HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Epilogue II

A/N: Be sure to scroll right to the end for a surprise 😉 Yep all the way past the author notes at the end of the chapter.

Five Years Later

The sun was getting low, turning the sky a watercolor wash of pink and orange. The birds still sang their summer songs cheerfully bringing a calm serenity to Willard's rest as the trees sway gently in the breeze. Taking a quiet breath Arthur crosses the front yard, heading to the tree line in search of the threat he knew was hiding within. Shouldering his bow he crouches to the ground and runs his fingers through the dirt and broken twigs. They were close. Straining his ears he listens, trying to catch the sound of movement over the creak and rustle of the leaves.

Squinting into the woods the telltale snap of a branch draws his attention to the left.

There you are.

Carefully he draws an arrow from his back and nocks it into the bow. Drawing back his arm Arthur slows his breathing, preparing to strike as he aims at the tree.

"Gotcha now," he smirks under his breath.

"Raaaaaahhh!"

"What th-!?" Arthur spins around in shock as his prey collides with him, knocking him back and pinning him to the ground.

He blinks up in disbelief at his son's gap-ridden grin, wondering how he had just been bested by a five-year-old.

"Gotcha ya papa!" Alfie giggles and then growls like an angry bear, digging his blunt nails into Arthur's chest.

Dropping the bow to the ground he scoops up his son, and holds him high in the air. "Ya certainly got the better of me kiddo."

Alfie squeals and Arthur pretends to drop him making him laugh louder.

"Or I'm just getting too old." Arthur grunts getting to his feet and propping Alfie onto his shoulders.

The suction arrow toy that Arthur had been 'hunting' with had made its way to Alfie's hand and he was entertaining himself by suctioning it to and from his father's neck.

"How old are ya papa? A hundred?"

Arthur chuckles and swats away the arrow, he certainly felt a hundred some days.

He'd gained a few greys in his beard over the last few years and although you said it made him look distinguished he couldn't help but think how, at forty-six, he was now older than Dutch had been when he died. You repeatedly told him he was silly whenever he would say he felt old, you'd remind him that he still looked good, you'd tell him that he still had many more years to live out, and then, you'd offer his favorite reminder, you would get on your knees and remind him just how young he could feel. It had become such a thing that Arthur found himself saying it even when he didn't feel it.

"How old are you kid?" Arthur rubs the spot on his neck.

"Twis told me I'm five and a half." he leans forward, dangling his arms down and resting his chin on father's head as they make their way from the woods.

"Right... and you think I'm a hundred?" he laughs, noting how his kids constantly kept him grounded. "An' Uncle, how old ya think he is?"

"I dunno. I just know you're old." Alfie shrugs. "And Uncle's olderer than you. Plus he smells real bad too. Olderer people always smell bad and you don't yet."

Arthur's grin widens, he wasn't going to disagree with that. When Uncle had visited last month, he'd been ten pounds heavier and twice as bitchy about his lumbago, old age was definitely not agreeing with him.