Dutch's Daughter [[RDR2 Arthur Morgan x OC]]

chapter 45; roots

Warning: This chapter briefly mentions sexual assault.

___

"What the hell are they still doing here?" Charlotte roars, tossing herself off Sheriff's back and charging towards her fathers tent. She moves fast, Arthur unable to stop her in time.

Dutch shifts in his seat, leaning back to squint at her against the morning light. He doesn't miss the faint mouth shaped bruises across her neck and chest, or the unruly tangles in her usually fashioned hair. "Old pals of Micah's." He grumbles, drawing from his freshly rolled cigarette, staring through her.

"Ha... they're getting real comfortable."

"We need guns for what's coming." Micah pushes off the pole he'd been leaned against, staring her down with a warning look. "Cleet and Joe here know how to fight. It's lucky I bumped into 'em."

Charlotte bites her inner cheek, disregarding him. "What the hell is going on, Dutch? What is happening to us? What's happening to you?"

"You show him some respect." Micah darts between them, his chest brushing against hers. Without hesitation, she heaves the heels of her hands into his shoulders, sending him stumbling back. Then she's on him again, pinning him in the dirt with a fist pulled back at the ready. Long has she played the role of the quiet daughter, an obedient gunslinger, but those days were coming to an end.

"Mr. Morgan!"

The familiar voice stops Charlotte short and she looses her grip on Micah's collar.

"Mr. Van der Linde! They tried to kill my people for oil. For oil!" Young Eagle Flies barrels in on horseback, rifle raised above his head. More than a dozen tribesmen ride behind him. "Today we ride once more! Ride with me - ride with us against the factory."

Dutch steps from his tent with a beaming smile and a swaggered walk. "I love your courage, son. It is a thing of great beauty."

From the opposite direction, Chief Rainsfall rides in with the same urgency as his son though he is clearly weakened, short of breath from his hurried pace. "My son... my last son..." He weeps, climbing from the back of the beautiful paint. "When I was your age, I fought. I saw death. I have killed. The men I knew were slain. My first son, your brother, had his head smashed by a drunken soldier. My wife had her throat slit. And yet we made peace. I knew not to trust, yet I had no choice. Maybe you were right, maybe the slow death is worse than a fast one. Maybe none of these men are good. Maybe a world in which they came to us is not a world that we can endure. But endure we must."

Eagle Flies grinds his teeth, steadying his anxious horse. "Father, you are tired. Go home."

"Do not die for pride, my son. We have suffered too much in this trick. My only son... my precious son... do not mistake my strength for weakness."

Eagle Flies eyes narrow in on his father, the mighty Chief of their people. "Your words mean nothing to me, Father. The rest of you... ride with me, now!" He snaps the reins and the rest follow behind him, whooping and cheering with weapons raised high. They charge past Rains Fall on thundering hooves. He looses his balance, catching himself on his ever patient horse and resting against the saddle.

"Please, stop..." Rains Falls begs one final time but it goes unheard. Desperate, he turns to the group of outlaws still circled near Dutch. "Mr. Morgan, after you helped me, after we spoke... you must know this is all a trap. My son, my people, will all die."

Dutch steps in between the chief and Arthur. "You helped this man, Arthur?"

Micah slithers forward from just behind. "What else you been doing behind Dutch's back?"