Chance Encounter: Return to Middle Earth
Disclaimer: I don't own Balian, Imad, Legolas, Aragorn, Will, Jack, Paris, Achilles, Merry, Pippin... you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?
Chapter 10: Pirates of Gondor
Everyone turned their eyes to Jack. The pirate looked absolutely serious. This was not some sort of trick. He truly wanted to repay the king of Gondor for saving a dear friend of his. What better way was there than helping him to win a war?
"That's a very good point," said Éomer, looking thoughtful.
"We don't even have proper fleet," said Faramir.
"It's a pity that the Pearl is still stuck in a pond somewhere in the Shire," said Barbossa, thinking wistfully of his beloved ship.
"Hobbiton," volunteered Pippin. "The Black Pearl is stuck in a pond in Hobbiton."
"Can we, say, commandeer a ship?" suggested Jack.
"Commandeer?" said Aragorn.
"It means stealing some ships, to put it more bluntly," muttered Legolas loudly from the side of his mouth, rolling his eyes meaningfully. The elf seemed rather amused by the whole idea of Gondorians commandeering ships.
"It's a nautical term," retorted Jack. "Real sailors don't steal; they commandeer."
"Steal ships from whom?" said Faramir. All of a sudden, the idea didn't seem so appealing. Stealing went against everything that the young Steward of Gondor stood for. It simply wasn't right.
"Why, they who be stealin' from us, of course," said Barbossa. The old pirate's eyes gleamed. He plucked a green apple from the fruit bowl and sank his yellowed teeth into its waxy skin. Juice ran down his chin and into his scraggly beard. "Jack, I must say that this be the best idea you've had in twenty years."
"I've always had great ideas," said Jack indignantly "and you ain't known me fer twenty years, savvy?"
"No," agreed Barbossa. "I just be assumin' that you never had any good ideas before I came along either."
"So we're going to turn pirate to fight pirates?" said the ever honourable Faramir. It sounded so ignoble.
"The ends justify the means," said Éomer with a shrug. "I don't suppose I have a say in this, but if we can stop a war from breaking out, a little piracy seems reasonable enough. It's a good plan."
"More than good," muttered Jack. "It's bloody brilliant."
Sibylla had opened her eyes when she heard someone opening the door of her room. It was dark, and the air smelt of incense. She was sweating, but at the same time, she felt cold. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she could make out the familiar shape of Balian coming towards her. In his arms was little Barisian. She had to smile at the sight of their son snuggling up to his long absent father.
After the boy's initial reaction to Balian, he seemed to have accepted this strange man. For certain he was kind, and he had a nice voice that rumbled when Barisian put his ear against his chest. The little boy liked that. This newly arrived big person made him feel safe, and he was nicer than the other men who wore cold hard clothes. However, this man was not his lovely mother, and he didn't understand why she had to stay in bed all the time. In his mind, his mother could never get sick. His mother was his invincible defender.
When Barisian saw Sibylla, he stretched out his arms for her. "Mama," he said, as he began twisting in his father's arms, struggling to get to his mother. Sibylla tried to sit up, but she felt so weak. There was no strength left in her. It was as if she was already halfway out of this world and into the next.
"Sibylla," said Balian softly. "Lie down. You need to rest." He sat down in the chair beside her bed. She reached out with a frail shaking hand. He caught it in his own rough one. She was so delicate. Her skin was cold, papery and almost translucent. He could feel every one of her bones.
Barisian freed himself from his father's grasp and toddled on unsteady feet to his mother. He tugged at her sleeve. "Up," he said. "Mama play?"
"Oh darling," said Sibylla. Her voice was almost inaudible. A tear slipped from her eye. Moisture clung to her eyelashes like tiny diamonds. How could she bear to leave her vulnerable little boy behind? He was so young. He still needed her. "Not right now." She turned to Balian. "I'll have plenty of time to sleep later. I want to be awake to enjoy these moments."
"Sibylla, you can't die," said Balian. His voice broke and he was swallowing rapidly. "I need you. Barisian needs you. It wasn't meant to be like this."
"Things hardly ever happen the way we meant for them to happen, my Perfect Knight," said Sibylla with a sad smile. "Everything is in God's hands. I used to think that I could control my own fate but now, I know better."
"I don't believe that our fates are entirely out of our hands," said Balian stubbornly.
"Maybe not," agreed Sibylla. "But I chose this fate when I chose to stay behind in the Holy Land instead of going to France with you." She gave a small sigh. "I wish I'd made a wiser choice. I'm so sorry, Balian, I really am."
Balian bent down to kiss her damp forehead. "I love you," he murmured. "You can make all the worst choices in the world and I would still love you."
She felt his hot tears fall onto her skin. For a moment, she could forget her pain as she basked in his love.
The Houses of Healing seemed to be a labyrinth of white carved stone. Elizabeth held tightly onto Willie's hand as they followed Arwen through arches and around turns. The dying sunlight cast long shadows over them. Birds were singing their evening songs as they readied to roost for the night.
Elizabeth wished she'd thought of asking Jack to lend her his compass. Her borrowed dress fit snugly, but it was not uncomfortable. She'd been relieved to find that aristocratic ladies in Gondor were not required to wear corsets to be fashionable. The Queen had made sure of that. At any rate, Arwen did not need a corset. She had a perfect figure.
Willie was wearing his beloved tri-corn hat with his new Gondorian clothes. Well, they weren't his. Like his mother, he'd borrowed clothes. Faramir, it seemed, was prone to keeping everything that he'd ever owned, and from a dusty coffer, he'd found some clothes which he'd worn as a boy. Considering what little boys usually got up to, these clothes were in an extraordinarily good condition, with only a few stray patches. The Steward had smiled when he'd seen Willie with those clothes. "My mother made them for me, just before she died," he'd said. "You're taller than I was, but I was only five years old at that time."
With his strange array of clothing, Willie looked odd, but piratical in a 'Captain Jack Sparrow' sort of way. The little boy was nervous about meeting his father for the first time. He'd heard so much about Will that in his mind, his father was almost a demigod.
Arwen stopped before a plain wooden door. "In here," she said. "A healer will be out here waiting if you need anything."
"Thank you, milady," said Elizabeth, curtseying. She felt as if she was an aristocrat again. She hadn't felt that way for a long time. She and her son stepped into the dim room. On the bed and sandwiched between starched white sheets was Will. His chest was wrapped with white linen bandages and he wasn't wearing a shirt. His long dark curly hair was loose, and he'd lost the bandanna. Elizabeth let go of Willie's hand and strode to her husband's bedside. He'd lost weight, and he looked pale, but at least he was breathing easily. She sank to her knees beside his bed and kissed him on the forehead.
"Hello, Mr. Turner," she said fondly.
"Mrs. Turner," said Will, opening his eyes with a smile on his lips. "How lovely to see you." His voice was still weak, but there was a lively light in his eyes.
"Oh Will," breathed Elizabeth, clasping his hand and bringing it to her lips. He was pale and thin from his illness, but at least he was alive and lucid. And he had a pulse. Her eyes grew blurry with joyous tears. "I missed you." It didn't sound right, but it was the only thing she could think of to say. Her joy robbed her of all coherent thought.
"I missed you too," said Will, reaching up with his other hand to tuck a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. "Not a moment went by when you were not at the very centre of my thoughts."
Willie stood awkwardly to the side. His parents seemed to have forgotten he was there, and they were sounding so 'mushy' as his Uncle Jack-Jack would say. He scuffed his shoe on the floor, catching his parents' attention.
"Will," said Elizabeth, pulling the boy towards the bed. "This is William James Turner."
"Hello Papa," said Willie shyly, holding out his hand to his father. There was something very solemn about the boy's manner. Will shook his son's hand.
"Hello William," he said, not sure of how a father was supposed to speak to his son. "Barbossa spoke of you."
"He did?" said Willie, brightening up. "What did he say?"
"Willie here idolizes Captain Barbossa," said Elizabeth dryly. "He is in desperate need of a positive paternal presence."
"Why are you using all those big words, Mama?" said Willie. "What don't you want me to know? Did you know it's rude to talk about other people behind their backs?"
Will chuckled, and then winced as the movement hurt his wound. His hand flew over his heart. Elizabeth was instantly concerned. "Will?" she said. "Are you all right? Will? Talk to me! Look at me!"
"I'm fine, Elizabeth, truly," said Will. "Chest wounds are supposed to hurt."
"How long are you going to be in bed for, Papa?" asked Willie. "I broke my wrist once, and Mama made me stay in bed for years!"
"It was only three months, Willie, until your wrist was fine," said Elizabeth.
"No one said I had to stay in bed," began Will.
"William Turner!" scolded Elizabeth. "You will stay in bed until Aragorn says you're allowed to get up, and I don't want any 'buts' from you; do I make myself clear?"
"Inescapably clear," replied both Willie and Will together. Father and son glanced at each other, and then burst out laughing.
'Oh dear God,' thought Elizabeth fondly as she pretended to put on an angry expression. 'They are so alike. They even both quote Jack Sparrow at exactly the same time.' She wasn't able to maintain her composure for long and she was soon laughing with them as they told each other about their various misadventures.
"All right," said Faramir, who was acting as the scribe for their impromptu war council. He suspended his quill above his sheet of paper. "Let's have a look at the smaller picture. How in Arda are we to steal a fleet of ships from underneath the corsairs' noses?"
"Commandeer," corrected Jack.
"Either way, he does have a point," said Paris.
"We'll get to that when we come to it," said Jack casually, waving his hand about in a drunken manner. Actually, he probably was drunk. He'd had several cups of the Dorwinian wine which Aragorn had imported.
Jack's words alarmed Aragorn very much indeed. Were they going to attack the Eastern pirates with no plan whatsoever and improvise as they go along? He would never do something so risky. Plans were essential for him — granted, they weren't always very good, considering the number of potentially problematic situations he and Legolas had gotten themselves into in the past. However, he was of the opinion that bad plans were better than no plans at all.
"How did you commandeer the Interceptor, Jack?" asked Legolas.
"Well, if you must know..." slurred the pirate. In a very drunken and not very comprehensible manner, he told them about how he and Will had sneaked up from under the water by using the air trapped beneath an upturned boat.
"Won't it look a bit suspicious if we have, say, ten walking boats?" said Faramir. How the British Navy didn't notice that single walking boat was beyond his comprehension, unless of course, the navy really was as useless as Jack made it out to be.
"So what do you suggest, Lord I-know-everything?" said Jack. He tried to pour himself some more wine but missed his cup. Aragorn hastily moved all the priceless maps and important documents out of harm's way. He gave Legolas a perplexed look. How in the Valar's name did his meticulous elven friend get entangled with this man's affairs? Legolas shook his head tiredly. Coincidences, he decided, were not that amusing after a while.
Faramir pursed his lips and tried not to be offended. The man was a pirate, and an intoxicated one at that. Surely his bad manners could be excused.
"Well, for one, we need men," said Paris.
"We need men who do not fear death," elaborated Achilles.
"Gondorians are not cowards," said Aragorn.
"I mean men who have nothing to lose and the world to gain," said Paris. "These ought to be men who have no other choice but fight and advance."
"And where do we find such men?" said the king.
"The criminals who be sentenced to death who are sittin' in yer dungeons rottin' away, perhaps?" suggested Barbossa. He fed Jack the monkey a sugared almond.
Jack belched and almost toppled over, and he would've done so if Gibbs had not caught him.
"Why don't I feel this is a very good idea?" said Legolas. "We have criminals fighting for us. Think about it. These are murderers and robbers and rapists."
"At least we know they're not going to hesitate to kill," said Paris with a shrug "and we need pirates to fight pirates. All we need to do is secure their allegiance, and I think I know what to do."
Balian watched his son play with Astyanax. Barisian was more or less the same size as the younger boy, although there must have been a year's age difference between them. His son was quiet for a child of his age, while Astyanax made lots of noises to himself. The younger boy held out a wooden figurine —wet with drool— to Barisian. The dark haired child eyed the other boy, not sure of how to react. Then he took the toy. "Fank you," he said in his high voice. Astyanax cooed and giggled.
"They seem to be getting along quite well," said Andromache, coming in with a tray of food for the two boys.
"I'm glad," said Balian. He was haggard with worry for his beloved. There were shadows under his eyes and although he smiled when his son toddled over to him and invited him to play, the smile seemed slightly forced. Sibylla's condition was deteriorating quickly. There was no hope left. That hurt more than any wound of the flesh.
Barisian seemed to know something was wrong, but he didn't know how to ask about it. He tugged at his father's sleeve and looked up at him with the innocent wisdom which only children possessed. Balian scooped up his son. "Mama?" said Barisian.
"We're going to see her this afternoon," said Balian, bouncing the child on his knee. "Would you like that?"
The little boy nodded. Then he noticed Andromache and the food. "Auntie," he said. "Hungry."
Andromache took him from Balian. Her heart ached for this little child who was soon to lose one of the most important people in his life.
It was night. Neither the moon nor the stars were shining. Yusuf had told him to be ready. Sibylla would soon set off on her journey, and they would be separated forever. It was so difficult to accept. Barisian had fallen asleep in a chair. Balian wanted Sibylla to have her family around her during the last moments of her life. He cradled her in his arms.
She opened her eyes. They were unfocused, but she seemed contented. "Don't grieve for me, Balian," Sibylla whispered, smiling. There was nothing coy about her now, nothing seductive. All that he could see in her blue eyes was pure untainted love. "I won't be alone. Jocelyn can keep me company. We'll gossip about you. It seems years since I've gossiped about a handsome man."
"It's not polite to talk about a man behind his back," said Balian with a watery smile. "I'd rather you made fun of me before my face."
"That's not gossip then. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Godfrey's in Purgatory, isn't he? He'll look after me, the way he did before you came along."
"Don't leave us all alone, Sibylla," said Balian, choking on the lump in his throat.
"Look after our son, Balian," said Sibylla earnestly. "He's never been a very strong child...and I fear for him."
"I would lay down my life for him, and for you." And Balian wished that he could trade his health and immortality for Sibylla's life, but it seemed that God would not have it. Sibylla reached up with a shaking hand to cup his face tenderly. His beard was prickly beneath her palm. She could feel the hot wetness of his tears. He was so beautiful and perfect in every way. What had she done to deserve him? He'd given her light, and after her first son's death, a reason to live. Then he'd given her Barisian. It was so unfair of her to abandon him now, especially since he'd risked torture and death to save her, but God was calling her home. No one defied the Almighty, not even a headstrong queen of Jerusalem.
"Bring Barisian here," she said. "I want us to be close."
Gently, Balian picked up the sleeping child. He woke up, making groggy noises and rubbing his eyes. "Sleepy," he said. "I want Mama."
Sibylla held out her arms for her little son. He willingly snuggled up to her. Balian held them both against him. She'd never felt so satisfied, with her child in her arms and the man she loved holding her.
"I love you, husband mine," she whispered, leaning against him so that she could hear his strong steady heart, pulsating with love and passion. He gave a start.
"You call me your husband?" he whispered.
"If you will have me as your wife."
Balian was totally dazed. "We need a priest..." he said to no one in particular. Then he snapped back into focus. They didn't need a priest. There was not enough time to find one. Will and Elizabeth had been married in the middle of a battle on a ship by Barbossa. Why couldn't he have God and the angels as witnesses? He reached up to his neck to where he wore Sibylla's ring on a chain. He yanked off the chain and slipped the ring off it.
"Sibylla," he said "with this ring, I take you as my wife, and bind myself to you forever." He put the little gold circlet onto her thin finger.
Sibylla was weeping tears of joy. "Balian of Ibelin," she said, mustering all her remaining strength "I have no ring with which to bind myself to you, but with God and the angels as witnesses, I take you as my husband and I will remain faithful to you for all eternity."
Balian kissed the top of her head tenderly. His beautiful Sibylla—his wife. He drew them even closer to him, wishing that this moment would never end.
"I'm tired, Balian my husband," said Sibylla with a contented little sigh. "Can you hold me whilst I sleep?"
"Of course," said Balian softly. In his heart, he knew what was coming next. Sibylla's breathing grew fainter. She closed her eyes.
And never opened them again.
They buried Sibylla next to her brother and her son, Baldwin the younger. At least in death, she would be surrounded by people who loved her. Balian felt as if he'd run out of tears, and Barisian simply didn't understand that his mother was never going to wake up again. The little boy kept on asking about her, and Balian did not know how to explain the idea of death to a two-year-old.
In the man's mind, a plan was forming. He knew he could not stay in the Holy Land. This place held too much pain and bitter memories, and it wasn't safe. Richard was still hunting for them. It was time for Balian to go home.
Imad could guess what was on his Frankish friend's mind, and he had every intention of thwarting that plan. Through some obscure investigation, he'd discovered that through his paternal grandmother, Balian was a distant cousin of King Philippe of France. Barisian now had something else to back his claim to the throne of Jerusalem. From a personal point of view, this was bad, but Balian's presence in the Holy Land meant that there would be continuous turmoil amongst the Crusaders. For the Muslims, this was a great political advantage. Imad was, above all, a subject of the Sultan. He would put his master before everything, including the bonds of friendship. The spymaster would do his best to convince Balian to stay. He couldn't guarantee success, but at least he would've tried to do what was best for his people and his faith.
A/N: Now, Balian wants to go back to France, and he can only do that by crossing the ocean. Each time he's gone on any sort of voyage in a seagoing vessel, he has gotten into trouble. Any guesses as to where he'll end up this time? (Hint: It's not France)
Anyway, it's mostly dialogue this time — it's one of those in between chapter which need to be written to prepare for the excitement to come. Hope I didn't bore anyone.