In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM, LadyLorca and Zan189 who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

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The Beginning of the End

She had told him stories, held his hand for her own comfort and stroked his hair for his. She had even sung to him a little, although her voice had become weak over the years and trembled when she tried to hit the higher notes.

Then they had fallen asleep together, the rhythm of his wheezing but steady breathing gently lulling her to sleep.

She was awoken a while later by Balian d'Ibelin, who had placed a hand on her shoulder.

"My lady, you should go to bed and get some proper rest. He is fine for the moment and you will be informed the moment his condition changes!"

She looked into his kind and gentle eyes and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Balian, have you ever wished it had been Baudouin's and my child you held in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre while he was being crowned as heir to the throne?"

Balian sighed and pulled her into his arms. Her head rested on his broad shoulder and one of his calloused hands patted her hair awkwardly.

"Of course I wished that, my lady. I also wish King Baudouin could rule another fifty years. But some things are not to be." She nodded weakly against his shoulder.

"Come, my Queen," he offered, "I will walk you to your chambers."

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Sleep did not come to her again. The constant waiting for a change in Baudouin was grating on her nerves, yet she was afraid of anything happening, very afraid, since any change would be for the worse.

Soon, she found herself once more at her desk…

After a successful campaign against Salah-ad-Din, Baudouin decided to spend Christmas at Tyre. He was in good spirits although Sybille and Guy, to whom she'd been married for three years by then, joined us in Nazareth and then moved with us to Tyre.

Baudouin slowly warmed up to his brother-in-law and Sybille and I got along better as well, in our similar roles as loyal wives.

Raymond de Tripoli came with his wife Lady Eschive, which delighted us both.

My husband was planning a new campaign in Spring and discussed this with his cousin.

One evening, however, he began to look weakened, his eyes unnaturally bright.

He was on his way back to his chambers when he collapsed….

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Baudouin and Raymond were walking along the garden path, avidly discussing horses. Apparently, Raymond said something funny in his typical dry humour, for the King laughed heartily, leaning on his cousin with one arm and patting his shoulder with the other.

He was limping and his bandaged hands looked small next to Raymond's calloused fists, but the Count of Tripoli was very gentle with his younger cousin, without giving him the impression of considering him invalid.

Joana and Eschive were walking a short distance behind there husbands. Suddenly, Baudouin stumbled. Raymond caught his arm and steadied him.

Ignoring protocol for a moment, he simply took of his cousin's mask and felt his forehead.

"You have a fever, my lord," he said grimly, but the King brushed away his hand and took back the mask.

"I will be fine," he said dismissively, placing the silver object back on his face.

A few steps further, however, he stumbled again. This time, Raymond could not catch him in time.

He fell, tried to catch himself, but his weakened arms could not hold his weight.

He groaned as Raymond and Joana helped him up.

"I'm… not so well," he admitted.

"I can see that," the Count of Tripoli growled and simply scooped the young man into his arms as if Baudouin weighed hardly anything.

Then he told Eschive to send a servant to look for the physician and followed Joana hurriedly to the King's bedroom.

Passing servants shot them worried and confused glances as Joana opened the door for Raymond.

She then drew back the covers of the King's bed and Raymond put him down gently.

"The physicians will be here shortly, your highness," he said softly.

Baudouin made a weak, dismissive gesture. "charlatans…"

The Queen called Anselm, the King's manservant and ordered quietly, "Bring me a bowl of cold water and a soft cloth."

"Yes, your highness," Anselm replied, bowed and left.

He returned swiftly, set the items she had asked for onto a low table next to the bed and retreated.

Raymond left as well, mentioning that he was going to look for the physicians himself.

Joana lifted the mask off Baudouin's face and caressed his scarred cheek gently.

Lepers could not sweat through the affected parts of their skin, so Joana dipped the cloth into the water and gently wiped his forehead, cheeks and neck.

He sighed.

"Do not burden yourself with my care, love," he protested weakly.

"Shh, I would not leave you, my lord, you know that."

He smiled and another sigh came from his deformed lips.

"I will be fine in a few days, you'll see!"

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He was not fine, quite the contrary. The fever rose rapidly and the physicians were unable to get it down.

Three days after he had first collapsed, Baudouin became delirious. He cried, called for his father, his sister, me.

I tried to be strong, I tried. And I managed to keep my composure while I was by his side, but since physician had told me there was nothing they could do and that they were unsure whether he would live or not, I felt recurring surges of panic until the physicians no longer let me see him.

Then he woke from delirium and a day after that I was first allowed to see him. It broke my heart. For days I had waited, my knees were sore from praying, my eyes were tired and worry lines now creased my forehead and had left traces around my mouth.

But to see him again was worse than I had expected.

My maid had prepared me beforehand.

I was dressed in a gown of burgundy silk with wide flowing sleeves, my hair had been braided with golden thread, yet nothing could erase the tiredness from my face.

Not that it mattered. The fever had taken a most horrible toll.

Baudouin had gone partially blind.

He could distinguish strong light and shadow, some strong colours, but even that would fade.

His hands, now horribly contorted and several fingers on each hand missing, would never wield a sword again, nor, so Raymond guessed darkly, the power of a King.

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"I wish I had know I would go blind," Baudouin said wistfully. "I would have looked at you better, memorized every line of your dear face."

Joana smiled down at his disfigured features on the cushions, a cheerless smile, yet it was better than tears.

"You said it yourself, my lord," she said bleakly, "we do not choose our path, God does, yet we choose how we walk on it."

"I will not walk much anymore, I'm afraid," he said evenly. "Now, love, be so kind as to put my mask back on my face, for I summoned the Barons. They don't have to see the extent of my illness, I'd rather they remembered me as the King."

The Queen frowned. "What are you saying, my lord? You are not dead, nor are you dying."

"I will make Guy de Lusignan Bailli."

She dropped her wine goblet in shock.

"Why… why make Guy regent, of all people? Why not Balian or your cousin Raymond?"

"Because," he replied tiredly, "when I die, and the physicians say I will before the year is over - no, do not cry now - when I die, Sybille will be Queen and Guy will be crowned as her King. Baudouinet, as dear as my nephew is to me, is too young."

A smile passed over his deformed lips.

"Please, Joana, I need your love and your support, if I am to die in peace."

Silent tears gathered in her eyes as she leant forward and kissed his soft, golden hair.

"Yes, my lord," she assured him, "you'll always have my support, and my love anyway!"

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It happened as he had planned and Guy was made Bailli. He was, of course, ecstatic.
My beloved Baudouin had exhausted himself, though. The fever came back with a fury.

For a week, he walked the narrow line between life and death. I prayed for hours every day, my eyes dry, my lips trembling and muttering the prayers over and over again, my mind constantly on my ailing husband. It was thus that Sybille found me…

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Princess Sybille hurried into the chapel in a swirl of skirts, veils and flying cloth.

"He is awake," she cried, "he is awake and calling for you!"

Joana rose from her knees, stumbled and stood upright again.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice hoarse from praying.

The elated smile faded from Sybille's face. "Alive, and out of danger for the moment!"

She put a painted and heavily bejewelled hand on the Queen's shoulder. "Go to him. I will stay here and pray."

Joana nodded, gathered skirts and walked swiftly out of the chapel.

She crossed a small courtyard and was just about to enter the hallway when a hand caught her arm and spun her around.

She frowned up at Guy de Lusignan. He was a handsome man, tall, broad-shouldered, with soft dark hair and intense green eyes. He wore a condescending smile and bowed a little too late.

"My Queen…," he greeted her smoothly.

"Yes, Guy, how can I help you?" Her voice was polite, yet uninviting.

His eyes hardened.

"I need to demand your support. Your husband knows he is dying and now he has made me Bailli. He is clearly expecting me to become King when he dies and I need you to share that opinion in public."

Joana took a step back.

"First of all," she said quietly, "you do not demand my support, you ask for it, and the decision about that will be up to me entirely. Second of all, my only loyalty is to Jerusalem and to my King. He is alive, and if God is merciful, he will live much longer and one day be able to rule again."

Pity had by then replaced the look of cold calculation on the man's face.

"I had not believed it," he said softly, "but now I see Sybille was right. You really love him. Child, as queen, you could have any man you liked. What do you get from a leper?"

Joana raised her chin proudly.

"Love, which is more than a man like you is capable of!" she replied defiantly and left.

Guy's chuckle followed her down the hallway, along with his call, "Our pure Queen knows nothing about love!"

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I had not foreseen how much I would come to hate Guy in the near future.

I hated his condescending smile, back in Jerusalem, when he caught a glimpse of me feeding Baudouin or saw me walk beside him in the gardens, supporting him on one side and taking care he did not lose his crutch on the other.

I hated seeing him command the men who had once sworn loyalty to my husband.

And more than anything, I hated how Baudouin reacted to idleness. It seemed to pain him more than the effects of his illness. I saw him cringe at the sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards, the whinnying of horses or the footfalls of the knights in the courtyard.

I kept him company as best I could and he never once complained or spoke harshly to me, but he lived for the daily reports by Raymond, Balian or Anselm, his manservant whom he had known since childhood.

At long last, he eased into a slowed-down pace of life.
Alas, it was through the help of his friends, not me.
I have, as of yet, never been able to help him.

A tear fell onto the parchment and smudged the ink. It had been the beginning of the end, this time, that Joana knew for sure.

Guy's time as regent had come to a rather abrupt end, however, during the wedding of Baudouin's little half-sister Isabelle. Joana shuddered at the memory of the first siege of Kerak…

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Author's note: Opinions are appreciated.