The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

The Man on The Mountain

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Warnings: major spoilers, character death

Rated Teen and Up, not recommended for users below 13

•••
The midsummer morning was routine for Mother Nature. The light woven through the early misty hours illuminated the life within the forest and created a warm glow throughout. Birds sang through the trees and the wild life bounced happily through the underbrush. The man on the mountain was the strange factor on this usual day.

He had been there for only a few hours. The ruckus of the night disturbed the animals for a few minutes, and the flowers cried for their trampled friends, but it was quiet now, and the man on the mountain was quiet too. His breath was nearly non existent, you would have to look closely to see that he was alive at all.

But another man had come too, and the wind sighed with relief. The other man was distraught at the sight of the man on the mountain, until he saw his chest slowly rise and fall. After that, the other man picked the sleeping man up, gently as if he was incredibly fragile. And then they were gone, and nature soon forgot about those men on their mountain.

•••

Although nature had forgotten those men, Wapiti had not. When Charles and an unconscious Arthur rode into the reservation, people began looking curiously to them.

"Please, please he needs help!" Charles shouts were heard throughout the camp as he sprung off Taima, pulling Arthur down. Arthur's limp body was loose in Charles's arm. The women of Wapiti stopped their chores and looked towards Charles, the men still recovering from the Van der Linde gang's poor choices.

Charles walked frantically towards Rains Fall's tent as the older man stepped out.

"Charles? What is wrong?" Rains Fall asked the worried man, noticing Arthur in his arms.

"It's Arthur, please you have to help us, he's sick and hurt." Charles pulled Arthur closer to him, turning him slightly to show Rains Fall his abused face. Rains Fall nodded slowly and eyed the man in Charles's arms. He motioned Charles to follow him towards a tent on the outskirts of the village. Charles eagerly followed him, paying close attention to Arthur's breathing. Rains Fall pulled the flaps of the tent back to reveal a dim lighted room, a small bed lay in the center and various herbs hung from the walls.

"Please set him down here." Rains Fall spoke with a certain calmness, pointing towards the bed. Charles gingerly set Arthur down, laying him on his back.

Rains Fall walked to the outside of the tent where an older woman waited outside, Rains Fall nodded to her and she entered. Charles followed Rains Fall as he walked back to his own tent. He entered, as did Charles and sat down on a wooden chair, it was rickety and old, but it brought him a certain grounding factor that pulled him down from his panic.

"How long has he been out?" Rains Fall asked after a moment of silence after Charles somewhat regained his composure.

"I don't know, a day, maybe two? John Marston stopped by last night and told me what happened. I went to go find Arthur. God, he's sick. He's really sick." Charles mumbled, the thought of Arthur not waking up was nearly unbearable. The idea pulled on Charles's chest, like a weight had been dropped directly onto his heart.

Rains Fall pulled out a pipe and nodded.

"I see."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Charles's thoughts flying a mile a minute. Rains Fall's dark eyes studied him intently, but Charles didn't notice.

Despite Rains Fall being a wise man, he knew that some moments were owned to silence, and this was one. It was better to allow Charles to get a hold of his thoughts before they assessed the situation, and Charles knew it too.

•••

It was dark when the old healing woman stepped outside of Arthur's tent. Charles quickly got up from the fire he sat at, many of the other people of Wapiti noticed too, but it was none of their concern, Arthur was not one of their own and their debt to him had already been repaid.

The wise woman rolled her sleeves down, she smelled of a mixture of medicine and natural herbs. There was blood on her sleeves and the apron of her dress was damp.

"I treated his wounds. He'll be out for at least another day." The woman told Charles. He looked towards the opening of the tent, only barely able to make out Arthur inside. He sighed with relief, Arthur was fine for right now, but the woman thoughtfully avoided talking about Arthur's illness. It was uncertain if he would survive, though his chances drastically improved since being here. Charles's quick actions saved Arthur's life, had he been a mere hour or two later he would have found Arthur's corpse on that mountain, not the living breathing person he had seen moments ago.

"May I go inside?" Charles asked the woman. He felt the breeze sweep his hair in front of him, it would be cold tonight, and Arthur needed to keep warm, so Charles would take care of the fire all night.

The woman nodded, looking out towards Rains Fall. The chief walked over to the healer and they began talking quietly about what Charles could only assume was Arthur.

Charles stepped inside.

The sight of Arthur's battered face was like a stab in the gut. His best friend, the only man he could ever truly trust was walking on the line between life and death. And it hurt. It hurt bad. Charles had accepted Arthur's ending when he had left the gang right before all went to hell, but seeing him now was so much worse.

Arthur deserved so much better than this fate that had been so cruelly placed upon him. But this was his chance at a new life, to the rest of the world Arthur Morgan was dead. To Sadie, to John, to you and even to Dutch, he was dead. But in this small village of Wapiti, a man named Arthur Morgan was alive, but he was no longer the outlaw that everyone else had come to know. For the first time since the beginning of his life, he was truly, wholly Arthur Morgan. He was a new man, since the very first second he accepted his death on that mountain. Arthur Morgan was Arthur Morgan, not the marionette to Dutch Van der Linde, not the cold blooded killer who murdered a man for a few bucks and not the man who had died on that mountain. He was himself, and Charles could see that too.