Chapter Text
The night was calm.
The fire crackled low against the dark sky, Arthur’s lanky frame illuminated by the amber glow as he sat on a campfire log. His face, partially shadowed, bore the marks of a young man who had seen too much and spoken too little. The forest around him was a silent spectator, its towering pines swaying gently with the wind’s whispers. He was a mere twenty years old, with broad shoulders and an unwavering loyalty, his youth still evident in the soft edges of his face. Dutch, who was a bit older, sharper, and possessed a magnetic charm that could transform a whisper into a revolution, sat across from him.
They were left alone for the evening, the rest of the camp out conducting their personal business. Dutch was in a contemplative yet intense mood, as he typically was when a grand idea arose in his mind. He occasionally flicked his dark eyes to Arthur with a glint that spoke of something brewing beneath the surface. In his hand he swirled a bottle of whiskey.
“You’re loyal, Arthur,” Dutch said, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth but carried weight.
He pressed the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a quick swig, enjoying the bitter burn of the liquid running down his throat.
“You’re more than just a member of this gang, son. You’re my boy.” He leaned forward, his gaze boring into Arthur’s. A tinge of red started to creep across Arthur’s cheeks as his gaze shifted away from Dutch for only a moment. Then, he shifted his gaze right back to Dutch.
“But loyalty needs to mean something . Needs to be shown , not just said.”
Arthur frowned, tilting his head in confusion, “I ain’t ever given you reason to doubt me, Dutch.”
Dutch’s smile was slow and deliberate, the kind that made Arthur feel like he was in the presence of something greater. “No, you haven’t. That’s why I trust you. That’s why I need you to prove it. To me , to yourself, and to everyone who would ever dare question your place in this gang.”
Arthur shifted uneasily, his brow furrowing. “What’re you goin’ on about?”
Dutch set his whiskey bottle down and reached into his satchel, pulling out a small iron brand. The design on the end gleamed in the firelight. A stylized, elegant letter D. It was ornate, crafted with care, a symbol of Dutch’s flair for the dramatic.
Arthur’s mouth went dry. “You can’t be serious .”
“Oh, but I am,” Dutch stated as he stood and held the brand like a holy relic. “This isn’t just about the gang, Arthur... This is about us .”
Arthur looked away, his jaw tightening. He respected Dutch more than anyone; admired him, even, but the idea of being branded like cattle made his skin crawl. “Ain’t exactly... needed, is it? I already follow you. I’d die for you.”
Dutch crouched beside him, close enough that Arthur could feel the warmth of his breath, the fire, the weight of his presence.
“I know you would, my boy…But this isn’t about death, son. This is about living for something bigger than yourself. It’s about belonging. Forever .” He gripped Arthur’s shoulder, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive murmur. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Arthur hesitated. He did trust Dutch, more than he trusted anyone. Dutch always had a way of making everything he spoke sound like scripture, like it was the only truth that mattered. Slowly and reluctantly, Arthur nodded. “I trust you, Dutch…”
Dutch’s smile returned, this time victorious. “ Good . Then this is how you show it.”
Before Arthur could protest further, Dutch moved to heat the brand in the fire. Arthur’s chest felt tight as he watched the iron glow red, fear and hesitation clashing with the unshakable need and desire to prove himself to the man who had given him everything . To the man he would do anything for.
“Where?” Arthur asked gruffly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Dutch stood and gestured toward Arthur’s chest, just above his heart. “ Here . Where it matters most.”
Arthur’s throat tightened as he forced down a thick gulp, the motion stiff and deliberate, betraying the storm of emotion roiling beneath his otherwise steady demeanor. His fingers slowly tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his skin beneath. His heart pounded, a mixture of anxiety and resolve, but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Not when Dutch was looking at him like that, full of pride and expectation.
“This’ll hurt,” Dutch said, almost tenderly, as he pressed the brand against Arthur’s chest.
Arthur gritted his teeth, a guttural growl escaping his throat as pain seared through his skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and for a brief moment, he thought he might pass out, but he didn’t. He mustered all his resolve to stay upright, holding Dutch’s gaze, proving his loyalty with every ounce of willpower he could summon.
When Dutch finally pulled the brand away, Arthur’s chest was branded with the ornate letter D, raw and blistered, however, unmistakable. Dutch set the brand aside and placed a hand over the wound, as though sealing the bond between them.
“There,” Dutch said, his voice soft but triumphant. “Now everyone will know you’re mine .”
In his heart, Arthur knew there was no going back, but he was unable to speak up or find the right words. Now he was marked, not physically but spiritually as well. A representation of his unwavering loyalty to Dutch Van der Linde; he felt a certain amount of pride despite the anguish and uncertainty. He wasn’t just Arthur Morgan anymore. He was Dutch’s boy. Forever .