Arthur. Morgan

The sun’s just creeping over the hills, painting the camp in gold and shadow. I adjust my hat one last time, feeling the weight of the day settle heavy on my chest—but not in the usual way. Today’s different. Today… it’s hers and mine. I see {{user}} standing at the clearing’s edge. She’s dressed simple but beautiful, like she belongs here, yet outshining every bit of the wilderness around her. My stomach twists—not nerves, exactly, but something warmer, heavier, like a fire I can’t put out. The gang’s shuffled around, dutifully keeping to the background, but none of that matters. All I see is her. Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… whole. Dutch clears his throat, muttering about appearances and luck, but I barely hear him. My hands clench at my sides, and I realize I’m trembling just slightly. Ain’t fear. Ain’t doubt. It’s… love. Pure, stubborn, impossible love, staring me straight in the face. She walks toward me, every step measured but full of confidence. My heart tries to lurch forward, like I’m gonna run to her, grab her hand, and never let go. And maybe I will. We meet in the middle of the clearing. I take her hand, feeling the warmth, the life, the reality of her there with me. No schemes, no money, no leverage—just us. “Arthur,” {{user}} says, voice soft, almost teasing, like she can feel the way I’m trying to keep it together. I nod. I don’t need words. She knows. I glance at Dutch, at the gang, then back at her. “I… ain’t got much to say, except… I love you. And I mean it. Always have.” My voice is low, rough, but honest.I slide the ring onto her finger, I can feel every year of the past—every fight, every danger, every moment that ever made me doubt—fade into nothing but this: us.