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write-havoc · 5 years

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Of Sons and Daughters Ch 6

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

While Arthur was gone, Emmeline’s sleep was far from restful. She found herself waking up at all hours instead of sleeping until morning. But with him sleeping in the room next to hers again, she sleeps soundly.

When she wakes with the sun, she feels refreshed. She gets dressed quickly and goes out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Arthur’s door is still closed, meaning that he must still be sleeping. She figures that whatever Uncle Tacitus had him doing must’ve worn him out. As she puts the kettle on for coffee, she sits down at the table.

Figuring that she could probably finish the story she was writing last night while she waits for the water to get hot, she pulls the leather book over to her and opens it. To her surprise, she doesn’t see her own handwriting, but a sketched picture covering both pages. She realizes very quickly that it’s of her standing in the creek washing clothes. The details are all there, perfectly rendered in beautiful pencil strokes.

“What are you doing?” Arthur’s gruff voice booms from beside her, causing her to jump since she thought he was still asleep in his room. He had apparently woken and gotten dressed at some point because he is now standing right beside her looking none too impressed. Quickly he pulls his journal away from her and snaps it shut. Not before seeing what page she had it open to, though.

“I’m sorry. I thought it was my book.” She gestures to her notebook still sitting on the table. It and Arthur’s journal are very similar looking, so she hopes he will realize her mistake. “I didn’t mean-“

“Did you read it?” he barks out.

“No,” she answers quickly. “I just opened it. I swear. I-I wouldn’t have read it.” She looks up to him with wide eyes, willing her tears not to flow. She really doesn’t want Arthur mad at her, especially for something that was just a mistake.

He can see her eyes misting over and it causes his chest to tighten. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he says, “Don’t be upset, Emmeline. I ain’t really mad atcha.”

“No. It’s okay. I understand. I’d be mad, too, if I thought someone was reading my private thoughts.”

“You really didn’t read none of it?”

“Not a word. I just saw that picture of me. But only for a moment.”

He looks away, embarrassed that she saw pretty much the only picture in his journal he wouldn’t want her to see. And that she realized that it was of her. “I’m real sorry about that,” he says without looking up. “I’ll rip it out.”

“What?” she asks in confusion.

He finally looks at her. “I’ll get rid of the picture. I shouldn’ta drawn it.”

“Why not? You’re a very good artist.”

Now he’s confused. “You ain’t dressed in it. It weren’t proper for me to draw you like that.”

She thinks about it for a moment, not really understanding why it’s a big deal. “I don’t mind. I mean, I wasn’t about to step in the stream with my dress on.”

He stares at her for a moment. “You don’t mind that I drew you?”

“No. I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s vain to say that because it’s me in the picture. But you have a lot of talent.”

He looks away bashfully. “Aww. I ain’t really that good. I just scribble, really.”

“Do you have any drawings of yourself?” she asks. “Don’t artists do self portraits?”

He chuckles. “I ain’t no artist. And I ain’t gonna draw myself when there’s far more interesting things out there to draw.”

“Do you have more drawings in your journal?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see them?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, she looks away, shaking her head. “You don’t have to. I just... I really like the way you draw.”

He can feel the blood rushing up his neck to his cheeks. “Maybe some other time. I should really be heading out.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah. The camp needs me back, so...” He clears his throat. “I’ll come check on ya in a few days.”

“Oh.” She can’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” She gives him a tight smile, though she’s not exactly happy about being left alone again.

“Alright, Miss Emmeline.” He tips his hat and heads for the door.

“Please, call me Emma,” she calls out.

He stops and turns back to her, mulling it over for a moment as a smile creeps its way into his face. “I’ll see you later then, Emma.” He tips his hat again then is gone.

Even though she’s not happy that he’s leaving, the fact that he used her less formal name makes her smile. She doesn’t want him to see her just as a job or a responsibility someone else tasked him with. She wants him to care about her the way she cares about him. At least a little bit, anyways.

In the few days that Arthur is gone, Emmeline tries her hand at drawing. She used to draw a lot as a kid, and she was pretty good at it, too. After her father died, though, she stopped. He had always encouraged her to draw more, so when he passed, it reminded her too much of him. Seeing Arthur’s drawing made her want to pick the pencil back up again, though.

She draws Miss Susie, the creek, some trees, a squirrel, and anything else she sees fit to. The drawings are a little unrefined, especially compared to Arthur’s, but she finds that she rather likes the act of putting what she sees down on paper.

After being alone for a couple days, Emmeline finds herself missing Arthur quite a bit. The chores and practicing drawing have kept her occupied, but that loneliness still seeps in more and more. Before she can even think about it, her pencil is sketching Arthur’s face, as if just seeing him, even in illustration, would somehow make her feel better.

That first drawing doesn’t come out quite right. She shifts to drawing his form as he leans against a tree, his wide shoulders accentuated by crossed arms, narrow hips popped out to one side, and long legs, one crossed over the other at the ankle. She’s marginally happier with this attempt, finding the general pose easier to draw than a highly detailed face. She attempts his visage again, though. Over and over she tries to commit the memory of his expressions to paper. After a while, she’s happy with what she’s been able to accomplish, the face on the paper actually looking like more like Arthur than anything else.

Meanwhile, Arthur is busy trying to provide for the gang, since that Blackwater money is forever gone. He spends much of his time upon getting back hunting to build up their food stores and selling the pelts for profit. Then, there’s the homestead he and Javier rob, which goes pretty smoothly. The stagecoach job he gets roped into doing with Micah goes a little less smoothly, however. Arthur’s lucky to come out of it free of bullet holes, but they do manage a good take on it.

He also receives a letter from Mary asking him for help. He goes, of course, and does what she asked, saving her brother from getting himself killed. For a moment as he’s talking with Mary, he thinks that maybe she might ask him to run away with her, to start things up again. But she doesn’t. And on the ride back to camp, he realizes that the part of him that used to want to leave his outlaw life to be with her wasn’t there any more. He still cares for her in a way and the hurt she caused him with her rejection would always be there, but he realizes he’s closed that chapter of his life, well and truly.

Once he gets back to his tent at camp, he takes the picture of Mary he always kept beside his bed and puts it away in his trunk.

After a few days of solid work for the gang, he knows he should check on Emmeline. He’s planning on spending at least a couple days with her, recuperating from how hard he’s been pushing himself to keep everyone fed and healthy at camp. He figures he’ll leave first thing in the morning to go to her house.

As Arthur walks toward his tent to turn in for the night, he’s stopped by Dutch.

“Arthur, my boy,” the dark haired man calls out jovially.

Arthur comes to stand before him. “Hey, Dutch.”

“You’ve been doing fine work out there.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder. “I’m real glad to have you back.”

“It’s, uh, it’s good to be back. Helpin’ out.” Arthur looks down and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m plannin’ on heading out tomorrow.”

His eyes are cold as he responds, “Where to, might I ask?”

Arthur doesn’t much like the scrutiny in Dutch’s expression, knowing what he must be thinking. He recalls the last conversation he had with Dutch concerning Emmeline and what he implied about Arthur’s feelings toward her. He’s technically not wrong in that assumption, but Arthur isn’t planning on acting on his feelings, so nothing will come of it in the end. Still, it surprises even himself when the lie starts to pour out from his own lips. “Heard from this trapper feller about a wolf up north in Ambarino, Cotorra Springs. He says the pelt is worth a lot of money. Thought I’d try to bring it in.”

Dutch nods, knowing full well that Arthur isn’t telling the whole truth. “I know what this is about,” he responds lowly.

Arthur just looks back at Dutch, not knowing what to say in defense. He was surely caught in his lie, he figures.

Dutch lays his hand softly on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know you went out to help Mary. And I saw you take her picture down when you came back. That woman tore your heart out once. Ain’t no shame in admitting that, son.” He moves his hand up to Arthur’s cheek and gives it a pat. “If you need a few days to yourself, go on and take ‘em.”

Dutch had misread the situation. Thankfully for Arthur.

He gives the man a tight smile. “Thank you, Dutch.”

Once Arthur is back in his tent, he lets out a sigh of relief then brings out his journal.

I’ve been working hard to make back the money that we lost when the Blackwater take burned up before my eyes. Running myself ragged. But the gang needs money. So Dutch says. Every day since I came back he’s said that to me. So every day since I came back, I’ve been making him money.

Even though I’ve been busy, I still think about her. Miss Emmeline. Emma. She asked me to call her Emma. I know she said once before that’s what her parents called her. I admit, I rather liked the idea of calling her something more personal. I guess maybe I should’ve done it sooner. She’s been calling me Arthur instead of Mr. Morgan for a little bit. I just wasn’t sure if I really should be so friendly.

I probably shouldn’t. I should be keeping her at arm’s length. But I just don’t want to. For the first time in a long time, I feel that pull. But it ain’t right of me. Mary is proof that I can’t be that kind of man. And I don’t want to keep Emma from finding the kind of man she really deserves.

Mary. I saw her again after all those years. She wrote me a letter and I ran out to her. But it felt different than what I thought it would. It still hurt, but it was less like a fresh wound and more like the memory of it. When I looked at her, I did see that woman I fell in love with, but it just felt different than I remembered.

I don’t know.

She asked me if I found someone else. I said no. She didn’t believe me. Said I had the look, whatever that means.

I guess deep down I do know what that means. It’s just hard to admit that I have feelings for someone again. I lied right to Dutch’s face about it. First time since I got into my twenties, probably. I didn’t know how to tell him that I needed to see Emmeline. So I didn’t. Spun some tale about hunting a rare wolf for a few days to cover it.

I don’t think he’d react very well if I told him how I feel about his daughter. Though he ain’t exactly a father to her, but it seems to matter to him all the same. I guess it don’t rightly matter anyway. I ain’t gonna act on it. I just want to make sure she’s doing fine. And when she finds a man that can take care of her, I’ll move on.

He lets out a sigh at the thought. He knows that’s what’s right for her, but it still leaves a pit in his stomach to think about her being with someone else.

The next morning, he tries to head out early. The problem is, Miss Grimshaw all but orders him to take the girls into town for some supplies. Once he gets back into camp it’s about noon. He wastes no time in getting Sparrow saddled up and ready to go.

“So, going off on a hunt?” Hosea’s voice comes out from behind Arthur as he brushes his horse.

He turns back to him. “Yup. Dutch tell you that?”

“He did. Though he thinks this impromptu trip has more to do with a woman than a wolf.”

Arthur just nods and looks away.

Hosea leans in closer. “But I think he’s wrong about which woman,” he whispers.

Arthur turns back to him. Lying to him is useless. It’s hard to get one over on Dutch, but it’s impossible to pull the wool over Hosea’s eyes.

“Did you tell him?” Arthur asks.

Hosea shakes his head. “No. Ain’t my business, is it? Who am I to say what you do with a girl I’m not supposed to even know about?”

“Dutch don’t want me to get close to her.” Arthur hangs his head. “But I ain’t gonna do nothin’ with her.”

“Because he told you not to?”

Arthur meets his gaze. “Because she deserves better than me.”

Hosea gives him a smile. “I don’t know this woman, but I’m inclined to think that she is capable to make her own decisions, including who she wants to be with. And I think it would do her a great disservice to take that choice away from her.” With a final pat on Arthur’s arm, he turns and walks back into camp, leaving Arthur to mull over their conversation.

Hosea and Dutch have worked together well for years, but they’re complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where Dutch could say nothing with a lot of words, Hosea could say everything with just a few. Most of the time, both of them left Arthur trying to discern what they mean from it. This time, it seems like Hosea is telling Arthur to be with Emmeline, in stark contrast to what Dutch wants. That only adds to the conflict already raging inside him.

When Arthur pulls up to Emmeline’s house, he finds her outside chopping wood. Or at least trying to. She’s been at it for two hours at least and has very little to show for it.

“Emma,” he calls out after dismounting. “Miss Emmeline, let me do that.”

She turns to him with a huge smile on her face, though her cheeks are red and her forehead is sweaty from the combined temperature outside and the work she’s been doing. “Arthur. How are you?” She’s a little breathless from the exertion of her chore.

He takes the axe from her hands. “What are you doing chopping wood?”

“It needed done. I figured I should do it.”

“This wood’s too thick for you. You shoulda found smaller sticks.” He places one of the logs on the stump then pushes her back a little bit to give him room.

“You made it look easy. I thought it wouldn’t be so hard.”

As if to demonstrate this point, he brings down the axe and cuts the log in two with one chop, a feat that had alluded Emmeline for the past two hours. “I’ve chopped a lot of wood in my life.”

“I was getting it.” She points to her meager pile off to the side. “It just took a while. And more chops.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself out.” He chops another one easily.

“Well... Did you eat lunch?” she asks excitedly. “I can make you something.”

He looks back to her. “That sounds nice,” he agrees then brings the axe down again.

Emmeline rushes into the house to start the food. Before she decided to chop the firewood, she had gone out to catch some fish, which she’s now cooking. She’s excited to show Arthur that she can catch good sized fish on her own.

By the time she calls him in for the meal, he’s just about done with the wood. The hot weather caused him to remove his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his red union shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the suspenders dangling from his waist. She tries not to stare at the sweaty skin of his chest exposed by the open buttons at the top of his shirt, but she finds the sight very appealing.

Once he sits down at the table, he looks over the plate. “That looks like a nice fish,” he compliments. “You caught it yourself?”

“Yeah. I actually kinda like fishing,” she admits. “I’m not too fond of the killing bit, but the rest of it is fun.”

He cuts himself a bite and eats it. “I’m glad you took to it. I’m gon hunt for ya tomorrow to get you some other meat though. Can’t live on just fish.”

“I got a few eggs out of the chickens already,” she explains excitedly. “I’ll use them for dinner tonight.”

“That’s great, Emma.”

She smiles at him. “If you get some meat, I’ll make us a stew tomorrow.”

“You’re a good cook,” he comments, his fish all but gone. “Real good. I sure missed your cooking back at camp.”

She blushes at the compliment. “Oh, thank you. You can always come in for dinner anytime. I won’t mind.”

Later that night, after dinner, Emmeline finally works up the nerve to show Arthur what she had been working on while he was gone. “You remember, the last time you were here, I saw one of your drawings?”

“Yeah,” he answers, embarrassment already building inside him for what she might say next. Maybe she thought it over and realized it was weird that he drew her. Maybe she wanted him to destroy the drawing.

“Well,” she picks up her notebook and sits in the chair beside him at the table, “I thought I’d try to draw, too.” She opens the book to her first set of drawings.

“Oh.” He lets out a sigh of relief that she didn’t bring up that picture again.

“I know they ain’t good. But I think I’m getting a little better.” She pushes the notebook over to him to see.

“They ain’t bad,” he comments. She needs a little more practice, but it seems to him like she has natural talent. He flips the page and sees a few animal sketches, some flowers, a deer, a few trees. When he turns the page again, all the breath leaves him as he’s met with his own face staring back at him.

“That one’s not good,” she immediately says. “Not the face, anyway. I don’t think I did too bad with this one.” She points to the sketch of him leaning against a tree.

“It ain’t bad. Don’t know about the subject matter,” he says in a half joking way. “I really look like that?”

She giggles at his reaction. “I drew one of me and you.” She turns a few pages to a picture of the two of them fishing. Off to each side, there are bigger sketches of their faces, so she could be more detailed with them. “I kinda like it.”

He looks it over. It actually is pretty good, though it’s a little rough. But the proportions are right and the expressions on their faces are convincingly happy.

“You drawn before?”

“I used to a lot when I was a younger. My father really liked my drawings, but when he died,” she shrugs a shoulder, “I stopped.”

“I’m sorry about your father. But you’re good at this.” He gestures to the book. “If you keep at it, you could make money off of it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. And if you pick better things to draw,” he chuckles a little at his self deprecating joke.

“I like drawing you,” she replies easily.

He hangs his head sheepishly. “Aw, I’m just an ugly old man.”

“You ain’t ugly.” She takes his chin in her hand and gently pulls his head up to look at her. “You’re handsome. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

“I think you ain’t seen a lot of men.”

She laughs, taking his statement as a joke. As she pulls her hand away from under his chin, she notices something. “I got your scars wrong in the picture.” She lightly traces the marks on his chin with her thumb.

He doesn’t pull away, though there’s a voice inside him telling himself to. Instead, he’s transfixed, his eyes taking in all the details of her face as she looks over his own.

“How did you get them?” she asks as she flicks her gaze from his chin to his eyes.

“Horse threw me into a fence, years ago,” he tries to answer as normally as he can, though his heart is pounding in his chest at her proximity to him.

His close closeness is affecting her, too, giving her a giddy feeling. She moves her hand from his chin to cradle his cheek then brings her other hand up to trace her finger over the small scar on the bridge of his nose. “And this one?” she asks, leaning closer to him.

Instead of answering, all resolve in him falls away and he pushes himself forward to place his lips on hers. The action is a surprise to her, but it certainly isn’t unwanted. She’s never done this before, but her body instinctively follows his in its movements as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Time seems to stand still and speed up simultaneously, the flow that normally would be constant is anything but. Getting into Emmeline’s bedroom and undressing goes by in a blur, but exploring one another’s bodies for the first time seems like slow motion.

Emmeline had never been with a man before. She’s read some things in books and her mother told her some, but she’s completely inexperienced. It doesn’t stop her from being an enthusiastic participant, though. Being with Arthur feels so right to her, like they belong to each other.

To Emmeline, it’s such a beautiful act sleeping with Arthur. He’s gentle and patient as he makes her feel things that she’s never experienced before, soaring to a high she didn’t think possible. As she comes down from that high, she feels such a connection to the man beside her, more so than with anyone else.

“Arthur,” she says breathlessly.

In response, he wraps his arm around her, pulling her to lay on his chest. It’s only a moment after he places a kiss to her head that the both of them fall asleep.

The next day as the morning sun shines through the window, Arthur is aware that he’s a little overheated as he starts to wake up. Once he becomes more conscious, he realizes that the heat isn’t coming from the sun, but the warm body partially laying on him. Just then, all the memories of what had transpired the night before come into focus. They’re pleasant thoughts, but as the realization of what should come next dawns on him, his face sours.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks. He was supposed to push her away, keep her from getting close to him. She shouldn’t be with him. Not with the kind of life he leads. He’s a bad man an he doesn’t deserve this good woman. He’ll just get her hurt. Or worse, even.

He lets out a heavy breath and looks down at Emmeline, her hand sprawled across his torso as her head lays delicately on his chest. Only giving himself a moment to revel in the feeling of her in his arms, he slides out of the bed from under her, trying not to wake her. After getting his union suit and pants on, he looks back over his shoulder at her. To his surprise, he’s met with her sleepy eyes looking back at him.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, her voice still heavy with sleep. It doesn’t detract from her wide smile, though.

Arthur looks away and bends down to pick up his shirt, saying nothing.

The smile falls from her face as she sits up. “Is something wrong?”

“What happened last night won’t happen again,” he says lowly as he faces away from her and pulls on his shirt.

Emmeline gets out of bed, not caring that she’s still naked. “Did I do something wrong?”

He turns to face her, but averts his eyes when he sees that she’s standing bare before him. “Will you please get dressed?”

“If I did something wrong, I-I can be better,” she states quickly.

Realizing that she doesn’t care about putting any clothes on, he pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around her. “You didn’t do nothing wrong,” he finally replies. “I did.”

“What do you mean?” She takes a step toward him but he takes a step back away from her.

He hangs his head, not having the strength to look at her. “I shouldn’ta done that. Laid wit ya. I shoulda stopped it.”

“What? No, I-“ She doesn’t understand why he’s saying this. How could it have felt so right to her but so wrong to him? “You didn’t do any wrong. It was beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do this, Emma. We cant do this.”

“What? What do you mean?” She reaches her hand out to touch him, but he turns away to gather his satchel and holster.

“I’ll check on ya in a few days.” He practically runs out of her room, but she’s right behind him.

“You’re leaving?!” Now her vision is quickly clouded with tears. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Just tell me!” She rushes to him at the door and pulls on his arm. “Please.”

The action gives him pause, but he’s resolute. “I can’t-“ He shakes his head and gently pulls his arm away without fully turning to face her. “Goodbye, Miss Emmeline.”

As Emmeline watches Sparrow gallop away with Arthur in the saddle, she is left confused and completely alone.

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