Prelude to Heaven

Disclaimer: I don't own Balian or any of the characters that are mentioned in the movie. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them.

Chapter 4: To War

Balian handed to repaired hammer to the blacksmith for inspection. There was no join that could be seen between the two pieces. The older man had to be impressed. Despite his apparent awkwardness and clumsiness, the boy was good at the craft. The blacksmith nodded and handed the hammer back to the youth. "Take it to Monsieur le Charpentier," he said. Balian took the hammer and went off to the carpenter's workshop, wondering if he would see Jocelyn there.

Only the carpenter was present, much to Balian's disappointment. The older man took the tool, turned it over in his hands, grunted and then gave Balian a few coins; the standard payment for repairs. All the while, Balian craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of his angel.

He returned to the forge, so lost in thought that he did not hear Thomas call his name until the other boy ran up to tap him on the shoulder. "What's wrong, Balian?" he asked breathlessly. The baker's son was not built for strenuous physical activity. "I called out to you five times and you didn't hear me."

"It's nothing," said Balian. Thomas probably wouldn't understand how he was feeling at the moment and the blacksmith's apprentice did not want anyone to laugh at him.

He was walking in an endless green field beside a graceful long-limbed man of about thirty. On the man's belt was a beautiful sword with a ruby in the hilt. His dark curls reached the base of his jaw. A neatly trimmed beard covered his chin and cheeks. There was a burn mark on the back of the man's hand and a long red puckered scar ran down the side of his face, over his cheekbone and narrowly missing his eye. Balian felt as if he knew this man, even though he had never seen him before in his life.

The man looked up and smiled genially at the youth. Balian registered vaguely that the man would be termed 'handsome', at least by the girls. "What man is a man who does not make the world better?" asked the man.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Balian. What was he talking about? The man did not answer. He looked at Balian meaningfully and without another word, he strode away and disappeared into the distance, leaving Balian all alone with nothing but his words...

Balian's eyes flew open. That was the strangest dream he'd ever had. He could still hear the words reverberating in his mind, as if the man was speaking them over and over again. He flung off the blanket. The entire family was still asleep. The sun had just risen. He remembered that it was Sunday. There was no need to work so they were taking the chance to sleep a little longer than usual.

The morning air was comfortably cool. He didn't know what drove him, but he threw on his clothes and headed to the forge. Taking a hammer and a chisel, he began to carve the words from his dream into the side central beam which was the most visible. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not register how long he had been doing it until he heard the church bell summoning the villagers to mass.

Balian hurried to join the rest of the congregation, very aware of how dishevelled he looked with all the wood shavings on his clothes. His family was there, dressed in their Sunday best. The blacksmith scowled in his less-than-presentable appearance while his mother tried her best to dust him off. He caught a glimpse of Jocelyn. For a moment, their eyes met, and then she looked away scornfully, leaving him feeling lost. How he wished he was like the man in the dream that he'd had that morning; so dignified and handsome, and probably a great warrior with the prowess of one of the knights in the stories. Jocelyn would never scorn him. No one would. He was not some rogue's bastard whom the blacksmith had claimed as his own.

Thinking about the man made him remember the words that he had just carved into the central beam in the forge. A man who did not make the world better was not a man at all, in Balian's opinion, but how did one make the world better?

Solange noticed that her firstborn was very quiet, even more so than usual. He seemed to be immersed in his own thoughts. She was coming to realize that she did not understand him very well at all. There was more to him than what they could see. Sometimes he could seem so wise and yet, at other times, he was as innocent as a child. But of course, he would always be a child in her eyes. More than once, she felt that he seemed trapped in this small village. Her son, Godfrey's son, was made for bigger things. 'Maybe you are longing to fly, mon petit bonhomme," she thought as she watched him pray with his head bowed 'but I am not ready to let you go.' She knew it was selfish of her to think this way but she did not want her son to fly off as his father had done, leaving her alone with nothing but memories. At least Godfrey had left her Balian. What could Balian leave behind?

After mass, the blacksmith, the carpenter and a couple of other men went to the alehouse, leaving Balian to escort Solange home as Guillaume was too busy playing priest to take care of his family. The woman took this opportunity to speak with her son in private and find out what was going on under that mop of dark curly hair. "Balian, what's on your mind?" she asked. "You seem very quiet of late."

Balian hesitated. Did he want to tell his mother about Jocelyn? He trusted his mother with all his heart but he was afraid of embarrassing himself. "I..." he began and then trailed off as the beginnings of a blush tinged his face.

"Yes?" pressed Solange.

"I think I'm in love, Mother." Solange heaved an inward sigh of relief. So he was assailed by the same affliction that had affected her years ago when she had first laid eyes on Godfrey, nothing more.

"That's very normal," she said.

"I don't know what to do. I want her to know that I love her, but I dare not say anything. I'm afraid she'll laugh at me, or worse."

"Just be yourself and be honest. Girls like that. I know they do, Balian. I was a girl once myself, a very long time ago."

"I don't think I'm brave enough to do it."

"I know you have the courage, mon petit bonhomme. You just have to find it."

Solange straightened herself to relieve her cramped muscles. Her eyes drank in the lush colours of the little garden where Balian had been conceived. The perfume of flowers filled the air. She could hear the clanging of tools as her husband and her son worked up at the forge. She turned her gaze to a young elm tree. It had grown up with her son. It was a subtle reminder to Balian; no matter how high or far he flew, his roots would always be here and even if he became a great man, his sense of belonging would grow deeper, like the tree's roots.

Coughs racked her frail body. She covered her mouth with her handkerchief. It came away speckled with spots of red. She frowned and tucked it up her sleeve. It had been going on for a while, but she had not told anyone for fear of causing them unnecessary worry. All was as God willed it. If it was indeed as she feared, then no one could do anything for her anyway.

War. That was the only thing that the villagers could talk about. Lord Reginald and Roger de Cormier had declared war on Grégoire de Bourges over one conflict of interest or another. The peasants did not really understand much about this. What concerned them the most was that each family was required to contribute at least one man to the army. As the smith was old and Guillaume was training to be a priest and therefore exempt from conscription, the task fell to Balian. Solange was reluctant to let him go. He was all that she had left of Godfrey. Spears and swords had no compassion. She did not want to lose her son to a piece of remorseless metal. And she was ill. Who knew how long he would be gone for? Would she live long enough to see him return, if he did return at all?

Balian was conscripted into the army along with Thomas the baker's son and a host of other boys from the village. Some of the young men were eager to prove that themselves, that they were heroes, true men, just like the heroes in the stories. Balian did not want to admit it, but he was slightly afraid. He did not want to kill men. Wasn't 'thou shalt not kill' one of the Ten Commandments? Why did the baronthen make men kill other men? Was it not wrong to kill if someone else commanded it?

He spoke to Thomas about it, but it seemed that the other boy had not thought about such things at all. Thomas looked most comical dressed in a soldier's garb. Although he had grown older, he had grown wider instead of taller. He barely reached Balian's shoulder but he couldn't fit into the uniform and his mother had to adjust it for him. Both of the boys' families could not afford to buy them chainmail.

When Balian returned dressed in his soldier's garb, Solange thought she could see Godfrey's shadow on him. It frightened her that her boy was going out to fight, just as his father had done. He was not ready. She was not ready. "When do you leave?" she asked him.

"Next Friday," he said.

"So soon?" said Solange.

"It's a long march to Bourges."

Solange bit her lip. Why couldn't God let him stay safely at home? She prayed that He would keep him from harm if he was not allowed to stay where it was safe.

All the families had gathered outside the village to bid the soldiers farewell. Balian kissed his mother on both cheeks. She looked so old and weak. Her hair, once bright and lustrous, was now limp and grey. Years of worry and motherhood had lined her face. Her eyes were tired and full of anxiety for him. He wanted to do something to make her stop worrying about him, but there was nothing he could do. "Go on," she urged him, although it contradicted the desires of her heart. He nodded. The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. He was walking away from his mother when he glimpsed Jocelyn. Knowing that there was a good chance that he would never come back again, he mustered his courage and before he could think too much about it, he was standing in front of her and staring into her eyes.

"I know it is terribly bold of me," he blurted out "but this may be the only chance I'll ever get as I might not ever see you again." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Jocelyn." Both of them were still and rigid as if they had been frozen into place. Then Balian turned an interesting shade of red and fled to join the rest of the army before Jocelyn could respond.

She saw Thomas patting him on the back sympathetically. Some of the girls were giggling about them behind her back but she thought he was brave to tell her this. She knew he was serious. As she watched the army march away, she realized that he had only professed his love and had not asked her to marry him. She kept on gazing after him long after the army had become nothing but a cloud of dust in the distance and ignored the cruel comments that were being traded about her and Balian; mostly about Balian. Maybe he was not as hopeless as she had first deemed him to be. Indeed, he had the same selflessness that the knights in the stories had.

A/N: Yes, Balian's off to war, and he's told the girl. There'll be some action in the next chapter, hopefully. Please review.

3