In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca who know much more about history than I do and who are being extremly helpful!

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After you shall be endless night…

Sleep had fled her once more. Queen Joana began the new day with dry eyes, a beginning headache and a dull pain in her chest.

The king's condition was growing worse by the hour and there was nothing the physicians could do, so Baron Balian of Ibelin, a good friend to Baudouin, had told her two days before.

Balian, a man of sturdy built and rough-hewn features, who was married to King Amaury's widow Maria Comnena, Baudouin's stepmother, had often been like a father to both her and her husband. After delivering that message, however, he had to tend to a small wound on his forehead, as Lady Joana had hurled a silver vase at him, in a fit of the desperate rage grief often causes. He had long since forgiven her, but as she passed him on the way to King Baudouin's chambers, he could not help but worry for her.

The Queen had lost weight in the past few months and her cheeks had become hollow.

The laughter, that had always seemed to accompany the young woman, had died down and she looked much older than her three-and-twenty years.

When she entered Baudouin's bedchamber, she found the servants walking around on their toes: the King was sleeping.

Careful not to make a sound herself, she walked past the chessboard, the divan and a desk cluttered with parchment towards the curtained bed.

Count Raymond de Tripoli sat on a chair next to the bed, his head in his hand and his eyelids drooping. He jerked awake, though, as Joanna approached.

The curtains of Baudouin's bed had been pulled back and she could see him, or rather, the mask. His deformed, clawed hands, wrapped heavily in bandages, rested on his stomach, the blanket had been pulled up to his shoulders. His hair, which was the colour of ripe wheat with just a hint of copper, lay spread out over the pillow. It had grown quite long and Joanna normally enjoyed brushing it for him.

Now, however she was more concerned with the silver mask. He normally did not wear it while sleeping, and by the way he wheezed with every breath, she could tell that he was not comfortable.

Hardly responding to Count Raymond's respectful greeting, she reached over to undo the strap which held the mask. Before she could reach it, though, one of his hands shot up and latched onto hers with surprising force.

His unseeing eyes opened and he looked around a little, waiting to hear a sound which would tell him whose hand he was holding.

"My lord, it's Joanna," she said and tried to pry his fingers off of her wrist. He was no longer able to sense touch, so he had no idea that by now his grasp was one of bruising strength.

"My lady," he rasped, as his voice had become hoarse in the past couple of years, "I do not think we are alone!"

She had finally succeeded in undoing his hold on her and now held his contorted hand loosely in hers.

A frown creased her forehead, as she observed the other occupants of the room.

"No, sire, but there is only the Count of Tripoli here, and your most trusted servants. None other."

"Still." He turned his head away. "I think I prefer it this way. I was not going to sleep away the whole day."

Joana bit her bottom lip. Without another word, she sat down at his bedside and began stroking his hair, as the only part of his body still sensible to touch was his scalp.

A tightening pain was in her chest.

Too quietly for anyone to hear she whispered, "What is to become of us? Of me? After you shall be endless night…"

Her fingers continued to caress his hair.

He sighed contentedly, murmured, "my love," and soon fell asleep again.

Joanna closed her eyes, hot tears leaking from under her eyelids. She knew why he acted like that: he did not want her to see him weak or cause her worry.

Raymond seemed to agree with her. Heaving a great sigh, he said, "He is the bravest man I've ever known. Whatever will we do without him!"

Joanna rose, gently laid Baudouin's hand down again and motioned for Raymond to follow her, so they could talk without fear of awakening him.

"What we should do…?" she replied, "I doubt I shall do anything. He is… my life. There is nothing after him!"

Raymond noticed the despair in her voice and stopped walking. His tall frame was blocking a ray of sunlight from a window and the play of light and shadow made his greying hair look darker and the scar on the right side of his face, along with the wrinkles his over forty years of life had caused fade into shadow.

He looked younger, yet as he heard the despair in the Queen's voice, which seemed to be mirrored by many, he felt older than ever.

Baudouin's death could well spell the doom of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, especially if its leaders lost all hope.

So, although he was aware that he was acting out of order, he grasped the Queen's shoulder to emphasise his point.

"My Lady Joanna," he implored, "you must not talk like this. The people know you and trust you. Right now, they need your help, your support. You are their Queen!"

Joanna pushed him away, her eyes burning with desperate rage.

"I never asked to be Queen!" she yelled, her voice breaking. "Never once did I claim that I was as strong of character as Baudouin! I can't be the crutch this kingdom leans on after him, I can't hold it. I am nothing but a ghost in his shadow, that's all I ever wanted to be. It was my only happiness, Raymond, to be close to him, to be the one he rested with after a hard day or the one he listened to when merry stories were told, ones that did not deal with politics and intrigue. I am a simple woman, who lives for the one she loves. Look elsewhere for the strong queen you need."

She pulled the black veil in front of her face. Along with her grey silk robes, it made her look like a shadow as she walked back to her rooms.

Raymond stood there, stunned. The servant had to call his name twice before he turned around.

"My Lord of Tripoli! His highness King Baudouin requests your presence."

The Count nodded once before hasting back to his liege lord's bedside.

"Your highness," he greeted and knelt. Baudouin, having guessed the gesture, waved one of his bandaged hands and his cousin rose.

"That was… my wife crying, out there, wasn't it?" he asked slowly, his sightless gaze turned upward.

"She is… concerned," Raymond responded awkwardly.

The King made a strange sound that he recognized after a moment as laughter.

"Concerned. I know her better than that. She does not simply lose control, good cousin."

He sighed.

"'tis what pains me most, to know that she will be alone after I pass."

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Joanna had returned to her chambers and sent all her servants away.

Silence surrounded her like a comforting blanket and she took a deep breath.

She would return to Baudouin's bedside, as soon as she had calmed down somewhat.

As she passed her silver mirror on the way to her small writing desk, however, she gave a start and stopped to examine herself.

Joanna had never been beautiful. Her nose was small and round, her lips rather thin. Her jet-black hair was thick, but very straight and she could not do anything with it but wear it down, as it was too heavy otherwise and would give her headaches.

She had been a sickly child and so her father had pampered her as much as possible, therefore she used to be a little too round.

Now, however, she looked like she was the one on her deathbed. Her skin was pale with an almost blue-ish hue around her eyelids. The circles under her eyes were almost black and the grief of the past year had left its traces on her forehead and around her mouth.

Her lips trembled again, but she fought back the tears. It had helped to write down her thoughts and feelings, so perhaps she should do so again.

Swiftly, she gathered up her quill, ink and parchment and sat down to write.

Again, her quill hovered, unsure where to begin. The topic was easily found, there was only one thing, one person, who consumed her every thought. Baudouin.

She had been worried for him before, many a-time.

That, she could write about. In November 1177, for instance, when he had gone to aid the besieged city of Ascalon…

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Author's note: Review! The next chapter will deal with how Joanna dealt with her husband fighting at Montgisard. For those of you how don't know what I'm talking about: Worry not, it shall be explained further!