Heavenly Journeys

 

ORIGINAL

“My name is Balian.” The Christian said firmly. He looked down at his former Opponent's servant.

“Nassir.” the man said simply, holding his right hand to his chest. The introductions were complete, and for a moment neither spoke or moved.

Balian helped the other man to his feet and walked toward his own horse. “How far are we from Jerusalem?” He asked in an easy tone.

“At a steady pace we should be there just after midday.” Nassir replied quickly and quietly.

Balian tried to suppress a smile. The man had spoken in the tones of a commoner to a lord, or perhaps a lower ranked solider to his commander. 'He must be accustomed to it, from his master' Balian thought to himself. 'It's hard to unlearn your own upbringing'.

This was a truth he understood very well. Until a short time ago he himself had been a peasant and a blacksmith working for his lord in France. More than that, he had been a fatherless bastard. And having only known his father for a matter of days, he was again fatherless. But he was no longer a commoner.

They both mounted their horses and began to ride at a steady pace toward Jerusalem. He could not tell what thoughts or feelings filled his companion's head but Balian's mind was overflowing with memories of the last two weeks. Godfrey, the baron of Ibelin had come ot his forge, in a tiny village in France. His message had been brief: I am your father, please forgive me, will you come with me. Balian's only response had been indifference. Godfrey had told him they were headed to Jerusalem by Messina, and rode off.

The next morning a murder of rage had driven Balian to find and follow his father. The law, such as it was, had quickly followed. Godfrey had fought for Balian's freedom, and had received an arrow in the ribs during the battle. Balian had received both his father's title and blessing in the man's final moments. It only seemed right to continue to Jerusalem, as his father had wanted. The ship had crashed in the middle of the desert; Balian was the only human survivor. The horse he'd rescued from the wreck was in a strange way responsible for Balian's current state. Nassir's old master had challenged Balian for possession of it.

“If you'd known,” Balian began cautiously. Nassir slowed his horse down to listen. “...I mean, I have a rather mean look about me compared to my title. Would it have made a difference?”

“We still would have challenged you.” Nassir answered at once. “But it would have been on a more even plain from the start. Mummad al Fais has...had few equals among our own people. So he never learned to fight equals as well. Please, do not blame yourself.”

By this time they had almost reached the walls of Jerusalem. Nassir had stayed a few paces ahead of Balian while guiding him. Balian quickly pulled out in front. Out of the corner of his eye Balian saw Nassir lower his head slightly as he slowed his pace.

A few minutes later Balian and Nassir stood by a water trough, near a spice market.

“A very good horse.” Nassir stated, patting the neck of his steed.

Balian looked at the man for a moment. “Then take the horse, and be about your own business.”

Nassir raised his head sharply, confusion seared into his features. “this is your prize of battle. I am your prisoner, your slave should you wish it.”

Balian shook his head firmly. “No, you are not. I understand the custom, tradition, whatever one would call it. But I will not abide by it. I cannot.”

“If I may ask...why not?” Nassir's inquiry had been so slow and deliberate he once again might have been talking to a great lord. If nothing else, he was thoroughly surprised.

It took a moment for Balian to find an answer. “In my life in France, I was little better than a slave myself. I will never keep one nor suffer any to be kept if I can change it.”

Nassir lowered his head again, this time in deep thought, not submission. After a few moments he raised his head and looked Balian in the face, though not directly in the eyes. “If you will not keep a slave, will you let me follow you...as a servant?”

Balian let a broad grin spread over his face, but spoke with a restraint and gentleness as he answered. “If it is your choice to follow me, I accept your help.”

Nassir bowed his head. Looking Balian in the face he said. “Then where do we go?”

“I was headed to the hill where Christ died. Away from everyone. Are you ready?”

“A new chapter in my life has begun. I am ready to see what it will be. Let us go.”

“You have taken it very well that I have killed your master.” Balian stated with his sword dug into the sand by the other man's head.

“I am in no place to deny my master paradise. And he underestimated you, it was fair.”

“Yes, I suppose that's a good way to see things. What do you expect right now?”

“I...that you'll either finish what Mummad al-Fais started or take me with you someplace.”

“Take me to Jerusalem.” Was the simple reply. In response to which the other man stood up, brushed himself off and bowed his head. As the Saracen walked to the horse his master had rode in on, he was careful to avoid looking Balian in the eyes. The Saracen held out a hand to the gray steed, who licked his palm. “Very well.” The man concluded.

“One thing first.” Balian insisted. “What is your name?”

“My name is Imad.” Was the simple reply.

The pair rode off toward Jerusalem without another word.

Although they had rode at an easy pace, almost neck and neck while on the road to the Holy City, Balian pulled his horse just barely ahead of the other as they approached the city itself. They entered within the walls with no argument. Imad pulled a cloak or a veil over his face almost as soon as they were inside. Several streets into the city they came to a bazaar, a market for spices and root vegetables, as well as pottery or glassware. They stopped at a water trough to splash their faces and water their steeds.

“You asked permission. You knew we could only make this journey if your masters steed accepted you and asked its permission.” Imad looked up, clearly startled. “I AM the Baron of Ibelin. But in France I was a blacksmith, I know horses. You held out your hand to see if his steed would accept you, without trying to buy that acceptance with a carrot or anything. Considerate.”

“...I think I should give them something now.” Balian nodded his affirmation. Imad had pulled a couple broken carrot pieces from his satchel and handed one to each horse.

“I mean no disrespect but are you truly...I know you own the rank but...are you his son?”

“I was not raised with...Godfrey was a stranger to me until a short time ago.” Balian said, speaking very softly, but plainly. “He is dead now. I apparently have a new life to live. I cannot ask you to be a part of it. You should go; be about your business, be with those you care for.”

For the first time Imad looked Balian in the face, confusion and doubt evident on his own. “Forgive me but, are you jesting with me?”

“No I...why would I...why would anyone say something like that in a jest?”

“Why would you let me go?” Imad responded instantly. Haltingly he explained, as though unsure Balian knew what was going on. “Sir, this is your prize of battle. I was the servant of the man you killed in fair combat. I am your prisoner. You SLAVE should you wish it.”

“Do I assume correctly that is because of my rank, not simply that I was the victor and you were his servant?” Balian said tersely. The Saracen nodded his head deeply. Balian looked defiant. “I will never own another human being. I refuse to make you pay for the decisions of your master. In the village I'm from I was...little better than a slave myself. I will never keep one nor suffer any to be kept if I can change it. And with my father's rank and position, now I can...at least for myself...Go.”

“No.” Imad said with resolution. “Balian, by anything I have ever known I would not be here now, you and I would never even have met unless God himself had brought us together. I cannot see why, and I do not question it. Whatever comes from it and no matter what it is like, I WANT to go with you.”

“Imad, I am on my way to the mound at Calvary. I do not think they would welcome you.”

“I can wait outside the mound itself, with the reins of the horses wrapped around my wrists. I believe an unanswered question is a hard thing to live with. No matter what else this means...”

“I'm not going to dissuade you from this, am I?” Imad shook his head slowly. “Very well. I will insist on one thing thought.” Imad raised his eyes to look the man in the face. “My name is Balian, please don't call me anything else.”

“Very well...Balian.”

The man made a few statements in Arabic. The words spread wildly throughout his army. Balian reckoned the instructions had been similar to the 'cease fire' order he had given his own troops. When both armies were still, Balian turned to face the other. “Which side has even won this day?”

The Saracean commander smiled, albeit faintly. “This day is not over. Milord Saladin (Sala-hodeen) is coming, as Baldwin approaches. Even so, as it is in my power or understanding, this field is yours. I have no resistance about that.”

“I honestly don't...” Balian began. His words died in his throat when the man put his arms straight out in front of him, palms facing upward. Recognition and near-joy washed over Balian's heart. He knew this man. Why he had failed to see it before didn't seem to matter, compared to meeting up with him again.

Almost as soon as he'd arrived in the desert, he'd been 'greeted' by a Saracen lord and his attendant. The lord had challenged him for possession of the horse he'd rescued from his shipwreck. Initially the man had charged Balian while remaining on his horse. On foot he'd barely stood a chance. It wasn't long into the 'skirmish' Balian declared himself the Baron of Ibelin and demanded a fair fight. After the claim was translated by his attendant, the lord obliged. A fair fight was not only deserved, it was expected. Balian won the skirmish easily. The blood from the final wound had gotten all over the servant's horse. An instant later the man was flat on his back in the sand. Walking up to him, Balian noticed he had a young, handsome face, and strangely showed no sign of distress, he only put his hands in front of himself, palms up.

“I understand.” Balian responded. “It's not needful, but I understand. Get up.” The stranger did.

It was only after he found a pack of dates and seeds, shoving several handfuls into his mouth, that Balian spoke again. “You have taken it very well I have killed your master.” The man didn't respond, only gave him a thoroughly perplexed look. “Why are you not upset?” Balian clarified.

“We are taught nothing happens to those who believe unless Allah has made it so. I have no reason to regret my master is now in paradise. Although I could wish he had not left so suddenly.”

“I believe I understand. We can't stay out here. Take me to Jerusalem? I don't know the way.”

“I will bring you.” The man said, easily.

“How long though? I mean the journey, how far are we away from Jerusalem?”

“We should be there by nightfall.” Came the instant, soft reply.

The assertion was perfect. It was almost dusk when they trotted their horses close to the walls of the Holy City. Balian had kept side by side with his companion riding this far, but pulled himself just barely ahead of the stranger as they drew close. It was a gesture the man apparently understood as he slowed his steed and lowered his head slightly. A palm tree stood not far from the David Gate. It was a good place to rest. Balian drank a gulp of water and offered it to the stranger; an offer the man politely declined. Balian had remounted his horse at trotted several paces to the gate before he realized he was traveling alone.

“What is the matter?” Balian asked, looking back with a concerned expression.

“If it's all-right, I'll put a cloak around my face.” Came the cryptic reply.

“That's fine. But that's not what I mean.” Balian said shortly.

“Please, let it wait until we are safe, and a good way inside.”

“...All-right.”

The city of children and soldiers that was Jerusalem sprawled out before them. After passing some pottery stalls and more than a few fruit and herb sellers, Balian stopped in front of a water trough. The stranger dismount and patted the neck of the steed he'd been riding. After rummaging around in his sack he found a carrot stub to offer the beast.

“...Either you hide your feelings masterfully or your people are not as passionate as we tend to believe.” Balian said. The stranger looked ready to smile. “I meant that to explain my last question. True I don't know much about life here but it IS strange to me...I don't even know your name?”

“I am called 'Nassir'.” the man answered simply. “What happens to me now?”

“I can't ask you to follow me.” Balian replied thoughtlessly. “I go to the mound at Gethsemane. I am Godfrey's son, the baron of Ibelin, yet I'm a stranger here. I don't know what following me would mean for you. Will you be all-right on your own?”

The shock on Nassir's face was considerable. “I...yes. Your style makes sense now. Your fighting style I mean. It was unlike anything taught here. That last move in particular. I admit, I do not understand why...” His words failed him completely.

“Why I refuse to take you with me against your will as a slave, a prisoner or some such mess? In the village I'm from...I was not a slave but I had no other status that meant anything. I will not use a title I'm not sure I earned to make anyone feel inferior. Go in peace...What was the name of the man I killed?”

“His name was Mummad-al-Fais.” Nassir answered easily, mounting his own horse, and smiling.

“Please believe me...I hope he is in paradise now.” Balian offered simply.

“Thank you for your kindness.” The man answered. He raised his hand, palm up, and rode off.

“This explains a lot.” Balian mused. It was not meant as a joke, though Nassir smiled brightly.

Almaric, Balian's lefftenant, walked up to the pair. “What happens now?” He asked plainly.

Balian gave Nassir an appealing look. “It is beyond our control what happens between our peoples. We must wait and see. For our own parts...I think everything is at peace and pure.”

“Of that there can be no contest.” Balian replied with a broad grin. “And look, our kings have met in the middle while we have been talking. Perhaps we do not have long to wait.”

When King Baldwin rode away from the parley and back toward Kerak, Saladin rode his horse to meet with Nassir. The young man made a bow before the sultan, with one hand over his chest. Saladin dismounted and walked up to his officer, who seemed almost intimidated, as if he might be in trouble for something.

“One would expect greater losses from a battle such as this.” The sultan stated in Arabic. “I do not question the wisdom or the prudence of such a decision. I would be foolish to wish for bloodshed. Even so, I would know what stayed either of your swords?”

“Milord, I owe my freedom if not my life to this man. I have for some time. Once I realized the man I was fighting here was...” He paused his words. And raised his left hand in front of his face. He twisted his wrist in a particular fashion and pointed to the cut on his cheek he had just received. “He was a stranger here. He is the lord of Ibelin and the son of Godfrey. I believe I was meant to meet him again. I am not sure he sees it, but I think he is truly his fathers son.” Nassir had stated all of this in Arabic. In a moment he spoke again, in plain French. “Whether I owe him anything or not. I would stay with him. Sire, unless you forbid it, I would not leave his side.”

Almaric gasped. Balian, who did not understand Arabic did not understand why. Nassir turned to Balian and explained. “I offered a truce because I owed you my liberty. The peace today was brokered and maintained with so little cost of life because of your valor and virtue. Your sense of both mercy and justice shines brightly. I meant what I said. If my sultan permits it, and if you will have me, I will NOT leave your side.” He turned to face Saladin., and once more spoke in Arabic.“MiLord, do I have your permission to...follow where I feel I am led to go? I do not fully understand where I am being led, but my feet are set upon a path that I must follow.”

“You hardly need MY permission to do so. If he agrees, then Allah be with you both in this life you each have chosen.”

Balian looked both pleased and confused as Nassir turned to him and formally asked permission to 'not leave you side'. “I can honestly say, nothing would make me happier than to have a friend like you at my side Nassir. But...what does your name mean?”

“Appropriately enough it means 'champion' or 'supporter'. And I am honored to live up to it.”

“You are not a servant, but a friend....You know that right?”

“Who are you, really?” Almaric asked me in a kindly voice.

“Do you doubt me?” I answered. He smiled, a bit awkwardly.

“You are not what you seem. I'm not sure what to make of you...”

“Forgive me, let me clarify. No matter what I am, do you doubt I am who I seem to be?”

“No. I cannot question you are being true to yourself. Why hide at all?”

“I was already hiding. Mummad al Fais and I had already taken each-other's cloaks. Which for us means assuming the rights and responsibilities, or lack of the same, inherent in our new life. It shouldn't matter anyway. I am not playing a game. I chose this path and I will keep to it. My life since meeting Balian has been more wonderful and meaningful than I had known before. And yes, my life is very different now. I would not trade the freedom I now experience for the privilege I was born with, no matter what. And I will make one thing clear. If you doubt anything else about me, understand this: I am NOT a Chaviler DeGuise. As you see me now, this is who I would choose to be...without court, ceremony, title or false compliments. I am exactly what God made me, not what the world would call me. And my name, Nassir is...self-chosen I believe you would say. It means 'champion or supporter'. That is why I am here, that is WHAT I truly am.”

“Forgive me but I think there is more to it than that.”

“Balian showed me at Kerak that our own perceptions of Christians is probably as erroneous as the image some of you seem to have for us. I am not content to live with enmity and distrust. At least, when it comes from nothing but a lack of experience and knowledge. I have always believed our two peoples choose to remain ignorant of each-other...whether by kingdom or by religion, we choose not to learn better of our perceptions. Balian is the first man I met who saw me for who, not what I was.”

“Balian was not a lord in France.” Almaric told me. “He was a blacksmith in one of the poorer villages, somewhat near the southern coast. As I understand it, Godfrey passed Balian his title moments before he passed from this life. Of course he uses his rank differently than those who are raised with this privilege. Also, he does not have a native's view of this conflict.”

“I am sorry, but that is exactly the strangeness. Most people I have met here, who have grown up side by side with us, seem content to live in peace and side by side. It is the soldiers and traders coming newly from Europe who seem so determined to conquer, defeat, or generally hinder the efforts of those you perceive as kafir...And yet Balian is a stranger who prefers to live in peace with anyone.”

“ 'Kafir'...I'm not sure I know that word.”

“...You see us as enemies of God. As such, it doesn't seem like anything could completely hold off your desire to take back the holy city...Except Baldwin is no more eager for war than My lord Saladin.”

“I have to agree with you there.” Balian said, walking up to us. He put his hand on my shoulder in a sign of comradeship I well understood. “Almaric, I'd like you to go back to Ibelin. Do what you can to make sure everyone there is alright. It seems almost inevitable that war will come when the king is dead. And victory or defeat, they might be among the first caught between the swords.”

“You will stay here then...with...a stranger?”

“The fact that he is a stranger here is exactly why I do not send him.” Balian answered, a bit sharply I thought. “The people of Ibelin know you, and they would trust you, far more than they would have a reason to trust Nassir. Also, I am hoping I can bring him to see King Baldwin soon.”

“My lord...Sajiq...” I honestly couldn't think of anything to say.

“Our peoples owe the peace at Kerak, with so little life lost to your honor and mercy as much as my own. If you either did not recognize me, or had chosen to ignore our first meeting, we would have gone on fighting. And I would have surely lost. Even if peace had come that day, and between our two monarchs they would have made that happen...the price of that peace would have been much higher. Besides,” He continued with a small smile. “no matter what else happened that day or why, we DID save each-other's lives. I want both Tiberias and the King to meet you themselves if they are willing.”

“I would like that as well. But for now...Please?” I pointed to the setting sun.

“Of course Sajiq.” Balian answered.

I gave a small bow and walked up to the room I had claimed as my own. As I set myself down for evening prayers it occurred to me, Balian might be so different from the others because he spends more time seeking after God than any Christians I had met. If his faith was his own, and not just an reflection of what he was taught in church, that would explain a lot. After I had given the recitation and the adoration I was raised to give, when it was time to actually speak my heart to God himself, the first words out of my mouth were 'thank you divine and all-patient God for sending me such a beautiful example to follow'. That Balian had not been raised here in Arabia, and had not been raised a nobleman no doubt played a large part in what made him so...extraordinary. I was beginning to suspect what I had sensed from him went deeper than that. He thought and acted for himself, in light of what HE believed of God and of all human kind.

After we left the King's presence, Balian led me to the room I had chosen as my own. Almost as soon as we entered, he sank to the floor. I crouched in front of him, trying to read the expression on his face.

“I agree with you. Guy must be allowed to believe he's succeeded. He cannot be openly opposed to any avail as leader of the armies. I just want to hear from you, as completely as you can...”

“I want this peace to last beyond Baldwin's reign. I know you feel the same.”

“Yes. I just wish I didn't feel like I was sending a man to his death to ensure that peace.”

“Guy will lose. I am almost certain he will not die. He cannot defeat my lord Saladin in combat. It is logic and numbers that my people will win. It does not have to lead to all out war. Without the likes of Guy and Reynald stirring up trouble, your testimony and mine will stand for our intentions.” Balian looked up sharply. A smile smile started to appear on his face. “What is it?”

“For a moment it sounded like you'd placed yourself on our side of this divide. I understand you meant those of us who seek peace rather than war, on both sides of this nonsense. You and I hold to our faith rather than our religion and have a sense of compassion that is not limited to our own people. It was a surprise and a....” His voice faded as he looked at his hands. “What do you think of me?”

“You are a man of honor and seek peace within yourself and with others.” I had to slow myself down to avoid laughing out loud. “You care more about pleasing God than what any one here thinks of you...whether they are your fellows in rank or your followers. More strange and wonderful is you trust what you yourself believe God is like. You chase after the will of God through your own eyes instead of what anyone else would tell you God is like...what they believe God would have you do. Because of this you see the heart of God and the reality of life more clearly than anyone except Father David would.”

“ 'Father David'?”

“That is what my people call the knightly priest I met here. He is as much a true shepherd of his flock as he is an example of what true faith is. He's the only man I ever knew before I challenged you, to understand that faith, when it is real is good...no matter which religion it supports. But he had holy orders...It was to be expected he would see spiritual matters more clearly.”

“What is the matter?” Balian asked in a quiet voice.

“Almaric asked me how much I gave up to be here. He wanted to know what my life had been like among my people, as if what I lost was the measure of what I had gained. I don't see it as losing anything.

My life here with you has been sweeter and more...has been and is worth more to me than anything I gave up when I followed you here. God himself must have more of a reason to bring us together. I should not speak for God. I honestly didn't mean to. There is more we can do here together for our peoples and the peace Baldwin has maintained these past six years than we ever could have without each-other. But that is not the only reason, is it? If everything we think is about to happen actually does come to pass...I hope that will not be the final...I hope we may stay together even after this scene in the play of this world comes to a close. My life was richer just for knowing you better. I hope you feel the same way.”

“The friendship we have runs deeper than words or thoughts could express? I do. God might have put us together for some great good. I'm just glad I was able to know someone like you.”

“It is indeed a mysterious move of God that I...” Balian started to glare at me. “WE found someone so much like ourselves on the opposite sides of whatever line our peoples draw to divide ourselves. Which I suppose is part of the reason I feel so certain of this, and so hopeful.”

“Remind me to ask you what the story of your life has been like!” Balian exuded. I was surprised and for once I did not bother hiding it. “I knew you were an officer in the army, our equal of a knight. But I didn't know you were also this educated and gentle.”

“Sajiq, I consider the question asked. If you had to find out the truth when we spoke with Saladin, that would be a shame and an embarrassment I could not live with. I would be devastated if for one second you thought I was a liar. Saladin would be disappointed in me if I'd hid such a thing.”

“You said something like that before. I take it there was more to your statement than I knew?”

“Even knowing Guy's temperament and the inexperience of the king, my lord Saladin would need assurance that Guy was not sanctioned when he leads the charge against my people. That is where my testimony becomes both needful and perfectly sincere. Aside from the fact that such a moment is not fit for a revelation, you deserve to know this instant why it would make a difference.”

“I...I do not understand.”

I had known this moment was coming. I was certain he would accept me for what I was. I hoped he would forgive my concealing myself this far.. I was beginning to suspect Balian would understand and see my heart better than most, and would know where to look, what was important. I clasped his hands in mine and bowed my head over them. “I have not lied to you. I am called Nassir. It does mean champion or supporter. But it is a description, not my given name. Among my own people, without a disguise, I am Imad Al Din.”

“Does that mean...I cannot...” The shock on Balian's face was heartbreaking, but somehow seemed misplaced. “Does that mean Saladin is your father?”

“That name is a gift and a title. It means 'the righteousness of the faith'. Mine says I am as close to a true image of faith that can be found. As though if true faith could be seen through a looking glass, I am a close resemblance. And I am close to my lord Saladin, I suppose you might say close as family. But no, we are not related by blood.”

“Which is why he would trust you so. Now I'm a little muddled. Why did he let you go?”

“No, I'M a little muddled...why would he not?”

“It's not seen as abandoning your people, joining with us...with me?”

“Balian!” I told him, I couldn't help laughing. “As long as my duty to you does not break my oath of loyalty to my people, there is no conflict of interest. It does not by the way. Our kingdoms are at peace and the three of us want it to stay that way. Following where I believe I am led to go is not something my lord Saladin would ever dissuade me from. He knows you valor and honor for himself. It is the very reflection of Godfrey's own persistence and character. Your father was a great man...”

“You knew him...?”

“Not well. But he was one of the few officers in the army of Jerusalem we could respect for more than just his skill with a weapon, or strategy. He held on to his own convictions and the ideals of peace without wavering or exception. I could not know for sure when we first came to Jerusalem, but now I have seen and experienced the compassion and understanding for myself...You are your father's son.”

“You lived here before?” Balian asked me bluntly. “You just admitted you were even a greater nobleman among your people than I thought of you.” He continued softly. “You must have met Baldwin himself earlier in your life. At least, that would explain your desire to stay out of everyone's way...And why you did not seem out of place earlier, but were not at all comfortable either.”

“I...I did not wish to be...declared I guess is the word. Apparently he remembered that of me.”

“Why are you here?” I asked the man as courteously as I could.

“How do you mean?” He responded with what might have been concern.

“I am certain you don't mean any harm. But I cannot stop thinking you are...something or someone else, than what you pretend to be.”

“You know I am a nobleman among my own people, and I am following where I feel I am being led to go. What else matters? I mean, why do I need to have any other purpose here?”

“Alright, let me be direct. Can I count on you to stand with us when the time comes, not just for Balian but for the sake of peace?”

“You may rest assured sir, most of my people want nothing but peace. From what I can see, the same can be said of yours. I always knew Guy DeLusigian would try to make war on my people. He wants to meet in battle who he sees as the enemies of God, eager for his own glory therein. I will do what I can to make sure that WAR as we know it does not come from this hostility and reckless hate.”

“I am sorry I ever doubted your intentions.”

“I hid who I really was.” He answered simply. “You needed to be sure I wasn't hiding anything else. Trust me, I understand. The only thing is...I need to be there...when MiLord Saladin (Sala-ho-deen) responds to this...to the aggression Guy has offered. That is why I stayed here after Kerak. I am...an in person witness to what I already believed. With such a witness and testimony, even the Mullah will be forced to accept that I speak the truth I've seen, not just my own belief .”

“Then we better get going. He approaches even now.” I told him with a faint smile.

Saladin stood in front of the young king of Jerusalem, his closest advisor just behind him. Sybilla, the queen mother of Jerusalem stood just behind her son. There were very few others in the great hall, just Balian of Ibelin, the Marshall Tiberias and 3 courtiers, to stand as witness for whatever might happen. A side door to the great hall opened and Imad walked in. He walked to stand aside from the others, as a mediator...then reconsidered and stood beside his friend.

“Salaam Ali-kum.” Baldwin the 5th stated formally.

“Alai-i-kum Salaam.” Saladin replied. “I have come to address the actions of Guy DeLusigian, the captain of the armies of Jerusalem, to learn if he truly speaks for his people and to bring peace, if not justice between our peoples.” The sultan stated, as though to the entire room. He turned to face Imad directly. “Will you speak for them? Have you the authority?”

“I have the experience to know what they would say, and have seen the truth of it with my own eyes. I have their trust and faith on such things. However, I do not believe I should speak as their representative. You must hear their words from their lips, or it will mean nothing.”

“Very well.” he turned to address the court again. “I have no intention of returning Guy to you. I only wish to know if his actions were sanctioned, or was he truly a renegade. I only need to hear it from Tiberias or the king himself, I will not doubt their words.”

“Guy used his authority to make war on the Muslims.” Tiberias stated in his gravelly, coarse voice. His intentions were his own. We will do what we must to ensure his actions die with him. We will make no attempt to rescue him from the consequences of his actions.”

Saladin looked up with surprise and a knowing smile. “He is a convenient answer then?” Tiberias looked confused. “You are willing to give him up for the sake of peace?”

“MiLord, if you did return him to us, we would execute him as a war criminal. While I am sure there are many in this kingdom who would agree with his ideals, no one in this court wants open war.”

“Can you confirm that?” Saladin asked of Imad, in Arabic. Who looked sideways to Balian, as if to ask permission to answer without reserve, in his native tongue. A request which was granted with a slight nod of his head and a look of pride.

“I can affirm that this warmonger we speak of was very nearly removed from office before Baldwin the Fifth even came to the throne. Balian of Ibelin was to be chosen for this role.” He passed his hand to indicate the man of whom he spoke. “And Balian is a man of justice and honor as well as courage and honesty. He would speak for all of them if he could. And if my life these last months has taught em anything, it is that we want nothing but understanding and communication between our peoples.” He blushed at his choice of words. “Balian and I, as well as the Marshall and the king of Jerusalem.”

“Arthur are you even there?” I told him. He didn't seem to hear me. “Arthur what's happened to you?” I yelled. Nothing seemed to work. He was walking toward me as slowly and deliberately as...well anything and nothing at the same time. “Arthur do you know who I am?” I persisted.

“The darkest wizard in the five kingdoms.” He answered me, as though his response was built in. “A sorcerer with more destructive powers than any I have ever faced. I don't imagine a sword would normally be very effective against your kind.” He added easily. “But my friend has dampened your powers by her own arts. And you must stoop to defending yourself with metal.” He tossed me a sword. It clanked on the stones, just in front of me. I didn't bother looking at it.

“Did you design this to be a duel in the dead of night? No one is around who can help me or hold you down. I can't help wondering which is more your reason. Tell the truth I'm grateful for both considerations.”

“Why exactly is that?”

“Oh let's get to that in a minute. For right now I'll tell you plainly, figuratively binding my hands so I'll have to use a sword is the single most useless move she's ever made. And if she had a faint notion of what she's seen of us, even these past few days much less the years since I came to Camelot, she would know that this is both useless and pointless.”

“If I were you I would not doubt her skills at magic, or over-estimate your talent at fighting.” Arthur told me coldly. I would have laughed at him if he'd said that in any other situation.“That's not what I mean.” I told him as clearly as I could. “I know I could never equal much less best you in a fight. I do not doubt for a second that her spells would be as effective on their assigned function as any of my own. But her purpose is not furthered by that function...and I will not fight you.”

“You think I would not strike an unarmed man?” He told me fiercely. I smiled at him.

“I think if you were alright killing me in cold blood, you wouldn't have bothered offering me a sword. And I'll consider this an execution rather than a murder. But on what charge?”

“Why do you always have to play word games?” Arthur persisted.

“Arthur, you can't be doing this because I have magic!” I yelped. “Your benefactor has those powers. You've said so yourself. I have made no show of my abilities to lead you to think I have such powers as what you're describing to me. So that must be her influence as well. I always wanted to tell you the truth about me. I hoped if you ever figured this out about me, you would judge how I would use my abilities based on the quality of my heart...What I'm trying to say is: please judge my heart and intentions on more than her word on me and more than just the passed three days.” Then I saw what he was thinking, as clearly and cleanly as though he'd sent me the pictures and the message with his mind and on purpose.

“Do you hate me so badly because you believe I've lied to you?”

“Do you deny it?” He hissed.

“I've never lied to you.” I insisted. “I've learned when to shut up and when not to bother talking. But I have never lied to you about who or what I am. Although I see no reason to hide the latter anymore.”

“Enough words!” He shrieked at me. “Enough riddles, no more nonsense no more deceit!” He rushed at me. I felt the hilt of his sword thump against my chest. I fell down, out of breath. “Why don't you pick up the sword and fight?!” He demanded of me. “Or try one of your spells? She's dampened you magic. I never said she stole it from you.” He backhanded me. “And you might not be able to win against me,” He continued harshly. “But at least you could defend yourself!”

“Why would I?” I answered blankly. Then I'd be proving myself a liar.”

“What do you mean?” He told me. “And you'd better not play around with me.”

“I said I was willing to die for you.” I gasped. “I told you that yesterday. If Morganna hadn't blanked out your mind I wouldn't have said anything at all...because you already knew. From the challenge with the wine goblets, to the Isle of the blest. To facing Kilgarrah to going on the run against Morganna's army when she seized the throne. I've shown you the truth of what you now see as manipulation and decpetion. But it IS true Arthur. This IS who I am. That hasn't changed. And neither has the first promise I ever made you. That I was happy to be your servant until the day I died. I will be and I am...even if that's today.”

He crumpled into a mess on the ground. His face looked flushed, as if with tears as well as pain.

“I'm sorry.” He breathed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Arthur, I think we'll share the blame on this one.” I told him as I sat down next to him. He looked up at me, with almost a plea in his eyes. “You told me earlier I wasn't making sense. I should have realized you couldn't use our history together to give sense or meaning to what I'd said, if you didn't know that history.”

“Have I always known?” He asked me a few moments later.

“That I trust your judgment and would follow you to the ends of the Earth? Yeah. That was kind of hard to ignore. I've gone back and forth in my mind whether you realized my heart and devotion were because of who, not what you are. I mean, becoming your servant in the first place, wasn't really either of our choices. Over time, I think we both learned to view and accept each other for who we truly are..for the most part.”

He looked at me as sharply as he could. “What else are either of us hiding?”

“It isn't that.” I answered automatically. “I'm not hiding anything anymore. I suppose that's one more thing I should have seen the importance of. I stoked the fire with my magic and was turning the meat and sticks without touching them. You saw me do this and didn't react in fear or suspicion. To be as blunt as I can be... I should have realized then it was safe to tell you...There are laws against any and all use of magic. Your father treated magic users as evil and dangerous...always as bad as murderers. I loved you enough to know you'd never see me that way. I didn't want your devotion to the law and...however you felt about me...to get in the way of each-other.”

“You weren't just scared for your life?” Arthur asked in a curious tone.

“This is why we have to share the blame Arthur. I was sure you would eventually accept who I am as a person, even in spite of my powers. But I was mortified you wouldn't see that my abilities are as much a part of me as the clothes I wear, the brash honesty I have or frankly my devotion to the ideals we share: equality, justice and...valor I guess is the word. It was revolutionary, the honor you showed knighting our friends around the table of the court of the ancient kings. Basically throwing the 'knights are of noble birth' ancient law of Camelot out the proverbial window. But I couldn't convince myself you'd ever make magic legal. I didn't want you to have to see me as a good person in-spite of my magic or a bad person because I have it. I was BORN with it. I live with the responsibility and danger it brings...unto itself. But the powers I have unto themselves, don't change who I am as a person, in either direction. They're just one more thing that make my destiny so special...and happen to make it easier to fulfill.”

“May we come in?” I heard Caspian ask, presumably of me.

“Leave your swords at the threshold and yes.” I paused and tried to hide a smile. “This place is a sanctuary of life.” I heard the sound the swords made as they clacked against the archway, where otherwise I would have had a door. I saw both Caspian and Captain Drinian enter. They looked exactly as I would have imagined them. Drinian with his bald head, tiny eyes and a stern but gentle face. Caspian looked only slightly older than the last time I'd seen him. But the extra consideration and experience those few years must have taught him was evident. I honestly felt the right thing to do was stand up and bow. I knew it would probably be expected but it felt right. As such, when they'd come within a few feet of the mattress I was on, I spoke up, as clearly and quietly as I could.

“I know who you are.” I began. “I would stand up and show some sign of reverence...bow, salute or curtsy something like that. I just don't really know the custom...and I'm not supposed to rise from this bed.”

“You don't know our laws well do you?” Drinian asked me. It wasn't a remark or a derision but a sincere question. I got the feeling he had misinterpreted what I'd said and promptly told him that. “There isn't such an expectation, not a specific prescribed one anyway.”

“Besides, I wouldn't ask you to get up if you are ill.” Caspian clarified.

“Sire, I'm glad to hear I am not expected to know how to show that you are my king. But I would still prefer to find some way to acknowledge it. And I'm not ill. At least, it's not anything in my body. My mind is broken, like a brick wall with a lot of pieces missing...more than I realized actually. And I'm supposed to stay still and let my mind knit itself back together. During this time of searching I might learn how I got here...and recommit myself to why I keep going.”

“I don't understand.” Caspian stated.

“Traveling as I have done for the past 12 years, wears me down more and more. Eventually I have to just stop and let myself catch up. In this case, seeing a world outside my own eyes, physical exertion is actually restorative. It's better than living a long safe life where I'm from where nothing ever happens and I don't have a particular reason to keep going. From everything I'm told, I should have died years ago. I was given a longer life expectancy, up to five years, if I stayed home. I was told I'm be dead in a year if I kept pushing myself like this. That was seven years ago. I admit, I never thought I'd end up in Narnia.”

“Where else would you have ended up?” Drinian asked as direct and succinct as ever.

“When Lucy and her siblings came to Aslan's Howe, it was for you what we would have been feeling if King Arthur had come to modern day Britain...England...whichever.” Both their eyes opened slightly wider than before. “Even without knowing the reference, you know exactly what I mean. I thought I'd land with Arthur and his knights of the round table...or Robin Hood's Sherwood Forest.”

“You are from the same world as the sovereigns?” Drinian asked me. I didn't really know if his voice was more suspicious or stunned. I simply nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I'd answered that.” I said with a smile. “I'm resting along the road instead of going all the way home to rest. Honestly I doubt I'd ever make it out of there again if I get stuck there.” Caspian looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” He answered quickly. “I've never heard of anyone describe their home like a prison.”

“I haven't found my home yet, that's the point.” I told him curtly. “Home is meant to be a shelter and family a security. I saw and felt none of that where I'm from. And no one there took the time to get to know me. People were perfectly happy assuming they already understood everything. And since I didn't agree with 'traditional wisdom', I must be...Well, let's just say the friends I've met striking out between worlds are my true family. They don't need to understand things before accepting them. They don't assume they already understand...you know, 'I have the answer so I have nothing left to learn'. I'm sorry if I sound way too bitter. I guess these times of remembrance bring back where I'm from as much as where I've been.”

“You don't have to apologize.” Caspian whispered. “I understand not feeling at peace when you are in your own home. I can't help thinking your voice is familiar to me. But I do not recall your face.”

“That's easily explained.” I quipped. Caspian stared at me. “ 'It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a Hope. Which then turned into a quiet thought...” I paused to let him pick up the line.

And he did. “ '...Which then turned into a quiet word...' I never saw your face.”