Heaven Can't Wait ۞ Baldwin IV

I - Far

Al Mualim Ibn Ahar Al Jazirah remembered the first cry from his last born daughter as the chant of a gentle songbird. More than a cry, it was a sound of gladness for being alive. A praise to Allah that echoed in a room he could not step into until the cries died down and everything was cleansed.

His wife's exhausted but sweet voice eventually invited him in, just like when she'd first invited him into her life despite their different faiths.

Juliana, the most brilliant brunette in Alzira, had never been afraid to show herself as she was. A proud trait that came from her father, the only Christian nobleman that had stood his ground and would not let the Muslim leaders drive him away. The difference was that Álvaro De Bosch's pride could be too exuberant. He did not disown his daughter, but he made sure to let everyone know of his displeasure with her choice of husband. If marrying Al Mualim had been a sin as he claimed, Juliana accepted the consequences without regret. However, he took it out on his son the most, throwing onto him the burden of that sin and the opportunity to redeem it... somewhere far away.

Her Latin fairness had met his smokey brown semblance, both bright with joy at the welcoming of their sixth daughter. A tiny thing, with richly colored hair that the proud father knew would take someone's breath away someday. Such color gave her a powerful appearance already. He would go on to name her after this land. The land of the brave.

Now, almost nineteen years later, as he contemplated the wretched message he had read only by pure chance, he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was about to decide her future for her. It was treacherous. He felt like reaching inside his chest and tearing his heart out, for he did not deserve that which he was not using as he should.

It was not like with his other daughters. All of them had been married off to men that Al Mualim had personally vetted after thorough observation. He even had the men followed day and night by his guards, keeping tabs on their habits and whereabouts. All decent Muslim men, to which his Christian wife had shown no opposition.

But this time his desperation had driven him to consider a Christian man for his youngest daughter. And not just any Christian, but one that was campaigning against Mualim's brethren in a land not so different from the one he stood on. Another charge of treason to add, to his dogma, at least. Yet, that wasn't even what was causing him fret. It didn't matter to him which religion Valentia married into.

He knew this man was cursed. Exactly how, he did not know for sure. But he would likely be condemning Valentia to the curse as well.

His skittish fingers scratched at the ivory details embedded into the dark wood of the round table.

It was summer but the breeze that entered into the square patio from the opening on top, gave him chills. The palm trees swayed gladly with it, making him jealous of their apparent carefree existence.

The Alsaalihin were intercepting as many messages and announcements as they could as of late, especially those concerning Christians, Jews, and native Iberians in general, rather than Muslims. It was nothing short of a miracle that this had reached him. He wanted to take it as a sign that, perhaps, it was meant to be.

Feminine voices that marched along the interior balconies alerted him. Normally they wouldn't have—he was used to being outnumbered by them. But he wasn't ready to confront them with this yet. He would have to speak to his wife alone first. Concealing the message in an instant, he listened to the women's softly-spoken conversation as they descended down the staircase.

"It's my head," Valentia complained, nuzzling her troubled head against her mother's shoulder.

The girl's straight nose scrunched the more she snuggled into the motherly comfort.