With You, I'll Be Only Sibylla
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to the creators of the movie, Kingdom of Heaven, and God.
Chapter 4: There is Only Light
The rooms were simple, with only basic furnishing. Godfrey had not been a man for ornamentation, and his son was even less so. Sibylla smiled as she took in her rooms. Balian had given her the master suite. The lack of decoration was a refreshing change. There was no clutter here, no dark secrets. Ibelin was an innocent, just like its master. She had her maids bring in flowers to freshen the air. The room itself smelled of a man; of sweat, dust and masculine musk.
Youmna helped her to change out of her dusty travelling gown. Curtains were drawn around the balcony, veiling the princess from prying eyes as she bathed. Sibylla watched her maids bustling about, rearranging things to her tastes. Balian had said that they could do whatever they wanted with this suite. She sat with her feet in a basin of water with rose oil floating on the surface, forming a swirling rainbow. The sound of work and construction filtered in from outside; shouts of men, speaking both in Arabic and Latin. Sibylla stood. Making sure that her towel was wrapped securely around her naked body, she stepped over to the hand-carved windows, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake.
Balian was helping to set the water-wheel in its place. The wind whipped his hair about his face, and his damp sweaty shirt stuck to his body, outlining the contours of his muscles. And they were nice muscles. He turned to glance back at his house. Sibylla smiled. She knew he was looking for her; somehow, she just knew. She watched him work, seemingly at peace with the world, but underneath, she knew he hid a sorrowful burden. His wife was dead, yes, but the princess felt there was more to it than just that.
The children brought him food and water, as if he was just another man, and not the baron. He laughed and joked with them, and they patronized him when he made horrendous linguistic mistakes in Arabic. Sibylla thought he always seemed wistful when talking to the little ones. The thought suddenly occurred to her. He'd had a wife, so did he have children? And if so, what had happened to them? She'd seen no sign of children in this house. In fact, Balian seemed to have no family left at all. At least, if he did, he didn't mention them.
'Ah, my lord baron,' she thought. 'You are shrouded in mystery, but you will tell me your secrets.' The princess smiled. She was Sibylla of Jerusalem, and she always got what she wanted.
Youmna had been sent to keep a look out of the baron once Sibylla had realized that work was over for the day. The princess seemed to be paying an unnatural amount of attention to the Baron of Ibelin. The maid wasn't sure it was entirely proper, but she was just a servant. Who was she to judge the princess of Jerusalem?
The baron's arrival pulled her out of her thoughts. One of the other maids had bent down to take off his muddy boots, but he declined as politely as he could. He seemed embarrassed by it. Youmna smiled. He was so different from Lord Guy, and it was impossible not to like him. "Her Highness awaits," she told him, ushering him into the master suite and onto the balcony. She closed the door behind her. They deserved privacy.
Sibylla took Balian's rough hand in her own. It was calloused from years of labour and toil. This was a man who lived off his own sweat. He grinned at her shyly as she made him sit down opposite her. There was a basin of water, with rose petals floating on top. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of them. "I've had bad experiences with rose petals," he said.
"Oh?" said Sibylla. Balian chuckled.
"It was in my father's house –my house– in Jerusalem. I found a bowl of water like this beside my bed, and drank it." He shook his head. "The maids laughed."
Sibylla laughed as well. Only a rustic peasant from France would not know the purpose of rose-scented water.
"We all make mistakes," she said. Balian kept his eyes fixed on her as she dipped a wash-cloth in the water, but he quickly grew nervous as she began to wash the dirt and dried sweat from his face. He caught her wrist and gently pushed her away, looking around as he did so. If anyone saw them, he had no doubt that they would grow suspicious of his relationship with the princess. At any rate, he was her servant, and it was not right for her to be treating him with such an intimate manner.
Sibylla gave him an amused look. He was such an honourable man. There were noblemen who would have thrown honour and caution into the wind in order to seduce her in the hopes of gaining power through her. "But this isn't adultery," she said. "It's washing." She raised her hand again and began dabbing at his face with small firm strokes to wipe away the ingrained dirt. He looked away and stared at anything but her. His body was tense. "And if it were adultery, which it isn't, then the commandments are not for people like us," she continued. "They are for the others." As she said it, she forcefully turned his face so that she could look him in the eyes. He quickly lowered his gaze.
Balian did not trust himself to talk properly. His body betrayed him. Sibylla was different. She was so bold. His late wife had been a demure creature. Sibylla was the phoenix; fiery, passionate, and unafraid. She ignited something in him, and he knew it was wrong for him to feel that way about her. Her touch sent shivers down his spine. She was beautiful, this exotic eastern princess. "Did they give you something to eat?" he said in an attempt to distract both her and himself. Food was very important, and it usually distracted people back in his village in France. 'Idiot, you are not in your village in France,' he thought.
"I said to wait until the master returned," said Sibylla with a coy smile. Thankfully, Balian's question had the desired effect. She stopped cleaning his face. "My cook will prepare something while you wash." She stood, and the young baron noticed that she wasn't wearing much under her shift, or on top of it, for that matter. Through the thin white fabric, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of her long shapely legs.
'What is happening to you, Balian?' he thought as he scrubbed his face and hands free of dirt. 'Your wife is not yet cold in her grave, and here you are, playing a nobleman and thinking about another woman.' He felt guilty, as if wanting Sibylla was somehow betraying Jocelyn.
Everyday, Sibylla watched him rebuild Ibelin bit by bit until it was no longer just a hamlet in the middle of a desert, but an oasis for tired travellers as well. The fields grew lush and green with crops. She found herself falling in love with this quiet little place, and with its shy master. Here, she was not the princess, but simply Sibylla. The longer she stayed, the more she realized that she had no desire to return to the political snare that was Jerusalem.
And Balian. He was the opposite of Guy; untainted by political intricacies. He said what he thought, without embellishing it in any way. She enjoyed his company. Little by little, she managed to dig out the story of his past. She wished she could comfort him, the way he'd given her peace in his little fief. At night, she lay awake, thinking about him. Her dreams were filled with his face; the way he'd grin bashfully, or hang onto everything that she said. Sometimes, she dreamed that they were a family, just her, Little Baldwin and Balian.
Sibylla made her choice. She never decided rashly, but she was not going to let this angel go.
The scratch of his charcoal on parchment was the only thing that Balian heard. Drawing was simple, comforting. He only had to think about the shapes which he could see, instead of contemplating feelings which could not be seen. The warm glow of his candles cast long shadows on the floor and walls. He heard a scuffle, and saw a light coming down the corridor towards his study. Balian looked up. Who was still awake at this ungodly hour, apart from him?
Sibylla knew it was not proper, but she could not keep her feelings inside her any longer. She loved Balian, of that she was certain. He was everything that she'd ever wanted in a husband. He was generous, kind, handsome, noble. What more could a woman ask for? His wife had been a fool to let him go. In the mess of his study, he seemed relaxed, as if he belonged. Unfinished plans for new fortifications lay on his desk. So her brother had asked him to design new defences for Jerusalem? Balian must have had more hidden qualities than she'd originally thought.
She came into his line of sight. They held each others' steady gazes. "I could stay here forever," she told him honestly. Her voice sounded raspy to her. Oh, God. Her desire was fighting to be free.
"This house is yours," he said. His voice was full of sincerity. Was it possible that his honest baron had felt something for her as well?
"Why do you think I'm here?" she asked him. Did he know? Or was he ignorant as to what was going on inside her head? He rose slowly from his seat and then came within a foot of her. Her heartbeat grew faster and stronger. She felt lightheaded. He was so solid, reliable. She could hear his soft breathing, and that excited her, but she managed to keep her wits about her. Now was not the time to become a foolish lovesick girl.
"I know that Ibelin is not on the way to Cana," said Balian. So he did know what she was thinking. Maybe she wasn't as unpredictable as she would've liked to be, or was he just particularly perceptive?
"What else do you know, my lord?" she challenged, giving him a sultry smile. The candle she held cast a warm golden glow on her face, giving her the mysterious appearance of a heathen goddess. He gazed at her intently. His deep brown eyes bored into her, seeming to see through the mask which she'd promised him she would not put on while she was with him.
"I know you are a princess," he said in his soft husky voice, "and I am no lord." It was said without conviction, only blunt honesty.
"You're a knight," she reminded him. How could he think he was not good enough for her? If she said he was good enough, then he was good enough. Christ, she was the one who chose what was good for her, not anyone else. At the moment, all she wanted was Balian. Nothing else mattered.
"Neither earned, nor proved," said the baron, lowering his eyes as if he was ashamed of what he was. And in a way, Balian was ashamed. He was a bastard, and a commoner. He had no place in court alongside dukes and counts…and exotic princesses. At any rate, he shouldn't be feeling like this. Sibylla was married. If he…that would be adultery. He'd come to the Holy Land to redeem himself and find absolution for his late wife, not to add another set of sins to his already long list and drag someone else to hell with him. Oh, but he wanted her. She was so close, within his grasp, and she was willing… 'No, Balian,' he told himself firmly. 'You cannot. You must not!'
Sibylla lowered her eyes. She suddenly realized how immoral she seemed. To an upright man from France, she must have seemed awfully bold. The last thing she wanted was to give Balian the wrong impression. "I'm not here with you because I'm bored, or…or wicked," she said, not looking at him. He said nothing. He simply stared and listened. 'Does he ever say anything unless it is to answer a question?' she wondered. His silence, although welcome at the moment, was not always what she wanted. Perhaps he was waiting for an answer, but how to answer his question? What was she doing here? She had no place in Ibelin, no place with him. "I'm here…because…because in the east, between one person and another, there is only light." With that, she glanced up, and blew out the candle between them. She wanted Balian to shed light on all her darkest dreams and desires. She wanted to give herself to him. The light of the candle was illusory, but her love was not.
She tentatively removed his outer coat. His flesh was hard and hot beneath her hands. She could feel him trembling. The coat fell to the floor and landed beside his bare feet. He didn't care. The man suddenly cupped her face and drew her towards him for a passionate, almost desperate kiss. She responded just as fiercely, tangling her fingers in his long dark curls. The released each other only to take a breath, and then he hoisted her into his arms, as if she weighed no more than a child. Their lips met in earnest again. She wrapped her legs around his lean solid torso.
All sense had been driven from Balian. He was enveloped in almost painful pleasure. Somehow, they managed to make their way back to the master suite, refusing to let go of each other
and without alerting any servants. Perhaps they were too polite to indicate that they heard anything. It didn't matter. This was light. This was Heaven, and Hell.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. As for the details of the love scene, watch the movie :) That's much better than anything I can write.