Blessed are the Peacekeepers
Summary: A fateful encounter with a mysterious stranger shifts the tides of fate. Arthur has a second chance to save the ones he loves, to stop the demise of the only family he ever knew. To stop the man he swore his loyalty to from his own self-destruction. But even second chances come at a price. (AU Arthur doesn't get TB, eventual ArthurxSadie)
Disclaimer: I do not own Rockstar, its games or characters, etc. This is just for fun, and because I can't get enough of all these awesome cowboys.
Chapter 1: I Know You
His lungs burned. The bleeding within their chambers did nothing to quench the smolder. He crawled for the gun, hacking more red liquid onto his chin, his limbs weakening each passing second. Every fiber within him hurt. The pulsating thrum of his heartbeat in his ears was chaotic, on the verge of failure.
Arthur didn't let it stop him from going for the gun.
"Oh, Black Lung…you ain't gonna reach that gun," the rat said. "You ain't."
Welted flesh throbbed, the bruising swelled. His eyes were beginning to swell shut. But Arthur didn't waver, urged his dying body closer to the revolver ahead of him. His joints scraped across rock, teary eyes seeing the outline of the gun's muzzle within the first glow of dawn.
"You lost, my sick friend." Micah's pained voice, still laced with contempt, hit his back. "You lost."
Arthur groaned, grimacing as he crawled. Each breath a hiss of pain and remorse.
He thought back to John…his brother, the look of sorrow and admiration he gave Arthur in their final moments together.
"You're my brother…"
"I know."
He made it. He made it to Abigail and Jack. They would all make it. Sadie and Charles made it. Tilly too. Some of the others. In the end, Arthur felt he achieved the greatest triumph of all.
"In the end, Micah," Arthur croaked. He was so close to the gun. "Despite my best efforts to the contrary…it turns out I've won."
His body trembled, his shallow breaths rapid and unsteady. He could feel the rat's form skulking behind him. His despicable aura hovered over Arthur like a plague.
A few more heaves and he made it. Arthur reached bloodied fingers out to grip the gun, a new resolve burning within him to finish Micah. His final goal.
"Goddamn you," Arthur wheezed as he grasped the gun. He needed to finish this before he died.
His fingers were crushed beneath the weight of a dark boot and he cried out. He hadn't noticed anyone else's arrival, and his first thought: Pinkertons. They were here to stop them.
"It is over now…Arthur."
That voice. His heart clenched, hurting more than the burn of his lungs or the bruises or the broken bones.
He gasped for breath, trembling, as his eyes rose. Dutch glared down at him, angry, but worse of all, disappointed.
"It is over."
The inner turmoil that welled up within him, the regret, the sadness, the betrayal; It hurt so much more than the pain that racked his dying body. At this point, Dutch would just have to do the finishing blow and shoot Arthur himself to make this tragedy come full circle.
Arthur collapsed on the rocky ground, gasping, tears staining his bloodshot eyes. "Oh, Dutch…he's a rat."
Despite it all, Arthur's devotion still remained. He begged his mentor, his leader, the man he loved like a father, to see. To listen. To trust. To turn things right.
The anger on Dutch's face fell away, replaced by confliction and remorse.
"You know it and I know it."
Dutch stared at Arthur as he rasped, his battered body shuddering. Dutch's boot remained on the gun, his form firm but his face contorted in grief and uncertainty. His eyes softened under the brim of his fedora, his lips bunching within his mustache, taking in Arthur's pitiful state.
"He's sick," Micah said, but Arthur couldn't see him. "He's dyin'…He's talkin' crazy."
In the distance, as his hearing fizzled and rang, Arthur could hear Pinkertons closing in. Arthur knew he was dying, but felt maybe it would be from a broken heart over the disease that had consumed him.
He stared up at Dutch, pleading. "I gave you all I had."
Dutch swallowed, still conflicted, still in denial possibly. More tears wept from Arthur's puffy eyes as he tried to breath, tried to keep enough strength to talk.
"I did."
His once proud leader opened his mouth. "I…"
Dutch stepped off of Arthur's hand, stepped back, quarreling within his head and, for the first time since Arthur had known him, was speechless.
Arthur felt his heart break again. It was too late. It was too late for Dutch.
Arthur rolled onto his back, the fight and will within him suddenly gone.
"I-" Dutch tried again, his voice somber and confused.
"Come on," Micah hissed.
Arthur saw the rat take a few steps closer to them, his eyes on Dutch like a prize.
"Dutch. Let's go, buddy," he said, arms beckoning their broken leader. "We made it!" A small laugh. "We won! Come on!"
Arthur was too tired and in too much agony to be disgusted at Micah's begging. His beating heart spasmed, overloaded, his breaths coming out in small gasps. Dutch looked at Micah, and Arthur thought maybe his father-figure looked as though he curled his lip at the rat. But maybe it was a reverie from dying.
Dutch's eyes fell back on Arthur, and he could feel their gaze.
In a dying stupor, Arthur weakly smiled. "John made it…he's the only one."
Dutch came closer that time, nearly standing over Arthur. There was a flash in his dark eyes when he heard about John, but the confliction still remained.
"Rest of us…no," Arthur continued. "But…I tried…In the end, I did."
His senses were distorting, his insides twisting but he was becoming numb to the pain. Only his heart hurt. He could feel a pull coming over him, and he couldn't decide whether he was shivering from being cold or from dying.
"C'mon, let's go," came Micah's voice, getting softer. "We can make it."
Arthur felt Dutch's presence leave his side. He was going with Micah…
"Come on, Dutch!" Micah yelled, an aggressive plea. "Come on!"
There was a frustrated cry from the rat, and all went quiet.
Arthur slowly blinked, dazed. Dutch abandoned him, and he felt the final stab to his heart, but he was also relieved. Relieved his father-figure had abandoned Micah as well.
Gathering the last bit of strength, Arthur dragged his body to the edge of the mountain, laying on a slope to await his death. His breaths were ragged, his battered body numb and cold. He was about to close his eyes, but felt the warm blaze of morning rays.
He looked over. The sun ascended from behind distant mountains, their golden glow dyeing the sky in hues of pink and orange. He stared at the beautiful sunrise, eyes glazing over.
His heart was broken, haunted by the events that tore his family apart. But as he stared at the rising sun, a sense of peace fell over him, and he thought of John. Of Abigail and Jack. Of those that were able to escape. They had a chance. They didn't just survive, but now they could live. Arthur knew their freedom was the greatest gift he could receive before the end.
The warm rays splashed across his pale face, and he gave one last breath.
Take care of them…brother.
The last thing he saw was not the sunrise, but a whitetail buck grazing in a field. Its head, full of antlers, raised up and looked at him with deep, soulful eyes.
"Arthur."
He twitched, trembled, mumbled something.
"Arthur!"
Someone was shaking him. Arthur gasped for air, raising up on his cot, his body full of cold sweat. He panicked, looking around.
He saw the camp shadowed within the trees, saw the silhouettes of gang members in the early hours. Horseshoe Overlook was chilly in the mornings, especially before dawn, and he wondered if that was why he trembled.
"Arthur? Are you alright?"
It was Hosea. He was the one to shake Arthur awake, to get him out of whatever kind of delirium he had been in. Arthur stared at his father-figure and mentor, only the nearby lantern splashing any sort of light on them.
He looked Hosea up and down as he panted, fear and wonder mixing like he was a ghost in front of him. He stared at his chest, although he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but felt relief on seeing Hosea's chest rise and fall with breaths.
Hosea was concerned, stepping back to give Arthur some air. "Jesus, son. You were having a nightmare."
"W-What?" Arthur mumbled, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face.
"It's not like you. Do you need some medicine?"
"No-No, I'm fine," Arthur said, slowly calming down.
Hosea didn't look convinced, folding his arms. "What's going on?"
Arthur didn't know. He tried to think back. It had to have been a nightmare, but he couldn't remember it. He put a hand to his chest. His heart hurt, but for some reason he felt relieved to be able to breath. The haunting urge to cough lingered, but as he calmed down, it subsided.
"I guess…too much to drink last night."
Hosea furrowed his brows. "Whiskey doesn't give you nightmares. Are you sure you're alright?"
Arthur nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He sighed, looking around. He hoped he didn't alert the whole camp. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. "Probably all the goddamn stress from the mess we're in."
"I understand how you feel," Hosea said, still looking concerned. "If you need anything, just holler, alright? Talk to me if you need to, will ya?"
Arthur put a palm up to acknowledge him as he recovered. "Sure. Thanks, Hosea. I'm gonna get some coffee."
Like a worried father, Hosea tailed him to the stew pot before finally slipping off to the freshly started campfire. Arthur poured him a cup of coffee, eyes looking around the camp while he tried to get his thoughts in order.
He felt fine. His body was healthy, undamaged. He wasn't sure why he thought of that first. Once his breathing and nerves had calmed, he became increasingly confused in what had caused him to awake with such dread in the first place.
He hadn't had a nightmare in years. Not since Isaac…
He pushed the thought away, taking a gulp of burning coffee.
"Hi, Arthur!"
He jumped, turning, almost spilling his coffee.
Tilly withdrew, frowning. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya."
Why was he so jumpy? Arthur knew that Tilly was wondering the same thing. He cleared his throat, greeting her with a smile.
"Hey, Tilly. Sorry, was just thinkin'."
"You're a good girl…you live a good life now, ya hear?"
That was his voice he heard in his head, but he couldn't recall when he had said those words.
She returned the smile, stooping to get some coffee.
"Funny, you don't do that too often," she joked.
He laughed. "You're right about that." He dipped his head at her, trying to tip his hat but realized it wasn't on his head. "S'cuse me, my lady."
He retreated away to be by himself. He took his coffee to the cliffs that overlooked the Heartlands, sitting down to enjoy the view as the sun started to peak out of the horizon. The morning rays splashed the sky with pink and gold and a bit of red. It looked eerily but peacefully familiar. But he didn't know why. He had seen tons of sunrises.
Arthur racked his brain, trying to remember the nightmare. He grumbled in annoyance. He wasn't one to dawdle over dreams or memories, especially when there was work to do. But, for whatever reason, it seemed crucial that he recalled it.
Arthur rubbed his eyes. He finished his coffee, deciding he should forget about the dream for now and worry about the day ahead.
As he turned to head back up into camp and return his mug, he saw John walking down his way with his own cup. He looked surprised to see Arthur, greasy dark locks messy and framed around the fresh, sutured lacerations on his face.
Arthur froze. He had the undeniable urge to hug John. He was relieved to see him. He walked over, smiling, but then was lost, faltering. He couldn't understand why.
"What about loyalty?"
"Be loyal to what matters."
John looked at him, suspicious. "Arthur, what's up? You okay?"
Arthur scowled, rubbing his ear. "Yeah, I'm fine, Marston. 'Bout damn time ya got up!"
He walked passed him and stalked for camp.
"Good mornin' to you too," John grumbled.
Arthur couldn't understand what overcame him. Being nice to Marston wasn't something that came easy to him anymore. Not since John abandoned the gang for selfish reasons for a year, leaving his wife and child behind. Choosing to neglect his role as a father and raising Jack. John had a choice, had the fortune to be there. Arthur didn't get that chance. God, or whatever forces that ruled this world, took that away from him.
He and John had been really close before Jack was born. And it was only because John was their leader's favorite son that he was even welcomed back into the gang with opened arms to begin with.
So where the hell did that love and loyalty and sudden relief he felt when he saw John come from? There was no denying it now. Arthur was sick. Mentally sick. He ate something. He shouldn't have eaten that mushroom Sean presented to him while he was drunk last night.
The sun lit the camp with warm, morning rays, and the camp grew more active as members awoke and started to work. Arthur dumped his mug into the wash bin and stamped towards his tent, eager to get his supplies and hat and leave for a bit. He really needed to clear his head.
"Arthur!"
He froze. The dread. It struck his heart like a bite of electricity. He slowly turned, saw Dutch coming straight for him. Tears welled in his eyes and he wanted to turn away, to get out of there, but his undying commitment to his leader kept him in place.
"I gave you all I had…"
"Hey, son," Dutch greeted, a cigar curled between two fingers. "You alright? Hosea said you weren't yourself. Said you looked as though you saw a ghost when you saw him."
"I-" Arthur trailed off.
His heart…It hurt. The feeling that overcame him, it left him confused. Like Dutch had said something awful to hurt him, but he did no such thing.
Dutch narrowed his eyes, concern lingering on his face as he looked Arthur over.
"Why?" Arthur asked him.
Dutch raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"
Arthur was lost, lowering his eyes. "I…don't know."
"That ruckus with Cornwall in Valentine was a close call. Did it unnerve you? Do you need to rest? I can send someone to town for medicine, I-"
"I'm fine, Dutch," Arthur said. "I just had a dumb nightmare, is all. I'll be fine once I get out there and start workin'."
Dutch didn't look convinced, just the same as Hosea, squinting an eye at Arthur.
He didn't fight him on it though, and Arthur was thankful for that. "If you say so, my son. Look, do something for me, alright? Go get Strauss's debt from that Mr. Downes gentleman. He's been whining in my ear since yesterday. And then come straight back and get some rest."
"But-"
Dutch put up a hand, cutting him off. "No ifs, ands, or buts, Arthur. It's an easy job. I don't want you overdoing it. Clear your head. I would feel better if you came back and rested. Especially since we'll need to move camp soon. Can you do that for me?"
Arthur sighed, slowly nodding. "Sure."
Dutch smiled, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. His touch made Arthur's chest hurt. "Thank you, son. I'm just concerned, is all. Get back soon or I'll send Charles to hunt you down. Don't think I won't."
"Oh, I'm sure you will."
"We'll make it, Arthur. Don't worry."
"John made it…he's the only one…"
Arthur shook the distant words from his head, focusing. He nodded at Dutch. "I know."
He left Dutch's side, an unsettling feeling coming over him, like a knife would sink into his back any second.
As he gathered up his weapons and supplies for the trip, he recalled the events since Blackwater. It had been a bizarre few weeks since coming down from the snowy mountains. Getting Sean back, begrudgingly releasing Micah from the Strawberry jail and the hell that followed, the shootout in Valentine with Cornwall's men, even going fishing with Jack – which started off pleasant enough – turned sour with the arrival of the two Pinkerton agents. He almost got ate by a giant, disfigured grizzly bear and saw Mary again. Among the other things, Arthur was ready to move on. After the nightmare he awoke from that still prickled underneath his nerves, he was assumed they had outstayed their welcome at Horseshoe Overlook.
Arthur strapped his saddlebags and guns onto his horse and mounted up. The bay and white paint Tennessee Walker had proven to be a good horse. The stallion had been Mrs. Adler's husband's horse. He recalled her saying that his name was Hal or something, but Arthur had taken to calling him Ace. Sadie said the horse had only ever liked Jake, and only tolerated her, and still couldn't believe the horse bonded to Arthur like it did.
"You must have a good heart like my Jake did," she had told him.
Arthur snorted at that.
Whatever the case, the steed was strong and reliable with personality to boot. It was a good replacement to Arthur's old girl, Boadicea. The mare had been lost in the mess at Blackwater. Damn, did he miss that horse.
"C'mon boy," Arthur said, patting the horse on the neck, and rode out of camp.
Arthur kept his horse at a slow trot as he kept on the path to his destination.
He had come down the plateau into the valley and now followed the trail alongside the Dakota River.
A quick glance over his map reminded him where he needed to go, according to what Strauss told him days ago. It would be a couple hour ride at his pace, but Arthur needed the fresh air and the time to himself.
He barely tipped his hat to a traveling passerby on the road, he was so caught up in his thoughts. There was a weight that pooled in his chest, as though some inner phantom pulled at him.
He avoided thinking about the nightmare, the odd feelings that crept over him while talking with certain people afterward. He inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air, the smell of pine and moist dirt and prairie flowers. He appreciated the wildlife on his ride, their beauty and grace, and the way it made his soul feel more at peace.
But the closer he got to the Downes's Ranch, the more he felt sick to his stomach. A burning sensation filled his lungs, like he had smoked way too many cigarettes. At least, that was the only thing he could compare it to right off the back. But the burn was unpleasant, and also familiar.
Maybe Dutch was right. Maybe he really did need to get some rest.
He sighed. Arthur would get to the Downes's Ranch, collect the debt from Thomas Downes, and return to camp. It would be simple enough. The man was not a threat. Weak and timid. Arthur could beat it out of him if he had to.
"My husband's not cold in the ground and you've come back here."
"He didn't have a choice. He was good and he did good. There wasn't no choice in that."
"And you've as good as killed him yourself, and don't kid yourself…you had a choice."
His ears rang. Loud. The woman's voice…he didn't know that voice, but he heard those words before. They were faded in his head, whispers within the dark corners of his mind. Arthur winced, grabbing his head, suddenly burning hot.
"Whoa," he mumbled, pulling on the reins to halt his horse.
He got off Ace. The sun had rose high, warming the valley and lifting the morning fog. The tall rock formations of Caliban's Seat cast shadows across the road but didn't quite reach the river.
Arthur made his way down to the water, the nausea churning his belly. He reached down and splashed water on his face, a small groan escaping his lips. The Dakota River's current was a peaceful tune, easing his ringing ears. The ringing soon waned, but a headache had taken its place.
Arthur concentrated on his breathing, and slowly started to feel better, his eyes watching the river, the sparkle that glinted off the morning rays.
"You okay there, friend?"
Startled, Arthur whipped around. He hadn't heard anyone approach. The river pebbles and sand weren't a type of terrain that allowed for silent steps.
A man stood not too far away, tall like Arthur and wearing a black three-piece suit with a top hat. Arthur had to take a double look, as he looked very similar to Trelawny. His thick mustache framed a concerned frown.
Arthur wiped his wet hands on his pants, slowly nodding. "Sure, mister. I reckon I ate somethin' that didn't agree with me."
Arthur looked the man over again, suddenly on guard. He was reminded of Trelawny at first, though the man had a different voice. But now Arthur was sure. He was sure he knew this man from somewhere.
"Do I…know you?"
The man in the black suit smiled as though Arthur had made his day recognizing him. "Many people do…but yes. Yes, Arthur, you know me. I know you. Quite well."
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"
"Well, if I know you, wouldn't it make sense to know your name, Mr. Morgan? You know me from all over. You've forgotten me at times, or outright cast me away. But our last meeting wasn't that long ago."
Arthur didn't recall having seen this man recently, if ever. He was a complete stranger, but his presence screamed familiar to Arthur.
"Whatchu talkin' bout, pardner?" Arthur growled. "Explain."
The Strange Man chuckled, his eyes glancing out across the river for a moment. "You're as easy to agitate as John was."
"John?" Arthur echoed, looking back towards Horseshoe Overlook. "You one of his buddies? You sure as hell don't look it."
"Nah, you were long dead when I talked to John. He's a lot different later than he is now. You would be proud. Although, in the end, even he couldn't escape his past. Same as you."
Arthur glared at him, unsettled. "You speakin' in riddles, friend. I think it's best if we part ways now."
Arthur pushed by him to head for his horse. He wanted far away from this stranger. He felt the familiar dread from his nightmare return to his chest. He gripped his breast, suddenly unable to breathe.
"That nightmare did quite a spell on you, yes?"
His eyes widened and he looked behind him. The man was gone. Cursing, he looked ahead, and yelled in surprise when the mysterious man appeared right before him.
"What the hell?" Arthur hissed. "How…How did you know 'bout that?"
"I know many things, Arthur. I know all that is to transpire once you've collected the debt from Thomas Downes. All the hardships you'll endure, all the deaths and betrayals. But redemption, friend…There is redemption."
"You're crazy. Get away from me."
"Listen to me…when the time comes, you got to run and don't look back…This is over."
Arthur froze. A chill swept across his skin and he recalled the words. Knew he had spoken them. But to whom? And when?
Arthur stared dumbfounded at the Strange Man. "I…said those words…I think."
His acquaintance nodded. "You did. Near the end. To John."
"What do you mean?"
"It's yet to happen, and yet, you've already experienced it."
"I don't understand."
The Strange Man smiled. "It isn't meant to be understood, my friend. In another reality your time has long passed, and another you've yet to be born. I watched John send his family to safety before being gunned down years after you took your final breaths watching the sunrise. I've seen you weep over your mother's grave when you were just a boy, and I've also watched little Jack Marston grow into a man bent on vengeance. I saw John avenge your death at the cost of allowing his past to catch up with him."
Arthur didn't know what he was saying, but as he spoke those words, he saw visions in his head. Fuzzy, silent visions of those lives.
"What do you want from me?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking.
"I want to give you a chance, Arthur. A chance to relive what's to come. To save your friends…to save yourself. You're many things, but you are a good man. You got your redemption in the end, and yet…I think you can still find redemption on a different path."
Arthur shook his head, confused, a knot in his stomach. "I don't…know what you mean."
The Strange Man extended his hand, and Arthur saw a large stack of bills. "Here's what Thomas Downes owes for his debt…and then some. Leave the family be, Arthur. Return to camp and carry on. But be wary…listen to your heart. Heed the familiar and dreadful feelings and voices that come to you, for they will be your only indication on what's to transpire. And you may have a chance to change what's meant to be. I'll be around time to time to talk and check up on you."
Arthur cautiously reached out and took the money, mind racing, trying to understand. He stared at the cash in his hands, knowing he had to have lost his head somewhere. He was going crazy.
"The King will always lose his way if he loses his Compass. Don't let him seek solace with the Viper, for it will unleash the darkness that lurks within his heart."
When Arthur looked up, the Strange Man had vanished. Arthur looked around, jaw slack, but he was nowhere to be found. Arthur was mystified, lost, reeling around what he had said.
"We'll talk again soon, my friend," he heard the stranger say, but there was no physical entity to produce the voice.
Arthur slipped the money into his satchel and went to Ace. He mounted the horse and kicked him into a gallop, pulling him towards Horseshoe Overlook. Arthur was spooked, but he was mostly confused.
The Strange Man was obviously not of this world, but Arthur couldn't pinpoint what he was. He didn't believe in anything personally, but his mind considered God or even the Devil. Hell, could've been Death for all he knew. He was something, that's for sure.
Or maybe Arthur was losing his goddamn mind and he hallucinated the whole thing.
He really needed some rest.
He spurred his horse faster, onward in the direction of camp. He was eager to leave this area, eager to lay down and rest and forget this whole damn thing.
A/N: My newest multi-chapter RDR fic! :D I'll do my best to give steady updates! If you've played the first RDR then you know who the Strange Man is, although we can only guess who/what he really is! He'll play an important role in this story, as Arthur lives through the collapse of his gang/family once again, although now he has a chance to stop it, save his friends, if he heeds the Strange Man's warnings...
If you haven't yet, check out my short multi-fic RDR story Oh, Brother that tells how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John Marston when they were younger! :3
'Til next time, folks! ;)
