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sunnycanvas · 5 months ago

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Can you write about a scenario, where, Baldwin loses yn, and gets incredibly upset over it, tries to find her (but secretly because people can't know he's actually seeing someone because of his leprosy) only to find out she was killed ? Maybe he finds her body too/retrieves it

Adiuva nos, Domine,

In tribulatione nostra.

Te clamamus, Sancte Deus,

Exaudi preces nostras

O Maria, Mater Gratiae,

Tu es refugium nostrum.

In tenebris et angustia,

Sustenta nos, o dulcis Virgo.

Sancte Michael, protector noster,

Defende nos in proelio.

Contra insidias diaboli,

Fidei nostrae fortitudo.

Gloria Patri et Filio,

Et Spiritui Sancto.

Sicut erat in principio,

Et nunc et semper.

Baldwin IV gripped his rosary with trembling hands, his knuckles white as he prayed fervently. He prayed for your safety. It had been days since you vanished, and he was drowning in helplessness. He couldn't launch a full investigation, not without risking exposure of the bond between you. The very thought of anyone discovering what you meant to him sent a cold shiver down his spine. Baldwin understood the dangers of being associated with him. Especially now, as a leper. His condition, his cursed existence, only amplified the peril for anyone close to him. He had kept you hidden. Your presence, your existence and shielded from the world, all to protect both of you. But now, the silence stretched on, and Baldwin could feel his sanity slipping. The thought of anything happening to you, of you being hurt or worse, twisted inside him like a sharp knife. Baldwin could feel his heartbeat beating so hard that it was painful. Baldwin never knew what fear was until he met you. The thought of you being injured or worse, Baldwin wouldn't know how to live.

"No," he whispered, trying to force away the dread that clawed at his insides. "You’re safe. You have to be safe."

Just as he finished his prayer and turned around, his eyes fell upon his mother, Agnes de Courtenay. She approached him with hesitant steps, her face drawn tight with worry. Baldwin didn’t need to see her expression to know it was bad news.

"Any word?" His voice was colder than he meant it to be, a harsh edge creeping into his words.

Agnes paused, her hands wringing together as she looked down. "No, my son," she stammered, her voice faltering. "I’m doing everything I can. I swear, I—"

"Everything you can?" Baldwin cut her off, his words sharp and cutting. His frustration was boiling over, the fear for you overwhelming everything else. "Your best isn’t enough, Mother. Not when her life is on the line!". His gaze was relentless, piercing through her with the weight of his anger. "I entrusted you with this. I trusted you to keep her safe, and now look where we are no answers, no progress". "How many days must pass before you start doing what you promised?" Agnes flinched, her eyes wide with the sting of his words, but Baldwin’s gaze didn’t soften. He was beyond patience. Baldwin IV continued with his voice that cut through the air like a blade. "So, it seems her presence was discovered after all," he said, his tone ice-cold. "Mother, you’ve failed utterly in keeping her hidden, just as I entrusted you to do. Is this truly the best you can manage?" He paused, his eyes narrowing, fury flickering in them. "Perhaps I was a fool to trust you at all. I should have given the task to my uncle, someone who might actually be competent. Clearly, you can't even manage something as simple as this." His words were like a slap, and the venom in his gaze made it clear he had no room for excuses.

Agnes flinched at the sharpness in her son’s tone. She had braced herself for his wrath, but the sheer intensity still struck a chord deep within her. Yet, she wasn’t going to retreat without a fight. Gathering her courage, she straightened and replied with calm defiance. “Of course,” she began, her voice firm despite the tension in the air, “a mere noblewoman like me is no match for the Dowager Queen, your stepmother, who has been quietly maneuvering to place your half-sister Isabella on the throne. Let us not forget that Isabella holds a claim through your father.” Baldwin’s brows furrowed, confusion momentarily softening the fury etched into his features. The sudden mention of Maria Komnene was unexpected. Agnes caught the subtle shift in his demeanor, recognizing the spark of intrigue. She pressed forward without hesitation. “I have evidence,” she continued, her voice steady and deliberate, “that a woman matching (Y/N)’s description was seen in Nablus. And where does your stepmother reside? Nablus. It’s no coincidence, Baldwin.” His eyes widened, a mix of shock and desperate hope flashing across his face. Without waiting for his mother to elaborate further, he barked out a command. “Prepare the horses! We’re leaving at once.” Agnes started, alarmed by his abrupt reaction. “Baldwin, wait! The evidence we have, it’s flimsy at best. It only hints at her presence, nothing certain—”

“I don’t care!” Baldwin cut her off, his voice trembling with emotion. “If there is even the slightest chance (Y/N) is there, I will go. No matter how faint the trail may be.” Determined to avoid unnecessary attention, Baldwin insisted on going alone, without knights or a retinue. Agnes, unwilling to let her son journey into potential danger alone, argued until he relented. Exhausted from the emotional storm, Baldwin agreed with little resistance. Both mother and son disguised themselves as common travelers, cloaked in simple garb with hoods obscuring their faces.

As they rode under the cover of blazing hot sun, Baldwin’s thoughts churned in turmoil. His stepmother, Maria Komnene, had always been ambitious, but would she truly act so brazenly? He scowled beneath his hood, considering the other players in the shadowy game of politics. Could Raymond of Tripoli, his calculating cousin, be involved? Or the Ibelin brothers, notorious for their scheming alliances? His instincts told him 'No, they wouldn’t dare'. That left only one man: Guy of Lusignan, his reckless and power-hungry brother-in-law. The very thought of Guy made Baldwin’s grip tighten on the reins, rage building in his chest.

Agnes, as if sensing her son’s thoughts, spoke softly. “Do not let your mind run wild, my son. This reeks of your stepmother’s hand. She has made alliances in the court, strengthening her position. Her marriage ties to the Ibelins have been... advantageous.”

Baldwin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence betraying the storm within.

As they neared their destination, something caught his attention. A familiar figure moving in the distance. Baldwin’s breath hitched. “Sibylla?” he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. His gaze snapped to his mother, who appeared just as stunned. Without a word, Baldwin motioned for silence, urging his horse to follow his sister at a safe distance. Agnes, still reeling, followed his lead.

Sibylla led them to a secluded area, where she dismounted and began speaking to a shadowy figure. Baldwin and Agnes dismounted as well, watching from a concealed position. “Make sure her body is disposed of in a way that it can’t be recognized,” Sibylla ordered, her voice cold and resolute. The man bowed slightly, replying grimly, “Of course, my lady. Anything else?”

Sibylla smiled, a cruel satisfied expression that sent a chill through Baldwin. “Oh no, you’ve done an absolutely fantastic job in killing (Y/N). My brother may mourn her now, but he will thank me later.”

Baldwin froze, the weight of her words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His vision blurred with a mix of fury and devastation. Then, without hesitation, he unsheathed his sword and spurred his horse forward.

"SIBYLLA!" His voice thundered, raw with fury, reverberating like a war cry that sent chills down the spines of even the most hardened knights. Agnes barely had time to reach out before her son was charging toward his sister, the blade in his hand glinting like justice itself.

Baldwin IV’s horse reared back, its hooves striking the air as his roar echoed through the desolate clearing. His blue eyes, ablaze with rage, locked onto his sister’s frozen figure. She stood trembling, her schemes exposed, with no crowd to shield her from her brother's wrath . The man standing beside Sibylla, realizing it was the king himself bearing down upon them, stumbled backward, stammering incoherent apologies before bolting into the shadows. Sibylla was left alone, her fear-stricken body rooted to the ground. Baldwin’s horse halted mere feet away from her, nostrils flaring, its king equally volatile. “I should kill you where you stand!” he bellowed about to striker her with his sword. Sybilla although fearful of her brother's wrath somehow narrowly escaped the sword stumbling backwards in fear by sheer luck. "You scheming, treacherous fool!" he growled, his voice low and deadly as he urged his horse forward ready to strike her again. "You dared to betray me?" His tone was laced with a venom that made Sibylla’s knees weaken. She stumbled backward again, her face pale, eyes wide with dread. She had never seen her brother like this, his normally composed demeanor shattered by pure, unrestrained fury. As Baldwin surged toward her, his expression promising retribution, Agnes’s voice cut through the chaos, her horse galloping into the scene as she placed herself squarely between her son and daughter. Her arms spread wide in a protective gesture, shielding Sibylla from Baldwin’s wrath.

"Baldwin, stop!" Agnes implored, her voice trembling with urgency. "You cannot do this!" “Please, Baldwin, don’t do this!”. Agnes reasoned, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her fear. She had seen her son angry before, but never like this—never so unhinged, so consumed.

Baldwin’s horse came to an abrupt halt, its hooves digging into the dirt as he glared down at his mother. His blue eyes burned with fury as he snarled, “Get out of my way, Mother.” His voice was low, trembling with restrained anger. “She doesn’t deserve your protection" "Not after what she’s done. None of you do.”

Agnes held her ground, her voice firm but laced with desperation.“(Y/N) wouldn’t want this,” she pleaded, her eyes softening.

Her words acted as a spark to dry tinder, igniting an even fiercer blaze of rage in her son. His horse snorted and shifted as he practically snarled in response. "DON’T YOU DARE BRING HER INTO THIS!" Baldwin’s voice boomed, his rage untethered. "Do not use her name to shield your guilt! You all killed her!" He gestured wildly toward Sibylla, his accusations cutting like daggers. "You, with your selfish schemes! You destroyed the only person who ever made this wretched existence tolerable!" he snapped, his voice cracking as he gestured sharply toward Sibylla. “You all killed her!

Agnes desperate in fear mumbled "Please Baldwin, you can't do this" "Killing your sister will start a civil war" "Our kingdom won't receive donations to survive by our own cousins" . Baldwin in anger retorted "Do not speak to me of what I can and cannot do, Mother! Do you think I care for appearances anymore? Do you think I care for laws or blood ties when my very own family killed her?" His voice cracked as it reached a crescendo, raw grief mingling with his fury.

Agnes's lips parted as if to argue, but Baldwin’s voice thundered again, silencing her. "She was the light of my life, the only light in this accursed kingdom of shadows. And you snuffed it out!" Sibylla, trembling and unable to meet his gaze, muttered something unintelligible, but Baldwin would not hear it. "Speak not a word to me!" he hissed, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl as he pulled his horse closer. "I should end you for what you’ve done."

His horse shifted uneasily beneath him, mirroring its master’s fury. Agnes held her ground, her hand gripping her saddle tightly to steady herself. “Baldwin, please!” she implored, her voice softer now, pleading. “Your anger won’t bring her back!” “No!” Baldwin’s shout tore through the night, his face contorting in agony. “But it will ensure justice is served! I will not let her memory be trampled on by the people who betrayed her.” Sibylla whimpered behind Agnes, tears streaming down her pale face, her voice barely audible as she tried to speak. But Baldwin ignored her, his gaze fixed on his mother as if daring her to move. “Step aside, Mother,” he warned, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “Or I swear, I’ll ride through you.”

Agnes moved her horse with determination, shielding Sibylla fully. "You are King, Baldwin. Do not let your grief destroy what she loved in you." "Your sense of duty. I am asking you, for the sake of the kingdom, to control yourself' "You know right how stability is fragile because of complex court politics right now". Agnes knew Baldwin just like her late husband Almaric was man of duty. Luckily for Agnes her trick worked and Baldwin took long labored breath to calm down Baldwin’s chest heaved as he sucked in a long, ragged breath, his fingers trembling on the hilt of his sword. His smoldering eyes burned with suppressed fury, unshed tears glistening under the hood of his cloak. Agnes knew, as much as Baldwin hated to show weakness, had his leprosy not robbed him of tears, they would be falling freely now.

Once assured that Baldwin was reigning in his rage, Agnes turned her attention to Sibylla, her face hard with disgust. “Why did you do this to (Y/N)?” she demanded, her voice like ice.

Sibylla, though visibly shaken at first, straightened her posture. She squared her shoulders, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “I acted for the good of the kingdom,” she declared, her tone resolute. “You yourself have said how precarious the court’s balance is, especially after Father’s second marriage. (Y/N) was a poison to this realm, indulging herself with my leprous brother and leading us all to sin.” Baldwin’s fists clenched tighter at her words, his jaw set in a way that made it clear he was barely containing his rage. His voice, low and dangerous, cut through the air. “(Y/N) had no interest in court politics,” he growled, his tone trembling with anger. Agnes added swiftly, her voice icy, “Whatever schemes you think she wove, they existed only in your mind, Sibylla.” Sibylla scoffed, her confidence growing as she met her mother’s glare. “That’s what she wanted you all to believe,” she replied, a sneer curling her lips. “That whore seduced my sinful brother, wrapping him around her finger. She made herself indispensable to him, and in doing so, she threatened the delicate peace we’ve tried so hard to maintain. So, I acted.” Her voice hardened, her gaze unrepentant. “I drowned her.” Agnes gasped, her revulsion barely concealed, while Baldwin’s body tensed like a coiled spring, his fury on the verge of erupting. “Sibylla,” he warned, his voice deadly calm, “choose your next words carefully, or I will claw the very tongue from your mouth.” Agnes, sensing the explosion brewing within her son, leaned forward and hissed in a low voice to Sibylla, ensuring Baldwin couldn’t hear. “Where did you get this vile notion? Who planted these ideas in your head?” For a brief moment, Sibylla faltered, her expression shifting into something unsettling. A lovestruck reverie. Her voice softened as she whispered, “My husband told me. Guy explained everything. He opened my eyes to her true nature.”. Agnes froze, but Baldwin let out a groan of exasperation, the sound a mix of fury and dismay. He had heard enough to piece together the whispered exchange. His eyes blazed as he locked his gaze on Sibylla. The crackling silence between them spoke volumes, Baldwin’s composure hanging by a thread as he stared down the sister who had shattered his world.

“Show us her body,” Agnes commanded, her voice sharp and leaving no room for argument. To her relief, Sibylla gave no protest, silently turning to lead them toward an abandoned house. The acrid stench of death grew stronger with every step, guiding them like a trail. Baldwin dismounted his horse in silence, his face an unreadable mask. Inside the house, the smell became suffocating. It led them to a small room where (Y/N)’s body lay on a rickety bed, her lifeless form bathed in the dim light filtering through the cracks in the walls. Though the odor was strong, the appearance of her body was hauntingly serene, as if death had only just brushed her. Baldwin froze in the doorway, staring at her still form as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “(Y/N),” he whispered, his voice trembling. Slowly, he stepped forward, each movement heavy with disbelief and agony, until he reached the bedside. He sank to his knees, his trembling hands hovering over her face before cradling her lifeless body in his arms. His breath hitched as he took in her features the faint curve of her lips, the delicate eyelashes resting against her cheeks. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “So beautiful. You don’t look dead... only asleep.” His hand caressed her cold cheek, his touch desperate, as if his warmth alone could bring her back. “Oh, (Y/N),” Baldwin whispered, his eyes stung with unshed tears, his chest heaving with suppressed sobs. “Please... wake up. You promised me,” he pleaded, his voice raw and thick with despair. “You swore you wouldn’t leave me, not as long as I lived. You lied to me, my love... you lied...” He clutched her closer, his shoulders shaking as the grief consumed him. “You were my light... my only light in this wretched world,” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of his sorrow. “How am I to go on without you? How am I to face the darkness without you beside me?” Wailed by his diseased dry eyes . He kissed her hair dampening by his lips. He pressed his lips to her temple, his trembling breath ghosting over her still form. Agnes stood nearby, her own heart heavy as she witnessed her son’s anguish. She had seen Baldwin face countless battles, seen him stand tall against unimaginable pain, but this, this broken man before her, was a sight she could barely bear. His grief was raw, unfiltered, and so profound it filled the room with its weight. Baldwin rocked (Y/N)’s body gently, his words becoming incoherent as sobs wracked his body. His fingers brushed through her hair as though soothing her to sleep. “Please... just one more moment,” he begged the heavens, his voice barely audible. “Let me hold her... let me hear her laugh again... her voice, her heartbeat...”His cries pierced the air, echoing through the empty house, a king brought to his knees by the unbearable loss of the woman who had been his everything. And as Baldwin cradled her lifeless form, it was as though his own heart had stopped beating alongside hers.

Sibylla watched her brother’s grief with an almost placating smile. "It’s okay, brother," she said softly, though her tone carried a trace of condescension. "Let out your grief. This sacrifice was necessary for the betterment of the kingdom." Baldwin’s trembling stopped abruptly as her words reached him. His reddened face lifted to meet her gaze, his expression hollow yet sharp, like a blade dulled by too much use but still capable of cutting. "Who else worked with you?" His voice, though low, carried the unmistakable edge of restrained fury. Sibylla straightened, confidence flickering in her anger as she retorted, "Me. I acted alone." Baldwin’s gaze didn’t waver. "So Mother didn’t know about this," he said, his words heavy with accusation. His tone made even Agnes flinch at the mention of her involvement. "No," Sibylla answered firmly. "Mother didn’t know about this." For a moment, Baldwin seemed to freeze. His grief contorted into something darker, something terrifying. His face, already ravaged by disease and despair, now carried an expression of such cold rage that even Sibylla, emboldened as she was, felt her confidence falter. When he spoke again, his voice was chilling, devoid of any humanity. "You’re going to feel what you’ve done to me. The same pain, the same torment" "You will suffer just as you made me suffer. I will make sure of it." Sibylla’s eyes narrowed, her anger surging forth like a storm. "You dare call me selfish?" she snapped. "You sit on that throne, clinging to your miserable life, bringing sin upon this kingdom by indulging in your lust for that woman! It’s you who’s selfish, Baldwin not me! You should step down and let my husband rule" "A man who is strong and capable, unlike you." Baldwin let out a bitter, humorless laugh that echoed in the small, decrepit room. "Capable? Your husband?" He sneered, his lip curling with disdain. "A coward who hides behind you to make his moves? Don’t worry, dear sister. He’ll have his time to shine" "In the dungeon. I’ll ensure he becomes intimately acquainted with every torture device we own before I execute him." Sibylla gasped, her fury boiling over. She raised a hand to strike him, but Agnes, weary of the madness around her, stepped forward and caught her wrist, shielding Baldwin with her body. "Enough!" Agnes’s voice carried the weight of her authority, silencing the escalating storm. Turning to her son, she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, her expression softening. "Baldwin," she said gently, "this... this isn’t what (Y/N) would have wanted. Let us focus on her, not on revenge." Her voice cracked slightly as she continued, "We should give her a proper burial. She deserves that, if nothing else." Baldwin’s breathing slowed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. His rage momentarily abated, overtaken by his grief as he looked down at (Y/N)’s body once more. "A burial," he whispered, nodding slowly, his focus entirely on the woman he loved. "Yes. She deserves that." Sibylla scoffed loudly but said nothing else, her lips pressed into a tight line. The tension in the room simmered, unspoken words and unresolved hatred hanging heavy in the air as Baldwin’s attention remained solely on (Y/N), his sorrow drowning out all else.

All three rode in solemn silence, Baldwin insisting on carrying (Y/N)’s lifeless body on his horse. No one dared argue. As they traveled back, Agnes swore she could hear Baldwin murmuring soft, sweet words to (Y/N), as if she could still hear him. She had always admired her son’s resilience and the strength of his mind, his determination to lead even as his body battled the ravages of disease. But now, watching him, Agnes feared that (Y/N)’s death might shatter him entirely, driving him into the depths of madness. They arrived at a small, secluded church under the protection of Agnes’s allies. Baldwin dismounted, his movements stiff but deliberate, and cradled (Y/N)’s body in his arms as he entered the hallowed ground. His hollow, vacant eyes met those of Patriarch Heraclius, who quickly approached with an air of confusion. Baldwin addressed the archbishop in a voice devoid of life, yet carrying the weight of an unbreakable command. "Take her body," he said, his words measured and heavy. "Ensure she is given a proper burial. On her grave, inscribe the words: ‘Light of the world for the leper.’" Heraclius froze in stunned realization, his gaze falling to the woman in Baldwin’s arms realizing that she was the lover of the leper king . Before Heraclius could respond, Agnes quickly stepped forward, leaning in to whisper firmly, "Keep her presence here a secret. Let no one know." Her voice was quiet but sharp, leaving no room for argument. Heraclius nodded, too shocked to protest, and turned to oversee the arrangements as Baldwin reluctantly placed (Y/N) down for the last time. Once outside, Agnes found her son standing near the churchyard, staring blankly into the distance as if searching for something beyond the horizon. His voice broke the silence, low and filled with a crushing sorrow. "As much as I speak of revenge, I know it is impossible. My actions would destroy the kingdom." He paused, the grief in his tone cutting through Agnes like a blade. "I couldn’t protect her in life, and now I’ve failed her in death. But I will protect the kingdom she loved. At least... when I meet her again, I can tell her I wasn’t a complete failure." Agnes reached out and rested her hand gently on his shoulder, her voice soft but resolute. "The fault lies with me as well. We both failed her, my son. But for your sake and hers, I swear to you—I will ensure that Sibylla and her husband never sit on the throne. Her son, your nephew, will rule instead. I will see to it." For the first time since (Y/N)’s death, a faint glimmer of relief flickered in Baldwin’s eyes. He turned to his mother, his voice regaining a trace of its usual sharpness. "Yes, you are right. This kingdom must not be ruled by (Y/N)’s murderer." His expression hardened. "I entrust you with this, Mother. Convince the Haute Cour. Do not fail me as you did before."

Agnes straightened her posture, her voice carrying a quiet determination. "I won’t. I promise you that."

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