Daria On The Trail Four

DISCLAIMER: I do not own either the Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own Daria Morgendorffer. The former belongs to GRR Martin and Daria belongs to MTV Viacom. This story based on the real Oregon Trail and has little or nothing to do with the computer game of the same name.

This work of fiction is written for my own amusement and ego gratification.

Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail

"You would grant me guest right?" said Daria. The Orricks laughed. "You know, you're the first Yankee we've met on the Trail who knows about such things. Yes, we will grant you Guest Right."

"Thank you," said Daria. She knew that this was a very big deal. I don't know very much, but as long as I'm with these guys, I'm safe, she thought. Well, relatively safe: pioneer days weren't really safe at all.

"Now that you've taken our protection, I'd like to ask you some questions," said Orrick.

"Oh-kay," said Daria.

"My first question is what skills do you possess?"

That was a fair question, thought Daria. A trip across the west on the Oregon Trail was a grueling journey and supplies were probably already stretched tight even before the Orricks gave her guest right. Orrick had every right to ask her what sorts of contributions she could make to the safety and welfare of the Orricks' household.

"My cooking and sewing skills are minimal. I suspect that your daughters are better at both than I am. I can tutor your children in history, English, and arithmetic," said Daria. "I also know a bit about the Oregon Trail and can help guide you. I don't know as much as a scout, but I do know some things."

"So what can you tell us?" said Orrick.

"Right here?" the girl replied. The more the girl talked, the more Orrick began to think that she'd learned Andal from a Stormlander. "We are passing Chimney Rock," she said, using the Andal words for chimney and rock. "The Americans call it Chimney Rock, and we're likely to come up on Scotts Bluff either tomorrow or the day after that."

"Is there anything special about Scott's Bluff?" said Orrick.

"There's a steep downhill grade coming up there," Daria replied. "It goes down about 300 feet or so. A lot of people have had hurt animals or broken wagons there over the years."

"You mean injured animals and wrecked wagons," said Orrick, correcting the girl's choice of words. That was worrisome. He'd seen a couple of the other wagons wrecked on the descent from Windlass Hill. The rest of the company had been so incensed at Captain Ridge for not doing more to prevent the wrecks that they'd deposed him. Ridge had taken his guidebooks when he'd been deposed as captain of this party. Orrick cursed the fool's arrogance and petty spite. Didn't he know anything about being a leader? Most of the people who'd elected him to be Captain had been from his county. They'd trusted him with their safety. Didn't he care about them?

"That's good to know. Is there anything we have to worry about after that?"

"There are lots of things," said Daria. "There is a difficult ford before Fort Laramie, and there are at least two steep hills after South Pass."

Orrick turned to his son, a teenaged boy Daria had seen hanging around with the Orricks. She hadn't realized that the boy was Orrick's son. "So how would you handle Scott's Bluff, Kennard?" he said.

"I would get up early and try to have my company the first ones down the hill so I won't deal with the dust and we'd have a good place to camp," said his son. Orrick took note of Daria's reaction. She said nothing but looked like she disagreed.

"You look like you disagree, Daria," said Orrick. "How would you handle it?"

"I know little about wagons and oxen, but I would look over my wagons and animals before going over," said Daria. "Also, I recommend watching other parties go down the hill first and avoid making their mistakes. Eating their dust is unpleasant. Finding a camping site is a pain in the ass, but wrecking a wagon is far worse."

Orrick looked at the girl and said nothing. I like how this girl thinks, he said to himself.

"You're a girl and don't know anything," said Kennard.

Daria looked at him and shrugged. "I'm quoting the chroniclers," she said. "It would be poor repayment for your hospitality if I help you wreck your wagons."

"Peace," said Orrick, staring down his son and the strange auburn-haired girl.

"Kennard, I remember the river crossing before Fort Kearny and what happened at Windlass Hill," said Orrick. "We'll look over our wagons and animals before we reach these Bluffs. If they need repairs, we'll fix them before we descend. We'll watch the other companies descend tomorrow or the day after to see if her word is worthwhile."

"One other thing," said Daria. "I would be wary of the snakes in the rocks near Chimney Rock and Scotts Bluff. They're poisonous."

"The ones with the rattles?" said Kennard.

"The ones with the rattles," said Daria. "They don't always rattle before they strike."

With that, the noon meal was over. Mrs. Trout put away the cookware and the plates, then she and Daria doused the campfire. Daria noted that the other women in the company had been doing the same. Mr. Trout then waved his arms at the company and said "Let's Go!" In English, Daria noted.

-(((O-O)))—

The rest of the afternoon was spent trudging, at least most of it. After a while, Mrs. Orrick summoned Jilla, Minti, and Daria to go search for fuel. By luck, Daria had a large recyclable plastic bag she'd folded into her purse. She pursed her lips as she unfolded it. The women had to forage a considerable distance away from the trail; other pioneers had been running through the stuff for over fifteen years. Eventually, though, they found enough to start the evening's campfires as well as enough to cook the morning's breakfast. They put their findings in mesh bags slung outside the wagons. Daria looked ruefully at her bag after she dumped her first load. . No way in Hell I'm going to use this bag for grocery shopping, she thought. Not after putting buffalo dung in it. They made three trips.

Chimney Rock and its spire continued to be in sight as the wagon train slowly rolled past it. Every so often, Daria would take a moment to stare at it. This was a sight nobody had seen for decades in 2003; true, Chimney Rock was still there, but its spire had lost nearly 100 feet in the years since. Chimney Rock began to slowly recede in the distance as their party slowly passed it. Eventually, Orrick made his wagon come to stop, motioning to form a circle for a corral.

That was when Daria learned that there was still plenty of work to do. She and the Orrick girls wandered over the landscape looking for more dried dung for the fires. Their pickings were relatively slim after ranging over a mile and a half away from the trail. After returning from their hunt, Daria and the Orricks' daughters helped Mrs. Orrick unload the wagon and helped them make camp. Only then did they cook dinner. Dinner was—horrible. It consisted of salty bacon and thin, doughy bread. After eating it, Daria wondered if she might be up to giving up on bread and making tortillas instead.

Daria fell into an exhausted sleep. That night she dreamt she was sitting in a non-descript institutional briefing room, the sort of place that could be found in government buildings or those of wealthier corporations. She was dressed in her old green jacket, skirt, and her Doc Marten boots, a look she'd discarded when she started attending Raft.

The classroom door opened and a tall, auburn-haired woman with eyeglasses and wearing a tailored two-piece suit walked in and sat on the desk in front of her. Daria noted that the woman was wearing what looked like a government ID badge, although the lettering was strangely blurred. Daria did a double-take when she saw that it was Melody Powers, her fictitious spy-novel alter-ego.

"Morgendorffer," said Melody.

"Ms. Powers," Daria replied. She wasn't quite sure how to address a fictional character she'd created.

"So what's real?" asked Daria. "I know I'm real. That thing with the Oregon Trail is a pretty good delusion. I don't know about you, though."

"It's real. You're on the Oregon Trail in western Nebraska in 1860," said Melody Powers.

"Me, the Oregon Trail?" Daria said sarcastically.

"You, the Oregon Trail, 1860," Melody Powers replied. "That's real. This dream's an illusion."

"That's nice to know," Daria replied sarcastically.

"I'm not going to tell you whether you've been sent by God, the Holy Trinity, or whatever. Doing the job, that's important," said Melody Powers.

"Me, a pioneer woman?" said Daria. "I know a little bit from books, but I'm not much of a camper. I lack a lot of the skills these people need to keep from being a drag on these people and helping them get there. Couldn't you have gotten somebody else?" She thought of Graham Greene's novel Our Man In Havana, where a hapless vacuum cleaner salesman got turned into an intelligence operative by a British secret agent.

Like that, she thought, rolling her eyes.

"Like that," Melody Powers replied. "Except that you'll do a better job. You know more than you think, you've got fair eye-hand co-ordination, good reflexes, and you're able to learn when you think it's necessary."

"I ought to slug you for dragging me into this mess," growled Daria

Melody Powers gave her the sort of smirk expert fighters would give blustering novices. "I'd invite you to go a round or two with me, but you've got bigger problems right now," she said with a smirk.

"Yeah, what sort of problems?" said Daria. "I'm stuck on the Oregon Trail in fribbling 1860!"

"You need to come in out of the rain," said Melody.

"Do what now?" said Daria, reverting to her childhood west Texas dialect.

"Come in out of the rain," said Melody Powers.

Before Daria had a chance to glare at Melody Powers, she was interrupted by the sound of a great thunderclap and she found herself back at the campsite where she'd put down her blanket. She was barely able to start processing the change of time and surroundings when there was another great burst of thunder and lightning and then it started raining.

The thunderstorm set Daria into motion. She'd been through similar thunderstorms as a child in Highland: at first covering herself with bedcovers or hiding under the bed while great sheets of lightning flashed through the sky, followed by loud rumbling bursts of thunder, then watching the outdoor pyrotechnics with a happy smile when she grew older. This, however, was a little too exposed. A lightning burst briefly showed her where the Orricks' wagon was, then Daria scuttled under it for shelter.

Author's Notes:

Like I said, this alternate-universe Daria Morgendorffer is NOT one of God's holy angels, so relax. If anything, she's closer in nature to Jake and Elwood Blues of the Blues Brothers movie than to the Archangel Gabriel. I have yet to reveal the full details of her mission, so chill.