With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 16)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom of Heaven or anything else that you might recognize here. It belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history.

 

Chapter 16: Coup d’état

Guy knew that Raymond was not listening to him as he stated the reasons why he had decided to go to war — the main reason being that he was king and if he wanted to start a war then he would do so— and he did not care one little bit. Raymond of Tiberias was the past; Jerusalem had no use for an old cowardly Marshal who would rather make peace with God’s enemies than do his duty and eradicate them from the face of the earth. He had control of the army now, and he was going to use it as he pleased.

“There are some of you who might not agree with our succession,” he said, looking at each and every one of the gathered nobles. No one said anything. They all knew what had happened to Guy’s last opponent, and no one relished being left to die alone in the desert and becoming food for carrion birds. “But it is war!” continued Guy, his confidence swelling. This was what he had come to the Holy Land to do. “And I am…” Then his eye strayed in the direction of the desert, and his confidence evaporated like a puddle in the scorching eastern sun. “…the king,” he finished, and he knew he sounded pathetic, but no one was paying him much attention.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 15)

Disclaimer: The plot and characters of Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history. I don’t own anything.

 

Chapter 15: What Have I Done?

 

She was alone in the crypt with her son, save for the echoes and bitter memories of brighter days. In her hand, she held a pewter knight. It had been Baldwin’s favourite toy. She was still mouthing the words to the song she had been singing when he had fallen asleep forever. Sibylla felt dry, as if all her tears had been drained from her. The grief, however, had not lessened, nor had the guilt. Had she done the right thing? She was almost certain that it had been more merciful to send her son to God peacefully and painlessly, but doubt was still gnawing at her heart. At the back of her mind, there was a small voice calling her a murderer.

 

Sibylla vaguely remembered going out of the crypt and being dressed in the royal robes of a queen. She was queen? That didn’t sound right. But she was, and that…made Guy the King of Jerusalem. She stiffened. How had it come to this? She had killed her son, and her kingdom. Balian had been right; she could not hold the kingdom in peace, and there would be war. Even now, she was certain that Reynald and Guy were busy spilling blood and preparing for a confrontation with Saladin. And the kingdom was in its death throes like a beast, felled by disease and now attacked by the spears and arrows of hunters.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 14)

Disclaimer: I own neither the plot nor the characters of Kingdom of Heaven. They belong to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history.

 

Chapter 14: Weeping Angels

 

Why? That was the question that Sibylla kept asking, even as she played her part in her bleak grey world of politics and intrigue. In her eyes, the colour and vibrancy of Jerusalem had been stripped away, leaving only bare hard rock. She would give up her power, her city, just to save her son. The thought of watching him become a masked ghost as her brother had done was unbearable.

 

The words on the piece of paper before her made no sense, even though she was the one writing them. Her quill moved slowly, sometimes pausing above the paper with a droplet of ink hanging from the tip.

 

It pained Raymond to see Sibylla like this. This was but a shadow of what she had been. This disease was not only slowly taking away the young king’s life, but it was also leeching the life from his mother. He watched her write, knowing that she had to acknowledge the truth soon. A king’s mother could not afford to live in a dream. And in Jerusalem, the gossips had been hard at work. He did not doubt the physician, but someone else must have seen the young king’s reaction to pain; someone like Heraclius. Something had to be done, or else the storm would be enough to raze Jerusalem to the ground.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 12)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the storyline. This is just my interpretation of Sir Ridley Scott’s film, Kingdom of Heaven.

 

Chapter 12: Price of Power

Sibylla’s mind was reeling with all the changes. There was so much she had to do, but she was not ready to deal with the affairs of state yet. First, there was her brother’s funeral. Simply thinking about Baldwin’s death made her want to weep again, but she knew she couldn’t. She was the greatest authority in the kingdom now, as the mother of the uncrowned king, and she had to be strong; stronger than the foundations of Jerusalem itself.

 

Outside her window, the sky blue standards of the kingdom fluttered against a pale grey sky. The sun, usually blazing brightly down on the Holy Land, was nowhere to be seen. The princess could not help but feel as if God had turned away from her and the kingdom.

 

‘You mustn’t think like that,’ she told herself. There was no time for morbid thoughts. She had to prepare for her brother’s funeral and for her son’s coronation.

 

“Youmna!’ she called. The maid came in and curtseyed.

 

“Milady?” she said.

 

“Send for the Lord Marshal,” said the princess. “I must consult him about matters concerning the coronation.”

 

“As you wish, milady,” said Youmna. As she dipped another curtsey, she glanced up at Sibylla. The maid had never seen her so haggard, as if she had not slept well for many nights. Underneath the face powder, her complexion was pale and she seemed almost translucent, as if she was fading away from exhaustion. The maid opened her mouth, and then hesitated. Sibylla was a princess, and she was only a handmaiden. What right did a handmaiden have to tell a princess what to do? However, Youmna knew that it was her duty to serve her mistress’ best interests. “Milady, perhaps you should rest for a while,” she ventured.

 

Sibylla sighed. “I cannot rest, Youmna,” she said. “There is too much to do.”

 

“You cannot work if you are half-alive, milady,” said the maid, more firmly this time. At least Sibylla had not snapped at her; that was a good sign.

 

“Very well. Send of the Lord Marshal. I shall rest after I have seen him.”

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 11)

Disclaimer: All the characters and events of Kingdom of Heaven belong to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and, of course, History. I’m just borrowing them and writing my own interpretation.

 

The walls and hangings muffled the sounds from outside. Many candles burned, but they did nothing to dispel the shadow which was falling over the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. It took a while for Sibylla’s vision to adjust to the darkness of the king’s chamber. It had been so long since she had set foot in here. The scent of incense could not conceal the underlying smell of decay which permeated the room.

 

She approached the bed where her brother lay; a pitiable and wasted figure. One bandaged hand rested on his chest. The other arm was outstretched; it was in the same position which the physician had left it. The silver mask was still in place, however. It was the same cold emotionless face which he showed the world; the face which was supposed to hide weakness.

 

With a shaking hand, the princess reached out and rested it on her brother’s bandaged one, unsure of whether he would feel it or not. Baldwin stirred, and with what seemed like a great effort, opened his eyes. “Hello,” he said. His voice was breathy and weak, but Sibylla’s heart lurched at the sound of that benevolent tone. It was the same one which he had used with her all those years ago, before he had put on the silver mask.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 9)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and History.

 

Chapter 9: A Kingdom of Conscience

 

Doors were meant for protection; those leading to Sibylla’s quarters were made to keep out any unwelcome presence. Inside was her refuge; a place of peace and safety in the middle of Jerusalem’s dark undercurrents and courtly intrigues. The colours and hangings had all been chosen for the tranquillity they represented. The inner chambers were sheltered from the heat, but with the coming of evening, they would be graced for a short while, with the dying golden light of the sun as it set over the heart of Christendom.

 

The princess loved the security she felt when she was in her sanctuary; it was like being in the warm loving embrace of her old nurse, who had long since passed away. When she returned this afternoon, she expected to find her son there, playing or completing the tasks set by his tutor. What she saw gave her a most unpleasant shock. Guy had gone too far; he had invaded her haven and worse yet, he was with her son, telling her boy how he ought to arrange his pewter figures. The man had his back to her, but she could hear him quite clearly. “Always surround your knights with foot-soldiers,” he told the boy.

With You, I’ll be Only Sibylla (Part 7)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that you recognize. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history.

 

Warning: Implications of adult material

 

Chapter 7: A Princess’ Decision

The sight of Jerusalem greeted her; the open gates were like the jaws of an ancient monstrosity. She had no desire to go in, to be embroiled in that seething cauldron of politics again, but what choice did she have. Her blood had doomed her from her birth. She was a princess. She was a political pawn. Sibylla glanced at the still form of her brother on his litter. He had always been her shield, trying to protect her from all the dangerous intricacies of court life, but now he was dying. To whom would he pass this mantle of protector? In her mind, there was only one candidate. She risked looking backwards, past Guy, and at the unimposing figure of Balian. He gave her a small smile and then resumed his conversation with Tiberias.

 

His presence made Sibylla feel a bit safer in her own city. If she could have her way, then he would be her Champion. The noises and smells of Jerusalem washed over her, bringing her back to reality. The lords and knights began to disperse to go to their houses in the city. Balian and his men broke off relatively early to ride back to Balian’s house. The servants no doubt would be unprepared for their master’s arrival.

 

The palace was dark, even though the servants had lit all the torches. The king was quickly carried to his own chambers. The Saracen physicians, sent by Saladin himself, followed, along with Bishop Heraclius, the patriarch of Jerusalem. Sibylla was left alone to find her own way back to her apartments, not that she actually needed an escort. Guy brushed past her and disappeared into the dimness of the corridors. They had not spoken during the entire journey back to Jerusalem. She cared not. There was nothing to say. He had his way of life; she had hers.

On Fiction Writing (Guidelines only)

This is a companion piece to On Writing Good Crossover Fanfiction but it applies to more general fiction.

Technicalities

Grammar and spelling may be annoying, but they’re essential parts of good writing. Bad grammar and spelling detracts from the flow of your piece. And don’t just rely on spellcheck. Sometimes, it doesn’t work, and especially not for grammar. It’s only good for indicating things that you need to change, but the suggestions are not always reliable.

Tip: Reading books is a good way to go about improving spelling, grammar and vocabulary. You don’t have to read what is termed ’serious literature’. For me, anything that’s published is good enough.

I suppose style would be included under technicalities. Don’t try to use big words if you don’t normally use them. That just makes the writing sound awkward and forced. Be natural. Use your own voice. Mine tends to be sarcastic or frivolous, depending on my mood. Write like you talk; just correct the grammatical mistakes.

Prior Preparation

As with everything else, writing a piece of fiction requires that you know something about the subject which you want to write about. However, I don’t believe in the ‘write what you know’ mantra. If everyone stuck to that, there would be no Tolkien, no Harry Potter, no Pirates of the Caribbean. A better way to describe it is ‘write what you believe you understand’. Anything that your knowledge is a bit fuzzy on, you can fill in with your own imagination.

For example, I want to write Historical Fantasy, so I research the period in which I want to set my story, and I figure out how things differed from the modern world. Understanding the setting is very important, because then you can shape characters which are compatible with the setting.

Plot

I once went to a writing class, and the tutor said that plot is basically this: ’A character wants something, but there’s an obstacle. How will the character overcome the obstacle to get what s/he wants?’ It’s your job, as the writer, to throw in interesting obstacles for the characters to overcome. And they can’t be too easy either, or else the story wouldn’t be exciting.

Characters

I find that creating realistic likeable characters the most difficult part of writing anything. Once you’ve got your characters sussed, you’re basically halfway towards success. A character cannot be flawless, or else he/she wouldn’t be human. For me, the best way to create characters is to visualize someone in my head. I usually base my characters on historical figures or actors. People watching is a good way to get idea for characters. Everyone speaks, moves and reacts differently. You gather a variety of these characteristics, mix them up to form realistic, likeable (or in the case of the villain, depicable) behaviour sets, and voila! You have a character. That’s harder than it sounds, by the way. I still haven’t been too successful in creating my own original protagonist.

Ways to go about writing

When I write, I tend to visualize a film in my head. A film is more than just images and dialogue. It has different angles to show different perspectives, and lighting and music to show the atmosphere. Every scene that I write has its own accompanying soundtrack and therefore, I find it very useful to have music which will go with the film in my head while I’m writing. My favourites at the moment are from actual film soundtracks and music by Immediate Music.

A comfortable work station is important. You don’t want anything distracting you from your work. I either work in my room with the door closed and the music on, or I write on the computer early in the morning when the sky is dark, and the house is quiet because everyone’s asleep. Hot chocolate or one of those creamy coffees make good imagination boosters.

Sometimes, when I get Writer’s Block, I find that changing the writing materials help. Lately, I’ve been writing on the computer only because I couldn’t do it on paper with pencil or pen. However, my essays have been written by hand because I couldn’t write them on the computer. I’m not sure how that works, but that’s how it is with me. Not everyone’s the same.

 

 

Of Ditzy Days and Student Life

I can’t say today was my best day. It started out pretty well, with handing in my second-to-last essay, a history lecture, and then shopping. I bought myself a proper Moleskine notebook, and Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl DVD.

And then I got lost on the bus route, waited at some strange bus-stop for half an hour, and then caught the same bus back. This time I kept my eyes open. I totally missed my destination (the university) the first time, because it was the other side of campus, and me, being half-blind, with no orientation skills, couldn’t recognize it. So that was about an hour and a bit. I came back to campus, and tried to study, but even with the caffeine pumping through my system from the coffee I had just before, I still managed to fall into a stupor while studying speech anatomy. I have to say flicking through notes is extremely annoying, especially since I have to keep referring back to diagrams which are somehow separate from all the written stuff. Definitely prefer history. The only way to study speech anatomy without falling asleep is to have loud music and a hot drink, preferably caffeinated. Too bad my mp3 player is broken.

I have an interesting new fanfiction idea. This morning, the history lecturer showed us a video about the story behind the cathedral of Chartres. It was during and around the Kingdom of Heaven period, and the architect is unknown, so there is great mystery surrounding him. Since in the movie, Balian returned to France, I was thinking of having him be the mysterious architect, since he’s an engineer, he’s smart and he’s quite innovative. I would think he was a pretty good mathematician for his day as well. It would be an effective disguise for the defender of Jerusalem. No one would be expecting him to build cathedrals, I don’t think. I’m adding it to my growing list of fanfiction story ideas. And at the same time, the Albigensian Crusade is taking place. I could have him take part, and try and save some of the Cathars. Don’t even know if I’ll get around to writing it, but putting Balian in all of these fascinating situations in history certainly does help me to learn it.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 2)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the storyline. This story is based on Sir Ridley Scott’s brilliant film, Kingdom of Heaven.

Chapter 2: The Very Best of Wives

Sibylla was in a dream, or so she felt. For the first time in after her marriage to Guy, she found herself dreaming about a man. And it was not her husband.

The reins were loose in her hands, and she let her horse plod on. The animal knew its way back to the royal stables. In the meantime, she was happy to just savour the freedom of being out of the palace. The air was filled with the scent of spices, with the underlying taint of sweat and waste. In a sense, it was like the Kingdom itself. On the surface, everything seemed holy and perfect. They were the bulwark against the Saracens. They were God’s chosen people, dedicating their lives to fighting for Him and defending Christendom. But then, were they really fighting for God?

Real Life and Writing

There is a common thing which people say. “I’ll write when I have time.” I used to think that way, but the reality is, you will never have time unless you make time for writing. There is always something to do. From the perspective of a teen, I can tidy my pig-sty of a bedroom, study, chat. There are loads of things to do other than writing.

What keeps me going? A promise to myself, and to my characters. Well, mostly to myself. I want to be a writer. That doesn’t come without sacrifices. In his book On Writing, Stephen King suggests giving up TV. That frees up about an hour or more for the average person.

Recently, I found myself reading a lot less and writing a lot more. Most of what you write doesn’t even have to be good. In amidst the junk that I put onto the page, there have been some rare jewels which have to have come from divine interference. In my normal state of mind, or any state of mind, I cannot write anything that can be termed ‘above average’. And even when I don’t feel like writing, I still do it because I have to. Sometime’s it’s a real chore, but like cooking or washing the dishes or paying the bills, it has to be done if I’m to get anywhere.

I still write crap; a lot of it, in fact. But there are moments when I can pour out lyrical things, at least for a little while before I run dry again. It’s just part of my life now.

Anyway, here’s a little fiction to spice things up a bit:

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They rode in the car in silence, each unwilling to voice their true sentiments. Emma was hurt more than she was willing to admit. Julianne. Leo preferred her spoiled blonde bombshell of a sister. Were all guys that shallow? After all the time they’d spent together, Leo still chose Julianne over her. She was simply a ‘friend’. That ought to be good enough but it wasn’t. She didn’t just want to be his ‘friend’ dammit! She wanted to be something more.

The car sped along the road. The purr of the engine eliminated the need for small talk. Farms, power poles and road markers flew by. They passed a dead possum, scaring away the magpie which had been feeding on the corpse. Emma kept her gaze fixed on the passing view, looking anywhere but at Leo. The forest was coming up. “Stop the car,” she said suddenly.

“What?” said Leo, confused, but he did as she asked. Emma got out of the car to stand before the forest. Now more than ever, she felt the urge to explore; to find refuge in its silent shade and hide from the hurts of the real world. The forest loomed in front of her, beckoning to her to enter into its leafy depths. She was torn. Her rational side was screaming at her not to go in. ‘You’re crazy to even think about it,’ said that voice in her head. ‘You can’t tell north from south. What if you get lost, huh?’

‘Just go in there,’ urged another part of her. ‘Who knows? You might find something interesting.’

Interesting. That sounded good. There was not enough ‘interesting stuff’ going on in her life at the moment. Everything revolved around good grades and study, oh, and that little incy-wincy problem concerning her, her sister Julianne, and a certain boy called Leo Reissner, who was standing right behind her at the moment.

“Emma, come on,” said Leo. “You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?”

“Why not?” said Emma. She was still to angry at him to speak to him civilly, and her question sounded more like a challenge than anything else.

“Well, your brother disappeared in there, didn’t he?”

“And why do you care?”

“Why? Because I’m your friend, Emma. Just because I’m not…I’m not interested in you that way doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Emma knew she was being irrational and immature. Before, she’d been contemplating just turning away from the forest and getting back in the car to resume their awkward journey back to her house. But now, after hearing Leo’s objection, she was determined to go into those dark depths, if only for five minutes, just so she could tell Leo how much she valued his advice. She bit her lip and went into the forest.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Leo, going in after her. Why did girls have to be so sentimental? Maybe she was having her period? Female minds, and bodies, to some extent, were alien landscapes as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want to admit it, but this place intimidated him. It seemed to have a life of its own. As the wind rustled the leaves, the trees seemed to whisper, speaking in their own incomprehensible language, older than any tongue which was known to mankind. ‘Humans,’ he thought to himself. It wouldn’t do in this politically correct age to use the word ‘man’ to represent the species of Homo sapiens. The last thing he wanted was to be labelled a sexist.

“Emma, just for a moment, think about it,” he said, going after her. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath his feet. “What if you get lost?”

“And so I get lost,” said Emma. Geez, why couldn’t he leave her alone? Hadn’t he hurt her enough?

“I know you don’t mean that, Em,” said Leo. “You’re angry, I understand. But don’t do anything stupid. This place is freaky. There could be wild animals or cliffs or falling trees.”

“Leo, I don’t know about Poland, but in New Zealand, there are no larger predators than feral cats–” Emma stopped talking abruptly as a shadow flitted past the corner of her eye. Leo saw it too. He glanced about, scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. There was nothing. Unconsciously, Emma sidled closer to Leo. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Another shadow flitted past their vision, directly in front of them this time. There was a high noise, almost human, and it sounded like a cackle. “Let’s get out of here,” said Leo, steering Emma in the direction of the car. She made no resistance. The sky was getting darker. Leo glanced at his watch. 5:20. Soon it would be sunset, and he had no desire to spend the night in a forest where there were unexplained noises and strange moving shadows.

As the sky darkened, their pace increased. “We should be there by now, shouldn’t we?” said Emma, wishing she’d heeded Leo’s advice and stayed out of the forest. Her heart was thudding wildly.

“Don’t worry, Emma,” said Leo as soothingly as possible. “We’ll get out of here. I have my phone. It seems a bit silly to call search and rescue at the moment, especially since this forest isn’t supposed to be that big, but when it comes to it, I will call the emergency services.”

On they walked. Darkness deepened. Soon they could hardly see anything except the black silhouettes of the trees. “Okay, it’s time for the cellphone,” said Leo, digging it out of his pocket. He pressed the unlock sequence. Nothing happened. The screen didn’t even light up. “What the hell is wrong with this?” he said. “I charged it last night!” He pressed the on/off button. Still nothing happened. Then he dropped his phone as Emma screamed.

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Like it? Excerpt from a nonexistent novel. I’ll only ever be posting little vague excerpts here, in case of plagiarism.

 

Continuity

I just realized that I have not posted here for ages. Life has changed. I have not been writing much fiction, save for fanfiction, since the whole debacle concerning Tibet had been taking up my attention. Sometimes, even writers get sucked into the events of the real world. I’ve become a part-time political writer, writing letters to the local newspaper to explain the situation and to clear up historical sticky spots.

Then there’s university, which is just taking up so much writing time. I can’t seem to be able to write anything, except stories based on other people’s creations, which is all very good and entertaining, but there seems to be something missing in my life. I miss that spark of creativity, but maybe I’m just going into withdrawal because I’m weaning myself off soppy romances. No more tragic heroines for me. It’s the man that I’m going to concentrate on for now.

History seems like a good premise for stories. There are so many things to warp. The challenge is to warp history without changing the outcome. I’ve been reading, planning, and hoping that my idea will be acceptable. For me, history is almost like fantasy, because things worked differently in the past. People saw things differently. It’s my goal to get inside these people’s minds and reveal their thoughts to readers, because let’s face it. Historical figures in textbooks feel so two-dimensional. We don’t know if they’d ever loved, felt losses, felt lost, experienced regret, and saying to themselves ‘if only…’. I want to make them into real people, and give them a non-political side.