Author's Note: I'm baaack! Of course my first chapter back after the week on hiatus would be Charthur, what else? ;) This one will be a 2-parter with the next prompt, so Chapter 9 will continue where this one leaves off. These two are so hopelessly in love in this fic, I just couldn't help but make this chapter fluffy and mushy and silly all at once. These boys deserve happiness, dammit! lol
Hopefully you enjoy this one - I know I had a lot of fun writing it.
Day 8 Prompt: The Sound of Snow Crunching
Twin Stack Pass, The Heartlands, NR - December 8, 1910
It was amazing, Arthur thought, that no matter how the world around him continued to change every single day, some places could still remain exactly the same as they had always been, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book. It felt like every time he visited the nearby towns and cities, something was different, even if he'd just been there a week or two before. There was always somebody's new home being built, one shop going out of business just for another to open up in its place, some new café or park or art gallery being crammed into an already impossibly crowded downtown as the population grew and the city in turn expanded to accommodate it. Hell, it didn't even have to be somewhere as grand and ambitious as Saint Denis; Blackwater had been growing right before his eyes for the last decade, the slow creep almost literally visible from their front porch at Lone Wolf Stead.
It wasn't just the towns and cities that had changed over the last ten years, of course; both he and Charles were a little older, and a little wiser (Charles was wiser, at least, Arthur wasn't too sure about himself). Arthur in particular was looking more "distinguished," as Hosea would say, his hair now more ash than auburn and his short beard more salt than cinnamon. Even Charles had found a few errant gray strands hiding in his long hair, the deep sea of ebony around them making them stand out as ghostly-white as spider silk. Arthur didn't dare to poke fun at him about it though, lest Charles revoke the privilege of brushing and braiding those gorgeous locks every morning in retaliation.
A decade was a long time, no matter how young he still was at heart, and Arthur felt the passage of time more keenly with every new year. And yet now, riding side-by-side with his husband between the towering stone peaks of Twin Stack Pass like they had done so many times before, it could just as easily have been 1899 again. He remembered the first time he saw this place, what felt like a lifetime ago. It was just the pair of them back then, too, heading out of camp one lazy afternoon for a simple hunting trip but somehow winding up hunting down a pair of bison poachers instead. Except for the thick layer of snow that had covered the hills and trails ever since they crossed the Dakota, everything was the same as it had been back then - and his traveling companion was just as stunning as he had been on that day.
"Arthur?" Charles asked, looking over and smiling warmly when he noticed his husband staring at him. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Arthur answered with a smile of his own. "You're just so goddamn beautiful."
Charles barked a startled laugh, clearly not having expected that answer. "I'm not sure what I did to earn the compliment, but... thank you."
"You ain't gotta do nothing to earn it, you know that," Arthur scoffed, bringing Horchata a little closer to Taima so he could give Charles's knee a playful smack. "It's just one of those... What do they call 'em? 'Universal truths?' The world is round, the sun rises east and sets west, and Charles Smith is the most beautiful man on Earth."
"You're a shameless flatterer," Charles chuckled, his cheeks darkening a couple of shades as he brought Arthur's gloved hand up to his lips and kissed his fingers. "And you're selling yourself pretty short there, because I happen to think Arthur Morgan is the most beautiful man on Earth."
Arthur shuddered, feeling a surge of pleasurable heat traveling through his body at the low, husky purr Charles had put behind his words. "You..." He cleared his throat, feeling his face and ears heating up and glaring at Charles when he noticed and laughed. "You'd best quit trying to tempt me, or I'll have to do something about it, and then we'll never make it to Charlotte's on time."
Charles shrugged, looking like the picture of innocence. "Hey, you started it. I wasn't doing anything you weren't."
Arthur didn't buy the act for one second, though; the younger man knew full well the effect he had on his husband, and loved riling him up every chance he got just because he could. It was simultaneously his most endearing and most infuriating quality.
"Sure you weren't."
The two of them had been on the road out of Lone Wolf Stead before sunup that morning, wanting to get an early start on their annual journey to Willard's Rest to visit Charlotte Balfour. Arthur and Charlotte had become fast friends back in the autumn of 1899, just before the retrieval of the Blackwater money and the dissolution of the Van der Linde gang. He'd found her newly-widowed and starving in the woods, still standing guard over the freshly-dug grave where her husband Calvin lay buried. When she refused his offer of a ride back to town, intent on living out her and Cal's dream by making a life for herself out in the wilderness, he took her under his wing and showed her the ropes of survival, not leaving until he was sure she could take care of herself.
They wrote to each other at least twice a month after that, and a year or so later he and Charles were passing through the area again and made sure to stop by so Charlotte could meet him. She was just as welcoming as he would have expected, of course - any friend of Arthur's was a friend of hers, and would always be welcome in her home. She took an immediate shine to Charles from the moment she met him, and never so much as batted an eye over Arthur's choice in partner. Instead she simply pulled the younger man into a tight embrace and pecked him on the cheek, telling Arthur she could already tell he'd chosen a good one. Charles, surprised and relieved and dumbfounded by her kind acceptance all at once, was left flustered and stammering for quite a while after. Once the two men finally settled down on their own place in 1902, they made it a point to arrange a trip up to Roanoke Ridge and visit her at least once a year, usually around Christmas.
Thankfully they'd never had any trouble finding someone to watch the ranch for them. Angus and Duncan Geddes, the eldest and youngest sons of Pronghorn Ranch's owner David Geddes, were always happy to hire on as temporary ranch hands and care for their thirty-strong herd of horses whenever they made the trip. After being introduced to the Geddes family by John, Arthur and Charles had entered into a sort of business partnership with Pronghorn Ranch, often trading promising stock between the two breeding operations. Pronghorn Ranch had some of the best Morgans and Tennessee Walkers in the state, and Arthur and Charles prided themselves on their superb lines of multi-purpose Missouri Fox Trotters and Appaloosas (all direct descendants of Horchata and Taima, respectively.)
That was actually how they were planning to pay Angus and Duncan for their help this time around. Arthur had noticed the young men's eyes lingering on one of their most promising stud colts, a gorgeous black Appaloosa yearling named Akôna, which meant "Snow on the Ground" in Charles's ancestral language. He was the last foal Charles ever planned for Taima to have, and was nearly a carbon copy of her, even possessing the same spotted blanket on his rump. He was going to be a stunner when he matured, and was already showing clear indications of being as level-headed and reliable as his mother - unsurprising, as Charles would have already gelded him if he were anything less.
But they'd been hoping for a filly, already having kept back a couple of Taima's older sons who they planned to start breeding in the next year or two. Akôna would make a better match for the spirited palomino mare they'd seen last time they visited Pronghorn Ranch - she was gorgeous, but a firebrand, and Mr. Geddes referred to her (affectionately) as "the Hell-bitch." The young stallion's even temperament would complement hers perfectly, and produce some sound and sure-footed foals, too. Charles had agreed without hesitation when he brought it up, and Arthur had no doubt the Geddes boys would be thrilled when they found out.
When Arthur pulled himself out of his thoughts once more, Charles was watching him intently, a soft, fond expression on his face. "I think this cold weather's putting you to sleep there, Art," he teased. "You've been pretty quiet this afternoon."
"Nah," Arthur shrugged, taking off his hat so he could brush the excess snow off before placing it back on his head. For a moment he said nothing further, just closing his eyes and listening to the quiet sounds in the as made their way down the trail: the steady, rhythmic krrnch-squeak-krrnch-squeak of the snow beneath the horses' hooves, and the whisper-soft sshhk-sshhk-sshhk-sshhk as their long legs broke trails through the deeper drifts. Unlike just about everyone else in Arthur's life, Charles had never minded letting him daydream, content to exist in the comfortable silence between them until the conversation naturally resumed on its own. When the younger man first joined the gang, it had taken Arthur months to realize he could actually be just as talkative as anyone else, provided the topic - or the person - was one that held his interest. "This place just brings back some memories. Got a little lost in 'em for a minute, 's all. You know how it is."
"I do, sure," Charles said, stretching the word almost into two syllables - Show-ah - and earning a snort from Arthur in response.
"Ah, shaddup, you made it sound like I'm from Boston or some shit. I ain't that bad."
"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that, cowboah," Charles snickered.
Arthur narrowed his eyes, enjoying the mischievous mood Charles seemed to have fallen into ever since they passed Horseshoe Overlook. "Oh yeah? Well I wouldn't get too cocky, there. I guarantee this cowboah can still out-ride you."
"Is that a challenge, Mister Morgan?"
"It's whatever you want it to be, Sweetheart."
Charles laughed, his fingers holding tighter to Taima's reins in eager excitement as Arthur deepened his seat in Horchata's saddle. "Oh, is that what we're doing now? Fine then, you're on, Honey-bun. First one to the old shack past Emerald Station wins?"
"Sure." Shoah. "I'll see you when you get there. Yah!" He didn't even give Charles a chance to respond before he gave Horchata's sides a quick tap with his spurs. She took off like a honey-colored bullet, hoofbeats muffled by the snow as it crunched beneath her feet, and Arthur grinned as he felt her picking up speed, stretching her legs in a way she hadn't in a long while.
Charles didn't miss a beat though, too used to Arthur's tricks to be caught off guard by the early start, and neither did Taima. Despite her shorter legs, the spotted mare matched her opponent stride for stride, Charles whooping in encouragement when she quickly began inching ahead of Arthur and Horchata. The two horses flew over the open expanse of the Heartland Oil Fields, their hooves pounding through the thick powder as steadily as the beating of drums. There was nothing but open prairie as far as the eye could see, the snow clean and fresh and unbroken except for the occasional pronghorn or coyote track that trailed off the path and into the underbrush.
Tears slid down both men's cheeks as the cold air rushed by, their lips numb and noses tingling. The horses' tails streamed straight back as they galloped over the low hills, manes whipping and stinging their riders' faces while they hunched low over their necks and urged them on. Neither man noticed these small discomforts, though, too exhilarated to feel anything but the thrill of the chase as the sun sank low over the horizon and Emerald Ranch finally came into view in the distance. Charles was a good ten lengths ahead now, his dark hair flying back in the wind just like Taima's, and Arthur marveled at the picture they made even as he continued urging Horchata forward.
"Come on, 'Chata, almost there!" he called to her, his grip on the reins only hard enough to keep from dropping them as he let her have her head. She tossed her head and snorted in response, her muscles bunching and releasing beneath him as she did her best to close the distance between her and Taima. "You can catch her, girl, let's go!"
"Aniwithêwa!" Charles cried to Taima, who whinnied and kept up her blistering pace. He patted her neck and grinned over his shoulder at Arthur as they ran past Emerald Ranch and instead turned northeast, toward the cozy little shack where they always spent the first night of the journey to and from Willard's Rest. They were close enough to make out the dandelions that always grew from the sod roof, though now they were nothing more than dried-out stalks poking through the snow. "Ahê, Taima, nahê!"
Less than a minute later they reached the front door of the shack and skidded to a stop, Charles nearly five whole seconds ahead of Arthur. They both just sat atop their horses for a minute afterward, both men and mares needing time to get their breath back after the long gallop. Charles was the first to dismount, enthusiastically praising Taima for a job well done as he fed her a couple of sugar cubes.
Arthur felt himself getting hot under the collar all over again at the sight of him, clothing rumpled and hair windswept and tousled so it framed his face just so. He swung quickly down from Horchata's back, patting and soothing her after all her hard work and making sure to feed her a peppermint from his satchel. Then, before Charles had time to do more than register the crunch of rapid footsteps approaching through the snow, Arthur was pulling the younger man into a crushing embrace, practically lifting Charles's feet off the ground in his enthusiasm as he began walking them both toward the door of the little cabin.
"Arthur, what -" Charles started to say, but Arthur silenced him by smashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. The younger man sighed and melted into it immediately, letting Arthur guide him backwards through the door and across the room until the backs of his knees knocked against the tiny bed in the corner. He didn't resist when Arthur pushed gently against his chest, tipping backwards onto the mattress with a quiet "oof."
Arthur hummed appreciatively, leaning over and kissing the lightning-pattern scar on Charles's cheek. "That was some good ridin'," he drawled, trying half-heartedly to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. "But we got here so fast, it's barely even sundown. That's an awful lot of time left to kill before morning, y'know."
Charles chuckled and shook his head. "Don't even pretend that's by accident, Arthur. You always were more excited to fool around whenever we took trips together than you were to do any actual hunting, weren't you?"
"What can I say?" Arthur shrugged. "You do crazy things to me, always have. I can't help it. Besides, ain't every day I get you all to myself in a place like this."
One of Charles's eyebrows rose, and he giggled in disbelieving amusement. "Arthur, you... that's because we have a whole house to ourselves now. Hell, a whole ranch!"
"I know. Ain't the same, though. Don't ask me to explain it right now, Charlie, I barely got enough blood goin' to my head to form a sentence."
Charles snorted, shaking his head at Arthur's antics. "Well then, we'd best do something about that, hadn't we?"
"I wouldn't object," Arthur teased. He reached into his satchel, grinning when his fingers tapped against a well-worn silver tin he always carried for just such occasions. "Besides, the horses need their rest. We can just practice a different kind of riding in the meantime."
"Oh my god," Charles groaned, hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head in secondhand embarrassment. "Have you been waiting all day to try out that line?"
"Maybe. Is it working?"
"Arthur, I can't even..." Charles sighed, taking the tin of grease from Arthur's hand. "You," he continued, kissing the older man on the nose and removing the lid, "are absolutely incorrigible."
Arthur just grinned, nipping excitedly at Charles's chin, and whispered, "Guilty as charged."
Notes: Arthur is 47 going on 17, sometimes, but Charles loves him anyway. XD
** Re: the words Charles is speaking to Taima, I wanted to include a bit of Meskwaki/Sauk language here, with the idea that Charles would be trying to learn what he could of it as a way to connect to the closest thing he has to his ancestral roots. I had considered Sioux, but it's strongly implied that the Wapiti are heavily based on the Lakota-Sioux tribes, and we know Charles is not a member of the Wapiti, so it didn't feel quite right. (Also, the name "Taima/Taimah" was rumored in popular culture to be a Meskwaki word meaning "thunder," but that is actually untrue. The Meskwaki word for thunder is "nenemehkiwa," and "Taima" actually doesn't mean "thunder" in iany/i Native American language.) That said, I am not Native American myself, so all translation information was pulled from the Sac Fox Nation's online language resources. Every attempt was made to be accurate with my near-nonexistent understanding of the language, but if you notice anything incorrect, please let me know so I can fix it.
Translations are as follows:
Akôna = Snow on the ground
Aniwithêwa! = Run fast!
Ahê! = Come on!
Nahê! = Let's go!
Next chapter's prompt is "Visiting Friends." See you then! :D