Playing Dangerous ↠ ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 3; sad girl

'He's got that fire, and he walks with it.
He's got that fire, and he talks with it.'

-

Valentine was subdued in the darkness, the usually bustling town was a ghost of it's daytime self in the very early hours of the morning.

Still slumped in the saddle, you were drifting in and out of consciousness. It felt like heavy waves, waves that seemed to lift you to the surface and then drag you right back down, drowning you out so as to help your body cope with the pain.

Arthur gently coaxed his horse, Phantom, to one of the hitching posts just outside of the small livestock town's only hotel, your mount Boxer also trotting behind. For a while, the outlaw had been musing whether to just ride you both back to Horseshoe Overlook, but if he returned with you in the state that you were in – there would be a lot of lecturing from Dutch, and Arthur was really not in the mood to deal with that right now.

"Good boy." He whispered gently as he tethered Phantom's reins tightly around to worn wooden hitching post, securing Boxer too and then he turned his attention back to you – still drooped against the saddle. You were trying to focus, pay attention – your (eye colour) eyes half lidded and thick with a drowsiness. Arthur could clearly see you fighting against the pain, shock and fatigue that controlled your body.

"We need to get y' fixed up proper." You heard his strong tones say, and your heart lifted a little in hope that soon this feeling would be gone, with Arthur looking after you. It was easy enough to let yourself slip into his hold as he lifted your doll-like body from the saddle of Phantom, who was stood quietly and patiently at the post – almost as if he was aware of the severity of the situation you found yourself in.

"Wait..." you croaked, a sudden cold and unforgiving gust of the bitter night wind stirred you that bit more. Arthur ground his heels into the muddy, wet floor beneath you both. "Let me try to walk..."

You got your answer in a form of a scoff, "No way, y' don't need to be doin' yourself anymore damage." Arthur said sternly, approaching the distressed and weathered front door of the hotel. Inside, the faintest lights glimmered softly away – a welcoming beacon of sanctuary after a night of hellishness.

The outlaw put his back to the doors, using it to open them considering you were bundled in his arms.

On the other side of the counter, the man working at the desk had been buried in a book of some kind – a look of exhaustion in his heavy lidded eyes. His glance suddenly shot up from behind his tiny round spectacles when he saw the pair of you. Clearly he didn't usually have visitors at this sort of time, and in such a state...

The both of you looked dishevelled – you, from the attack (obviously) – and Arthur's previously kempt look was now ruined from riding full speed in the wind. His ashy brown hair swept by the tangling windy breeze, coat smattered with mud that had been sprayed from Phantom's frantic galloping.

"Can... can I help?" the clerk asked, somewhat nervously, noting all the various guns on Arthur's person.

"We need a room," you heard Arthur's voice urge, and you forced your eyes open a little, greeted with the sight of the rather horrified looking member of staff behind the desk.

"With all due respect, sir, she looks as if she needs a doctor."

Your eyes fell shut again now, exhausted feeling again. All of the elements of the night were now combined: the shock, the cold, the fear – it was too much for your person to take.

"It ain't nothing I can't sort." Arthur pressed back to the clerk, jaw shifting a little out of irritability. "Please, you gotta help me – help her." He urged again. The clerk pushed his small specs further up his narrow, beak-like nose and let out a sigh.