![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
not_hathorOkay. This is the Brokeback Mountain/Narnia fanfic I started to write a while back for my dear friend Jessica. If you do not care for BBM, or think a crossover with The Chronicles of Narnia (the books) is some sort of blasphemy, then feel free to skip along to the next entry on your Friends page. I will say that only ONE Narnia indivudual turns up and I think it will be obvious who....
Warning: Canon Jack/Ennis; Afterlife!Jack;Weepy!Jack (but only for this chapter); Christian images and some philosophy, a spot of Bible quoting.
Do I Need a Disclaimer? Brokeback Mountain, book, movie, characters were created by Annie Proulx, Dianne Ossana, Larry McMurty, Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Ang Lee, Focus Features, etc. The Chronicles of Narnia were created by C.S.Lewis, and the characters belong to his estate, publishers, etc.
********************
Far Side of the Mountain: part 1
A Brokeback Mountain (movie & OS) /Chronicles of Narnia (books)
fan fiction story.
By Mary (aka not-hathor/DancesWithChows)
For planetgal!Jess
************************************
The pain was gone; not just the sharp splintery stabbing knives of shattered bone and the clawing tearing ripping of -- no, don't remember that, oh God, not this! -- or even the mule-kick blow to the head more anticipated than actually felt it happened that sudden but no less hurtful or deadly for all that.... all of it was gone, even the bone-deep aches from old bruises, the grind and click of worn joints that bothered him more and more often of late, especially in the rare rainy spell at home or the almost as rare winter trips to Wyoming and his own personal paradise and purgatory rolled into one.
Ennis.
‘Your folks stop at Ennis?’
del Mar.
Oh god, Ennis. And the pain welled up, old pain new pain the same ache that only one person, one close-mouthed not-queer Wyoming cowboy could ever ease no matter how many trips ta Mexico or ranch foreman not the wife shit, oh Ennis, I shoulda listened harder, you were right….hot tears, tracing over the older tight-dried stains on his face… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t a said those things those awful things I didn’t mean ‘em only one way I could ever quit you, you whoreson sonuvabitch oh shit and it just happen didn’t it oh God….. rolled over onto his knees hunched down arms flat shoulders shaking sobs wrenching deep eyes squinched tight shut but salt water still flowing, oh Ennis….
No idea how long he crouched there, seemed like forever before the tears trickled to nothing then another forever until the shudders began to ease a bit and his breath no longer threatened to strangle in his throat. And for a while he just lay flat, unstrung and overcooked-noodle weak, no strength in his body or exhausted soul but slowly slowly becoming quiet enough to pay some mind to the gentle warmth across his back, and the skritchy feel against his cheek, and the wirey straws that poked up between his fingers and the green smell, oh that green lightly clovered perfume, and to wonder just what might he see if’n he were brave enough to open his tear-swollen eyes.
Blurry tan and green suddenly yanked into focus and he was staring up close and personal-like at the patch of grass and white clover fenced in between eye and denim-clad arm that only partly shaded the spot from what felt like midmorning sun. He blinked, and it was still there, no different save for the addition of a dirty yellow and black striped sweat bee crawling on and around and over one of the cloverheads. Another blink and the insect was gone….for a moment. Then it was nearly flying up his nose and he startled, snorted and pushed himself up and away sudden, landing on his rear end which only smarted from the abrupt impact of butt against solid ground and nothing else.
Where --?
Oh, but he knew where, knew that slope of ground, those jagged rocks thrusting up against the blue in the distance, knew the color of the columbine and wild lilies and the shape of the clouds almost as well as he knew the slope of his cowboy’s back and shoulders and the color of his eyes when the fire was in him and the feel of those roughened gentle-strong hands against his own flesh….
Their personal Eden, cast out untimely by capricious fate and early snow all those years back and never returned to, for how could they? As the Bible-thumpers were so fond of sayin’, God created Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve… goin’ back would be near ta blasphemy. And yet, here he was, and this sure didn’t resemble any version o’ Hell that he’d ever heard tell of.
Scrambling to his feet, looking around earned him a bit o’ dizziness, had forgotten about the thin air of the heights. Breathing in the warmth, the cleanness of the mountain all his senses sharpened, his attention suddenly caught by the sight on his own hand. Nothing wrong with it…everything right about it, except those weren’t the same lightly calloused tobacco-smoke-stained cigarette-burned fingers he’d wrapped around a steering wheel and gashed across the knuckles tryin’ to loosen a too-tight lug-nut last night before those so-helpful fellas with the tire irons showed up an’ --- no! not gonna think ‘bout that!
No, these were the fingers that’d coaxed cockle-burrs outa the tender inner parts of woolie’s hooves and worked a can-opener fine enough to satisfy a hungry partner down from the sheep at the end of the day, and had later wrapped that same partner’s fingers around his own hunger in the dark of night. Fingers that flew up to his face now to discover slight stubble acrost his upper lip and nothing more.
Ennis ne’er did care for it, but dammit! Took near three months to grow that moustache to his liking….
Grabbed his hat off the ground and jammed it onto his head. Looked around ready to jump and belabor any other scalliwag around who might be possbily responsible for the outrageous indignity perpetrated upon his person, suddenly was struck by the absurdity of it all and began to laugh. Could almost hear Ennis sayin’ it:
‘Jackfuckin’Twist, you the only fool I know would complain ‘bout yer moustache bein’ missing after you… after…’
Almost broke down again, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Ennis, oh god, cowboy, this gonna kill you when you find out, you gonna send that postcard ‘bout November and never get an answer, gonna think I meant it, that I quit you and Lureen won’t know to tell you different…. Took a shaky breath, swiped an arm across his face, noticed the denim again – can’t be, can’t be wearin’ that shirt but then again, why not?-- and started walking towards where he remembered there being a branch stream. Thirsty business, all this cryin’, and he reckoned whichever end o’ the spiritual yardstick he found hisself on, the chance of whiskey was pretty slim but water might be within the realm o’ possibility. Prit’near everything else was as it had been, ‘cept he hadn’t seen no sheep and hadn’t found the campsite yet, but he sorta thought there might be some reason to hope for a bit more.
A little further and sure enough, there it was, running clear and sparkling, no beaver-fever from this water! Found a spot not too muddy or gravelled where he could kneel down, scoop up some in the hollow of his hand and splash across his face, rinse and wash away the dried salt and dirt, then dip again and bring up the cool wetness to dampen lips and at least partly slake his thirst, knowing that it would take more than water to ease the burning dryness inside but what else could he do for now? Then becoming aware of a brightness falling across the water, like a shadow of light rather than dark, and looking up to the opposite shore.
There was a Lion drinking on the other side of the rivulet.
Not a cougar or whatever it was local folks called the big mountain cats; a Lion, like the one they'd seen that time him and Lureen took Bobby inta Amarillo to the circus, 'cept that cat had been some puny lil' thing with patchy fur not this awesomely golden and tawny creature nearly the size o' one o' them elephant babies and-- glowing, almost.
A tiny part of him wanted ta run, even though he knew that was one o' the stupidest things ta do when suddenly comin' face ta face with one of nature's larger predators and why 'n hell was there a freakin' LION here in the back beyond of the Grand Tetons?, another tiny piece o' his mind was asking. But most of him was awe-struck and tremblin’ with both dread and joy; kinda like the feelin’ when he’d looked up and seen Ennis that night, framed against the fire-lighted tent beautiful beyond reckoning, knowin’ it could go either way and ready to live or die from it, no regrets, only more so.
And then the Lion looked up and stared him deep in the eyes.
Son of Adam, do you know me?
Oddly enough, he did. Bobby’s fourth grade teacher had recognized that the boy’s difficulties in school were not due to lack of intelligence or laziness, but rather some flaw in his perception. With structured teaching programs for dyslexia still several decades in the future, she had done her best, encouraging Bobby’s efforts by actively seeking out books with appealing subjects and enlisting the aid of the boy’s parents, such as it was. He distinctly remembered Bobby handing him the book.
‘Miz Ash’lford says it’s real good, full of adventure an’ battles an’ horses an’ we’re s’pposed ta take turns reading, Dad, you first…...’
The title hadn’t looked all that promising, but Mrs. Ashelford had been right about it being good. They’d traded off, Bobby struggling with some of the odd names, and Jack offering up comments from his own experiences at riding strange horses for the first time – ‘hey, Dad, be cool if your horse coulda told ya what you were doin’ wrong, huh?’ –‘Dunno, bud, probably wouldn’t a been worth repeating, ‘least in front a yer mom…’ –
And after finishing the first chapter and sending Bobby off to bed, he’d taken the book with him and stayed up until nearly 3 a.m. reading the rest of the story. Turned out it was part of a series and by the end of the school year they’d read most of the others, ‘cept L.D. had gotten ahold of the one about the wardrobe one day an’ started rantin’ and carryin’ on ‘bout sissy fairy stories an’ no grandson a his was gonna be readin’ girly books ‘bout witches an’ talking animals and that was the end of it.
But he knew that Bobby still had a copy of that first, favorite book hidden safely away, and it was most particularly because of that book and the others that he knew, impossible an’ crazy as it might seem.
He swallowed and glanced aside nervously, sitting back on his heels, then back again not quite making eye contact.
“Yessir, reckon I do. That is, I’m thinking you might be who that writer fella seemed to be making you out be in them books, but I’m kinda confused about the how an’ the why, with you here an’ me here, an’ wonderin’ just how bad I mighta screwed up. ‘Cause I know I ain’t always done the right thing, didn’t try hard enough sometimes an’ … an’ what I done… what I am….hurt folks that didn’t deserve ta be hurt….think I prob’ly broke mosta th’ commandments, never actually killed no one, but…”
Looked up into those dark sad eyes, choked out: “Gonna take this hard, might kill ‘em, sir, when Ennis comes ta know… said some awful things to ‘em, hurt ‘em bad on purpose being so angry with ‘em, might as well taken a tire iron to ‘em right then and there. Know I don’t deserve nothin’ good, but Ennis he…. Ennis….”
He never saw the Lion move, just knew that He did because that great golden head was suddenly right in front of him and he buried his face in the tawny softness of His mane, arms barely reaching around His neck in a desperate embrace, and wept. Broken phrases fell from his lips: “Love ‘em so much, sir, hurts so bad…. S’pposed to be wrong, but couldn’t help it, can’t quit ‘em…. jes’ wanted ta be together, never meant ta hurt no one….”
He began to tremble, pictures swarming like angry bees in his mind of leering hate-filled faces, a long black bar swinging down; felt more than heard the rumble of sound like the purr of a very, very, VERY large cat. Sorta reminded him of that time he’d felt so safe and loved, held and gently rocked in his cowboy’s arms, soft humming in his ears. Breathed in the wild sweet scent of honey and clover and – what was that? Fresh and comforting, like his mama’s fresh baked bread.
Hush. Think no more of that. None here will harm you, Child.
And with a sigh, he let himself be the child and collapsed trusting and content within the golden warmth of the Lion’s presence. Closed his eyes again and rested, second finest pillow he’d ever known. Thought for a moment he heard his mama, reading to him from her Book, and a voice like muted thunder from under his tired head echoing the words: ‘Come to me, you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest.’
*****************************
(tbc)
********************
Warning: Canon Jack/Ennis; Afterlife!Jack;Weepy!Jack (but only for this chapter); Christian images and some philosophy, a spot of Bible quoting.
Do I Need a Disclaimer? Brokeback Mountain, book, movie, characters were created by Annie Proulx, Dianne Ossana, Larry McMurty, Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Ang Lee, Focus Features, etc. The Chronicles of Narnia were created by C.S.Lewis, and the characters belong to his estate, publishers, etc.
********************
Far Side of the Mountain: part 1
A Brokeback Mountain (movie & OS) /Chronicles of Narnia (books)
fan fiction story.
By Mary (aka not-hathor/DancesWithChows)
For planetgal!Jess
************************************
The pain was gone; not just the sharp splintery stabbing knives of shattered bone and the clawing tearing ripping of -- no, don't remember that, oh God, not this! -- or even the mule-kick blow to the head more anticipated than actually felt it happened that sudden but no less hurtful or deadly for all that.... all of it was gone, even the bone-deep aches from old bruises, the grind and click of worn joints that bothered him more and more often of late, especially in the rare rainy spell at home or the almost as rare winter trips to Wyoming and his own personal paradise and purgatory rolled into one.
Ennis.
‘Your folks stop at Ennis?’
del Mar.
Oh god, Ennis. And the pain welled up, old pain new pain the same ache that only one person, one close-mouthed not-queer Wyoming cowboy could ever ease no matter how many trips ta Mexico or ranch foreman not the wife shit, oh Ennis, I shoulda listened harder, you were right….hot tears, tracing over the older tight-dried stains on his face… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t a said those things those awful things I didn’t mean ‘em only one way I could ever quit you, you whoreson sonuvabitch oh shit and it just happen didn’t it oh God….. rolled over onto his knees hunched down arms flat shoulders shaking sobs wrenching deep eyes squinched tight shut but salt water still flowing, oh Ennis….
No idea how long he crouched there, seemed like forever before the tears trickled to nothing then another forever until the shudders began to ease a bit and his breath no longer threatened to strangle in his throat. And for a while he just lay flat, unstrung and overcooked-noodle weak, no strength in his body or exhausted soul but slowly slowly becoming quiet enough to pay some mind to the gentle warmth across his back, and the skritchy feel against his cheek, and the wirey straws that poked up between his fingers and the green smell, oh that green lightly clovered perfume, and to wonder just what might he see if’n he were brave enough to open his tear-swollen eyes.
Blurry tan and green suddenly yanked into focus and he was staring up close and personal-like at the patch of grass and white clover fenced in between eye and denim-clad arm that only partly shaded the spot from what felt like midmorning sun. He blinked, and it was still there, no different save for the addition of a dirty yellow and black striped sweat bee crawling on and around and over one of the cloverheads. Another blink and the insect was gone….for a moment. Then it was nearly flying up his nose and he startled, snorted and pushed himself up and away sudden, landing on his rear end which only smarted from the abrupt impact of butt against solid ground and nothing else.
Where --?
Oh, but he knew where, knew that slope of ground, those jagged rocks thrusting up against the blue in the distance, knew the color of the columbine and wild lilies and the shape of the clouds almost as well as he knew the slope of his cowboy’s back and shoulders and the color of his eyes when the fire was in him and the feel of those roughened gentle-strong hands against his own flesh….
Their personal Eden, cast out untimely by capricious fate and early snow all those years back and never returned to, for how could they? As the Bible-thumpers were so fond of sayin’, God created Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve… goin’ back would be near ta blasphemy. And yet, here he was, and this sure didn’t resemble any version o’ Hell that he’d ever heard tell of.
Scrambling to his feet, looking around earned him a bit o’ dizziness, had forgotten about the thin air of the heights. Breathing in the warmth, the cleanness of the mountain all his senses sharpened, his attention suddenly caught by the sight on his own hand. Nothing wrong with it…everything right about it, except those weren’t the same lightly calloused tobacco-smoke-stained cigarette-burned fingers he’d wrapped around a steering wheel and gashed across the knuckles tryin’ to loosen a too-tight lug-nut last night before those so-helpful fellas with the tire irons showed up an’ --- no! not gonna think ‘bout that!
No, these were the fingers that’d coaxed cockle-burrs outa the tender inner parts of woolie’s hooves and worked a can-opener fine enough to satisfy a hungry partner down from the sheep at the end of the day, and had later wrapped that same partner’s fingers around his own hunger in the dark of night. Fingers that flew up to his face now to discover slight stubble acrost his upper lip and nothing more.
Ennis ne’er did care for it, but dammit! Took near three months to grow that moustache to his liking….
Grabbed his hat off the ground and jammed it onto his head. Looked around ready to jump and belabor any other scalliwag around who might be possbily responsible for the outrageous indignity perpetrated upon his person, suddenly was struck by the absurdity of it all and began to laugh. Could almost hear Ennis sayin’ it:
‘Jackfuckin’Twist, you the only fool I know would complain ‘bout yer moustache bein’ missing after you… after…’
Almost broke down again, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Ennis, oh god, cowboy, this gonna kill you when you find out, you gonna send that postcard ‘bout November and never get an answer, gonna think I meant it, that I quit you and Lureen won’t know to tell you different…. Took a shaky breath, swiped an arm across his face, noticed the denim again – can’t be, can’t be wearin’ that shirt but then again, why not?-- and started walking towards where he remembered there being a branch stream. Thirsty business, all this cryin’, and he reckoned whichever end o’ the spiritual yardstick he found hisself on, the chance of whiskey was pretty slim but water might be within the realm o’ possibility. Prit’near everything else was as it had been, ‘cept he hadn’t seen no sheep and hadn’t found the campsite yet, but he sorta thought there might be some reason to hope for a bit more.
A little further and sure enough, there it was, running clear and sparkling, no beaver-fever from this water! Found a spot not too muddy or gravelled where he could kneel down, scoop up some in the hollow of his hand and splash across his face, rinse and wash away the dried salt and dirt, then dip again and bring up the cool wetness to dampen lips and at least partly slake his thirst, knowing that it would take more than water to ease the burning dryness inside but what else could he do for now? Then becoming aware of a brightness falling across the water, like a shadow of light rather than dark, and looking up to the opposite shore.
There was a Lion drinking on the other side of the rivulet.
Not a cougar or whatever it was local folks called the big mountain cats; a Lion, like the one they'd seen that time him and Lureen took Bobby inta Amarillo to the circus, 'cept that cat had been some puny lil' thing with patchy fur not this awesomely golden and tawny creature nearly the size o' one o' them elephant babies and-- glowing, almost.
A tiny part of him wanted ta run, even though he knew that was one o' the stupidest things ta do when suddenly comin' face ta face with one of nature's larger predators and why 'n hell was there a freakin' LION here in the back beyond of the Grand Tetons?, another tiny piece o' his mind was asking. But most of him was awe-struck and tremblin’ with both dread and joy; kinda like the feelin’ when he’d looked up and seen Ennis that night, framed against the fire-lighted tent beautiful beyond reckoning, knowin’ it could go either way and ready to live or die from it, no regrets, only more so.
And then the Lion looked up and stared him deep in the eyes.
Son of Adam, do you know me?
Oddly enough, he did. Bobby’s fourth grade teacher had recognized that the boy’s difficulties in school were not due to lack of intelligence or laziness, but rather some flaw in his perception. With structured teaching programs for dyslexia still several decades in the future, she had done her best, encouraging Bobby’s efforts by actively seeking out books with appealing subjects and enlisting the aid of the boy’s parents, such as it was. He distinctly remembered Bobby handing him the book.
‘Miz Ash’lford says it’s real good, full of adventure an’ battles an’ horses an’ we’re s’pposed ta take turns reading, Dad, you first…...’
The title hadn’t looked all that promising, but Mrs. Ashelford had been right about it being good. They’d traded off, Bobby struggling with some of the odd names, and Jack offering up comments from his own experiences at riding strange horses for the first time – ‘hey, Dad, be cool if your horse coulda told ya what you were doin’ wrong, huh?’ –‘Dunno, bud, probably wouldn’t a been worth repeating, ‘least in front a yer mom…’ –
And after finishing the first chapter and sending Bobby off to bed, he’d taken the book with him and stayed up until nearly 3 a.m. reading the rest of the story. Turned out it was part of a series and by the end of the school year they’d read most of the others, ‘cept L.D. had gotten ahold of the one about the wardrobe one day an’ started rantin’ and carryin’ on ‘bout sissy fairy stories an’ no grandson a his was gonna be readin’ girly books ‘bout witches an’ talking animals and that was the end of it.
But he knew that Bobby still had a copy of that first, favorite book hidden safely away, and it was most particularly because of that book and the others that he knew, impossible an’ crazy as it might seem.
He swallowed and glanced aside nervously, sitting back on his heels, then back again not quite making eye contact.
“Yessir, reckon I do. That is, I’m thinking you might be who that writer fella seemed to be making you out be in them books, but I’m kinda confused about the how an’ the why, with you here an’ me here, an’ wonderin’ just how bad I mighta screwed up. ‘Cause I know I ain’t always done the right thing, didn’t try hard enough sometimes an’ … an’ what I done… what I am….hurt folks that didn’t deserve ta be hurt….think I prob’ly broke mosta th’ commandments, never actually killed no one, but…”
Looked up into those dark sad eyes, choked out: “Gonna take this hard, might kill ‘em, sir, when Ennis comes ta know… said some awful things to ‘em, hurt ‘em bad on purpose being so angry with ‘em, might as well taken a tire iron to ‘em right then and there. Know I don’t deserve nothin’ good, but Ennis he…. Ennis….”
He never saw the Lion move, just knew that He did because that great golden head was suddenly right in front of him and he buried his face in the tawny softness of His mane, arms barely reaching around His neck in a desperate embrace, and wept. Broken phrases fell from his lips: “Love ‘em so much, sir, hurts so bad…. S’pposed to be wrong, but couldn’t help it, can’t quit ‘em…. jes’ wanted ta be together, never meant ta hurt no one….”
He began to tremble, pictures swarming like angry bees in his mind of leering hate-filled faces, a long black bar swinging down; felt more than heard the rumble of sound like the purr of a very, very, VERY large cat. Sorta reminded him of that time he’d felt so safe and loved, held and gently rocked in his cowboy’s arms, soft humming in his ears. Breathed in the wild sweet scent of honey and clover and – what was that? Fresh and comforting, like his mama’s fresh baked bread.
Hush. Think no more of that. None here will harm you, Child.
And with a sigh, he let himself be the child and collapsed trusting and content within the golden warmth of the Lion’s presence. Closed his eyes again and rested, second finest pillow he’d ever known. Thought for a moment he heard his mama, reading to him from her Book, and a voice like muted thunder from under his tired head echoing the words: ‘Come to me, you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest.’
*****************************
(tbc)
********************
