Mud and Gold [Arthur Morgan] [RDR2]

➵ chapter xi

Roughly an hour passed, the downpour still raged on outside.

Arthur shifted on the wooden chair for the umpteenth time. He stared at his captor with a thoughtful frown, the man's words still echoed in his head; he found it so hard to believe the truth that had been deliberately laid before him, even after being told so many facts that proved it all real.

In the end, and he hated to admit it, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

The gunslinger couldn't figure out whether he should feel angry for showing such acts of vulnerability back then, or simply disappointed with himself for being so blind. After a minute of pondering, he opted for the latter.

"Ya coulda easily taken 'er after knockin' me out, y'know?" Arthur broke the silence that had settled in the cabin then, ending his sentence with a tired sigh as with watchful eyes he observed the man cleaning his revolver boringly. "Why bother carryin' me here?"

The man laughed through his nose, shaking his head. "Ah, friend... She wasn't in the shed when I knocked ya out."

The answer took him off guard. "What?"

The man snorted, and what he said next left Arthur speechless. "I told ya; she is dangerous. And bein' dangerous often means bein' smart, which she was—don't know how, but she knew I was there, left 'fore I could even hit ya."

The outlaw tore his eyes away from the man, instead he stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace with a deep frown etched between his brows. He remained quiet.

The man, however, rambled on and on about something the blond didn't bother himself paying attention to. He focused on the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops outside; although calming and soothing in a way, his mind still continued to race with endless thoughts, nothing but chaos reigned.

No longer in the mood to converse, Arthur stayed silent throughout the next hour.

- ━━━━━━ ↼♔⇀ ━━━━━━ -

Still waiting, and keeping full eye-watch, the man—now seated right by the window with his revolver firmly held in his hand, and a rifle set by his feet, fully loaded—began to hum a tune to himself.

Arthur stared at the man, and sighed internally, letting his head hang almost in defeat. Another hour waiting like this would probably drive him insane.

Just as desperation began to wash over him, the man's humming stopped abruptly.

Arthur perked his head up, his blue eyes stared immediately at the brute as his whole body moved quickly; he stood, holding his revolver firmly in one hand. He took a few steps forward, and spared a glance in Arthur's direction; judging by his expression, the outlaw could tell the man was both scared and excited.

It didn't take Arthur long to realise what was happening. With the rain no longer falling as hard, he heard it; clear as water, although subtle, the sound of footsteps rounding the cabin ever so cautiously, ominously. They stopped suddenly, allowing the rain to take fully on the heavy silence that had settled around them.

Arthur sat up on his chair, his eyes widening a tad in expectation as he darted his gaze between the man and the locked door. His mind raced with a million thoughts. Had the man been right about her coming to get him?

The man smirked, his face contorting into a weird expression due to his scars. "I told ya," he whispered. "She's here."

Arthur felt a shiver run up his spine as the man cocked his gun, and swiftly moved to stand by the locked door.

The sound of the rain increased in volume as the man opened the door wide with a quick kick, startling Arthur in the process. And the man aimed his gun at something, somewhere outside, without hesitation, in one swift move.

A single gunshot rang in the air, tearing the peaceful yet tense silence abruptly.

Arthur yelped at the sudden deafening sound, and stared wide eyed at the open door, where the man stood. The large figure of the man seemed to move in slow motion, falling back inside the cabin, and colliding with the wooden floor with a heavy thud. His head rolled to the side a tad, enough for Arthur to have a glimpse at the man's eyes still open, but now empty of life, and at the perfectly centered bullet hole in his forehead. A single drop of blood dripped from it, slowly slid down his forehead, until it fell, and stained the floorboard below.

Arthur's breathing hitched at the sight—it wouldn't be the first time he'd seen a dead person, but this man had been alive merely a minute before; and now he laid there, dead, definitely dead, with one single gunshot to the head.

As if on cue, as the man's life had faded away, the heavy raindrops fell relentlessly upon the earth, harder than before. Roars of thunder added soon to the downpour, but they weren't loud enough to overcome the firm steps that approached the open door then.

Arthur forced his eyes to dart back to the entrance as soon as he heard them, his heartbeat increasing considerably.

The world around him seemed to freeze as his gaze landed on the door, where a new figure stood, quiet and ominous, their clothes and hair drenched due to the heavy rain.

(y/n).

She stood at the door, (e/c) eyes void of emotion. Her revolver remained firmly aimed at the dead man lying still on the wooden floor. The emotionless expression plastered on her face made a shiver run up Arthur's spine; her eyes were not on him, but fixated on the dead man, and though her expression remained neutral, her eyes didn't no more. Within seconds, hatred radiated off of her being, and the gunslinger could clearly see it in her eyes now.

She stepped closer to the man, lowering her gun in the process once she noticed he was obviously dead.

Then her gaze darted to meet Arthur's—as quickly as that anger had shown in her eyes, once again they looked empty, void of all emotions that he knew. He visibly shivered at the sight, now more than ever truly believing what the man had once told him. She was dangerous.

But before he could speak, or even dare say something about the whole situation, something on the floor by his feet caught her attention. And he noticed that quickly.

Arthur followed her gaze, and cursed internally. The photograph the man had showed him rested there, in front of him, perfectly lighted up by the burning fire in the fireplace, showing the image of her and the older man. He only stared at the piece of yellowed paper for a few seconds before he raised his gaze up to look at her.

And somehow it didn't surprise him to see the barrel of her revolver now aimed at him.

(y/n) stepped forward slowly, until she stood by the man's now empty chair. Her eyes met his once more, still empty of emotion. 

Keeping her gaze turned out to be one of the hardest things the gunslinger had ever done; her eyes no longer looked sweet and welcoming, nor soft and gentle, like they had always looked whenever he stared into them—within seconds, Arthur knew the (y/n) he'd met that day at the O'Driscoll camp had never existed. Just like any other thing too great, wonderful for him to have, turned out to be a lie.

This (y/n) standing in front of him was a complete new person; this woman was the real (y/n), as much as Arthur hated to admit it.

The empty look that she gave him as she spoke, finally, made his stomach churn. Her words were laced with a threatening, cold tone; tone only suitable for a cold-blooded, ruthless murderer that he knew too well, for he had more than once used it himself before.

"How much do you know?"