Chapter Text
The cold air lingered in the Grizzly Mountains, yet nothing could ever erase what happened in Blackwater. Poor young Jenny was shot to death, and the ruthless Davey died upon arrival in the blizzard. While the rest survived, the others remained unknown. The deadly escape gave them a chance — to breathe in the snow-covered mountains for another morning. But despite the cold, the hunger crept in.
But Little Jack laughed as if nothing had just happened. He was outside the shed, building a tiny snowman in hopes of forgetting about the running. Or possibly to just be a child again. Rose was there with a faint smile on her face as she watched him with care. It was the little thing that held her together for a long while. Not too long after that, the talking was loud enough to make her ears perk up.
“Where are you going, Rose?” Jack murmured, the voice tiny. His eyes were innocently wide.
“Go back to your mama, Jack,” she muttered, the gentle tone only meant for him. “I’ll be out for a minute or two.”
His groan was amusing, but Little Jack obliged either way. The tiny figure ran back in before Abigail roared at him for playing outside for too long. Maybe there was a chuckle escaping from Rose’s lips. So she strode forward into the tiny shed, and there they were — Arthur, Charles, and Pearson, possibly bickering about something petty or whatnot. So she stood before them as they wanted to leave. The silence remained.
“Miss,” Arthur greeted. His deep, raspy voice could melt anyone who heard him. But Charles lowered his gaze. Rose nodded.
“Are ya’ll headin’ out?” she asked.
“We’re goin’ huntin’. The cook said we ran out of supplies,” he affirmed. “Why don’t you go inside, Miss Rose? It’s cold out here—”
“I’m goin’ with you,” she said.
Sceptical as he always was, he shook his head.
“No, Miss Rose. It ain’t simple—”
“I’m not askin’, Mr Morgan.”
Pearson’s eyes were elsewhere, but his ears were on high alert. Charles just found himself smiling faintly, looking back and forth.
“Look,” Rose let out a sigh.
She didn’t mean to disrespect Arthur, but she wasn’t going to let herself stay back doing nothing.
“If it’s about what the camp needs, I wanna help.”
Arthur could only stare into the young lady’s eyes. It was quite unpredictable, to be exact, but he wasn’t sure whether to deny her help either. The lingering stare from Arthur became prolonged and somewhat earnest. Charles glanced at him, noting the subtle invitation to her.
“...Alright, then,” Arthur muttered in defeat.
(Somewhere in the snowy land of Grizzly Mountain…)
Charles led them along the cold stream, and Arthur kept guard at the back — possibly out of instinct to look out for Rose. He barely knew her enough, either. But there was something about her that kept him intrigued; perhaps it was her unpredictable trait from the moment he met her.
(Back in Blackwater…)
Rose was sitting alone upstairs by the big window of the most modernised saloon in town. The half-eaten peach cobbler sat on the table as she stared at the group of suited people by the poker table. Her stare was sharp, but careful. Her gaze landed on each one of the men, attentively seeking any lead to her search. The laughter was loud and clear; she could almost feel their wickedness from the rumble of their full bellies until she stared at the gold chain on the older man’s blue vest.
Leviticus Cornwall.
Her heart sank for a moment; the pumps felt heavier each time — the oil tycoon in the land of the so-called free. The name was familiar; perhaps she had heard it too many times throughout her wanderings. But still, it seemed too little to blame for the death of her loved ones.
“You’re alright, young missy?”
Rose’s attention just snapped into reality. An old man stood by her table, she assumed, looking for no trouble. Her breath shuddered for a moment, but she was able to say something in return.
“Yes—I’m alright,” she muttered. “May I help you, mister?”
“Nothing much, I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “But you seemed to be having some trouble with, uh—fella over there.”
His finger pointed slightly at Cornwall.
“Oh, no,” she smiled faintly. “The laugh was too loud, but perhaps I can’t complain. Can’t I?”
It was that moment that the old man gave her a smile that felt genuine for the first time.
“Hosea Matthews,” he murmured, laying his hand out, but he saw Rose hesitate.
“There ain’t no reason for us not to be acquainted, can’t we?” he grinned. Charming, she thought. But it only felt sweeter than that.
“Rose,” she answered, shaking his hand lightly. “Please. That seat ain’t mine to hold you back, Mr Matthews.”
The gesture was slightly teasing, but for a man like Hosea, it was a friendly banter at most.
“It’s quite rare to see a lady know how to banter,” he smiled, taking a seat before her. But Rose remained silent, subtly acknowledging his compliment.
“Anyway, you don’t seem familiar with these parts,” he continued. “Mind me asking where you’re from, Miss Rose?”
The small talk began, and to Rose, it was never her favourite conversation to begin with. But maybe his presence brought her a sense of comfort after so long.
“Elsewhere,” she replied, but it was the truth that she held. “I wish I could tell you more, mister. But I'm still wondering where I came from myself.”
Those words softened his heart as if the familiar ache was with the people he knew.
“And Blackwater seems the right place to begin with?” he asked.
Hosea never meant it to be rude, but rather curious.
“Perhaps,” she responded. “The people seem decent enough not to linger on a stranger, right?”
“Perhaps they are, Miss Rose.” He laughed sincerely.
Then she saw a bunch of men standing up from the poker table. Her eyes were still focused on Leviticus. Hosea followed her gaze, and the men continued to walk downstairs as if they had never existed in their presence.
“You hear that?” Hosea suddenly spoke. “Silence…”
Rose smiled, possibly chuckling at the reaction. So she went back, eating the cold peach cobbler, and somehow, a thought ran through Hosea’s mind.
“You have a place to stay, young lady?” Hosea asked, sounding suggestive in his tone.
“No, but… I’ll be alright, mister.” She smiled. “I ain’t planning to stay here for long.”
It was that moment again, and Hosea caught her in his hand. It was subtle, but he knew just how to lure people in. But maybe it wasn’t for money.
“Why don’t I propose to you an adventure?”
That question made her stop clinking her spoon as she cut off the dessert.
“I’m living in one, Mr Matthews,” she replied, probably rejecting the proposal quietly.
“But you won’t be alone,” he added. “And besides, you seem… lost, my dear,” he whispered, and it tugged Rose’s heart for a second. “Perhaps if you come with us, maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“...Us?” Rose questioned, and that made Hosea slightly flattered.
“Come, my dear,” he said, standing up afterwards. “And you can call me, Hosea.”
(Later, in the evening…)
Hosea was riding Silver Dollar, the silver Turkoman, while Rose followed him closely. Her arrival did catch the attention of the Van der Linde gang. As she climbed down from her Midnight, the blue roan Nokota, a big man — muscular, even. His presence alone was enough to feel him, but Rose remained grounded.
“Hosea,” Arthur called.
That deep voice of his was the first thing that caught her attention. She watched him pull Hosea closer as if the conversation was only meant for him. It didn’t go for long, but she saw Arthur being patted firmly behind his back before Hosea called for her.
“Come, my dear! Let me introduce you to the finest man at camp,” he chuckled, and Arthur?
He was never a fan of attention.
“Here is Arthur Morgan. He might be intimidatin’ at first, but his skull's thicker than his arms,” he laughed.
“Miss,” he murmured, but she could hear his embarrassment from Hosea’s playful banter. “I, uh—nice to meet you.”
Rose remained, lowering her gaze as if she felt her soul again, shy as ever. “Likewise, Mr Morgan.”
“And, uh, how about you? Miss…?” Arthur asked, despite the hesitation.
“Rose.”
And then, he stared for a little too long, repeating the name in his voice.
“Rose.”
(Back in Grizzly Mountain…)
Arthur finally killed the deer with a bow. So far, both Charles and Arthur had each found one of their own.
“Now, there’s another one over there,” Charles whispered, gesturing to another deer drinking by the riverbank.
“Your time to shine, miss,” Arthur nudged, handing Charles’s bow to her.
She didn’t hesitate — gently taking it from his hand. So she walked slowly through the snowed bushes, hiding from the skittish deer. Taking a deep breath, she stretched the string and rested her cheek against the calmness of the breeze.
One.
Two.
Three.
Shhhht—thuck!
The arrow went straight through the deer’s neck. Her gasp matched the shock in the gentlemen’s eyes. No, Rose didn’t expect it to hit just right. But that felt surreal to her.
“Looks like she beat you, Arthur,” Charles smirked, nudging a rare grin from him.
Maybe bringing Rose was the right call after all.
(Later, at camp…)
They finally hitched their horses by the post. Rose patted Midnight’s neck gently.
“Just a little bit longer, alright?” she whispered.
Her beloved horse neighed in return as if he understood her.
“It’s alright, Rose.” Arthur smiled faintly, though slightly freezing from the cold. “Lemme handle the deer. You should go back inside.”
So Rose obliged, giving a final pat on Midnight’s back before she walked away. But Arthur cleared his throat slightly, making her stop in her tracks.
“You did… well back there, miss,” he said with a nod. “Charles couldn’t stop babbling at me about it.”
“All good, Mr Morgan,” she replied, her voice soft as silk. “We both had a good teacher to begin with.”
Arthur felt his heart skip a beat — a feeling he hadn’t known in a long, long time.
“Good day, Rose,” he greeted softly.
Only to be met with a gentle nod from her.