Summary: You are strong in the force, but horrible in wielding a lightsaber. In the heights of the Clone Wars, the Council sends you on a mission alone, despite still being a Padawan. You encounter a Sith and realize that you are not strong enough to fight him. So why not join him?
Tags: Clone Wars Maul, Jedi Readder, slow burn but also not really lovers? it'll be complicated alright! Platonic but with feelings?? violence and trauma fitting a Sith
4200 words
Events happened fast. In preceding meetings, the option of you joining the assaults in Sundari had been discussed. A person wielding a lightsaber and cutting down guards would have certainly induced panic. As the others discussed those option, you had no say in the matter. You were glad though, when it was decided against. Viszla, Bo-Katan and the rest of the Death Watch command had not been convinced that you were menacing enough to embody the enemy. Maul thought you too soft to slaughter city guards, who would have been necessary casualties to sell the performance; though he didn't voice those thoughts. Instead, he said that your image would conjure more hope and confusion, as you still resembled a Jedi more than anything. You were to stay behind, with your Master, to command and delegate the forces from Concordia.
As smaller attacks happened all over Sundari, you were responsible for tracking progress, assessing which target to hit next and somehow keeping control over how much information leaked into the galaxy. Essentially, it was hours spent in front of screens and on comms, reporting to your Master every other hour and forwarding his commands. It was an enormous responsibility, but one you felt capable of and you did your job well.
The attacks were stretched over four rotations to grind down the citizens and make them more susceptible to a strong leader taking over. Everything had been meticulously planned. Even though you mostly followed blue prints, you quickly recognized the intention behind every attack. It started simple the first night, with a couple of deaths and rumours being spread. It got more dangerous the following day and by day three, attacks were brutal and brought more citizen casualties. Death Watch started to take control and on the fourth day, when demonstrations broke out, Viszla could humiliate Satine and beat the "enemy" accompanied by thunderous applause.
With little sleep and strenuous concentration, the operation was over before you knew it. A couple of hours later, you and your Master strolled into the palace in Sundari, only to find Pre Viszla perched on the throne.
“The transition of power will be seamless, we now have the support of the people and Satine to bait Kenobi. With his demise, our deal will be complete,” Viszla explained.
His mischievous look confirmed what Maul had warned you about as you had flown from Concordia to Mandalore: Viszla will betray him. Yet again, Maul had accounted for that and it was all part of his plan. Your role was to play along.
“Your oversight requires correction,” Maul answered calmly, his arms characteristically crossed behind his back, “We now have a base. An army. And the means to expand to other neutral systems”
“It wasn’t an oversight. It was intentional. I don’t have an interest in other systems. Your vision no longer matters,” a smirk appeared on the Vizla’s face. His soldiers stiffened in preparation for the confrontation. You remained still, observing your Master cautiously.
“Don’t fret. I’ll still honour our deal. Kenobi will be dealt with. But now you’ll do as I say,” Viszla only addressed your Master and for a moment you wondered if you should even feel addressed. A moment later, Viszla caught your gaze and made a funny face. It was a mix between a sympathetic smile and a mocking head tilt. Viszla meant pure disrespect.
He approached you and picked the lightsaber off your belt as if you had offered it to him willingly, “I’ll take that. Not that you can use it, anyway.”
There was this rushing in your ears and an unpleasant tingling in your hands. For days you had swallowed insult and mockery, played the fool and the incapable. Had Maul not promised that nobody would look down on you again? Yet, you had to endure infantilisation and ridicule every day since you walked among those Mandalorians. It drove you mad. You quickly accepted the thought that nothing would give you greater satisfaction than to hurt the man in front of you.
For Maul, it was torture to not let his apprentice follow their instincts. One didn’t have to be force sensitive to read your intentions and tell that you were about to jump into Vizsla’s face. For a split second, however, Maul caught your eye and your anger eased ever so slightly. You remembered your mission – comply and go along with the plan.
“Bind them both. Throw them in a cell,” Viszla commanded, “Leave the Sith. We’ll show him to the people and they will celebrate us for it.”
You didn’t resist as you were led to prison. It was a longer walk from the palace to the platform where transports transferred captives, so you had enough time to hear the crowds gather and even make out some of the words Viszla addressed them with. The words “beast” and “parasite” were just barely discernible to your ears before you were shoved into your transport. Throughout the whole flight, you imagined feeling your Master’s anger, though the distance between you increased with every minute. When you were ungraciously shoved into your cell by the guard, you weren’t so sure anymore if it was truly your Master’s or your own anger that rushed through your body.
Yet, you marveled at the prison. It was bright, clean and almost luxurious, you noted as you took a seat on the bench in your cell. Only when the guard closed the door with a snicker you snapped back to reality...to your situation....and all the wonder and calm weregone again and replaced by annoyance. It tickled in your fingers to at least make the guard trip or just to push him slightly, but you managed to resist and took a seat on the bench.
Some time had passed before Maul was led into prison and, to your surprise, was locked into the same cell as you. You jumped up from the solitary bench to give it up to Maul. His features were tense and concentrated, but his hate for the betrayal and the humiliation must have been palpable to any force sensitive being. Without a word, you occupied another corner in the cell and sat down to meditate.
Your master sat down on the bench and remained quiet, even after the guard had gone. The cell was not exactly intended for two people, but it could easily hold two, or even five or six, if necessary. However, you hadn’t spent much time in Maul’s immediate vicinity since you had left Zanbar and even in your dirty freighter, you had a room of your own. Not knowing how long you’d have to remain in the cell, you started to feel a little nervous. Will you be supplied with food? Are you supposed to sleep on the ground while your Master nervously paces the cell? You were downright exhausted. The lack of sleep and the excitement of the day wore you down and some rest would do you well. And, worst off all, the issue concerning the refresher...
You forced yourself to stay in the moment. With closed eyes, you calmed your nerves as much as possible. Your Master’s gaze was on you. Anger and a headache were biting away at you. At some point, you leaned against the wall because your body had started to hurt and you passed in and out of sleep, waking up with a little more sweat on your forehead each time. Your body felt feverish. You woke and wished you had something to drink. You dozed off again. You woke and found your Master sitting in an upright posture with eyes closed, not even half as miserable as you felt. The bright light assaulted your eyes. You passed out again.
The next time you woke, your heart was racing. Something had shifted in the force. It felt like a warning.
Maul stood in front of the glass with his back towards you.
“Viszla has captured the support of his people, just as I planned. However, he is not their anointed leader yet. There is still time to put in place a leader under our control. We must move cautiously. By placing us in prison, Viszla has unwittingly put us in reach of several candidate for his successor.”
With your heart stumbling in your chest, you heaved yourself up. Your legs had fallen asleep and tingled unpleasantly as blood rushed back into them. The sweat had mostly evaporated on your skin, but it had left the corners of your mouth tasting salty. The headache was still there, it was this low pulse in the back of your mind.
“You do not plan to put the Duchess back on the throne”, you croaked questioningly. Your mouth and throat was dry.
“Indeed not, but she is imprisoned here and there will be other political advisors of hers within these walls who will suit our purposes well," Maul turned around slowly to look at you. He mustered you from head to toe, and though you felt pathetic and hunched over, there was almost something like satisfaction on your Master’s face.
A soldier came by, drawn to your cell by the noise.
“Shut your mouths!”, came the harsh command.
You wanted to spit at the man. The pulsing and rushing had become so much worse when the soldier had annoyed you. That’s when you realized that what was bothering you was not a headache. It was the dark side of the force.
“Apprentice,” Maul announced “I wish a tour of this facility.”
“About time...” you mumbled. Stepping up to the glass that separated you from freedom, you put your fingers on the cold material.
“Hey!”, the guard protested, tapping against the glass with his finger, “What are you doing you weirdo?!”
You crushed and the glass of the cell crumbled to your feet. Before the guard could react, you had a grip on him through the force and pushed him away. Deliberately, you squeezed his neck until grunting was the only sound he could wring out of his mouth. In your grip, the guard’s consciousness faded and you put the limp body on the ground. After that, you felt a pressure in your body release. You stood ever so slightly more upright, tagging behind your Master who, while walking past the knocked out man, made a point to not take note of him.
There was one person Maul needed to talk to. After making a few turns, you halted in front of the Duchess’ cell. Your first thought, when you finally laid eyes on the woman that played a vital part in your Master’s plan, was that she was quite pretty. She, on the other hand, looked repulsed at Maul.
“What do you want, you monster?”, she accused. Her eyes only flitted to you for a split second, clearly more occupied with Maul.
“Mmm, nothing yet, but I will have a use for you in time,” Maul answered casually, “Where are the other leaders of your people?”
“You should know already. They’ve either sided with Vizsla or have been killed. There’s no one left now but Almec and I, but he’s as corrupt and vile as you.”
A stifled laugh escaped your throat, but it sounded more like chuckle. The Duchess was severely underestimating your Master.
Now, Satine’s attention was on you. She frowned but before she could voice a question, Maul ended the conversation with a quick, “Really? Thank you for being so cooperative.”
Conveniently enough, Almec was in the cell nearby and had heard the entire ordeal. He was rather quick to agree his reinstalment as prime minister, especially after he saw you turn around seconds before someone on a lower level shot at you, the blaster fire missing you greatly. A moment later, you had the guard tight in your grip and pushed him into the wall. The hit was forceful enough to make the guard black out immediately. Almec walked rather quietly next to you and Maul as you made your way to the temple.
Maul did not lift a finger, but left you to deal with the guards that stood in the way. All of them, you knocked unconscious or out of the way, so that when you finally arrived at the temple, you felt warmed up and ready. Just outside the door, you picked up a guard who was contacting Viszla as warning, but you crushed his comms and sent him flying into the room.
“You will not interfere,” Maul growled the command into your ear before he left you behind, walking up confidently to Viszla and challenged him to a duel.
Your mouth stood open. You had wanted nothing more than to show Viszla that you were not some loser he could walk all over on. At the very least you had hoped – and expected – that this was the opportunity to test if you could guide Maul’s movements through the force while he was fighting. But you had just been denied all that!
Viszla rather reluctantly agreed to the duel, trying to keep up composure. As Maul received his saber back, you made a point by also ripping yours off Bo-Katan's belt, though you could see by her reaction that your offence greatly startled her. A blink of an eye later, the two duelists ran towards each other.
Almec watched the fight next to you, not that your eyes left the fight for even a second. Maul did not intentionally use the force once. There was no pushing, pulling or crushing and you admired your Master all the more for that. He fought so well with just a saber, you’d stand no chance in a battle like that. Not that you ever had to fight like this. Though even now, while you were just watching, you had to put effort into NOT making Viszla slip or helping your Master ever so slightly. You knew Maul’d win, you never doubted that. But there were points where you thought it looked a bit too close for comfort.
Barely a minute had passed before Maul was kicking the Mandalorian into submission. To you, it felt almost as satisfying as it had to attack the first guard. But then the Dark Saber flew into Maul’s hand and you barely heard Viszla’s last word over the sheer shock of what would happen next. When Viszla’s head rolled on the floor, your eyes were glued to it. Some of the anger dissipating and was replaced by a wozzy feeling in your stomach. On Zanbar, Maul had killed an animal instead of you. It had been rather cruel, but it was food...it was hunting. This had been a fair duel and the outcome would always have been death, but this was the first time you had seen Maul kill a human...and it was the most normal thing to do for him. Like he had just swatted a fly, Maul walked over Viszla’s body and sat down on the throne.
Viszla’s face wasn’t turned towards you. You starred at a spot on his shaved head, scared to let your eyes wander.
Only the blaster shots that suddenly started to whizz through the air forced you back into the present moment. A fight had broken out between the Death Watch members that had sworn loyalty to Maul and those that refused. You were quick on the task, whipped out your saber and blocked the occasional blaster shot that lost its way and could have hit you or Almec.
“Come, old man!”, you grabbed the ex and future prime minister by the arm and escorted him to the side of the throne room, where you wouldn’t stand in the way of the fight. From the sidelines, you had a view of the battle that didn’t last long. Some soldiers died, others could flee. The fighting stopped after the last of the renegades had flown of. The group that remained gathered around Maul, individuals fell to their knees reverently.
“Some of the traitors got away,” a female voice reported. She was closest to the throne.
“Mhh, no matter, we will deal with them in time,” your Master said non-chalantly. He caught your eyes and in them you found something so enticing that Viszla’s severed head and lifeless body didn’t matter anymore. Pride welled in your chest. You were the apprentice of the leader of Death Watch, who would also be leader of Mandalore. Of course, Almec will become the face of the new government, but it would be your Master who pulled the strings.
With the slightest nod, Maul beckoned you to come closer. And so you approached his side, standing on the dais next to him and overlooking the dozens of Death Watch members that were present.
“A government will be put in place,” Maul explained, “Almec will reprise his old role as prime minister. We will-“
“Wait a minute!”, the interruption came from a man that stood opposite of you, only a few feet away.
The man pointed at you and asked with a scoff, “What right do they have to stand by your side?!”
A shiver ran down your spine.
“They are my apprentice”, Maul explained casually, as if this gave you every right to be any kind of authority in this matter.
The man’s helmet muzzled his huff.
“Rumor has it, they can’t fight. They can’t wield a weapon. Which would be worse enough, if they weren’t also a Jedi,” the man explained, his voice dripping with dislike.
You kept your mouth shut. Maul also remained silent, now cozy on his throne and observing the altercation.
“I challenge you to a duel,” the man spoke directly to you, “You must prove your worth if you want to be accepted, just as your Master did!”
Unsure, you looked at Maul who gave you a nod. You straightened your back, trying to catch the eyes of the Mandalorian through his visor.
“What is your name?”, you asked. You stood steadfast, not having moved an inch.
“Solkaar Malvek.”
“Solkaar. I must warn you. I do not possess Lord Maul’s honor. I will not fight like a warrior. You best remember where I came from.”
You were aware that Mandalorians and Jedi had history...and the soldier had just reminded everyone of your heritage, so you wondered why he possessed the nerve to challenge you. As your answer hadn’t been a direct objection to the duel, some of the people started to move to the sides of the room.
“Excuses. If you can’t fight, you have no place on Mandalore,” Solkaar replied, “Do you accept the duel?”
“Fine. Let us duel to yielding,” you offered.
He laughed. Some of the members of Death Watch also shifted uncomfortably at your suggestion.
“It’ll be a duel to death,” Malvek replied.
Again, you looked for sassurance in your Master. Maul seemed highly entertained by the matter. He only shrugged his shoulders at you, “He questioned your abilities and thus my choice in you as my apprentice. He’ll be of no value to us. You can kill him.”
You accepted your Master’s command and turned towards Malvek again. He seemed to bristle in excitement, very sure that he will not join the fate of his former leader, whose head and body lay on the ground not far from him.
Before you could say something, Maul mumbled in your direction, “Don’t dare to embarrass me.”
Your hands grew sweaty, but your body remained eerily still. You had to consciously conjure up some of the mocking that happened the last days during your training with the Mandalorians. The constant humiliation as if you were an idiot and incapable. They couldn’t know of course, but why not give you the benefit of the doubt? The thought angered you enough to make your voice steady.
“I’ll warn you again, Solkaar. I won’t fight fairly. I’ll not draw a weapon and yet you’ll be dead before you make a move against me,” you spoke with confidence. The rushing of the dark side fueled you. If this gave you as much satisfaction as cleaning up the other guards did, it won’t be futile.
“Those are big words for an adult that got their ass handed to them by our children,” Malvek mocked.
“Then go ahead. Make your first move,” you offered. Your heart beat a hundred miles an hour as you watched Malvek walk a few steps backwards and draw his blasters. He couldn’t fire them though, his fingers remained unable to press the triggers. He tried for a good moment that felt embarrassingly long. His hands shook, but the trigger remained untouched.
Angrily, he stuffed the blasters back into his holsters. You let him. He took off with his jetpack, but barely lifted off the ground when it malfunctioned, the engine having crumbled inside by your force.
Now, you felt his fear, his frustration. It annoyed you, for some reason. First, he had the audacity to challenge you and now he was as incapable as you had expected!?
You extended your hand, seized him and crushed. It came so easily, so naturally.
It needed to be done, you knew it.
You tasted bile in your mouth and had to hold back the urge to throw up, the urge to release the struggling human from your grasp. It was like a young pup that wanted to escape the hands of a well-meaning child. Though you were neither a child, nor well-meaning.
Then you crushed something. Everything. And you felt no more fear or frustration from the man who now limply hung in your grip. You let go and the corpse plummeted to the floor. It clinked on the marble floor like a tin box. The whole ordeal was over in less than ten seconds.
You breathed in with a jolt, suddenly realizing that you had been holding your breath. Swallowing the bile and controlling your shiver, you looked around.
“Any more questions?” you asked through gritted teeth.
The remaining soldiers stood quietly, some reverently bowing their heads.
Had you looked to your Master at this moment, you would have seen him smirking like a smug boy that had just witnessed the most beautiful thing. Luckily, you didn’t see him or you would have tried your entire life to get another of those smiles out of him.
“Good choice,” you relented after drawing out the silent moment as long as you possibly managed, “Take Vizla. Leave Solkaar.”
Some of them looked to Maul for confirmation, and found it. Two minutes later, the room was empty besides you, your Master and Malvek’s corpse. As the last soldier left the room, you sobbed, followed by a gag that you had held in for far too long. Luckily, there was nothing in your stomach to throw up, so you just coughed and suffered from the acid reflux.
“Well done, my apprentice,” Maul praised. It sounded so genuine. There was almost excitement in his tone.
Gagging has brought tears to your eyes which you quickly wiped away with your sleeve. Why were you always on the verge of throwing up when he praised you?
Without looking back at your Master, you approached Malvek’s corpse and went down to your knees. Carefully, you lifted the helmet off his face.
He had been a blond haired man with stubble and around the age of forty. His helmet had obstructed your view on his face as you squeezed the life out of him. You felt that this had made it unfairly easy, you didn’t even look the man in the eye as you killed him. Yet, as you saw his face, motionless with eyes closed, it didn’t feel like it would have made any difference.
You put the helmet back on Malvek, feeling disgusted. However, you weren't disgusted about the act of killing the man, you were appalled by his audacity. How dare him to challenge you when he was so weak? When he had no chance to begin with? He could have lived. But he chose to die.
Maul watched you for a while and then, as if to console you, he said, “It gets easier, apprentice.”
“Really?” you turned to face your Master who looked at you with great curiosity, “It's already quite easy.”
Hearing you say those words made you sick to your stomach. As you watched your Master’s mouth curl into a sly smile, you reminded yourself that this soldier probably had got family. That he had been just as precious a part of the force as any other living thing. That you had managed to not care about all of that for a few moments unsettled you. You gripped your head and ruffled your hair as if you had to beat the thoughts back into your brain. Had you ever been so conflicted about anything in your life? Looking down to the first human that you had ever killed and not just out of necessity but because you simply could, you realized that this was something that you had to live with. There would be nobody to console you, nobody to scold you or tell to you to be better. Just a Sith that encouraged you to be worse.
“I want to see to it that he’s properly buried,” you announced. As Maul only shrugged, you lifted the body over your shoulder, finding the dead weight and the heavy armor hard to lift without the help of the force. Under strenuous breaths, you carried it out, following where the others had previously gone with Pre Viszla’s remains.
Summary: You are strong in the force, but horrible in wielding a lightsaber. In the heights of the Clone Wars, the Council sends you on a mission alone, despite still being a Padawan. You encounter a Sith and realize that you are not strong enough to fight him. So why not join him?
Tags: Clone Wars Maul, Jedi Readder, slow burn but also not really lovers? it'll be complicated alright! Platonic but with feelings?? violence and trauma fitting a Sith
3000 words
Twilight illuminated your quarters, orange light gently bouncing off the mat metal of the walls. The room was empty and eerily quiet. There was no hint that your Master had slept right there in front of you, the pillow lay on your cot, undisturbed. You grew suspicious and stood up.
The freighter was abandoned and as lonely as it had ever felt. The cool air that streamed in from the loading ramp made some specks of dust dance through strips of light, though that was the only movement you registered. The door to Maul’s room stood open. You inched towards it and carefully peered into the unfamiliar space. The layout wasn’t very different to yours, but it was empty. Upon entering it, you noticed the layer of dust and dirt that blanketed the room. It was the only part of the ship that you had never entered to clean. Maul's footprints were easily discernable. Something had left a messy imprint in the dust on the table, but it was long gone and you could only remark its absence.
You left the room behind with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. Walking past the crew area, you halted. On the table was a pile of metal and tiny screws. Panic arose in you as you recognized it to be your lightsaber! It had been disassembled and picking through the scraps you found the cyber crystal to be missing.
“Master?”, you asked with raspy voice into the void of the ship. There was no reply.
Hastily, you ran outside. Everything seemed normal! It was a typical evening on Zanbar. Except that it felt less vibrant...there was a stillness to the atmosphere that unsettled you. Even outside the ship, your master was nowhere to be seen. Or felt...
He was gone. With how much anger and hate surrounded him, you were certain you could have felt him if he were on the opposite side of the moon. But you didn't, so he must be...
A bad feeling pressed down on your chest and you sprinted to where you had last landed your Jedi Starfighter. It was gone too. Your heart dropped as realization settled in: You had been abandoned! Maul had left with no word or message. Without resources, without weapons, without purpose...how long was it possible to survive on this planet?
You walked back to the ship, but finding it difficult to walk in a straight line, you circled around valleys scraped against the dusty rockformations. What to do next? Arriving at the boulder you had split it half you had to squint because it gave you the impression to be...shaking? There was a low rumble from inside the moon and before you could make out its meaning, the ground beneath your feet started to shake. A crevice appeared not far from you. The land and rock was splitting. You had to run somewhere where you wouldn't be as exposed! But when you turned to run you tripped - and woke with a jolt, gasping for air as if you had been drowning.
You sat wrapped in your long, brown Jedi robes across a hard bench on a shuttle. The ship shook and groaned as it breached Concordia’s atmosphere and you struggled to be free of the robe. On the floor next to was your backpack, it had been neatly packed. You breathed out relievedly as you saw your lightsaber’s outline clearly showing through the material of the backpack. Sitting up properly, to your surprise, your bare feet touched cold metal. Your boots had been stored underneath the seat and you left them there, enjoying how the cold sent shivers down your spine that banished the nightmare from your thoughts.
Maul was on the ship. For the first time, you found the presence of his dark force signature calming and reassuring. It had only been a nightmare, after all. This one had felt worse than the others you had the last couple of nights. The effect it had on you, even after waking, was startling. You found yourself drawn to your Master. You wanted to see for yourself that he hadn't abandoned you.
Slowly, you stood up and stumbled to the cockpit. A mandalorian in blue armor was piloting the ship, they turned their head slightly as you entered. Your Master was launching on the passenger seat as he usually did on chairs: one foot parked on the seat, the other one casually on the ground. He had followed your every movement in the corner of his eyes.
“How generous of you to join us,” he remarked.
You barely listened, entranced by Concordia, the surface of which spread in front of the windshield. The sunlight that reflected off the planed was blinding. It was only when Maul shifted, that you peeled your gaze away to find your Master’s. He saw right through you, you reckoned. His gaze was so inquiring yet knowing that it felt like he was reading the dream off you as if you were an open book. You, on the other hand, felt sheepishly enraptured by Maul's presence.
He stood up and with a hand on your shoulder, gently shoved you out of the cockpit. The door closed behind the two of you, separating the main deck from the cockpit. You sat down on one of the seats you had just woken up on, eyes now interlocked with Maul’s.
Maul noticed, simply by your gaze, that you didn’t fear him at that moment. Until now, there had always been a sprinkle of hesitancy and fear mixed into your gaze and body language. You had always been alert and afraid of the him, even if you tried not to show it. But not right now. Possibly the aftershocks of holding his sleeping, weak body and watching over him all night – the thought concerned Maul. His Master had always kept him in a state of frightened submission...and Maul wouldn’t have allowed you to feel so at ease, had he not also detected the reverence in your gaze. You regarded him as if he were the Maker himself; as if it was a miracle that he was standing in front of you. He admitted to himself that he quite enjoyed that.
“We’ll soon land,” Maul stated, not addressing his thoughts openly.
Your bare feet had grown icy from the exposure, but not wanting to interrupt your Master, you sat quietly and listened.
“You are a traitor to the Jedi order and the Republic. You switched sides and your official purpose for this mission will be to advise the operation in possible actions that the Republic and the Jedi will take to interfere with our plans on Mandalore,” Maul recited a plan that he had already gone over with you before. Though this time, he made clear: “Don’t show how you fight. Let them underestimate you. The less they know about your abilities, the better.”
Maul mustered you from head to toe, noticing the slight shiver that shook your body occasionally. He nodded towards your boots, and you gratefully took it as a sign to slip into them.
“They must approve of your worth without seeing you as a threat,” Maul walked to a mounted first aid kit of the wall and opened it, “You will train with the Mandalorians in melee combat. If you must use the force, do not let them notice. They won’t take kindly to it. If they beat you, let them.”
“Yes, Master,” you sighed at the idea of being beaten up by a couple of Mandalorian teenagers. Though, you weren’t too unskilled in martial arts...as long as no sabers or swords were involved.
Having taken a small knife from the first aid kit, your Master approached you. His proximity compelled you to stand up. For a few moments, he was far too close to you, looking at you almost passively. Somewhere in the back of your mind lingered the dream still. The fact that he stood in front of you with a knife should have alarmed you; given that he had beaten and poisoned you before. Yet, you simply were in awe that he had taken you with him to Concordia, not even waking you up, but letting you oversleep the launch. It was the smallest wrinkle of his nose that reminded you to stop staring. Instead, you looked at the knife, puzzled.
Maul explained: “Though I want them to underestimate you, I would appreciate it to not have my sanity questioned for adopting... a Padawan.” He spat the last word.
Oh. You became flustered. Had you not forgotten that you still had your Padawan’s braid! It felt sacrilegious towards the Jedi and an embarrassing nuisance towards your new Master. You were about to take the knife when your hand stopped, hovering over the instrument.
“Would you...?”, you blurted out, quickly retracting your hand and slightly turning your head so the braid was turned towards Maul. If Maul was surprised by your inquiry, he hid it pretty well. He gripped the knife in one hand, the end of your braid in the other. The blade cut through your hair with barely any resistance.
You wished the moment would have lasted longer, but it was gone before you knew why you’d even asked him to do it. Maul tossed the knife and your braid aside on a seat, muttered a “much more presentable” and walked back to the cockpit. You scrambled to store away the knife in the first aid kit again and stuffed the braid deep into your backpack. Running your fingers through your hair, you realized that Maul had cut it well, the length of where he had cut it perfectly blending into the rest of your hair.
The ship touched down a few minutes later.
Your introduction to Pre Viszla and Bo-Katan went smoothly. They had known of your existence since Maul had spared your life and with him doing the talking and vouching for your value you were accepted in the ranks without much fuss. Only Maul’s line of “Their advice and insight on the Jedi order will be of value, though their fighting is severely lacking. Let some warrior instruct them on some combat techniques” made the estimation they had of you slacken slightly. But it was part of the plan and you swallowed the insult.
Camp was fairly comfortable, though much different from what you were used to at the Jedi temple. Everyone was a fighter or a criminal. Mandalorian children from the age of seven wore armor and people in command of cooking or cleaning were just as capable with weapons as any life-time warrior. Assassins, fighters and leaders of the crime syndicates had gathered on Concordia. Their forces, an entire army, were slowly arriving on Zanbar, setting up camps at the spots you had scouted out. You and Maul were located at the main campsite on Corcordia, where the leaders of the crime syndicates and the people in control of Death Watch stayed. There were still a couple of rotations left before the planned assault and it was spent with meetings, coordinating resources and training. On official business, you stuck to your master like a shadow. You witnessed conferences in the corner of the tent, only listening and absorbing the information. A couple of times a day, often early in the morning and in the afternoon, you had some of your ‘training lessons’. They quickly fit you with new clothing that was still inspired by the comfortable robe-like Jedi look but had elements of armor included that made you look more like a warrior. However, your appearance only deceived as long as you weren’t actually engaged in a fight.
As expected, you could hold yourself well in weaponless melee combat, but were absolutely miserable when staffs or training swords were involved. The rumor spread quickly. Sometimes, during dinner, you’d feel the eyes and whispers behind your back. Whispers that ceased the moment your Master was close by.
Tomorrow would be the day when weapons would be checked and the first attacks for the same night would launch. You went to bed early in hopes of a good night’s rest. The sleeping arrangements were much different to your intimate freighter on Zanbar. Here, you shared a big tent with dozens of soldiers while Maul had a smaller tent to himself across camp. It had improved your sleep in so far that his dreams were no longer waking you, though his force signature was still very present on your mind at every moment. Being surrounded by criminals and thugs, however, the force in this place was as bad as it was going to get anyways, so Maul’s vibrations blended in almost seamlessly. Not that he wasn’t hundred times worse than the most cruel criminal in this place, but you had gotten used to him ever so slightly and when the negativity, aggression and pain felt overwhelming, you imagined hearing his whimpers and confused dreamy ramblings and weren’t so much afraid of him anymore.
Tonight was such a night. The energy was buzzing because everyone was excited for the big day. Maybe you shouldn’t have lain down so early, because sleep hardly came and when you meditated, you didn’t seem to find your balance. This is why thoughts that you had crammed into the back of your mind started to seep through. You found yourself wondering if it had been really Maul who had carried you onto the ship when you left Zanbar. Someone had picked you up, wrapped you into your Jedi cloak and laid you on the seats of the ship without waking you. Someone had finished packing your backpack. Picturing your sleeping body in Maul’s arms felt...surreal. And yet, you neither saw the Mandalorian who had piloted the shuttle – you had never gotten their name – dress and carry you.
At this point, you couldn’t stop yourself. You remembered your Master’s exhausted body in your arms. His forehead in the crook of your neck, his breath on your collarbone. Your hand had rested on his cheek and now you regretted that you hadn't savoured the moment more. Then his sleeping form had been at an arm’s reach for hours while you watched over him and he had looked so peaceful. You tried to rationalize those feelings: They bothered you simply because you had never been so physically close with anybody. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the first sentient being who had been their most vulnerable in your presence was a notorious and cruel Sith, known for killing several Jedi and also a male Zabrak who’s constantly in a bad mood and missed half his body.
Suppressing a desperate chuckle, you pressed your fists against your eyes as if the pressure would make the thoughts go away. You didn’t have to abide to the Jedi’s rules any longer, you could allow yourself a little attachment. But you’d be lying to yourself if you called it “little” or merely “an attachment”. Right now, you were almost yearning to hold him in your arms again. Him! Who had beaten you up and had poisoned you to bring you closer to the dark side.Yet, the thought of you comforting him gave you butterflies and warmed your cheeks.
You flinched violently. You had been so occupied with your own thoughts and emotions that you had missed Maul’s presence. He was awfully close. Your eyes darted through the dimly lit tent, but there were only Mandalorians, sleeping and snoring. Their snoring was drowned by your deafening heartbeat in your chest.
“Is something bothering you, my apprentice?” Your master’s voice was so clear and loud in your head that he could have stood right next to you, whispering the words into your ear. But he spoke through the force.
An irrational fear aovercame you that somehow Maul was aware of your…predicament. It wouldn’t be impossible that the same way you could see snippets and visions from his nightmares, that he had somehow gleamed into your thoughts.
“Yes”, you answered truthfully. Lying through the force was not per se impossible, but it would take an amount of deceiving that you didn’t find in your heart to attempt right now. There was silence for a while, except for your beating heart.
Then, Maul decided to cite the full Sith code for the first time. Doing it through the force had the effect that it almost felt like he was ingraining the message into your very being, etching the words into your bones.
“There is only passion. Through passion you gain strength. Through strength you gain power. Through power you gain victory. Through victory your chains are broken.”
You sat upright on your cot, uncomfortable and with goosebumps from head to toe. There were no words with which you could possibly answer to this, so you just sent out an affirmative feeling, hoping it would tell Maul that you’d listened. But your Master’s presence was gone. You almost panicked at how quickly it had vanished.
It took you a long time to calm down afterwards and even when sleep finally took you, Maul's words echoed in your mind relentlessly.
It had been a strong pull to you that had made Maul come closer to your tent. He had found it frustrating how calm and collected you had been the entire time on Concordia. The only times he sensed mild irritation from you had been when the Mandalorians had made you train with a staff and a sparring partner had embarrassed you. Aside from that, your composure had been exemplary for a Jedi - and Maul despised that. There was no time to train you properly with so many sceptical eyes around. So when he had felt your emotions stirring, he had been delighted in provoking you some more. A real test of your abilities and convictions was soon to come and he wanted to make sure that you would not disappoint him.
Summary: You are strong in the force, but horrible in wielding a lightsaber. In the heights of the Clone Wars, the Council sends you on a mission alone, despite still being a Padawan. You encounter a Sith and realize that you are not strong enough to fight him. So why not join him?
Tags: Clone Wars Maul, Jedi Readder, slow burn but also not really lovers? it'll be complicated alright! Platonic but with feelings?? violence and trauma fitting a Sith
8274 words
You woke late but well rested. Maul wasn't on the ship. You had felt him leave about an hour ago, his absence had allowed your body and mind to rest. The day started with inspecting your wounds. They had healed well and except for the bruise on your side and some scratches on your hands, you were in good condition. Breakfast consisted of a rations box and the rest of water from your canteen. It would need refilling, but that was an issue for later. Maul was returning, you felt it through the force. There was something ominous about it, like watching an oncoming storm come closer and anticipating the downpour. Not a drizzle, but a torrential rain that floods streets and uproots trees. Then, you remembered his whimpering last night and asked yourself if that made him more or less intimidating.
Quickly, you gulped down the last of your breakfast and walked out of the freighter to meet your new master outside. He carried a stick about the length of a double bladed lightsaber, though only half as thick. There were no trees or bushes around as far as one could see, he must have tracked to a swamp to get it. Two lightsabers dangled from his hip.
Had it been a mistake to surrender yours, you wondered.
"Come," Maul commanded and you followed wordlessly.
He led you a couple of feet away from the freighter. You stood on top of a rocky plateau, it was a fairly high point in comparison to the rest of the moon. Vaguely, you remembered how exhausting it was walking up the cliff after your fight with Maul. It wasn’t a special sight that this position revealed. Just rocks as far as the eyes could see. This was to be a training fight, you felt it. The only cover you’d have was a loose boulder and the freighter.
"You will show me how you fight without the force," Maul said calmly.
An involuntary groan slipped out and your stomach clenched, "Must I? You have seen me fight with a lightsaber while using the force. You can take my word for it that not using the force will not improve anything."
Maul had considered your situation. Having you as an ally could prove valuable, but he'd much prefer you were more able in weapon combat. Jedi were so awfully delicate when it came to anything combat related. In Maul’s eyes, Jedi were less suited fighters than artists. He could appreciate a beautiful lightsaber fight, but you being seemingly unable to wield a lightsaber with any form of coordination was strange.
Jedi were such feeble things. A little anger could unbalance their fighting style. So, Maul thought, maybe you had outgrown your lightsaber. Standing a couple feet away from you, Maul tossed you his lightsaber.
You caught it with ease and inspected it. It weighed unusually heavy in your hands. A sense of dread washed over you. You didn't dare to ignite the red blade. This blade had been used to kill innocent people. And Jedi. Something told you that it is the saber that killed Master Qui-Gon Jinn. You had been so young when you heard what had happened on Naboo. How old had you been back then? Eight? Maybe nine years old. You had liked Master Qui-Gon, at least the little you saw of him when he instructed younglings.
"I cannot fight with this blade," you announced.
Maul had observed your hesitancy with great curiosity. He couldn't read your mind but felt how unsettled you were while holding his saber.
“Sensitivities of Jedi,” he mumbled dismissively to himself.
You tossed the saber back to Maul, who clipped it back onto his belt.
"Tell me, my apprentice, what is the force to you?" Maul asked with feigned patience. He was slightly annoyed that he had to start at the very beginning, but also excited at the prospect of shattering your beliefs.
You repeated what the Jedi had taught you and what you had experienced to be true, "It's like a stream of water. Always in motion. It has the power to shape whatever it touches. It's the energy that permeates all living things.”
"Really?" Maul asks flatly, "And where are you in that little picture?"
"I'm part of the force like everything else. Like...wading through the water, maybe," you shrugged.
Maul disappointedly clicks with his tongue and remarks, "Such a Jedi answer."
His dismissive attitude made you squirm. What did he expect? Your new master looked at you as if you were an innocent, incompetent child. It brought back uncomfortable memories of your Jedi masters. You couldn’t shake the feeling that history was repeating itself.
"The force, my apprentice, is a weapon you can yield. Only people strong enough can bend it to their will and use it to their advantage. The light side of the force is…” Maul exhaled dramatically, “…a feeble notion. It is not a reliant ally. Only the dark side is.”
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you let those words sink in. Your first instinct was to disagree. You had always found the light side of the force a trustworthy ally. It is only when dark thoughts, dishonest desires or strong feelings came to the surface that you felt unbalanced.
Maul twirled the stick as though it were a lightsaber.
"Try not to use the force when you fight me," Maul warned and sprinted towards you.
Fight how?! You panicked. With neither weapon nor force, how would you keep out of harm’s way?
Somehow, you dodged Maul’s first strike and were horrified as the stick hit the ground next to you. He did not hold back in strength, the stick hit the ground hard, flinging soil and pebbles into the air as it shuddered on impact. The stick bent but did not break. Ducking to evade the second strike, you were in a horrible position to dodge Maul’s next move. It missed you.
"DO NOT USE THE FORCE!" Maul snapped. He had felt you misdirecting his swing through the force. With even more vigour, he kept attacking.
"I don't use it consciously! It just happens," you explained only to be cut short when Maul aimed at your head. You saw the move before it happened and dodged with plenty time to spare. This pattern repeated. Any time the stick was close to hitting you, it missed you. Maul grew frustrated. Seeing you dodge in such a timely manner and missing every swing that should have grazed you, Maul grew frustrated. When he missed the fifth hit in a row, he grabbed you through the force and carelessly tossed you aside.
"I can't help it!", you scrambled to your feet, quickly trying to explain yourself, "It's like telling me to stop breathing the air around me."
"That is not how the force works!", your Master responded with a strained voice, swallowing down some of the anger that you had provoked.
"But it is!"
Maul growled and your heart dropped as you feared you had overstepped a line. He observed you angrily before he finally unclenched his jar and loosened his tense shoulders. Only just yesterday he had told himself that training you properly might break you. Now, he didn’t care. If what he had planned for you would break you, you were not worthy to begin with. There was so much about the force that you needed to learn.
“Don’t be so certain, my apprentice,” he uttered.
Maul walked back to the freighter, leaving you standing alone and confused.
Maul returned, the stick in one hand and a waterskin in the other. He tossed you the waterskin.
"Drink up."
A hunch told you to not drink whatever liquid was in there. You pulled off the cork and tried to assess what you were dealing with. It was too dark to see the liquid that sloshed around in the bottle, neither did it smell suspicious. Looking back to your Master, standing in front of you, his hands that held the stick crossed behind his back. His intense gaze only worsened the doubts you had. You did not trust the Sith. You might have pledged allegiance and accepted him as your Master, but you did not trust him not to hurt you. Quite the opposite. A hint of a smirk painted his features as if he could read your thoughts.
Yet, you supressed your suspicions and swallowed the liquid. It tasted like water but stung bitterly in the aftertaste.
"Now," Maul directed your attention back to him, "try to not get hit."
The fight resumed as before. You dodged masterfully, always aware of his next step. The first indication that something wasn’t right hit you when you jumped a corkscrew to avoid the stick smacking your legs, and landed on wobbly feet, your balance feeling just slightly off. With every passing moment, your body started to react more slowly than usual. You wanted to twist out of the way but weren’t quick enough and one end of the stick grazed your arm. Maul aimed for your head and struck your shoulder.
All of a sudden, twisting out of the way made you feal nauseous. It caught you off guard that you couldn’t react as the stick came crushing down on your legs. Hissing and nearly falling to the ground, you pushed Maul away through the force. This had been pure instinct, the rules framing this training session completely forgotten.
Maul halted for a moment, watching with satisfaction as you panicked in front of him.
Everything was spinning. There was a pounding in your head that became so loud and distracting, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. Similarly to a migraine, only twice as horrible, it overshadowed the pain in your legs. You felt sick and disoriented. You blinked, but it made your misery worse as you found your vision to grow blurry and patchy.
Concentrating on the force was, all of a sudden, quite beyond you.
There was no warning when Maul struck again. You barely managed to throw your arms up to protect your face. The stick left an angry red streak on your forearms. There was no time nor enough coherent thoughts left in your brain to wonder what would have happened had you not managed to protect your face.
You stumbled out of the way as he attacked again. There was no grace in it, only sheer panic and reacting to his movements as they came. You were slow in reacting and quick to lose balance.
Your own movement almost made you throw up. You jumped out of the way and had to close your eyes for your motion sickness to calm down. Closing your eyes during battle barely mattered when you still felt your surroundings, your enemies and allies and could predict their next attacks through the force. But now...there was nothing.
As the stick painfully lashed against your back, you were reminded that you were still in a fight. You whirled around without opening your eyes, trying to grab the stick that had been there moments ago. It was long gone, now poking the back of your knee and making you buckle.
Maul had no difficulty in dodging your aimless attacks, he only needed to step away when you lunged towards where he had last attacked you. Your efforts were pitiful; face scrunched in agony whenever the wood made contact with your body. Despite looking genuinely scared, Maul was impressed with how bravely you took the beating. Only when he scratched the spot on your side that he had already bruised and you let out a howl, Maul stopped hitting as hard. He needed you frustrated and in agony, and he figured your squirming and groans were proof enough that you already were. It's supposed to hurt.
"This will get you nowhere," Maul teased, put out his foot and easily tripped you. You fell to the ground and stayed there, whimpering.
If the force was a stream of water, like how you had described, it had dried up. Your limbs sluggishly reacted to the commands that you gave them, commands that had managed to fight their way free from brain fog and the constant beating and ringing that tyrannized your senses. You coiled up, protecting your stomach and face by burying it in your hands. There was no reason to struggle to your feet and keep fighting. You had no chance.
"Get up," Maul growled and poked you with his boot. As response, you hissed and twitched in pain. When you didn't make any signs of getting up, he tried to kick you. This time, you clung to his leg and attempted to wrestle him to the ground. But your grip was weak and your attack didn’t have any coordination. The stick came crushing down on your back and you let go again.
Had you ever truly felt so forsaken?
Where were you?
Who were you?
You didn’t quite know.
Did you deserve being beaten by this alien? With a stick, nonetheless. He didn’t even have the mercy to kill you with a lightsaber.
Vaguely, you registered that you pressed your face into the earth. Bloody saliva, dust and tears mixed in your mouth for an unpleasant taste. The ground was cold and barren. So was the void in your body. Too many feelings were fighting for dominance and there was no force, no meditation, no clear sense or thought to keep them down and controlled. You were on a rocking ship on the edge of throwing up. Like frostbite eating away your limbs. And blinded by the sun. Burning with fever, dripping sweat on your entire body. Or was that blood?
If you moved – as much as blinked – you’d throw up.
Suddenly, there was more searing pain, which origin you couldn’t place anymore.
Then you felt it. The force isn’t a stream of water. It is a rapid current, gathering speed and intensity. You could hear the waterfall it mounted in. You could hear its rushing currents. You stood with your back to the water. Slowly, you edged backward. Then you let go, trusting it to catch you. You were swooped up by the current. You drowned, you gurgled, you fought for control.
There is no control.
This force didn’t isolate life forms. You couldn’t push Maul specifically away, because you didn’t know where he was. But you were so disoriented, so afraid and furious. The fear of his next strike grew, and you didn’t feel the need to isolate or control any longer.
Three things happened at once. Maul was hurled backwards into the air with unexpected intensity. It left him gasp for air and had him try to anchor himself to the ground before he was thrown off the cliff. At the same time, the freighter groaned under the pressure and the boulder, about twice your size and a hundred times your weight, rolled over.
As soon as Maul had solid ground under his feet, he sprinted towards you again. You were now standing, eyes shut and face scrunched in anger. You shot smaller stones and pebbles that had been lying in your vicinity into all directions. Maul had to deflect them, and as he did, your head snapped into his direction. Eyes closed and head still feeling like a muddy soup, thinking and concentrating was still impossible. But you were one with the force, with the rapid current, and even while being swept away by it, you could tell where there was resistance.
You delayed just a moment to let him come closer. Then you crushed. It hailed wood splinters as the stick that Maul had been ready to swing over your head crumbled to wood chips. Just because you knew where he was, didn’t mean you had control to isolate what you crushed. You crushed everything. Everything needed to be destroyed for you to be save.
Groaning. Rumbling. Someone was saying something, but you couldn’t make out the words. There was only rushing in your ears and throbbing in your head.
A balled fist met your stomach, and you staggered, ripped out of the current and put on dry land again. You lost it all. The power. The triumph.
You bent forward, gripped your stomach and groaned. Before you knew what was happening, your head was yanked back by the hair and fingers were shoved down your throat. You gagged, were tossed aside and threw up.
With the first wave of nausea dissipating, you collapsed to the side.
The first words you heard after your head stopped throbbing was Maul’s praise.
“You did well, apprentice.”
The sickness hadn’t stopped bothering you quiet yet. Somewhere in your stomach, you still felt the current, the powerful rapid that had almost drowned you. That is the dark side, you decided for yourself, glad that thoughts were again within your grasp. With your ability to concentrate, so came your ability to feel others again through the force. You rolled onto your back, which hurt terribly, and blinked to the sky. Maul was close, watching you. You couldn’t see him. A cramp made your body convulse.
“Do you see now how weak the light side is compared to the dark, my apprentice?”, Maul coaxed from somewhere.
“You know,” you slurred as your tongue regained the ability to speak, suddenly tasting the dirt, blood and sick in your mouth, “I have a fucking name!”
You didn’t quite know where that came from, but you had grown sick about hearing “apprentice this”, “apprentice that”. You had just taken a beating and had your notion about the force turned upside down. You craved some comfort. At least, you wanted to be addressed like a person. A person with a name.
He murmured your name. You couldn’t place its intonation. Was that hate or contempt? Pride? Apathy? Nevertheless, it felt like he was gutting you, shoving a spear down your spine. You should never give the devil your name. But he had called you. How did he know you name anyways? You never formally introduced yourself. You were scared.
You whined. Crawled to your knees and threw up again.
Exhausted, you forced yourself to sit upright instead of rolling back down to the ground. With your wits returned also a sense of dignity and you wanted to preserve it. You sat in your favourite meditative position. Slowly, your started to feel your own again. Your fear quieted and your headache subsided. What remained was the pain from the beating. Your back was beaten sore, your leg screamed and your forearms tingled painfully. You didn’t know how much time passed as you sat there, meditating and celebrating that your mind worked again the way it should. You wiggled your fingers one by one, cracked your neck and finally blinked your eyes open. Motion didn’t make you sick anymore.
Your gaze fell on Maul who was sitting in the distance on the cargo ramp of the freighter. He was watching you. You wanted to ask so badly why he had sat there all this time. At least half an hour must have passed since your fight had…ended ungraciously for you.
“Ah…at last,” Maul commented your recovery.
You nodded silently and stood up with weak knees. There was no headache, no stomach ache or nausea. The only thing that stung were the areas of skin where the stick had hit you repeatedly. But even that was barely a bother, after you didn’t feel sweaty, cold and hot anymore.
“Good. You endured the poison.”
You stared at him, shocked. It had been quite obvious that whatever he had given you to drink wasn’t exactly good for you. But poison?
“Was there a chance of me…not enduring?”
Maul looked at you coldly. Of course there had been a chance. You had dropped your guard completely. He could have killed you. But not just by whacking you too hard over the head, but the poison could have been too potent for your body. Great. And this is the guy you willingly had surrendered to.
“’Peace is a lie. There is only passion. The force shall free me’”, Maul quoted. You recognized what the words mirrored. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace. … There is no passion, there is serenity.” Words that had been drilled into every Jedi at the temple.
“Is that what you’ve been taught?”, you asked, suddenly very curious about how Sith are trained. You had an uncomfortable feeling that beating someone with a stick was barely the tip of the iceberg and you probably came away pretty well.
Maul huffed, “It is the truth. You’ve just experienced it yourself.”
Peace didn’t get you very far today, agreed. Maybe your notion of what the force was needs to be revised. Right now, however, you were at peace. So was your mind and you were quite glad about it. Dabbling in the dark side of the force was a rather…excruciating experience. You still felt it though…the rushing, the power.... Maybe there was a way for you to control the current.
Maul intensely looked at something in the distance, luring you to follow his gaze. There was the boulder. A lump formed in your stomach. The boulder had rolled over and, even more striking, it had split into four parts, the cracks crumbling. You had been the cause for this.
It was slightly disturbing.
Maul had walked back into the freighter, leaving you to bask in awe a little longer. Then you jumped at a realization.
“I haven’t hurt you, have I?”, you worried, running after him.
Maul turned around, frowning.
Sensing his irritation, you rambled, “I mean…the rock? That was me, wasn’t it? I didn’t know what I was crushing while I was doing it. It was sort of overwhelming. And if I did that to a huge piece of stone it must have affected you somehow? I didn’t want to hurt you…”
Your master scoffed, “What was your alternative? Keep scrambling in the dirt like a disoriented insect and wait to be crushed?”
“You told me to avoid getting hit. Not to attack.”
“Sometimes,” he had come awfully close, making a point of towering over you…though it was less in height than in presence, “offense is the best defence.”
Taking a step back, you scanned his body. You couldn’t hold eye contact for long and you decided to look for injuries instead, as he seemingly dodged answering your initial question.
“Do not underestimate me,” your head jerked upwards, held in place by the force Maul was using on you. There is no need to protest against your restricted movement. It is scary to hold eye contact with Maul, especially when he is angry or dominating…which he had been most of the time you’d spent face to face with him. This time, you let it happen and challenged yourself to look as unbothered and as little terrified as possible.
“Remember this lesson. Remember the power it grants you. Pain is the only way to access it. I have gone through enough to not let your force abilities bother me. Go lick your own wounds,” he said harshly and released your head, “and think on what you just learned.”
You mumbled a, “Yes, Master”, managed a little bow and got on your way. He couldn’t have been honest with you. He was hurting. But why should he confide in you?
There was still one spare robes and pants stored in your Jedi starfighter. You took off in it and cruised for a couple of minutes, locating a spring in which you could wash yourself and your robes. Your back had taken a solid beating; some streaks of blood had seeped through your robes. The cold water and some meditation made you forget the pain. Then you tried to recall it again, as you made a point in taking your master’s words literally and reflected on what he had called “a lesson” and the words of wisdom he had given you; ’Peace is a lie. There is only passion. The force shall free me’. Those words were difficult to reconcile with what you had ben taught by the Jedis and what your common sense told you to be true. But thinking back on how the concentration and peace had been stripped away from you, you accepted how passion and the force can play a role in freeing oneself. Afterall, if it weren’t for your force abilities, Maul would have killed you two days ago. It was thanks to the force that you had freed yourself from the Jedi order.
Your mind drifted. How dark a mind must be that has ensured training like this since childhood. Never would you have survived or accepted this training without years of building the mental strength and stability through meditation and the Jedi’s teachings. Maul wanted to make you strong, so you can be a useful ally to him. You accepted his methods because you trusted him in doing what he thought best. Maturity and experience told you that you shouldn’t be so quick define your worth by how the most recent training session turns out. But subject a child to those training methods and you will break its soul. They would soak up those words, ‘peace is a lie’, like their life depended on it. Because they never knew different. You did.
You flew back feeling, again, compassion for Maul. You neither expressed those feelings, nor tried to show them, knowing he would oppose. Yet, as you laid awake at night, your sore back making it hard to fall asleep, you heard him pace around in his room for hours. Silence was always followed by whimpers, which sometimes resulted in words being mumbled. You didn’t dare to listen too closely. The force was unbalanced. It woke you often and it was more difficult finding rest tonight. It wasn’t just Maul’s force signature that was imbalanced, it was yours too. You had to meditate to coax yourself to sleep.
The next couple of days passed quickly. Maul took you for a walk, not talking until you reached a cave. A family of Anoobas, canine-like desert mammals, seemed to live there. You recognized their form as similar to the carcass rotting in the freezer. Your master had commanded you to kill the youngest. You tried but couldn’t get more than a yelp out of it before you felt too indecisive to end an innocent creature’s life. He tried to talk you into it, but you couldn’t gather the rage necessary to crush the puppy. After a disappointed sigh, he did it instead. “Through Passion, I gain Strength. Through Strength, I gain Power”, are the bits of the Sith codex he told you accompanying to this lesson.
You had to carry the dead puppy back to the freighter. At least its death had not been for nothing, you told yourself, because you had to swap it with the almost finished and unappetizing, mangled body in the freezer – meaning that, essentially, it was just food for your master. It relieved you to know that this meant your rations would last you for the end of your stay.
Though you had failed his lesson that day, Maul still decided to let his new apprentice in on his operations. He saw that you were eager to learn and not too opposed to follow his commands. After only three days, it might have been rash to ask a Jedi to kill an innocent puppy. He appreciated that you had been willing to try. To be fair, he had almost been convinced you’d fly off after the training and never look back. You had stayed, and thus, Maul was ready to hold you to some higher expectations.
At night, Maul gave you a datapad. It revealed the grandness of his plans. His affiliation and deal with deathwatch, the crime syndicates forced into submission and operating under the name of the Shadow Collective. It contained blueprints of how the assault on Mandalore will be carried out and how the rule of Duchess Satine Kryze will be overthrown. You read most of it in the crew area of the freighter. Maul was in his chambers, but you heard him pacing and knew he wouldn’t go to sleep as long as you sat awake and studied the plans.
When your eyes grew tired of reading and you made yourself ready for bed, a sense of threat overcame you. Every chance of just flying off into the galaxy was gone. Now, you knew too much. You held the pieces to an elaborate plan and revealing it too soon to the enemies could destroy the effort entirely. You recognized that revealing the plan was a sign of trust on Maul’s side. You had pledged loyalty and now had to prove that you had meant it. Never before had you been entrusted with so much knowledge and power. Heck, never before had you been part of something so great: Seizing power over Mandalore.
The next two days you received the mission of mapping Zanbar and finding locations suitable for a hideout. It was a lot of time you spent away from your new master, flying over the moon and investigating caves and swamps for suitable locations. At first, you couldn’t shake the thought that this might be some sort of test to see if you would just fly off into the galaxy, but you felt no desire to do so. The work itself was meditative and actually quite interesting. It was a freeing experience: exploring the new biotopes and looking into caves, while still returning to the freighter after the sun had set and having Maul acknowledge your efforts after a short debriefing.
With every night, you grew more accustomed to Maul’s force signature and the darkness it brought over everything in its vicinity. You started to doubt that this man ever had gotten a night of proper rest and it started to affect your concentration too. You had to meditate a lot throughout the day to get rid of your tiredness. On the third day around noon you had finished mapping the moon. It was, after all, a rather small one. Proudly, you had accumulated a proper list with ample possibilities for hideouts.
You had mustered up the courage to approach Maul that afternoon and ask him for a lightsaber session, as you wanted to try something. You were anxious to prove your worth and Maul must have had doubts. You were strong in the force but didn’t readily use the dark side…years of Jedi training made it difficult to just let your emotions take control. Yet, there was something you had wanted to try. You had done it often in duels, but never this openly, and never to an ally.
“I think I can direct your lightsaber,” you announced as you stood opposite of Maul.
“I know that much,” Maul eyed you curiously, crossing his arms.
“I’ve only ever done it to an opponent to make them miss. I never had the opportunity to try to support an ally,” you explained.
“Very well…,” Maul took his lightsaber from his belt. He’d play along for now and see if you had some trick hidden up your sleeve, “What is it you want of me?”
He wanted to spit out the last line in a more derogatory manner. He wasn’t satisfied with how curious and intrigued it came out in the end. A tinge of shame scratched the back of his throat. He coughed quietly.
You stood opposite him, at a comfortable distance where no strike would hit you if he didn’t make a proper jump forward.
“Could you run through a combat routine? Make some moves that you’d make in a fight. Or just…replay and old fight, without the enemy.”
Your Master paused, considering. You took a deep breath, concentrating on the force that surrounded the two of you. You felt a strong connection between you and your Master, and he must have felt it too, because he was suddenly sprang into action. He ignited his blade and started to fight the air in front of him.
His cuts were precise and despite lacking an opponent’s saber to clash off on, you recognized the fight sequence after the third swing. Every youngling was taught this duel as soon as they were ready to hold a saber. It was Darth’s Maul fight against Obi-Wan Kenobi. You started to slightly direct Maul’s saber, blocking his cuts more precisely where they would have ended, had there been an opponent.
It looked a little silly. Your master fighting the air while you stood at the side, concentrating and watching. But you were more active than it looked like, and Maul started to feel your touch more clearly when he, out of curiosity what you’d do, made a move that hadn’t been part of his duel against Obi-Wan. You felt what he wanted to do before he had even started the execution. Still, your touch on the force helped him precisely direct his hits to a clean stop, Maul also noticed that his blade moved slightly faster than he actually intended to. But this didn’t happen through an effort of his own, you were the one that sped up the action without making him lose any of the precision.
Maul started to go completely off course and combine moves that came to his mind at the very moment. You never failed to support his movements. Randomly, Maul decided to leap into the air, corkscrewing, he felt his fingers lose grip on the hilt, nevertheless, it stayed put where it should be. He could reinforce his grip when he landed, the hilt not having budged an inch from where he usually gripped it comfortably. He spun and then threw the lightsaber at you. The blade remained lit, but you immediately noticed that Maul had merely thrown the saber, he wasn’t directing it with the force. It whizzed past your head, missing you, as Maul had intended.
You strengthened your force grip on the saber and directed it back into Maul’s hand, which he held ready and expecting above his head. To you, it was no different from tossing someone a ball, if not easier. Maul caught the lightsaber and then you deactivated the blade through the force. You had felt Maul’s intention of deactivating it, felt the twitch his thumb had made for the button, his intent being so clear to you that you couldn’t hold back and deactivated it for him.
This foresight surprised your master. Despite the trials he had made you go through a couple of days ago, now, Maul finally understood what a good choice it had been to keep you alive. He hadn’t expected this kind of expertise and mastery of the force. However, it was a bit unsettling to Maul, that you predicted his every move and thought so well.
You were in synch. Maul didn’t feel it the way you did, but the last couple rotations taught you a lot about your new master. You had seen his harsh sides and his weak sides. His nightmares. His fears. You hadn’t just spent the last couple of days co-existing, you had been soaking up his very essence. And you genuinely enjoyed how you shone beside him.
“We will keep this ability of yours a secret, for now,” Maul declared. Naturally, you acquiesced.
It was the last evening you’d spend on the moon. You had read up on everything there was to know about the Shadow Collective. Maul had tested you on some key points. He was eager to rejoin the army on Concordia. The possible location for hideouts on Zanbar had been mapped and categorized. You would leave your freighter base significantly cleaner than you’d first entered it, in some free moments, you had repaired faulty tech and banished every speck of dust out the hangar door.
You were eager to get some rest, because you wanted to impress tomorrow. There would be eyes on you, as Maul’s new apprentice. Sceptic eyes, because of the access you had been granted to critical information despite being basically an outsider. Wary eyes, because you were a Jedi. Nobody would expect much from you, of course. You were just a new accessory that Maul had acquired, there would be no decisions you had a say in, no forces to lead. Maul had stressed that for the assault on Mandalore, your place was by his side as a silent shadow. The operation had already been planned without you, and everything should go according to plan. Maul had hinted that you might play a more important role after Mandalore has been taken over, but didn’t give away any details. With no real responsibility except not making a fool of yourself, the pressure wasn’t too much to handle. Still, a good night’s rest would heal all injuries you suffered this week and would give you more confidence.
Sleep didn’t come. Your master was in a bad mood. Consequently, the shifts of the force kept you awake. The air around was suffocating with dark energy. Every time you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, nightmares would scare you awake. They weren’t clear dreams, just random visions and feelings that didn’t feel familiar, but utterly painful and lonely. After waking up for the third time in the course of two hours, you forced your mind to idle on the last dream a little longer. Memories of fuzzy images returned. Rotting caves, blazing fires and a feeling of madness that unsettled you physically. The visions mixed with Maul’s words that reached you through the force.
I’m fear.
I’m nothing.
Kenobi.
Revenge.
You snapped out of it, left your bed and walked out the freighter on tiptoes. In all of the ramblings your Master had during the nights, this was the first time where he thought of Kenobi explicitly. He sometimes cursed out the Jedi and made you feel like you had to run or he’d cut you down for the sin of having been one, but not his hate was focused on one person. You felt his need for revenge, and it scared you. Having felt the dark side of the force and having used it, you knew of its power,… you also knew of the demise it could bring.
Barefoot, you walked a little until your heart felt lighter, but there was only so much that physical distance could do to loosen the grip of the dark side. You thought that you had gotten used to your Master being like a gushing spring for the violent current of the dark side, but it turns out he has good and bad days. And previous nights had been peaceful in comparison to this. Or maybe you hadn’t been so adamant of getting some sleep the nights before. Being woken this often made you more irritated than the nights before and couldn’t quite place if those are your own emotions or still Maul’s influence.
Illuminated only by the reflecting light of the planet Mandalore, the freighter stood quietly. It didn’t feel quiet to you.
With some big breaths you gathered yourself. You recalled some beautiful and peaceful memories and walked back when you felt strong enough. As you walked to your quarters, you heard your Master whimper again.
You lied down with the intent of meditating yourself to sleep. It didn’t work. The influence of the dark side was too strong. It amplified your fear of the nightmares and it took significant concentration to ignore Maul’s whimpers and ramblings. Physically and through the force. After an hour, you gave up trying and left your bed again, taking a meditative position in the middle of your room.
There was a decent chance your Master would kill you for what you are going to try.
Closing your eyes, you braced yourself. Then, you opened your mind entirely to the influence of the dark side. Anger, sadness, fear, pain, frustration overcame you and swept you away like a wave. The visions you had seen in your nightmares returned. The code of the Sith was recited like a mantra, but it was barely background noise over memories of fights and reprimands and lectures and so, so many self-deprecating thoughts.
If there hadn’t been this sense of pride and power that the dark side granted you, those emotions would have drowned you. But you knew you were able and strong in the force, so you banished those feelings.
Emotion, yet peace. Passion, yet serenity.
You reached out to your master through the force and grabbed the first thought that seemed to plague him.
“I am nothing,” he told himself. His dreams, his memory, his experience had told him that. Somewhere, somehow, Maul felt it to be true…
“You are something,” you said back through the force. And you meant it, with all your heart.
“I am…nothing,” Maul repeated with hesitancy.
“You are a Lord. You are a master. A leader,” you replied, “That is not nothing.”
What you were doing was a simple Jedi mind trick. Just with someone a few rooms away and either sleeping with nightmares or consumed by thoughts.
“You are somebody,” you tried again, with more urgency. And empathy.
“I am somebody,” you received back.
You pushed further, trying to convince your master to calm down and let his guard down. You expected him to resist. But you had controlled his thoughts before. You made him kneel. Whispering some good intentions to banish the nightmares shouldn’t be much more difficult.
The force shifted, got stronger and more focused. Then, clanking steps bolted towards your room. A fist slammed the button to open the door.
“Stop it!”, Maul demanded harshly. He gripped your collar with both hands, the tight grip choking you as you balanced on your tippy toes. Not losing concentration, you opened your eyes slowly.
“WHAT are you doing?”, he was angry. And maybe a little scared. His eyes were more blood-shot than usual as he searched your face for answers.
You were a bug to be squished, but somehow, Maul couldn’t shake the grip you had on his thoughts. How you smoothed over the edges and made his anger fade. Now, that he was closer to you, he felt your touch even stronger. Stuck between the sense of gratefulness of being woken from a bad dream and the frustration that he had been deemed too weak to fight his own battles. Your abilities made you more significant than a bug to be flicked away. His new apprentice was a threat.
And yet, Maul started to feel ready to let somebody else take the lead just once. He had trusted you thus far, had he not? Maybe not entirely trust, but he had put faith in you. Why not trust you a little further? He was so exhausted. Only his hate kept him alert, and your presence seemed to brush that away as if it was the dust you had banished from this ship over the last couple of days.
The manipulation of his mind took fruition, you saw your master’s eyelids relaxing, his eyes no longer flitting about your face but coming to rest at some eye contact that you did not perceive as uncomfortable for the first time this week. Some time ago you’d have considered practicing mind tricks on a master, or even a friend, as an invasive breech of privacy. But if your taste of the dark side had taught you anything so far, it’s that your means justify your methods.
“I’m soothing you,” you admitted calmly, “It’s okay, Master. You deserve some rest.”
“Rest is for the weak. Do you know what is at stake? I need to stay alert,” every word sounded less condescending. His hissing voice got quieter and the grip on your collar weakened. You stood safely on your feet again.
“I have everything under control”, you smiled, “Get some sleep.”
Maul’s head lulled on his neck like a weed in the wind. For a moment longer, you hesitated. Then, you put one hand on his cheek. It was hot and clammy, but his skin was smooth. The muscles spasmed under your touch. But Maul barely reacted to the touch. He was on the brink of unconsciousness, only his instinct resisting sleep.
“You can trust me,” you whispered and reached out again in full force. Finally, Maul stopped resisting. His force signature wavered. The ramblings, the chaos…you subdued it, you quieted it down until it was only an uncomfortable throb in the background of both of your minds.
Your master’s body started to collapse. His cybernetic legs were the first to give out. You snaked one arm around his torso, the other hand still resting on his cheek, and lowered both of you to your knees.
“Just for tonight,” you whispered, observed how his eyelids grew heavy, “I’ll keep watch. I’ll be here. You have seen my power, you don’t need to fear anything. You can let go.”
As commanded, Maul closed his eyes. His body swayed a little back and forth. With your hand on his cheek, you directed his head to the crook of your neck, where it stayed motionless. Your hand wandered to the back of his head, keeping him secure in place.
Your heart skipped a beat and the breath caught in your chest. No. You couldn’t allow any of your excited thoughts to take over. There was embarrassment at the touch. So intimate, that you had never shared it before with anyone else in your life. There was the pride you took in the responsibility. The absurdness of the man who you would have titled a monster when you first saw him now collapsed and weak in your arms.
I’d have to meditate on that later, you thought. Now, your concentration was needed to ward off his nightmares.
Only after you were sure that he was fast asleep, you carefully manoeuvred him into a lying position. Now, that he wasn’t consciously fighting you, it was easier to keep his dark thoughts subdued. But you still felt them lurking, waiting for the first second that your mind drifted. You wouldn’t let that happen.
You put your thin pillow under the zabrak’s head, put a blanket over his body and then took seat by his side.
You will spend the entire night sitting there and meditating, alert of your surroundings – but the small planet was quiet and asleep – careful of not letting nightmares disturb your master’s rest. It was a little challenging at first, finding the balance between calmness and subduing, but after a couple of hours you got the gist and fell into a meditative state yourself.
It was neither pain nor dreams that woke Maul. Sun had been shining through a window for a while now, he had felt the warm licks move across his face without it having bothered him. But they slowly brought him back to consciousness. He blinked once. Twice.
It was so quiet in his mind. Sleep usually didn’t restore him. Over the years he had become used to chronic pain that was eating away at his body caused by more injuries that he cared to remember. At this moment, however, those injuries were only a dull ache that didn’t compare to the agony he was used to. Turning his head, he saw his new apprentice sitting by his side. If he moved his hand, he could touch your knee. Your eyes were closed in meditation, but just as he had awoken, you now moved for the first time in hours.
The corners of your lips twitched up in a slight smile as you opened your eyes, finding your Master’s staring right back.
A crimson ring around his iris frames his otherwise amber-gold eyes. The red veins usually streaking across the whites of his eyes had disappeared. Maul was relaxed, and his features reflected that.
You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The upright position you upheld for meditation had become strenuous. You rested your aching back against the wall and closed your eyes again. Sleep took you before Maul sat upright. With your soothing on Maul’s mind collapsing, he started to hear it again. The voices, the hate, the pain. But his body was well rested and it didn’t grind him down like usual.
Maul crawled to the wall opposite of you and took sat, watching you.
You let them subdue your strength. They have so much power over you already.
Feel ashamed.
They are danger.
You are nothing without them.
It was the first time in a long, long while that Maul looked at a stranger and didn’t simply feel the urge to kill, to dominate. This feeble human had somehow caught his attention. How he could break your body, how he could destroy your mind. Torturing you to stay awake, like he had often spent weeks without sleep as his master’s apprentice. Oh what a sight it would be to see tear streaks crossing your cheeks. What a sweet sound you’d make when you begged, pleaded and suffered. He should punish you for the audacity to control his mind, lure him into your quarters and put him into a slumber.
The remains of the smile you had given him when he opened his eyes were still visible. Maul stood up. He stuffed the pillow into the window to block out the light. Then he threw the blanked over your body and walked out to prepare for the return to Concordia.
Summary: You are strong in the force, but horrible in wielding a lightsaber. In the heights of the Clone Wars, the Council sends you on a mission alone, despite still being a Padawan. You encounter a Sith and realize that you are not strong enough to fight him. So why not join him?
Tags: Clone Wars Maul, Jedi Reader, slow burn but also not really lovers? it'll be complicated alright! Platonic but with feelings?? violence and trauma fitting a Sith
6392 words
It's my first time writing for a character that isn't Arthur Morgan, I apologize. But then I remembered that imma just vibing here so why not post the story that's been haunting me since the Shadow Lord trailer. Enjoy, if you can.
The moon Zanbar quietly came closer as you undocked the hyperspace ring from your Jedi Starfighter and entered its atmosphere. It was a small moon, yet it sustained life. Drifting over the surface you observed swamps, marshes and dry areas of rocky plateaus. The force guided you to an appropriate landing spot.
You were in the outer rim, not far from Mandalore. Even though you were only a Padawan, the council had sent you here alone. You should have been a Jedi Knight by now, but you hadn’t successfully completed the trials. It didn’t feel appropriate for a Padawan to be on a solo mission this far out, but you were no ordinary Padawan.
It wasn't for a lack of conviction, immaturity or struggles with the force that you were stuck with the title of a student. You excelled at those things. But in your time as a Padawan you had changed masters four times, only one of them had died during the war, the other ones had passed you on because they failed at what everyone had previously failed: Teaching you how to properly wield a lightsaber. Deflecting blasters or cutting down droids worked well enough but trying to fight against more capable enemies while only relying on a saber was an impossible task for you. Against other Jedi, you could never hold your ground. It was only when you tapped into the force that you stood a fighting chance.
It baffled the order that a Jedi so untalented in swordsmanship could wield the force with such grace and confidence. Meditation was natural to you and you fought well, simply through manipulation of the force. Predicting your opponents’ moves two steps ahead, you dodged with agility and athleticism that surprised everyone who had seen you mishandle a lightsaber. Mind tricks kept you out of fights in the field and by shoving and pulling your enemies, you often avoided igniting your saber at all. If it hadn't been for your mastery of the force, the council might have kicked you out of the order by now. Or demoted you to library duties.
You landed on a plateau in an area of the moon that was currently in a phase of twilight. The striated rock on which your Starfighter now stood firmly was beautifully illuminated in an orange light. Looming above the moon in the sky was Mandalore. It looked awfully close and bright, though it was a couple of hours of space travel away. Before climbing out of your ship, you checked the stats of the atmosphere, only to confirm that it was breathable and not hostile to humans.
The council had sent you here to investigate rumors. Activities of the crime syndicates had spiked in the sector and – so you had been told – whoever pulled the strings, might have a base on this moon. You sighed, feeling how unbalanced the force felt to you at the moment. Something wasn’t right here.
Yoda's words echoed in your mind, "An enemy, you might find on Zanbar. If so, do not engage. Unprepared you might be, for such a fight."
Then why send you in the first place?
Ki-Adi-Mundi had sensed your skepticism immediately and had explained that no other member of the order was available that fit the skill set of stealthy investigation better than you. What you heard was that this problem was light years away from a battle front and you’d not need to fight. When you asked why crimes in that area, almost exclusively surrounded by neutral planets, were of any concern to the Republic at this state during war, you received an unsatisfying answer that it might become a potential threat in the future.
To you, this seemed like a pointless job. A job that a group of clones could have done just as well. On your flight here you were convinced that this was the council’s way of keeping you busy and mildly occupied in a useful fashion, without risking resources for further training you or being a liability at the battlefield.
However, you changed your mind as you walked along a rocky path that led from the plateau that you had used as landing platform to a valley. The council might or might not have expected it, but you felt a dark presence nearby. It was likely that this was indeed the person who is responsible for the increase in criminal activities.
You walked through a small valley with cliffs on both sides. The light didn’t reach that far down but only colored the tops of the plateaus. It was the force that told you to go that way. The air on this planet, or at least this area, was dry and cool. This made it even more unsettling when a cold shiver ran down your spine as if a breeze had blown on the sweat that clung to your body. But there was neither a breeze, nor had you been sweating. Something in the force deeply unsettled you. The feeling made your stomach turn and your hands clammy. You wiped them on your pants.
For a long time now, you had suspected that you were more sensitive to the force than most Jedi. The force surrounded you, penetrated every living being and made it buzz with energy. It was something that you felt, consciously, most of the time. The Jedi’s taught as much about the dark side of the force as they had to in order to shy every young learner away from ever embracing it. Though you had no definite proof, you believed that sometimes you could feel the dark side of the force, without reaching out to it. You felt it on Coruscant, in the Jedi-temple and the Senate. You often felt it on missions, cloaking people with ill-intention or hate. But it was always just that: a low throb, a headache, a bad feeling. Now, it was more. It was stronger. It was all consuming.
You looked up to the stone ledge a few feet above you, before the figure appeared on it. It was only a shadow, but you recognized the horns...saw the lightsaber dangling from the hip and knew who it was before he spoke a word.
"You are not the Jedi I had hoped for," it was a voice best described as calm rage and malice.
You are not the enemy I hoped for, you thought.
Did the council know? Did they even have a hint of a clue that Darth Maul could be behind this? Was there a chance that they sent you here, knowing that the Sith Lord will kill you? How could you get out of this without a fight?
Desperately, you tried to process the gravity of the situation, but Maul interrupted your thoughts, “But your slaughter will stand as a warning to anyone who dares interfere in my plans.”
In the blink of an eye, the shadow had ignited his saber and hurled off the ledge towards you. You managed to ignite your saber in the last second, blocking the hit that was going straight for your head. The power of Maul's attack made you stumble, and you had to dodge his blade, as you weren't strong enough to hold your saber up to parry for much longer.
The monster immediately struck again, you barely got your saber in position to block and had to dodge the next hit by jumping out of the way. This short display of swordsmanship had been enough to make your opponent chuckle.
"They sent you?!" he laughed and your stomach turned again.
This time, you felt how he would attack before he had started to move. Yet, when he swung his lightsaber, your hands wouldn't move fast enough to parry. You dodged again, only for the Sith to hit your saber hard enough to knock it out of your hand.
"What are you? A Jedi?!"
A force push catapulted you into a wall of rocks. The impact squeezed the air out of your lungs. Falling to the ground but landing sloppily on your feet, you wheezed, "You're Darth Maul."
"So you know me,” the creature stalked around you like a beast watching his prey bleed out, "And this is what the mighty Jedi send?" His eyes landed on your Padawan's braid. "A Padawan. Pathetic."
Gathering your guts, you managed to look at the Sith. He was lankier than you had expected, clad in a dark, layered robe that revealed something of his red, tattooed, chest. Maul was trying to read your intentions; searching for the trap, wondering why someone who couldn't even wield a saber dared to stand up to him.
You had desperately needed this moment of calm, reaching out to the force, letting it rush through your body and connect you to the environment and your opponent. More than anything, you were afraid. Afraid to die. Afraid that all your life had amounted to nothing. That you'd be slaughtered by this beast. Knowing that no Jedi, not even your Master, will come to look for you.
Fear makes you alert; it makes you strong.
"Alright...," you took a deep breath and reached out for your saber which flew back into your hand, "Enough with the compliments."
"You're a waste of my time. You're lucky I'll end this quickly," he mocked without a hint of sarcasm.
You saw his leap towards you before he started to move. Maul spun the blade masterfully as if to remind you of your own incompetence. You hadn’t ignited your saber yet to attempt to block his blow. But you didn’t have to. Maul took a big swing, aiming to decapitate you, when the blade stopped a couple inches shy of your neck. The hum and crackling of the red blade were loud in your ears, the heat almost unbearable. You stared at your opponent who was confused. With an angry and frustrated cry, Maul swung for your other side, only to find the same resistance.
Immediately exploiting his moment of frustration and confusion, you pushed him back with a force you hadn't expected of yourself.
"Interesting,” he mumbled.
You almost saw a hint of a crooked smile on Maul before he attacked again. As force of habit, you ignited your saber again, though you barely used it. You dodged all of Maul's hits. When you couldn't keep up with his speed, your saber helped to avoid contact with his blade. You kept yourself alive by using the force, using it as you had never before in any battle.
You deviated the course of his swings, which ended up often missing you completely. You shoved and pushed at every opportunity. Maul's feet slipped, he was pushed back a few feet and then you pulled on his lightsaber hilt to unbalance him. It must have looked like a sloppy fight. Thanks to your manipulations of the force, Maul's movements were choppy and unclean. Your constant dodging and fighting style looked anything but professional. But it kept you alive.
The longer you fight an opponent, the better you get at reading their movements. After being in this weird dance of pushing, pulling and dodging for what felt like an eternity, you had his style figured out. You could anticipate his next moves better and sometimes even managed to sneak in an offensive attack.
You thought you had created another opening, as Maul was nearly down on one knee from a particularly cheeky push to one of his legs, when you realized, mid-swing, that you had miscalculated.
"ENOUGH!"
The force pulled you off the ground and you felt something close on your windpipe. You dropped your saber, only concerned with trying to get out of this grip. Your vision went blurry by tears and lack of oxygen. It was particularly frustrating that you didn’t know what to do to get out of the choke.
"Yes...struggle,” the Sith seemed to relish in your desperate fight for life.
His voice was clearly audible, but you couldn’t tell any longer from which direction it came. He was everywhere and nowhere. You pressed your eyes shut.
"An unworthy Jedi. How insolent to think you have any chance against me. You're nobody!"
You were afraid of dying. Afraid of those words being proven true. Anger bubbled inside of you. It felt like frustratingly releasing the last of your air from your lung before drowning.
Then, something shifted in the force.
A rock whizzed towards Maul. He was so surprised when it hit him in the head that his grip on you loosened. Enough oxygen rushed to your brain to get you in control of your body and mind again. In a split second, you had landed on your feet and now reached out through the force. You picked Maul up as if it was nothing.
Then you started to crush.
It came so naturally.
"You don't know anything about me!" you yelled, barely recognizing the anger in your voice. But it did give you strength, did let you hold this monster in the air.
"I know that you aren't a Jedi any longer", he laughed. It was a struggling and choking laugh, but it was a laugh, nonetheless. The words crept into your mind, made you aware of your actions and immediately your hold on Maul faltered.
Even if Maul had attacked, you would not have defended yourself. But the Sith stood still, eying you curiously as you processed what you had just done. You looked at your hands as if they had been solely responsible for the enormous strength you had just found.
"Your fear gives you strength," Maul started pacing in front of you, "You've felt it."
No.
You breathed steadily and tried to calm your racing heart.
That is against everything the Jedi had taught you. This wasn't right. You had done something which you shouldn’t have. You had held it back for years. But now it had slipped to the surface. Why hadn’t you been in better control of your emotions? The realization that you had failed something that should have been so simple to obey weighted heavily on you. Suddenly, your body felt exhausted and you wanted to lie down – crawl into a hole and forget all about it.
"I see,” Maul’s words interrupted your train of thoughts. You were still in a fight. He continued, “You were sent here because you are expendable."
Your head shot up and you locked eyes with the monster. He looked quite amused at this reaction.
"A Jedi who can't wield a lightsaber. During war!", Maul spread his arms as if you stood on a battlefield. The nearest front was light years away. This little, desolate moon barely nurtured any lifeforms.
"I have my strengths," you replied in a meek, unsure voice.
"You do. But you could never show them. Your Jedi friends would have been afraid if they knew what power you are capable of. And because they don't know, they cast you aside."
Instinctually, your saber flew back into your hand. You'd rather resume the battle than have a Sith tell you that you had just deviated from the path that you'd been groomed your entire life to follow.
"Yes," the words rolled off the Maul's tongue, "Show me your anger! Or die."
You threw your lightsaber. Something that you hadn't done often, but as soon as the blade was out of your hands, it became comparatively easy to guide through the force. Maul deflected it. You jumped high, picked it off the air and came hurling down on Maul.
You engaged in combat. It irritated you that he had switched up his technique. He lured you in close, only to become passive and let you attack. Usually, you preferred being the defensive one. But suddenly, having an opportunity to let out your frustrations was something you could appreciate. Your hits were stronger than usual, fueled with the energy of the force and, admittedly, something of that anger you had just tasted. Maul did barely seem to mind. He absorbed your hits and gave them back double the strength, forcing you to dodge, jump and wind out of the way.
"You're a good fighter!", Maul yelled, excitedly blocking your hit and pushing you back. While still being pushed away, you pulled Maul towards you, catching him off guard and almost managing to pierce him, if he hadn't hit your blade out of the way.
There was no way of predicting Maul’s twirl in the air, ignoring his lightsaber that was close enough to decapitate you, and instead kicked you in the side.
His amputated metal shin met your ribs. You collapsed to the side and slid over the gravelly ground.
"The Jedi are unworthy of you. I can show you the potential that resides in your mind and body," Maul calmly explained while you lay on the ground underneath him, gripping your side and gasping for air.
The physical toll of the fight was catching up with you. You had a long journey here and had just wanted to stake out the area. Sleep and a meal had already been overdue. Fighting a Sith had not been on your agenda for today. Losing, even less.
Maul backed off a little to give you some space. He holstered his saber and calmly challenged you, “Stand up and keep fighting.”
You wheezed at the demand. Breathing was hard. Blood started to quill through the cuts that your hands had received from sliding over the ground. Your body felt like it was on fire. The grip on your aching side tightened, afraid that if you let go your body would crumble like a vase. That’s how you felt: like a vase with a hairline crack. One more gust and you would shatter, never to be repaired, never able to assemble the broken pieces to something that felt whole.
“I can’t,” you gasped, admitting defeat.
“Stand up and fight!”
Instantly, you crawled for your lightsaber which lay just out of reach in the dirt and stood up. Your thumb grazed the ignition button and you hesitated.
You hadn’t wanted to stand up. Maul had commanded you.
The Sith’s gaze was on you as he commanded again: “Fight me!”
The force was tugging on you, echoes of his command vibrating through your mind. Your body twitched as you resisted the instinct to follow the command. It was difficult to resist at first, but as soon as you relaxed and concentrated on the force, you saw this game at what it truly was. His last try to gain dominance over you.
Maul slowly walked towards you, taunting, “Come on...”
It was also a demand, but it had lost its effect on you. In training, you had always called them Jedi mind tricks. But that’s not what they were, really. It was a manipulation of the mind, a jumbling of intentions and suppression of will. Maul approached you until he stood just out of reach. He hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t noticed that you had made him walk closer. He is so fixed on coercing you into a fight, his mind was open for your suggestion. You wondered if you could dare even more.
Kneel.
Maul got down on one knee. The crunch of his metallic knee on the stone was the sweetest sound you had ever heard. You had never felt so powerful. It only took a moment though, for Maul to realize what had happened. His features grew dark and with a flick of his wrist, you crashed onto your knees in front of him. He hadn’t commanded you – he had pulled you into the ground with the force and you yelped in pain.
You leaned forward, supporting your tired body by gripping the ground in front of you. The dirt in front of you was grey and nondescript. A few drops of blood from your hands had mixed with the soil and you eyed them intensely, to afraid to look up. Because he was right there. If you hadn’t known that he was an arm’s reach away, you would have still felt the intense energy pulse from him. The hate. The darkness. And something that you couldn’t quite place. Something that intrigued you and pulled you in.
“Join me,” Maul offered, “I can give you a purpose. I can show you your true strengths.”
He was still on one knee. Why didn’t he get up?
“I’ll teach you ways of the force that the Jedi won’t even speak about. Nobody will ever look down on you again. You will not be expendable, but much stronger than you ever thought capable.”
He was speaking the truth, you knew he was. You tried to weigh your options: agree, deny and be slaughtered, run away...? Where to? You’re no longer welcome in the Jedi’s temple.
“You’ve come here for a reason.”
His voice was so close. He was so close, hovering just over you.
You closed your eyes, listening. The force had guided you here. Yoda’s words echoed in your mind: "An enemy, you might find on Zanbar. If so, do not engage. Unprepared you might be, for such a fight." Yoda had been right, as he always was. You should not have engaged, because you were unprepared to withstand the temptation of the offer. However, this monster in front of you was not enemy. Not any longer.
“Fine,” you finally said, still staring at the ground. Maul grinned, unbeknownst to you. This was more than he had hoped for! A new apprentice, and such a strong one. It was exciting to mold new followers. How far could he bend you? To which depths would you be willing to go? There was no way of knowing, but killing you felt like a waste of potential. At the very least, you’d make his remaining stay on Zanbar more interesting, even if he had to kill you afterwards, if you didn’t prove worthy.
“Then stand up, my new apprentice. Stand up and nobody will dare to look down on you again,” Maul declared.
This time, he didn’t demand you to stand up. You had to force yourself up from the ground with knees buckling and body shaking. Your body protested against the movement and the strain on your muscles. Unsteadily, you managed to stand. You finally made eye contact with the Zabrak in front of you. His bloodshot eyes glowed yellow.
Had you agreed to this if you hadn’t been so exhausted and afraid to die? Probably. But you would not have looked as pathetic as you did now: Shivering, bloodied and strained. It dawned on you why Maul hadn’t stood up before. You were standing in front of him, looking down on the man you’d call your Master from now on...and he was kneeling in front of you. Kneeling, because you had been strong enough to make him.
You had made the right choice by joining him.
When Maul saw that his gesture had the desired effect, he slowly stood up.
“Come, my new apprentice,” the two of you walked along the valley.
The remaining light had faded from the sky. Somewhere behind the little moon you walked on, the sun illuminated a huge planet. The light reflected back to Zanbar, making the night anything but dark. This big planet was Mandalore, and though it looked just a stone’s throw away, reaching it would take many hours.
Maul tracked up the cliff that had engulfed you for the entire fight. You fell back slightly, exhausted and in pain but trying to keep up nonetheless. As you reached the top, you saw a freighter of average size. It looked like it had been parked here for a while and was no longer airworthy.
“This is our base. Rest your body.”
You walked up the cargo loading ramp. Filth was your first impression. Dust and rocks had collected on the floor of the ship, Maul’s footprints were distinctly visible in the dirt. They most often lead to a crew area – a small table with a circular bench around it – and a kitchen block with what looked like a huge freezer crate. Next to the cockpit was a closed door that led, you assumed, to Maul’s quarters, since a footpath also led there. The ship stank like rotting meat.
You looked towards another closed door at the end of the freighter and approached it. It was an unoccupied crew cabin. You looked behind you for your Master’s approval, but he hadn’t entered the ship yet, so you trusted your gut and entered the small space. There was a small window that let enough light in for you to find the light switch.
The room was big enough to swing a lightsaber in, but only barely. The sleeping nook was equipped with a thin blanket and a square pillow. Both of them looked old. There was a table and a broken chair. Since the door had been sealed, not a lot of dust had settled in your room, but the air was stuffy and unpleasant. You left the door open, even if it meant letting that rotten stink in.
You crawled into the nook and fell into a meditative state. You were tired but told yourself that some meditation would be good. It had always helped you to meditate after a heavy fight or training session. Breathing slowly and concentrating on the limbs of your body that hurt had always somehow improved the pain. So, you did just that. Intentionally and carefully taking inventory of each body part, each cut and bruise that bothered you. Knowing well, that you should have patched them up immediately, but you were too fatigued.
Maul’s metallic steps echoed through the freighter. The noises passed through your consciousness; you were focused on your body. Despite your best efforts to continue your meditation as long as possible, you fell asleep.
Light shining through your window woke you up. You blinked, disoriented. Before you even realized where you were, the force unsettled you. It was so unbalanced, so dark and cold. A shiver ran down your spine and you forced your body awake to better react to the danger.
A static mumble of voices that had been there as you woke suddenly stopped and you heard a darker voice answer: “Send someone to pick us up in 8 rotations. I shall need time to assess what they are capable of.” Again, more static mumbling.
“The army better be ready and briefed when I return”, the organic voice replied.
This time, the static was clearer, louder as you had gathered your senses. It answered, “Yes, Lord Maul.”
That’s right. For a moment, the realization of what had passed threatened to crush you. You had pledged allegiance to a Sith Lord. To an enemy of the Jedi. How could you have been so stupid? Why?
Because there was no place for you in the Jedi order. And Maul was no longer a threat to you. He could have killed you while you slept. You don’t remember ever having fallen in such a deep slumber. Normally, the force held you in a state of awareness, even asleep. Considering that someone so versed in the dark side was just nearby. But the severity of your decision, gravity of your injuries and accumulation of exhaustion must have weighed heavily on you. You had passed out completely last night.
You stood up, weary of your weak knees but found them strong enough. Quickly, you disrobed to inspect your side where Maul’s kicked had nearly knocked you out. A huge, angry bruise bloomed over your rips. You carefully touched it, finding it not unusually uncomfortable compared to other bruises you have had. You pressed harder, trying to find out if you had broken rips, but found your assessment inconclusive. Movement of your torso felt fine, and you could stretch your arms vigorously without finding your injury more upsetting than a regular bruise. A relieved sigh slipped out of your mouth. This was close to a miracle.
Other cuts that you had received from sliding across the ground or being tossed around weren’t as bad or insulting as you remembered them. You should clean them, yes, but none of them were deep or looked serious.
You fixed your clothes and walked out of your cabin, now driven by the urge to satisfy your thirst and hunger. As soon as you stepped out of your quarters, you found your new Master’s gaze on you. You nodded reverently, a mix of greeting and bow, which you found appropriate.
Maul watched as you walked to the kitchen block. It was dirty with dried blood and fur. Hesitating, your hand hovered over the freezer for a moment. Then, opening the lid, you had to hold back a gag as the smell and sight of a mangled animal corpse assaulted you.
“Stars,” you hissed, letting the lid fall shut and burying your nose in the crook of your elbow to block the smell.
Maul grinned. He was leaning into the back of the bench, one leg drawn up on the seat. “Help yourself,” he mocked.
“I’ll get rations from my ship”, you announced, face still pressed into your elbow. You feared you’d throw up if you didn’t get out of the ship immediately. Maul didn’t make any indication to stop you or command you otherwise, so you hurried out.
Zanbar was a desolate moon, especially when it was light. All you saw was rock and occasionally some movement of what you assumed to be the kind of animal that was in the ship’s freezer. The walk to your Starfighter was brief, you had completely overestimated how far you had walked the day before. You packed up everything that you had on your ship, this included enough ration packs to hold you over water for twenty meals, a big canteen of water, a filter and a med kit.
The Starfighter stood silently in front of you, the metal reflecting the light of the nearby sun that was way too far away to not make it heat up. You dropped your filled backpack to the ground and put both hands on the cool metal.
Flying away was an option. You’d be free. You’d have no place to stay, but also no obligations. Free to roam the galaxy. Strangely, that didn’t sound alluring at all. You were determined to return to the freighter, to your new master, and to see what he could teach you about the force that you hadn’t experienced yet.
Back at the freighter, Maul was nowhere to be seen. After eating two ration bars and drinking half of your canteen, you felt invigorated and started to clean the freighter. You were used to higher standards by the Jedi quarters and the Republican’s army quarters on ships and hoped that Maul wouldn’t mind.
First, you switched on the conditioning to get some airflow, the moon still being eerily wind still and you had to get rid of the smell in the ship or your focus would suffer. Cleaning the kitchen block was your second course of action, because you wanted to stash your rations somewhere. You could’ve stored them in your quarters but wanted to make clear that they are available for Maul also. He might have gnawed on the carcass in the freezer (of which the temperature was way too high to properly preserve, you took care of that too), you didn’t quite know enough about Zabrak’s cuisine, but maybe rations are just a better option that he was too unbothered to ensure for himself.
You had started sweeping out the dust when Maul returned. He looked at your actions with slight amusement, but also curiosity. He had not expected you to start cleaning this junkpile of a freighter.
He made a contemplative humming sound before he commented, “I see the Jedi’s teachings are hard to shake.”
“I can concentrate better when my surroundings are in order,” you explained, pausing your brush sweeps so there wouldn’t be a cloud of dust flying into Maul’s face when he walks up the ramp. Maul walked past you and you had to swallow all of the questions you had for him.
Where had he been? Why was he on this moon in the first place? When would he teach you? What were you expected to do?
But the Jedi had already taught you to not open your mouth for every question but to submiss to the natural flow of things.
“You’re not ready,” Maul dropped carelessly as he walked past you and sat down in the crew area. Your eyes had followed him curiously.
He had started. You might as well dare a follow-up question.
“How so?”, you asked.
“Your entire life you have been brought up by the Jedi. Training someone in the dark side of the force requires strength and passion that you do not possess,” his voice was dark as he elaborated. His gaze seemed haunted by memories.
You looked to the ground, not sure if you could take issue with this accusation. Your heart was racing. Could this compromise you ever training in the dark side of the force?
“Tell me,” Maul leaned across the table and watched you carefully, “What is your worst memory of your Jedi training sessions?”
Closing your eyes, you tried to remember all of them.
“I suppose it was when I was outmatched in a lightsaber fight by someone ten years younger than me. My opponent was a good duelist, but I couldn’t even put up half a fight. There were quite a few Padawans and Masters watching. Hearing the whispers and giggles when I lost and seeing the disappointed faces of the Masters, I felt severely humiliated,” you recounted.
Maul clenched his jar. This was pathetic and it only proved yhis point. Remembering his training, there was nothing but pain. Constant humiliation, physical and mental abuse. If he even subjected you to half of it, you’d crumble. There was a tiny chance you wouldn’t. Maybe you would tap into power that might even surprise him. You had showed so much potential during the fight yesterday, and he had only taunted you a little. Cornering you like a wounded animal might unleash great power in you, but it might also end in a way he couldn’t predict. He’d prefer a force user by his side that he could control and regulate to his needs, and a Jedi is way more docile than a fellow Sith.
A little lost in his thoughts, Maul had missed you approaching the table. He only looked up when you placed your lightsaber on the table.
You had sensed the fear in him and had rightfully interpreted it as fear into your abilities. Thinking back to the power you had felt when you had crushed through the force, you felt proud...but likewise afraid. Placing your lightsaber on the table was intended as a sign of trust. You wouldn’t need it here on Zanbar under his supervision, neither for attack, nor for defense - unless he told you otherwise.
“May I ask a question?”, you asked.
“Go ahead.”
“What happened to the other one? Savage, was it?”
Maul’s eyes grew a little darker, “He was taken from me. It was on Florrum. After Kenobi cut off his arm and we retreated, the Pirates shot us. There were too many. We drifted through space for a while in a space pod. When Deathwatch found us, it was already too late for him.”
“I see. I’m sorry.”
“Pah!”, Maul laughed and stood up, towering in front of you, “You are sorry? Did Savage not kill some of your Jedi friends?”
“He did, yes”, you answered calmly mentally adding a ‘So did you’.
“Yet, I am sorry you lost your brother,” you went on.
Maul looked down on you as if your words were utterly disgusting. He was angry and you felt slightly worried that this anger would create conflict.
“Compassion makes you weak. Losing my brother was neither something I had thought would happen, nor a development of events that I welcome, but having him taken away from me...this anger fuels me. It makes me want to take revenge and this makes me powerful. This is the power you will have to embrace if you ever want to truly bend the force to your will.”
You disagreed. Compassion might sometimes make one blind, but you felt like it didn’t apply in this case. You truly felt sorry for Maul, because what he had to endure in his life was beyond imaginable for you. And this compassion for an enemy of the Jedi made you strong. It bound you to him.
“Yes, Master,” you said and nodded, lowering your eyes. You didn’t have to discuss this matter.
Maul walked back to the table and you returned to your cleaning. But you only finished dusting and then retreated to your chamber to meditate and do some light exercise to test if your bodily strength had returned. Not wanting to disturb Maul in the main part of the ship, you spent the rest of your day in your quarters, cleaning and meditating and lying down to rest as soon as it was dark outside.
Your sleep was much lighter tonight. When not unusually weakened through battle or injuries, the force usually made you aware of your surroundings. Maul lingered in the crew area for a while before he retreated to his quarters. You were always aware where he was in relation to you. You felt his energy as a constant pulse, though you technically were asleep. Suddenly, it became so strong and so overwhelming that you woke and sat up in bed. Quiet whimpering echoed through the ship.
You walked to your door and opened it. The whimpering clearly came from Maul’s quarters. You didn’t venture closer, merely listened from afar. He was quiet for a few minutes. Then the whimpering started again. Sometimes you could make out a couple of words. Chains. Filth. Power.
When you laid down again, it was harder to fall asleep. You had to meditate to calm yourself. Even when you nodded off, there was occasionally a shift in the force that startled you awake, made you angry and afraid. Then you’d drift off to sleep again.
Summary: Arthur had taken you with the gang on a job that didn't turn out as easy as it should have been. You get hurt and lose your horse, Arthur has to deal with the consequences.
Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, happy ending ofc, mentions of blood and wounds
about 2,7k words
yo, writing motivation somehow came back?? And I thought I'd finally finish this draft, though I'm not satisfied entirely but hey...something's better than nothing ig
"What the fuck?!", you jumped off Arthur's horse before he had fully brought it to a stop.
By the way you glared at him, eyes lit up in rage, he could tell you were about to start yelling. As you looked up to Arthur, who enjoyed his position of power and distance on the horse's back for a while longer, you were a sight to behold. The shirt and jeans clung to your body, dirty and torn in more places than one. Blood that had poured from your nose a few minutes earlier had now dried all over your face. You didn't look good, by any means. You didn’t even look like you should be standing. There was also fresh blood seeping through your clothes on your shoulder and leg, but apparently you hadn't taken notice of those wounds yet. You were just angry.
"You told me it was an easy job!", you accused Arthur.
The job hadn't gone how you would have liked. Though there was a sack filled to the brim with bills dangling from Arthur's horse, your horse had been shot and left to die. A bullet had hit it when the law had chased you. You had been thrown off ungraciously. Hence the bloody nose and scrapes all over your body.
"You said 'in and out, and we'd be fine!'", you yelled, stomping angrily in a circle. It looked rather pathetic. Arthur had parked you in the woods, off a beaten track amidst bramble and thicket, your circle wasn’t particularly big. Arthur dismounted and looked at you. His eyes were fixed on your injuries. The dark patches of blood worried him.
After taking the sack of money, he clapped the rear of his horse to make it run away. You were meant to hide in the woods. This was your cover, surrounded by scrub and in the shadows of the low sun. But your temper alone would alarm the law to your location if you kept on yelling.
"How could you let me come along to this shitshow?", you asked furiously, not even trying to keep your voice low.
"You insisted on coming", Arthur reminded you, his voice calm in comparison to yours.
"Because you promised it'd be easy!", you yelled back.
"Keep it down, y/n", Arthur warned, his voice authoritative but worried. You had just shaken the law five minutes ago, they might be close.
"Don't tell me to keep it down", you were grinding your teeth, shaking all over, "it’s easy for you to say, ain't it? You didn't lose everything back there!"
He nearly did.
When you were thrown off your horse, he thought you were done for. It was pure luck that he was riding behind you and you were on your feet quick enough for him to extend an arm and heave you onto his horse. He had imaged the bullets hailing into your back or your neck snapping the moment he saw you hit the ground, but you had been fine.
"It's your fault! You have no idea-“, you huff, not even sure of what you are accusing him of. It wasn't his fault, of course not. Nobody could have known the law would be on you so quickly, but Arthur was the only one around to blame. The group had split up when the law came.
"Y/n", Arthur hissed your name, trying to set the tone for a quieter conversation.
You just glared at him as if you were about to challenge him.
"Boadicea-", Arthur started, but you interrupted him angrily.
"That was months ago! My girl was - just now! Maybe she's okay…", and when you turned to leave the thicket and waltz towards where your horse might still lie, suffering and fighting for its last breaths, Arthur's "Don't!" cut through the air so sternly that it made you hesitate for a second.
But when you overcame the momentary hesitation and took another step, Arthur extended a hand and grabbed your arm. You tried to break free, physically squirming under his grip and mumbling the worst insults that came to your mind. The feeling of having been wronged had overwhelmed you, it didn’t matter that in quieter moments, some of those words you called Arthur now, you would have not even dreamed of calling him, but since your bodily resistance didn’t do much…
Arthur redid the hold on your arm, now going for the shoulder where blood was soaking through your shirt.
The searing pain was so intense, your vision faded and your knees buckled, and you also opened your mouth to scream in agony. Barely had the first tone escaped you, when Arthur swiftly muffled you with his free hand. For a few seconds, you struggled, trying to break free of his binding, but Arthur didn't let loose for a second. He huffed a "Be quiet" and when you didn't listen but continued to moan and scream into his hand, he pushed you into the next tree.
His body was pressing against yours, his hand still muffling your mouth, not caring that his hand now was a mess of saliva, snot and blood. You went quiet for a moment, desperately trying to breathe. Your mouth was covered firmly, your nose blocked with dried blood from the fall earlier and Arthur's weight compressed your lungs. The only thought you still managed was the fear that Arthur would choke you until you faint.
"Listen", Arthur breathed into your ear. Over the blood that was pumping through your ears you heard voices in the distance. The law. With your attention and silence secured, Arthur slowly lifted his hand off your mouth, more carefully holding you upright against the tree.
You were crying and choking, biting your lips to try not to sob loudly.
Arthur slid down the trunk with you until you both sat in the moisty earth. You waited in absolute silence, or as much silence as you could muster. At one point, Arthur put his hand protectively on your head and pressed it gently against his shoulder. He again didn't mind that his shirt was getting dirty but he realized that it muffled your sobs and calmed you down somewhat.
Even when the voices had stopped, none of you said anything for another minute. In the meantime, Arthur had cradled you in his arms. You had been hiding your face in his jacket. The man was itching to care for your wounds, whenever he looked at his hands which were by now crimson with your blood, he got nervous. But your hands were holding onto his shirt for dear life, so he didn't dare to move.
"I'm sorry 'bout all the things I said. I didn't mean them, you know?", you finally whispered, somewhat calmed down.
"I know", Arthur answered, though not entirely convinced. Without asking or explaining what he was about to do, he let go of you and took out his knife to cut your sleeve off to reveal the wound underneath. It was still bleeding, but it didn't seem too deep. Arthur lost no time in taking some gauze out of his satchel and patching you up to the best of his abilities.
You were still crying; it was simply hard to stop the tears.
"I just want to go back to her...what if she's suffering?", you tried to explain as calmly as possible.
Arthur, being done with your shoulder, now observed your leg. On your outer thigh, blood had soaked through your jeans. Another grazing shot, it seemed.
He sighed, fighting with himself to either slice your pants open or ask you to take them off. The jeans were definitely...in a condition, but they weren’t beyond saving just yet – in contrast to your shirt.
Arthur replied rather harshly, "They'd kill ya. The law's just waiting for anyone to come back and maybe collect a sack of money we lost. They won't have sympathy for someone wanting to check on their horse.”
"I don't care", you sobbed. You had loved that horse, dying next to it didn't seem so terrible, especially now, that Arthur pressed down on your leg to prevent you from kicking him, while slicing a gaping hole into the denim. You noticed that Arthur grew rather impatient as he handled your wound, as if he was growing angrier.
"I should have died back there-", you started quickly but Arthur interrupted you by squeezing your leg, which made you yelp in pain.
"And I'm god damn glad you didn't!", he hissed, "now will ya shut up for just a minute?!"
You held your breath as the man in front of you handled your wound. You didn't dare to make another sound, rather choking on your saliva than sighing too loud, watching Arthur struggle as his hands began to shake. He somehow managed to clean the wound before bandaging it, but when your curious gaze became too much as he struggled to knot the gauze, he stood up and showed you his back.
Arthur sniffled, than cleared his throat and you watched as his hand dipped into his satchel, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it. You didn’t exactly see his face, but you thought his movements seemed agitated.
"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice hoarse.
"God damn it, y/n," Arthur cursed, turning around to stare at you, "I thought I'd lose you back there."
You didn’t know how to reply to that, so you stared at him blankly.
"It's fine. ‘s my fault yer horse's dead. 's my fault ya got hurt", Arthur admitted, taking a big drag from his cigarette and looking down at you.
"No...", you shook your head in disbelief. Yes, you had accused him ten minutes earlier. But by now, all the rage and adrenaline had left your system, you felt nauseous and weak and regretted all the things you had called Arthur. Him of all people.
"It's fine", Arthur said, threw his barely started cigarette away and added softly, "I'd rather ya never forgive me. Had you died, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. So, I’m fine if yer angry at me."
Somehow, all of it was too much. You hit the back of your head into the bark of the tree. It only made your nausea worse, but you much prefered to simply pass out and wake up when all the agony was over. When you were back in camp, satisfied from dinner and with everyone in a good mood, happy and healthy. Not like this.
Arthur's eyes found the ends of the gauze he hadn't managed to knot, quickly kneeled down again and tied it into a knot. It was way too tight; you winced but didn't say anything. You simply closed your eyes and breathed, swallowing the bile that made your throat burn.
You heard Arthur pacing around in the small clearing that you had before he seemed to settle down at the spot furthest away from you, judging by the ruffling leaves.
The tears stopped coming after a while, but so did the feeling that you might drift off to unconsciousness, the nausea and your aching body held you wide awake. Only slowly did you dare to open your swollen eyes, who immediately fell on Arthur. He sat opposite of you, indeed the spot furthest away, his hat deep in his face, arms crossed in front of his body and only leg angled.
You raised yourself slowly on your shaking legs. Finally, the movement made you stagger and dizzy, only managing to turn to the nearest bush to be sick. Arthur stirred, putting on his hat right to get a better look at you. You saw that in the corner of the eye, so you dared to pose a question, though your voice was hoarse and strained: "Think I can go to the stream to clean myself up?"
"Sure. Don't wander off", Arthur answered. You thought he sounded somewhat patronizing, but honestly, you didn't blame him.
The stream wasn't far, when the wind came from the right direction, you had heard it gurgle in your little hideout. It was barely two feet wide and very shallow, but the cold water still revitalized you. You washed your face properly, until you were sure that the dried blood was gone, then you put your whole head into the water. The coldness was biting, but it distracted from your other injuries. You cleaned around the wounds on your shoulder and leg, trying not to get the gauze wet.
You felt much better. After drinking your fill and finally getting rid of the urge to gag every couple of minutes, you took off your boots and socks to put your feet into the cold water. Your body felt hot, as if it was running a fever already, with your face swollen and head pounding, but the icy water around your feet seemed to help a bit, even if it made your feet numb.
Before long, you walked back to the spot where Arthur was hiding. The sun had dipped behind the horizon and the light was quickly fading.
Arthur had gotten up: "I was gettin' worried."
"I'm alright", you nodded, "better."
The man in front of you nodded and swallowed back a snarky remark that would have been something like 'ya look almost human again'. Instead, he took off his hat and played with its rim.
"'m sorry, y/n. I-," Arthur started but you interrupted him by raising your hand and shaking your head.
"Don't. I am sorry. I gave you a hard time, but you still took care of me. You're way too kind to me. After all the things I said...", you admitted quietly. You wanted nothing more than to forget what had transpired between you earlier.
It didn't sit quite right with Arthur, because he knew he had been at fault for squeezing you to the brink of consciousness earlier and he was also aware that he tied the gauze around your leg tighter than he should have. And after all, it had been his job and his intel. But he knew that discussing this now would get you nowhere.
He chuckled instead: "Ya didn't give me no hard time. You were jus' hurt 'n angry. I would've been too, in yer position."
You gave him a lopsided, tired smile. Arthur whistled for his horse, which loyally appeared seconds later. He helped you on it and as soon as you both were secured on the horse, Arthur whispered softly: “Try ‘n rest a bit. Ya look like you could use some sleep.” But you had barely heard him, your eyes fell shut the moment you could rest his head on his back.
Hello :3 idk if you do requests or whatnot so Ima ask.
Would you do a childish reader
(NOT A CHILD. and not like age reg crap or wtv)
just an energetic, childish adult x Arthur Morgan? Smut if you want :))!
Arthur Morgan x BubblyFemale!Reader (Fluff, a little bit of pining?)
Author’s Note: Hiiii anon, thank you for the request! ₊˚⊹♡ I’ve bundled that description up into BubblyFemale!Reader, I hope I hit the mark - It’s ended up as small chapter-y bits! I couldn’t for the life of me work any smut in there, sometimes it just doesn’t jive. But maybe I’ll do a part 2 because BubblyFemale!Reader is soso sweet I love her and some smutty ideas did come to mind.
Word Count: 2,599
Tags: Fluff, banter, it's just a cute little time with you being a sweet little dumbass who Arthur can't help but fall for.
Arthur isn’t as fiery as he was in his 20s, it only really rises to the surface when he’s particularly tense or drunk. He’s much more keen to partake in the calm ebb and flow of the time in between scouting jobs and swindling marks. You on the other hand… You’re always buzzing with fervour, and if he’s honest with himself, you can be a tad overwhelming to be around. He’d initially thought that your bounding energy was due to the adrenaline of being on the run for weeks but it doesn’t seem to have worn off.
“-Not one bit,” He’d said to Hosea as they sat by the campfire one evening, his fingers tapping against the whiskey bottle in his hand as he pictured you, “Always yappin’, fallin’ over herself like a newborn calf.”
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you almost sound sweet on her, lad.” Hosea responded softly, a small smile on his face as he watched embers flick up and be carried off in the gentle breeze. Arthur let out a quiet, uneasy sound, shifting on the log beneath him before taking a swig of whiskey.
“Sweet? Naw, I ain’t sweet. She’s just a curious one is all.”
When he returns from jobs or hunts, you almost wind him with hugs. She does it with everyone, he reminds himself each time as he watches you scramble across camp towards him. You slam into his chest with a loud “Hi, Arthur!”. He stumbles back, looking down at the crown of your head, his arms out at his sides before he blinks and brings a hand to your head, patting slowly,
“And hello to you, too, Miss.”
“S’been days!”
“Sure has. Y’been holdin’ up alright?”
“Yeah, I‘ve been alright. Better now you’re back.”
You tip your head up, balancing your chin on his chest, looking up at him, doe-eyed and he swallows thickly, his hand still in your hair. He’s rarely the one to pull away first, too swept up in the gentle pressure of your chin on his chest, your enthusiastic embrace, the scent of your soap. And not to mention that goofy grin plastered across your face.
When Pearson finishes dinner, you’re usually the first one to jog through camp, earning a snap of your name from Miss Grimshaw to which you let out an aggrieved huff and slow down, rolling your eyes as you snatch your plate from the table and slop some stew onto it. Watching you eat is ever amusing; the way you shovel food into your mouth, humming appreciatively at the salty, hot meal. You also have an endearing (or unsavoury, as Molly dubs it) habit of talking with your mouth full and it’s not hard for your fellow camp-mates to notice how Arthur intently watches your features with the fondest of looks.
“You best calm down, girl. I ain’t gonna be the one squeezin’ chunks of rabbit outta you.” Arthur chuckles with a shake of his head only to be met with a full-mouthed scowl and the dull thump of your boot heel nudging into his calf.
After weeks of living side by side, Arthur has started to acclimatise to your sprightly behaviour. He’s found himself readily anticipating your hugs by taking in a breath, your nudges by tensing prematurely, and your ridiculous ‘Yackity-yack’ (as Uncle once referred to it as) with a roll of his eyes and a “Don’chu start now, girl.”. And despite his begrudging demeanour towards each of these behaviours, he’s found himself enjoying them more and more, and even subtly provoking them.
You’ve unknowingly graced the pages of his journal a few times, too, in the form of quick, sheepish sketches and words. He feels as though each part of his being is performing an almighty tug-o-war; you’re desired by his hands, his eyes, his pounding heart. Yet, his mind won’t allow him to want you, a constant tension laces his speech and superficial actions. There is always restraint, for your sake.
I doubt it would work out between us. A spirited gal such as her is bound to meet her match. It sure as hell ain’t me. I’d likely sap the light from her, drag her down into the dirt where I reside.
I can’t deny the light she fills me with, though. Sometimes I think that cloudy days exist because the sun decides it wants to spend the day within her.
“Where’ya off to, Arthur?” You call out, skipping across camp to the hitching posts where he is slinging his satchel over the rear of his horse.
“T’catch us all some food. Y’alright?” He asks, turning to face you fully. He tries to ignore the way his head tilts as he looks down at you attentively; one of the many subtle actions that snag in his psyche telling him ‘You’re gettin’ sweet on her, Morgan.’
“Yeah, m’alright…” You trail off, gently swaying from side to side, pursing your lips, “Huntin’, huh?”
Arthur’s brow furrows suspiciously before amusement swiftly follows, his voice lilting with a certain fondness reserved for you,
“Wha’chu want?”
“T’come with ya.”
His eyebrows raise. You? On a hunt? Holding a bow, holding your breath, having to sneak? Arthur takes a big breath and sighs deeply. That doesn’t sound like a stressful situation at all. You’re not at all the least patient person he’s ever spent time with. He’s not been avoiding each opportunity for time alone with you at all. He looks at you for a long moment, rolling his tongue about his mouth, narrowing his eyes. You’re standing eagerly, staring straight up at him, practically vibrating.
“Y’ain’t gonna take no for an answer this time, are ya?”
His grumbled question is answered by the mischievous smirk that curves your lips. Arthur’s shoulders drop and with another sigh, this time one of concession. He nods back towards his horse,
“C’mon, then.”
Your smirk breaks into a triumphant grin and you bolt to your tent to grab your things.
“And wear some proper boots-” He calls out after you, “-Not those scruffy things with the soles peelin’ off. The ones I gotch’ya last week that you still ain’t worn.” He folds his arms, forcing himself to focus on the clouds instead of allowing his thoughts to stray too far into what this hunting trip was going to be like and the slight nervousness coagulating in the fluid between his bones.
Much as Arthur expected, you natter away for the entire ride to the hunting spot and he genuinely wonders how you fail to tire. You ramble about everything under the sun from how much you hate embroidering to the ‘stupid big bug’ you saw in your tent the night before to how Uncle has started to teach you to play the banjo.
“Woah!”
“What?”
“Look at those horses!” You point enthusiastically.
Arthur chuckles, his focus following your finger to the pack of wild horses racing through a nearby field.
“I see ‘em.” The words leave him warmly as you watch the horses and he watches you.
The briefest of pauses passes before you puff out a breath through your nose, and Arthur’s lips form a knowing smile. He can almost hear your brain whirring with questions and things you’re noticing. He stays quiet, still smiling, and waits for you to speak, enjoying the moment of respite with you.
“So, where’re we goin’?” You ask as you look at Arthur, tilting your head playfully.
“Place called O’Creagh’s Run. S’not too far.”
You purse your lips, your focus drifting to a squirrel scuttling across the path and into the trees. “What kinda critters’ll we find there? S’it pretty?”
“Oh, lots o’ types’a critters. Deer, bears, ducks, rabbits. You name it, s’probably there… And yup, s’pretty-” He turns his attention to you, silently taking in the fit of your jeans and the way your body gently sways in rhythm with the rambling pace of your horse, “-S’real pretty.” Arthur allows himself a second more before looking back to the path.
When you reach O’Creagh’s Run, Arthur takes it upon himself to choose a spot and set up camp, letting you run about and take in the beauty of the new area. He can’t help but think of a dog that bounded up to him in Valentine the day before.
“Oh, Arthur. Pretty don’t do this place justice!” You shout to him from somewhere within the thicket as he pulls a bow over his shoulder before strapping a quiver to his thigh.
“Try not to run about too much, girl. Don’t want you spookin’ the game.”
After a moment, you jog back out to the campsite, huffing, a frown dragging your features south. Arthur makes his way to you with another bow and quiver, readying them for you, but he stops once his eyes meet your face.
“What’s gotten up your craw?”
“You’d think such a charmin’ place’d be chock fulla all sorts of flowers. I can’t find any anywhere.” You complain, still looking around you for any sign of flora. This earns a hearty chuckle from Arthur and he shakes his head while stepping closer to you.
“Naw, they’re a little more East of here.” He says softly before handing you the bow and lowering to one knee to strap the quiver around your thigh, “We ain’t here for flowers anyway.” He concentrates on tightening the buckles of the quiver until it’s flush with your thigh, his fingers grazing over your jeans. You go unusually quiet. When he looks up at you, you’re watching his hands with the faintest blush on your cheeks. Arthur puts it down to your running about like a madwoman, though the heat spreading through his chest tells him otherwise.
“Now, stay low and keep your voice down. And no gigglin’.” Arthur instructs gently, looking at you briefly over his shoulder before stalking through the thicket after a small herd of deer. You nod and give a comical salute as you follow,
“Yessir.”
Arthur’s expression is one of exasperation as he grumbles out, “Good girl.” before turning back around. You creep along behind him, your own bow readied, peeking over his shoulder. The crunch of your boots in the grass, the occasional soft sniff or hum, the feeling of your body at his back; it’s all heating him up quicker than the sunlight streaming through the copse. As you near the herd, Arthur lowers his voice further,
“Alright. I want you to watch what I do. No shootin’ from you until I think you’re ready.”
When he doesn’t receive a response, a huff escapes him. He knew it would only be so long before you caused trouble. With a curious frown, he halts and looks over his shoulder, only to see you skulking off into the thicket towards an opening.
“Hey-” Arthur hisses, “-Girl. Get back here.”
You’re already creeping out of the brush, batting at the twigs getting caught in your hair as you go.
“Girl.” He growls under his breath. He gives one more glance to the small herd of deer before sighing impatiently and striding through the brush after you.
When he reaches the clearing, he’s met with the image of you, bow dropped into the grass, squinting into the viewfinder of your camera. He softens despite his frustration, allowing himself to appreciate the way the late afternoon sun highlights your lustred skin, the way you’re just about balancing to get the shot, until his dreamy gaze lands on your choice of muse.
A bear.
One that is facing away from you, but a damn bear nonetheless. The swirling warmth in his chest exits through the shuddering breath that escapes him.
He quietly places his bow on the floor and inches towards you, keeping his steps as soft as possible. He makes quick work of clasping a hand over your mouth, his other arm wrapping roughly around your waist, yanking you back against him and shuffling back into the brush.
“You stupid?” He spits, his breath puffing against your skin, his mouth grazing your ear, “Tryna get yourself killed?”
“Mm– Arthur-” You whine in protest, your speech marred by his rough palm pressed against your mouth. He feels your teeth and tongue forming the syllables, wetting his skin and for a split second it throws him off. His next swallow is to tame the buzz in his head, before he tightens his hold on you, dragging you further back into the copse, to safety. You grab at his forearms as you stumble,
“Mm– Arthur– Get off–”
“Shu’ch your mouth–” He grunts into your ear, “Dumb sheep ain’t got the right to bleat.”
When he finally releases you, you meet him with a lower, clutching your camera tightly.
“I ain’t no dumb sheep–”
“Oh, you ain’t?” He laughs wryly, “Okay, sure, ‘cause standin’ out in the open a few feet from a bear is smart, is it?” He gestures towards the opening and narrows his eyes at you as he takes you in. Your face is flushed a deep pink, you’re still catching your breath from the surprise. You huff out a breath through your scrunched nose, and it takes Arthur a steady long breath in to not let out an abrupt laugh, thinking you look like an angry calf. Sweeter on her by the second, Morgan.
“Okay, well–” You raise a finger at him, as if to start on a tangent, yet what comes is not of much worth nor thought, “-You ain’t– I just wanted– It wasn’t lookin’ at me!”
“Even if it weren’t lookin’ ach’u, it was one change in the wind away from smellin’ you. Now, c’mon–” He shakes his head, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you the short way back to the camp.
Arthur makes you cook dinner as a punishment for giving him “a damn heart attack” and you oblige, directing the occasional ornery glance at him as you stir the small stewpot.
“Don’t gimme that look, girl.” Arthur exhorts as he takes in a mouthful of rum.
“Lucky I don’t spit in this here pot.” You grumble and he blinks, his brow raising at your attitude. He swallows, giving you a look.
“Lucky I don’t leave you stranded in these woods for that bear to find.” He gestures toward the thicket with the neck of the bottle.
Your stirring pauses and you scowl up at him, the glow of the campfire glimmering in your eyes. Your words puff from your lips in a more petulant way than you’d planned.
“You wouldn’t.”
A grin pulls at Arthur’s mouth, revealing his teeth, an expression you’ve grown to know only graces his features when he’s truly having fun. It causes your own snarky expression to falter, your defiance morphing into a lovesome warmth and plunging into the pit of your stomach.
“You know better than to provoke me, Miss.” Arthur shakes his head and glugs another mouthful of rum before continuing,
“Besides, spit or not, I’d still eat it.”
The groaning sound of repulsion that his words elicit from you serves to draw a surprisingly rich and bubbling laugh from Arthur. You find yourself wanting to do anything and everything to hear it again, to quickly snatch it up from the air and lock it beneath your ribcage, to nestle your heart within it; but all that comes out is waggish judgement.
“You’re wrong in the head.” You begin stirring the stew again, catching it just before it begins to burn. Arthur leans back a bit, a puckish glint in his eye,
For a uni course, I can submit a fanfic as final assignment. And since I've been absent for quiet a while and I know yall are craving touch starved Arthur....this is your chance to give me your favourite scenario for a short touch starved Arthur x reader story!
keep em sfw, pls, if you want me to actually pick your request :))
I have so many stories in my draft. Help me decide which one to finish & post first! They all are sort of from angst to fluff :D
Angsty Tomboy: Arthur seems to be dismissive and unhappy when you returns to camp with short hair...however, there is a fluffy twist.
Drunk stranger: A drunk woman chews Arthur's ear off with how bad her life has been going recently. After she says something, Arthur isn't sure if she's gonna hurt herself on the way home, so he decides to escort her.
Pregnant: Arthur arrives just in time to save you from some Murfrees who had robbed you and your husband on your way home from a grocery run. He had been too late for your man, who's lying dead in the dirt. When Arthur sees that you are very pregnant, he wants to make sure you are well cared for.
Job gone wrong: After a bank heist, you lose your horse. Arthur barely manages to pick you up from the dirt while fleeing from the law. After heading into the woods, you let out your frustration on Arthur, who has a hard time dealing with your grief and anger. Of course, a fluffy ending.
Summary: The life at your cabin after the train heist...
tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"
Masterlist
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
reminder that d/n stands for whatever name you chose to give your female dog
6800 words
It took Sadie and Arthur a while to shake the Pinkertons after freeing Abigail in Van Horn. They rode fast and un-coordinated, not paying much attention to the direction they were heading to. As long as there weren’t any gunshots fired from that direction, they urged their horses to go at a decent speed.
A few more minutes after the last shot had been whizzed past Arthur’s ear, they slowed down their horses.
"Ladies! Hold up a moment!", Arthur holstered his gun and jumped off Sadie's horse. In their hurry to flee the Trading Post, Sadie and Abigail had mounted on Arthur’s horse.
"Arthur”, Sadie complained immediately, “There's no time.”
"There's time", Arthur huffed. The man turned towards Abigail, beckoning her to jump down in his arms. Abigial hesitated, feeling the uneasiness of the situation. Her question cut the air sharper than the bullets had done.
"What happened to John? Where's John?", she inquired. Though her voice was strong, there was an underlying quiver that revealed her fearing the answer.
Arthur couldn't bring himself to respond right away, but his eyes prompted Abigail to jump off the horse.
"He-", Arthur mumbled, "I don't- I don't know."
Abigail stuttered a few incoherent words, not sure what to say, ask or think.
"He got shot off the train. I sent y/n after him, but I don't know if...", Arthur swallowed.
He didn't know if either of you had made it. Even if you had taken the fall well, there was no guarantee that the law hadn’t killed you, or Micah. He also wasn’t sure if you had retrieved John and if he had survived in the first place. There were simply too many variables he wasn’t aware of and couldn’t account for.
"No", Abigail wailed. Sadie now jumped off the horse too, gripping its reins with a sad expression.
"I don't know if they made it", Arthur finally admitted aloud, swallowing thickly.
"We can just...", Sadie started but interrupted herself, "It makes no sense to start wondering. Jack and Tilly are safe, and they should be at the cabin by now."
Sadie was way more collected than Arthur and Abigail were. The latter just looked at each other as if already in mourning. Sadie put the reins of Arthur’s horse in his hands, then walked over to hers and mounted it. Abigail climbed on its back a moment later, leaving Arthur standing next to his horse, looking unsure.
"Come on, let's ride", Sadie suggested.
He hesitated.
He felt the urge to ride back to camp. To confront Dutch with what he had just learned from Milton, that Micah had been the rat all along. It was foolish, but he wanted revenge, wanted to kill Micah. And then there was the wish to just head West and not look back. Abigail and Sadie would reunite with Tilly and Jack.
Part of him didn't want to know if John or you had made it. It would hurt way too much to learn that both or either of you had died.
Arthur watched the setting sun, lazily petting his horse’s neck.
If it wasn't for Sadie, whose voice cut through the silence with: "Arthur. They're waiting" he might have really gone back to camp, or West. However, Sadie looked at him determined, as if she never doubted that you would wait for him at the cabin. Abigail looked queasy and sad, tears running down her cheek. But even for Abigail, Sadie’s calm and certainty was somewhat ensuring.
"Okay", Arthur huffed and mounted his horse.
When you saw Sadie and Abigail ride up the path to your cabin, you pulled yourself up. Your body ached and the more you moved, the more difficult it was to breath. As quickly as your bruised body would allow, you limped towards them. Your heart sank the closer you got, and you still saw only one horse. One damn horse with Sadie and Abigail.
But when there were only a couple of yards left and the clouds dispersed, revealing the moon, the other horse came into view. You recognized the familiar silhouette that only lacked its signature hat.
A wave of relief washed over you and for a second you thought you might faint, wasn’t it the anticipation and fear that had prevented you from falling unconscious – or asleep – earlier. You locked eyes with Arthur and limped faster towards him before Abigail’s voice cut you off.
" Is John-", she almost choked on a sob and her voice sounded meek, as if she had been crying for hours straight.
"Snoring like a pig", you replied quickly, before you collected yourself and halted next to Sadie's horse. Abigail must have been even more worried about her boys that you had been about Arthur, so you forced a smile on your lips and said calmly: "He's fine. He 'n Jack are sharing a bed. They're both okay."
Abigail began to cry again. Happy tears, clearly. Sadie rode up to the fence of your garden and dismounted with Abigail, who couldn’t wait to get into your cabin. Arthur and you remained behind.
He jumped off his horse and for a little while, you starred at each other as if trying to figure out if all of this was a dream. What were the odds of you having fallen asleep after nursing John and now you were dreaming of Arthur’s return. The blood splattered across his jacket looked awfully real though.
He was the first to break the silence and the eye contact.
"Lost my hat, did ya?", Arthur commented dryly, clearing his throat and knowing damn well that those weren't appropriate words for the reunion.
"It's in the hou- damn you, Arthur!", you wailed. You had tried to supress your anger about the fact that the man threw you off a speeding train. Had you remained on the train, crouching behind those wooden crates, your body might resemble more Swiss cheese than then the living and bruised shell you had to put up with at the moment. Still, he could have given a warning. He could have let you jump instead of pushing you.
Would you’ve been brave enough to jump on your own? Probably not, but still. There was a good chance that either of you wouldn’t survive this, so this definitely hadn’t been an appealing good-bye.
Arthur was leading his horse by the reins, his other hand found the small of your back and with this gentle connection, you walked towards the cabin.
"'m sorry, darlin'", the man apologized. He gave you a tried smile and by the way his eyes glistened, you could tell that he probably had been just as worried about you.
Abigail had long gone in, but Sadie was still busy with her horse, unloading weapons and provisions.
You wondered how secretive the relationship the two of you lead was still supposed to be, but you didn’t much care, as you pulled Arthur into a hug. For fearing that you’d never be able to do that, it was quite a relief to bury your fingers in his sweaty and dirty shirt. He reciprocated the hug and pressed you closer, which hurt so badly that you couldn’t breathe for a second. But it felt worth it.
"Didn't hurt ya too much, did I?", Arthur inquired, peeling you off him to have a proper look at you at scan for injuries.
"No", you lied, not feeling like explaining or handling more his guilt. He might have noticed how pressed your "no" sounded, how it was almost like wheezing, but he didn't ask any further.
"What's the plan for tonight?", Sadie's voice interrupted the moment you and Arthur shared. Still, Arthur’s heavy hands remained on your shoulder where he had put them to inspect you.
"I'll hide the horses in the forest. It's safe as long as they stay close to the cabin and if anyone comes by, they won't suspect that the cabin is packed with high bounty degenerates", you explained.
Sadie acknowledged you suggestion with a nod, before it was arranged that you and Arthur would keep watch for the rest of the night. You agreed a little reluctantly to this, because your body screamed for some sleep and recovery, but it would give you moments alone with Arthur, and somehow you needed this even more. Sadie retired into the cabin to put her bedroll wherever she'd find a free spot. It surely was crowded by now, but you didn't want to check. You remained outside with Arthur.
You settled in front of the house on the lawn. The night was warm, probably one of the last summer nights you'd get before fall would make the darkest hours wet and cold. For a while, neither of you said anything.
It was only after a while that you began to fill each other in on what happened.
Finally, you mumbled: "Sorry…for all of it."
Arthur had spent most of his life following a man who had turned into a lunatic, trusting the advice of a madman and betraying the two people he had once called his sons. You had sympathy for how Arthur must feel.
"Ain't yer fault", Arthur replied.
He was slouching, his fingers drawing circles into the dirt.
"Still…", you sighed. Mentally, you had been done with the gang when you left them a year ago. Part of you already knew you wouldn't return on your own accord, but Arthur’s case was different. Hadn't it turned out the way it did…he would have stayed. Even if it meant going down with the gang.
"'s okay, I think, in the end, we did our best", Arthur said.
He looked at you, and his eyes spoke books. Without you, Arthur thought, he might not have helped all those people. If he hadn't admitted returned to you after Guarma, admitting that that he had been thinking of you,…if he hadn't been confronted with the knowledge that he could still love somebody,…this all might not have been worth it for him. You had assured him that he could always return to your place, and he couldn’t decline that offer. You had always made him feel at home, even though he might not have been deserving of your hospitality at first.
"Aw shit, I almost forgot", you pulled out Mary's letter from your pocket, it was all crumpled up, "I saw it on your table today morning and I- I didn't know if you had read it yet….it might be important or something…" you mumbled your last words.
You had been mad at Arthur for throwing you off the train. The hours between nursing John and waiting for Arthur were a rollercoaster of being angry and being worried. You had thought about reading the letter or burning it. But you reflected that if you had as much as a few lines written by Arthur when you had left camp all heartbroken, you would have cherished them like a treasure. So, who were you deny an already betrayed man some words from a former lover. Despite it making your stomach turn a little.
Arthur took the letter with a straight face, but from the little twitch on his cheek you knew that he had felt it as soon as he grabbed it. He turned the letter around and a gold ring fell into his palm.
For a while, Arthur stared at it, a little shocked, only a small "oh" escaping his lips. Then he put it into his pocket and held the letter out to you.
"Wanna read it?", his voice was hoarse and a little weak.
"What?", you ask confusedly, "No? I guess. Why?"
"Jus' askin’…", Arthur shrugged and then he threw it into your small camp fire. It was burning when you asked: "What was it about?" of course, assuming he had read it.
"I don't know", Arthur admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"What?", you stared at him in shock, "You didn't read it?"
"No."
"Why would you then-", you looked at the black, crumbling outlines of the paper. Even if you had risked burning your fingers, there was only a small corner of the paper left where the writing was still readable. After you had finished the thought, even this corner had crumbled to ashes.
“Oh you bastard!”, you complained, the curiosity now getting the better of you, “Why didn't you say so! I would have read it! I thought you knew what she wanted!!"
Arthur was amused at your hysteria and shook his head, mumbling a " I don't getchu women" but then he gave a proper reply: "Sending me back the ring I gave her, says all I need to know. She never sent it back, even when she got married…'s in the past now. It doesn't matter, y/n."
You nodded, calming yourself a little as you realized Arthur’s sullen mood.
"Will ya give me a minute?", he asked.
He waited patiently for your "'course", before he stood up and walked off.
You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Arthur came back, but you had laid down, stretching your tired limbs in an attempt to get more air into your lungs. Your ribcage still hurt from the fall, and you suspected that you might have cracked a rib or two, but there wasn't anything you could do about it. You heard Arthur's steps coming around the house again, you tried to sit up without grunting in pain.
When Arthur appeared, you leaned against your cabin wall as casually as you managed, looking up to the man. He gave you a sad smile. He just stood there awkwardly, looking at you briefly before his eyes went off into the distance, scanning the night for anything unusual. Finally, you asked: "Do you want a smoke?"
Arthur drawled his casual "Sure" and took one cigarette from the package you held out to him. You were still trying to find your matchbox, when you heard the man strike a match on his boot and lighting the stick. He took one big drag and you couldn’t stop thinking about how handsome he looked, the light of the small flames barely reaching his face and making the shadows dance. It was only a brief moment. The intense orange glow of the flame extinguished as Arthur threw the match into the campfire.
Arthur sat down next to you – right next to you, so your bodies were touching. After another drag, he handed the cigarette to you.
The both of you finished it together in silence. Even though he didn’t say anything, Arthur counted three yawns that you tried to supress as the cigarette wandered between you.
“Get some rest”, he offered in a hushed voice.
“I’m on guard duty with you”, you shook your head. It pained you to refuse the offer, but you didn’t want Arthur to stay awake on his own. Not after the day he has had. “I’m gonna walk around a little”, you added, forcing yourself on your aching feet.
The darkness swallowed you soon enough, but Arthur stayed put by the cabin. You walked around, going to a cliff and kept your eyes open for riders or lights in the distance that would hint at Pinkerton search parties. But everything was quiet and dark.
Quarter of an hour later, you dropped next to Arthur again. The words for today seemed to run dry and you realised your eyelids becoming heavier.
When you slouched and dropped against his shoulder, Arthur glanced at your sleeping body. From this minute forward, he tried to move as little as possible, though an earthquake wouldn’t have woken you.
The first day at the cabin was chaotic. You were the only one who could make a supply run, since your face wasn’t necessarily connected to the gang, so you took your horse and rode off to the nearest farm to get some food and d/n. It was decided that having a dog around would not only cheer the mood a little and distract Jack but was also additional security and a great help for you and Arthur, who agreed to take night watch.
Aside from your trip, the day consisted of hunting, fishing, and cooking. Soon, part of your garden was stacked with hay to feed the five horses that were lazily grazing in the forest behind the cabin. There was no “taking a meal together” or having a group discussion about how plans, as people entered and left the house constantly. Sadie was on patrol; you took Jack to the pond to fish, and when you returned, Arthur had gone off to hunt some rabbits. John alternated between the house and the garden, seeking the quieter spot. For him, the first day was mostly about resting, because he complained about his aching shoulder.
In the afternoon, Arthur fell asleep under a tree and with John seated at the table for a late lunch, you took the opportunity to lie down in bed and catch a few more hours of sleep.
It got quieter after the sun had set. Only you and Arthur were seated outside the cabin, again lighting a small campfire to keep you company through the night.
“I’ve been looking forward to this”, you sighed and briefly closed your eyes.
“Stayin’ awake all night?”, Arthur huffed jokingly.
You didn’t open your eyes but whispered: “Spending some time with you. Alone.”
You felt Arthur’s gaze drilling holes into you. Still savouring the crackling of the fire with your eyes closed, you were startled by the touch of a larger hand on yours, which had been resting in the cool grass.
“’s that okay?”, Arthur mumbled after taking a few seconds to process his own move.
You nodded while opening your eyes, looking at a rather flustered man.
“More than okay”, you told him. The smile on your lips calmed him down.
…
“So, nothing has changed, huh?”, Tilly grinned at you.
The both of you sat leaned against the fence in the sun. Tilly had been reading, and so were you. But since Arthur had started to chop wood, your brain made the letters in front of you blur. Tilly had picked up on the occasional glance you casted towards Arthur.
“What do you mean?”, you asked curiously.
“You and Arthur. You still like him”, Tilly stated. Tilly had known about your crush ever since you had started to develop feelings for him…and seeing that was years ago, her statement held some truth.
A hint of a smile worked its way onto your lips: “Yeah. But this time I think he just might like me back.”
Tilly nodded, “Mary-Beth and I talked about this. Even before we knew that he found you, we suspected that he might have found someone. And we prayed that it wasn’t this Mary Linton all over again.”
“No, he actually burnt the letter-“, you started but were interrupted by Tilly: “He’s watching us!”
When you looked up, Arthur’s eyes were already on you. He had loaded some of the split logs under his arm, the sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Where do you want the wood, Miss y/n?”, Arthur asked with slightly raised voice, so you’d hear him properly.
“Behind the house is fine. Wait, I’ll help”, you were about to stand up when Arthur made you halt: “You better rest! Ya didn’t sleep well last night.” He chuckled warmly and stalked off to the firewood pile behind the house.
Tilly grinned mischievously: “So that’s what you do on guard duty? Sleeping? And he watched over you, apparently.”
You gulped down your embarrassment. It had been impossible to keep your eyes open last night, though the nightmares were a bit of a downer and had roused you again and again. Arthur had been awake, mumbling some reassuring words and once, you weren’t quite sure if it had been a dream or not, put a strand of hair behind your ear, that had annoyingly tickled your nose.
…
Around ten that night, you and Arthur settled on your positions outside the house. The rain had been drizzling down for the last two hours, but Sadie had helped you set up a cozy little fort in the garden. A canvas tarp stretched a spot big enough for you and Arthur to lie under comfortably without getting wet and shielding you from the light wind that might have blown the rain into your faces. Instead of a campfire, two lanterns flickered on either side of you, casting everything in a soft glow. And because of the afternoon’s lack of sunshine, the damp and cold soil had prompted you to lay down plenty of straw, creating a dry barrier between you and the wet ground.
Neither of you spoke until minutes had passed after the last noise had come from inside the cabin. Then you sighed: “Nobody’s going to find us here, right?”
You hadn’t seen any Pinkertons or law ever since arriving at the cabin, not even far in the distance, so you were feeling quite confident that it would stay that way.
“I guess”, Arthur agreed with a chuckle, grabbing a bottle of gin “better that way. Tilly and Sadie will probably be leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ve heard.”
Because there was no law in sight, everyone had decided it was probably safe for them to leave. Your little cabin was simply too crowded to go on living like this for long. The amount of food needed to feed six adults, a child, five horses and a dog put additional strain on everyone’s nerves. Everybody had agreed that this wouldn’t be sustainable in the long run and that they had to move on before the weather got too cold anyways.
“The Marstons might stay a little longer”, Arthur commented and when you only nodded in reply, he asked carefully if you were okay with that.
“What? Sure, why shouldn’t I?”, you asked with furrowed eyebrows.
“Jus’ checking. I don’t take you to…be the kind o’person to kick them out if they got on yer nerves”, he explained, a smile playing on his lips.
You snorted – but he was right. The nightly watches with Arthur together were something you’d come to enjoy. Even if it wasn’t for that, you weren’t sure if you would have kicked them out any time soon. Sure, John was bickering a lot and complaining about his injuries – which were healing perfectly – and sometimes kids can be exhausting, but still.
You thought aloud: “It’s good for Jack to stay a while. He’s been on the run with the gang since he was a baby. He’s safe here and he gets along with d/n.”
Arthur mumbled in agreement and the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. You briefly looked at each other before you scooted closer and leaned against Arthur. The tickle of his beard against your forehead made you smile, a mix of cheer and calm washing over you.
“It’s time for a trim again”, you remarked with a smile, letting your fingers run through his beard. Arthur tolerated it without protest, well aware that you were officially his barber now and that he shouldn’t be reading too much into you scratching his chin.
“You just cut it barely two weeks ago”, he chuckled, amused by how much you seemed to enjoy yourself.
“Yeah, I just thought…”, you mumbled, “might get in the way while kissin’…”
You smiled innocently while Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes quickly locked onto yours and his gaze spoke volumes. It was easy to get lost in his eyes – you knew their colour perfectly well, though the dim light of the lanterns didn’t do them justice. And yet you saw the longing in his eyes, begging for an explanation. The man was yearning for another hint that it would be okay if he met his lips with yours right now. God, he hadn’t thought about much else the past nights. He kept telling himself that it was too soon and that he should hold back, just like you kept telling yourself to wait until the adrenaline of surviving the train heist had completely left your systems.
The suspense just lasted a moment too long so a “Woman, ya want me t’shave right now or…?” could leave Arthur’s lips before you closed the distance between you.
Your lips didn’t want to part. From the awkward side-leaning pose you shifted and scrambled, never breaking the kiss, until you were in a comfortable position. Arthur’s hands found your hips, and he pulled you onto his lap, eliciting some suggestive noises from you that made him forget there were people sleeping just behind the wall he leaned against.
Your hands were just as restless as his, raking through his hair, kneading his shoulders. When Arthur squeezed your sides and a weird-sounding groan escaped you, he paused for a moment. It pulled him out of the moment slightly, even though you were now rocking against his thighs. Arthur’s hands squeezed again and this time he caught your furrowed eyebrows. He hadn’t held you with a tight grip and he didn’t take you for the type to be overly sensitive, so your reaction threw him off enough that he pulled back, looking at you suspiciously.
It didn’t matter how suggestively his name rolled off your lips and how much you begged, when you tried to pull him closer again, Arthur held you at a distance, eying you.
“What’s wrong?”, Arthur asked with corcern.
“Nothing”, your eyes and senses felt dazed from making out, but since Arthur’s fingers were digging into your bruised rips, it became hard to keep a straight face. When he caught your expression of relief as he let go of your body, something made click for him and though it was unceremonious and blunt, he started to unbutton your blouse.
“A-Arthur, what-“, you stammered, trying to restrain his hands to no avail. He saw the bruises before even having reached the last button.
“Y/n…?”
Despite having all the time in the world, you hadn’t thought about an excuse yet. Trying to retreat from Arthur’s lap was met with his hands being placed on your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Only when you stopped struggling did one hand search for the lantern, lifting it to illuminate your torso.
“Jesus-“, Arthur groaned, his eyes widening at the sight of your bruised skin, “Why didn’t ya tell me?”
You tried to figure out the tone in Arthur’s voice. It must have been somewhere between disappointed and reprimand, but deep down, you knew he was feeling guilty – exactly what you had tried to avoid by not telling him.
“I didn’t want you to worry”, you admitted honestly.
Arthur’s voice dropped to a low murmur, a tone usually reserved for threatening people. Which made it even scarier when he used this ton to mumble to himself. “That was me…”, he grumbled as his fingertips ghosted over your bruises.
Arthur remembered this rush of uncertainty and anxiety after he had pushed you off that train. He should have warned you, should have told you to jump, hell, at least turned you around so you’d know when you’d hit the ground. He had stopped worrying after he saw you alive and fairly well; only to realise now that you’d put on an act for his sake.
“Yes”, you said firmly and gripped Arthur’s face with both of your hands, “You did what you had to do. I wouldn’t have jumped off that train, Arthur. I would have never jumped myself.”
Arthur met your gaze, his eyes now slightly wet and irritated. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as if he couldn’t grasp why you would ever justify him breaking your rips.
“They would have shot me off”, you added with a dead-serious face, “There’s no way I would have left you otherwise.”
“Still, I – I…”, Arthur stuttered, carefully closing the buttons of your blouse with shaky fingers.
“No. Stop it”, you interrupted, “I would have died on that train. You know it.”
Arthur closed your blouse without saying anything, then, when the silence became to deafening, he huffed: “So that’s why you snored like a monster the last couple o’nights. You couldn’t breathe.”
Your cheeks became warm and you crawled off Arthur’s lap as quickly as your tired body managed.
“I hate you, Arthur Morgan”, you mumbled, sitting down on your spot next to him, staring into the light of the lantern.
“I know ya don’t. Yer fool enough to like me…”, Arthur smiled carefully into your direction.
That much was true, you thought. Your heart grew when you remembered how quick he was with opening your blouse, how carefully he had touched your bruises. And then you remembered how you had even got into this situation. You had been in the middle of something!
When you swiftly looked up to Arthur, he read your intentions as if you had said your thoughts out loud.
“I know, darlin’…I want ya just as much”, he said bashfully, you almost saw a light blush on his cheeks, “but I don’t want to hurt yer any more.”
“You’re not going to. We can just-“
“You rest some”, Arthur interrupted in a tone that suggested there was no room for discussion. You sighed and lay down on your bedroll. Your dissatisfaction about how the night ended was clear to Arthur when he looked at you and saw a rather gloomy expression. He reached over to extinguish the lantern next to you.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere”, Arthur said, thinking this would be sufficient to address your worries, “we got plenty of time now.”
“Yeah”, you mumbled, not really believing it. Sadie and Tilly would leave tomorrow. The Marstons would probably leave in a week or two. You wondered if Arthur was going to leave. You heard from Sadie how hesitant he was to ride back to the cabin, and you knew that there was part of him that just wanted to head West, back to the open prairie with no civilization for miles on end. There was a chance he’d pick that life over the one you could offer him right here and thinking about that put an even heavier weight on your chest than you already felt.
You were too scared to admit it openly, so you just wondered in silence until you fell asleep.
The next day was spent with prepping and planning, trying to make out a secure route for the women to leave the area. Arthur, to your great dismay, hadn’t made it a secret that you had a cracked rip or two and Abigail held a lecture on hiding injuries. You were doomed to vegetable cutting and reading to Jack, stuck to the cabin and its garden.
Arthur and Abigail were the only ones who took your injuries dead-serious. When you tried to take a big pot out of a cupboard, Arthur appeared behind you and did the job for you. Tilly and John teased you relentlessly about it. John jokingly said that you shouldn’t move so much when you picked up a piece of carrot that had rolled on the floor.
“Jealous, Marston?”, you shot back, “Wish you’d still be coddled like that, huh?”
With Abigail’s focus on your injury, John had lost his status as person in need for care and he wasn’t exactly happy when he was called outside to feed and brush the horses, since one of his left arm was still pretty much useless.
With Tilly and Sadie gone, your bedroll finally moved inside again, and it was the first night where Arthur shared guard duty with John.
The days continued, a little quieter and not as crammed as those before. After one week, you started to enjoy living with this group of people. Your injuries healed well and at the end of the week, Abigail allowed you to take Jack fishing. Arthur and John, in the meanwhile, had started to work on a bigger bedframe. Your old one was still broken and wobbly and since Abigail and Jack shared the bed every night, a bigger one would come in handy. Nobody mentioned it explicitly – and you feared that you were the only one thinking it – but if Arthur were to stay with you, you were in desperate need for a bigger bed.
Three days later, you dared your first ride to Annesburg. After you had given everyone at the cabin a haircut, you decided it was time to catch up with your regulars in town. You used their gossip as a way of getting information regarding the Pinkertons, and apparently, they had left town. There wasn’t more valuable information than that they had left, and they had gone South, which you knew wasn’t a route that Sadie and Tilly picked.
Another two days passed before John and Abigail decided to pack their bags and move. Fall was in full swing by now and the leaves were dropping off the trees like crazy. They planned to head West and later South. On their last night, John and Arthur got drunk, and you joined in with pleasure.
The night was a blur of singing and yelling mundane stories at each other. After a couple swigs of whiskey, Arthur became more touchy, openly wrapping his arm around your waist. John watched this curiously, as you and Arthur had never been so affectionate in front of others. But you enjoyed the attention. The night was cut short when one of your funny stories about a client had John and Arthur make such a fuss, that Abigail stormed out of the cabin.
“Jack is trying to sleep! Shame on you John, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow”, she scolded.
Arthur was in a good mood, so he stood up with a certain spring in his step: “Uh-oh, Marston! We’re gonna leave you to it!”
Arthur pulled you up with him and you stumbled out of the garden and into the woods for a nightly “patrol”…which was just a drunk walk on which you could laugh and scream without jeopardizing an innocent boy’s sleep. From telling jokes and drunk flirty banter, you quieted down after a while. Your arm snaked around Arthur’s to keep each other steady – and close.
After what felt like an hour of aimlessly wandering around were walking towards the cabin again, passing your little pond.
“Remember when I caught ya bathin’ in it?”, you recalled smugly.
“Sure”, Arthur grunted, walking up to the edge. You accompanied him, taking in the serene reflection of the moon in the water. The wind rustled the leaves in the woods behind you, sending tiny waves over the undisturbed surface. You knew there were fish sleeping down there. Suddenly, Arthur freed his hand from your grip and instead gripped your arm.
“How ‘bout we make it even?”, he said with a mischievous grin, giving you a gentle push.
You felt like you were about to topple over into the cold water, but Arthur’s grip on your arm was firm and stabilizing. The near fall left you with a wave of nausea and curses flowed from your lips like a waterfall.
“Ya son of a-“, Arthur was quick to interrupt you with a kiss.
You knew that John couldn’t see you from the cabin, even though you could spot the campfire in front of the house with the slim man sitting there. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough, and the distance was too big; he might only see two vague silhouettes, if he was even looking.
The kiss deepened and Arthur steered you away from the water until he met a tree. His hands had already slipped under your shirt as yours fingered his belt buckle, when he stopped and buried his face in your neck.
“No”, he complained, though you felt the grin on your skin, “I don’ wanna be drunk for this…”
“You sure this isn’t just an excuse because you don’t wanna hurt me”, you asked. Your sides were still bruised, though you felt significantly better and the pressure on your lungs had dissipated almost completely.
“That too”, Arthur admitted with a sigh, peppering the crook of your neck with kisses before pulling you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head.
You were slightly disappointed, but bringing a little common sense into this, you knew that the forest wasn’t specifically the best place for sex. Especially drunk and with cracked bones. The hug lasted so long, you might have dozed off for a few seconds, but it was the rustling in the bushes that let both of your ears perk up. D/n came striding up to you, tail wagging and tongue out.
“Look who found us!”, Arthur exclaimed. He loved the dog. As soon as she appeared up, the hug ended and Arthur squatted down, dangerously swaying, to pet her.
“We should head back”, you suggested, “D/n’s probably alarming us ‘cause John fell asleep.”
And right you were. When you walked through the gate, you found John passed out and snoring.
The entire morning was spent getting a waggon ready for the Marstons, loading it with what supplies and money you still had. By lunchtime, they were all packed. It was a cool fall day. There were maybe three weeks left until you, so close to the mountains, would see the first snow. Everyone took their time saying good-bye. While John and Arthur went over the route one more time, you chatted with Jack. You had decided to gift him one of your favourite books. Though it was still way too difficult for him to read, you told him that eventually, he’d understand everything.
You hugged Abigail who thanked you again and again for going after John that night and for offering your place as hideout. While you were busy with bridling John’s horse in front of the waggon, you listened to Arthur’s and John’s conversation.
“Thank you, brother”, John shook Arthur’s hand affectionately.
“No need to thank me, couldn’t have done it alone”, and Arthur’s glance met yours for a moment.
“What are you gonna do now?”, John asked, climbing up the waggon to take his seat.
“Oh”, Arthur huffed, “Not sure yet. But I’ll see you again. You too, Abigail”, Abigail hugged Arthur who then helped her up on the waggon. You stepped aside, leaning against your fence. Nothing more needed to be said, and with kind nods, John spurred the horse on. Jack was busy waving good-bye to you and Arthur until he was so far in the distance, that you couldn’t properly make him out anymore.
“So…”, you swallowed thickly, knowing there was no way around the question anymore, “how long do you plan on staying?”
You stared in the distance, focusing on the trees, the sky…anything but Arthur who stared holes into you.
“Ya want me gone or something?”, he joked, lighting a cigarette.
“No!”, you looked at him earnestly, “I’ve just been wondering…’cause it should be save to leave…head West and all…”
“I’ll stay here. As long as ya’ll have me”, Arthur said, putting all the meaning behind those words. He could sense your anxiety, and he figured you had been anxious for the last couple of days, which explained all the funny and sad looks you had given him.
“I won’t kick you out”, you reaffirmed, not sure how to feel about Arthur’s statement yet.
“Good”, he chuckled, a puff of smoke escaping his lips, “…was kinda countin’ on that.”
When he saw your still unsatisfied expression, he gave you a kind smile softly murmured your name. “I think I told ya before, but…I love ya.”
Ever since Arthur had returned with Sadie and Abigail from Van Horn and saw you alive, he had known that he’d stay right here with you. All his thoughts about leaving to go West, avoiding society that would eventually creep up those hills and maybe even reach your secluded cabin – all those thoughts paled in comparison to the feeling of being at home here with you. But Arthur realized that he might not have expressed that well enough for you to understand.
“’ve been a fool before, y/n. And I’m sorry for it”, Arthur sighed, “But if ya don’t mind…I’ll stay here as long as you’ll tolerate an old bastard like me.”
You chuckled at his words and realized that for the first time since falling from the train and crawling to collect John, the pressure on your chest was gone. It made you wonder if most of it had been your injury or your anxiety about the uncertainty of the relationship.
“Mhm”, you hummed, a relieved smile appearing your lips, “it’s gonna be real hard…but I think I can manage a couple of years.”
Arthur chuckled. He put his arm around you and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss onto your temple. You hugged him, inhaling the smoke and sweat off his jacked.
It was Arthur who breathed close to your ear, whispering: “Wanna head inside? There’s somethin’ I’ve been wanting to do for a damn while now…”
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Thanks for the wait lmao and sorry for all the suggestive suspense, I can't write smut :)))
Amidst a Crashing World - Last Chapter Sneak Peek!!
dropping a few lines of the last 'cause I need y'all to peer pressure me to finish the chapter!!! (it's been unfinished in my drafts for three months heh)
It took Sadie and Arthur a while to shake the Pinkertons after freeing Abigail in Van Horn. They rode fast and un-coordinated, not paying much attention to the direction they were heading to. As long as there weren’t any gunshots fired from that direction, they urged their horses to go at a decent speed.
A few more minutes after the last shot had been whizzed past Arthur’s ear, they slowed down their horses.
"Ladies! Hold up a moment!", Arthur holstered his gun and jumped off Sadie's horse. In their hurry to flee the Trading Post, Sadie and Abigail had mounted on Arthur’s horse.
"Arthur”, Sadie complained immediately, “There's no time.”
"There's time", Arthur huffed. The man turned towards Abigail, beckoning her to jump down in his arms. Abigial hesitated, feeling the uneasiness of the situation. Her question cut the air sharper than the bullets had done.
"What happened to John? Where's John?", she inquired. Though her voice was strong, there was an underlying quiver that revealed her fearing the answer.
Arthur couldn't bring himself to respond right away, but his eyes prompted Abigail to jump off the horse.
"He-", Arthur mumbled, "I don't- I don't know."
Abigail stuttered a few incoherent words, not sure what to say, ask or think.
"He got shot off the train. I sent y/n after him, but I don't know if...", Arthur swallowed.
He didn't know if either of you had made it. Even if you had taken the fall well, there was no guarantee that the law hadn’t killed you, or Micah. He also wasn’t sure if you had retrieved John and if he had survived in the first place. There were simply too many variables he wasn’t aware of and couldn’t account for.
"No", Abigail wailed. Sadie now jumped off the horse too, gripping its reins with a sad expression.
"I don't know if they made it", Arthur finally admitted aloud, swallowing thickly.
"We can just...", Sadie started but interrupted herself, "It makes no sense to start wondering. Jack and Tilly are safe, and they should be at the cabin by now."
Sadie was way more collected than Arthur and Abigail were. The latter just looked at each other as if already in mourning. Sadie put the reins of Arthur’s horse in his hands, then walked over to hers and mounted it. Abigail climbed on its back a moment later, leaving Arthur standing next to his horse, looking unsure.
"Come on, let's ride", Sadie suggested.
He hesitated.
He felt the urge to ride back to camp. To confront Dutch with what he had just learned from Milton, that Micah had been the rat all along. It was foolish, but he wanted revenge, wanted to kill Micah. And then there was the wish to just head West and not look back. Abigail and Sadie would reunite with Tilly and Jack.
Part of him didn't want to know if John or you had made it. It would hurt way too much to learn that both or either of you had died.
Arthur watched the setting sun, lazily petting his horse’s neck.
Hi!!! I just wanted to let you know that I read all of Chance Encounter tonight (wayyyyy too late I might add ive got work in the morning and I’m screwed lol) and it’s so so gorgeous I loved every minute of it. Their relationship is so slow and multifaceted and I’m gonna be thinking about this for weeks. And I loooooved the way they went on their little adventures together but there was still so much plot outside of them!! I was so sucked in haha. Honestly, chapter 17 healed something in me. I wish my first time had been like that, but the reader having had a bad first experience and then having that with Arthur sort of made me feel…seen, I guess, and hopeful. I’m sorry if this is tmi!!! I just wanted to let you know that you are such a talented writer and that I appreciate your work. 🫶🏼
Thank you! :) It's always nice when I hear from someone who binged Chance Encounter, because it's my longest story to date. It was also my first 'published' fanfiction (not counting anime stuff I wrote as a 14 y/o) and it really surprises me how it ""blew up"". I'm happy that you liked chapter 17 and it did something for you! It was a pain in the a** to write and when I got your message I went back to read it. Honestly, I cringed so bad that I wanted to gouge my eyes out (I'm just not a smut writer) but the chapter is out there! Maybe it also makes some people die internally, others, like you, might find it healing. I'm glad that it might not be as horrible as I think. Thanks for your message and I hope you managed work fine, despite the late night ;)
Summary: You follow Arthur back to camp, who isn't so happy about the decision. Yet, you are convinced that you have to be there for the last train heist of the van der Linde gang.
tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"
Masterlist
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
8000 words
You tried to take your time while following Arthur's tracks. A ride through Murfree country never had been one of your favourite past time activities. Since you had to ride through the territory to reach Annesburg, you were familiar with all its paths and knew where Murfrees could hide; but the familiarity didn’t change the fact that you just preferred to not be in danger. If you had a job to do in Annesburg and had plenty of time to spare, you would ride around the territory, but if you had to be quick, you always had your rifle and gun ready. Today, you’d rather be quick and follow the tracks directly. Arthur had a decent head-start and there was no way you would arrive at camp simultaneously.
Soon, you heard noise in the distance that you immediately associated with camp life; the clattering of plates, mumbling, occasional shouts. The noise was still muffled because of the forest. It was eerie, really. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it seemed to be misty and dark. If you had still been with the gang when the decision was made to camp here, you surely would have protested.
Already, you were awfully close to camp, but there was nobody standing guard. Maybe things had significantly changed since you last were part of the gang, but you wondered...because back then, when their bounties were still low, there still was someone keeping watch pretty much all the time. You rode along the earthy path and tents appeared. You scanned the campgrounds to look for someone familiar.
It didn't take long before eyes were on you. Javier was the first one to approach, greeting you in a friendly manner while you dismounted. Soon, a small circle had formed around you. Miss Grimshaw with mixed feelings about your long absence and sudden return; Tilly and Mary-Beth who wanted to know what you'd been up to; Karen who offered you a beer. Through the crowd of people, you saw Dutch and a sleazy blonde guy emerge from the darkness of the cave while Arthur put his head out of his tent to see what the commotion was about.
You couldn't dwell long on Arthur's expression, his mouth slightly open, fists clenching, while you walked past his tent to approach Dutch, who strolled towards you with open arms.
"Miss y/l/n!" Dutch greeted you, his big hand taking yours and shaking it as if you were business partners meeting to discuss a scheme. His hand was warm and slightly moist, which disgusted you, but you forces yourself to put on a grin. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beat up to your throat, you were this anxious not to reveal that you had Arthur had reconnected.
"Dutch," you nodded. You weren’t sure if more formalities would have been appropriate, but you had never called him “Mr van der Linde” and you saw no reason to start doing so now.
"Good to have you back! I had sent for you a while ago...", Dutch locked eyes with Arthur for a moment, who still stood by his tent, flabbergasted, "Rumour was you were dead."
"Well", you smiled charmingly, "I didn't want to be found just yet. I had some loose strings to tie up, wouldn't have wanted to get the gang entangled with my private business."
Dutch looked at you with a touch of doubt. So did the man with the blonde hair, you didn’t appreciate how he checked you out. Not just to find out if you weren’t a trap and had the law behind you, but purely sexual, trying to determine what you hid under your clothes. His gaze was unsettling.
"Anyways", you continued, "I read the paper recently and figured you'd appreciate an extra gun."
"How did you find us?", the blonde guy interrupted.
"Some of you guys can be tracked down quite easily", you smiled sympathetically, "I had some work in Annesburg and...well, your grocery runs..."
You'd rather blame Pearson for leading you to camp than Arthur. As far as you were concerned, you hadn't seen Arthur since he had broken your heart a year ago.
Dutch chuckled and it sounded strangely cold and tense, "Good to know we've got you back. We wouldn't want you as our enemy."
"Never", you smiled honestly, "Just tell me what needs to be done, I'll do it. I owe you for letting me roam for a year."
Dutch put a hand on your shoulder, then invited you to get comfortable. The remaining day was spent with talking to people, putting down your bedroll and sneaking some spices into Pearson’s stew. It was a matter of getting accustomed to camp life again, and frankly, you enjoyed having other people around. The only thing you avoided doing was getting close to Arthur and he didn’t seem keen on approaching you either.
By far the best aspect of being back at camp was catching up with everybody. You hadn’t realised how much you had missed all those familiar faces. Whenever you did a chore, you actually felt helpful, because there were people that needed and depended on you doing your part. Playing with Jack for an hour was rewarded with Abigail being thankful and looking way more relaxed. Putting some more spices in Pearson's stew was appreciated with winks and relieved smiles. But you never forgot the purpose of your return. Three days had passed, and still, not a single word had passed between you and Arthur. Your worry grew that the man might be seriously angry at you.
While you thought about this on your third night, tending to the camp fire while everyone else was slowly retreating to their bedrolls, you saw Micah approach. It was his low chuckle that made you look up.
Now, three days had been plenty of time for the girls to warn you about him and his two suspicious companions. Apparently, he managed to sneak them into the gang without getting Dutch’s actual approval first – and you knew that wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do. Your muscles tensed as Micah closed the distance between you.
"Miss y/l/n", he made a half-assed bow before sitting down on a chair close to you, "I think we never had the pleasure of a proper introduction."
"You know who I am, I know who you are, Mr. Bell", you said coldly, focusing on the flames, "I don't think we need more introducing."
"It's just…", the man uttered and made some weird noises with his mouth, as if he was licking his lips, but you weren't looking at him, "I don't know if I can trust you. You just appeared, all of a sudden."
Raising an eyebrow, you responded: "You mean like your pawns? Joe and what-was-his-name? Pete?"
You observed Micah shift uncomfortably in his chair before replying: "Cleet and Joe know how to fight."
"So do I", you shot back sharply. Finally, you looked the man in the face. The warm, flickering orange of the fire cast him in a light that made his features look more intense than they were at daylight. The shadows danced menacingly across his face. You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Micah Bell, but you knew Arthur didn't like him, neither did Abigail or Mary-Beth...or anyone, really.
Micah made the mistake of placing his hands on the table and leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper: "Women like you-"
But you swiftly interrupted him, drawing your hunting knife and driving it into the table next to Micah's hand. For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed dangerously and you feared he'd take the knife and gut you. Instead, he leaned back casually with a chuckle: "Yer a feisty one, aren't you?"
You swallowed, unsure if you were brave enough to continue this conversation. Making an enemy wasn't exactly your plan, especially if Micah could, in any way, become an inconvenience for your little escape plan. But you sighed, stood up and said with the steadies voice you managed: "I recommend you don't find out." You left the knife in the table, just to spare you the embarrassment of failing to pull it out of the wood smoothly.
You turned your back and strode away, your stomach churning with the adrenaline of the confrontation. Normally, you wouldn't be so bold…but "normally" you didn't have to deal with guys like Micah. Sure, the gang had seen their share of members that were disrespectful, especially towards women – but never like this. Micah’s aura alone made you shiver.
Making your way to your horse, you soothed your nerves by tending to the animal, offering it a few carrots and stroking its mane. Patiently, you waited until Micah retreated from the fire and went into the cave. As the camp settled into quiet stillness, only disturbed by the rustle of leaves and the sound of your horses’ hooves, you retrieved your knife and headed back.
As you passed Arthur’s tent, you caught a whisper of your name. You paused, curiously.
The flaps were partially closed, but when you peeked inside, you saw him standing next to his table, the warm light of a lantern warmly filling the tent. It almost looked cozy, certainly better than your bedroll on the dirty and hard ground. Arthur’s gaze was intense as he looked at you. You asked "Yeah?", hoping he’d clarify if he wanted to talk or something, but Arthur didn’t reply. Hesitantly, you stepped inside his tent, your hand still holding the canvas open, just in case you read the situation completely wrong.
It was only when you came closer that you saw his features were irritated. He approached you with a big step, grabbed you by the arm and pulled you further into the tent, so nobody outside would see that you’d just entered
"What the hell were you thinking?", Arthur spit at you, eyebrows furrowed and the grip around your arm tightening.
"What I was thinking?", you tried to speak calmly.
You knew exactly what he was referring to. Arthur had picked up the conversation as if you had just walked into camp five minutes ago and not like three days had passed already. You continued: "That I won't sit tight for a week and wait to see if you've made it out."
"Y/n...", Arthur sighed disappointedly.
"Arthur please", you wailed, trying to loosen his grip around your arm. He let go, not before his thumb lightly caressed the area his fingers had been digging in, as if to apologize.
You looked the man straight in the eye. He was still somewhat angry, but so were you. Though you found your anger insignificant under the scorn of this big man and you hated being on the receiving end of it.
Arthur finally averted his gaze: "I can't save you too."
"You won't have to", you replied sternly.
Arthur sat down on his chair, sighing as if he had just been told his mother had died. He didn't look at you, standing there like a scolded child.
"Did you read the note?", Arthur asked after a while, referring to his good-bye letter that you had crumpled and disappear under your bed, before your eyes could read any sorry, love-sickening words or promises that wouldn’t be kept.
"No!", you replied quickly, "I saw you left one, I didn't bother."
"Look, Arthur", you tried desperately to get the man on your side again, "I don't know how the train heist'll go. Maybe you die, maybe I die. Maybe we'll fail to safe whoever needs saving. But then I got at least...four days left to spend with you."
Arthur looked at you sadly.
"Because I won't go back to my fucking cabin and mourn you like I've mourned you the last months. I'll keep you alive. Or I die trying, I don't really give a fuck", tears pricked your eyes. Gosh, this place was depressing. You wished you could speak more calmly, more put together...but you understood why everybody behaved like a nut-case around here. Somehow, the forest sucked out all the joy you have.
"Okay", Arthur sighed, and he looked like he could understand or was at least ready to end the discussion. He opened his posture a little, nodding towards him as if to invite you. You approached slowly, not quite sure of what he expected you to do.
"Come 'ere", he mumbled. You sat down on his lap, snaking his arms around his body while he did the same. The two of you had been close when you made out. There had been barely any distance between you, when you had cut his hair. However, this was different. You nuzzled your face into his neck in the silence of the night, with no other intention but to be close to him. Finally, you had time to bask in his scent.
It was a calming scent, familiar somehow. Homely, in the best of ways. It calmed you down. All the while, Arthur enjoyed your closeness just as much; pressing you tighter to him, enjoying the proximity he had denied you when you had asked if he wanted to sleep next to each other’s. He didn't know how much he had needed that. A warm, loving body in his embrace. He felt your fingers restlessly scratching his jacket, as if they tried to complain about the extra layer. He felt your breath down his neck and your body squirming on his lap.
The two of you sat like that for a while. Arthur started to caress your hair, letting his fingers run through your strands while he waited for you to calm your breathing.
Arthur realized that he was making a mistake. He loved the way your body pressed down on him, loved how your body moved and reacted to his subtle touches. He absolutely feared and hated that he would crave the feeling forever. He had denied sleeping next to you only a few days prior because he knew both of you would suffer if either one dies. It’s similar to being parched, only to be allowed a small sip of water. Enough to satisfy you for the moment, but making you realize how much you really craved water. This embrace was the same.
"Can't stay here, can I?", as if you had read his thoughts, you smiled sadly and peeled yourself off Arthur. He moved his arms reluctantly from your body and glanced to his cot.
He'd prefer it too...to have you lie on top of him, sleeping peacefully.
You spoke again before he could answer: "I always fear that this camp'll be overrun by Murfrees at night."
"Charles 'n I killed probably most of ‘em. There wouldn't be enough to bother us", Arthur tried to reassure you. His voice was a little dreamy, as if the image of you two sharing a cot was still very vivid on his mind.
"Yeah...", you replied and stood up. Arthur's hands slid into yours, so that you now were holding hands as you stood next to him. The affectionate gestured surprised you a little, it send a pleasurable tingle into your stomach.
"Good night, then", you sighed and brushed your thumb over Arthur's back of his hand.
"G'd night, darlin'", Arthur mumbled. He might have been disappointed that you came to camp but softening him was as easy as putting old bread in a bowl of soup. And there he was, all soft and soggy after five minutes intimacy. Admittedly, you felt softened and calmed down too. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep after your little run-in with Micah, if it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Arthur had now made up. Your goal and purpose was in clear sight again; somehow protect this man and be there for him, in case Dutch or anyone else betrays him again.
Satisfied, you walked to your bedroll and crept onto in, falling asleep quiet easily.
-
Nothing much would be happening until the train job in a few days – at least, that was what you believed. Of course, you were wrong.
The next day, you had volunteered to go on a grocery run with Uncle and Pearson. You had never been particularly close with them, but it wasn’t a detective’s job to see them whisper about something behind your back. While you waited in front of the grocery store and watched the young boys that helped out load your carriage, the two men walked off to the train station. They gave you some mumbled excuse, you had barely understood what they had said, but now you watched them in the distance as they ran their fingers over the train’s schedule. On their way back to you, you could pinpoint the precise moment they realised your eyes were on them, because they straightened their backs and put on innocent smiles. You gave them a sympathetic smile in return.
On the ride back, there was an uncomfortable silence between the three of you, before Pearson finally asked: "Why did you come back, y/n? You said you saw the papers...you should know that this won't last much longer..."
"Well…”, a quick grin hushed over your face before you forced yourself to sound more serious, “I said I would be back. And I'm loyal to Dutch." As soon as the word “loyal” had left your lips, you saw the men stiffening, Uncle shooting dangerous gazes to Pearson.
You let them hang in suspense and fear a few moments longer, before you smiled and snorted: "Oh, relax. I'm just fucking with you."
The flabbergasted faces of the men made you laugh.
"I came back to help Arthur to get everyone out before it's too late", you said truthfully and before you could add something, Uncle laughed triumphantly: "I knew it! Mary-Beth will be so happy to hear that you two are together!"
Your cheeks grew warm so quickly, you had barely registered Pearson’s words. Then you fumbled with the reins and tried to put some force behind your words: "I never said anything about being together with Arthur."
"But you were in his tent yesterday, weren't you?", Uncle asked in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer, and so did the girls and whoever he gossips with, apparently. So, you didn't say anything and chewed your inner cheek.
This was the perfect moment to change the topic and make the men aware that you figured they want to leave camp. You would help them - this was why you were there, after all.
Finally, you managed to swallow and said: "Anyways...I have guard duty from 2 am until the morning. You can slip away during that time...if you're in Annesburg before the sun's out, you should be in the clear", you said, eyes on the road.
"You're a good one, y/n", Pearson said happily, "Though I don't quite agree with the way you overseason my stew-"
"I can't overseason what's not seasoned in the first place!", you interrupted loudly, but it was in a friendly manner.
They briefly talked about what they'd take with them, that Mary-Beth would join them and you listened, already coming up with excuses on how it could happen that three people disappeared while you had guard duty. It felt like you had it all figured out. It was a relief to know that three people would be taken care of by tomorrow. The harder was the punch in the face when you arrived back at camp and found most of the men missing.
The Indians had come and asked for help at the oil factory, and Dutch had jumped at the opportunity. You had a terrible feeling, but you knew that riding after them wouldn't make much sense, so you bided your time until most of them returned...without Arthur and Charles, that is.
The question burned on your tongue. Where was Arthur? Was he okay? But as far as you were concerned, officially, nobody knew that the two of you were on speaking-terms. You couldn’t exactly walk up to Javier and ask him where your lover was. Maybe, you could have asked John, but you would have felt like an idiot for being so worried after only a couple of hours.
Arthur returned at sunset, grumpy face and slouching shoulders. When you approached him, he shot you a warning gaze. Not a dangerous gaze that made you think he was mad at you, but a silent warning, a peep at Dutch, and then he disappeared, walking off to eat an apple at the outskirts of camp. Charles hadn't returned, so you thought something might have happened to him, but Sadie finally filled you in on the details. The chief's son had been shot, was probably dead now, but nobody in the gang had been hurt, as far as she knows.
You waited a few more minutes, before you stalked after Arthur, finding him sitting in the dirt and watching the river in the distance.
Arthur briefly twisted his head in your direction as if to make sure that it really was you. He gave you no sign of recognition or invitation to join him, you simply heard a sigh, then saw some more smoke puffing from the cigarette between his lips.
"Dutch…he…He saw that a man was about to gut me, and jus’ walked away”, Arthur stumped his cigarette on a tree like an angry child would kick a stone, “Eagle Flies’s dead, 'cause of me…"
You weren’t quite sure if you understood what had happened at the oil factory, but you sensed that Arthur was extremely upset about it. Somehow, you couldn’t just say something bad about Dutch, because it didn’t matter if he had left Arthur – you hadn’t been there to begin with. Yet, staying at Arthur’s side was the sole reason you now sat down in the moist earth of this unsettling forest. Even now, you though you heard somebody scream in the distance and the darkness swapped places with the setting sun quickly spread throughout the woods and distorted shadows in the distance.
There was only little space left between you and Arthur, as you sat next to each other, watching water flow down the river. If anyone from camp saw you like that, they could probably put one and one together; but right now, you couldn't care less.
Had you ever seen Arthur so hurt and unsure of everything? You remembered, unfortunately quiet vividly, how under the weather the man was when Mary had to reject him or when he heard that she had married another. Back then, the whole camp felt Arthur’s sour mood and had done its best to offer distraction and ease the burden he normally carried a little bit. Today, you were the only one who seemingly had noticed that he wasn’t feeling well. Given the hostile mood at camp, this was probably for the best.
"He was a good guy, then? Eagle Flies...?", you asked quietly, sensing that Arthur would like to say a few more words about it.
"Yes. Hot headed and easily twisted by Dutch's speeches, unfortunately. Dutch did more damage to the tribe than..., well, I don't know. He was the chief's only son. And Rain Falls is...maybe wiser than a fool like me can ever hope of becoming", Arthur was brabbling, mumbling his words, making them tricky to follow. You tried your best, nonetheless.
"Thought I'd stay with 'em. Help 'em bag and leave...", Arthur admitted, his fingers brushed over the soil, picking out dried blades of grass, "Charles sent me back 'nd said there's people here needing me."
This caught you off guard. Leaving with the tribe would mean leave you behind with this mad bunch of degenerates, with Micah and his companions that looked at you like they just waited for an opportunity to catch you alone. Could you blame him, though? His father figure and mentor was ready to let Arthur be killed off.
It was at this point that you truly realised: The gang would be no longer.
Also, Arthur had no obligation nor responsibility for you. It had been your choice to leave your comfortable home to try and protect him here. Maybe it had been a bad idea to begin with. You should have stayed at your cabin and prayed or asked witches to bring Arthur back to you. The two of you weren't a couple. Arthur might have admitted to feel something for you, but that didn’t have to mean anything…not in the world he lived in.
You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Arthur was leaning in before he pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple.
"I love ya", he mumbled.
Your heart skipped a beat. Or several, actually, and your mind was blank.
Two minutes of quietly trying to convince yourself that the outlaw next to you, can’t possibly commit to anything, that the last time you spent together at you cabin and made out could have been a dream, and now he straight up told you that he…
It was your surprised and blank face that prompted Arthur to say: " 's okay. Ya don't 've to say it back. Or feel the same. 's just...almost dying...", Arthur swallowed. There was something like fear in his eyes, like he was rethinking his entire life, regretting the paths he had walked, the people he had killed. And not having told you sooner.
"You won't die. Not if I can help it", you assured, those were the only words you managed to say.
Arthur chuckled sadly: "Bullets travel fast."
You looked at each other as if you had walked into a dead end. Arthur had just told you that he loved you and you couldn’t say it back…or were afraid to say it back? You had already said something similar, a few days back, why did this feel so much more important?
Then you shared a hesitant smile.
"Oh, yeah”, you started again, “Pearson, Uncle and Mary-Beth are thinking of leaving tomorrow at dawn. I'm on guard duty, so they'll have safe passage."
"Okay", Arthur nodded, "come 'n see me at night before ya take yer post. I got s’mthing for yer..."
You nodded confusedly, but with peaked interest.
Nobody had to wake you at 2 am, because you had barely managed to fall asleep. It would be another half an hour before you swapped with Javier, so you took your time to warm up some coffee. Cup in hand, you sneaked into Arthur’s tent.
The man was completely knocked out and snoring on his tiny cot. As much as you loved the idea of sleeping in his tent with him, both of you would never fit on it. Arthur slept peacefully, sprawled out and without fear that someone hostile would sneak up on his. And yet, here you were. Disturbing him felt like a crime, but he had practically told you to wake him.
"Arthur", you whispered and put your cup down on the table, lighting the lantern so he'd see you when he woke and not get startled. When he didn’t react, you repeated his name slightly louder.
Nothing. You thought hard; was it really that important to wake him up? Couldn't it wait until the morning? If anyone, Arthur really deserved his sleep. The curiosity though...
"It's me," you said, now lightly touching his shoulder. This did the trick, Arthur opened his eyes and shot up. It reminded you of trying to pet a cat when it was asleep – it would always wake up as if you had stepped on its tail.
"Oh", Arthur's shoulders relaxed when he realised it was you. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, adapting to the dim light in the tent and groaned, "Gimme a second."
"D-don't worry", you stuttered, now definitely feeling bad for waking him.
You watched as he stretched his legs and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake the sleepiness. After a few more moments, he stood up and walked over to his wardrobe chest. With an aching and tired groan, he pulled out a holster and a gun belt which was already dressed with bullets.
"I wore this when I was 'bit smaller", Arthur commented, his voice deep and gravelly. He walked up to you, placing the holster on the belt and then gently putting it around your waist. Though sleep-drunk, Arthur tried his best to not touch you anywhere inappropriate. You smiled affectionately as Arthur closed the belt buckle and mumbled: "I won't let you go in a fight with your gun crammed into yer pants."
That being said, he pulled your gun out of your waistband. You didn't stop him, as he briefly inspected the weapon, finding it in acceptable condition and dropping it into your new holster.
"Might need to adjust it, t’have it sit right. Guess you got the rest of the night to figure out which height you wanna wear it", as Arthur's raspy sleep voice faded, you noticed a sad undertone.
"Thank you, truly", you said, rattling the belt lightly to make it sit better.
"Sure", Arthur tried to crack a smile.
You held eye contact for a few seconds. Something needed to happen. Either one of you had to admit that they were deeply worried the other one would die later tonight or a hug, a kiss...anything. You knew that Arthur felt the same, that he was itching to break the silence, but neither of you found the courage.
"I'll...go on guard duty now. Wouldn't want to see Uncle and the rest try'n slip away with Javier still keeping guard."
"Sure", Arthur repeated and sat down on the cot, more than ready to go back to sleep, "Call on me if there's trouble."
You nodded, took your cup and walked out the tent.
The swap went smoothly, as were the first one and a half hours and then you heard something in camp stir behind you. About quarter of an hour later, Uncle, Pearson, Mary-Beth and Karen stood before you. Well, Karen was lying on a waggon, snoring. Uncle had mounted the horse that was pulling the little waggon and the other two were on foot, smiling at you hesitantly.
"You've got some money on you?", you asked, almost in a whisper.
"God damn it, we should have known that she wanted something for leaving us go!", Uncle cursed, and you couldn't quite tell if it was being sarcastic or not.
"No, you idiot", you complained, as friendly as you managed, "Money for your train. For a life afterwards, I don't know...to get a some fucking distance between you and this rat hole."
"Oh", you heard Uncle mumbled and it irritated you that he really believed you would want them to pay.
Pearson answered: "We got a few bucks. Should last for at least one or two stations."
You shook the head and pulled out a ten-dollar bill – your savings and the only money you had taken from home. "Take some more then, and hurry. I'll sweep the tracks behind you. Stay on the main road", you quickly rambled because you realized the sooner they leave, the better.
It was dark, the light of the moon barely reached the ground and the dim lantern they had was soon swallowed up by the trees. You grabbed an old broom and swept away their tracks for about 50 yards before you went back to your post.
Before most people started rising, you put on some coffee and used the last bit of porridge that had been in a big sack at the supplies pile to make some proper breakfast. For one thing, nobody would start wondering about Pearson's absence as quickly and for another, you might as well use the last pit of porridge, ideally, you won't be here tomorrow to suffer from its absence. You'd either be long gone or lying dead in a ditch as food for ravens - either way, the porridge won't be of any use for you. Neither would it be for Jack, John, Abigail, Arthur...and the other half decent people that were still here. Ideally.
Nobody seemed to notice that people were missing, expect for Miss Grimshaw - but she kept quiet for some reason. Arthur gave you a knowing smile when he passed you to get some coffee, as you retired again to catch up on some sleep.
Your nerves woke you some time before noon. The men were loading their weapons and brushing their horses. The suspense in the air quickly got rid of your remaining tiredness. This was your first big job, after all. Every moment your brain woke up from its slumber, you realised that you had never done anything similar before. You had robbed the odd fella and held up a couple of waggons…but robbing a train with army pay roll? You wondered if you hadn’t overestimated yourself.
As you stood up and got dressed, you noticed Arthur standing close to the cave and having a discussion with Dutch. The cold glares they exchanged sent shivers down your spine.
As you passed Arthur’s tent, a letter caught your attention. It was, besides the lantern, the only thing that occupied his table and you were sure that it hadn’t been there at night. You wouldn’t have though much of it, hadn’t you caught the name “Mary” on the cover. A quick glance at Arthur reassured you that he was all packed up, now somewhat agitatedly walking to his horse with the rest of the men. You made a couple of big steps, grabbed the letter and you eyes passed quickly over the lines “From Mary, To Arthur” before it startled you that there was something besides paper in this cover.
This was when Dutch’s shout: “Let’s ride!” echoed through camp. You slipped the letter into your satchel and joined the others.
You would never have admitted it, but you were anxious. Again, in your mind, you went through the clientele that you had robbed before. Drunk fools, rich looking travellers that weren’t significantly armed…any situation where you clearly had the upper hand. when you ran with the gang. Alone, you had stopped one or the other rich looking traveller. This, however, would be a battle for survival. Ideally, you had the money and would slip away before anything happened, but everyone knew that bullets would be flying sooner or later.
While riding, you stuck close to Sadie. You craved talking to Arthur, hell, as much as a comfort-providing look would have been great...but there wasn't any. Your anxiety only rose when he rode off with John to get some dynamite and you were stuck with the rest...You knew Sadie was fine, the others were not entirely trustworthy. Micah used the absence of Arthur and John, maybe the only men who would have been ready to defend you, to fall back in the group and make some “small talk”.
"You sure you're ready for this? Fine lady like you shouldn’t play outlaw with the men", Micah chuckled sarcastically. You were glad when Sadie interrupted him and threatened to cut his balls off, if he didn't shut up. You couldn't have come up with a witty reply for the life of it, you worried way too much about how the next two hours would turn out. The feeling of having to throw up was somewhat overwhelming, had you opened your mouth, you doubted something good would have left it.
Only when Arthur and John rejoined the group, you calmed slightly.
Things took their run. You had to ride hard to catch that train, your mind going crazy about the commands Dutch yelled every opportunity he got. You didn't understand why he wanted you to board the train - Sadie and Cleet were to board the train half-way, John, Arthur and you should jump on at the end. There wasn't any time to talk back or complain, even though Arthur didn’t seem to agree with that either.
You steered your horse closer and closer to the waggon as Arthur rode up beside you: "Jump!" he yelled, because he had noticed you hesitated for a few seconds too long. You sent him an unsure gaze, which he took as a sign to board the train first. He made it look easy, jumping on a train that was going at the speed of...well, a train. Your horses had trouble keeping up.
But as Arthur extended a hand to show you that he'd catch you, you inhaled, untangled your feet from the stirrups and took a leap of faith. Unceremoniously, you crashed into Arthur, who did his best so you wouldn't fall over. You had barely collected your bearings, when John yelled at the two of you: "Come on, push!"
The thought that this has been a terrible idea crossed your mind multiple times as you struggled to keep up with the two men. It was them who shot most of the enemies, you were happy with sometimes hiding behind a corner and aimlessly firing at the guards, so they'd have to hide and give John and Arthur the time to reload. Hunting unsuspecting deer and rabbits did not compare to shooting at humans, you concluded, as you missed three shots. But your attempt was enough to make the guard hesitate before aiming his weapon at John, which was the split second that Arthur needed to gun him down.
This game continued for a couple of wagons. You jumped over crates and climbed on the roof of wagons that you were surprised of how much your body was capable. Your only goal was to not get left behind by the two men. Arthur sometimes turned around to make sure you were still following properly, but both of you were so out of breath, that it wouldn’t have worked to exchange a few words.
You didn't know how or why, but all of a sudden, the wagon in front of you had caught fire. John was quickest to react to Bill's yell to jump on his horse. Arthur looked anxiously between you and Dutch, who now called for him to jump on his. Riding behind Dutch was your last available option for a lift: Micah. Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Dutch pressured him to jump already. You whirled around and almost jumped happily, when you saw your horse straining to keep close to the train at the other side.
You whistled and it understood. Not even thinking about not making the jump really helped. You simply jumped, almost slipped from the guardrails but somehow grabbed onto your horse. Your fingers tightened around its mane, the reins fluttering around too vividly to catch it. Clutched your legs around the horse as tightly as you could, your spurred it on to skip the burning waggon. You stopped fearing for either your or Arthur's life at this moment. Hell, your only loyal companion the last couple of years had been your horse and you swore if a bullet as much as grazed it, you would find the gun that had done it and kill the owner barehanded, if needed.
Arthur was already on the next waggon and as he shouted at John to uncouple the burning one before it blows up the train, he positioned himself again, ready to catch you if needed. It was a smoother boarding than your first try, Arthur only gripped your elbow so you wouldn't topple over.
Arthur's eyes were already fixed on the gatling gun, then he pointed at acouple of crates: "Hide there!"
Arthur shoved you behind the crates and you saw a panic in his eyes as everyone noticed a man on a cliff in the distance that alarmed everyone of the crime in act.
Suddenly, everything happened awfully quick. Arthur had just finished putting the gun together and John had manged to unhinge the burning wagon. Three seconds later, it gave a loud boom and the waggon toppled over. For a few moments, you heard nothing. Your ears tried to adjust from the explosion to the constant noise of the train rattling through its tracks, when one gunshot pierced the air. John fell off the train like a sack of potatoes.
You hadn’t even seen where the shot had come from, but the man was dead before he could fire another - Arthur had been quick to draw his gun.
"I'll get John! You protect that money!", Dutch yelled, he and the rest of the riders turned their horses around. Looking at Arthur’s sceptical face, you knew that he didn’t believe Dutch would actually look out for John.
"I'll go stop the train!", Bill yelled.
Arthur spun around, carrying a case with ammunition for the gatling: "Whatever you do, do not stop the train! You secure up ahead but keep us movin'! I'll deal with the patrol when they come through!"
While the others ran off, Arthur rpinted towards you: "Go collect John. I don't trust Dutch to not jus' leave him."
"He's probably dead! I won't leave you too-", you quickly answered, out of breath.
"No!", Arthur interrupted, "You go collect him and I'll meet ya at yer cabin with Abigail 'n Jack!"
"I can't just-"
"Yes! You can god damn it!", Arthur was irritated. You were running out of time. The first bullet of the patrol hit the waggon, "Listen t' me. Yer gonna be fine and I'm gonna be fine. Here-"
Arthur took of his hat and pressed it onto your head.
And that didn't feel right. It was like he gave up his most prized possession. It didn't even fit but wobbled uncomfortably on your smaller head.
"No", you croaked. Your throat became dry from all the yelling, otherwise you wouldn’t understand each other because of the noise. Not again. Not again this “good-bye” scenario. He couldn't leave a letter, so he left you with his hat?
"It’s a promise", Arthur explained, "I'll get my hat back, understand? You jus’ take care of it for now."
You shook your head violently, the hat wobbled: “Take care of your hat, take care of your journal! I don’t want to-“
"If there's as much as a scratch on it", Arthur tried to joke, but it didn't sound like a joke. His voice was serious and stern. Then he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you up from your cowering position behind the crates. He lifted you like one would lift one’s opponent in a fight, just to have them on eye-level before delivering the punch to their face.
"I'll meet ya at yer cabin", Arthur promised again, and his face was so close, you thought he might kiss you, but then another bullet from the patrol splintered the wood of the crates you had sat behind a moment before.
Arthur said something that confused you: "Watch yer head" and before you could make sense of the words, Arthur pushed you against the shoulders and you went flying off the train. The second before you hit the ground, rolling along and crashing into a tree you remembered to keep your head up and it might have prevented you from dying, because the impact was brutal.
When you crashed into the tree you thought you were dead. You couldn't breathe. Everything went black for a few seconds before your body spasmed up in panic, trying to get air into your lungs. It didn't happen.
You were going to suffocate. You struggled for air until you were too exhausted to try. You were lying in the dirt, your whole body hurting, with no air in your lungs.
In the last possible second, when your vision already became blurry, the smallest bit of air filled your lungs and prolonged your suffering a little longer, until the next tiny gasp for air.
You didn’t know how long you'd been lying there before you managed to breath somewhat normally, ignoring the excruciating pain that each breath brought you.
In between blinking you saw Arthur's hat lying some feet away and wondered if that had been the real joke; to protect his hat while flying off a train.
Your first action was to crawl to the hat and put it on, no matter how pathetic it looked. Arthur had pushed you so far, you were surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Even if another patrol rode next to the tracks, he wouldn't see you.
With all the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself into a standing position on a tree and fought your way through the woods.
John was surely dead, or Dutch and the rest had done their job and collected him. It made no sense to spend your energy walking back, but you did so anyways. Your hands always reached for the nearest trunk to hold on to, your left leg didn’t react well to the weight you tried to put on it, so you just dragged it.
To your surprise, when you closed in on the man lying on the tracks, he was moving - and still there.
"John?", you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath, anxiously looking around. Nobody was close, even the train was so far ahead by now, that the gun shots were muffled.
When you got no response, you nudged John with your boots which made him blink lazily. There was blood seeping through his shirt and jacket. Had you ever seen so much blood? It was his left shoulder, too.
For a few seconds you just stood there, wondering. Would he even survive? How should you get him to your cabin?
In an act of desperation, you whistled, hoping your horse would be close by. And it was. You had to hold back tears of joy when it came galloping along.
"John", you squatted next to him, even though the movement hurt you greatly, "Come on, we gotta get out of here. I can't lift you on my horse alone."
Thank God, your horse was well trained and knew how to lower itself for people to get on from the ground. You still had to pull and push the half-conscious man, but you had a significantly easier time. Your body ached from all the straining, and you were quiet sure that whatever damage you had taken from the fall was significantly worsened by the exercise, but it wasn’t like you had a real choice.
You rode, as fast as the constitution of your horse would allow, straight to your cabin. The sun was setting when you arrived. John had passed out a couple of times during the ride, and it was only when you had given him some alcohol to drink and had cleaned and bandaged his wound, that he passed out - but snoring and quiet peacefully.
You had no time to inspect your own body and assess the damage the fall had done, because as soon as you were done with John and had thrown him onto your bed, you heard a horse approach.
Jack and Tilly.
According to Tilly, Arthur was still alive, but had gone to Annesburg with Sadie to get Abigail who had been taken by Pinkertons. This scared you shitless, but at this point you were too exhausted to show it. Instead, you offered Jack something to eat and then had the two of them settle down inside the house. You waited at the garden gate, listening for riders.
It was dark and almost midnight when you saw a dim light in the distance. It came from the opposite direction of where you'd expected Arthur to come from, so you pulled your gun. But soon, you were able to make out the rider. The dim light of a lantern illuminated Sadie and behind her on the horse, Abigail.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
I apologize for the many typos, but I figured it was better the chapter would see the light of day instead of rotting in my drafts any longer. Took me way too long to begin with heh.
Summary: You follow Arthur back to camp, who isn't so happy about the decision. Yet, you are convinced that you have to be there for the last train heist of the van der Linde gang.
tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"
Masterlist
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
8000 words
You tried to take your time while following Arthur's tracks. A ride through Murfree country never had been one of your favourite past time activities. Since you had to ride through the territory to reach Annesburg, you were familiar with all its paths and knew where Murfrees could hide; but the familiarity didn’t change the fact that you just preferred to not be in danger. If you had a job to do in Annesburg and had plenty of time to spare, you would ride around the territory, but if you had to be quick, you always had your rifle and gun ready. Today, you’d rather be quick and follow the tracks directly. Arthur had a decent head-start and there was no way you would arrive at camp simultaneously.
Soon, you heard noise in the distance that you immediately associated with camp life; the clattering of plates, mumbling, occasional shouts. The noise was still muffled because of the forest. It was eerie, really. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it seemed to be misty and dark. If you had still been with the gang when the decision was made to camp here, you surely would have protested.
Already, you were awfully close to camp, but there was nobody standing guard. Maybe things had significantly changed since you last were part of the gang, but you wondered...because back then, when their bounties were still low, there still was someone keeping watch pretty much all the time. You rode along the earthy path and tents appeared. You scanned the campgrounds to look for someone familiar.
It didn't take long before eyes were on you. Javier was the first one to approach, greeting you in a friendly manner while you dismounted. Soon, a small circle had formed around you. Miss Grimshaw with mixed feelings about your long absence and sudden return; Tilly and Mary-Beth who wanted to know what you'd been up to; Karen who offered you a beer. Through the crowd of people, you saw Dutch and a sleazy blonde guy emerge from the darkness of the cave while Arthur put his head out of his tent to see what the commotion was about.
You couldn't dwell long on Arthur's expression, his mouth slightly open, fists clenching, while you walked past his tent to approach Dutch, who strolled towards you with open arms.
"Miss y/l/n!" Dutch greeted you, his big hand taking yours and shaking it as if you were business partners meeting to discuss a scheme. His hand was warm and slightly moist, which disgusted you, but you forces yourself to put on a grin. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beat up to your throat, you were this anxious not to reveal that you had Arthur had reconnected.
"Dutch," you nodded. You weren’t sure if more formalities would have been appropriate, but you had never called him “Mr van der Linde” and you saw no reason to start doing so now.
"Good to have you back! I had sent for you a while ago...", Dutch locked eyes with Arthur for a moment, who still stood by his tent, flabbergasted, "Rumour was you were dead."
"Well", you smiled charmingly, "I didn't want to be found just yet. I had some loose strings to tie up, wouldn't have wanted to get the gang entangled with my private business."
Dutch looked at you with a touch of doubt. So did the man with the blonde hair, you didn’t appreciate how he checked you out. Not just to find out if you weren’t a trap and had the law behind you, but purely sexual, trying to determine what you hid under your clothes. His gaze was unsettling.
"Anyways", you continued, "I read the paper recently and figured you'd appreciate an extra gun."
"How did you find us?", the blonde guy interrupted.
"Some of you guys can be tracked down quite easily", you smiled sympathetically, "I had some work in Annesburg and...well, your grocery runs..."
You'd rather blame Pearson for leading you to camp than Arthur. As far as you were concerned, you hadn't seen Arthur since he had broken your heart a year ago.
Dutch chuckled and it sounded strangely cold and tense, "Good to know we've got you back. We wouldn't want you as our enemy."
"Never", you smiled honestly, "Just tell me what needs to be done, I'll do it. I owe you for letting me roam for a year."
Dutch put a hand on your shoulder, then invited you to get comfortable. The remaining day was spent with talking to people, putting down your bedroll and sneaking some spices into Pearson’s stew. It was a matter of getting accustomed to camp life again, and frankly, you enjoyed having other people around. The only thing you avoided doing was getting close to Arthur and he didn’t seem keen on approaching you either.
By far the best aspect of being back at camp was catching up with everybody. You hadn’t realised how much you had missed all those familiar faces. Whenever you did a chore, you actually felt helpful, because there were people that needed and depended on you doing your part. Playing with Jack for an hour was rewarded with Abigail being thankful and looking way more relaxed. Putting some more spices in Pearson's stew was appreciated with winks and relieved smiles. But you never forgot the purpose of your return. Three days had passed, and still, not a single word had passed between you and Arthur. Your worry grew that the man might be seriously angry at you.
While you thought about this on your third night, tending to the camp fire while everyone else was slowly retreating to their bedrolls, you saw Micah approach. It was his low chuckle that made you look up.
Now, three days had been plenty of time for the girls to warn you about him and his two suspicious companions. Apparently, he managed to sneak them into the gang without getting Dutch’s actual approval first – and you knew that wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do. Your muscles tensed as Micah closed the distance between you.
"Miss y/l/n", he made a half-assed bow before sitting down on a chair close to you, "I think we never had the pleasure of a proper introduction."
"You know who I am, I know who you are, Mr. Bell", you said coldly, focusing on the flames, "I don't think we need more introducing."
"It's just…", the man uttered and made some weird noises with his mouth, as if he was licking his lips, but you weren't looking at him, "I don't know if I can trust you. You just appeared, all of a sudden."
Raising an eyebrow, you responded: "You mean like your pawns? Joe and what-was-his-name? Pete?"
You observed Micah shift uncomfortably in his chair before replying: "Cleet and Joe know how to fight."
"So do I", you shot back sharply. Finally, you looked the man in the face. The warm, flickering orange of the fire cast him in a light that made his features look more intense than they were at daylight. The shadows danced menacingly across his face. You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Micah Bell, but you knew Arthur didn't like him, neither did Abigail or Mary-Beth...or anyone, really.
Micah made the mistake of placing his hands on the table and leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper: "Women like you-"
But you swiftly interrupted him, drawing your hunting knife and driving it into the table next to Micah's hand. For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed dangerously and you feared he'd take the knife and gut you. Instead, he leaned back casually with a chuckle: "Yer a feisty one, aren't you?"
You swallowed, unsure if you were brave enough to continue this conversation. Making an enemy wasn't exactly your plan, especially if Micah could, in any way, become an inconvenience for your little escape plan. But you sighed, stood up and said with the steadies voice you managed: "I recommend you don't find out." You left the knife in the table, just to spare you the embarrassment of failing to pull it out of the wood smoothly.
You turned your back and strode away, your stomach churning with the adrenaline of the confrontation. Normally, you wouldn't be so bold…but "normally" you didn't have to deal with guys like Micah. Sure, the gang had seen their share of members that were disrespectful, especially towards women – but never like this. Micah’s aura alone made you shiver.
Making your way to your horse, you soothed your nerves by tending to the animal, offering it a few carrots and stroking its mane. Patiently, you waited until Micah retreated from the fire and went into the cave. As the camp settled into quiet stillness, only disturbed by the rustle of leaves and the sound of your horses’ hooves, you retrieved your knife and headed back.
As you passed Arthur’s tent, you caught a whisper of your name. You paused, curiously.
The flaps were partially closed, but when you peeked inside, you saw him standing next to his table, the warm light of a lantern warmly filling the tent. It almost looked cozy, certainly better than your bedroll on the dirty and hard ground. Arthur’s gaze was intense as he looked at you. You asked "Yeah?", hoping he’d clarify if he wanted to talk or something, but Arthur didn’t reply. Hesitantly, you stepped inside his tent, your hand still holding the canvas open, just in case you read the situation completely wrong.
It was only when you came closer that you saw his features were irritated. He approached you with a big step, grabbed you by the arm and pulled you further into the tent, so nobody outside would see that you’d just entered
"What the hell were you thinking?", Arthur spit at you, eyebrows furrowed and the grip around your arm tightening.
"What I was thinking?", you tried to speak calmly.
You knew exactly what he was referring to. Arthur had picked up the conversation as if you had just walked into camp five minutes ago and not like three days had passed already. You continued: "That I won't sit tight for a week and wait to see if you've made it out."
"Y/n...", Arthur sighed disappointedly.
"Arthur please", you wailed, trying to loosen his grip around your arm. He let go, not before his thumb lightly caressed the area his fingers had been digging in, as if to apologize.
You looked the man straight in the eye. He was still somewhat angry, but so were you. Though you found your anger insignificant under the scorn of this big man and you hated being on the receiving end of it.
Arthur finally averted his gaze: "I can't save you too."
"You won't have to", you replied sternly.
Arthur sat down on his chair, sighing as if he had just been told his mother had died. He didn't look at you, standing there like a scolded child.
"Did you read the note?", Arthur asked after a while, referring to his good-bye letter that you had crumpled and disappear under your bed, before your eyes could read any sorry, love-sickening words or promises that wouldn’t be kept.
"No!", you replied quickly, "I saw you left one, I didn't bother."
"Look, Arthur", you tried desperately to get the man on your side again, "I don't know how the train heist'll go. Maybe you die, maybe I die. Maybe we'll fail to safe whoever needs saving. But then I got at least...four days left to spend with you."
Arthur looked at you sadly.
"Because I won't go back to my fucking cabin and mourn you like I've mourned you the last months. I'll keep you alive. Or I die trying, I don't really give a fuck", tears pricked your eyes. Gosh, this place was depressing. You wished you could speak more calmly, more put together...but you understood why everybody behaved like a nut-case around here. Somehow, the forest sucked out all the joy you have.
"Okay", Arthur sighed, and he looked like he could understand or was at least ready to end the discussion. He opened his posture a little, nodding towards him as if to invite you. You approached slowly, not quite sure of what he expected you to do.
"Come 'ere", he mumbled. You sat down on his lap, snaking his arms around his body while he did the same. The two of you had been close when you made out. There had been barely any distance between you, when you had cut his hair. However, this was different. You nuzzled your face into his neck in the silence of the night, with no other intention but to be close to him. Finally, you had time to bask in his scent.
It was a calming scent, familiar somehow. Homely, in the best of ways. It calmed you down. All the while, Arthur enjoyed your closeness just as much; pressing you tighter to him, enjoying the proximity he had denied you when you had asked if he wanted to sleep next to each other’s. He didn't know how much he had needed that. A warm, loving body in his embrace. He felt your fingers restlessly scratching his jacket, as if they tried to complain about the extra layer. He felt your breath down his neck and your body squirming on his lap.
The two of you sat like that for a while. Arthur started to caress your hair, letting his fingers run through your strands while he waited for you to calm your breathing.
Arthur realized that he was making a mistake. He loved the way your body pressed down on him, loved how your body moved and reacted to his subtle touches. He absolutely feared and hated that he would crave the feeling forever. He had denied sleeping next to you only a few days prior because he knew both of you would suffer if either one dies. It’s similar to being parched, only to be allowed a small sip of water. Enough to satisfy you for the moment, but making you realize how much you really craved water. This embrace was the same.
"Can't stay here, can I?", as if you had read his thoughts, you smiled sadly and peeled yourself off Arthur. He moved his arms reluctantly from your body and glanced to his cot.
He'd prefer it too...to have you lie on top of him, sleeping peacefully.
You spoke again before he could answer: "I always fear that this camp'll be overrun by Murfrees at night."
"Charles 'n I killed probably most of ‘em. There wouldn't be enough to bother us", Arthur tried to reassure you. His voice was a little dreamy, as if the image of you two sharing a cot was still very vivid on his mind.
"Yeah...", you replied and stood up. Arthur's hands slid into yours, so that you now were holding hands as you stood next to him. The affectionate gestured surprised you a little, it send a pleasurable tingle into your stomach.
"Good night, then", you sighed and brushed your thumb over Arthur's back of his hand.
"G'd night, darlin'", Arthur mumbled. He might have been disappointed that you came to camp but softening him was as easy as putting old bread in a bowl of soup. And there he was, all soft and soggy after five minutes intimacy. Admittedly, you felt softened and calmed down too. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep after your little run-in with Micah, if it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Arthur had now made up. Your goal and purpose was in clear sight again; somehow protect this man and be there for him, in case Dutch or anyone else betrays him again.
Satisfied, you walked to your bedroll and crept onto in, falling asleep quiet easily.
-
Nothing much would be happening until the train job in a few days – at least, that was what you believed. Of course, you were wrong.
The next day, you had volunteered to go on a grocery run with Uncle and Pearson. You had never been particularly close with them, but it wasn’t a detective’s job to see them whisper about something behind your back. While you waited in front of the grocery store and watched the young boys that helped out load your carriage, the two men walked off to the train station. They gave you some mumbled excuse, you had barely understood what they had said, but now you watched them in the distance as they ran their fingers over the train’s schedule. On their way back to you, you could pinpoint the precise moment they realised your eyes were on them, because they straightened their backs and put on innocent smiles. You gave them a sympathetic smile in return.
On the ride back, there was an uncomfortable silence between the three of you, before Pearson finally asked: "Why did you come back, y/n? You said you saw the papers...you should know that this won't last much longer..."
"Well…”, a quick grin hushed over your face before you forced yourself to sound more serious, “I said I would be back. And I'm loyal to Dutch." As soon as the word “loyal” had left your lips, you saw the men stiffening, Uncle shooting dangerous gazes to Pearson.
You let them hang in suspense and fear a few moments longer, before you smiled and snorted: "Oh, relax. I'm just fucking with you."
The flabbergasted faces of the men made you laugh.
"I came back to help Arthur to get everyone out before it's too late", you said truthfully and before you could add something, Uncle laughed triumphantly: "I knew it! Mary-Beth will be so happy to hear that you two are together!"
Your cheeks grew warm so quickly, you had barely registered Pearson’s words. Then you fumbled with the reins and tried to put some force behind your words: "I never said anything about being together with Arthur."
"But you were in his tent yesterday, weren't you?", Uncle asked in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer, and so did the girls and whoever he gossips with, apparently. So, you didn't say anything and chewed your inner cheek.
This was the perfect moment to change the topic and make the men aware that you figured they want to leave camp. You would help them - this was why you were there, after all.
Finally, you managed to swallow and said: "Anyways...I have guard duty from 2 am until the morning. You can slip away during that time...if you're in Annesburg before the sun's out, you should be in the clear", you said, eyes on the road.
"You're a good one, y/n", Pearson said happily, "Though I don't quite agree with the way you overseason my stew-"
"I can't overseason what's not seasoned in the first place!", you interrupted loudly, but it was in a friendly manner.
They briefly talked about what they'd take with them, that Mary-Beth would join them and you listened, already coming up with excuses on how it could happen that three people disappeared while you had guard duty. It felt like you had it all figured out. It was a relief to know that three people would be taken care of by tomorrow. The harder was the punch in the face when you arrived back at camp and found most of the men missing.
The Indians had come and asked for help at the oil factory, and Dutch had jumped at the opportunity. You had a terrible feeling, but you knew that riding after them wouldn't make much sense, so you bided your time until most of them returned...without Arthur and Charles, that is.
The question burned on your tongue. Where was Arthur? Was he okay? But as far as you were concerned, officially, nobody knew that the two of you were on speaking-terms. You couldn’t exactly walk up to Javier and ask him where your lover was. Maybe, you could have asked John, but you would have felt like an idiot for being so worried after only a couple of hours.
Arthur returned at sunset, grumpy face and slouching shoulders. When you approached him, he shot you a warning gaze. Not a dangerous gaze that made you think he was mad at you, but a silent warning, a peep at Dutch, and then he disappeared, walking off to eat an apple at the outskirts of camp. Charles hadn't returned, so you thought something might have happened to him, but Sadie finally filled you in on the details. The chief's son had been shot, was probably dead now, but nobody in the gang had been hurt, as far as she knows.
You waited a few more minutes, before you stalked after Arthur, finding him sitting in the dirt and watching the river in the distance.
Arthur briefly twisted his head in your direction as if to make sure that it really was you. He gave you no sign of recognition or invitation to join him, you simply heard a sigh, then saw some more smoke puffing from the cigarette between his lips.
"Dutch…he…He saw that a man was about to gut me, and jus’ walked away”, Arthur stumped his cigarette on a tree like an angry child would kick a stone, “Eagle Flies’s dead, 'cause of me…"
You weren’t quite sure if you understood what had happened at the oil factory, but you sensed that Arthur was extremely upset about it. Somehow, you couldn’t just say something bad about Dutch, because it didn’t matter if he had left Arthur – you hadn’t been there to begin with. Yet, staying at Arthur’s side was the sole reason you now sat down in the moist earth of this unsettling forest. Even now, you though you heard somebody scream in the distance and the darkness swapped places with the setting sun quickly spread throughout the woods and distorted shadows in the distance.
There was only little space left between you and Arthur, as you sat next to each other, watching water flow down the river. If anyone from camp saw you like that, they could probably put one and one together; but right now, you couldn't care less.
Had you ever seen Arthur so hurt and unsure of everything? You remembered, unfortunately quiet vividly, how under the weather the man was when Mary had to reject him or when he heard that she had married another. Back then, the whole camp felt Arthur’s sour mood and had done its best to offer distraction and ease the burden he normally carried a little bit. Today, you were the only one who seemingly had noticed that he wasn’t feeling well. Given the hostile mood at camp, this was probably for the best.
"He was a good guy, then? Eagle Flies...?", you asked quietly, sensing that Arthur would like to say a few more words about it.
"Yes. Hot headed and easily twisted by Dutch's speeches, unfortunately. Dutch did more damage to the tribe than..., well, I don't know. He was the chief's only son. And Rain Falls is...maybe wiser than a fool like me can ever hope of becoming", Arthur was brabbling, mumbling his words, making them tricky to follow. You tried your best, nonetheless.
"Thought I'd stay with 'em. Help 'em bag and leave...", Arthur admitted, his fingers brushed over the soil, picking out dried blades of grass, "Charles sent me back 'nd said there's people here needing me."
This caught you off guard. Leaving with the tribe would mean leave you behind with this mad bunch of degenerates, with Micah and his companions that looked at you like they just waited for an opportunity to catch you alone. Could you blame him, though? His father figure and mentor was ready to let Arthur be killed off.
It was at this point that you truly realised: The gang would be no longer.
Also, Arthur had no obligation nor responsibility for you. It had been your choice to leave your comfortable home to try and protect him here. Maybe it had been a bad idea to begin with. You should have stayed at your cabin and prayed or asked witches to bring Arthur back to you. The two of you weren't a couple. Arthur might have admitted to feel something for you, but that didn’t have to mean anything…not in the world he lived in.
You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Arthur was leaning in before he pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple.
"I love ya", he mumbled.
Your heart skipped a beat. Or several, actually, and your mind was blank.
Two minutes of quietly trying to convince yourself that the outlaw next to you, can’t possibly commit to anything, that the last time you spent together at you cabin and made out could have been a dream, and now he straight up told you that he…
It was your surprised and blank face that prompted Arthur to say: " 's okay. Ya don't 've to say it back. Or feel the same. 's just...almost dying...", Arthur swallowed. There was something like fear in his eyes, like he was rethinking his entire life, regretting the paths he had walked, the people he had killed. And not having told you sooner.
"You won't die. Not if I can help it", you assured, those were the only words you managed to say.
Arthur chuckled sadly: "Bullets travel fast."
You looked at each other as if you had walked into a dead end. Arthur had just told you that he loved you and you couldn’t say it back…or were afraid to say it back? You had already said something similar, a few days back, why did this feel so much more important?
Then you shared a hesitant smile.
"Oh, yeah”, you started again, “Pearson, Uncle and Mary-Beth are thinking of leaving tomorrow at dawn. I'm on guard duty, so they'll have safe passage."
"Okay", Arthur nodded, "come 'n see me at night before ya take yer post. I got s’mthing for yer..."
You nodded confusedly, but with peaked interest.
Nobody had to wake you at 2 am, because you had barely managed to fall asleep. It would be another half an hour before you swapped with Javier, so you took your time to warm up some coffee. Cup in hand, you sneaked into Arthur’s tent.
The man was completely knocked out and snoring on his tiny cot. As much as you loved the idea of sleeping in his tent with him, both of you would never fit on it. Arthur slept peacefully, sprawled out and without fear that someone hostile would sneak up on his. And yet, here you were. Disturbing him felt like a crime, but he had practically told you to wake him.
"Arthur", you whispered and put your cup down on the table, lighting the lantern so he'd see you when he woke and not get startled. When he didn’t react, you repeated his name slightly louder.
Nothing. You thought hard; was it really that important to wake him up? Couldn't it wait until the morning? If anyone, Arthur really deserved his sleep. The curiosity though...
"It's me," you said, now lightly touching his shoulder. This did the trick, Arthur opened his eyes and shot up. It reminded you of trying to pet a cat when it was asleep – it would always wake up as if you had stepped on its tail.
"Oh", Arthur's shoulders relaxed when he realised it was you. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, adapting to the dim light in the tent and groaned, "Gimme a second."
"D-don't worry", you stuttered, now definitely feeling bad for waking him.
You watched as he stretched his legs and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake the sleepiness. After a few more moments, he stood up and walked over to his wardrobe chest. With an aching and tired groan, he pulled out a holster and a gun belt which was already dressed with bullets.
"I wore this when I was 'bit smaller", Arthur commented, his voice deep and gravelly. He walked up to you, placing the holster on the belt and then gently putting it around your waist. Though sleep-drunk, Arthur tried his best to not touch you anywhere inappropriate. You smiled affectionately as Arthur closed the belt buckle and mumbled: "I won't let you go in a fight with your gun crammed into yer pants."
That being said, he pulled your gun out of your waistband. You didn't stop him, as he briefly inspected the weapon, finding it in acceptable condition and dropping it into your new holster.
"Might need to adjust it, t’have it sit right. Guess you got the rest of the night to figure out which height you wanna wear it", as Arthur's raspy sleep voice faded, you noticed a sad undertone.
"Thank you, truly", you said, rattling the belt lightly to make it sit better.
"Sure", Arthur tried to crack a smile.
You held eye contact for a few seconds. Something needed to happen. Either one of you had to admit that they were deeply worried the other one would die later tonight or a hug, a kiss...anything. You knew that Arthur felt the same, that he was itching to break the silence, but neither of you found the courage.
"I'll...go on guard duty now. Wouldn't want to see Uncle and the rest try'n slip away with Javier still keeping guard."
"Sure", Arthur repeated and sat down on the cot, more than ready to go back to sleep, "Call on me if there's trouble."
You nodded, took your cup and walked out the tent.
The swap went smoothly, as were the first one and a half hours and then you heard something in camp stir behind you. About quarter of an hour later, Uncle, Pearson, Mary-Beth and Karen stood before you. Well, Karen was lying on a waggon, snoring. Uncle had mounted the horse that was pulling the little waggon and the other two were on foot, smiling at you hesitantly.
"You've got some money on you?", you asked, almost in a whisper.
"God damn it, we should have known that she wanted something for leaving us go!", Uncle cursed, and you couldn't quite tell if it was being sarcastic or not.
"No, you idiot", you complained, as friendly as you managed, "Money for your train. For a life afterwards, I don't know...to get a some fucking distance between you and this rat hole."
"Oh", you heard Uncle mumbled and it irritated you that he really believed you would want them to pay.
Pearson answered: "We got a few bucks. Should last for at least one or two stations."
You shook the head and pulled out a ten-dollar bill – your savings and the only money you had taken from home. "Take some more then, and hurry. I'll sweep the tracks behind you. Stay on the main road", you quickly rambled because you realized the sooner they leave, the better.
It was dark, the light of the moon barely reached the ground and the dim lantern they had was soon swallowed up by the trees. You grabbed an old broom and swept away their tracks for about 50 yards before you went back to your post.
Before most people started rising, you put on some coffee and used the last bit of porridge that had been in a big sack at the supplies pile to make some proper breakfast. For one thing, nobody would start wondering about Pearson's absence as quickly and for another, you might as well use the last pit of porridge, ideally, you won't be here tomorrow to suffer from its absence. You'd either be long gone or lying dead in a ditch as food for ravens - either way, the porridge won't be of any use for you. Neither would it be for Jack, John, Abigail, Arthur...and the other half decent people that were still here. Ideally.
Nobody seemed to notice that people were missing, expect for Miss Grimshaw - but she kept quiet for some reason. Arthur gave you a knowing smile when he passed you to get some coffee, as you retired again to catch up on some sleep.
Your nerves woke you some time before noon. The men were loading their weapons and brushing their horses. The suspense in the air quickly got rid of your remaining tiredness. This was your first big job, after all. Every moment your brain woke up from its slumber, you realised that you had never done anything similar before. You had robbed the odd fella and held up a couple of waggons…but robbing a train with army pay roll? You wondered if you hadn’t overestimated yourself.
As you stood up and got dressed, you noticed Arthur standing close to the cave and having a discussion with Dutch. The cold glares they exchanged sent shivers down your spine.
As you passed Arthur’s tent, a letter caught your attention. It was, besides the lantern, the only thing that occupied his table and you were sure that it hadn’t been there at night. You wouldn’t have though much of it, hadn’t you caught the name “Mary” on the cover. A quick glance at Arthur reassured you that he was all packed up, now somewhat agitatedly walking to his horse with the rest of the men. You made a couple of big steps, grabbed the letter and you eyes passed quickly over the lines “From Mary, To Arthur” before it startled you that there was something besides paper in this cover.
This was when Dutch’s shout: “Let’s ride!” echoed through camp. You slipped the letter into your satchel and joined the others.
You would never have admitted it, but you were anxious. Again, in your mind, you went through the clientele that you had robbed before. Drunk fools, rich looking travellers that weren’t significantly armed…any situation where you clearly had the upper hand. when you ran with the gang. Alone, you had stopped one or the other rich looking traveller. This, however, would be a battle for survival. Ideally, you had the money and would slip away before anything happened, but everyone knew that bullets would be flying sooner or later.
While riding, you stuck close to Sadie. You craved talking to Arthur, hell, as much as a comfort-providing look would have been great...but there wasn't any. Your anxiety only rose when he rode off with John to get some dynamite and you were stuck with the rest...You knew Sadie was fine, the others were not entirely trustworthy. Micah used the absence of Arthur and John, maybe the only men who would have been ready to defend you, to fall back in the group and make some “small talk”.
"You sure you're ready for this? Fine lady like you shouldn’t play outlaw with the men", Micah chuckled sarcastically. You were glad when Sadie interrupted him and threatened to cut his balls off, if he didn't shut up. You couldn't have come up with a witty reply for the life of it, you worried way too much about how the next two hours would turn out. The feeling of having to throw up was somewhat overwhelming, had you opened your mouth, you doubted something good would have left it.
Only when Arthur and John rejoined the group, you calmed slightly.
Things took their run. You had to ride hard to catch that train, your mind going crazy about the commands Dutch yelled every opportunity he got. You didn't understand why he wanted you to board the train - Sadie and Cleet were to board the train half-way, John, Arthur and you should jump on at the end. There wasn't any time to talk back or complain, even though Arthur didn’t seem to agree with that either.
You steered your horse closer and closer to the waggon as Arthur rode up beside you: "Jump!" he yelled, because he had noticed you hesitated for a few seconds too long. You sent him an unsure gaze, which he took as a sign to board the train first. He made it look easy, jumping on a train that was going at the speed of...well, a train. Your horses had trouble keeping up.
But as Arthur extended a hand to show you that he'd catch you, you inhaled, untangled your feet from the stirrups and took a leap of faith. Unceremoniously, you crashed into Arthur, who did his best so you wouldn't fall over. You had barely collected your bearings, when John yelled at the two of you: "Come on, push!"
The thought that this has been a terrible idea crossed your mind multiple times as you struggled to keep up with the two men. It was them who shot most of the enemies, you were happy with sometimes hiding behind a corner and aimlessly firing at the guards, so they'd have to hide and give John and Arthur the time to reload. Hunting unsuspecting deer and rabbits did not compare to shooting at humans, you concluded, as you missed three shots. But your attempt was enough to make the guard hesitate before aiming his weapon at John, which was the split second that Arthur needed to gun him down.
This game continued for a couple of wagons. You jumped over crates and climbed on the roof of wagons that you were surprised of how much your body was capable. Your only goal was to not get left behind by the two men. Arthur sometimes turned around to make sure you were still following properly, but both of you were so out of breath, that it wouldn’t have worked to exchange a few words.
You didn't know how or why, but all of a sudden, the wagon in front of you had caught fire. John was quickest to react to Bill's yell to jump on his horse. Arthur looked anxiously between you and Dutch, who now called for him to jump on his. Riding behind Dutch was your last available option for a lift: Micah. Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Dutch pressured him to jump already. You whirled around and almost jumped happily, when you saw your horse straining to keep close to the train at the other side.
You whistled and it understood. Not even thinking about not making the jump really helped. You simply jumped, almost slipped from the guardrails but somehow grabbed onto your horse. Your fingers tightened around its mane, the reins fluttering around too vividly to catch it. Clutched your legs around the horse as tightly as you could, your spurred it on to skip the burning waggon. You stopped fearing for either your or Arthur's life at this moment. Hell, your only loyal companion the last couple of years had been your horse and you swore if a bullet as much as grazed it, you would find the gun that had done it and kill the owner barehanded, if needed.
Arthur was already on the next waggon and as he shouted at John to uncouple the burning one before it blows up the train, he positioned himself again, ready to catch you if needed. It was a smoother boarding than your first try, Arthur only gripped your elbow so you wouldn't topple over.
Arthur's eyes were already fixed on the gatling gun, then he pointed at acouple of crates: "Hide there!"
Arthur shoved you behind the crates and you saw a panic in his eyes as everyone noticed a man on a cliff in the distance that alarmed everyone of the crime in act.
Suddenly, everything happened awfully quick. Arthur had just finished putting the gun together and John had manged to unhinge the burning wagon. Three seconds later, it gave a loud boom and the waggon toppled over. For a few moments, you heard nothing. Your ears tried to adjust from the explosion to the constant noise of the train rattling through its tracks, when one gunshot pierced the air. John fell off the train like a sack of potatoes.
You hadn’t even seen where the shot had come from, but the man was dead before he could fire another - Arthur had been quick to draw his gun.
"I'll get John! You protect that money!", Dutch yelled, he and the rest of the riders turned their horses around. Looking at Arthur’s sceptical face, you knew that he didn’t believe Dutch would actually look out for John.
"I'll go stop the train!", Bill yelled.
Arthur spun around, carrying a case with ammunition for the gatling: "Whatever you do, do not stop the train! You secure up ahead but keep us movin'! I'll deal with the patrol when they come through!"
While the others ran off, Arthur rpinted towards you: "Go collect John. I don't trust Dutch to not jus' leave him."
"He's probably dead! I won't leave you too-", you quickly answered, out of breath.
"No!", Arthur interrupted, "You go collect him and I'll meet ya at yer cabin with Abigail 'n Jack!"
"I can't just-"
"Yes! You can god damn it!", Arthur was irritated. You were running out of time. The first bullet of the patrol hit the waggon, "Listen t' me. Yer gonna be fine and I'm gonna be fine. Here-"
Arthur took of his hat and pressed it onto your head.
And that didn't feel right. It was like he gave up his most prized possession. It didn't even fit but wobbled uncomfortably on your smaller head.
"No", you croaked. Your throat became dry from all the yelling, otherwise you wouldn’t understand each other because of the noise. Not again. Not again this “good-bye” scenario. He couldn't leave a letter, so he left you with his hat?
"It’s a promise", Arthur explained, "I'll get my hat back, understand? You jus’ take care of it for now."
You shook your head violently, the hat wobbled: “Take care of your hat, take care of your journal! I don’t want to-“
"If there's as much as a scratch on it", Arthur tried to joke, but it didn't sound like a joke. His voice was serious and stern. Then he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you up from your cowering position behind the crates. He lifted you like one would lift one’s opponent in a fight, just to have them on eye-level before delivering the punch to their face.
"I'll meet ya at yer cabin", Arthur promised again, and his face was so close, you thought he might kiss you, but then another bullet from the patrol splintered the wood of the crates you had sat behind a moment before.
Arthur said something that confused you: "Watch yer head" and before you could make sense of the words, Arthur pushed you against the shoulders and you went flying off the train. The second before you hit the ground, rolling along and crashing into a tree you remembered to keep your head up and it might have prevented you from dying, because the impact was brutal.
When you crashed into the tree you thought you were dead. You couldn't breathe. Everything went black for a few seconds before your body spasmed up in panic, trying to get air into your lungs. It didn't happen.
You were going to suffocate. You struggled for air until you were too exhausted to try. You were lying in the dirt, your whole body hurting, with no air in your lungs.
In the last possible second, when your vision already became blurry, the smallest bit of air filled your lungs and prolonged your suffering a little longer, until the next tiny gasp for air.
You didn’t know how long you'd been lying there before you managed to breath somewhat normally, ignoring the excruciating pain that each breath brought you.
In between blinking you saw Arthur's hat lying some feet away and wondered if that had been the real joke; to protect his hat while flying off a train.
Your first action was to crawl to the hat and put it on, no matter how pathetic it looked. Arthur had pushed you so far, you were surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Even if another patrol rode next to the tracks, he wouldn't see you.
With all the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself into a standing position on a tree and fought your way through the woods.
John was surely dead, or Dutch and the rest had done their job and collected him. It made no sense to spend your energy walking back, but you did so anyways. Your hands always reached for the nearest trunk to hold on to, your left leg didn’t react well to the weight you tried to put on it, so you just dragged it.
To your surprise, when you closed in on the man lying on the tracks, he was moving - and still there.
"John?", you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath, anxiously looking around. Nobody was close, even the train was so far ahead by now, that the gun shots were muffled.
When you got no response, you nudged John with your boots which made him blink lazily. There was blood seeping through his shirt and jacket. Had you ever seen so much blood? It was his left shoulder, too.
For a few seconds you just stood there, wondering. Would he even survive? How should you get him to your cabin?
In an act of desperation, you whistled, hoping your horse would be close by. And it was. You had to hold back tears of joy when it came galloping along.
"John", you squatted next to him, even though the movement hurt you greatly, "Come on, we gotta get out of here. I can't lift you on my horse alone."
Thank God, your horse was well trained and knew how to lower itself for people to get on from the ground. You still had to pull and push the half-conscious man, but you had a significantly easier time. Your body ached from all the straining, and you were quiet sure that whatever damage you had taken from the fall was significantly worsened by the exercise, but it wasn’t like you had a real choice.
You rode, as fast as the constitution of your horse would allow, straight to your cabin. The sun was setting when you arrived. John had passed out a couple of times during the ride, and it was only when you had given him some alcohol to drink and had cleaned and bandaged his wound, that he passed out - but snoring and quiet peacefully.
You had no time to inspect your own body and assess the damage the fall had done, because as soon as you were done with John and had thrown him onto your bed, you heard a horse approach.
Jack and Tilly.
According to Tilly, Arthur was still alive, but had gone to Annesburg with Sadie to get Abigail who had been taken by Pinkertons. This scared you shitless, but at this point you were too exhausted to show it. Instead, you offered Jack something to eat and then had the two of them settle down inside the house. You waited at the garden gate, listening for riders.
It was dark and almost midnight when you saw a dim light in the distance. It came from the opposite direction of where you'd expected Arthur to come from, so you pulled your gun. But soon, you were able to make out the rider. The dim light of a lantern illuminated Sadie and behind her on the horse, Abigail.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Last chapter: here
I apologize for the many typos, but I figured it was better the chapter would see the light of day instead of rotting in my drafts any longer. Took me way too long to begin with heh.
i miss u pls come back😭😭😭😭i won’t know peace until that damn arthur fic is finished pls i will literally take CRUMBS 😭😭💗💗💗 but fr tho u r so appreciated and loved 😭💗💗💗💗
Ok, I'll pressure myself to have it done by Sunday! I know that this has been taking me way too long :')
I swear the new chapter from Amidst a crashing world is basically done, I just can't bring myself to read through it again and correct all typos tetc :')
My mission: bring you 'n Arthur together @immajustvibehere - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
