#tenaciouswidow

Is it confirmed Isaac was only 4?

Nope, Squid speculation.  However, I think we can turn some critical analysis to Isaac’s likely age and narrow it down a bit. Arthur remembers Isaac as “such a good kid”.  Probably not a baby, therefore, when he died.  He was old enough to have some clear personality.  Given Arthur was riding there to see them when he found the graves, Isaac also wasn’t to the age to be old enough to really remember him, and for it to get to the point Eliza and Arthur would be having to answer some serious questions about the family situation.  At some point, unless Eliza met another man first and Arthur gracefully stepped off, that was going to happen, with Eliza having to either continue to allow him to visit and them explaining to Isaac why he’s not there full time, or else cut Arthur off from contact completely so as to not hurt Isaac with the fact that his dad loves him very much, but chose loyalty to his gang family rather than them.  Arthur has his reasons, yes, but at the end of the day, he was too afraid to leave, so he chose the gang, and it was going to be hard to not hurt Isaac with that information.  He and Eliza obviously weren’t at that point yet, so I doubt Isaac was younger than 3, or older than about 6 or so.

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           Send '👶' for a glimpse of my muses parenting.                                Submitted by @tenaciouswidow                                           Ship: Widowed Gun                                               Arthur and Elisa

Sounds of unsettled cries rang through the halls. A baby no older than a few months old lay in discomfort within her cot having suffered yet another nightmare. As promised both Arthur and Elisa took turns looking after their youngest. Tonight was no different. Having whispered for his wife to rest, Arthur slowly crawled his way out of bed and wondered out of their room and toward where their little girl lay as she continued to cry.

Upon entry, Arthur set eyes upon his little girl as the small human wailed in want for a comforting embrace. Letting off a heavy sigh, Arthur slowly walked toward the cot and lowered his arms inside to take gentle hold of his Daughter, hushing her as best he could whilst slowly rocking her back and forth within the nearest rocking chair settled within one of the corners of the room.

Though he wasn’t known for his singing as well as his Wife, Morgan slowly began to hum before ushering a few words.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star How I wonder what you are Up above the world so high Like a Diamond in the sky Twinkle, twinkle, little star How I wonder what you are.

Her cries suddenly seemed to stop as Arthur looked down toward his little girl and smiled seeing her already snuggled into his upper body fast asleep. Both she and James were his world and Elisa was his universe. The fact that she’d graced him with Fatherhood once again was something he could never truly thank her for.

Gently bringing the rocker to a halt, Arthur gracefully brought himself back up onto his feet, careful as not to wake his sleeping little girl and lowered her back into her cot, tucking her in as best he could before placing a soft, long kiss upon her forehead and whispering.

“Sweet dreams, Darlin’. Daddy will always protect you, Jessabelle.”

And with that he quietly snuck away back to Elisa’s side, reassuring her that all was well with a soft kiss upon her lips before falling into another comfortable nights sleep.

                                Well until the circle started again.

Everything seemed stable.               At least he thought so.

He watched as her eyes were quick to roll back within her head as her body slumped forward. Yet as quick as he was darting toward her, her body slipped from under his touch and fall flat upon the cold boards under them. Arthur cussed under his breath. Yet as he began to prepare to lift the poor lass, sounds of her boys voice rang out as he called for his Mother.

    ‘Crap!’

Arthur uttered to himself before reaching ever so gently to lay one arm under the woman’s shoulders and the other under her waist, picking her up with some ease as her head thankfully came resting against his chest. Content enough that the child’s Mother was somewhat stable, Arthur turned to look toward the boy.

   He wasn’t exactly well versed when it came to kids. Sure he tried when it came to Jack but..    Well this was clearly far different.

“This isn’t what it looks like, kid.”

Guilt bubbled deep within Arthur’s conscience. Perhaps if he’d been quicker on his feet mayhap’s both Mother and Son would have been saved from such an ordeal.         But whom ever could change the past?

He watched as the young boy continued to sob in response to not only the injury inflicted upon his arm but that of the state to which he saw his Mother covered in fresh drools of blood. After some encouragement the lad seemed to dismiss himself toward his room, closing the door behind him leaving his Mother once more pleading for aid from a man she knew not.

Giving a light nod of his head, Arthur entered the family home. The place was a wreck! Just how long had the two of them been forced to live in such a run down place as this?

Reaching to grab at one of the empty chairs pressed against the table, Arthur set himself down opposite the woman and reached to grab at one of the knives upon the table before holding the metal side just above the flame from the candle. He turned his eye and looked upon the Mother, sympathy in his gaze as he spoke.

     “I’m sorry, Darlin’, but this ain’t gonna be pretty.”

He spoke as he retrieved the knife from the candle, it’s tip glowing ever so strongly as he moved toward the wound. Taking one last look toward her, Arthur ever so slowly pressed the knife’s edge into the wound, moving as gently yet as fast as he possibly could in order to retrieve the bullet wedged inside. After a few pain staking minutes, soon enough the shell finally released. Setting down the knife, Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out an old rag. Sure it wasn’t pretty but for now pretty wasn’t exactly a priority as he lightly dabbed around the wound.

As the bleeding began to subside, Morgan reached and wrapped his hand around the candle. Yet instead of allowing the woman a moment of rest Arthur rested his free hand upon her shoulder and quickly pressed the still lit candle into the wound, cauterising it enough to stem the bleeding and thus enough time to get both she and her Son rode into Valentine.

Just as one of the assholes turned to face him, the sudden cry from one of the riders crashing toward the ground caused panic in the horses, causing them to rear and cause quite a consistant cloud of dirt to form around each body.

     ‘Shoot the bitch!’

Arthur heard one of the other riders call as his gaze was quick to turn toward the fleeing woman and the boy. That’s when he noticed the sudden redness against her tattered clothing. Anger began to fester within the ex gunslinger as Arthur pulled forth his carbine and began lining up his shots. Had he still held onto his previous habits each rider would be leaving without a head such was a given. However, since his new lease of life Arthur’s perspective of the world had changed dramatically. So much that seeing the boy at the mercy of those assholes reminded him much of Jack.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur aligned each shot. Fatal? no. Paralysing? yes. It wasn’t long until a vast range of shots were fired, breaking through vast speeds to claim their targets as each were quick to fall to the ground, blood staining the crops under them.

Making sure as to reload his rifle, Arthur began the slow walk toward whom he thought to be the leader, foot moving to press hard against the impacted muscle, grinning at the sound of whaling from under him. Upon closer inspection Arthur noted the familiar clothing to which now lay covered in blood as well as that of the accent the riders spoke.

     O’Driscalls.

Even with Colm’s ‘unfortunate’ hanging the goons to whom once rode under the leader had the guts to continue to conduct themselves upon praying upon the weak.

     Vengeful.      Emotionless.      Traitor.

Such was only a handful of discrepancies to which after years of endless loyalty had finally drove Arthur to painfully depart from Dutch’s side. The man had once been a fine Father figure. After all it was he alongside Hosea whom had taken in an ever troublesome teen come the loss of his Parents.

          But now.. now sat a man drowned by the past. A man Arthur was no longer able to recognise as he watched as Dutch turned and walked away come the storm of the distillery. The Van Der Linde he knew was no more as painful as it was for him to admit. Having as promised seen to John and the rest of his family’s retreat, Arthur set to his own retreat, using the cover of darkness and lies to finally rid himself of a life he knew years ago would one day kill him.

For days Mr. Morgan and his war horse Bonnie had rode, stopping only when necessary to resupply before continuing their journey. It’s end brought them both to a location abandoned still since his previous visit. It once belonged to a prestigious man. One whom had everything one could ever wish for. Yet it was soon brought to a crushing end come the findings of slaves within his basement. Though he hated the place, Arthur set to calling the place home if only for a few days.

Days turned into months. Having managed to gather what little wood he could from the nearby town, Arthur miraculously restored the once run down building into a place of life once again. A sense of pride rushed through the Outlaw. Though he no longer ran with those he once called family, the price on his head was very much still visible. Such was the scars he continued to bore.

As time passed, signs of winter began to appear. The air grew thinner, windows began to thaw slightly. Having woke early to begin his routine hunt, Arthur began the slow ride back toward the house. Bonnie’s saddle and arse end was covered in prized meat, more than enough to see him through for a good few months before having to venture out once again. Yet it was on his return journey that sounds of nearby raised voices caught his ear. He knew better than to venture from the trail, but such habits were hard to break.

Having managed to hitch Bonnie from eye within the nearby tree line, Arthur reached to grab at the swinging carbine against the side of the saddle before pushing forth. There was where he noticed a group of riders and that of a child calling for his Mother within one of the riders arms and said child’s Mother calling for her son to be released to which was answered with the usual threat.

     “What in goddamn are you doing, Morgan?” Arthur uttered to himself before beginning the walk toward the riders and calling out.