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Rowdy songs fade into gentler ballads as the night goes on, and on, until it’s down to the dregs around the fire, the last few souls silently listening as Javier plays for them. Sleep slowly creeps in and they retreat to their bedrolls – or not. Javier has watched everyone nod off around the fire at least once. Some are there more often than others, like Sean and Uncle, but tonight Javier watches Arthur’s chest slowly rise and fall where he leans against a log at the fireside. His hat is tipped down over his eyes and he hasn’t moved since Angel de Amor .
When Javier sets aside his guitar, though, Arthur lifts his head.
“Done playin’?” he asks.
Ah, not sleeping then. Javier brings the guitar back to himself and runs his fingers over the strings, considering.
“Will you sing something, if I play?” he asks.
Arthur lets out a small huff of laughter. “You don’t want to hear me sing,” he says.
Javier smiles. “I’ve heard you.”
He has. He’s heard all of their family, even gotten a tune out of old Grimshaw once or twice, and the low rumble of Arthur’s voice joining the others is as familiar to him as any other voice at camp. Arthur will follow a well-known ballad, or warble out a few lines when whiskey loosens his tongue. It’s not often that Javier has heard Arthur’s voice alone, though, and it’s never been around the fire like this, but Javier has heard it, and Arthur seems to know that.
“It’s just,” Arthur stammers, embarrassed. “Just to the horses, mostly.”
“Do they like it?”
Arthur snorts. “Do the horses like my singing?” he repeats, amused, like he’s not sure if that’s really what he’s being asked.
Javier grins. “Yeah.”
“Well,” Arthur says, considering. He grins back. “Yeah. They do like it.”
Javier nods at where their horses are hitched nearby. “Then make them happy.”
He knows Arthur won’t sing, even as he starts the first notes of Clementine. There are too many people nearby, sleeping or trying to, for Javier to hear anything out of Arthur tonight. Instead, Arthur watches, drooping eyes following the movements of Javier’s fingers over the strings. His gaze moves up to Javier’s face and lingers there, a moment too long for it to be a glance.
Javier’s fingers stutter over the strings. He’s never seen much of what Arthur puts in that journal, but now he might have an idea of what Arthur looks like when he’s deciding what to draw on the next page.
It’s almost a week later when Javier’s standing watch at the edge of camp and Arthur returns, offering an “ Evening, ” that’s nearly drown out by the rustling leaves in the dark forest. Javier nods as Arthur rides past. He keeps his post, but he’s been with the gang long enough that he can almost hear Arthur at the hitching area going through his usual routine - unsaddling Boadicea, brushing her down, mumbling at the other horses that bump their noses against his side because they know he always carries peppermints in his satchel.
Javier stands absolutely still as he listens, and when the wind quiets for just a moment, he hears it.
“Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine… ”
It’s low and slightly off key as the horses jostle for Arthur’s attention. They do like his singing, funny as Arthur found that question. Javier likes it too, and the next time he picks out this tune on his guitar, this is what he’ll remember - Arthur among the horses, a song just for them and the one eavesdropper nearby, smiling to himself.