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Title: Of Lions and Lambs
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: Kingdom of Heaven, Nasir/Balian, Nasir/Saladin
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Has nothing to do with historical anything, and is only vaguely based on characters in a movie that has only some things to do with historical anything. But you’re free to picture events using whatever inspiration you desire.
Note: But with no others to see, and with his lord in this darkly dangerous mood, the floor was an acceptable, even appropriate sitting place.
Dedication: For stewardess_lotr, who has single-handedly sucked me into more fandoms than any other slasher.
Of Lions and Lambs
Night wrapped around the tent and the man who lingered at its entrance, velvet soft and hanging heavy with the scent of fire and stone, blood and tears. The air teemed with the crackling and murmurs of the camp.
“Enter, my friend.”
Nasir ducked through the simple flap. His lord sat on a raised platform in the centre of the tent, resplendent in a midnight blue robe threaded with dull gold, held tight at his narrow waist by a black sash. Nasir bowed low.
“Leave us,” Saladin said quietly.
Nasir waited for the shuffle of the departing servants to cease before he raised his head.
“We have buried our dead. The men mourn and do whatever is necessary to maintain their fighting spirit. In the morning, they will gather again in the field; tomorrow we must breach the wall.”
“Yes, my lord,” Nasir bowed again, wondering, if Saladin had been summoned him for a strategic planning session, and why he was the only other man in the tent.
“Do you feel remorse?”
“My lord?”
Saladin gestured at the cushion on the floor near his feet. Ordinarily, Nasir would never take the position of the subservient. He was an advisor, and a noble in his own right. He would stand on the right side of the platform, close to but independent of his sovereign. But with no others to see, and with his lord in this darkly dangerous mood, the floor was an acceptable, even appropriate sitting place.
Saladin’s long fingers ran along the brim of Nasir’s headwrap. Nasir fought to keep his eyes open as the tight bindings fell loose, as if by magic, and those same fingers wove into his thick hair.
“Tell me of him, this man you kept alive, this Balian.”
“He is brave, my lord. Noble to a fault, an honest man to his core. Circumspect in his actions. He says little, and reveals even less.”
Saladin’s chuckle was more of a rumble. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
Nasir nodded meekly.
“Tell me why he should have lived.” The words were clipped by impatience – impatience with Nasir for having interpreted his question incorrectly.
“His qualities are…”
“Not those qualities, Nasir. This is not the time for wilful disobedience, my pet.”
Nasir swallowed hard. What Saladin asked of him was difficult. His lord held no concrete claim on him beyond the loyalty expected of any subject, nor did Saladin customarily demand details of Nasir’s every action. Nasir had already informed Saladin that Balian has not only spared Nasir’s life but granted him freedom out of decency and respect, and that he had done the same for Balian after the extraordinary display of courage and faith at Kerak.
Nasir was under no obligation to reveal any more, but for the tug deep in his belly from the burning glitter in Saladin’s eyes, and the smile playing about his lord’s lips.
He would be amused. Yes, he would. And Nasir would enjoy the telling, once he overcame his initial discomfort.
“He is hard, my lord. Hard all over. Solid, from work and suffering. He does not tire easily, and he is not easily defeated. It is possible he is not defeated at all.”
Saladin made a small noise of disagreement, but allowed Nasir to continue.
“His face was darkened, burned by the elements, his hands raw. But beneath his attire he is pale. His belly has never been kissed by the sun. It is pale and soft as down.”
“And sensitive, no doubt.”
“Yes, as are other places as well. I sensed it had been some time since he had the opportunity to test his sensitivity.”
Saladin signified his approval with a twist of his fingers in Nasir’s hair.
“How does this man taste?”
Nasir paused. Honestly would be most appreciated, and Nasir knew well of his lord’s preference for the sense of taste. Not only taste, but anything that had to do with his mouth, whether it was the sweetness of a date, the chill of ice on his tongue, or the sweetness and heat of something else.
“Not so pleasing at first, my lord. He had been in the desert some time, after his ship was wrecked. There was a distinct brine. Dirt and sweat and blood, and the taste of a virile man beneath it.”
“And this was not pleasing?”
“Not until I reached the taste of the virile man, my lord,” Nasir said with a smile.
Saladin chuckled again. “And this virility, is it as formidable as his battle skills?”
Nasir nodded. “Yes, he has stamina, my lord. Stamina and… a certain enthusiasm.”
“So, he is not so wholesome as he pretends.”
“I do not believe he pretends at all. I believe he aspires, my lord.”
“To holiness?”
“To truth.”
More dangerous than holiness. Saladin stroked Nasir’s hair absently and sank into deep thought. He had often told Nasir that much could be learned of a man from his behaviour after the sun sank and the attention of others diverted. All could be revealed in a single unguarded moment. Had Balian so revealed himself to Nasir, the loyal advisor would have reported it at once. Balian had not, as far as Nasir could tell, betrayed himself beyond the revelation of physical details.
The knowledge to which Nasir was privy had little to do with the key to defeating Balian in battle. It concerned Balian’s long, lean shape, and the heavy silk of his hair, the almost pained noise he made when he approached completion and the painful clenching of his hands when he did reach completion, and his shuddering sighs when the tension left his body, if only for a moment.
Nasir knew Saladin was probing him so he could divine their enemy’s weaknesses from these intimate details Balian had been unable to hide.
“Pain?”
“He does not seek it, but he does not shy from it either.”
“Does it excite him?”
“Not particularly.”
“Does it dampen his enthusiasm?”
“Not particularly.”
He was no martyr, then. That was the conclusion Saladin would draw and it was correct. Balian would not relish the opportunity to sacrifice himself for glory or even the approval of the masses in this moment. He would be steadfast and endure whatever was thrown his way, and that pointed to a long siege if Saladin could not force a resolution.
There had to be a weakness.
“Tell me, my pet, is this Balian a lion? Or is he a lamb?”
Nasir rubbed his cheek against Saladin’s slender hand. His knowledge of the strength in those fingers sent shivers throughout his body.
“He is neither, my lord. He is… a stallion.”
Of course, Nasir realised as soon as the words fell from his lips. Freedom was the weakness.
Saladin curled his fingers into the thick black tresses and drew Nasir up onto the platform. “Good, then. I shall deal with the stallion tomorrow. Tonight, I shall bestow my attentions on a lamb.”
Nasir laid his head in his master’s lap gratefully. “And I shall attempt to tame a lion.”
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Continued in The Lamb Speaks
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