Title: Arabian Nights and Crusader Days
Rating: T
Summary: The year is 1189. Jenny, is a French girl born in 1173. She is 16, the ((fictional)) daughter of Louis VII of France who led the 2nd crusade. Spurred on by religious hate and a lust for the Holy City of Jerusalem, Henry II of England and her brother Philip II of France start the third crusade, though Philip's motivation also includes rescuing his younger sister Jenny, who has been captured by Saladin. In 1180, Jenny was sent to Antioch by her father to serve Stephanie of Milly, as well as to learn more about Islam. On her way to Antioch, passing through Edessa, Jenny is "kidnapped" by Saladin. She is to be a companion to his ((fictional)) daughter, Kamilah, so that she can learn French and the ways of the west. In 1189, when the siege of Acre and the Third Crusade begins, in the face of inevitable defeat Saladin calls on the old friends of Egypt to help him capture Jerusalem: the shadowmen. But the creatures of the shadow world don't do anything away for free, especially when the youngest, fiercest, and most vital shadowman warrior, Julian, wants Jenny for his own…
Disclaimer: I do not own the Forbidden Game trilogy, as that belongs to L.J. Smith. The characters seen in FBG belong to her, but this plot is mine as well as any made-up figures like Kamilah (though Saladin, Richard I, Raynald, Stephanie, Louis VII, Henry II, and Philip II are actually from history). The scenes that I show in this story are my attempt at a semi-accurate portrayal of life during the time of the crusades. Also, if there are any discrepancies with my dates/research, I would appreciate any corrections you might have!
A/N: A Jenny-Julian story that you have never seen before.... an upcoming crusade, a desperate king, and Jenny far away from home. Too bad the shadowmen don't like to do favors, and I hear that Julian has his eye on the perfect compensation. PLEASE REVIEW!! :)
Prologue-- Jenny POV
Sometimes at night, as I lie in the softest bed I have ever felt and breath in the sweetest perfumes, wrapped in a nightgown of eastern silk, I can imagine it all away. I can see myself back at home, in France, playing with my older brother Phillip or rolling around in the hay outside what one could not have called a castle. My name is Jenny, and I was the Princess of France, the daughter of King Louis VII and the sister of Prince Phillip II. I remember the days that changed my life very clearly, as they are the only important memories I have left.
It was a thawing spring morning, and I was bouncing off the walls with excitement. The coming of spring, like with any new season, meant a bath—which did not happen often because clean water was so precious—though as a royal I was luckier than the Jacques, or peasants, who only got to wash once a year. The household servants had filled a small washbasin with water, which was then heated and brought to my room. My mother's ladies-in-waiting (I was too young to have my own) scrubbed the dirt from my cheeks and arms and removed the leaves from my hair: at seven years old, I still found it amusing to make myself filthy before bath day. As hard, colorless soap was rubbed through my hair along with crushed flower petals for fragrance, I felt like the most important person in the world. How naïve I was, to think myself, and France, on top of the world. I was very, very wrong.
When my golden hair had been brushed (the servants loved to coo over the color of my locks, and spent hours braiding it; most people had dull brown hair, whereas mine sparkled like the sun) and I had been clothed in a new dress of stiff cotton my father called me to his chambers. A ceremonial spring crown of leaves was placed among my curls before I was sent to the visit. When I approached the open door of his apartment, he didn't hug me like he usually did—I remember my childish mind wondering, "Why is he sad?" A messenger stood erect next to his writing desk, letters and forms in hand.
"Jenny," my father spoke slowly, "I am sending you to Antioch to learn about Arab culture from Stephanie of Millie. She will be your mentor. Think of the new things you will see!" he 'exclaimed', the excitement leaving his mouth in large bubbles of dreams that popped quickly. I was being sent out of France. 'Quoi?' was the only word that could leave my mouth. I was stunned. Quoi? What? What was he talking about?!
The King of France, my daddy, stood and motioned to the messenger, "Jean will take your bags; they have already been packed for you. Viet viet, your party will leave in a matter of minutes." I felt tears begin to fill my eyes: Nile-green, my father's generals called them, men who had fought in Egypt during the Second Crusade. Wordlessly, I took the ribbon mon pére placed in my minute, now-clean hands as he helped me into the carriage.
"Au revoir", I whispered. The tears staining my cheeks came faster when my ears heard an "Adieu". This was not the type of answer I was hoping for. You only said 'adieu' when someone was leaving forever.
The wooden planks of the carriage were stiff underneath my legs, as down cushions were a luxury that only presented themselves after a big duck hunt. The lumber floor beneath me began to move as the slender horses, whose protruding ribs were hidden below dozens of flower garlands, started trotting. I carefully tucked the lime green ribbon into my bag while Jean settled into the seat across from me. His livery was that of Raynald of Châtillon's, the husband of Stephanie. He couldn't have been much older than fifteen, the same age as my brother. Jean smiled at me, like a boy trying to be kind to his younger sister. I frowned and turned to look out the window.
I was seven years old, and it was 1180. It took many weeks for us to leave France, and everywhere the Jacques recognized the fleur de lis of the flag soil-covered faces tried to catch a glimpse of me. By the time we crossed the Rhine, I was speaking to Jean. He told me about the things he had seen in the eastern parts of Europe, the Middle East, and other places so exotic sounding I swore he made them up. I was in awe of his stories. But midsummer we were nearly halfway to Antioch, and in my mind Jean's face had transformed from that of a pockmarked, goofy adolescent to a wise adventurer who had traveled the world. Some of his stories seemed ridiculous and false but, now that I look back on my memories of his voice, and the parallels I have seen in these last few months, I wonder if he was telling the truth after all.
A/N: What did you think? Next chapter some more characters (from FBG and my imagination) will be introduced. This research took a lot of time so I appreciate any comments!