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

chapter 46; thorns

State bonds. Something Dutch had sent Arthur after many times before. Now, Arthur was holding at least three thousand dollars worth. It was enough to put them over the edge and afford them the new life Dutch had promised in Tahiti or wherever. 

He held it in his hands, thumbing the crisp paper, feeling nothing but anger. Dutch had willed the natives to attack the oil field for his own selfish reasons, using them as a way to get to these pieces of paper. Dispensed their lives to distract the law from the true criminals. He had never cared about the men's, most of them still boys, lives and wasted them recklessly.

Despite this, Dutch was gleeful, celebrating his victory by finishing off his flask. He was boastful and perhaps a bit drunk, snatching the papers from Arthurs hands with a big smile. He tucked them in his pocket before signaling for him to follow after. 

As always, they would have to shoot their way out. In the time they'd spent searching for the bonds within the small office, the lower level had filled with armed lawmen. They tucked into cover, picking them off one by one with relative ease. This was a practiced motion, a perfected dance, mastered over years of experience. Their aim is sharp and deadly, rarely missing it's mark.

Arthur leaped forward to advance his position. The lawmen are trained but young, lacking experience. A gun held in the hands of a boy, still in a teenager, fires off and misses, hitting a pipe protruding from the ceiling. It bursts open, spraying Arthur's face with hot steam, immobilizing him. He falls to the ground, covering his face with the crook of his arm. Heavy falls of military boots approach fast. When his vision finally clears, he's pulled upwards by the collar of his shirt, a shiny blade mere inches from his the tip of his nose. 

"We got one!" An older soldier boasts, shirt fisted in his hand. Spit flies across Arthur's face, like a rabid dog snapping at it's prey. 

"D-Dutch... Dutch!" Arthur called out, gripping the man's wrist to force the knife away. "I need help!"

Through the steam, he could only see Dutch's lower body, stuck in place, watching the situation unfold. He called again helplessly, just as he had when he was the inexperienced teenager foolishly behind a gun, often needing help from his fatherly figure. "I need help!" He called again to no avail. Dutch's feet shuffle backwards slowly before he's gone, slipped through the back door. 

Eagle Flies bursts into the room with a primal cry, dispensing of the remaining men before taking down the man pinned on Arthur.  There was a pause, each of the men catching their breath. 

"Are you okay?" Eagle Flies asks, reaching a hand to pull Arthur up. 

One of the assumed dead men on the floor began to ruse, too fast for them to react before he gripped his pistol, firing a single shot through Eagle Flies belly.

"No!" Arthur cried, taking up his own gun in vengeance. Eagle Flies collapses to his knees, clutching the newly made hole in his belly. Blood seeps through his fingers as he helplessly looks to his friend, his once savior. 

"You damn fool!" Arthur fretts over him, clasping his hand over his in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It flowed persistently still. Forcing him to his feet, he drapes his arm over his shoulder, dragging him alongside him towards the exit.

"You've saved my life more than once." Eagle Flies winces through the pain. "To give mine for yours... it's as it should be."

Arthur shakes his head, finding his logic flawed. But how could Eagle Flies have known he'd given his life up for a man who was already dying?

Outside, the last bit of sun had relented to darkness. Now, fire provided the only light, spreading quickly. Bodies littered the ground their faces buried in oily mud, catching fire as the flames devoured the land. Dutch had gathered his remaining men at the back of the main building. Bill was at his side, looking over his shoulder at the stolen bonds. In their fascination, they hadn't heard the back door swing open behind them. 

Charles, who'd been gunning with Charlotte, rides up beside them. He's the first to spot Arthur carrying a mortally wounded Eagle Flies. Without hesitation he leaps from Taima's back to help him support the weight, leading them back towards his mount. 

"What happened?" Charlotte rides up next, her voice high with panic. 

"Stupid fool sacrificed himself for me." Arthur grits, using Charles spared strength to hoist the limp body into the saddle. Charlotte pulls Sheriff close to Taima's side, luckily both well tempered mounts, so she can stroke Eagle Flies back comfortingly. 

"We need to go." Dutch calls out, already seated on The Count. 

"You..." Arthur spit hatefully, charging in his direction with a pointed finger. "You ran away."

Charlotte's stomach twisted. She placed a hand on her chest, lowering slowly to her torso with calm breaths to ease away rising nausea. Watching her husband's face, she didn't need to hear the rest of story. His eyes had said it all. Within seconds, her pistol was sighted on Dutch, fixated between his eyes. "That true?" She grits, staring down the barrel.

Dutch stares into her eyes. "I did no such thing. Don't be a fool." 

She doesn't drop the gun with his response. Rather, the hammer smoothly pulls back with an audible click. Being an excellent liar is one of the few traits Charlotte inherited from her father. Studying closely under him not only his daughter but protégé had made it easy for her to detect his lies.  

"Hosea, John, Arthur... me... were we ever truly family? Did you ever truly love us at all?" Charlotte hushes, the gun shaking in her hand.

"I've loved you dearly. I've loved my boys as though they are my own. You know that." He slowly raises his hands. "Put the gun down, Charlotte."

Watching Charlotte, Arthur can't help but admire his wives strong spirit. She's had far from an easy life, these past few months being the worst of them. He wishes he could simply will peace for her.

"I love you, Lottie. Always have." Dutch murmurs.

Reluctantly, she lowers the gun with a sob. Dutch rides up beside attempting to pull her in to him.

"Don't touch me." She croaks through hoarse cries. "Never again."

Instead, she goes to Arthur, pulling him into her saddle, turning over the reins so she can rest comfortably nestled against his back. 

"I've got to take the boy to his father." Arthur mumbles.

"As you wish. Usually is, nowadays." Dutch huffs before taking off in the direction of camp. 

- - - - - - - - - 

The first light of a new day stretched over the reservation, Eagle Flies drew his final breath. His father was by his side, comforting him as he crossed over. Charles took the loss personal, affected deeply given his own genetic ties to the natives. 

Arthur stayed with Charles to help the tribe with whatever he could, urging them to relocate as soon as possible. Preparations would need to be made. Charlotte had retreated into a shell within herself, unable to eat nor hardly speak. After the first night, Arthur convinced her to return home. He asked her to talk some sense into the remaining camp folk, hoping her charm could convince them to leave, quick and quietly.

After nearly a week, Arthur's part had finished. He knew he needed to return to camp. But Charles was unconvinced that there was nothing left for him to do, claiming he needed to stay just one more night. In truth, he'd formed a bond with the people and couldn't leave them in such a time of want, need and grief.

So Arthur rode home alone, something he'd done a thousand times before. But he'd spent countless nights in smoke filled teepees and his lungs were particularly sore. Miles from the reservation and equally far from camp, he toppled out of the saddle in a coughing fit. His head cracked against a large stone protruding from the road, knocking him unconscious. 

The next time he came to, he wasn't sure how long he'd been out. Hours? Days? What he did know was that he was warmed through and in a comfortable bed. Foreign music played softly somewhere in the distance and the familiar face of the man he and Charles rescued together years ago appeared above him. He couldn't understand a word he said but knew it was said with the intention of comfort. He was unable to stay awake any longer, drifting back to sleep.

Finally, his headache had subsided early one morning. The German's wife, pleased with his progress, road him into Annesburg where she'd planned to grocery shop anyways. There, Arthur managed to steal a horse unnoticed and slip out of town, riding for Beaver's Hollow.