In going over some things I thought I’d add a bit about the distant past to Prussia’s allusions in the first part for de-anoning in the future. And then it turned into an actual prologue type thing. *sighs* So here goes, it can be read first or where it appears on this page thought first would probably be best *smacks self* Thanks to everyone who’s reading and commenting, I’m glad you’re enjoying the story!
Acre, Kingdom of Jerusalem City Outskirts March, 1191
They’d heard that Leopold was coming to relieve their soldiers until France and England arrived. Gilbert Beilschmidt had heard from one of the old knights laying on the straw cot that God was sending them to aid in their holy crusade. Gilbert merely continues to lay on the leeches so they can purge the bad blood. Rosary in hand, he says a prayer as the old man continues to talk about their current position. It’s worse than they had thought. “Leopold?” he scoffs when he finishes. He moves to the bedside of a man with a large gash in his side: maggots this time to eat the dead flesh. “What kind of name is that for a king? What banner does he serve beside the Lord’s? Is he strong like Richard or clever like Phillip?”
“Insolent, whelp,” comes the grumble. He pauses in his ministrations to swat his other patient’s hands away annoyed. His bedside manner isn’t lauded but they know him to be a serious worker. He’d been sent along with the merchants from Lübeck who felt compelled to set up a field hospital here. Gilbert has been chafing ever since he got here, wanting to fight. He isn’t a damn priest; Ludwig had sent him here as part of the crusade so he’d “stop terrorizing the whole court with that damn sword”. He looks down at his child’s hands with a sigh as he rinses them in a bucket of tepid water.
He’d been hoping by now that he’d have changed like some of the others. His brother had been the first, the eldest of them reborn from his deathbed as Bavaria had come to be a margrave. For whatever purpose that God had called them all, the brothers had remained eternal, one by one reborn into majesty. Even Ludwig, the baby, had risen in the year of the lord 962 when Otto was crowned king of what Barbarossa had started calling the Holy Roman Empire.
“Your time will come, brother,” they’d all assured him as the latest had taken up the banner of Mecklenburg last year. The short sword that he set down by the open tent flap calls to him and he takes it up with a cocky grin. “Your stance has improved,” the old man says as he looks over. “And Leopold leads the great Kingdom of Austria so you’d better hold your tongue.” Austria. Oh he definitely knows that name. Ever since Barbarosa had raised that stupid margrave to a dutchy independent of Bavaria to settle that argument- his eldest brother still complained about that- Ludwig never seemed to stop talking about the new guy. He’d spent three years mediating the dispute and all Gilbert could listen to when he returned was “Roderich this” and “Roderich that”. Ludwig said he was related to them on their father’s side and oh how cultured he was and how well he rode, how impressive his stupid falcons were, how he played the harp with a god given grace and dammit if Gilbert had to hear one more thing about that loser he was going to go crazy.
“Pfah! I bet I could lick some loser named Leopold in a fight.” He jabs at an invisible foe. “If they’d let me out there I’d take on a hundred infidels! A thousand!” He ignores the indulgent chuckle as he turns and slashes. The old knight’s one of the few who’s seen him throughout the years never aging. “If they’d let me at Saladin I’d cut him like this!” He turns again and let out a rather manly cry of surprise- Gilbert never screams like a girl- when his strike is caught by the friar’s ladle and the thin soup spills out onto the ground.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory B
A cry goes up from those who’d seen and flushing, Gilbert beats a steady retreat out the tent before Friar Peter can take the ladle to his backside. They’ll take it out of his rations but right now, his rounds finished, he runs through the sand twirling the short blade as if he were the greatest hero ever crowned. In the tunic and breeches, his brown hair and tanned skin blend in almost seamlessly with the desert around him. The sun is warm even as the chill air hits him and he follows the breeze closer to the coast careful to remain behind their lines. If the reports are correct then- He grins wide as he imagines the ships pulling onto the surf in the distance.
He sits and waits from the dunes and low lying brush, imagining the others in the encampment falling all over themselves to welcome even the lowliest of lackeys as they disembark. Gilbert stretches knowing it could be hours before Leopold himself makes an appearance but he’s excited nonetheless. He wonders if the man would turn down a challenge if he threw the gauntlet down. Gilbert sighs, sitting back and watching the sky. He can picture Ludwig’s face if he actually does it. He smiles thinking of how cute his little brother is when he’s embarrassed. His misses his red face and he misses crawling into bed with him when it’s cold and listening to him stammer and go on about propriety. He always lets him in and he always holds him back when the darkness cast shadows on the walls...
Gilbert feels the coolness of a shadow over him now suddenly and is on his feet in an instant when he sees the silhouette on the sand. That heathen with the turban- kefi-something he thought someone had called it once- sometimes creeps around their encampment at night and he’s taken to sleeping with one eye open because of it. He pirouettes quickly, whirling behind the intruder, sword at her throat- Her? Eyes wide, he almost drops it stepping back, face scarlet. The thought of being so familiar with a woman both excites and terrifies him. He swallows, blatantly staring as he looks at her.
She hardly looks any older than him as she stands there nervously staring at the weapon. The first thing he notices is her eyes. They’re the most brilliant violet that he’s ever seen and he swears that he can see the same mountains of Carinthia that spans their lands when he looks into them. The dress she wears is thoroughly impractical for the area, long skirts and sleeves blowing with the desert wind. She tucks an errant strand of long, brown hair behind her ear as she makes a study of him as well. He straightens up automatically making sure that she’s suitably impressed.
He can’t believe that her hair is uncovered, the thick wavy auburn ringlets frame her face, the rest of it pulled back and pinned up. He’s never seen the likes before, even the noble women of the court don’t go about exposing themselves in such a provocative manner- perhaps in France. Her skin is pale like his, but polished and creamy like a porcelain doll’s and he forces his traitorous gaze back to her face not even daring to imagine the under bodice that lies beneath the blue surcoat and shapeless kirtle. He quashes that sinful though immediately, angry with himself and angry with her for causing it.
“Are you crazy?” he yells as he lowers the sword. “What are you doing wandering around out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous, you idiot?!” She glares at him, those eyes glittering like amethyst, and just as hard and her small mouth, small beauty mark dotting the corner turns downward. “I’m sorry I find it hard to understand the barking of dog.” Her voice isn’t as high pitched as he would’ve thought but it’s just as snooty. She draws herself up still standing no taller than him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be with his highness.” She storms past him headed further into the desert. “Hey! That’s the wrong way, stupid!” he calls running after her. She seems disinclined to stop and he reluctantly grabs her hand. Her palm is warm and soft and as soon as she stops he let go. She looks away with a harsh breath crossing her arms. “Well… anywhere away from a rude little child such as yourself is better than here.”
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory C
He glares annoyed that a woman would dare talk to him like that. Silly noblewoman- what’s she even doing here? “Fine, get yourself lost then. See if I care!” He huffs and starts to walk away slowing down after a few steps. Even if she is a complete harpy, he can’t just leave a woman alone in the desert especially during a time of war. What sort of knight would he be then? Gilbert swears to himself that when he’s a powerful empire he’ll never humble himself like this again. She seems bound and determined to go the wrong way and he sighs and catches up to her. “Alright, alright look.” He looks almost pained as he forces out the rest in a halfway civil tone. “I’ll take you back to the encampment, m-milady.”
She looks at him as if she hadn’t expected any differently. “Thank you, good sir,” she answers demurely still managing that condescension at the same time. She offers him a hand, lifting the heavy skirts with the other to walk easier through the sand. The pointed shoes are likewise a thoroughly ridiculous indulgence. “If you will be so kind…” He takes her hand and looks away quickly before catching sight of her ankles and sinning even further. “Ttch. You really oughta be more careful.” He pulls her along and doesn’t reply when he hears her hiss “slow down, you savage.” Even so, he lessens his strides. “It’s dangerous here, y’know? This ain’t a little royal ball.”Again, he wonders what she’s doing here. None of the other soldiers had brought their wives or their daughters she’s no merchant’s family either. “It’s nothing I wasn’t born to handle,” she says cryptically and before he can ask her what on earth a girl who can’t be any older than ten would mean by that, she trips.
They both end up rolling down the dune landing in a heap and Gilbert just barely bites his tongue to hold back the string of curses as they land in a tangle at the bottom. Stupid clumsy girl! He spits sand out of his mouth and stands back up. He’s sore as he turns around and is about to yell when he sees her pushing herself to her knees looking down. She stops, her fists balled up in her skirts and her face is pink. She trembles and he prays she doesn’t start crying because he never knows what to do in a situation like that. He crouches down in front of her.
“H-hey look- calm down, okay? It happens to everyone. Okay not me ‘cause I’m way too awesome and coordinated but...” he trails off as she slowly she gets to her feet brushing at her skirt. She’s silent and isn’t looking at him. “I do that a lot,” she says quietly. He snorts. “So what? You’re a girl, who cares?” She smiles at that but it looks sad. “Of course. Yes. I am a female.” The words sound rehearsed like a litany or a prayer but he doesn’t pay much attention. “It’s okay for me to need help when I’m like this...” her voice falls to a whisper as she trails off. “Besides, that’s what guys like me are here for: to pick up women when they fall down and to fight for God!” She sighs and looks towards the harbor in the distance wistfully. “I wish I could fight.”
“Pah! You?” he looks her up and down again, this time with a warrior’s eye. “If you could even hold a sword I’d be surprised.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave that to warriors like me, right?” “But I can be strong without raising a sword,” she seems to say mostly to herself as she starts walking. There’s something about the melancholy surrounding her that pulls at him and he guides her as they walk back towards the encampment. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he answers decisively. “The strong are the conquerers. The warriors with God on our side.” He slashes dramatically at the air. “What’s stronger than that?” “Christ, our savior was the strongest and bravest crusader ever to live without so much as raising a sword,” she retorts as if it’s an argument she’s made a thousand times before.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory D
She continues to walk and he’s silent and contemplative at the words because he surely would never blaspheme and say otherwise. Gilbert resheathes the sword and puts a hand on her shoulder as the harbor comes into view. “Hey don’t go doing anything dumb. If you need a sword... I’ll be it. I’m a helluva lot stronger than any man here,” he boasts. She blinks at him and looks away as if she’ll be angry with him again and just what on earth is her damn problem? “D-don’t make such thoughtless declarations like that. You’re nothing but a child and if you even live to see the next century I’ll be surprised.” “Hah! Just you wait ‘princess’,” he states with a cocksure grin. “Ten years- ten thousand, it’s doesn’t matter. I’ll be the greatest legend the world’s ever seen.” Sighting the ships at the harbor, she breaks away from him with a haughty laugh. “If that day ever comes sir knight, I’ll be waiting!” As he watches her leave he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.
Still thinking of her, he picks up his practice drills again against an unseen foe losing track of time. When he finally hears the introducing fanfare and sees Leopold’s entourage parade themselves through the encampment it’s from a distance. He thinks he spots sees the little sissy Ludwig seemed so enamored with seated on a white horse next to the duke. The small figure, clad in ceremonial armor- anything that gaudy and blinding couldn’t possibly be functional- sword strapped to his side looks no older than Gilbert himself. He sits straight backed and rigid and even from a distance, he exudes an arrogance that annoys him. Stupid girly loser thinking he’s better than everyone else. Bet I could knock him down a peg. He can’t see him clearly but he’s resolves in that moment that he’s going to do exactly that.
Notes:
Acre during this time was under siege during the third crusade. The Teutonic Knights were founded at this time at a field hospital- the one where Gilbert is now.
Leopold V was the duke of Austria during the time of the Third crusade. After the siege was won, Leopold’s flag was raised along with Phillip’s and Richard’s. Richard removed Leopold’s flag however and Leopold, furious left for home.
Richard I and Phillip II were the kings of England and France respectively during this time period.
Lübeck was an imperial city in what was the Holy Roman Empire. Merchants from Lübeck and Bremen were the ones to travel to Acre and set up the field hospital which eventually created the Teutonic Knights.
Otto I was the first king of what would later be known as the Holy Roman Empire. In this story Germany and HRE are one in the same but this is a bit of my own headcannon on how they became nations.
Barbarossa “Red Beard” in italian AKA Frederick I was Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire from 1155-1190
Saladin AKA Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb was proclaimed Sultan of Egypt and Syria and led the muslim resistance against the crusaders from the 3rd crusade.
If anyone more learned than me in anything in the story has any corrections, definitely let me know!
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Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory A
(Anonymous) 2010-10-08 05:56 am (UTC)(link)Acre, Kingdom of Jerusalem
City Outskirts
March, 1191
They’d heard that Leopold was coming to relieve their soldiers until France and England arrived. Gilbert Beilschmidt had heard from one of the old knights laying on the straw cot that God was sending them to aid in their holy crusade. Gilbert merely continues to lay on the leeches so they can purge the bad blood. Rosary in hand, he says a prayer as the old man continues to talk about their current position. It’s worse than they had thought.
“Leopold?” he scoffs when he finishes. He moves to the bedside of a man with a large gash in his side: maggots this time to eat the dead flesh. “What kind of name is that for a king? What banner does he serve beside the Lord’s? Is he strong like Richard or clever like Phillip?”
“Insolent, whelp,” comes the grumble. He pauses in his ministrations to swat his other patient’s hands away annoyed. His bedside manner isn’t lauded but they know him to be a serious worker. He’d been sent along with the merchants from Lübeck who felt compelled to set up a field hospital here. Gilbert has been chafing ever since he got here, wanting to fight. He isn’t a damn priest; Ludwig had sent him here as part of the crusade so he’d “stop terrorizing the whole court with that damn sword”. He looks down at his child’s hands with a sigh as he rinses them in a bucket of tepid water.
He’d been hoping by now that he’d have changed like some of the others. His brother had been the first, the eldest of them reborn from his deathbed as Bavaria had come to be a margrave. For whatever purpose that God had called them all, the brothers had remained eternal, one by one reborn into majesty. Even Ludwig, the baby, had risen in the year of the lord 962 when Otto was crowned king of what Barbarossa had started calling the Holy Roman Empire.
“Your time will come, brother,” they’d all assured him as the latest had taken up the banner of Mecklenburg last year. The short sword that he set down by the open tent flap calls to him and he takes it up with a cocky grin.
“Your stance has improved,” the old man says as he looks over. “And Leopold leads the great Kingdom of Austria so you’d better hold your tongue.” Austria. Oh he definitely knows that name. Ever since Barbarosa had raised that stupid margrave to a dutchy independent of Bavaria to settle that argument- his eldest brother still complained about that- Ludwig never seemed to stop talking about the new guy. He’d spent three years mediating the dispute and all Gilbert could listen to when he returned was “Roderich this” and “Roderich that”. Ludwig said he was related to them on their father’s side and oh how cultured he was and how well he rode, how impressive his stupid falcons were, how he played the harp with a god given grace and dammit if Gilbert had to hear one more thing about that loser he was going to go crazy.
“Pfah! I bet I could lick some loser named Leopold in a fight.” He jabs at an invisible foe. “If they’d let me out there I’d take on a hundred infidels! A thousand!” He ignores the indulgent chuckle as he turns and slashes. The old knight’s one of the few who’s seen him throughout the years never aging. “If they’d let me at Saladin I’d cut him like this!” He turns again and let out a rather manly cry of surprise- Gilbert never screams like a girl- when his strike is caught by the friar’s ladle and the thin soup spills out onto the ground.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory B
(Anonymous) 2010-10-08 05:58 am (UTC)(link)He sits and waits from the dunes and low lying brush, imagining the others in the encampment falling all over themselves to welcome even the lowliest of lackeys as they disembark. Gilbert stretches knowing it could be hours before Leopold himself makes an appearance but he’s excited nonetheless. He wonders if the man would turn down a challenge if he threw the gauntlet down. Gilbert sighs, sitting back and watching the sky. He can picture Ludwig’s face if he actually does it. He smiles thinking of how cute his little brother is when he’s embarrassed. His misses his red face and he misses crawling into bed with him when it’s cold and listening to him stammer and go on about propriety. He always lets him in and he always holds him back when the darkness cast shadows on the walls...
Gilbert feels the coolness of a shadow over him now suddenly and is on his feet in an instant when he sees the silhouette on the sand. That heathen with the turban- kefi-something he thought someone had called it once- sometimes creeps around their encampment at night and he’s taken to sleeping with one eye open because of it. He pirouettes quickly, whirling behind the intruder, sword at her throat- Her? Eyes wide, he almost drops it stepping back, face scarlet. The thought of being so familiar with a woman both excites and terrifies him. He swallows, blatantly staring as he looks at her.
She hardly looks any older than him as she stands there nervously staring at the weapon. The first thing he notices is her eyes. They’re the most brilliant violet that he’s ever seen and he swears that he can see the same mountains of Carinthia that spans their lands when he looks into them. The dress she wears is thoroughly impractical for the area, long skirts and sleeves blowing with the desert wind. She tucks an errant strand of long, brown hair behind her ear as she makes a study of him as well. He straightens up automatically making sure that she’s suitably impressed.
He can’t believe that her hair is uncovered, the thick wavy auburn ringlets frame her face, the rest of it pulled back and pinned up. He’s never seen the likes before, even the noble women of the court don’t go about exposing themselves in such a provocative manner- perhaps in France. Her skin is pale like his, but polished and creamy like a porcelain doll’s and he forces his traitorous gaze back to her face not even daring to imagine the under bodice that lies beneath the blue surcoat and shapeless kirtle. He quashes that sinful though immediately, angry with himself and angry with her for causing it.
“Are you crazy?” he yells as he lowers the sword. “What are you doing wandering around out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous, you idiot?!” She glares at him, those eyes glittering like amethyst, and just as hard and her small mouth, small beauty mark dotting the corner turns downward.
“I’m sorry I find it hard to understand the barking of dog.” Her voice isn’t as high pitched as he would’ve thought but it’s just as snooty. She draws herself up still standing no taller than him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be with his highness.” She storms past him headed further into the desert.
“Hey! That’s the wrong way, stupid!” he calls running after her. She seems disinclined to stop and he reluctantly grabs her hand. Her palm is warm and soft and as soon as she stops he let go. She looks away with a harsh breath crossing her arms.
“Well… anywhere away from a rude little child such as yourself is better than here.”
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory C
(Anonymous) 2010-10-08 06:00 am (UTC)(link)“Fine, get yourself lost then. See if I care!” He huffs and starts to walk away slowing down after a few steps. Even if she is a complete harpy, he can’t just leave a woman alone in the desert especially during a time of war. What sort of knight would he be then? Gilbert swears to himself that when he’s a powerful empire he’ll never humble himself like this again. She seems bound and determined to go the wrong way and he sighs and catches up to her. “Alright, alright look.” He looks almost pained as he forces out the rest in a halfway civil tone. “I’ll take you back to the encampment, m-milady.”
She looks at him as if she hadn’t expected any differently.
“Thank you, good sir,” she answers demurely still managing that condescension at the same time. She offers him a hand, lifting the heavy skirts with the other to walk easier through the sand. The pointed shoes are likewise a thoroughly ridiculous indulgence. “If you will be so kind…” He takes her hand and looks away quickly before catching sight of her ankles and sinning even further.
“Ttch. You really oughta be more careful.” He pulls her along and doesn’t reply when he hears her hiss “slow down, you savage.” Even so, he lessens his strides.
“It’s dangerous here, y’know? This ain’t a little royal ball.”Again, he wonders what she’s doing here. None of the other soldiers had brought their wives or their daughters she’s no merchant’s family either.
“It’s nothing I wasn’t born to handle,” she says cryptically and before he can ask her what on earth a girl who can’t be any older than ten would mean by that, she trips.
They both end up rolling down the dune landing in a heap and Gilbert just barely bites his tongue to hold back the string of curses as they land in a tangle at the bottom. Stupid clumsy girl! He spits sand out of his mouth and stands back up. He’s sore as he turns around and is about to yell when he sees her pushing herself to her knees looking down. She stops, her fists balled up in her skirts and her face is pink. She trembles and he prays she doesn’t start crying because he never knows what to do in a situation like that. He crouches down in front of her.
“H-hey look- calm down, okay? It happens to everyone. Okay not me ‘cause I’m way too awesome and coordinated but...” he trails off as she slowly she gets to her feet brushing at her skirt. She’s silent and isn’t looking at him.
“I do that a lot,” she says quietly. He snorts.
“So what? You’re a girl, who cares?” She smiles at that but it looks sad.
“Of course. Yes. I am a female.” The words sound rehearsed like a litany or a prayer but he doesn’t pay much attention. “It’s okay for me to need help when I’m like this...” her voice falls to a whisper as she trails off.
“Besides, that’s what guys like me are here for: to pick up women when they fall down and to fight for God!” She sighs and looks towards the harbor in the distance wistfully.
“I wish I could fight.”
“Pah! You?” he looks her up and down again, this time with a warrior’s eye. “If you could even hold a sword I’d be surprised.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave that to warriors like me, right?”
“But I can be strong without raising a sword,” she seems to say mostly to herself as she starts walking. There’s something about the melancholy surrounding her that pulls at him and he guides her as they walk back towards the encampment.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he answers decisively. “The strong are the conquerers. The warriors with God on our side.” He slashes dramatically at the air. “What’s stronger than that?”
“Christ, our savior was the strongest and bravest crusader ever to live without so much as raising a sword,” she retorts as if it’s an argument she’s made a thousand times before.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] prologue/sidestory D
(Anonymous) 2010-10-08 06:02 am (UTC)(link)“Hey don’t go doing anything dumb. If you need a sword... I’ll be it. I’m a helluva lot stronger than any man here,” he boasts. She blinks at him and looks away as if she’ll be angry with him again and just what on earth is her damn problem?
“D-don’t make such thoughtless declarations like that. You’re nothing but a child and if you even live to see the next century I’ll be surprised.”
“Hah! Just you wait ‘princess’,” he states with a cocksure grin. “Ten years- ten thousand, it’s doesn’t matter. I’ll be the greatest legend the world’s ever seen.” Sighting the ships at the harbor, she breaks away from him with a haughty laugh.
“If that day ever comes sir knight, I’ll be waiting!” As he watches her leave he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.
Still thinking of her, he picks up his practice drills again against an unseen foe losing track of time. When he finally hears the introducing fanfare and sees Leopold’s entourage parade themselves through the encampment it’s from a distance. He thinks he spots sees the little sissy Ludwig seemed so enamored with seated on a white horse next to the duke. The small figure, clad in ceremonial armor- anything that gaudy and blinding couldn’t possibly be functional- sword strapped to his side looks no older than Gilbert himself. He sits straight backed and rigid and even from a distance, he exudes an arrogance that annoys him. Stupid girly loser thinking he’s better than everyone else. Bet I could knock him down a peg. He can’t see him clearly but he’s resolves in that moment that he’s going to do exactly that.
Notes:
Acre during this time was under siege during the third crusade. The Teutonic Knights were founded at this time at a field hospital- the one where Gilbert is now.
Leopold V was the duke of Austria during the time of the Third crusade. After the siege was won, Leopold’s flag was raised along with Phillip’s and Richard’s. Richard removed Leopold’s flag however and Leopold, furious left for home.
Richard I and Phillip II were the kings of England and France respectively during this time period.
Lübeck was an imperial city in what was the Holy Roman Empire. Merchants from Lübeck and Bremen were the ones to travel to Acre and set up the field hospital which eventually created the Teutonic Knights.
Otto I was the first king of what would later be known as the Holy Roman Empire. In this story Germany and HRE are one in the same but this is a bit of my own headcannon on how they became nations.
Barbarossa “Red Beard” in italian AKA Frederick I was Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire from 1155-1190
Saladin AKA Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb was proclaimed Sultan of Egypt and Syria and led the muslim resistance against the crusaders from the 3rd crusade.
If anyone more learned than me in anything in the story has any corrections, definitely let me know!