I Can’t Fix Him But I Could Fuck Him.

Hi! I'm not sure if you are currently taking requests, so feel free to ignore mine if you aren't! If you are taking them, however, would you please write something for King Baldwin IV overhearing reader sing and falling further in love with her because of her soft and sweet voice? Upon realizing that he's there, she becomes extremely flustered and apologizes for disrupting his peace and quiet. Thank you!

King Baldwin IV x reader - Sweetest of melodies

A/N: omg it’s been so long since I’ve received a request! I can’t lie, Baldwin is my supreme comfort character, I think I’ll never stop writing fro him because it gives me sooo much joy😩😩😩 I personally like to think of this piece as taking place a few months after Baldwin’s and reader’s wedding, so it could be considered a sequel for my first fic ever. Also, the song mentioned in this piece is a real song from the 12th century called "Can vei la lauzeta" (in English,"When I see the lark") by Bernart de Ventadorn, and the painting is "Lovers in a garden" by Charles Edward Perugini!!

Oh btw!! I’m working on a long ass series about him, based off of a prompt by @phantomsghoulette  which I absolutely LOVED. Sooo all the KoH fans stay tuned for future updates🤭

Warning: nothing really, just pure fluff. Maybe you could say that religious innuendos could be something triggering for some people but I don’t know. There might be ONE, SLIGHTLY spicy mention but only if you squint really really hard. Also, keep in mind that the historical accuracy in my fics is rather relative, I try to add some details here and there but I don’t have the knowledge (nor the skills) to write a piece 100% accurate to the real history. Also, reader’s gender is female and uses she/her pronouns!!

Word count: 2918

Someone would say Baldwin's patience could already be put to test by only his illness, which she ruthlessly does not grant him a moment's respite, the eternal enemy of his body and his spirit. But no, to this perpetual torment of his had to be added the perilous duties of a king. And it was certainly not governing his people and lands that sucked what little energy he had left; this duty of his, given by his father and willed by divine design, he had long since embraced.

It was the nobles, the leeches who had drained him of his lifeblood lately. It was their endless demands, the insidious words that hissed behind his back, the languid bows and sleazy gifts designed only to gain some favor from him. Looking around him, he seemed to see only vices and sinners, power-hungry beasts just waiting for his moment of weakness so they could feed on what Baldwin had under his power.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, experiencing for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, to experience for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

And he dreamed of taking you with him, imagined how sweet his life would be if his only concerns were taking care of his health and you, faithful wife, sole blessing in his life battered by such burdens. How he would wish that his days would revolve around you, that his first thought in the morning would be riding by your side through the flourishing meadows, and his last thought in the evening would be caressing your face as you lie slumbering in his arms.

It would have been a blissful fate his, if only Sybilla's husband had not died at the very moment when he would have needed him most. If only his mother had not convinced him that Guido de Lusignan was a good fit for his sister and had continued to seek a new consort for her, perhaps that fate would not have been snatched from him so early. Too late to repent now, for Baldwin would have preferred to die agonizingly on his throne rather than leave power in the hands of that bumptious and arrogant lord, who was noble only in title.

And so he found himself in this sort of hellish limbo, forced into a position that should never be required of a man in his condition, but prevented by his morality from abandoning his reign, impelled by faith in God's greater plan, that his suffering should not be in vain.

And his faith always seemed to strengthen when he had a way to escape the stifling air that characterized the throne room, always packed with knights and crusaders and nobles, when he had a way to retreat to the palace gardens, one of the few verdant places in all of Jerusalem.

With slow, swaying steps, Baldwin strolled slowly among the local palm trees and flower beds from the faraway lands, those where men speak Italian and the more distant ones, those from which his fathers came. Exotic fruits mingled with those more congenial to the French, who out of nostalgia for their lands and fields did what they could to bring the seeds of these plants with them to overseas.

His mind seemed to go out, shifting his attention from the constant buzz of court demands and duties to the chirping of birds perched on the roof, to the eviction of the soft branches that shielded him from the scorching sun. He enjoyed the refreshing air that reigned in that small oasis of greens, which was able to infiltrate the fabric of his white robes, crossing the bandages that covered much of his body and finally reaching his skin, numbed by leprosy. 

To tell the truth, of that refreshing sensation little reached his damaged nerves, if not for those few points that had been spared by the merciless disease, from which departed that unusual shiver that caused him a delicate smile of relief, enjoying the refreshing breeze. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, discovering with satisfied surprise that that light gust was also a harbinger of an intoxicating perfume, a mixture of exotic and familiar.

How funny to think of the concept of "exotic", for an Angevin born and raised in the unknown lands of the east. For him it was exotic French fruit, exotic were the green plains and heavy clothing that brought his allies from the northwest, and equally alien to the snowy mountains and forest beasts that he saw drawn in detail in his childhood books. It was these changes of perspective that stimulated his mind in a myriad of thoughts and reflections, but in a pleasurable way for him, not as exhausting as his daily duties.

His reflections on exotic and local made his mind travel, wandering until he came to a subject very close to him: Muslims and Jews, reflecting well on the landscape in front of him, recognized that he could share with them the same concepts of what is foreign and what they can claim the original belonging. And he could not but reflect on how it must have been for the first inhabitants of Jerusalem to observe the Franks who came as conquerors, and filled their gardens with such foreign plants as those pale warriors who had taken possession of their dwelling... But after all, the French soldiers who were emissaries of God’s will needed something familiar to stabilize them as they fought to reclaim the Promised Land, ut Deus voluit.

But all his brooding over these matters of conquest and submission ended up in the background in his mind, when a colorful scarlet sphere caught his attention. An exquisitely red apple seemed to tempt him from a branch just above his head, beckoning him to be picked and savored by the king, that he might lose himself in the juicy sweetness of that fruit with origins so far removed from the Holy Land. But the king's modesty prevented him from yielding to that temptation, wanting to avoid exposing the advanced state of deterioration in which his mouth was.

And in fact if that temptation had been alive it would have pale in front of something much more captivating, a sound that echoed in the most melodious distance of the song of any nightingale. Baldwin was surprised to think that he had not realized before the melody that inibriated the atmosphere around him, so taken by the tribulations of his mind that he almost missed such an intoxicating song. He did not know what he felt once he arrived in Heaven, if he had ever arrived in spite of the unjust fate in Hell that the evil Saracens wished him. He didn’t know it, but if one ever had to imagine what Heaven sounded like, that song would come to mind.

When I see the lark beating 

Its wings in joy against the rays of the sun 

That it forgets itself and lets itself fall 

Because of the sweetness that comes to its heart

She sang in Occitan, the beautiful one in the distance. The voice of his people, of his lineage, that few in the palace can pronounce after so many years of distance from their homeland in Provence. Paying more attention to the echoing song, he would not even have had to approach it to give a face to that melodic voice: he knew how to recognize his wife’s voice.

Yet it was a new context in which he saw you, new facets of you that he had not yet had a chance to observe. Your voice, sweet as honey, venerable like all your other traits, he had never heard it except in speech, when you were proclaiming orders before your subjects with the authority fit for a queen, or when you laughed at the poems and performances of the court singers, or when you whispered in Baldwin’s ears sweet words, while you lay with bodies merged between the soft silk sheets. Always spoken, but never sung.

Alas! Such great envy then overwhelms me 

Of all those whom I see rejoicing,

But though he didn’t need to approach you to recognize you, the desire to see your face exceeded any of his other needs. As if mesmerized by the sound of a siren, Baldwin was advancing towards you, with steps so slow that it seemed a hunter about to catch a deer in the woods. He wanted nothing more than to hear you sing again, that you continue to bless him with that angelic melody. What worse sin would there be than to interrupt your song, more sacred than a prayer?

His stomach filled with butterflies and turned upside down like the beasts' jugglers, his breath seemed to stop in his throat, depriving him of the breath he no longer needed, as long as he could hear you sing a moment more. And her cheeks warmed, when finally she saw you among the white lilies, more beautiful than divine salvation.

I wonder that my heart, at that moment, 

Does not melt from desire.

Baldwin wondered if you sang with him in mind, if those words of love reflected your own emotional turmoil. 

Oh, if only it were so, and your singing equalled his own words inscribed in the sonnets and poems he composed in your honor, which he himself commissioned from your favorite singers to perform at banquets, only to steal an embarrassed smile and to see the blush of your cheeks, along with the glint in your eyes.

Whether it was or not, the outcome remained the same since he was at that moment in your proximity, in the same state mixed with adoration, love and wonder at the bold gesture. But if only he had confirmation from your words...

Alas! How much I thought I knew 

About love, and how little I know, 

Because I cannot keep myself from loving 

The one from whom I will gain nothing.

"My angel, your voice sounds like heaven but your words are false." Baldwin practically saw you blow up from your session, completely taken aback by his sudden appearance, unaware that your husband has been acting as a secret public all this time. Your initial surprise quickly turns into a laugh to mask your embarrassment for being caught in a moment like this, when you thought you were alone to be able to run the streets of music with your voice.

"I beg your pardon, I thought I was alone in the gardens," your eyes met his own only for a moment, before you turned your face to try and hide the blush of your face, "it was just a silly song I heard singing to the Provençal knights. I hope I did not disrupt your walk, my love..”

He laughed softly, trying to hide his amusement from having caught you off guard. He approached you more quickly than when he did just a few moments before, but with the same phlegm that managed to inspire a feeling of safeness in you. Sitting by your side on the bare rock, he raised his bandaged hand to gently cup your face and make you turn your eyes towards him. It was only then, when you had no choice but to look at Baldwin in the face that you noticed how his eyes, the only part of his face exposed to the outside world, formed two half-moons, and you came to find that it was because of how widely he was smiling, as you lowered the veil from his face. 

He was making fun of you, you realized. With that swagger in his manner, you understood that his amusement came from your embarrassment at that silly misunderstanding. Laughing softly, he gently shook his head before bringing both hands to your face, holding it as if it were the most sacred of relics. "As much as I would love to hear you sing of your affection for me, just to hear your voice echoing in the air is the sweetest of gifts. How could you deprive me of this blessing thus far, my dear?"

You could do nothing but giggle at his sweet words, bringing your hands to his wrists to feel him closer to you. "You flatter me, my king. My voice boasts nothing more than those sweet melodies that the singers in the palace sing. Mine is only a dabble."

His gaze softened, his playful spirit addicted to your presence. He took the floor again, in a tone as soft as cotton, "At least this once, my queen, allow me to disagree with your words. My life may be short and my reality small, but never have I heard such an angelic voice, singing such sweet melodies. And God may not yet have granted me the ability to predict the future, but in my heart I know well that never will any singer be able to hold a candle to your beautiful voice, never will any song be able to express the same feeling of ecstasy.

"You, my angel, have managed to make a simple ballad an absolute work of art through your voice. I think I should take you with me into battle next time, for with your mere voice you could addict Saladin and his entire army.

"And seeing you here, angelic and perfect like the lilies that surround you, singing so softly that it would make any bird jealous, that I realize that whatever toil, whatever challenges God has stored up for me, and all those that still await me in my life, are worth it, if at the end of each of them there is you, voice of an angel, to hold a place for me in your arms of heaven." 

You were sure you were on the verge of crying a flood of tears, the result of pure emotion at his sweet words. It was not new to you that Baldwin worshipped you as much as the God to whom his kingdom was consecrated, from the first moment he got to hear your voice and admire your face, and you knew at once that he had become yours, body and soul. But it was new to you to see him like that, completely entranced by your simple being-it was something new. A wonderful newness that made you feel like the most desired of women on this earth.

Taken by a rush of boldness, you practically jumped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck; you ended up on top of him, with his hands around your hips. You both laughed, like two little boys frolicking in the gardens. And you left a kiss on his left cheek, then on the bridge of his nose. A kiss again on his forehead, and then down on the side of his lips. When you were about to give him another kiss, just where he most yearned for your lips, against his, you stopped a few inches away, with a wide smile, before speaking again, "If so little is enough to make your happiness, then I will sing to you every day, whenever you ask. Let me be your nightingale, your morning song and your lullaby all at once!"

"I couldn't wish for anything else, my dear. Now, however, I beg you, sing one more melody for me, before my duties drag me back to the palace, and I shall consider myself a blessed man."

"With great pleasure, my love." Your voice was now little more than a whisper. With a languid movement, Baldwin moved his body to rest his head on your lap, and you eagerly greeted him. After slightly moving the hood that veiled his head, so that you could play with his golden locks, you began to sing a new melody, one that this time spoke of reciprocated love, of the joy of being able to hold your loved one in your arms. But the words you sang barely reached Baldwin before his sky-colored eyes closed softly, his mind giving him at least a moment's despite from his perilous life. You continued to sing, caressing his face, which from day to day appeared more and more mutilated by his disease, singing the sweetest of melodies so as to prolong this idyll in which you and your husband found yourselves in. 

For with you Baldwin had a way of putting the crown aside, and being nothing more than a foolish young man in love, whose only duty was to love you, to love you with all the love that an angel like you deserved.

@sweetworkoffiction hope you like it <3

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Download it too if you're another fellow Arcana-starved peer

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I was born 850 years too late😔😔

When you stand before God, you cannot say, “But I was told by others to do thus”, or that, “Virtue was not convenient at the time”. This will not suffice. Remember that.

Lester Papadopoulos/Apollo x reader - It's Over, isn't It?

A/N: okay so a few weeks ago I was listening to the song “It’s Over isn’t it” form the Steven Universe series and this scenario came to my mind, so I thought I’d just make it a fic! For this piece I didn’t see a point in assigning a gender to the reader, so we go with gender neutral all the way😎😎(neither your godly parent is specified since it doesn’t really add anything to the plot, so you can choose whichever you prefer)

PART TWO IS HERE

Warning: insecurity, jealousy, angst (WITH comfort tho), mentions of suggestive activities

Word count: 3209

You kinda hate yourself right now, and you hate yourself because you are so angry right now.

Well maybe angry is an exaggeration, but still, you’re really, really upset.

And you know you should be anything but upset right now. I mean, the love of your life finally has the chance to go back to his home in the Olympus, regain his honor and his status as a god. Those were all good things that you should be ecstatic about, right?

Well, wrong.

Just thinking of it made you feel like you could throw up at any moment. Thinking about the fact that Apollo. Because, what will be of Lester, your Lester?

Your whole relationship had started because he wasn’t Apollo. He wasn’t the tall, tan, handsome and all mighty God of the Sun; he was just a normal teen, whose only things that made him stick out were his acne, his clumsiness and a somewhat nice voice. His mortal condition didn’t even give him a single chance to act in his usual exaggerated, narcissistic self. He had to start off from the start, build a personality that wasn’t based on his godly qualities, but on something more real.

And in that situation he found himself in, with his new eyes he had seen you, and you truly seemed like a deity to him. 

How could you be anything less to the rest of the world, he thought. You were your godly parent’s greatest hero, you were liked and admired by most campers both because of your victories and your looks. And he spent oh so many nights fantasizing about taking you back with him in Olympus, giving you the godly status that should be rightfully yours. But hell, with the body he’d found himself in he’d barely the courage to come up to you to talk.

He told you so many times how absolutely surprised he was when he found out that you actually liked him back, even if he looked like any 17 year old loser, his actual words. And you remembered too, how his voice was so shaky as he tried to muster up a coherent sentence, how his cheeks shone a bright red, how his hands were trembling as you took them into yours and his palms sweating. But in your mind, that was more beautiful than any sonnet, any haiku, any poem, any grandiose, Apollo-like gesture. Because that was Lester, not Apollo; and in your eyes, Lester’s awkwardness was what made him stand out, because it was purely genuine.

Now ever so often you wonder, if he used to feel like you’re feeling right now, like you’re no match to the person you love. You look at your reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, and the mean joke that played your mind made you highlight all the flaws you could spot in yourself. All things that a god could never accept in their lover. You feel so wrong, so flawed that you just wish you could turn yourself into mud and reform your appearance completely.

Gods, you’re being ridiculous right now, you think, you just want to slap yourself in the face and yell at your reflection to get a grip goddamnit! You’re one of the greatest heroes of your time, you survived two wars, you can’t possibly draw the line at a failed relationship with a god. 

At one point someone might think: but why are you so opposed to the idea that your boyfriend is finally becoming a god once again? How ungrateful can you be??

But the point is, you know damn well that the whole point of the creation of Lester was forcing Apollo into a form that would’ve been the total opposite of who he is.

Because Apollo is naturally flirty and superficial, he loves to love and be loved, and he pursues anything and everything that he finds beautiful. But he got bored easily of his love conquers, hence why he has so many kids. So in your mind, it was only natural that as soon as he was back to normality, he’d grow tired of you and move to the next mortal that piqued his interest, maybe even leaving you a single parent to a new demigod.

That’s why you couldn’t stop that nagging feeling deep into your core, as you walked out of your cabin, hearing all the girls already speculating about how beautiful, handsome, shiny and dashing Apollo will be once he goes back to his form. “And who knows, maybe he’ll set his eyes on some of the friends he made in here” squealed a girl, from which cabin you did not know nor care. Her friend replied: “Yeah I mean, ain’t no way he’s gonna keep staying with the same partner forever. I mean, come on, he’s Apollo!” They both giggled like school girls, then kept gossiping about something else, but you did not care enough to keep eavesdropping their whole conversation.

You really hated yourself for being like this right now.

Of course, you know that those two girls meant no harm, it wasn’t their fault if they knew just as much as you did about Apollo’s tendencies. And about that you’re already came to terms with, but there’s something else you hate yourself for…

You stopped reaching out to him. Or even worse, you even started to avoid him. 

Not also him, but your friends and siblings as well. You closed yourself off of everyone else in your life, opting to spend your free days in Camp by yourself, whether it is in your cabin, sparring or all alone in your favorite spot in the forest.

Which is exactly where you’re directed to right now, as you put your headphones in your ears, wasting no time to press play and then abuse the volume up button to muffle any sound from the outside. You walk past the two girls, past another group of guys that were training with one another, and past your friends too, who you didn’t noticed as they were calling and waving at you to join them for a quick snack, leaving them rather confused and preoccupied as it seemed that you were stuck in a trance, locked out in another dimension of your own.

You didn’t even see Lester excusing himself from the group to subtly start following you wherever you were going.

It’s a quiet place, the one in the forest, protected by a thick layer of trees and bushes that makes it hard to reach it; but it’s worth all the climbing and scratches for the beautiful sight of a clear waterfall that fell right into a circular body of water, surrounded  by a rather big field of moss, so soft and fresh to lay on during the hot summer nights.

And so you did, letting yourself fall on that natural mattress, then closing your eyes to feel the light breeze on your exposed skin, and let the words of the song that’s blasting at full volume at the moment fill your ears, although you can barely focus on what they’re saying

It really seems unfair, all of this. That you thought you had fallen in love not with a god, but with a boy. Somehow forgetting that boy and god mixed in Lester, two sides of the same coin.

And maybe he forgot too, because every time the two of you were together, he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to think of the responsibilities that were waiting for him. With you, he forgot about his lost and very much missed abs and tan, he forgot about his chariot and his comfortable place in Olympus. Hell, you even made him forget about all his old lovers. It was really only you in his eyes, just as he was in yours. If only he’d ever told you all of this though…

Your mind keeps swirling in a million thoughts, until it fixates on one memory in particular.

You and him, alone on that very same spot in the forest. In a similar situation as you were now, too, with your crappy phone playing music softly in the background, as the the two of you laid together, one next to the other. You turn around to look at him briefly, only to find him already looking at you. “What, do I have something on my face or..” he just shake his head with the most lovestruck eyes you’d ever seen, batting his eyes slowly before looking at you once again, “I just really want to kiss you right now”.

Your eyes widen. His eyes widen. Did he really just say THAT?

Neither of you were sure how or why, thinking back to it, you wonder if it was his godly charm poking at the back of his head. But that didn’t matter at the time, the future in which he came back to his godly state seemed so far from you, it wasn’t even an option in your head.

Nevertheless, after the initial shock from his words, you silently answered him with a slow, almost numbed movement of the head, nodding slightly, almost scared that if you moved to fast you would’ve whisked him away, or that he could’ve changed his mind already.

But that nod was all that he needed before crashing his lips against yours, one of his hands flying to grab the side of your head, while the other stayed put on its place against the ground to keep him from falling on top of you.

The kiss was an absolute mess: teeth clashing, nose bumping against each other,... but it was perfect that way to you. You broke away from each other for a brief moment to catch your breaths, and you just look into each other’s eyes. With chests heaving, breaths mixing, you both started laughing, if only for a moment, a laugh of disbelief at what had just happened.

But that laugh didn’t last long before he moved his head closer once again, this time more slowly, more confidently. The kiss was in fact much less messy, your lips found their place against each other, the panic from before had morphed into pure butterflies in your stomach and fireworks in your eyes.

After a minute at most, you broke apart once again, but only for Lester to reposition himself on top of you in a more comfortable position. Your bodies closer than ever, you could feel everything of him….

What happened after still makes your cheeks flush red at the mere thought, but it also causes a frown to form on your face. Those times, when it was just the two of you are over. Maybe it was just a time of crisis that brought you two together, the shock from a morta perspective might have caused him to cling onto the closes person he could find. You can’t help but imagine Leste- Apollo in that moment, laying in the clouds of Olympus in a much similar scenario, maybe with a beautiful nymph or a smaller deity, or a mortal he laid his eyes on while he was on this earth-

“There you are! I should’ve known that if you’re not around you’re definitely in here.” If it were a normal, mortal voice, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the deafening high volume of the music blasting in you ears. But it wasn’t a mortal voice.

It was loud, it was melodic, it resonated in the air like the echo of the most beautiful of songs,…

You wouldn’t even need to turn around to know that that voice came from no other than Apollo. That’s right, he probably came back to his true form already. You can’t even imagine what a scene that would’ve been, to see the handsomely perfect god walking around Camp Half Blood, how many boys and girls had probably followed him around drooling over the sight of him. 

You wish you could just stay put, coldly dismiss him and let him go for what probably is the rest of your life and his eternity. But, curiosity gets the best of you, and you can’t help but turn around tentatively, eager to see what your boyfriend really looks like.

Your mouth quite literally hits the floor at the sight. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always found Lester really attractive, but this.

This was something beyond the concept of handsome or beautiful.

This, him, was beyond what humans can perceive and comprehend.

Yes, you knew that his skin was tanned, but as he stood in front of you it seemed as if his body was made of bronze.

And yes, you also knew that his hair was blonde, but that didn’t make them justice. They flew, like rays of sun through a clouded sky.

Of his eyes you knew nothing about, but you were pretty sure at this point that no description could really depict just how deep, bright, captivating, alluring, even, they really were.

Your mouth quite literally hit the floor at the sight. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always found Lester really attractive, but this.

This was something beyond the concept of handsome or beautiful.

This, him, was beyond what humans can perceive and comprehend.

Yes, you knew that his skin was tanned, but as he stood in front of you it seemed as if his body was made of bronze.

And yes, you also knew that his hair was blonde, but that didn’t make them justice. They flew, like rays of sun through a clouded sky.

Of his eyes you knew nothing about, but you were pretty sure at this point that no description could really depict just how deep, bright, captivating, alluring, even, they really were.

Your throat felt tight, your mouth dry, and your whole body gives you this tingly sensation. With all of your strength, you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down, before mustering all of your strength to speak without a pathetic shaky voice. “I thought you were going back as soon as you got your body back.“

“Ain’t no way that I wasn’t coming to kiss my beautiful partner goodbye.” He grinned as he swiftly took a seat right by your side, propping himself on his elbow, his eyes never once leaving yours. You swore his smile was intoxicating, you’d say contagious even if the thought that this might’ve been your last moments together didn’t fill your mind with sorrow.

You wanted to protect yourself from this, detach your mind and heart from him before he does it first, leaving you with an aching heart and moving on with his eternal life.

You felt a hand come up to your cheek, holding it softly as the sweetest melody came from his lips, “I’m gonna miss you madly once I’m back there, you know?” At that, you can’t help the deep anger that fills you from inside, a feeling that expresses through icy, stinging words, as you turned your head away from his touch, “I’m sure you’ll move on in no time.”

He frowned. That wasn’t the reaction he expected from you at all, but he didn’t really take it personally, it was so obvious that there was something troubling you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” your voice is louder, a mixture of frustration and anger. But also so much sadness, that can be felt by just how strained the sound that came from your throat is, almost as if you were fighting back tears. You swallow hard, trying to recollect yourself, “I mean that you are a God, I am just a mortal. One of many. I’ve got nothing special to be remembered for, to be remembered by you for the rest of eternity. And Im okay with it, really. Our destinies were never meant to combine, I was just another one of your lovers.” As you spoke those last words you couldn’t help but let the tears flow from your eyes, those who always looked at Lester with a mix of love and mischief, now only filled with a never ending sadness.

Slowly, as to avoid scaring you off, the renewed god took your wet face in his warm hands, pulling you closer and wiping your tears off at the same time. Gently, he spoke: “My love, you couldn’t have said anything more wrong. You are special to me, and I could never forget you. In thousands of years that I’ve existed, no one had ever treated like you did, like I wasn’t a god. Sure, it was temporary and you knew I could’ve incinerated you as soon as I got back to… this.” He looked down, gesturing at his body, a sight for sore eyes that could’ve really made you unfocus on anything were you not so taken by your talk with Apollo at the moment. “But that didn’t stop you from treating me like we were equal. And I hated it, at first. I thought it would be part of my punishment. But as time passed, I realized that being your equal was the highest of honors I could ever get. You’re… you’re crazy strong, incredibly smart, unbelievably beautiful, way too kind for your own good, especially with those brats of the kids in this Camp.”

You giggled at his words, a consistent contrast with your tearful eyes and quiet sobs, “Some of those brats are your children too, genius.” “Well then it must run in the family.” You laughed again while shaking your head, but only for a moment before returning your full attention on the boy in front of you. He took the sign to continue.

“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think I could ever be able to let you go. Over all the lovers I had through the years, which I’m sure you know are many, you’re the only one that saw me and treated me with true love and care. Not with fearful devotion, never fearing what I was capable of. I only ever saw this kind of love in Sally Jackson, and I mocked Poseidon for letting a mortal like many treat him so casually. But now, now I get it, and to be honest I can’t help but think that you’d deserve to be called a deity far more than many others who already are. Maybe even more than me. So I refuse to ever let go of this blessing that fate has given me. And if in order to do so I have to take your soul and put it on the sky above, to rest as a star forever by my side, so be it. But trust me you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

You crumbled like a sand castle at his words, that he spoke with the very same tone, on the very same spot when you still called him Lester, and you promised to stick by each other’s side for the time you had left, only a few months before this whole encounter. You let your head fall into his broad chest, sobbing softly as you desperately clung to him. Your tears weren’t of sadness anymore, but of relief, for you had just been given the confirmation that your lover was still yours.You spent the rest of the night there, cuddling as close to eachother as possible as you rested in peace. 

The morning after, at dawn, when he had to officially go back to his daily duties, he begrudgingly got up from his place in your arms, placing butterfly kisses on your arms and neck, careful not to wake you. He left a little not right next to you, one that read: 

“I had to go, didn’t want to wake your pretty face this early in the morning.  Meet me here at dusk tomorrow, Forever yours,  A.”

It made you smile, seeing that note as soon as you opened your eyes, almost made you forget the lack of your boyfriend next to you,… and the yelling of your friends and siblings calling for your name in the distance.

You wasted no time walking towards those voices, and when they asked you just where the hell have you been all night, you just smiled and brushed it off, but everyone noticed how your usual bright self had mysteriously came back after days of brooding.

Hours later, you were calmly eating dinner with the other campers, laughing and talking and eating seemingly decent food. You were totally clueless as to where exactly Apollo was, but you guessed he was on his chariot, on his way to let the sun set and go to your secluded spot. But little did you know, he was in neither of those places. He was actually walking up to Zeus’ throne, tall and proud as he respectfully bowed to his father. “Apollo, I see it took you no time to get used to your old life once more. I trust you have learned your lesson.”

“Indeed, father. And I came here to thank you for it all. It was… better than I expected.” Zeus lifted a brow suspiciously, eyeing his son as if trying to make out what’s in his mind just by his appearance. “Mmh I hardly believe that you only came here to thank me for your punishment.” “Heh, you’re not wrong, father. I came here to make a request.”

“Depends. What is it that you desire?”

“How do you make a demigod immortal?”

I have a request, if youre taking them.

Baldwin's wife sneaks into the battle in 1177 with sixteen year old Baldwin, his reaction and what not. make it your own, just thought this would be cool

King Baldwin x reader - My archangel

A/N: I absolutely LOVE this idea! I've never thought of a scenario like this before, so thank you so so much for the suggestion<3

Sorry if this took so long btw, I haven't been active lately because of school and work😔😔

As always, painting is "The Crown of Love" by John Everett Millais (it's so funny to me for no reason, it just makes me think of how Baldwin would be physically dragging you out of danger).

Summary: During the most importante battle of his life so far, the last person king Baldwin expected to see on the battlefield was his newlywed wife

Warning: war, but it's more of a background thing, mentions of injuries and a hint at misogynism

Word count: 5433

It had been decided. Jerusalem's knights and soldiers would be riding towards Saladin's army at dawn, led by their king, King Baldwin IV of Anjou. Your Baldwin.

The mere idea that tomorrow your husband would find himself fighting face to face against the most fearsome of his enemies terrified you, especially knowing that you could do nothing to protect him. He had expressly said he did not want you or his sisters anywhere near the battlefield, it was too risky. You should have waited for his return, for him to be victorious astride his steed, now lying lifeless on a black bed.

You closed your eyes, begging your mind to spare you from the projection of that macabre image in your head. But you could do nothing against these emotions, which were tearing at your mind and spirit. You could not remain still and impassive, obedient and elegant as you always were as a young princess, then as a wife and now as a queen.

No, that image of you had to slumber, if only for a while. You did not have your kingdom on your mind at that moment, only Baldwin and the overwhelming desire to be close to him.

You cursed your nature for making you a woman, for not having had the opportunity to learn the art of arms and war. You cursed your long robes that prevented you from any daring movement, and your limbs because even if they were able to move freely they would not have the strength to even wield a sword.

As Baldwin fell asleep in your arms, exhausted by the fatigue that this imminent battle was costing him, and you held him close to your heart as if to compel him eternally into your embrace, you weaved a plan in your mind. A plan not to leave him alone at dawn, to stay as close to him as possible.

Because even if it was the day God would claim your husband's soul, at least you wanted to be near him as he took his last breath.

How selfish you were, not even death would have been left for him. But then again, poets have been saying it for centuries, love is the gravest form of madness.

You woke up in an empty bed, the spectre of a kiss floating on your bare shoulder where Baldwin's lips had rested a few moments before, when he had to arouse himself to lead his army into battle. And despair pervaded you almost immediately, when when you woke up still no idea had come to your mind to stay by his side, after you had hoped that sleep would grant you a solution to your problem.

Unable to hold back tears of frustration and despair, you summoned your favourite handmaiden, your nurse, old to almost retirement but cunning as a mischievous child. You wept on her welcoming lap, clutching the fabric of her robe in your fists.

"Oh Agnes, how unfair is my fate as a woman. I am asked to stand by my husband's side all my life and yet I am denied a place beside him in these dark times. And they tear him from my arms and leave me here, alone and helpless, these monstrous Saracens!" She looked at you with sympathetic eyes, stroking the long hair that fell from your shoulders, which resembled the waves of the sea as they shook slightly from your sobs. "What can I do, Agnes? You who always have a quick tongue to give solutions to my every worry, tell me what I can do, before his horse and troops are too far away to be seen."

She, like a mother consoling a child who has injured himself while playing, took your face with one hand, inviting you to turn your gaze towards her. As she wiped the tears that streaked your cheeks with her thumb, she spoke softly to you, although her tone had a hint of her typical mischief in it: "My lady, weeping over your fate does not suit you. Instead, I propose you run. Make haste to the armoury, there you are sure to find armour left behind by some lord. Do you follow me? Well, you will simply have to put on the armour, carrying a pair of your husband's breeches underneath. And keep your helmet tightly closed, so that it cannot be seen that beneath the armour there is not a brutish knight, but a beautiful queen.

Go out of the palace through the servants' passages, and buy the horse of the first man you find. Not yours, in the royal stable they would notice his absence. And then all that remains is for you to ride, ride as fast as you can, to reach the Christian encampments as soon as possible, which by then will have been set up. Remain aloof, and reveal yourself to your husband only. And do so at night, in his tent, where no unwanted eyes can see your unexpected encounter. Is it all clear, my lady?"

You merely nodded frantically with eyes wide in wonder and relief. You practically leapt into the air, quick to grab the first slip you could find and a pair of cheap shoes that you could ruin with all your impending travels. You were about to leave the room, but stopped for a moment at the threshold, before turning back to Agnes to hold her tightly in a warm embrace.

"What would I do without you, my dear. You are even better than a guardian angel, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you left some white feathers behind!" The woman squeezed you affectionately before pushing you away playfully, urging you to get out and go and do whatever she directed. "It is the job of a nurse, to solve a child's problems in the same way as a mother. But hurry now or the battle will be over before you have even found a helmet!"

You laughed lightly as you wiped the dried tears from your cheeks, wasting no more time in rushing to get what was necessary to implement your plan. You rushed in front of the crate containing Baldwin's clothes, tossing robes and shirts in the air until you found breeches fit for a ride. You hastily donned them, then dashed down the long corridors of the palace.

Once in the armoury, you began to spin like a wheel, desperately searching with your eyes for any armour. You weren't picky, anything would have been more than enough: you'd have been fine with just a breastplate, chain mail, simple shoulder straps,… But most of all, you needed a helmet. And that you found almost immediately in your mad search. It was crudely moulded and already bore a few dents on the sides, but you paid no attention to it, it was enough to conceal your identity.

You also found a breastplate, and that was all you needed. You considered taking a sword with you too, but quickly changed your mind: it might be foolish to most, but you hoped that if an enemy found you unarmed, his honour would prevent him from challenging you to a fight.

And then, your focus on your sword quickly faded as you remembered that you still had no horse to reach the battlefield. Running awkwardly, like a child ambitiously trying on his father's far too large armour, you stepped back into the corridors, this time frantically searching with your eyes for a servant to follow towards the back exit.

It must have been a hilarious scene from an outside observer, a burly swineherd looking perplexed over his shoulder as a half-armed knight los eguiva like a tin puppet through the narrow corridors. But the scene was short-lived, for after a couple of turns you finally reached the palace exit, and emerged into the crowded streets of the city.

I had to move my helmet slightly above my eyes to better see the road around you, scanning the area for any horse. You could only see two camels, a few cows, a hen with her small flock of chicks, but no horse in sight. But just when you were about to give up hope, a mysterious force swept over you.

More than mysterious force, you were almost overwhelmed by a horse held on the bridle by a dirty, smelly man. "Out of the way, kid!" Looking at the man with wide eyes, taking good care to make sure your helmet covered your features well, you strained to speak in the most naturally deep voice you could muster, attempting to fool the yokel into mistaking you for a mere boy.

"Sir how much… how much are you asking for your horse?" He laughed, opening his mouth wide and exposing his few remaining teeth, yellow and frayed, and looked at you with a look of paucity and mockery, "You're going off to war without even a horse? The Saracens will impale you like a spit, son. Not that the battle would do you any good either way, with the child king we have, they will all be wiped out. before they even reach those bloody Arabs!”

You clenched your jaw so tightly that you thought your teeth might blow out from the pressure, so hard were you trying to suppress your anger at that disrespectful commoner. Breathing slowly, trying to calm your nerves, you spoke in stiff, icy words, "30 shillings. And you leave me the saddle" The man's eyes widened, incredulous at how much a young man was willing to pay for his old, shabby horse. But he wasn't complaining at all; in fact, better for him if the thirst for war drove the youth of today to such lengths. If only he had known that it was not the bloodlust of a daring young man that was before him, but instead the affectionate madness of a desperate wife.

He did not even answer, stretched out his open hand in front of him where a moment later a bag full of coins fell. He opened it for good measure, making sure the hefty sum was true. When he was satisfied, he slowly handed you the bridle, dazed by the small fortune he was holding.

You hoisted yourself awkwardly onto the horse, and it was not a quick operation as it seemed almost impossible for you not to fall off the horse, so much was the armor restricting your every move and weighing you down. After a few minutes of tribulation, you finally steadied yourself in the saddle and with a firm gesture of your leg, spurred the steed, which galloped off in an instant.

At a gallop, the city didn't seem nearly so big. Nor did the streets seem so crowded, perhaps because the people spread out like the sea in front of Moses as you passed, trying to escape the unpleasant fate of being swept away by the running horse and its mysterious rider. You felt as if you were sailing through the waves of the sea, with people's heads bobbing up and down, a current of movement pushing you closer and closer to the city gates. No one paid much attention to you as you crossed the threshold into the kingdom of heaven, most just thought you were a careless rider who had fallen behind, perhaps this was your first battle. Whatever your problem was, it was not about the wall guards. And so your figure disappeared from the sight of the remaining citizens in the city, vanishing into the vastness of the endless desert.

You did not know quite how long you rode, how many hours it took you before you began to locate even the slightest trace of the passage of the army of Jerusalem. At first it was only small details, marks left on the ground, mainly trinkets possibly dropped to the soldiers during the ride. Then the signs of their passage became more prominent, when around a small oasis you even found a few abandoned spears, probably forgotten back by some careless soldier.

And you stopped there for only a moment, as thirst would have prevented you from going any further. As you drank from the body of water, your mind travelled in thought to your husband; who knows if he too drank from this spring? And if so, how long has it been? Will he be far from here? What would he say when he saw you retracing the passage he and his troops were tracing? At that last thought a shiver ran down your spine, most likely he would not be very happy to know you were so close to danger. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the image of the look that Baudouin would give you if he saw you at that moment, alone, barely armed in the vast and merciless desert, with no escort to protect you…

You only hoped that the surprise and joy of seeing you at such a tragic moment might cloud his mind from any concern he might have for you. In the meantime you had quenched your thirst enough. Regaining the reins of your horse, and after a series of ministrations to remount the saddle, you resumed your ride towards the battle with the unknown outcome.

As you rode with the wind blowing in your face, with nothing to entertain or distract you, your mind could not but return again to Baldwin. You could not help it, for fear for his fate had been tearing at your soul for days without respite, ever since it was announced that a battle would take place.

Baldwin was too young for all this. He was barely of marriageable age, he could barely reign without a regent at his side, he was hardly considered more than a child, many nobles even refused to call him an adult! And then there was his illness, which although not yet crippling, had already begun to expand its deadly effect on his body, numbing his nerves and making it impossible for him to wield his right hand properly. It was really unfair, that a man in his condition should lead an army to what everyone considered certain death.

Death at the hands of the Saracens, who were rumoured to be as many as ten times the number of the army of Jerusalem. A sob escaped from your mouth, followed by a faint stream of tears that ran down your cheeks, but they were short-lived on your face, the dry desert wind dried them in no time.

Only an instant seemed to pass, time to bring a hand to his face to wipe away the dried saline tears. Yet when your gaze focused again on the landscape in front, you saw a few hundred metres away a series of white tents, a few faint rows of smoke rising in the air, a massive cross set with precious gems, leaning against a rough wooden construction. It was the camp of the Jerusalem army.

Getting off your horse, you advanced hesitantly through the camp. Looking around, you noticed the stunned gazes of soldiers and horsemen watching you, some intrigued by your unkempt armor, some confused by your clumsy way of moving. But although the attention of their gazes made you stop breathing, fearing that you had been discovered, but fortunately it was short-lived, all the men were too tired from the exertions of the journey to investigate even this oddity. Taking you for an inexperienced little boy, they looked away from you and proceeded to drag their aching limbs back to their respective tents.

But although no one gave you more than the attention you give any stranger on the street, your heart would not stop beating furiously in its cage. You quivered at the mere thought of seeing your husband again, who although he had recently separated from you, already felt as if you had not seen him for an eternity. And your soul screamed at the idea that this might be the last time you would see him alive, and urged your legs to move faster. From hesitant strides, your gait grew brisk, impatient, and faster and faster until you burst into a frantic run through the expanse of white tents.

You scanned one, two, ten, a hundred, so many that by now they seemed to you an endless bundle of the same white cloth. But although your hope gave no sign of existing from your mission, your legs were beginning to give out under the constant strain you had subjected your body to for endless hours. You had no choice but to stop to catch your breath, resting your hands on your trembling thighs as you gasped for breath. And it was in that very instant, while you neither heard nor saw anything but the roar of your heart echoing in your ears and the rough ground flattened by the heavy footsteps of the soldiers, dark because of the blurred evening light, that you heard it. That voice.

"We will discuss this tomorrow, now I need the rest" "Certainly, my lord." The dialogue was followed by a knight of high lineage who came out of the tent in front of which you had pulled up to rest. He did not even dignify you with a glance, and you could not care less, for it was not him you were interested in. He was the first man to speak who had captured your complete attention, making the whole world fade away around you. It was a jovial voice, full of life despite obvious tiredness. It was a boy's voice. It was Baldwin's voice.

You sidled up to the curtain of the tent and, before opening your mouth, breathed slowly, tending not only to ease your nerves but also to modulate your voice to make it more masculine, deeper. The deception was to be revealed only when you were alone in the tent, away from prying eyes.

"My king, I know you are now bereft of strength, but grant me a brief interview with your majesty." You could visualize him rolling his eyes, puffing silently and running his good hand over his eyes, as he was always wont to do when any courtier demanded his attention while he was already lying in your arms. And as whenever this familiar event took place, similarly Baldwin made an effort in this case to stand up and mutter a reply, unaware that the subject behind the cloth was not just any boy, but his beloved wife. "I'm afraid I'm in no condition for a meeting at the moment. We will discuss whatever you need tomorrow." Panic grew in you hearing him so indisposed. After all, you should have expected it; he had more to think about than granting an interview to an anonymous soldier. In an instant, however, you changed your strategy, if you couldn't convince him you would have to bait him, "Please, sir, give me a few minutes! I bring with me a great surprise, a gift that I know will fill your heart with joy and restore your energy!"

He paused, as if weighing his options. At least that was what you thought, but in truth Baldwin was wondering if he was going crazy. If he had only dreamed, due to exhaustion and fatigue, that the voice speaking to him from outside the tent was not any young man's, but a disguise meant to hide the angelic melodic voice of his beloved wife. Were it really her, Baldwin would not have wasted a moment in throwing open the door for her, taking her into his arms and carrying her to his momentary abode, where her presence alone could be savored by him.

But he knew it could not be possible: you, his beloved wife whose image constantly pervaded his mind, were thousands and thousands of feet away, safe within the walls of your palace, as you had promised him. It was just not possible that you were the one hiding outside the tent, his hopes were just a cruel game of his mind. But by now his attention had been caught by the stranger so eager to talk to the king, to give him this phantom gift. Perhaps there would have been cause for concern, for thought of possible deception or assault by an enemy spy, but Baldwin did not give the thought more than a second's attention, before sighing softly and turning away, gazing back at the white fabrics of the tent. "Very well, come forward then. I hope this surprise you tell me about is really that formidable."

You came close to slinging yourself into the tent, throwing yourself into Baldwin's arms in an instant, and never letting go. But you still couldn't do it; it was too risky. You merely placed a hand on the side of the fabric that closed the curtain, pulling it to go through and letting it fall back behind you. And there you stood, facing Baldwin, clad in that armor far too large for your size, your heart pounding wildly from both the fatigue of the journey and the excitement. And he slowly, with a phlegm as elegant as the waters of a stream, turned to reveal the identity of his mysterious visitor, and you had already freed your face from the tortuous confines of the helmet you had worn for endless hours.

His eyes widened, wide as never before. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Baldwin could say he was truly, truly surprised. A thousand emotions passed from his face, from astonishment, to joy, to anger, and then to sadness, and then to astonishment again. For a moment he seemed about to open his mouth, but he stopped, opting instead to run to you, putting his arms around you, holding you tight and lifting you off the ground so tight was his grip. "My affection, how can you be so foolish! This is no place for you, so far from home, close to the enemy… You promised me you would stay safe, let me go, let me protect you! How could you do something so rash, you who are always so wise? Alone through the desert, what if the enemy had met you before I got here? What would I have done if your lifeless body, tortured by the Saracens, had been brought to me?"

His voice was exhausted, worn out by weariness and emotion that blocked his throat and threatened to make hot tears fall from his white cheeks. His words were harsh and stern, but devoid of any reproach: it was his fear speaking, his fear of seeing you the next day among the stacked bodies of war victims. And as he spoke he held your arms, shook you lightly, and in the process interrupted himself to place chaste kisses on your face, as if through the touch of his lips he was trying to convince himself that you were really there, standing before him. That it was not a mere illusion, a game of his mind.

Gently, with a touch as light as the morning wind, your hands went up his chest to his beautiful face, which you lovingly cupped. "I swore before God that I would not abandon my place at your side until the breath leaves my body. I have enjoyed with you wealth, pomp, and good fortune. But what you have granted me to witness is only half of the aspects of a nuptial union. Poverty, sickness, and the misery of war are the woes that touch every human being, and which two spouses are expected to face together. So now, my king, I beseech you, do not deny me a place at your side as you fight for the honor and freedom of the Holy Land, do not deny me a duty that has been mine since you and I were joined in eternity. It is unjust what you have subjected me to, to have to watch you ride away from me, toward the worst of dangers! And how could you think I would let you go just like that, without opening my mouth? Now we are even, I have retraced the path you yourself have traced, as bereft of safety as you were bereft of my presence. And now together we face this mortal danger, which, however, will never hold a candle to the pain that distance from you brings me!"

Baldwin's eyes softened, though they had a melancholy note in them. He inhaled with shuddering breath, and his grip became softer on your body, his hands descended from his arm to your waist, always holding you as close as physically possible.

"I was always told that silence honors women. This does not suit you, for depriving you of speech robs you of the royalty that makes you my queen. I ask your forgiveness, my angel, for leaving you alone in such a dark time. But try to understand my choice, how self-centered would I have been to ask you to come with me, in the midst of the greatest danger? It was simply too much for me, my beloved, the burden on my heart, begging me to do all that was permissible to keep you safe, even if that necessitated keeping you away from me. You are too far away now for me to send you back to the palace with an escort, and my heart could not bear to part with you for even another hour. You will stay here, ruling your people as you should. But please do not do me the wrong of setting foot on that bloody battlefield tomorrow. If even God decides that tomorrow my hour has come, and I fall lifeless on the bloody ground, do not move a step, do not show any sign of weakness. Don't follow me into the afterlife, don't even think about it: I know full well that I will never have the honor of lying eternally by your side, I am not worthy of it, so don't jeopardize your precious life in the name of an eternity by my side."

You did not respond, and silence fell. Squeezing together for another moment, you broke away shortly thereafter only to move to the bed set up in his tent, not as luxurious as his usual palace bed but certainly far more comfortable than the hay bunks in which soldiers elsewhere rested. Clinging to each other, you remained silent for a few moments. Or maybe it was hours, neither of you knew. Nor did you care, knowing how much time had passed, how much more separated you from the inescapable fate that awaited you the next day. Silent tears streaked your faces, sobs and sighs filled the air of the room. Then, you took courage to open your mouth, your voice soft and melancholy, weakened by weeping. "How unfair is our fate, affection. How bitter is my soul, knowing that tomorrow I must witness such a slaughter, an open-air slaughterhouse in which you yourself may become yet another victim."

As your first response you heard a snort from your husband, who squeezed you tighter for a moment, as if to secure you beside him, engulf you in his body. His lips pressed against your temple, placing a gentle kiss there, and they remained resting there even as he began to speak, "I know, I know my angel. I too wish things were simpler, that I could retire from this world, go and live with you, away from all this chaos, all this violence. You don't know how much I would have liked to abdicate, to leave the throne to Sybilla and her husband. They would have been good rulers, if only dear William had not passed away so soon. And so we have only to live like this, my beloved. To live perpetrated by the duties and horrors that mankind is capable of, all in the name of God's affection," a pause, a look that said a thousand silent words, and then resumed, "in the name of my affection for you… Tomorrow it will be an honor for me to fight, for like the valiant Lancelot, who fought to his last breath in the name of beautiful Guinevere. I do not care if my life will be endangered, if I return wounded and maimed more than leprosy is already reducing me. No, I don't care, because at the end of the day, whether my heart still beats or not, I know that I will return to lie in your arms.

And that makes up for all the injustices I will have to face." The last words were whispered, softened by a deep affection that numbed the senses and made everything as graceful as the clouds in the sky.

More tears streamed down your rosy cheeks, but you tried to conceal them by hiding your face in the crease of Baldwin's neck. The tone grew sterner for a moment as he resumed speaking, intimating you to listen with a grip on your shoulder. "Just promise me that, in case the battle goes badly, and I am dead and defeated and my whole army with me, promise me that you will escape, as far away as you can. Find shelter at the dwellings of those who have abstained from this conflict, find asylum in churches and in any sacred place you can find. Do whatever you can in order to protect your life. Protect what has always been dearest to me, your life."

"I will, I promise." You would have liked to retort, or much less say what he wanted to hear without really thinking it. But deception did not suit you, not toward Baldwin at least. And the mere thought that that might be his last will, which made you want to throw yourself to the ground and cry every tear you had in your body, also made it impossible for you to disobey that simple request, which after all was the request that you care for your own body and soul.

Whether Baldwin had taken your word for it or not, you were not sure, it was hard to say. It didn't matter, both of you were too tired to linger talking any longer, contrary to your usual routine of endless discussions on all kinds of topics. He whispered something to you in his native tongue, and although the language was vaguely unfamiliar to you and fatigue clouded your mind, you could still discern a sweet "I love you" among the words he spoke.

The next day your awakening was similar to the day Baldwin left Jerusalem: alone in bed, the place where your husband lay still warm. Outside the men were shouting orders and the horses were pawing in irritation at the din. In the distance you could hear the cries of the Saracens approaching, and the horns of war echoing in the air. You tried to peep your head out of the tent, but a guard surprised you right in front of the entrance. "My lady, his majesty has ordered that you do not leave the tent until the battle is over." The tone was authoritative and gentle at the same time, but his spear was stretched across the opening of the tent, an admonition far more direct than his words. You obeyed, as you had promised Baldwin that same evening, and without protest you retreated back inside the small temporary dwelling.

And so you stood there, alone and unaware of what was unfolding beyond the white tent. The last sound you were able to discern was your beloved's voice inciting his men to battle, before the din of war produced such a cacophony that it was impossible to understand a single sentence spoken. They rode for a few hundred meters until they reached the place where the battle would take place. They rode so far that the din they caused as they passed became muffled, barely audible. And perhaps it was for the best, for the distance muffled the atrocious sounds of war, of slaughter.

And so you waited there, within the four fabric walls, white as snow, that you feared at every moment might be stained with blood, friend or foe. You waited for the outcome of the battle, dumb with fear, with tension. You awaited Baldwin's return, dead or alive, victorious or defeated. And you did so by standing there, closer to him than was possible, exhausted and restless at the same time.

A/N: Yallll this was LONGGGG. i really really like how this turned out, and i hope you do too! I'm really sorry for how long it took me to write this piece, but I promise the following ones will take much much less🙏🙏🙏 Anyway, now I gotta go start working on those, feel free to leave a comment or feedback about this fic<3<3

How would Baldwin react if reader got sick?

King Baldwin x reader - sickness

A/N: I'm loving all this king Baldwin enthusiasm, I've been waiting for this moment for ages omfg!!! (little 10 year old me is screaming now that I have the chance to write for my historical crush).

Btw I don't know if I should be making all the fancy set up for all headcanons of him (like, author's note, warning and painting), the last posts didn't have it because it didn't seem fit to me but you let me know

Psssst painting is "Paolo and Francesca" by Frank Dicksee

Warning: none, sickness maybe?

Oh boy

You wouldn't be able to leave your bed.

Sickness was a big deal back then, you could easily die form a cold, so ain't no way that he's taking any more risks.

To be honest the climate was less brutal in Jerusalem than Europe, which was even colder than modern times (and living in Switzerland I can assure you that it gets REALLY cold).

He would insist on keeping you in his quarters, always near his sight, and when he had to leave to attend to his royal duties you'd be surrounded by his best physicians to take care of you.

But he would like it best when he's the one tending to you, it's one of the most intimate moments he gets with his beloved

He'd use a wet cloth to clean your face of the sweat, gently caress your body while he orders to get some ice from his servants to cool your body down

Incense would fill the room to ease your mind and make the ambience more comfortable for you to rest

He'd love to bathe you, hold your weakened body as he frees you of that sickly sticky feeling that has been clinging to your body for the past days

It would take you some convincing to let him sleep with you in the same bed to be honest, as he would've been too scared to be that close to you while you're so weakened already

Because, what if in this state your body is so weak and ill already that it makes it easier for you to contract leprosy as well? He wouldn't survive the guilt of knowing that he'd be the cause of your demise

He would've only relented after seeing your pleading eyes, begging to have him close to you at night, to not be left alone, to not have to suffer his absence too

But all his worries would be washed away once he got to feel your body close to his once again, see your droopy eyes looking at him and your weak smile of gratitude for his closeness

Then, once you would've fallen asleep, he would hold you a close as possible, kissing your boiling hot forehead while he prayed God to let you live, to let you stay with him just a little longer

And he was sure his prayers had been listened once he wakes up to the sight of you, smiling at him with renewed strength, your body once again fresh to the touch

You were healed, and he couldn't have been more happy even if he'd woken up healed by leprosy himself

Hello, could I do one where Baldwin's wife is pregnant and at the time of delivery it is not a baby but rather she has 3 triplets and the reaction of those present and Balwin are almost fainting

King Baldwin x reader - The rays of the sun

A/N: I love this prompt, our king deserves a family as big as his heart😔😔

Plus I don't wanna spoil anything but this is actually perfect for this other fic I got requested, kind of like a part one if you will!

Oh and the painting is "First Steps" by Gustave Léonard de Jonghe:))

Summary: the queen of Jerusalem has finally gone into labor. Voice spread through her pregnancy of her unusually wide belly, one that foreshadowed a strong and vigorous heir to the throne. But... was it just one?

Warning: pregnancy, labor and childbirth (mostly mentioned, no real graphic descriptions), the story is mostly through Baldwin's perspective

The situation was unlikely, to say the least. For instance, the whole kingdom had gotten used to the thought of their king never fathering a child of his own. It was why they always kept Sybilla close, after all: to ensure an heir with her son, lest they did not find a more fit candidate for the crown. And one could’ve claimed that Baldwin had been waiting so long to name his young nephew his successor as a result of that caution so typical of his every action, but those who knew him better knew the truth.

He was hopeful, perhaps even foolishly so. He dreamed of being eased from this blight of his by God, even in just a small part. His life had already been immolated to repent the sins of his kin, but why should be denied of giving life, when he still had some? Why couldn’t he father a child, not even many, just one would suffice.

During some of his many prayers, he’d pray for such a blessing. Bandaged hands pressed together, elbows bent, resting on the dark wood of the kneeler; his head was low, his voice muffled by the thick barrier of his mask. He prayed for forgiveness, as always, and just as often he then prayed for guidance. And when he felt most selfish, that was when he added one last prayer for this one favor, this one child.

He felt even more of a fool than before when he then had his servants help him up, when the prayer was over. He felt he insisted on asking for something he knew he’d never have. But just like the physicians had excluded the chance of his ever fathering any offspring, so did they exclude the chance of him ever riding on a horse again, or fighting into battle, or live long enough to see the day he’d be wed to anyone. They had been proven wrong so many a time before, why should this one time be any different?

It was the young man in him speaking so foolishly, he was aware of that. No king should ever dwell so long on such a foolish matter. He had his heir, a direct child of his own bloodline. He should leave the matter, and focus what little would be left of his life to his duties that kept the kingdom alive and safe.

Yet each night he left those duties to reach his bed for a deeply desired rest. Each night his wife would be already there, standing by the windows like the most holy of visions. And each night she’d guide him to bed, and he’d run his hands over her hair, underneath her nightgown, down her sacred body. And the sweet embrace that followed was the start of a newfound hope, of that same wish he had harbored all day before and had tried to muffle down for just as long.

But how could he blamed for wanting a child, if not for the natural wish to have one, then for the blessing that would be fathering a child to a woman such as his beloved wife. She grew more beautiful with each breath, in his eyes, and each word he uttered made her more and more wise. 

He was teased at court for his infatuation with his queen. Of that, he was well aware. But he never did anything to put them to silence; he liked hearing his love being compared to that of the knights of the many ballads from the land of his fathers. It was surely better than the vile comments about his illness, anyway. But regardless of that, the point in his head was that no one should need any more reason to understand why he’d want to be a father, when his luck in love bested anyone else in this kingdom.

And so he was even more startled when he came to find his prayers were answered.

“Would you repeat that?”

“The queen is with child, your Grace. The symptoms are clear. Any movement is not yet to be seen, but it won’t be long before it is certain.”

“..Call the queen to my chambers as soon as she is disposed.”

The physician tried to feign his surprise, but it was a hard task. It was difficult for everyone to understand just how such a thing could occur. Of course, the bitter tongues of court would’ve wanted to spread soon away the venomous accusations of the queen’s infidelity, but it just wouldn’t have been plausible. The queen was faithful to her husband, she had not once left the palace without the king in months, nor had she received any valiant guests, or slept with anyone but her own husband in their shared chambers.

It was just so infuriatingly impossible that the babe couldn’t have been anyone’s but Baldwin’s! But then again, until the babe moved, a pregnancy was an uncertain thing. And so the weeks passed, and the child soon kicked with vigor inside his mother’s womb.

And as everything of this situation, the rest of the pregnancy was all one big mystery. First, she craved sweets, an indisputable sign of a girl to come. But then she favored salty meats and sour fruits, and no physician at court could tell if it would be a girl or a boy anymore. And then she looked radiant through every second of the pregnancy, yet the belly was round and wider by the day. It became worrisome how wide it had grown, in fact. Some physicians began to fear for the worst, for some complications with the child or more likely the demise of the queen during birth.

It haunted Baldwin. Such joyful news felt stained by the imminent danger of possibly lose his child or wife, perhaps even both of them. And he could do little to defeat God’s plans on one’s life. That, he knew far too well.

But he wasn’t entirely powerless before this distressing matter. No, he could still give her all he could, from the most comfortable of pillows, to the best of flowers, and down to the most accurate recreations of her cravings. Whether this months would be her last or whether the child won’t see the light of day, Baldwin made it his one greater duty to give her what most women could only dream in the months of their pregnancy.

And then the water broke, and she along with her maidens were closed off in her own chambers. Baldwin wasn’t allowed in, at least not until the babe was out and checked. And so he waited, patiently, agonizingly. He waited outside, in the hall, ignoring the pain of his joint or the exhaustion of his mind. She was facing far greater pains, he thought each time a new ache mate itself known in his body. 

But if such a wait would be agonizing in any condition, the risk of it possibly being the cause of his love’s demise made it all the more painful, all the more unbearable. He had to stand outside and listen to every groan, every cry, every scream. The labor was long, the door sealed, the ladies inside adamant that such moment would not be compromised.

It was the end of the second day of labor. The light of sunset peaked through the corners of the dawn. It looked like fire to Baldwin, like the very same doors of hell. If anything, such a gruesome thought was fueled by the deafening silence that had replaced the frenzy inside the room. Those were quiet, agonizing moments, where he had to remind himself to breathe, or else he would’ve soon succumbed to the lack of air in his lungs.

And then he heard it: the wailing of a child, a sound so raspy and loud and full of all life’s strength. And the fire of the sunset turned back into bright rays of the sun, and all around him, things felt lighter. Everything felt hopeful.

He all but ignored the customs of such occasions right then and there. When the doors opened and a maid opened her mouth to announce the babe’s birth, he had almost pushed her out of the way to rush to his wife’s side. He took her hand, sweaty and trembling like his own underneath the bandages.

“Where… where is…” he struggled to speak, to breathe. Surely it was mostly caused by the exhaustion he had procured himself during the wait of the labor, but an evenly great cause was the sheer emotions of what he had just been given by God. By her,

She lifted her free hand with the weak remnants of her strength. She pointed at where the maids and a few physicians were fussing around a table. They were checking and cleaning the babe. By tradition, Baldwin should’ve waited outside, and they would’ve brought the babe up to him for him to see and declared his child and possibly heir.

But since he was here, there was no point in making him wait..

The maids brought a bundle of fine silks to the king; blue, like the color of the proud house of the monarch. “Your highness, your son is here.”

The words echoed through Baldwin’s words like a far tune. He wished he could take the veil covering his mingled face, to hold his son as it would be proper. But he couldn’t, and he knew it. The babe was healthy, and so was the mother: the physicians were positive that it would survive the contact to the leper father, yet the sight of such a mutilated face could risk the most fearful reaction in a boy so small.

But holding him like this would suffice just as much. He looked back at his wife while his arms were busy holding the boy. She was visibly tired, perhaps even pained, but she found it in her to smile nonetheless. But his wife’s joyful eyes and his son’s soft weeping did little to muffle the worried mumbles of the maids.

“What is it that worries you?” He didn’t even try to hide his concern in his tone. He was worried, scared, terrified, even. And if they knew anything if this deal, he wished to know it all.

The servants paled. Clearly they wished to find the right words quickly and efficiently, in hopes of soothing their king. “I-It’s just her belly that startles us, your Grace. The babe is healthy, but far too small to explain such round dimensions..”

“Then what do you suggest is the meaning of this?”

“Excluding any ill fate, her Grace may still be bearing a child.” And as if on tune, the torturous contractions caught the queen again, not even an hour later. Given the worry of another child on the go, sparked by one of the eldest maids, bless her heart, nobody left the room to stay prepared if the case of another child was to occur. This quickened the process even if just by a little. But the king’s presence caused many maids to fuss, especially those with more experience on these delicate births.

He was escorted out with impressive haste, just before the contractions resumed. 

And again he stood there, helpless and waiting patiently for the unknown fate of his beloved wife. Another hour passed before the doors opened again. Baldwin was horrified at the sight of the midwife who opened the door for him; she was elderly, clearly having seen more births than anyone in that room had ever seen in their lives. Yet she was pale, shocked. Baldwin feared the worst.

“Where is the queen?” In his voice, the trepidatious hesitation was as clear as daylight. The woman lowered her gaze obsequiously, as it would have been proper for her to have done from the beginning, speaking to the king.

“She is resting, your highness. The births have been tiring beyond measure.”

“ Births?”

“Yes, your Highness. Her majesty has given you no less than three babes.”

Baldwin felt groggy. A single child was already a living miracle for him, and he blessed every saint whose name he had ever heard for this gift. But three? What immense event had just happened? Which angel had he been fortunate enough to marry, who had enlightened his life.

“Three? How? What are they like? Are they all well?” His words were stumbling over each other like a child eager to hear a secret. The midwife, slightly overwhelmed by his sudden enthusiasm, managed a small nod.

“Yes, your Highness, all three are in good health. Two boys and a girl, blessings from the heavens indeed. But they are… quite small, your Grace. Premature, but the Lord granted them a strong will to live, it seems. They are currently with the queen, who is also in surprisingly good spirits, considering the ordeal she has just faced. She insisted on seeing you as soon as the physicians allowed you to enter her chambers."

Her words were enough. Baldwin had heard enough. Now he needed to see, in hopes of seeing what sounded like a mirage come to be. His cerulean eyes were still wide in shock and wonder, the only peak at his current turmoil behind the white silk of the veil covering his wretched face. He took a deep breath, which did little to ease his beating heart and hazy mind. "I… I must come to her at once.. Yes.. yes, it is best if I do.."

The midwife nodded her understanding, though the fear in her eyes was palpable. She knew the customs and the risks better than anyone in this room, but she was also aware of the king's desperation. "Your Grace, the physicians are still… attending to your wife. It might be better if you waited just a bit longer, until they ensure she is well enough to receive you."

Her objections fell to deaf ears. The young king was already making his way forward into the queen's quarters. The midwife's voice seemed to fade away from his mind as soon as his foot passed through the doorstep. Everything else seemed to disappear all the same, in fact. All that Baldwin could see, all that he could focus on, was right before his eyes. There she was, splayed on the bed just as she was before, though twice as exhausted. She glowed brighter than the Holy Grace in that moment, despite the sweat that clung to her body and clothes, despite the faint stains of blood pooled around her womb.

And then he turned, and there, in the corner of the room, was the table where the physicians had placed the babes to ensure their health. The babes. His babes. He had thought that nothing could be more overwhelming than the love he felt for his wife, yet the moment his eyes fell upon them, he realized he was wrong. The emotions that flooded his heart were too strong to be contained by his human shell. The two boys were wrapped in soft linens, and their tiny hands were curled into fists as if they were already thrilling to face the world. The girl, on the other hand, had her eyes open, staring straight at him as if she had known him all her life, which she had, in a way. Her eyes were so big that one would've mistook them for round gems, Baldwin was sure of that. And staring into those oceans of blue felt like plunging into an endless void from which he was not sure there was a way to escape, nor did he wish to find one. He thanked God that the other two children were still asleep, lest their own gazes gave him the final blow to his already weakened heart.

The physicians looked at him, all of them in awe of the king’s condition. They had never seen the Leper King so… so alive, so full of color and vigor. It was like watching a man who had just been granted a second chance at life, and they were all too aware of the gravity of the moment to dare interrupt it. If the main worry had been whether or not he ever would've had an heir of his own before, now it was whether or not these little miracles would be spared from the same wretched destiny their father had been bestowed with. For now, the physicians could find nothing but good signs of health, but would that last for long? The question stayed in the air, lingering, unspoken, unanswered.

"Baldwin?" The voice was faint, but the king's ears, ever so sharp, caught it immediately. It was his wife's, groggy and weak, yet still filled with a warmth that could've melted any heart, even the most icy one of them all. He rushed to her side, his boots echoing in the chamber like thunder. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed over by the pain of childbirth, yet still gleaming with the spark of life. And she smiled. As tiredly as it was, she smiled up at him just as she'd done a million times and more. He smiled back at her, too, though the veil over his face prevented her from seeing anything more than the way his eyes were curving up into small half-moons. Her hand weakly moved up to that same veil, weak and shaky, yet determined to admire the face of the man whose children she just gave birth to. He obliged to her silent request with a trembling haste, as quickly to obey as a devoted knight to his princess.

Her gaze took a moment to adjust to the light that reflected from the window behind them through the stark white of the veil's fabric, but she never once averted her eyes. They were still beautiful, those eyes of his, as blue as the sea and as piercing as the sharpest blade. His skin, however mangled by his cursed diseas, was a sight she had grown accustomed to. The leprosy was leaving its marks, sure enough. But she didn’t see a monster. She didn’t see a king. She just saw her husband. And he knew that in that gaze of hers there was anything but judgement.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead, feeling her warmth, feeling life emanating from her. The same life she had just given him, not once, but thrice over. "I can't believe it," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the tension of the past hours. "Three… three miracles."

The emotional edge to his voice was an unusual sight for anyone who knew the young king. Yet she paid no mind to it. No man safe of mind with an ounce of a heart would have any other reaction, given their current situation. A small, weak huff that supposedly resembled a laugh came out of the woman's lips, followed by an equally weak and raspy voice. "Three, no more this time. This, I promise you."

Her words were a jest, yet they bore the weight of a thousand truths. The queen was known for her strength, but even she had her limits. Giving birth to three lives at once would draw that limits to most. The room felt warmer than before, perhaps due to the sheer joy that had flooded it. Or perhaps it was the heat of the many candles that had burned themselves to the end to bring light to this moment.

Baldwin's eyes sought hers, and for a moment, he saw himself reflected in her pupils. His fears, his hopes, his love. The sight of his skin was stark in the candlelight, paler in some spots than she had ever seen before. The leprosy had claimed more of him than ever before. Yet she didn't recoil, didn't even flinch. Instead, she reached up to gently trace his cheek with a trembling hand. Her touch was feather-light, a stark contrast to the roughness of his own skin. And all she could see, all she cold feel was the presence of the man she had promised to love, through sickness and health, till death did them part. He leaned close to her, slave to her every command. Her lips, tired and soft, brushed against the numb skin of his cheek. A shaky breath left his lips. And his eyes closed.

The world seemed to have resumed its cycle, at last. Baldwin felt the faint whiff of air against his skin with his wife's every breath. The muffled whines of the triplets quietly echoed against the walls of the queen's chamber. They'd soon be brought to Baldwin, for him to admire each one of his children and to have their mother tend to them as she'd wished to do. But not yet. For now, Baldwin let himself feel. The rays of the sun felt warmer against his skin, perhaps because they now felt like the testament to the blessing he's been entrusted with by his Lord. The blessing which was now resting amidst the cures of physicians and midwives alike, the blessing to which Baldwin would immolate his life to, from this day forward.

Would Baldwin Iv be jealous if the reader was hanging out with someone he didnt really like?

King Baldwin IV - Untrusting jealousy

A/N: We're so back!! I'm so sorry for my long ahh hiatus but now that school is painfully slowly coming to an end, I figured it'd be the best time to catch up on all the unfinished projects and requests I've gathered in these past months. Also, I'm taking the chance to announce that I've updated my masterlist to add all the new fandoms I'm willing to write for, so go check on it if you're interested in commissioning any new works :))

Also the painting is "Stańczyk" by the Polish painter Jan Matejko

Warnings: none, jealousy, maybe? reader is gn

I really can't see him as the type of man to actually show any sort of jealousy

In this situation, I'd say he would act in a more "cautious" sort of way

If he didn't like someone, knowing his character, it would be because of something that makes them outright unworthy of his trust

He isn't the irrational type, so while his reasons to dislike this third party will surely be well founded, he isn't going to stop you from hanging out with them

He would totally warn you, of course. Assuming you were together, you'd be his partner and most trusted person in his life. Your safety would be his priority, so of course he'd want you to at least make informed decisions

That being said, if things were to escalate towards something he deemed potentially dangerous, I can see him acting out on it more. Still, nothing exaggerated or outwardly jealous, but he'd definitely pull you to the side and talk to you about these worries of his

In the end, it all really boils down to his desire to shield you from danger's way. Baldwin isn't the jealous type, it's simply not part of who he is

Can you make more head canons for Baldwin? Like what would he do if you two got into an argument etc etc.

King Baldwin x reader - Arguing with you

A/N: Sure thing sweetie!! I must apologize though, I only did the argument part because I didn't really have much time left and I didn't know what else to add. Hope you'll still like it though!

As always, painting is King Lear, Act I, Scene I by Edwin Austin Abbey :))

Warning: none, literally. Should f!reader a warning? If yes then there's that

Firs of all, Baldwin does not argue with you. He's a pacifist at heart, he always prefers talking things through and negotiate to get out of hard situations. To him, that is a form of respect, the desire to talk as equals and not trying to impose his own will on the other

And since he does that with his enemies, how could he not give you the same treatment? You, who lighten his days darkened by his duties and his sickness, you who save him from the burden of his own thoughts

And even if you tended to be more on the aggressive/prone to arguments side, he still wouldn't budge, and just keep on talking but most of all LISTENING, Baldwin respects you more than anyone else, your thoughts are sacred to him and should be treated as such!

If the argument is about something that he did to upset you, be it an unpleasant comment or a forgotten appointment (only happened once and it was because he had been kept busy by his counselors), he will do anything to make you feel any better

If the argument is about his tendencies to neglect his own health, then good luck with that because his own moral code physically prevents him from letting go of his duties to favor resting and trying to better his condition. Still, he will reassure you with gentle touches and soft words that he understands your worries, and you are the sweetest angel to care so much about him

But he cannot let his kingdom to fend for itself just because of a bad day for his leper body, he will have to wait until the evening to be reunited with you and finally let himself rest, your own anger at his stubborness long gone as you cradle his head on your lap. You still appreciate his soft apologies as you caress his mangled face, though

Now, speaking about what he'll do to make it up to you for any argument- or mostly, things that he did that upset you since he doesn't really argue with you

First of all, he will excuse himself for having upset you in the first place, listening to your every word to understand precisely what exactly it is that he did that he will avoid making again

Then, he will try to get any form of physical contact with you. He needs it, desperately, having been so isolated from any human touch for years other than his physicians'

Hell, he might even kneel for you if it meant having your forgiveness, if it meant being able to hug your legs like the supplicants of the ancient books he read about

If you'll let him get close to you, he'll kiss you all over while he'll keep apologizing and openly reflect on the things that he will change to make it up properly. Kinda reminds me of Gomez and Morticia on that scene (hence the painting I chose)

And after you will have forgiven him, that night he'll hold you a little closer, whispering sweet apologies while you sleep soundly, unaware of how dedicated your husband is to learn from his mistakes

All in all, I really don't see Baldwin as someone you'd ever argue with, but that doesn't stop him from making up for his every mistake like he'd caused you the worst of wrongs

You're his Heaven, and he'll treat you as such