~~ Part 1 ~~
Buffy's mouth tasted like sawdust. The words she had forced out still choking her as she wrapped her arms around her waist. A deep ache settled in her stomach, and she wondered if it would ever go away. She shuffled down the alley behind the Magic Box, wanting a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts. A noise from the shadows let her know that she couldn't even have that.
"Spike?" Her eyes went from the vampire to the sun blazing in the sky. She wrinkled her nose in confusion and continued walking toward him. "Isn't it kinda sunny out here for you? You're still a regular vampire aren't you? I mean, they didn't use any kinda hoodoo on you too, did they?"
It was an innocent question, but the underlying tone held a wealth of meaning. His piercing blue eyes, studied her face. He could have stayed there all day just looking at her, taking in the wonder that was Buffy Summers, if he wasn't so damned scared that something was terribly wrong.
"Still the Big Bad, Pet, can wander about if I stay in the shadows."
He gestured toward the shadows that the building next door cast, which she hadn't noticed. Moving around the corner, he hopped onto a trash container and patted the place beside him. Buffy tilted her head to stare at him as he sat there swinging his feet looking more like a little boy than a master vampire. She thought it strange that she felt more at ease with her former enemy than she did with her friends.
"Tell ole Spike what's the what."
"Just needed some time alone, get my bearings, you know?" She gazed off at nothing in particular. He started to jump off the container to leave her when she stopped him. "I can be alone with you here."
"Thanks ever so much, Pet." He frowned when he saw that she wasn't teasing him and had gone back to her mindless staring. "Uhm, Slayer, Buffy, I've never been to a Hell dimension, but I've been in some pretty rough situations. If you…"
"I was happy," she said whisper soft.
He almost didn't hear her, even with his vampire hearing. Spike stared at her in shock, with no snappy comebacks tripping off his lips. It didn't matter because she continued as if he wasn't even there, and she was speaking to herself.
"I was done, complete. Dawnie was safe and the world hadn't ended. Everyone that I cared about was safe. I was still me, but not. Nothing had shape or form, it just was, I was." She turned to stare into his eyes then looked away. "I felt finished...I think...I was in Heaven."
His mind had a hard time processing what she had said. An anger unlike anything he had ever felt before raced through him. Those horrible, stupid, selfish children had stolen her from Heaven. He swallowed back an angry roar when he took in her huddled form as she continued to speak. Spike worked hard to keep calm and listen to what she was saying, realizing that he was only hearing it because he was in the right place at the right time.
"My friends pulled me out, tore me away from there." Her voice warbled momentarily as he continued staring, listening. "Everything here is…harsh. It's too bright and violent. This is Hell. It takes everything I have to get through one moment, and then there's the one after that…just knowing what I've lost, and that I can't go back…"
He watched those large hazel eyes dull and become lifeless as they once again looked off into the distance at nothing. Words, even snarky ones that could fire her temper, failed him. He had never felt more impotent than in that moment. Sliding down from his place beside her, he gently patted her knee with a shaking hand and faded back into the shadows. Spike swore under his breath that he would find a way to right this wrong if it was the last thing he did. He hated magic. It always came with a price.
Buffy stared out at the midday sun; she wrapped her arms around her waist to fight off the internal chill that had plagued her constantly since her return. "I wish." Closing her eyes, knowing the power of such words on the Hellmouth, she whispered, "I wish that I was back in Heaven where I was just me."
Red eyes peered out from the shadows. "Wish granted."
Dark clouds suddenly rolled in blocking out the sun. Lightning bolts streaked across the darkness followed by loud claps of thunder. The air became thick as the angry skies forewarned of a coming storm. The wind picked up, throwing debris about before sweeping it down the streets. People rushed to find cover when the heavy rains started as the lightning crashed down around them. One lone figure remained frozen. Rain slashed down at her, yet she sat unmoving, not even bothering to wipe her face. The storm raged on, growing in strength, amassing greater power until a large funnel cloud appeared. It swept downward with a single purpose, to grant a wish.
D'Hoffryn and his newest charge arrived from Arashmahaar in a heap before the Powers. The Vengeance Demon Master quickly rose to his feet, straightened his robes and tried to appear unphased by such an unusual summons. He worked hard to keep his doings far from the Powers notice for just this reason. His beady eyes turned to the vengeance demon trembling at his side and knew that he should have let this one slide, but some imp told him that an over-the-hill actress whose husband left her for her personnel assistant would know a thing or two about vengeance. He should've kept to his own rules, staying far away from Hollywood when looking for good help.
He bowed his head toward the higher beings, and asked, "How may I be of assistance, your graces?"
"Silence, lower being," their voices blasted him, nearly knocking him off his feet. "One of your charges has dared to grant a Slayer's wish."
The accusation hit D'Hoffryn like a Troll hammer. It was the one rule his kind dare not break. The Powers remained neutral in most things regarding demon affairs, with this one exception. A Slayer couldn't wish away her destiny, or the balance would come completely undone.
"S-she is new and didn't realize what she was doing. I can fix whatever she has done, your graces. She'll be stripped of her powers immediately and returned to her former life," he begged, even considering going down on bended knee.
"Too late. You cannot cross over to where the Slayer has gone. For the transgressions committed by you and your charge, we sentence you to Leporidae for one solar day."
"Please, no, anything but that. Please tell me where the Slayer is; I can retrieve her, just give me a chance."
He watched in wide-eyed horror as a portal opened to a land overrun with rabbits of every size, shape and color. Wispy arms reached out to drag him and his companion toward the portal; they struggled to get free with no luck. The ghostly arms dropped them through the opening, which closed behind them, shutting out their screams.
"Where did you send the Slayer?"
"To the Kingdom of Heaven between the second and third Crusades. It was the closest I could come to granting her wish. Opening the dimensional folds to return her to her rightful place would weaken the balance even further."
"Won't her slayer skills rewrite history? We cannot reward her by harming others, no matter that she deserves it."
"She's no longer the Slayer."
She stared out at the city. A soft sigh escaped her lips, ruffling the sheer curtains that blocked out the harsh sunlight while allowing the cooler air to seep into the room. Jerusalem lay before her, the Kingdom of Heaven as some men called it. She heard the bells ring out and watched the Saracens drop to their knees in their daily abolitions. Perhaps they were right, where else could Muslim, Christian and Jew worship side by side? Baldwin kept the peace with Saladin, but the peace was a shaky one, balanced carefully against the acts of men who would rather have war. Her brother was a good man and a good king. If it wasn't for the leprosy that ravaged his body, he would not have to suffer the likes of Reynald and his Templars. Thinking about the Templars caused a frown to furrow her brow as it brought her brother-in-law and sister to mind. Try as she might, she had never understood why Sibylla chose Guy of Lusignan after William died. Her sister had fallen in love with the overbearing, loud and arrogant man who wanted the crown on his head, the sooner the better. Sibylla's blindness to Guy's hunger for power worried her. She promised herself that she would keep her family and Jerusalem safe from those who intended them harm. Although being a woman and the dangerous nature of the work, forced her to work in secret, using stealth and intelligence where others used force and hard, cold steel.
A young servant woman entered the room on silent feet, yet the young woman turned from the open window. It was a usual occurrence with the youngest member of the royal family. Princess Isabella hadn't inherited her older siblings height, instead taking after her mother, the former king's second wife; the former king's second wife; her eyes were a strange hazel that appeared a startling green when her emotions overtook her and her hair held a kiss of the sun within its depths. Were it not for her proud bearing and a few minor features that she shared with her siblings, doubts would've abounded as to her paternity. Isabella Costanza Maria Elizabetta was every bit her father's daughter when it came to getting her way. Her brother had gifted her with the rather unusual nickname of Buffy for the way that she seemed to tear into a room like a mini tornado, buffeting them with her demanding winds for immediate attention uncaring of their status. They were simply her family and she treated them as such. She would run to him to sooth her hurts and answer her questions. Her rather elfin appearance had hidden a surprisingly adventuresome child that had shadowed the crown prince and future king, demanding that he teach her everything that he knew, which he did to some degrees. It created a relationship that went far beyond sibling affection and bonded them into true friends for the remainder of their lives.
She rivaled her brother in her fervor for maintaining the peace and went out of her way to ensure that it remained intact, regardless of what her brother-in-law and his lackeys wanted. Although being a woman and the dangerous nature of the work, forced her to work in secret, using stealth and intelligence where others used force and hard, cold steel.
"It is time, your highness," the servant announced, bowing respectfully.
"Godfrey's son has arrived then? Help me with my cloak and helm; we don't want to keep my 'master' waiting."
She shared a conspiratorial smile with her servant as they completed her ensemble. Excitement raced through her as it always did when she prepared for these meetings. Few people knew about the role she played, and she planned to keep it that way. People rarely looked deeper into a matter when they could take things at face value, especially where the lower classes were concerned.
The heels of her specially made boots clattered loudly in the hall, telling Tiberias that she drew near. He sat at his desk reading over the numerous documents pertaining to his duties as Marshall of Jerusalem. Waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, Buffy studied her dear friend. She noticed how his duties had aged him, adding gray to his once dark hair, along with fine lines around his eyes and mouth. As a child, she had thought Tiberias a giant among men who slayed the dragons to keep her castle safe. A soft smile tipped up the edges of her lips at the memory of when she had informed him that she intended to marry him when she reached the great age of ten. He had solemnly promised to wait for her as her steadfast and stalwart knight always ready to protect and serve his princess. Words said in jest to placate an imaginative child had marked the start of a long and beautiful friendship.
"Come in and sit down before our guests arrive," Tiberias' gravelly voice ordered as he finished up his paperwork.
She walked across the room to sit down in a shaded area where a smaller desk stood. They heard voices approaching from the front entryway, and nodded to each other as their charade was set in motion. Taking some parchment, she quietly started to write and continued working as a servant entered the room to announce their guests.
Balian entered the Marshall's offices uncertain what to expect. He had just come from watching Templars hung for following orders that went against the fragile peace treaty. The Hospitaller requested an audience. A model of the city caught his eye, bringing a brief smile to his lips. He lifted up a siege tower, quickly putting it back when his companion rejoined him. He watched as a formidable looking man approached them. A scar scored the left side of his face from the corner of his eye down to his jaw line, close-cropped hair peppered with gray brought attention to eyes that were so dark that they appeared black. He stood nearly six feet tall and walked with a limp that in no way made him look weak. This man was a warrior through and through. His eyes held an intelligence that Balian had seen in few men.
"My lord." The Hospitaller bowed his head in greeting. The two men exchanged knowing smiles as they turned to Balian.
Tiberias stared briefly at the young man that stood before him, then said, "You're your father's son. He was my friend, and I am yours. His death could've come at a better time. Come." He turned around and headed back in the direction that he had entered. Reaching his private offices that overlooked the courtyard where he had observed the Templar executions. Incense filled the air with a sweet scent that couldn't quite cover the stench from the unwashed masses. He walked over to pour drinks as his guest entered close on his heels.
Balian barely had time to take in the opulence that surrounded him. The Marshall certainly didn't walk like a handicapped man. When they reached their destination, he noticed a knight, wearing a chain mail cowl sitting in the shadows. His head swam with all that had happened to him in such a small amount of time. Bringing his attention back to the present, he passed on the drink offered him.
Glancing at the visitors from behind her helm, Buffy quickly took their measure all the while writing at steady pace. She knew that the Hospitaller accompanying Godfrey's son was a good man that lived his beliefs rather than spouting on about them. She had always thought he looked rather like a naughty cherub with his blond hair and bright blue eyes. The man beside him was a different story. His dark hair and eyes suited his quiet manner and the air of great suffering that hovered about him.
"They shouted news of your battle with a great lord of Syria in the streets. Thankfully, it did not breach the peace. Saladin himself sent word that you had cause."
Tiberias got down to business in his straightforward manner. He moved behind a large desk, sitting down and motioning for his guests to follow suit. The Hospitaller took a chair placed before the desk for just that reason, while Balian preferred to remain standing. His mind and body were too wound up to sit still.
"What know you of Saladin?" Tiberias asked, ignoring the soft snort coming from the shadows.
"He's king of the Saracens," Balian answered, unsure where this line of questioning was leading.
"He has two hundred thousand men in Damascus alone. Should he go to war, he would win. Daily he's given cause by fanatics and Templar bastards like Reynald de Chatillon." Tiberias slammed a hand down on the large desk. "Here, from this room, I keep the peace, as far as I'm able. Even so, Saladin and the king between them…they would make a better world." His dark eyes held a sad note that let his audience see what he had always known. It was only a matter of time.
"Even if only for a small time, Tiberias, it still has lived," the Hospitaller said.
His voice and words had a calming effect on the Marshall. The tension eased away from his shoulders and his eyes once again lit with their well known passionate zeal. He leaned back in his chair, turning that piercing gaze back to his young guest. "What did your father tell you regarding your obligations?" Tiberias felt his little shadow grow still, listening, absorbing, measuring and deciding. It would lead to either his and Jerusalem's salvation or destruction. He was never sure how or why he had ever agreed to this charade, but it was far too late to turn back now. Truth to tell, he wasn't sure that he would want to. It had certainly brightened his otherwise lonely life.
Balian watched the play of emotions that raced across the older man's face. He wasn't sure that others would even notice, but he had spent his life observing. The Marshall, Tiberias, was a deep soul. "That I was to be a good knight," he answered softly, remembering the exchange with his farther and the far too short of time that they had known each other. He only hoped that he could fulfill his father's dying requests. A heavy pause filled the room at his confessions.
"I pray the world and Jerusalem can accommodate such a rarity as a perfect knight," Tiberias responded in a heavy tone. Taking a drink of his wine to gather his thoughts, he asked, "Have you dined?"
He invited them to dinner at the King's table, calling a servant to show them where they could freshen up, and telling them that he would join them shortly.
Tiberias waited until they were alone, before turning to his shadowy guest. "Well, what say you of Godfrey's son?"
She sat aside her writing aides, pulling cumbersome gloves from her hands before settling back in her chair. "I think that many will underestimate him due to his birth and quiet ways. It would be a foolish thing to do. I'm a prime example that the package doesn't always show what's held inside." She let out a giggle at the face he made. "Godfrey stood beside my brother whenever he needed him, and even when he thought he didn't. I don't see his son doing any less. But," she added a dramatic pause, "if you'd like a second opinion, you could always ask Sibylla."
He frowned at her, knowing that she liked to twist him around in knots just to watch him dance. It was part of her charm, though at times he wanted to strangle her for it. "What interest would your sister have in Godfrey's son? And, how would she have met him before either you or I had?"
She couldn't suppress the laughter this time at the sour look on his face. A tinkling chime of laughter filled the room, which she quickly hushed before someone could hear her and come to investigate. "I'm sorry, but your face was priceless. My dear sister heard of Balian's great deeds and no doubt, her romantic heart had to see the fair knight in person. Either that, or Guy sent her so that he would know who to tell his assassins to kill." Shrugging slender shoulders underneath the large blue tabard created a negligible movement that spoke volumes. "Sibylla's heart is a mystery to me. She loves the lout that she married, turning a blind eye to his power-mongering and various other vices." Her nose wrinkled up at thoughts of Guy. Saying that he wasn't her favorite person was like saying that the desert had sand in it. "She's still a woman underneath her posturing and scheming. Thoughts of a young, handsome knight who slayed the mighty dragon would be enough to send her romantic heart racing, though she loves her husband, red blood still flows in her veins."
"Uhm." He cleared his throat at such intimate talk, wanting to get back to the matter at hand. "Do you think that she will pose a problem?"
Buffy stood and moved around from behind the desk and started to walk toward the hidden entrance that she had entered. She paused before leaving the room, turning back to her friend, staring into his dark eyes. "That depends on whether or not she can tempt him into her bed. If so, then he's not the man we thought him and if not, then he's added another enemy to his list; either way dangerous times lie ahead for Godfrey's son. May God watch over him." She left without a backward glance, knowing that her words weren't the ones that he wanted to hear. They were the truth nonetheless.
Tiberias watched her go with a heavy heart. "May he watch over us all, my princess," he whispered.
Balian sat at the King's table with the Hospitaller across from him and Tiberias beside him. He watched as the woman who had barreled into his home this morning, riding a high-strung horse and demanding water, entered on the arm of a man with long dark hair and a regal bearing, the same man that had insulted him before he had left for his ill-fated ocean voyage for Jerusalem. He thought it odd that this man's wife should come to his home in such a manner. Did all the nobility act in this way? If so, he was thankful for his common blood. The woman was beautiful. He couldn't deny that her ivory complexion and pale eyes rimmed with kohl would attract any man. Her beauty held a coldness within its sparkling depths that left him unmoved. His heart remained full with the sorrow of his wife and child's deaths, yet he was still a man.
Sibylla nodded to the young man she had met earlier this morning. A soft, knowing smile played about her full lips. Godfrey's son was a handsome man. Guy helped her to her seat, missing the interaction between the two. He started to seat himself at the table's head when he noticed Jerusalem's latest arrival.
"You sit at my table?" he asked in a condescending, bellowing tone, preparing to put this bastard whelp in his place.
Balian stared at the man who everyone said would become Jerusalem's next king. "Is this not the King's table?" His quiet answer had the entire table stopping their conversations to listen to the one between a newcomer and one of Jerusalem's most powerful men.
"Is it? I have not seen a king at this table in years," he scoffed, throwing his arms out in a dramatic pose as he rose from the table. "I cannot eat under such conditions. This," his hand went out toward Balian, "would never occur in France."
Before he could continue, Balian interrupted his soliloquy. "But, this isn't France, your grace. It is Jerusalem." Murmurs riffled around the table in agreement with his statement.
Guy's eyes narrowed at the upstart who dared interrupt him in his own home. He stalked over to stand behind his wife's chair, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Yes, here they do not follow any civilized rules. I have business, but am sure that my wife will not lament my absence. She is either the best of wives, or the very, very worst."
Balian watched the interplay between the royal couple. The heavy-handed caress was equal parts loving and punishing. They were a strange pair. He wasn't sure that he wanted any dealings with them; the husband for sure, and the wife only time would tell.
Tiberias stood before Guy could make a clean exit. "Are you going to meet Reynald?" His voice held a heavy note of warning laced with accusation.
"No, my lord," Guy retorted, "he is in disfavor. As a member of this court, why should I have dealings with that troublemaker?" He finished his wine in one large gulp and tossed the goblet in the general direction of a waiting servant before making his grand exit with his tabard flying out behind him.
"To the very best of wives." Tiberias saluted the princess with his wine.
She smiled at her audience, raised hers in acknowledgment and replied in Arabic. "May God bless Jerusalem."
A servant entered quietly going to Tiberias' side to whisper to him. He nodded, then stood up once again, bowing in Sibylla's direction. "The King would see Godfrey's son."
"I'll take him," she announced, standing up from the table and bowing her head to her guests.
Balian stood and followed her unsure what to say, or if he should even speak at all. "Forgive me if I offered any offense, I spoke without knowing who you were."
She gave him a sidewise glance, her lips forming into a sultry smile. "It was unmistakable who you were. I loved your father and I shall love you," she said, dismissing his apology.
Her soft words and tone gave him an unsettling feeling. She was a married woman, whether it was a happy marriage or not, did not play into the matter. He had seen nothing regarding Guy de Lusignan to mark him as a noble man, no matter his birth or current position. That didn't mean that he would become a party to his cuckolding, should that be what the princess alluded.
"Do you fear being with me?" Sibylla asked, noticing the heavy pause in their conversation.
"No," he said, watching the confusion on her face. He didn't fear her only what troubles she could bring down on him and his house. She had stopped walking to stare at him and he gave her a more truthful answer, although he wasn't sure that she would understand it. "And yes."
"A woman in my place has two faces, one for the world, and one which she wears in private. With you I'll be only Sibylla."
That sultry smile had returned to her face as she gazed at him, perhaps waiting for him to do, what he wasn't sure. A slight noise stopped him from finding out as the knight that he had seen earlier in Tiberias' chambers approached them. Sibylla frowned at the interruption. Her frown grew harsher when she saw who approached, Tiberias' little shadow. Try as she might, she had found out nothing about this elusive creature that appeared and disappeared as if he was a ghost. She turned to Balian gifting him with a full-blown smile.
"Tiberias thinks me unpredictable. I am unpredictable."
They turned to watch as the knight approached them and bowed gracefully. "The king sent me to escort the Baron of Ibelin the rest of the way, your highness. He did not want to keep you from your guests, but thanks you for doing him this kind service."
Sibylla worked hard to keep her temper under control. She had wanted to listen to the meeting between her brother and Godfrey's son. It would upset Guy when he returned and she had nothing to report. It was beyond her control and she gave in gracefully, at least for the moment. She turned to Balian, hesitating in saying too much before an audience.
"Remember my words, my lord. We shall talk again soon." She gracefully bowed her head to him, then turned and walked away.
"Please, my Lord Ibelin, come with me." The soft-spoken knight gestured toward a large set of doors a few feet away.
Balian nodded, waiting for his escort to lead the way. This knight carried himself with a graceful stride that appeared more like floating than walking. He wandered how the man could walk so softly wearing heavy boots along with the chain mail cowl that draped over his face, hiding it from the world. There was something odd about his silent escort that left him curious.
His escort left him upon entering the king's chamber, fading into the shadows, perpetuating his ghostly demeanor even more. Balian stared around him unsure whether to wait at the door or continue into the room. He saw a man dressed totally in white sitting at a desk laboriously writing with wrapped hands. The man had his face turned away from him and he wondered what injury had befallen him to injure both hands in such a manner.
Baldwin knew that his audience was staring at him, but decided to allow the newest Baron of Ibelin some time to adjust. Jerusalem was not an easy place to live for stalwart knights brought up on the ways of warfare. It must be overwhelming to one such as Balian. His dark blue eyes glanced over to the back corner, noticing a subtle movement there and knew that his other audience was ready for him to begin. He smiled thinking about her, his staunchest supporter, his little tigress. Putting his writing instruments away, he stood up and turned to face young Balian, allowing him to take in the full impact of his appearance.
Balian tried to keep his face from showing any expression. He didn't think that he had succeeded. The King of Jerusalem stood before him with a silver mask where his face should be, which could only lead to one conclusion.
"Come forward." Baldwin gestured invitingly with a gauze wrapped hand. "I am glad to meet Godfrey's son." The silver mask muffled his voice somewhat, but it didn't keep the warm notes from getting through. "He was one of my greatest teachers. I cut my arm when playing with the other boys, and he noticed that I felt no pain. He wept when he told my father that I am a leper. The Saracens say that this disease is God's vengeance against the vanity of our kingdom. As wretched as I am, these Arabs believe that the chastisement that awaits me in hell is far more severe and lasting. If that's true, I call it unfair."
"I told you before that isn't true," a soft voice interrupted the conversation.
The king smiled behind his mask. He knew that he could goad her from her hiding place by bringing up their long-standing argument regarding his malady. The two men turned toward the darkened corner as a petite woman walked forward. A frown aimed at the king pulled the pink lips of her rosebud mouth down, but in no way detracted from its lush beauty. Balian stared at the newcomer once again feeling out of his element amongst these people. The woman wore rich robes similar to the princess without the flamboyant garnishments. They more closely matched those worn by the king, with their flowing white color and pale silver bordering. It was her face that held his attention though. She wore very little of the makeup he had come to associate with Eastern women. Small amounts of kohl lined large green eyes, making them appear even larger. An upturned nose kept her from being classically beautiful, yet suited the high cheekbones and pale oval of her face. She walked with a gracefully determined stride rather than the slower mincing steps of the highborn ladies he had known in his short life.
"Let me introduce this rude minx; my younger sister, the Princess Isabella."
Another princess, was she like her older sister? Would she make subtle remarks and wait for him to take the bait? Balian admitted that he found her beauty much more to his liking. She had a warmth about her as she made a face at her older brother before turning to him with a welcoming smile.
"I'm sure that the new Count of Ibelin doesn't want to hear our teasing, brother," she said, her voice holding a subtle threat to get her brother back later. "Come. Sit." She gestured toward a grouping of comfortable chairs. "Godfrey was a good man that many cared for including me, which I'm sure you're tired of hearing about. If you didn't already know that, then I'd have to wonder if you were really his." Her laughter rang out at the shocked look on Balian's face.
"Forgive my sister, she never learned the art of tact. She buffets the world like a hurricane wind with her outspokenness and forward ways." The king said by way of apology, though the loving tone of his voice told Balian that he was proud of his sister and all her supposed faults.
"No offense taken. It's rather refreshing to hear what someone means rather than trying to figure out their words and gestures." He bowed his head in salute to the princess. "You're correct, your highness, though we only knew each other a short time, I came to admire the man who was my father."
He took his seat after the king sat down across from him and Isabella perched upon the chair's arm. She peered down at him from her higher perch. Her eyes searched his for something that she must have found because she turned her attention back to her brother.
"What do you think of Jerusalem?" the king asked.
"It's wonderful and horrible," he answered, watching those carefully wrapped hands lay still in his lap as a much smaller had crept down to take its place gently on top of them. That simple act told him much about this new princess.
"Yes, she is a hard mistress. You will find after a time that even in her horrors there is beauty. That is her allure. Why else would so many be willing to die to claim her? What say you, Balian, has fair Jerusalem won a small piece of your heart?"
"Where else could a blacksmith become a baron?" He gave the king a small smile.
She listened to this interchange with an open mind and heart. Yes, she had loved Godfrey like an uncle, but that didn't mean that his son could so easily replace him or even take after him. Baldwin needed good men around him. Losing Godfrey had hurt him politically as well as emotionally. Balian had the makings of a good man, a good knight. Time would tell whether he had the fortitude to endure all that Jerusalem entailed. His answer pleased his audience for different reasons. Baldwin wanted another friend that wasn't intimidated by his station and would speak to him with truth. Godfrey had filled that role in the past. His son might fill it in the future. She knew that Balian was something that Jerusalem needed if it intended to survive and she planned to see that he learned what he needed to know to survive here.
"When I was sixteen I won a great victory and felt in that moment that I should live to be one hundred; now I know I shall not see thirty. You see, none of us choose our end really. A king may move a man. A father may claim a son. But remember that, even when those who move you be kings or men of power, your soul is in your keeping alone. When you stand before God, you cannot say, 'but I was told by others to do thus', or that 'virtue was not convenient at the time.' This will not suffice. Remember that."
"I will." Peace settled over Balian as he accepted his place in this strange world, understanding his father's words with regards to this man, this king.
Baldwin set back in the chair, exhaustion settled around him like a cloud. Buffy placed a concerned hand on his shoulder, which he waved away intent on completing this audience. His voice held a weary note as he said, "Then go now to your father's house at Ibelin, and from there protect the pilgrim road. Protect the helpless. And then, perhaps one day when I am helpless, you will come and protect me."
She rose from her perch to escort Balian from the room. They walked silently down a different set of hallways than he had used to enter. As they approached a suite of rooms, a small shape darted out to attach itself to the princess' legs. She stopped to bend down to what Balian now realized was a small child. A little boy with dark curls and large blue eyes stood looking at them with an expectant expression on his face.
"Aunt Buffy, Aunt Buffy, you're here." His fat little legs danced in place showing his happiness at her arrival.
Buffy? Balian looked at the princess in question. She gave him a small smile as she swung the child up into her arms. "It's a childhood name that my brother gave me based on my somewhat aggressive personality," she explained. "No one but this imp." She turned the boy upside down in her arms, tickling him, eliciting a stream of childish laughter. "And, close family friends call me that. I do try to behave in public, well," she gave him an impish grin that matched the boy's, "as much as I'm able." She sat the boy back on his feet. "Bali, I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine." She felt Balian startle at her words. "This is Balian, the Duke of Ibelin."
The little boy started at the floor and worked his way up to Balian's face. He gave the older man a small, but regal nod of his head, then extended his hand and said in a high, childish voice, "Happy to meet you, my lord," he lisped in that charming childish way.
Balian stared at the little imp turned regal lord. He kneeled down; placing his larger hand into the tiny one offered him. "It's an honor to meet you as well." He looked up at his escort waiting for the boy's title.
"Balian, meet Baldwin of Montferrat, Sibylla's son and our co-king." She watched his face as he absorbed her words.
His eyes stared at the tot before him where immense power rested on such tiny shoulders. Anyone who held this child within their grasp, controlled Jerusalem's future. "Then, it is indeed not only my honor, but my privilege to meet, your majesty." He fell into a graceful bow over the tiny hand he still held.
Bali giggled at the tall man before gazing up at one of his favorite persons. "He's funny. I like him."
She smiled at the innocent acclaim, then leaned down to whisper into a tiny ear. Balian stood up and stepped away to give them privacy. He watched the tiny curls dance on the boy's head as he shook it vigorously regarding the whispered conversation. His eyes followed the lines of Isabella's body as she gracefully righted herself looking like a flower coming into bloom as her gown settled around her. The boy took off back down the hall into a room where a servant waited patiently in the doorway. He turned back to wave at them before disappearing from sight.
"Sorry for the interruption. He's an exuberant child full of curiosity. His heart is good though. I think he gets that from my brother."
Balian smiled at the interlude. "No apology is necessary. He is a child anyone would be proud to call their own." A shadow of pain ghosted across his face as thoughts of his own lost child returned to him. He quickly pushed them away to ask some questions that he had wondered about since his arrival and the subsequent events of the day. "May I ask you some questions?"
"You may."
"Why does Jerusalem need co-kings? And, wouldn't Sibylla inherit the throne before her son?"
"You ask very hard questions for someone newly arrived in the city. My brother's leprosy left the kingdom on shaky ground. No one knows how long he will survive. Sibylla by birthright should inherit after Baldwin, but she left him with little choice. Her marriage to Guy was for political reasons. His subsequent use of the power it afforded him created more problems for Jerusalem than his connections to England were worth. My brother realized his mistake early on and tried to have the marriage annulled, but my sister wouldn't cooperate. Guy grows bolder as the king grows weaker. You're right to worry about my nephew; I know that I do."
He hadn't expected her to be so forth right in her response. He found himself unable to articulate another question and they continued their journey back to where he had left his horse.
She waited for him to mount, then moved closer so as not to be overheard. "Should you ever need safe haven, I offer you my friendship."
She held her hand out to him as her nephew had done just moments before. He took it, unsure whether to kiss it or shake it. She settled the matter for him, when she gently shook their joined hands. Dropping his hand, she stepped back and waved.
"May God bless and keep you."
"And you," he responded.
He pulled his horse around, riding away from the palace. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that the princess had already disappeared. She was certainly unlike anyone that he had ever met. Feelings of excitement started to bubble up, he was going to Ibelin, his new home. A home that belonged to him, and he couldn't wait to see it.
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