In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, 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.

To my reviewers: Thank you, I am glad you like the story. There is only one more chapter left after this one...

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The Heart of a King

Writing had become an addiction for the young Queen. Her trembling hands quieted whenever they held a quill and the painful knot in her chest loosened somewhat.

The parchment offered no hollow sympathy, no condescending remarks, hidden behind courteous phrases she had heard innumerable times… the parchment did not judge her. It only listened as she poured her heart, her aching soul, into the ink and tried, for but a few moments, to escape the harsh reality of looming tragedy.

Still, every so often she would look up at the door, as she expected a servant to burst in any second, bearing dire news…

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Is idleness a sin? Is it a sin to withhold a skilled leader from aiding his country out of concern for his own well-being?

Perhaps it is. Perhaps the situation I now find myself in is God's punishment, for I often stopped visitors and petitioners from being received by the King, redirecting them to the Count of Tripoli or my husband's mother, Lady Agnes, for I feared the day when he would decide to strip Guy de Lusignan of his regency, as I knew he would someday.

He had already been close when Guy refused to trade the command over Jerusalem, which Baudouin still held, for the city of Tyre, where the climate was milder and more suitable for his condition.

But I had managed to pacify him once more and so things had quieted down.

Soon news came in that Salah-ad-Din would be attacking in the near future, but, although Baudouin heard about it as well and warned Guy, no actions were taken.

A joyous event soon followed these dire news, however, as little Isabelle, Baudouin's eleven year old half-sister, was to be married to young Humphrey de Toron, a handsome, kind, if slightly feminine man of seventeen, whom she absolutely adored.

Baudouin was happy for her, but neither of us attened, of course, as the marriage was supposed to take place at Kerak, to which the bridegroom was heir.

Guy went and we did not expect anything out of the ordinary, until a dusty, tired messenger barged into the King's room, with a painful injury on his left arm and bringing bad news indeed: Saracen forces were besieging the castle of Kerak.

One of Baudouin's first concerns was Isabelle, but the messenger assured us that the tower in which the young couple was housed was the only section of the fortress which was not under attack, a show of gratitude from Salah-ad-Din, since Stephanie, Humphrey's mother, had sent a portion of the wedding feast out to the Saracen leader.

Baudouin was immediately alert and ready to take action. I escorted the tired man to the physicians myself.

I had only just gone for a few moments, but when I returned, I found Baudouin sitting up and giving orders, while Anselm dressed him and, apparently, prepared him to leave.

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"… and Guy is no longer bailli. I will rule again, let that be made public. Now gather my officers, rally the men. We leave as soon as humanly possible."

Queen Joana stood in the doorway and heard her husband's words.

She entered then and cleared her throat so that he'd know she was there.

He cast a quick, unfocused glance at her before ordering, "Anselm, have them prepare a litter."

The servant hurried off and Joana was alone with Baudouin.

"So, you really mean to go, do you?" she asked in forced calm.

"Yes," he replied simply. "I can lead this army better than anyone else."

Joana felt the fabric tear as she twisted her hands into her veil.

"If you go…," her voice was trembling now, "if you go, you will die, do you know that?"

He gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I've known that for a long time, love, and I have dealt with it. What does it matter if I go or not?"

He gave a start at the sudden sound of breaking pottery as Joana, in a sudden outburst of anger, had smashed a vase.

"You'll die SOONER," she yelled, "that's why it matters! You'll be leaving me behind, I don't want you to go!"

"I have to," he replied forcefully, his failing eyes looking just a little past her face.

"But I…" she started again, but he cut her off.

"Enough!"

He did not raise his voice, he did not sound angry, yet his tone was final.

"We have had this discussion before, my lady. In a situation like this we are not…"

"…not man and wife but king and queen, yes, I know. I remember everything you've ever said to me about our 'situation'."

The silence was like a heavy veil and suddenly Joana felt cold.

"Fine," she said, her tone one of defeat, "Go. I will do as I've always done since you became King: I will wait and I will pray for your safe return and for a few weeks of peace before the next disaster strikes."

He shrugged and felt for his crutch. "When has this country ever been at peace?"

"I was not talking about the country, my lord, I meant you and me. But perhaps the question holds true there also. When have we ever had peace? When have I ever been all you needed?"

She did not wait for his answer. They both felt so very helpless in that moment. Baudouin wanted to call her back and say something to ease her pain, yet he knew not what.

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And so he went, though for the first time, he did not bid me goodbye before going.

As usual during times of battle, rumours swept the city like a plague.

But this time, I refused to listen to them. I spent my time praying until my knees were sore and allowed no company but Bietris, my maidservant.

Bietris was a shy and gentle girl with a terrible stutter she just could not grow out of. Her halting speech only added to her appeal, though, as it made her look even more frail and innocent.

In my happier days, I would have liked to see a romance develop between her and Anselm, but as my own heart grew heavier and more lonely, I could not stand to see happy couples anywhere. Although I hated myself for it, it pained me to see even Eschive and Raymond together, although I had known them all my life.

So, in my self-chosen exile, my life consisted only of the chapel and my own room.

The fever I suddenly had caught me therefore completely unawares.

I hardly remember anything but Bietris suddenly looking at me with an expression of concern, then my knees gave way and I only woke several days later.

The physician let me know that I had been in a delirium for days.

They had expected me to call out for my mother, but I never did. 'Baudouin' had been the only word to leave me lips.

For several days, they thought me too weak to even bear the happiest of news, so I lay in my silken sheets, day in, day out, the only view that of my tidy room and a few flowers through the window.

Before, I had chosen to be cut off from the world. Now that I was, I longed to hear anything from the outside.

Finally, they let me get up again and take short walks around my room…

It should be another two months, though, before they let me see Baudouin. I had hoped in vain that he would find a way to pay me a visit. His health was too frail, he was not allowed to come close to an ill person.

But when we were alone again, for the first time after he had left, he had put aside the mask and wrapped his arms around me . He could no longer feel anything but my hand in his hair, but he heard my breath next to his ear and a smile curled his distorted lips upward.

I am not sure what it was he whispered into my hair that day, but I am almost certain that it was "forgive me."

I had indeed forgiven him, for these two months without him had taught me that he was too important for the kingdom to be hidden away in the shadow of his wife.

Our own wishes lost importance next to the needs of the country, and simply because he knew how to act as King whereas I did not, this did not mean that he loved me any less than I loved him.

This newfound attitude and confidence made my life much happier for the next few months.

My beloved's condition grew worse, but there was no outward influence, and he bore it all with courage and faith in God, so how could I do any less?

Still, the relative peace was not to endure. In the autumn after the marriage at Kerak, Salah-ad-Din again prepared to besiege that selfsame fortress.

There was no need for me to ask why Baudouin summoned me to his chambers the day after the news had come in.

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The King took a deep, shuddering breath and enjoyed the soft scent of lavender emanating from his wife's hair.

"So, my love, you see… it has come as I had predicted…" He waited for her to reply, but only silence answered him. "Joana, you know I have to go!"

There was a rustle of fabric as she rose from the divan.

"Of course I know," her soft, dark voice answered him. "And I will not even try to keep you this time."

He could hear the sad smile in her voice, as it was mirrored on his face.

"Don't worry, love," he replied, "I think this will be the second to last time we say goodbye to each other."

There was no need for her to ask what he meant.

The army left hours later, the King's litter in the front lines as they rode out to meet the Saracens.

There was no long fight. Salah-ad-Din retreated soon after the army from the Holy City had joined in the battle and it was not long before Joana saw Baudouin again.

Still, he had changed a lot.

As he lay in the litter, she only saw his closed eyes and it took her a moment of frantic searching in a stroke of panic until she saw his chest rising and falling.

Then she heard his breath, raspy and laboured. The journey had drained him and it seemed like a couple of his ribs were broken, due to the relentless bumps and jolts he had received in the litter.

When they put him to bed, it was clear to all those present, that he would never rise again.

And although Baudouin struggled against that judgement for the first few months, by the time winter had come and the new year was to begin, he, too, had accepted him.

He would die. Soon. And much sooner than he or Joana had ever feared.

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He announced his will to an assembly of barons early in the new year, naming little Baudouinet, Sybille's son, as his heir and proclaiming Raymond his regent.

As I watched him prepare for his imminent death, I began to see how dependant I was on him.

There is no life for me after him. If it weren't a hell worthy sin, I would not hesitate to turn a dagger against myself to follow him in death sooner than nature would have it.

The only thing staying my hand is the knowledge that I would burn in hell for all eternity without ever having the chance to see him again. It is heaven I must strive to gain entrance to, for there is no doubt in my mind that he will be waiting there for me after his death.

For the moment, though, I know he is waiting for me in the next room. He has already said his farewells to his trusted friends, as I've heard, and on my way to my room I found Anselm huddled in a corner, his eyes flowing over with tears.

I will head back to Baudouin's side shortly. His last moments are to be mine alone, so he said.

It seems so unreal to me. I cannot believe that my love, my life, the man who was the reason behind every time I opened my eyes in the morning, will be gone before the night is over. I cannot believe that in a few hours time, my King, my Baudouin, will be dead.

The tip of the quill went through the parchment and broke. Joana did not even notice.

She rose, donned her veil and turned to leave. On the way out the door, she passed her servant Bietris. The girl's huge blue eyes were swimming in tears, but Joana's eyes were strangely dry.

Her heartbeat was the only sound in her ears, like the beating of a drum, calling her to a war she was destined to lose.

Her footsteps echoed in the deserted hallways.

Once she came nearer to the King's chambers, she saw some more people, although they, too, almost escaped her notice.

Balian d'Ibelin was leaning against a wall, his eyes closed.

Raymond de Tripoli sat on a chair, his head resting on his wife's shoulder and silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

A servant opened the door for her and she entered the room, which now had the atmosphere of a chapel after sunset.

The Queen sat down on the edge of the King's bed and ordered a servant tonelessly, "Draw the curtains!"

The last thing visible was her taking King Baudouin's bandaged, clawed and distorted hand in both of hers.

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Author's note: Opinions are appreciated. The next/last chapter will be the Epilogue.