The soft breeze that shook the trees leaves awoke him from his sleep, too early in the morning for the outlaw's liking. With a groan slipping past his lips, Arthur Morgan stretched his sore muscles and sat up on his cot, blue eyes still softly closed but mind already racing with a trillion thoughts.
There already was activity at camp, with Miss Grimshaw's firm voice giving off orders left and right, and the not-so-quiet chatter of the girls while they washed the gang's dirty attires nearby.
The sounds, the voices, reached his ears all at once, somewhat he felt overwhelmed by all—but there was one certain sound that caught his attention in particular, not as loud, but just as noticeable. Arthur forced his eyes open, allowed his gaze to travel across the whole camp until it met the sight of that his ears had picked up just seconds earlier.
She was sitting in complete solitude by a thick tree, back softly pressed against the rough trunk, and knees propped up to her chest slightly. Delicate hands held tightly onto a journal similar to his, of black leather instead, as she scribbled away on it, and not at all minding the camp's business. All the while she hummed a sweet tune to herself, tune that Arthur heard, and liked instantly. Thick rope tied her waist to the tree trunk firmly, forbade her from moving at all from her spot.
For a second, her gaze rose from the journal up to glance at the camp, interrupting her humming, and giving Arthur the chance to see her beautiful face, with the first rays of the early morning sun reflecting on her skin. And just as quick, she looked back down, attention once again focused on her journal.
(y/n) (l/n) was her name, had been rescued from an O'Driscoll camp merely a day ago. Despite her constant claims of not being an O'Driscoll girl herself, Dutch had ordered to keep her tied up to that tree, for the sole purpose of questioning her further sometime later. And so, there she was, waiting patiently, journal in hand, and not caring about the world around her.
One whole night she had spent there; he doubted she'd gotten any sleep.
Arthur sat on his cot for a while, contemplating. His gaze stayed fixated on her sitting figure, still scribbling on the journal without a care in the world. The sight reminded him of himself, of his own persona writing and sketching on his own journal at times, when times were tough, and not so tough. It helped him clear out his thoughts for an insignificant, almost ephemeral moment; although short, it was more than enough for the outlaw to... feel better. That he thought.
Once the sun was showing half way up the horizon line, Arthur stood up from his cot and got himself ready to tackle yet another day.
"Arthur!" Dutch's voice tore the nice quiet that had settled upon camp just a minute earlier so abruptly, it startled Arthur a bit.
Turning just in time to see the man approaching, Arthur arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Morning, Dutch." He nodded his head curtly, and readjusted his belt buckle.
"Morning, son. Was hoping you'd help me with the O'Driscoll girl," Dutch gestured at the girl, a cigarette pinned between his thumb and index.
"You really think she an O'Driscoll?" Arthur bent down to grab his hat as the question left his mouth, earned a confused look from the gang leader—almost an accusative one. "Come on, Dutch—have you forgotten how she stomped on them corpses after we finished 'em off? Don't think an O'Driscoll would dare do that to their own people."
Dutch chuckled, probably remembered the moment very well. "You are right, son. But I can't take any chances," he declared, and motioned Arthur to follow him. "Let's listen to what she has to say today."
"Whatever you say, Dutch," Arthur shrugged his shoulders, and placed his hat on his head in one swift motion.
The outlaw obediently followed Dutch toward the girl tied to the tree. She still continued to scribble away on her journal. She didn't notice them approaching her figure, until Dutch softly kicked the bottom of her worn out shoe once; the motion was enough to make her look up at them instantly, her hypnotizing (e/c) eyes immediately met Arthur's gaze first.
"Morning, miss," Dutch greeted her, and earned a slight glare from her part. "Now, no need to be so harsh toward the men that rescued you from them O'Driscolls, miss."
"I'd be in a better mood if you believed my word, but doesn't look like that's the case, ain't it?" she spat, quickly tucking her journal and pencil inside one of her dress pockets. "I've already lost count, but I'll say it one more time: I ain't an O'Driscoll!"
Arthur believed her. The image of her insulting the already dead O'Driscolls back at their raided camp, stomping on their corpses, and calling them bastards over and over had been more than enough proof for the outlaw to know this beautiful woman was not one of them. But he also understood why Dutch was so sceptic—they had found her with no chains, no rope keeping her a prisoner. She was free to walk around the camp, simply under the attentive stare of the O'Driscoll gang.
Never did she look like she had been kidnapped to Dutch's eyes.
"Alright, miss—I am willing to believe you," Dutch crouched slowly in front of her, "if you care to explain why you were not restrained at all. You see, it's hard to believe you weren't one of them O'Driscolls when you were strolling 'round their camp freely like you were."
The look on her face said it all; how tired she was of explaining the same thing over and over.
Arthur observed her, how she sighed tiredly, and stretched her legs, and how she tugged at the rope keeping her firmly pinned to the tree trunk behind her. She seemed desperate, but at the same time acted with patience.
"I told you already," she replied quietly, shaking her head. "I told you why."
"Tell me one more time, miss." Dutch said as he stood up, discarded his cigarette, and placed his hands on his belt.
Arthur kept his gaze on the woman, caught the look of resignation she sent in Dutch's way. And then she glanced up at him, her (e/c) eyes stared intently into his own as she spoke.
"They killed my entire family, burned my house to the ground before they took me with 'em," she retold once again, eyes brimming with tears within seconds. "I had no one and no place to go, I was alone, and they were the only ones there—I knew I wouldn't last a day out there," she turned to look at the forest ahead, surrounding the camp, her words referring to the wilderness all around, "so I stayed at their camp. Damn bastards knew I wouldn't try to escape so they let me be—if you can call gripping, snarling and shoving constantly letting be, that is." She spat the last sentence, a frown taking over her features.
There was no way she could be lying. Arthur just knew, this girl had not lied once to them and certainly wouldn't lie now. It might have been the way she spoke, or the way her face contorted as she retold her story, or the way her eyes would brim with unshed tears, or all at the same time. But he knew she wasn't lying to them.
Arthur shook his head quickly, and nudged Dutch in the shoulder. "Come on, Dutch!" he exclaimed as he gestured at the girl. "I believe her!"
He stared at the gang leader, watched said man darting his eyes between the girl and him. It still seemed like he had doubts.
"I don't really care if you believe me, or not," she spoke softly, drawing the attention of both men. She was looking up at them both with pleading eyes, loose strands of (h/c) hair softly framing her cute doll-like face. "All I ask of you is that you don't leave me alone. I can stay tied to this tree forever if you want me, too, but please—please—don't make me go on my own."
The way her words left her mouth made Arthur's insides churn. Never had he ever felt like this before, for a person they had captured and kept. He had hogtied, kept prisoner, tortured and killed too many people, and never once had he felt remorse or guilty about it. An outlaw's life, that he lived. But seeing this woman pleading the way she did, it was a first. He had heard and witnessed many people pleading before, but not like this.
Pleading to be kept a prisoner? Never.
Dutch stayed quiet, but with a pensive face as he stared up at Arthur, almost like asking for help. Arthur knew Dutch felt the same way he did, and was most likely just as confused, and speechless.
"Alright, miss," Arthur spoke for the both of them after a minute of pondering, and made the decision himself. "You can stay with us, 'til you decide what ya wanna do."