Daria on the Trail The Looming Rockies

DISCLAIMER: This story is more of a western than a swords-and-sorcery epic. I wrote it for fun, not for profit. I do not own either A 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.

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

Orrick Trout's POV

Kara and I awoke the next morning before sunrise. We'd resumed the daily rhythm that we'd acquired on our travel across this new continent: up before dawn, pack the wagon, find and yoke the mules, eat breakfast, then set out. We'd pause at mid-day, continue until late afternoon, then make camp.

I groaned as I got up.

"I'm not getting any younger," I said.

"I know you aren't," said Kara. "I'm not either. And it was your choice that brought us out here."

That it was, I thought. I decided to say nothing.

Today we would face a serious obstacle to our journey: Deep Rut Hill. There was no avoiding it: there only one route that led from our camp site to higher ground and only one place where we could reach higher ground. The route was so narrow that wagons had to pass singe file. The Hill already had a worrisome reputation: almost all of us had heard about Deep Rut Hill and what had happened to Jonah Wilson's wagon when he was with Ridge. He'd wrecked his wagon and had had to walk back to Fort Laramie after Thomas Ridge had left him behind.

I called for a meeting of the heads of families before we set out. Our Company's mood was apprehensive. "Today we must climb Deep Rut Hill," I said. "We must decide how to do it. While I would prefer to have been the first company out this morning, I would rather we watch and learn before we climb it. Any objections?" Most of the men looked at me and looked at each other. No one said anything. There were no objections. They and I returned to our wagons and prepared to depart.

We left our campsite and drove the short distance from Register Cliff to the base of the hill. There had been so much wagon traffic that the animals' hooves and metal wheels had carved deep ruts into the soft stone. I smiled at the sight: it wasn't the first time I'd seen such, there were many such ruts back in Westeros, although they had been in use for centuries. We pulled over to the side of the trail to watch how the other companies would mount the obstacle. We were not the first company to pull over: there was only one way up the hill, it had to be surmounted single-file, and we'd have to wait our turn.

I walked to the front of the train in front of us to watch and observe as an Emigrant company began their ascent. This company used mules instead of oxen. Mules were faster but oxen had more endurance. The first wagon used four mules and had four men pushing at the rear. The wagon stalled and the men had to let the wagon gently descent back to the base of the hill. I shook my head: they should have used doubled teams.

The next wagon's driver was wiser. He borrowed a team from another member of his company and harnessed them in front of his own team. His team and the borrowed animals still strained as they pulled their wagon up the incline, but they did it without incident. His fellows applauded as he drove his wagon along higher ground. A short time later, the driver descended with his borrowed animals and the next wagon ascended the hill. He had little difficulty mounting the hill either.

The rest of their company ascended the hill without difficulty and it was now the turn of the company in front of us. Like us, they used oxen. Whoever was their captain proved to be sensible fellow who could watch and learn. His people also used doubled teams.

When our turn came to climb the hill, we used doubled teams. There was one difference between our ascent and that of the company before: I ordered everyone out of the wagons. I had not forgotten what I'd seen at Windlass Hill or at Mitchell Pass and I had no desire to see any of our people injured or maimed. It took us the better part of two hours to climb the hill and begin rolling along the Platte, but we managed it without incident. Thanks to Daria and other English-speakers, I had better information about the way west and I knew that we would be facing steeper grades further on. We traveled about fifteen miles, making camp a couple of hours before sunset.

Daria POV:

As our company left Deep Rut Hill further and further behind us, I began to relearn the strenuous rhythms of an Emigrant woman's life: helping to pack the wagon in the morning, cooking breakfast, keeping an eye on the children, wandering the countryside looking for fuel for our campfires or drawing water from the Platte, unloading the wagons at the next camp site, then cooking dinner, and only then turning in for dinner. Wash, rinse, and repeat, although the rhythm changed when we needed to do laundry. I was luckier than most: Kennard was fourteen-year-old straining to become a man, Jilla was a pre-teen and Minti was a good kid with a good head on her shoulders. God help me if I was responsible for as many children as the Buckhorns had had or ride herd on a kid like Othar Thatch!

The terrain began to grow hillier a couple of days after we left Deep Rut Hill. While I lacked the ability to plot where we were on a map, I was pretty sure that we were somewhere in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Not that I could see them from the road: the Overland Trail stuck close to the Platte River's riverbanks and any glimpses of the Rockies were blocked by the hills on either side of the River. Still, things looked promising. I was forced to climb some of those hills to forage for buffalo chips and what first seemed to be a dark line on the horizon was beginning to resolve itself into a range of mountains. We're getting there, I thought, but travel by covered wagon was definitely travel in the slow lane.

In the meantime I started having this very strange feeling, a feeling that there were energies flowing around and through me. The Force from Star Wars? Not likely, I decided. I tried to ignore it: I might have only been a play-acting pioneer woman and not the real deal, but play-acting pioneer woman or no, pioneer women were busy even while the wagons were rolling and I had plenty of things to keep me busy. I not only had to pack and unpack the wagons at each camp site, I also had to help Kara and Jilla cook the meals. Also, now that the trails on both sides of the Platte had converged, the other women and I had to work that much harder to find dried dung to feed our campfires and we all had to range a lot further from the trail to find any.

I did not remember most of my dreams from this part of the trip. I was usually exhausted when I lay down to rest and promptly fell asleep. But the third night out, I remembered a very strange dream, one where I was somewhere out in the middle of the Great Plains. Something caught my attention and I started running towards it. I ran towards it as fast as I could, running faster and faster, just when I thought I was running as fast as I could possibly run, I felt myself transforming into an animal. A deer, I think, or maybe an antelope. Whatever it was, it had cloven hoofs. I began running again, this time running faster than any human possibly could.

Oh, Great, I thought. I'm finding my Spirit Animal and I have no idea as to what it is.

Orrick Trout POV

The country began to change as we traveled further and further west along the Trail. While the road by the Platte remained fairly level, the surrounding countryside grew increasingly hillier. At the time, we paid scant attention to the changing terrain, concentrating more our slow journey and integrating our newcomers into our Company. I was pleased to see that the families that had chosen to stay with me instead of leaving with Thomas Ridge were happy with my leadership and that most of the parties that joined our company at Fort Laramie were fitting in well with those who'd been with me longer.

Not that we didn't have some difficulties. There was the language problem: most of our Company spoke at least some English while the four families we'd picked up at the Fort spoke English poorly at best. Kennard and Willem were becoming fluent but, like me, they preferred to speak Andal in private. I had worried about the women, but by now Kara and the girls could not only make themselves understood but converse with the from the far side of the Great River.

At noon on the fourth day past Deep Rut Hill, we paused for our noon meal, as had the wagon train in front of us. I thought that this would be just a brief pause and that we'd again be on our way, but I heard someone from the other company shouting "The mountains! Come see! I see the mountains!".

His cry was enough to cause members of the other party to cross the trail and climb up the hills west of the trail. Their enthusiasm spread from their wagon train to ours and people from our wagon train began to drift across the road and climb up the hills to get a better view.

I decided to give in to temptation and get my first glimpse of the Rockies. I walked to the rear of the wagon where Kara and Daria were putting away the dishes and utensils from our meal.

I gestured to Kara. "Come, my love, let us climb up the hill together and take our first view of the Rockies."

"I'd love to see them," said Kara. "We've traveled so far to get here."

I turned to our guest. "Daria, would you please mind the oxen?" I said.

The girl smiled at us. "There isn't anything nearby that would cause them to bolt, is there?" she said.

"I doubt it," I said.

"I'm on it, Boss," she said.

Jilla had overheard our conversation. "Can we see, too?"

"Why not?" I said.

"Hooray!" the girls exclaimed, and together we crossed the trail and mounted the hill to take our first glimpse of the Rockies.

I put my right arm around Kara's shoulder and my left hand on top of Minti's head as I took in the view. We were still some distance from the Rockies themselves but we could see them clearly enough. My first view was of a long line of tall hills that made me think of the outermost walls of some great holdfast, a holdfast worthy of the Gods themselves. These were the first mountains I'd seen since I'd seen since I'd caught glimpses of those of the Vale during Robert's Rebellion nearly twenty years before. The sight of them made me quale for a moment at the thought of taking a wagon train over them; had it not been for the fact that the gap leading to South Pass did exist, I might have turned around and headed back.

These are formidable mountains, I said out loud, my thoughts leaking to my mouth.

"They are," said Kara. "But with you I know we can climb them."

"We can," I said, ignoring that tiny voice inside me that said we would not.

We returned to our wagon after taking our fill of the view. After passing the word along to the rest of the company that we would depart, I cracked my whip over the oxen, Kennard blew his horn, and our company resumed its journey. We made seven or eight more miles that day and made camp. Twilight came earlier that evening as the sun set behind the hills.

The next morning I looked to the west and saw my first snow-capped mountain. I later learned that it was named Laramie Peak.

Author's notes: The Trout Company is now at the very edge of the Great Plains