Night has just fallen over the citadel of Damascus, replacing the heavy heat that takes over the Jordanian steppe during the day, a burning cold that fills the lungs. The sultan himself is about to retire after a day of strategising along his advisors and generals when the doors to the main hall open suddenly, letting some of the breeze in. A face he doesn’t know, right near two guards of the fortress. They bear the cross, so they’re clearly from the other side of the war.

“A message from King Baldwin.” The guard explains, eyeing the stranger suspiciously, with a hand on the hilt of his sword, but he’s quickly dismissed by a wave of Saladin’s hand, his dark eyes examining the newcomer closely. “Very well. You, come and have a seat, have a drink. It’s a long ride from Jerusalem. And you, have their horse brought to the stables.” He orders to a servant, who nods and disappears, shutting the doors after herself. There’s silence for a few seconds, but the sultan interrupts it.

“You should stay the night, it’s dangerous to travel at this hour. Now, tell me why you’re here.” He says, sitting down on a Persian carpet and gesturing for them do to the same, watching as a maid serves them tea.

The Leper King is the enemy, yes, but as strong as his ambition lies a sense of respect for the young king of Jerusalem, and thus a need to treat his subordinates with equal respect. And besides, this stranger sparks a sense of curiosity in Saladin, one he can’t put a finger on just yet.