur places his fishing rod in front of you. His arms are around your shoulders, holding your hands over the rod.

“Let’s hope for stupid fish and good luck.” Hosea hums, casting out as does Dutch. Arthur has some fancy lure attached to his rod. It’s colorful and you look at it curiously.

“Couldn’t we have just used a worm?” You ask as Arthur adjusts his feet at shoulders width apart behind you.

“No, you’d have to be real lucky to catch a sturgeon or a bass with a worm.” Arthur hums, his chest rumbling at your back.

If either Hosea or especially Dutch think anything odd of your position with Arthur, no one says anything. Hosea knows about your relationship. And Dutch? He suspects well enough.

“Alright, pull back just like this,” Arthur mumbles, helping you pull the rod back, “then release.”

You let go of the string, sending the reel out a decent ways. Arthur smiles, letting you go so that you can hold it on your own.

“There you have it, now just wait for a bite.”

It grows quiet save for the sound of sloshing water and the boat creaking. Dutch is the first to catch a fish, and when he unhooks the bass, a fond memory crosses his mind.

“Star, you’ll like this story. Hosea, remember that time we sent Arthr out fishing? He brought back three beautiful bass.” Dutch remarks, and your attention flickers to him as you hold the rod steady.

“Not this again.” Arthur sighs, and you turn around with your eyebrows pulled together and a smile on your lips. You know exactly what's about to happen– Dutch is going to pour out some good old fashioned embarrassment.

“I don’t remember.” Hosea hums, thinking back to where Dutch may be going with the story.

“Oh yeah you do. He was younger, probably Star’s age, walked in all full of himself. We ate a big meal, toasted him all night.” Dutch continues with a smile as Hosea reels in a sturgeon.

“This was fifteen years ago.” Arthur defends, watching as your line pulls tight.

“Oh I remember now!” Hosea chuckles. Arthur comes forward, standing at your back again as he helps you reel in. The fish fights against you, and when you struggle to pull, Arthur’s hands line your and he assists.

“The next week Arthur and I are at the market, the fishmonger calls out ‘So how’d you like those bass I sold you?’”

Everyone except for Arthur laughs boisterously. You can picture it so clearly, him young and wanting to impress them. It's cute, though Arthur will never admit it.

“Listen. You can go fishin’, or you can go drinkin’ all day, rob someone and buy some fish.” He defends again as you both pull up a nice sized bass. Arthur unhooks the fish, tucking it into a bag in his satchel before helping you toss your line out again.

“We might wanna swim to shore, darlin’.” Arthur jokes on account of being the source of entertainment. You chuckle, watching the ripples under the water as Hosea pulls up another fish.

“No, I’m enjoyin’ this. Tell me more.” You smile. Though you hadn’t expected to, you’re having a good time. And Dutch seems to be on his best behavior as Hosea comes up with another story.

“Remember when I caught those salmon? We had a banquet planned until Copper went and scoffed the lot.” Hosea scoffs, amused.

“You never had control of that dog, Arthur.” Dutch chimes, hooking a fish

“Copper?” You ask, not remembering if you’ve heard the name before. Just as you ask, another fish bites, and Arthur helps you to start reeling it in.

“Oh, my old dog. He was a good boy, had some spirit in him, that's for sure. Never lost the pup in him, not even in the end.” Arthur hums, a crestfallen look on his face.

“I remember the day when we found you in the mud.” Dutch says, a smile on his lips at the old, fond memory, “Remember, Hosea?”

“How could I forget?” Hosea chimes. Arthur grows quiet, helping you reel in and unhook the fish.

“You were so angry, full of rage and fear.” Dutch remarks, “You’ve grown, son.”

Arthur nods, hands tightening around your own. He's never been good at taking compliments, and that's not changing now. The four of you continue fishing as Hosea tells stories of old trips he’s gone on, and Dutch remarks about old steals. You learn a lot about Arthur, finding out that he’s always had a heart for animals, and that he used to be an awful shot. You also find out about how he tortured John upon his arrival, but would sneak him cigarettes and whiskey behind Dutch’s back. The boys tell you old stories until the sun sets and your bags are too full of fish to stuff them any more. You begin to drift off at Arthur’s chest , swaying back on your feet until his warm chest catches your back.

"Easy there." He chuckles, low so that only you can hear.

“I reckon it’s time we head back.” Arthur says, breaking down his fishing rod as you stir yourself back awake.

"Already?" Dutch asks even though it's getting dark.

"You ain't been chasin' outlaws." Arthur huffs as you sit down on the bench beside him. Dutch takes over rowing this time around, and you rest against Arthur's side as the lake air grows cold and the night falls to darkness.

— — — —

They sing a song about mariners the whole trip back. You all opted to steal the boat, as it's quicker to row back to camp than it is to ride. And by the time you make it back, you're exhausted. Arthur helps you out of the boat, and you thank Dutch and Hosea before heading towards Pearson's table to drop off the fish with him.

"You go on and get ready for bed, I'll meet you there." Arthur hums, holding his satchel in his hand. You nod, squeezing his free hand lightly before making your way to your tent. It takes you only moments to dress down, and the relief that fills you upon hitting the mattress is instant. You struggle to keep your eyes open, but you try your damndest to stay up for when Arthur comes in. The long day has left you tired, and even though Arthur promised you that he'd spend the night up with you, you both know you're too tired.

Eventually, as your eyes flutter open and closed, Arthur parts the tent canvas and strides in.

"Didn't have to stay up for me." Arthur coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair.

"I wanted to." You counter, eyes slipping shut.

"Scooch over, I'm comin' in." Arthur whispers, and you feel the bed dip as he slides in beside you.

It was a good, busy, day. One filled with outlaws and robberies, theft and simple fishing. You look forward to working with Sadie again, and you worry over Micah's return alongside working with the Braithewaite's.

But none of it matters now. Now you're safe, cuddled up to bed with Arthur, and everything seems like it's going to be okay.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup @btsiguess-kpop @how-the-heck-would-i-know @rratman @eyelovie @mykneeshurt

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fandom

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somethingclevermahogony · 1 year ago

Text

Excerpt from my WIP

This portion of Chapter 3 should have minimal spoilers. Please let me know what you guys think, I would appreciate feedback if you have any.

Content Warning for murder, blood, and mention of illness.

The flies crawled on walls painted with murals of ancient kings and gods. Dozens of potted flowers each a different shade and hue attempted in vain to mask the stench of rot and death that permeated the air. A palace plantbrew stood in the corner, her head bowed. Akard was seated on a bench of cypress and boxwood dressed in the simple linen clothing of minor Apunian nobility. Before him was a bed on which his

father, Kurush, was sprawled. His old body was withered by disease. There he was sprawled on stained sheets, reaching out to his son, reaching through the haze of senility, weak tremulous fingers grasping at his chest. All but one of the palace’s many sages and plantbrews had given up on the wretch; how Hutbari had managed to so successfully stave off the destructive family illness was a mystery that even the finest Apunian plantbrew could not crack.

“Akard, Akard, you have to take me back, please, I want to go home, I want to see Labisa again. I know that I am dying Akard, please don’t let me die here, please I want to go home…please Akard, I beg you…”

“Father, I can’t, you know that I can’t please rest and we will talk about this later, you need sleep.”

The dying man’s face screwed up in torment, his cracked lips stretched over his rotten teeth, and what few tears he could produce gathered at the corner of his eyes. His atrophied muscles had stolen his ability to care for himself, his pride had shooed away helpful hands.

“If I close my eyes I will not open them again here in this life, I know it, Akard. Why is life so unjust? What crime must I have committed to deserve this torment…my brother has stolen my house, my kingdom, and your birthright. So why am I the dying one? What justice is this? I don’t understand, did I upset the gods somehow? I hope that my brother is suffering like I am…damn him, damn him and everyone in that accursed palace.”

The withered man’s lamentation was interrupted by deep guttural coughs, pink frothy spittle coagulated at the edge of his chapped lips. Akard reached out to touch the man’s forehead, to give him comfort, but hesitated, he couldn’t bring himself to touch the raw and pestilent skin. The old man noticed his son’s hesitation, his hooded eyes burned into Akard's.

“ Pray, Akard, that you have escaped our family's curse, or perhaps one day it will be you that is forced to see your own child, disgusted to touch you while you are lying on your deathbed.”

“Father, I did not mean any…”

“Don’t lie to me, Akard! I know what I look like, I am disgusting, a pitiable corpse, already well on its way to rotting. Stewing in my shame and failure! This is the price of our royal blood, since Asherdul, but at least they had the consolation of a throne. What is my legacy? A half Apunian bastard son and a pus stain on these old sheets!”

Akard had heard the story of his family affliction before, Asherdul’s Bane, every man in the line Asherdul had felt its wrath, no mortal hands it seemed could cure the sickness. Akard looked down at his father, his limbs twisted, his skin raw and oozing, teeth rotten in his head, organs that had died one by one, and in that wretch, he saw his future. The old man coughed again, more violently this time, his sickly frame bent and contorted, the sound echoed eerily off of the sandstone walls. The plantbrew, in the corner, stepped forward. She opened her mouth to speak, surely about to offer a sip of her soothing potions or some other sort of treatment. When he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye the bedridden man hissed, and turned towards her. His bloodshot eyes were wild, filled with hatred and fear.

“Keep her away from me, Akard, I can’t stand any more of her cooing or those bitter concoctions she passes off as medicine. It's poison I tell you, she just wants me gone. She can’t wait for me to die, just like you! That way you can both gorge yourselves on a dead man’s money, I can smell it on her breath, beer and honey, vile desert wretch! And these sages, they do nothing about the spirits buzzing around my head, spirits of death they want to drag me away to judgment!”

The ghosts swirling around the dying man’s head were not malicious spirits, denizens of the liminal spaces as the old man supposed, but were rather the illusions of a dying mind, as the sages had repeatedly assured Akard.

“ Father I don’t want you to die and neither does she, we’re just trying to help, take your medicine it will help the pain. It’s not poison, I’ve seen her make it myself. It's just honey, wine, and poppy sap…”

“Traitors! Filthy traitors all around me, my own blood! They want to take what's mine, thieves! Murderers! The gods have cursed me! This is his fault, all his fault! And you, my own son, are his accomplice, a traitor! You’d see them bury me in that forsaken desert like garbage! You’ll abandon me here just like your whore of a mother!”

The flicker of clarity in the old man’s eyes was gone, replaced by the smoldering fire of madness. Akard stood stiffly, he had learned to hold his tears at his father’s outbursts long ago. He turned and walked stiffly towards the balcony. His hands gripped the wood, nails digging into its painted surface. Behind him he could hear the unhinged screams and thrashes of his father as the ever gentle plantbrew cooed and whispered in her soft silky voice in a valiant attempt to calm the old man, to administer her painkilling potions and tonics to his broken body.

Akard gazed out at the beautiful city of Nashawey, here from the vantage point of the Fapacha’s palace the city was laid out before him, its stone granaries and temples standing proudly among the lush date palms and fields. His eyes traced the great winding Putla River that flowed through the city’s center and the great gates of Merjat, painted gold by the rays of the setting sun.

His father’s sputters and the wheezes and gasps of his crumpled lungs tore Akard’s attention away from the accursed city, and he quickly returned to the bedside.

“Damn it all, damn it. It hurts, Akard, why must I hurt like this?”

The old man shuddered, his back arched in pain, his toes curled back upon themselves.

“I don’t know. It's not my place to say why things happen, fate just happens.”

“That’s why you’ll die here…just like me. You’re weak, you’re content to die as the Fapacha’s pet. Slither off, I don’t want to see you anymore, just let me die in peace, that's what you want after all.”

“Very well.”

Akard stood stiffly. For a moment, he was silent, eyes locked on a fly as it made its lazy way across the windowsill. He turned to the plantbrew.

“You can go now. Get some rest…I’ll watch him.”

Akard listened at the doorway and waited for the footsteps to fade. Satisfied he stepped back and pulled close the linen curtain that acted as the room’s door. He turned towards his father, walked to the bedside, and laid a hand on his frail shoulder.

“Why are you still here?” The old man demanded harshly.

Akard considered his words.

“I’m going to take you home.” He said softly as he locked eyes with his father.

“What did you say?”

“I said that I’m taking you home, out of Apuna.”

The old man blinked and for the first time that day, his lips split into a wide smile, a solitary tear formed at the corner of his bloodshot eye. He reached up to wipe it away but found his arms too weak, too heavy to be lifted..

“Home… I am sorry for what I said. I was just upset, I love you. I have so much to show you, the temples, the vendors, the smell of the lake...”

“I love you too, father.”

Arkad said softly. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A continuous stream of nostalgic drivel continued to pour from his father’s mouth, tears of joy leaked down his torn and hollow cheeks, his breath ragged with excitement.

“Oh Akard, the palace, oh the palace it's beautiful, I can show you the throne room and the baths, oh I miss the baths Akard, so beautiful…”

Akard watched the doorway, tried to listen over the sound of his father. He looked down at his hands, strong and whole, nothing like the rotting claws of his father. He looked down at the old man, still enraptured in his own imaginary return to the city by the lake. At least he was happy, even if it wasn’t to last.

“Oh Akard, and the girls…I admit I wasn’t much for them when I was younger, I was a fool back then, my nose buried in books and poems, but now, oh now the things I would do with those Labisian girls.”

His laughs were punctuated by rattling coughs.

“And the food, Akard, the food and…Akard what are you doing?”

Akard did not respond, he wrapped his fingers around his father’s throat and squeezed.

“No, Akard what are you doing to me? Help, help me, please!”

The old man’s cries were too weak to be heard outside of the room, he gazed up into his son’s face in terror. Kurush clawed weakly at Akard’s arms but he was powerless, his legs kicked and his chest heaved with the effort of breathing as the grip on his throat tightened.

“ You’re going home, Kurush.”

Akard tried to ignore the blood and pus which soaked his hands. He squeezed his father’s throat tighter, lest his hands slip. Kurush pleaded with his eyes, no longer able to form proper words. Akard was momentarily struck by just how long it took to strangle a man, even one as weak as his father. The old man’s body trembled and convulsed, his eyes rolled back in his head and he moved no more. Akard continued to squeeze, his own breathing was ragged.

Akard leaned back. His throat stung with the acrid taste of bile. All at once a wave of emotion struck him, so forcefully that he nearly fell to his hands and knees, tears stung his eyes. He looked down at his hands, slick with blood and sweat.

“I am sorry, father, it's the only way I could take you home.”

He leaned down, to kiss the cooling forehead, and then stood and washed the crimson from his hands and his father’s throat in the bronze wash basin, which dyed the water red. He lifted the sloshing basin and he walked to the balcony. As he poured its soiled contents into the river, his eyes following the stain as it was swept away and disappeared into the current. He walked back to the corpse, thankfully, the bruises were rendered indistinguishable against the diseased flesh.

#writeblr #writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #worldbuilding #world building #queer fantasy #fantasy world #narul #fantasy worldbuilding #testamentsofthegreensea #writblr #wip excerpt #wip #feedback welcome #i redid this post because for whatever reason the last one didn't recieve any attention

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