A/N: It's all a bit nostalgic, writing for this ship again; the last time I wrote for them, I was an eleven-year-old piece of shit
writer, but with the new movie that recently came out, my feelings have been rekindled. This is my homage to my first otp. Each chapter has a hefty bit of historical context involved, so historical footnotes can be found at the end of each chapter. On a final note, if you are reading this, I love you.
Disclaimer: I do not own NatM and am not profiting off of this piece of work.
Intro: The First Night
Jedediah Smith wakes up screaming. A shooting, searing pain spreads itself all throughout his body, slicing into his consciousness like a million and one red hot bullets. Though he can see that every single patch of his skin is perfectly intact, what he feels is far from whole and complete; what he feels are a million different stab wounds in a million different places, slowly and painstakingly prying him apart, prying his skin apart until there is nothing left but blood and darkness and more darkness, and—
Death.
The pain leaves him, replaced by a smooth, overwhelming sense of peace and serenity, and when Jed scrambles up from his spot on the sandy ground—Sandy? No, that ain't right. I was in—I was…-, he's not sure what should surprise him the most: the fact that there are what appear to be three massive walls surrounding him, or the fact that the world beyond these three walls appears to be ten times the size of Jed himself, or the fact that—
I oughta be dead.
Jed walks towards the 'huge world' beyond his three walls in a sort of stupor. The memories are slow coming, peppering themselves into his mind bit by bit. Most of them consist of mountains and adventure and the great outdoors, but all the broken shards of his memory are too jumbled up for him to make much sense of them. When he reaches the edge of his three walls, he jumps back; a fall from this height could very well kill him a second time. All around him, Jed sees several other miniature worlds, much like his own, yet much different; squinting, he thinks he can make out a pyramid-type object, with hoards of half-naked people surrounding it, and—
Blam!
Jed reels back, though nothing has hit him. He feels his left shoulder frantically, patting it down, making sure there is no bullet wound there. Memories surge through his mind like ripples in the water; visible, yet impossible to hold onto. Ripples. Water. Yes, he'd… gone to go find water. And then… The half-naked people from across the room have begun shouting incoherently.
"Kill him!"
The searing pain returns, and Jed doubles over with a near-hysterical cry, clutching desperately at his stomach, his chest, his everything, trying frantically to stop blood that is no longer flowing profusely from his limbs. Oh. Right, that's right, he was dead, the Comanches had rushed him (1), and he was dead, or he was supposed to be dead, so why wasn't he…?
Suddenly, Jed sees red, but it is not because of the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots it—a billowing, majestic piece of red fabric, to his left, beside him, in another one of the tiny worlds, and he focuses on it until the pain subsides and he can stand, albeit barely, still clutching at his left shoulder, nursing an ancient wound.
The cape is attached to a man, who coughs mildly into his right hand before staring fixedly at his left. He holds out both hands and stretches out his fingers, dubious, curious, confused. He seems to be wearing a skirt, which somehow manages to bewilder Jed even more than his current situation of being alive again. The sharp lighting from up above causes the man's helmet and armor to glint majestically, adding a maddening air of regality to an already regal presence, and when the man turns his head to make direct eye contact with Jedediah, something unsettling pools in the pit of his stomach.
The man in the skirt says something, the tone of which is level, almost militaristic in its stoic calmness, but the tremor in his fingertips as he waves for Jed's further attention betrays his true anxiety.
Jed cups a gloved hand around his ear. "What?" he shouts, distracted from the massive world surrounding him for the first time since his reawakening. "I can't hear ye, partner!"
This only seems to bewilder the skirt-wearing man more, and he shouts something unintelligible back to Jedediah, who afterwards proceeds to shout "what" over and over again. This goes on much longer than necessary before Jed finally realizes that the other man is in fact speaking an entirely different language, one altogether foreign and incomprehensible to Jedediah himself.
The skirt-wearing man appears frustrated. He shouts something once more, but this time, Jed cups his hands around his mouth and yells, "Listen here, partner, I ain't got a damn clue what yer tryin' to say here, but thas' a mighty fine skirt ye got there!" Jed chuckles to himself at his own joke, and the man in armor across from him, sensing that the comment had been none-too-flattering, proceeds to shriek more unintelligible gibberish at him. A fight ensues in no less than seven minutes worth of casual conversation. In a way, the fight is beneficial; it distracts from the reality of their tiny, shrunken world.
Such was the beginning of a long list of tragic misunderstandings.
(1) While leading supply wagons for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, Jedediah Smith separated from the group to go search for water and never came back. It is largely believed that he was killed when he was overpowered by Comanche warriors on horseback, who charged at him with their lances. The year was 1831.
A/N: Well, it's short. But that's because I'm uncertain people will read this; read & review so I can assess if I need to keep writing. Next chapter features drunken, angsty Jed. Funnn.
Kisses,
lilmis