NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: RDR2

21. BEFORE I SLEEP

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

- Robert Frost 

My heart was beating against my ribcage like a drum as I looked up at Dutch, his face had settled into a steely look of determination. He stepped back from me and turned towards the horses, calling for us to follow. I dared not hesitate, almost stumbling over my own feet in the effort to keep up. I checked my rifle before hooking my foot into the stirrup of Aine's saddle, but before I could pull myself up a hand clasped tightly onto my arm.

"Please don't, this will be a trap." Arthur said, eyes pouring into my own.

"I don't think he was askin', Arthur." I say, taking my foot out to better focus on him.

"Then saddle up and run in the other direction."

"And go where? Everyone knows where I live."

"Then don't go back there!" he pleads, hand still wrapped tightly around my arm. I look down at it and sigh, he sure wasn't making this situation any easier.

"Cripps is there, I can't abandon him. Besides I'll be fine, I'm not the one who's gonna be down there." I say, lifting my arm out of his grasp and clambering up onto Aine.

"If it goes bad, you run." he orders, finger pointing at my horse.

"If it goes bad, I'll kill 'em." I reply, offering him a small smile that he does not reciprocate.

"Mount up, Morgan!" Micah barks, breaking Arthur's desperate stare. He huffs in Micah's direction and hops onto Leonidas, shooting me one more worried glare before trotting past.

I follow along behind them dutifully, no one else had come. Dutch had been clear that it was a job for only a few, I tried not to think too hard on why I was welcome above the others. I was obviously more expendable, more likely to be used as collateral if it came down to it. Despite Dutch's distrust and displeasure in my appearance at camp, I couldn't help but feel like this was more about punishing Arthur than about punishing me. Arthur saw this man as a father, he saw him as a leader, a totem of the life he lived. But it was clear to me that Dutch's love came with a price, that price being blind and unquestioning obedience, and Arthur had broken his rules. He'd confided in me.

I listened to them bicker as we rode over the fields of Scarlett Meadows, they managed to speak an awful not without saying much at all. I'd met many a brown-nose in my time, but none quite as obvious as Micah. Dutch on the other hand waxed lyrical about the state of our great nation, about how his belief, no matter if built on rocky foundations, was a belief worth fighting for. He spoke with conviction; he spoke with purpose. Not a word out of place, not a syllable unenthusiastically pronounced. I was sure Dutch could be described as a many great number of things, a leader, a role model, a man of principle. But as I listened to him twist his words so carefully, like fibres of a cloth, and watched as Arthur ate it up so quickly...I could only think of one word for him. Tyrant.

As we made it into the hills of the Heartlands, Micah pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and turned to face me.

"Alright, you'll be peeling off up ahead. We're gonna be meeting down on the plains, find a spot where you can keep an eye on things..." he said, managing to make even the most basic of sentences sound like a threat.