When The Fandom Is So Small That Everybody Knows Everybody

Could you do head canons of jealous Baldwin? I know he was a very honorable person and probably wouldn’t act out on his jealousy but like what are small things he would do if he was??

Eheheh I wrote some jealousy headcanons for him a few days ago, sorry if I haven't been that active lately but school has gotten me on a chokehold😔

Anywayy you can read the headcanons here if you didn't already, hope you like itttt<3

I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING

(this is a rant of mine that CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ASRA'S ROUTE IN THE ARCANA, so read at your own risk)

So, Asra right? My first love interest in the game, the person that basically built my ideal type,.. him.

It is common knowledge in this fandom that his love for the MC is completely unending end unconditional, right?

Well, I might disagree.

This idea came to my mind a few days ago, and from then on I spent my days contemplating life in despair and depression at my realization.

Asra's love IS FUCKED UP and I think it is more of an addiction to the MC rather than pure, unconditional love.

Let me elaborate: first he loses his parents, then he finds Muriel but he still lives in fear of losing him every time he had to fight in the Arena, then he had you, who for about 6 years had stayed by his side, with no signs of leaving anytime soon.

He wanted you all to himself, the only thing that remained stable in his life. That is, until the plague. That's the time where the selfishness of the purpose of his actions really comes to light: he wants everything and everyone to be just as he wants.

I mean, let's face it, no matter how much he might have pleaded and begged you to come with him and leave the city, he still left you there, alone, risking your life,... just so that he could be safe. Screw where you were, he was sure that at the end of it all, you would've still been there, waiting for him.

Because out of all the people in his life, you were the only one that never left

But it all changes when Julian's letter reaches him, and he comes back to Vesuvia. And you're gone.

I really think that his grief was mostly due to the loss of something stable in his life, rather than the lost of the love of his life.

After all, it didn't take long for him to start a relationship with Julian, and I don't care if some might say that it's some sort of coping mechanism, if Asra was able to do it all while still working to get you back, hitting it with Julian knowing that he was gonna have you back soon... that's just fucked up.

Also, his protective tendencies when MC comes back are rather possessive in my opinion: he keeps you like a trophy inside the shop, while he keeps wandering around the world, fulfilling his own selfish desire to visit as much as he can, while still keeping you in your cozy place, inside the castle.

That is also the whole point of the Reversed Ending of his route, that he could consider his own happy ending: he has you, all to himself, forever.

I think that the best side of Asra comes out when you play the other routes, because he has to come to term with his own issues and with the fact that at this point he cannot keep you to himself anymore. And with time he'll come to realize that what he feels for you is more of a spiritual connection, probably thanks to your own aura and magic, rather than a real romantic connection.

That's it, thanks for coming to my ted talk babes

King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot. 

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy. 

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down. 

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze. 

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life. 

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him. 

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

What do you think Baldwins fashion sense would be In modern times ?

Ohhh this is an interesting one!

Okay so, it took me a bit to think about it but I'm pretty confident on some points.

First of all, modesty. Not to cover up his body from leprosy, we have the medicine to cure that now so no prob, but his religious nature would probably physically restrain him from even getting close to "immodest" clothing, and by that I mean going around shirtless or lowering his pants to the point where you can see his mf underwear.

I see him as someone who likes to dress simple, not too many meaningless details and accessories, he'd probably fit best in the Dark Academia/old money style.

I'm debating on whether he'd wear a little silver cross necklace, part of me thinks that he actually wouldn't, he might rather keep his religiousness for himself rather than flaunting it around. Hence why he isn't really a fan of those pants with huge crosses, too over the top for him, it loses meaning.

I'm also leaving a few pics of what I think would best represent his style.

Baldwin in his summer era. Although I think he'd also wear shorts if it got too hot, but I haven't found a fit that quite represented my idea

This pic has me weak on my knees because I imagine Baldwin EXACTLY like this. Like, the hair, the strong handsome features,...

AAAAGHHH I'm on my knees for this man.

A look more winter-y. If I had to use a word to describe his style I'd probably simply say "class", because that's exactly what he's all about!

Hey guys it's my birthday today!!

Too bad I was born 800 years too late or else I'd spend it with Baldwin smh😪

Btw as a birthday gift to you guys I'll go back to writing by the end of the month!

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

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.

ALSO do you think he would have a favourite anime? my friend said he would like attack on titan but im not sure. i might be biased but i think he'd appreciate evangelion for its artistic value. once again sorry i keep bothering u with the weirdly specific king baldwin questions, i think about him so much :]]

Mmmh I can see why they'd say attack on titan and I actually have to agree with them, he'd probably enjoy it for both the plot and the fight scenes; even gore wouldn't faze him in the slightest, he's seen that stuff in real life both in battlefield and public executions, it's normal to him. Plus it would be funny seeing him spending days trying to analyze Eren's actions and decisions after season 4, like full on studying him like he's gonna be his next opponent or something.

And I also see your point, and I think he'd enjoy watching evangelion to try and understand better what modern people perceive as "art", especially from a country that he didn't even know existed!!

But I must say, I honestly think that his favorite anime would be something from Studio Ghibli. Those movies just have the perfect combination of adventure, poetry and art all in one.

He'd be moved by the tragic depiction of war in movies like Grave of the Firelights, or the touching friendships we both see in Ponyo and Totoro.

I can see Howl's Moving Castle as his favorite though, it would just be able to move him to a spiritual level.

He'd probably love Howl, he might even see some resemblance between him and the character. But (if you happened to be his S/O) he also might see his love story with you as a reversed version of Howl's and Sophie's; he sees himself as ugly and unlovable, while you see the beauty that resides within him.

Plus again, the way it shows how was is just a meaningless form of violence and takes to nothing other than destruction, that would truly resonate with him in my opinion!

Didn't expect to casually see Solas in Naples