#his whole bio screams ADLER

[collinnmckinley]

I dont normally say this a lot but, yall be smoking some weird shit if you think or hc Graves to be Adler's son... yes its all fun and all until someone takes it to another level and makes shit up and say its canon... and i really dont like how yall trying to make sense of it all.

[write-havoc]

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 12

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

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

After Arthur dresses, he heads out the back door of the manor house to meet Dutch and John in one of the outbuildings. The muggy swamp air hangs thick around him, but it doesn’t hinder him from trudging through the soft earth toward the dilapidated former slave quarters. The distinct sound of someone being beaten allows him to pinpoint exactly which building they have the O’Driscoll held captive, so he heads that way.

“Arthur!” Sadie’s raspy voice calls out as she rushes up to him from behind. “Hang on!”

He pauses, but continues on his way without looking at her. “Now, Sadie, why don’t you head on back inside-“

“No,” she insists as she catches up to walk beside him. “There’s no way I’m not getting my hands on that O’Driscoll. I promised I’d make every single one of them pay for what they did to me and my Jake and I aim to keep that promise.”

Arthur stops begrudgingly and turns to her with a sigh, knowing she won’t drop the issue. “We need to get some information from him first, okay? I promise it ain’t gonna be good for him; he’s gonna suffer. But we need to get out of him where Colm is before we let ‘im die. If I let you in there, can you promise me you won’t go blowing his head off before we get what we want?”

She looks him dead in the eye as she answers. “Yeah. I promise I’ll let you torture Colm’s location out of him before I kill him.”

Arthur’s not convinced. Especially with the way she looked during the battle against the O’Driscolls that ended not even an hour ago. The sight of her firing off rounds into the enemy and screaming the whole while like a banshee made her look like a woman possessed. And that rage doesn’t just go away.

“Leave your guns out here,” he finally says, pointing to the ground.

She lets out a huff, knowing that he has a point. With the blind rage she feels every time she even hears the name O’Driscoll, she can’t trust herself not to kill the man the second she sees him.

“Fine.” She drops her pistols on the ground and follows Arthur the rest of the way to the broken down shack at the edge of the property.

Once the pair enters the building, they see the young O’Driscoll, his arms and legs both strapped down to a chair. Considering the two black eyes and fat lip he’s sporting, Dutch and John must have already worked him over.

“Arthur,” Dutch greets him as if he’s walked into a party. “And Mrs. Adler,” he adds, though his voice drops slightly.

The woman in question stares daggers at the O’Driscoll before her, but she restrains herself from pouncing on him. Rather, she moves back to lean against the wall as she crosses her arms over her chest in a wordless gesture saying that she’ll be hands off on this. At least right now.

Dutch takes notice then continues. “John and I were just asking our new friend here about his boss, but he’s been less than forthcoming. Perhaps you could try your hand, Arthur. You always were very persuasive .”

Arthur knows what that means; he’s to beat the information out of him. To make sure the O’Driscoll is good and intimidated, Arthur makes a show of rolling up his sleeves slowly and taking his hat off before leaning down to the young man’s face.

“Where’s Colm?” he growls, hoping the man will make this easy by cracking immediately. But of course, he doesn’t.

“Fuck you,” the O’Driscoll spits out in his Irish accent, though it’s muffled from the blood pooling in his mouth from the blows he’s already suffered.

Arthur’s only response is a swift punch to the guy’s gut, knocking the wind from him. As he coughs and sputters to try to get the air that had been punched out of him back into his lungs, Dutch lights up a cigar and casually saunters closer.

“It’s only going to get harder, O’Driscoll,” Dutch calls out in a sing song way. “Best bet is to talk now.”

The man flicks his gaze around all the faces in the room, to the younger dark haired man with the scars to his right, then to the two men standing in front of him and finally to the woman leaning on the back wall with murder in her eyes. “Colm told me about all ‘a yous.” He fixes his gaze on the oldest man that he’s recognized as Dutch. “You especially. You can’t just murder a man’s kin, his brother , and expect not to pay.”

“I did pay!” Dutch yells as he trades position with Arthur to stand directly in front of their captive. “Colm murdered someone dear to me and I loved her more than Colm ever cared about his good for nothing brother, I assure you of that. He still owes me .” To punctuate the point, Dutch stubs out his lit cigar on the back of the man’s hand, eliciting a growl of pain from him.

Arthur moves to the man’s side and grabs him by the hair, wrenching his head up to look at him. “Where’s Colm?” he growls as he rears back like he’s going to punch him again.

“Y-You can’t do nothin’ about it,” the O’Driscoll answers in a moment of weakness, his resolve to remain loyal to his leader momentarily waning with the prospect of another blow.

“Do about what?” John asks as he steps closer.

The young man steels himself, mustering the courage to hold out. “Don’t matter. You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ more from me!”

Before anyone else can react, Sadie flies out of nowhere brandishing her hunting knife with both her hands. She swings the blade above her head and down, burying it deeply in the man’s left thigh.

“Where’s Colm?!” she screams. “Answer us!”

The O’Driscoll squeals in pain at the sudden shock of being stabbed. “You crazy bitch!”

Arthur pulls Sadie back by the shoulder before she can do any more damage, cursing himself for not noticing that she had kept her knife on her. He decides to make the best out of the situation and wraps his hand around the blade still stuck in the O’Driscoll’s leg. He wiggles it a little to produce more pain, hoping that he will finally break. “Last chance, O’Driscoll. Answer or I’ll pull this knife out and watch you bleed to death. Slowly. And painfully.”

He looks up to Arthur, barely able to catch his breath out of pain and fear. His resolve crumbles quickly at the prospect that the man in front of him is telling the truth. For as much as Colm O’Driscoll has spouted that the gang always comes first, the decision to actually try to save his own life comes easy for the young man staring death in the face.

“Saint Denis,” he finally whispers. “Colm’s in Saint Denis. Pinkertons picked him up right after you didn’t show up to the meet. Said he weren’t no use to them no more.”

Dutch steps forward. It’s certainly good to have that information, but something else has been bothering him. “How did you know we were here at Shady Belle?” Depending on the answer, they may have to move camp yet again.

“W-We saw two of your men in a wagon in Valentine,” he starts to explain. “Followed ‘em here.”

Arthur figures that’s possible. When it became clear that Emmeline had permanently relocated from her home, he had sent out Sean and Lenny to pick up Emmeline’s chickens and coop to bring back to Shady Belle. Neither of the two young men have a whole lot of experience and may not have realized they were being followed all the way back to camp.

“Did you tell the Pinkertons?” Arthur asks instantly. That’s the real question. If they know where they are, they could already be on their way here.

“We’re on the run from them now just like you are!” the O’Driscoll bites back. “We ain’t talked to those lyin’ bastards since they took Colm!”

It seems to everyone that the man is probably telling the truth, so their camp is safe for now. But there’s still the issue of Colm.

“Where exactly in Saint Denis are they keeping him?” Dutch asks.

“How the hell should I know!” When Arthur winds up to punch him, the O’Driscoll backs off. “No, no, no! Wait!” he calls out anxiously. “Theys gonna hang him today. I swear! That’s why we went after yous.” His eyes flit around the room, knowing that he’s said too much. “S-So you’ll get your revenge anyway. Even if you do nothin’,” he tries, hoping they don’t put it together.

Dutch shares a look with Arthur, the two of them instantly picking up the real reason behind the O’Driscolls’ quick attack.

“As much as I hate that man,” Dutch starts, “I have to admit that Colm’s smart enough that he’s managed to slip the noose many times before. I also know that he’s smart enough to realize that if he’s going to be strung up anywhere near where I am, I’d make sure he gets properly hung. So this little skirmish we just engaged in tells me for certain that Colm has a plan in place to escape his execution today. And that he doesn’t want me to ruin it. So thank you for confirming that.” Dutch gives Arthur a nod, wordlessly conveying his orders to the younger man.

Without a second’s notice, Arthur pulls the large knife from the O’Driscoll’s leg, making sure to twist it on the way out. As the man screams in pain, Arthur hands the blade back to Sadie and gestures back to the man, making it clear that she’s to dispatch of him.

“Hey, wait!” the man yells. “I told ya what ya wanted!”

His plea doesn’t stop Sadie as she walks forward to him. “You O’Driscolls ruined my life!” She suddenly stabs him in the gut with a punch. “Killed my husband!” She stabs him again. “Forced yourselves on me!” Her hand starts to slip on the hilt as it’s covered with blood, but she continues. “ You ruined my life! ” Using all the power she can muster, she forces the blade up and under his rib cage, puncturing his heart and killing him instantly. His head lolls to the side as the life leaves his body.

Despite the fact that he’s long gone, Sadie keeps stabbing him repeatedly anywhere she can. Once his torso starts to lose it’s shape from the repeated wounds, Arthur gently puts his hand on her shoulder, drawing her out of her rage.

“He’s dead, Sadie,” he says softly. “That’s enough.”

Breathing roughly, she pulls back from the man slumped in the chair and looks down at her bloodstained hands. She wonders just what kind of person she’s become through all of this. Is she even recognizable as herself anymore?

John jumps in, unaware of the battle raging in Sadie’s mind. “You really think after how many O’Driscolls we just killed today that they can still rescue Colm from Saint Denis?”

“I reckon there’s more than enough of those bastards left to save Colm from the gallows,” Dutch answers. “We need to make sure they don’t succeed.”

“We better get goin’ then,” Arthur comments. “If we wanna get there in time to stop them.”

Dutch nods in agreement. “John, you take care of him,” he gestures to the dead man in the chair then looks up to Sadie and Arthur. “We need to see Hosea about a change of clothing.”

Arthur recognizes the look in Dutch’s eye; he already has a plan cooked up in his head. Once they find Hosea and tell him everything as quickly as possible, the older man is immediately on board.

“I have a couple of Saint Denis police uniforms that should fit you fellas. They’ll get you close without raising suspicion,” he explains as he pulls the outfits from a trunk in the back of one of the wagons. “As for you, Mrs. Adler,” he roots around more, finding a fancy yellow dress with a frilly lace front, “I think a high society lady traversing the streets of the city will go unnoticed by anyone looking for outlaws.”

She takes the frock into her freshly cleaned hands, then the large feathered hat he produces as well. “Ain’t exactly worn nothin’ like this. And I sure as hell ain’t a high society lady.”

“Well, you are today, my dear,” Dutch comments.

After they change into their costumes, they all mount up and leave. During the ride, they strategize what they’re going to do. If they’ve made it in time and Colm’s not long gone yet, they’ll patrol the crowd to see if any of Colm’s men are around fixing to make a daring rescue of their leader. If they are in the crowd, they’ll make damn sure to keep them occupied so that Colm gets seen through on his execution.

As they finally approach Guiteau Square, the high noon sun beats down on them. That doesn’t deter the rapidly gathering crowd from congregating in front of the gallows hoping to get a good view of the show about to come. They all look on expectantly as the hangman trudges up the steps to check the noose already hanging on the crossbar on preparation.

“Good,” Dutch says quietly to his companions. “We didn’t miss it.” When he looks over all the people standing in the square, he thinks he recognizes a few of them. He leans in closer to Arthur to whisper, “Those two idiots look familiar?” He gestures to two men talking with another man in the crowd.

“Yeah,” Arthur answers. “They definitely run with Colm.”

“Guess it’s a good idea we decided to show up, then,” Dutch comments with a smirk.

As they watch the O’Driscolls, they notice them periodically turn and look across the street.

“What are they looking at?” Dutch asks almost to himself as he turns to see.

“One of ‘em’s comin’ this way,” Arthur warns and the three Van Der Lindes look away as to not raise suspicion. They discreetly watch the man cross the street and head away from them in the direction they had been looking.

“Better see where he’s going,” Dutch says to Arthur. “Me and Mrs. Adler will keep our eyes on those two.” He gestures to the two O’Driscolls still standing in the crowd.

Arthur nods and starts to follow the man away from the square. Keeping a safe distance, he meanders the alleyways behind the man until he sees him ascend a latter onto a fire escape. He continues on, hopping up onto a nearby rooftop and crossing over to another building, the building that happens to be directly across the street from where Colm will be hanged.

Luckily for Arthur, the O’Driscoll isn’t the most observant, so instead of checking his surroundings first, he goes straight to the sniper rifle that must have been stashed there earlier. He takes up his position to get a good look at Guiteau Square. And most likely the noose he’s set to shoot down to save Colm from hanging.

As quietly as he can, Arthur pulls his knife from its sheath and sneaks up behind the distracted O’Driscoll. It takes just a moment for Arthur to bury his knife in the back of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord and killing him almost instantly.

Movement on the raised platform of the gallows below catches Arthur’s eye after he unceremoniously drops the dead man’s body to the ground. He picks up the O’Driscoll’s discarded sniper rifle and raises the scope to his eye to get a better look. Colm had been brought out while Arthur was killing the sniper and the noose now rests around his neck. The bright sunlight of this cloudless day makes it easy for Arthur to see the smug smile on Colm’s face through the scope. It’s the smile of a man expecting to walk away from this unscathed, confident that the plan he has in place will go off without a hitch. Arthur sees that expression fall slightly as the man casts his eyes down to the crowd. Arthur follows his gaze to see that Sadie and Dutch are now holding onto the two O’Driscolls in the crowd, guns to their heads to keep them from doing anything stupid. Once Colm raises is gaze to see Arthur in the sniper’s nest, pure fear washes over his face as the realization hits that his plan has been thwarted. This will be his last day on earth and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

Arthur sends an obnoxious wave over to him to hit the point home. “You’re gon’ hang, Colm,” he says under his breath. “Once and for all.”

The hangman wastes no time in shouting out Colm’s charges, but Arthur can barely hear them over the distance. He’s focused on looking through the scope right at Colm’s face, anyway, not wanting to miss a single second of the man’s fear as his execution approaches. Just a moment later, the hangman pulls the lever and Colm finally falls through the drop door to his long overdo death.

Arthur’s seen men die before, many times. He’s even witnessed hangings and it’s never much affected him. This one does, though, not for what it is but what it will mean from now on. The air leaves Arthur’s lungs as if a weight has been lifted from him. Dutch’s rivalry with Colm that’s lasted for almost as many years as Arthur’s been in the gang is now over. He only gets a second to really feel the weight of that before a shot rings out (as well as a scream that sounds suspiciously like Sadie’s angry voice) and then everyone in the square is scattering.

“Arthur! O’Driscolls!” Dutch’s loud voice reaches Arthur’s ears and he jumps into action.

There aren’t many O’Driscolls left, but there are enough rushing into the square to keep Dutch and Sadie pinned down in their positions ducked down behind the low wall surrounding the square. Arthur quickly pinpoints the men battling to avenge their fallen leader and dispatches them with utmost efficiency. Soon enough, the din of the gunshots is punctuated by a cacophony of police whistles as the local law enforcement descends on the scene, adding to the anarchy. Fortunately, Dutch’s cop costume keeps the heat from the actual cops away from him and Sadie as they try to take out the last of the O’Driscolls.

Their anonymity doesn’t last forever, though. One observant officer ends up rushing to take cover right beside Dutch. As soon as he gets a good look at Dutch’s face, his eyes widen in recognition. Dutch sees the look of familiarity sweep through the man’s eyes and knows the tide will surely turn if this young man is allowed to call attention to the outlaw in his midst. Without an extra second’s thought, Dutch silences the cop with a well placed bullet through the top of his head before he can alert anyone.

“We need to get outta here!” Dutch shouts to Sadie.

Arthur can see the moment things start to change. With the law finally outnumbering the O’Driscolls, they start to look around for the cause of the battle. More and more of their eyes are focusing on Dutch and Sadie, which is decidedly a bad thing. It’s one thing to fight O’Driscolls in the streets, but having the entire police force of Saint Denis coming for you is quite another.

The two Van Der Lindes on the ground have no choice but to rush away from the police and toward one of the alleys that the leftover O’Driscolls are holed up in. It would certainly be a death trap on any other occasion, but Dutch knows that Arthur has line of sight on this particular alley. As if on cue, every O’Driscoll that peeks his head out to get a shot on Dutch and Sadie ends up with a fresh bullet hole between the eyes, courtesy of the sniper rifle they so generously provided in the fight in the first place.

Dutch gives a little wave, signaling to Arthur that all the O’Driscolls in the immediate area are gone. When Dutch and Sadie start to strip off their costumes in favor of putting on their normal outfits, Arthur follows suit, pulling his extra clothes from his satchel. Abandoning the uniform and the rifle on the roof, Arthur makes his way down to street level and across the few blocks to where their horses are hitched.

“Come on, Arthur. Hurry up,” Dutch spurs the younger man to move faster down the street as he hops up into his saddle. “We need to get outta here before the police really catch onto us.”

As Arthur mounts Sparrow and turns to follow Dutch, he looks to his right to Sadie. “You alright?”

She tears her eyes away from the road ahead to look his way. “We got ‘em, Arthur,” she chokes out, though no tears come to her eyes; they never do anymore. “Who we didn’t kill, the law finished off. There ain’t no more O’Driscolls thanks to us, so I feel...” She thinks a moment. Happy’s not the word; the grief of losing her husband is still too great to allow for that. “I feel... relieved,” she settles on. “Those monsters won’t ever hurt anyone else. And I’m more than okay with that.”

Meanwhile back at camp, from the moment the trio leaves Shady Belle, everyone else in the gang has been a little on edge. Not only are they wondering if the small group would be successful in making sure Colm finally gets his due, but they have the mess around the property to deal with, too. It’s all hands on deck to try to dispose of the dead O’Driscolls lying around. Fortunately, the swamp around them (and the alligators in it) provides the perfect place to do just that, but all those bodies still need to make their way there.

The thought of having to touch dead corpses horrifies Emmeline, but she doesn’t want to let anyone down. She is a part of this group, so she’s determined to pitch in as much as she can.

“You can do this,” she whispers to herself before she pushes through the front door of the main house and walks out onto the porch. A wave of nausea passes over her as she steps closer to one of the bodies off by the gazebo, knowing what she has to do. “He was a bad man,” she mutters to reassure herself as she rolls the sleeves of her blouse to her elbows. Tossing a glance back to the wagon being laden with dead bodies, she bends down and wraps her fingers around the dead O’Driscoll’s ankles, fixing to drag him in that direction. After only a few feet, she’s interrupted by Hosea’s voice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there,” he calls out as he rushes toward her. “You should be inside, Emmeline.”

She gently drops the O’Driscoll’s feet, as if she could still hurt him if she was too rough. “It’s okay. I want to help out.”

He doesn’t take that for an answer. Instead, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and turns her back toward the house. “I’m sure Jack would be pleased with your company upstairs. Besides, it’s too hot out here. You shouldn’t overexert yourself in your condition.”

“C-Condition?” she asks, playing dumb in case he doesn’t actually know her secret and means something else.

He chuckles, leading her back up the porch steps and through the door. “Yes. Your condition .” He stops them in the sitting room, knowing that everyone else is too busy to hear their conversation. “I admit that I should have seen it sooner. Age really is creeping up on me. Dulling the senses.” He holds his hand out, gesturing for her to sit onto the couch. He follows after, planting himself down with a groan and creaking joints.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve lived my whole life as a conman, dear girl. I’ve learned to read people, pick up on little cues, little traits that tell me everything I need to know about them. I wasn’t too sure about your... situation at first. Not until I saw the way John’s been looking at you like he’s terrified. The same way he looked at Abigail when she was with child, though not quite as bad. I reckon ‘cause he knows he’s not the father in this case.” He shakes his head. “That boy still ain’t comfortable with children, despite having one of his own.”

“Abigail figured it out pretty quick,” Emmeline explains. “And she told John the second she was sure. He hasn’t really said much to me about it since then.”

Hosea nods. “Abigail’s smarter than people give her credit for. And John,” he laughs, “finesse ain’t exactly his strong suit. We’ve had to fight our way out of more situations than I care to think about because he blew our cover.”

“Really?” she says with a giggle. “I guess Arthur and I will have to start telling people soon, anyway. People are bound to notice when I start showing through my dress.”

“You and Arthur have time yet, I’m betting.” He pats her on the knee gently. “I’m so happy for Arthur to become a father. I know he always wanted to have children.”

“He did?” she asks, confused. Arthur hadn’t really told her that in so many words.

He nods. “He may not admit it, maybe not even to himself, but I know deep down he’s wanted a family. All you have to do is look at how he treats Jack. He’s been more of a father to that boy than Marston‘s been, really. Did everything for him in the beginning. If Abigail hadn’t’ve loved John so much, I reckon Arthur woulda married her just to give the boy a proper family when John left.”

“Arthur wants to leave,” she admits quietly. “Leave the gang with me and the Marstons. So we can raise the children away from this.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “He’s smart to want that. We all know this isn’t gonna end well, deep down. We just try to prolong it, day by day, however we can.” He grasps her hand in his and gives her a poignant look. “You tell him it’s alright to leave all this, Emmeline. Even if he’s said he wants to leave, he’ll wrestle with getting away from this life, leaving us. You tell him he can go. He doesn’t owe us nothing more.”

The vehemence with which he says it has Emmeline nodding automatically. She had a feeling that Arthur would have a hard time with following through on leaving. Especially given how much he sees the gang as his family.

It takes a while, but the property finally gets completely cleaned up. It isn’t much longer after that when Dutch, Arthur, and Sadie get back to the camp. Once everyone sees the three riders galloping down the trail toward the house, they hold their breath in anticipation. The second Dutch hitches The Count and looks up with a bright smiling face and outstretched arms, everyone breaks out in cheers knowing that the trio was successful in their mission. The Van Der Linde’s oldest rival has been taken down. And now it’s time to celebrate.

Liquor flows. Songs are sung. Stories are told. The mood around camp is light and jovial as everyone enjoys the party, some around the fire, some at Pearson’s tent, and some dancing in the middle to the music from Dutch’s phonograph.

From her seat on the log by the fire, Emmeline watches Karen and Sean swaying to and fro together arrhythmically to the music, both of them already three sheets to the wind. It doesn’t stop them from looking like they’re anything but happy together, though.

“You doin’ alright?” Arthur’s voice draws her attention away from the couple.

She turns back to him beside her and gives him a smile. “Yeah. I’m fine, Arthur.”

“What you went through today...” he lets out a heavy breath, thinking about how she was held at gunpoint earlier, “I don’t want you to ever go through that again. Don’t ever want you in danger.”

“I don’t want either of us in danger.” Remembering the conversation she had earlier with Hosea, she scoots closer to Arthur to speak with him more quietly. “I know it’s gonna be hard,” she whispers and takes her hand in his, “but I think we should-“ She’s interrupted by Dutch coming up from behind and clapping Arthur on the shoulder.

“What’s with the long face, Arthur?” he asks with a huge smile as he walks around to stand before them. “We’re celebrating, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Arthur looks up to him. “I know, Dutch. I’ve been waitin’ to see Colm hang for a long time.” He shakes his head a little and scratches at the back of his neck not wanting to tell Dutch about the way his insides twist thinking about how Emmeline and their baby had been in danger today. “Guess I’m just tired. Long day.”

“That it’s been.” Dutch plants himself down next to Emmeline, unaware he’s interrupted the conversation she wanted to have with Arthur. “Things are gonna change for us,” he says wistfully as he looks to the darkening evening sky. “I can feel it. Our luck is gonna change.”

“I sure hope so,” Arthur quips.

“Come on, Arthur,” Dutch replies, though his happy tone doesn’t fall much. He bumps Emmeline with his shoulder. “If you keep spending time with him, you’ll end up just as morose as he is.”

She laughs at his joke. “He’s not morose most of the time. He actually makes me laugh.”

Dutch looks overly shocked. “Arthur? Funny? Pfft!”

It makes Emmeline laugh more. It’s nice to see this side of Dutch. Since she’s met him, she actually hasn’t spent much time with him. And with Micah, the Pinkertons, and the move, Dutch hadn’t exactly been up to socializing lately. But now, it seems like he’s back to the man that Arthur had described to her. She thinks it would be nice to actually get to know the man that’s her only living kin.

Having heard the exchange as he grabbed a beer from the box by Pearson’s wagon, Hosea walks up to take a seat across from the small group. “Arthur’s a regular comedian, don’t you know?” he jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” Arthur grumbles. “Don’t need you comin’ in here and teasin’ me, too.”

Hosea chuckles a bit. “No need to be so serious, Arthur. This is a party, after all.”

“That’s what I was saying.” Dutch rises from his seat and turns back to hold his hand out to Emmeline. “Since your fella is too busy brooding, would you care to dance with me?”

“I ain’t brooding ,” Arthur responds, a smile finally tugging his lips upward once he sees Emmeline trying to hold back a giggle. “Go on then.” He shoos her off with a gesture of his hand.

Emmeline takes Dutch’s hand and allows him to lead her to the open area that had occupied Karen and Sean just a moment ago, the couple having vacated, most likely to their tent. Dutch keeps ahold of her left hand in his right as he turns to face her.

“You know how to dance?” He places his left hand gently around her back while he raises his other arm with hers into position.

“Not really,” she admits, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “My father tried to teach me when I was little, but I think I ended up just jumping around.” She laughs at the memories.

As he starts to sway with her, he asks her quietly, “He was good to you?”

She realizes then what she had said. She had called Joseph, the man that raised her, her father. But the man standing before her technically holds that title. It doesn’t make the former feel any less like a parent to her, though. Despite the fact that he was never blood, he will always be her papa.

“He was a very good... father. I loved him.”

Dutch nods his head, then puts a smile on his face. “I’m glad. I could tell he was a good man.” He steps back and lifts her arm up, prompting her to twirl.

When she comes back to him, she lets out a little laugh. “I don’t think I got the hang of spinning when I was eight years old,” she says, trying to bring the conversation to lighter fare.

Dutch isn’t ready to end the conversation that he’s thought about having for years, though. “I did think of you often,” he asserts, his eyes soft as he looks to the young woman in front of him. “I always wanted the best for you. I tried to help out after Joseph died, left money for you and your mother.”

She looks away a moment as they continue to sway to the music. “I know. Arthur told me.”

“So many times I thought about knocking on your door. Introducing myself to you. Making up for lost time.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you; I want to make that clear. I always cared about you, Emmeline. And that’s precisely why I never knocked on your door. Your mother was right. It would’ve been dangerous for you.”

“I understand, Dutch,” she reassures him. “I didn’t at first. I wasn’t too happy knowing I was lied to, but... I do understand why you and my parents did what you did. But I’m happy to get to know you now.” She gives him a smile, which he returns easily.

In the meantime, since Arthur is left by himself, he looks over to Hosea. “Sorry about havin’ to leave those costumes of yours back in Saint Denis.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad they did their job and you all made it back safe.”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. Ain’t no more O’Driscolls left after all that.”

“One less thing on our plates.”

“That’s what we need. Things to be more simple. Like they they were before the Pinkertons.” Arthur takes a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it, taking a drag and exhaling the smoke.

“Maybe we should just be tying up loose ends.”

Arthur looks over to the older man in confusion. “Whatchu mean?”

“We’re the last of a dying breed, my boy. And it’s only gonna end one of two ways, accept it and finally become a member of civilization or fight it and go out on the cooling board.” Hosea stands with a groan, his stiff joints protesting momentarily, and walks over to Arthur, placing his hand on his shoulder and leaning down to speak more quietly. “Don’t you make that girl a widow. And don’t you make that child fatherless.”

Arthur looks up to the older man, ready to ask how he knew. But he thinks better of it. Of course Hosea knew; he always does.

As Arthur follows Hosea’s exit, his eyes wander over to Molly as she stands on the front porch. She’s leaning on the railing with her arms crossed over her chest and staring daggers at Dutch and Emmeline as they continue to dance and laugh with one another.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters to himself. He knows exactly what’s going through the fiery redhead’s mind.

Molly has made her jealous streak well known. Just about every woman that Dutch has so much as talked to has gotten the third degree from her. And it’s all only gotten worse as Dutch closed himself off more. It seems that Molly has been coping with that by drinking more which has only made her more volatile.

Before Arthur can do anything about it, Molly stomps over to Emmeline and roughly pulls her back by the arm.

“Arthur ain’t enough for ya, huh, ya trollop,” Molly slurs out, her Irish accent sounding a little bit stronger than normal. She shoves her finger right into Emmeline’s face and yells, “Ya gotta go after Dutch Van Der Linde himself, too!”

Molly’s loud voice draws attention and everyone looks her way, interested at the turn of events. That intrigue only deepens once Arthur jumps up from his seat and rushes over.

“What the hell are you doin’, Molly?” he calls out and quickly puts himself between the woman and Emmeline to prevent a skirmish.

“Yes,” Dutch concurs as he puts his hands on his hips, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, don’t you act innocent, Dutch,” Molly seethes, refocusing her rage on him. “She bats her pretty eyes at you and you eat it up.”

“I wasn’t-“ Emmeline starts, but Molly isn’t hearing it.

“You shut up, you hussy! It’s obvious you’re throwing yourself at him!”

Emmeline has never been talked to like this in her whole life and it has her flustered. Flustered enough that she blurts out, “I don’t want Dutch! He’s my father !” loud enough that everyone hears.

Audible gasps ring out around the camp at the shock. No one had even an inkling that their newest member was related to Dutch and now it comes out that she’s his daughter .

Molly takes a step back and looks to Dutch as she tries to make sense of all of this. “Is that true?”

Dutch lets out a sigh and puts his hand on the shoulder of his formerly secret daughter. “Yes. Emmeline is my daughter,” he says loud enough for all the straining ears around them to hear. “I suppose it’s time to tell you all everything.” He takes his hand off of her and steps forward to address everyone. “Let me explain. I did send Arthur to check on Emmeline, but it wasn’t just because I knew her mother. I knew all along she was my daughter and wanted to make sure she was alright. She and Arthur did get sweet on each other, but the reason he brought her here was because the Pinkertons knew about her. And they wanted to use her to get to me. Why I decided to keep all this quiet was to protect her. But since we now know that Micah ,” he hisses the man’s name, “was the one working with the police and he’s no longer here, there’s no reason to keep it a secret anymore.”

Everyone processes the information at their own rate. Some people are stood there shocked while others nod softly their assent. John is firmly in the former category, his gaze flicking quickly between Dutch, Emmeline, and Arthur.

“Emmeline’s your daughter?” he asks aloud, though he’s not exactly looking for a response from the man. “And she and Arthur-“

He’s cut off by a swift elbow to the ribs courtesy of Abigail next to him. “Emmeline and Arthur are together and it don’t rightly matter that Dutch is her father,” she finishes the sentence for him to stop him from saying anything he shouldn’t. “I think it’s good fortune. She’s part of the family no matter what.”

Emmeline smiles to the other raven haired woman. “Thank you, Abigail. That means a lot.”

“Indeed,” Dutch’s booming voice brings attention back to him. “We are all a family here. Now, I know we’ve had some tough times, but they are behind us. Tonight, we celebrate our long overdue victory over the O’Driscolls and tomorrow...” he pauses to make sure all eyes are on him, “we make our plans to free ourselves from the bond of the slavery that this ‘ society ’ is forcing on us. Stick with me and I promise that you will be able to live free.”

His words sound good, especially to the mostly inebriated ears that hear them. But they make a weight settle in Arthur’s chest. Dutch seems to be back to his old self... but is that really a good thing?

[lametime-dnd]

[Character] Harken Ostira

Player: Legend

Race: Human Age: 25 (M) Height: 6′3″ Weight: 213.7 lb

Class: Thundersoul (Bloodrager) Tradeskills: Alchemy/Engineering

Deity: None Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Homeland: Unknown - selective amnesia (he thinks “Ostia”) Affiliations: Ferrous Flame Smith Co.

Harken has arrived in this land at the age of 21, with little known to him for many a reason. He finds himself able to create simple alchemical brews and engineer equally rudimentary structures to help keep himself protected while in these lands. He journeys the lands and stumbles upon a place that unlocks his ruby orb into what it was meant to be all along - a piece of equipment this solider has known and loved his whole life; an axe of special properties.

He has journeyed the lands familiarizing himself with certain guilds and companies, to which he now has found one that may finally be the fit to his particular skills. His powers should be honed and put to use, and this guild seems to be a great place to do both and serve the only memory he has burned into his very soul.

Extended Bio

“Live with Honor, Die with Glory.” - Balderich von Adler

Harken was born a babe destined to fear or don armor that could protect against it. His father a contracted builder of the great city of Ostia. They employed him to design ways to make their city run more efficiently. A modest man he took pride in helping his people through great measures of architecture. Designing aqueducts and other such functional structures were chief among his achievements. His mother took to a more academic approach to supporting her people in the form of home brewed remedies. She took a sense of accomplishment in foraging the land for it’s hidden ingredients to unlock their even more secret properties for good. Her prospects may not have been as grand a scale physically as her husband’s but she took pride in knowing one of her prized creations, Ifrit’s blood, could eat through anything his mind dreamed up to leave them both on equal footing. She primarily came up with medicinal brews that would help her people maintain a healthy lifestyle when things would get them down. His parents would lead their daily activities quite separate from each other now there was a time when they worked together to help build a more reliable form of city lighting. The two took great pride in their work and at first meeting tried very hard to outdo the other which cause them to grow closer in their rivalry. Soon enough they realized their fighting to be the best was instead an underlying desire to find someone worthy of their talents so that they could compliment their genius and passion. Harken, whom all had thought would inherit the great intelligence of his parents, was born some time later and had great expectations from their town to perform great deeds as his lineage had.

To some Harken’s utter contempt for things of a delicate and intellectual nature betrayed their hopes that this mixture of craftsmen would create a heightened next level to both. Instead the young boy proved to have other talents neither progenitors were as apt towards; fierce strength and combative mettle. As he grew, and any young boy began to take up responsibilities to upkeep their domicile his first true affinity shown through with an aptitude with an axe. The boy took to his woodcutting with a somewhat maddened sense of lust to cut down things that got in his axe’s way. As it would turn out this manifested into a desirable skill to the city after all. While the city would have anyone forget that the outside world was full of death and danger so as to keep the peace with minimal complaints to the misfortune around them some could not afford this liberty from where they lived. Not all could live within the walls of their city and for those outside, which included Harken’s household, the fear of bandits was always a constant sobering reality to offset their peaceful ways. Raids would happen from time to time but the journeying military forces would usually keep things in line before they were to get too far encroached upon. More rare still were the times when they would arrive a bit too late and a small section of outer town would be overrun with grisly stories to coincide. There was such a time while Harken attended to his duty to prepare the wood for construction and fire that such a raid occurred. Their small home set off in the direction of the mountains but when the screams and sudden brightness put shade to his work space it was more than evident that something was wrong. The horses from the attacking bandits shook the ground as they drove down the town roads spearing people indiscriminately as they went. Harken would never forget the horrors of watching his people get slaughtered before them and the deeper madness that manifested in not being able to stop them.

It was here on the day of his worst memory watching loved ones die that he also witnessed his greatest display of heroism. A solider who’s presence on the battlefield caused a somewhat eerily sudden silence was hard to mistake. Upon seeing the gleaming golden axe with ruby pommel the young Harken found himself frozen in a mixture of fear and awe. This armored knight swung the enormous weapon with precision and rage that was almost artistic despite evidently destructive strokes. The man, who he later learned was named Hector, crushed any foolhardy bandit that got in his way and made certain that they knew the wrong they had caused. His mighty axe cleaving the bandit’s leader in twain marked the end of that nightmarish night. It was learned that the people who attacked his town were searching for something but further information as to what became whispers to the wind. Harken cared not for of all he learned from his kin in engineering or alchemy nothing struck him so deep to his core such as the armor clad knight who could vanquish what felt like an army single-handedly or his gleaming golden axe.

Fast forwarding several years the now 17 year old Harken finds himself manning a raid of his own but on a bandit encampment on the outermost boarder of Ostia’s boarders. The enemies that do see them in enough time to loose arrows are sourly disappointed when the cloaked attackers heavy armor deflects their missiles as if they are nothing at all. One such fighter, as it were, is Harken with his great axe at the ready to vanquish the scum before him in a ferocious display of rage. The man never forgets what he has lost to these demons some call people and he will not rest until they all pay for the pain that was caused to him at the loss of his father. The kind soul that would give everything he had to make his city, and by extension his people, a better place to live would be cut down far too soon. The structure his presence gave to his people gone but not forgotten ever. His mother would become somewhat of a recluse after loosing her partner and going out to meet with unknown people about things her son dare not ask. It was at this time the then 12 year old Harken was forced to take his skills and go where he could to make ends meet to keep his mother and self afloat. Hector had extended offers to these people, who had suffered so much, a place within the city to recoup their losses given there were so few left they could easily find a place for them within the walls. As luck would also have it he had extended another offer to able-body boys to learn how to defend themselves that they could be better suited to protect themselves so such a tragedy would never occur again. It was the universe telling Harken that he could use his love of swinging the axe to be like his new mentor and take vengeance on those shattered his peaceful world.

They trained for four long years in the ways of war. In this time Harken transformed a bit to model his mentor and pseudo idle Hector. On the eve of his 17th birthday having completed his training and citing the rites that would mark him as a Knight of Ostia that he could finally know the sense of accomplishment he so desperately desired to make his people proud as they were his parents. The day of his birthday marked another event that would forever change the way Harken saw the world. While raiding bandits, which they had done for half the time to his next name day, this time he had stumbled upon a situation he never thought possible. Cleaving into his enemies with greataxe in hand a bolt not made of wood and metal struck him with a force so hard he had sworn nature itself loosed it’s fury upon him. Shellshocked by the bang that shook him to the core he made way to his feet so that he could defend against such attack as best his frame would allow. Looking around at his unit it was made apparent that this attack had done far more than he could’ve initially comprehended. The man grit his teeth in rage as he realized his was the last presence among his friends. The book holding sage that had struck down his friends loosed another lightning bolt on a smaller scale that seemed this time to absorb into Harken’s skin this time instead of jolt such as the first had done. Instead it seemed to invigorate his soul and unlock a deep seeded ability to manifest this into raw power in return. It is fuzzy how he toppled the rest of these foes but the outcome of him standing triumphant upon their crushed camp was known both to him and soon after the military of Ostia. It was here that Hector shown himself yet again on the battlefield before Harken but this time the two shared a great bond that would be known later on more clearly to the youth.

In the inner parts of the capital to Ostia only the few selected knights were allowed to train and it was here that Harken was allowed to hone his skills with his now present mentor Hector giving guidance on fighting styles with axeplay in battle. For three more years he learned to fight and grew to partially understand the extent of his bloodrage magic. He was not very good at manifesting it’s power but in dire situations he could turn the tide from grave to glorious. Harken, now 20, found his life had turned much more adventurous and full of meaning than he had ever dreamed of. Serving as one of Hector’s guard helped him learn of numerous fighting techniques and ways to overpower his foes. His ability to turn his hidden arcane power into manifestations of rage or magic began to show him that he could do good by his people in a way they never imagined. Most importantly his desire to crush foes with great fervor never seemed to be sated to which his mentor always seemed weary of. In his 21st year Harken’s life would take it’s last great myserious turn in the form of an unexpected journey. By this point in his life there was not much that had surprised Harken while journying with Hector. He had learned that many a thing he thought was fairytale such as different races (elves, dwarves), mythical creatures (dragons, golems, zombies), and even rips in space time that would allow one to peer into places his mind would’ve never dreamed up in a million years. It was while guarding one of these great many portals that he found himself daydreaming of many things. His life now seemed mostly  peaceful and his work with his master lord Hector fulfilled his dreams of doing something great better than he could imagine. It was nearly 10 years since he first lay eyes on the man that would change his life by allowing him to learn the ways of war that would make him truly strong. While considering these strengths were still not entirely known even after all this time he felt a familiar firm grasp upon his shoulder. From the portal a shaken Hector startled Harken out of his daze. The shout that he heard were not clear as the world around him seemed to expand and contract as a billion galaxies appeared to grow and explode around them. The only thing he could understand from his lord was that something had to be done and that he should hold firmly onto this majestic orb of ruby that it would guide him in this task he could barely hear to know. As he put up a hand to motion as to what was said the vortex from the portal surged as the strong hand of Hector, now somewhat dulling in power, pushed him away into the void. He managed at the last moment to catch the tail end of his task,

“ .. . Die with honor only after you have taught them to live with glory.” Harken, now in a land he was unfamiliar with for the past four years. Has finally found his way to a group that he believes was his destiny to find. Wrapping his axe up to obscure it’s odd presence and tightening it to his back he began his journey yet again to find his place in this world among their ranks.