i can't believe i wrote this
Baldwin's secret pastime (cracked out completely)
By ratherbrightred
Baldwin/Tiberias (eventually)
PG (might get dirtier later?)
Warnings: handicrafts (!)
This is not worthy of posting on the communities. It's very, VERY strange. Enjoy!
It came to my attention that Baldwin was disappearing for three hour intervals. His servants came to me one morning while I was sipping a cup of tea and looking over the execution orders for the week. Executions always soothed me. It was usually obvious who deserved to die and who didn't, and the process itself, the hanging, the neck snapping, the blue going to purple face, was as familiar to me as a lullaby.
"Yes?" I asked, gesturing for Baldwin's servant Abul to join me at the table.
"Tiberias sir, Baldwin has been…wandering off."
"Where?"
"We don't know, sir."
"When?"
"It used to be just once a week, and we always figured there was a good reason, but now, he goes for three or four hours, almost every day, and none of us can figure out where or why. Do you know what this is about?"
"No. Have you asked him about it?"
"I don't ask him things, sir."
"Is he there now?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll ask him," I decided, pulling on my gigantic blue cape and following Abul back to Baldwin's chambers. He was standing by the window, looking melancholy, as he often did. If only he had some execution orders to mull over, I'm sure his mood would have improved. "Baldwin," I said rather sharply, deciding that the best approach to this would be to act like a stern father. "Abul tells me you disappear for hours at a time."
Baldwin looked at Abul with annoyance. I should have left that part out, perhaps.
"He only came to me out of concern for you. Where do you go? And why?"
"It's none of your business," he said, turning away. He was becoming less responsive to my father impersonation as he grew older.
"It is my business, Baldwin. Tell me," I said, softening my tone and walking up behind him until I could feel the heat from his white robes. I was amazed he didn't suffocate or pass out. I imagined he was bandaged from head to toe under there.
"No, I won't tell you. Now go away and hang people or whatever you do."
I sighed, touching his shoulder lightly. He seemed to shiver at my touch. "Please, Baldwin. We want you to be safe, you realize."
"I'm perfectly safe."
"You can't be entirely safe if we don't know where you are."
Baldwin shot me a dirty look, insofar as that was possible with the mask on, and continued staring out the window. "Baldwin…" I sighed, kneading his shoulders. He was bony, and felt frail. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," I told him, pulling away and finding one of the more trustworthy pages.
"You must follow the king if he leaves this chamber this afternoon. When he gets to where he's going, you must come find me and take me to him. Do you understand?"
He nodded, accepting the coin I had brought for him.
I went about my business, Baldwin's disappearances in the corner of my mind throughout the day. At sunset, I was confronted by both Abul and the pageboy, Abul claiming that Baldwin had disappeared and the boy claiming he had not. Time to find another pageboy, I decided, letting him know his services would no longer be needed.
The following day, I heard the same thing from both Abul and the new pageboy. He must be getting out some other way. I decided to sit watch for Baldwin myself, the pageboy beside me to follow him. I concealed myself behind a pillar, hoping he wouldn't see me. Abul said he varied his departure time, but always seemed to be gone by three. The pageboy claimed he'd only seen servants going in and out, so I imagine that Baldwin was disguising himself somehow. Sure enough, there he was, at two thirty, wearing a huge, black billowing burqa, his almost dainty shuffle still intact, and a bag under his arm. I knew it was him by his fragile frame and careful footsteps, but the bag under the arm was a giveaway. Most women carried their packages on their heads.
"Report back to me. I'll be right here," I said, sending the boy off to follow Baldwin's best drag queen impression.
Moments later, the boy was back, and led me down the hall, through a long passage, out the side wall of the main part of the castle, and into a small shop. I peered through the window and shook my head. The man was full of surprises, not all of them mentionable.
"Now bind off," an old, plump woman instructed the king. His back was to me, but I could see he had taken off the burqa and was wearing his usual robes. "Good! This is your best mitten yet! I think you might be ready for a sweater."
I looked around her shop to see if there was evidence of what they were doing. She had a "closed" sign on the door, but I could make out lots of balls of yarn in the bins beside Baldwin's chair.
"Now tell me, your majesty, is there someone special you'll be making that sweater for?"
"Oh, nobody will wear a sweater in this heat."
"The desert can be quite cold at night, even in summer."
"I suppose."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Mrs. Gilbert, you know I have no lover. I cannot."
"But there might be someone special, nonetheless."
"There might be." I heard a soft clicking sound, then decided I had enough. I paid up the pageboy and knocked on the door.
"Shop's closed, dear!" Mrs. Gilbert called.
"I'm here for the king."
"Oh my." I heard her approach and open the door. Baldwin had stood up and looked a bit shocked; his eyes were wide and he clutched his knitting needles close to his chest.
"You've been knitting?" I asked, stepping inside the shop.
"The king is a very apt pupil."
"I became bored with cross stitch, Tiberias. Surely you understand when one needs to broaden one's repertoire of needlecrafts."
"Baldwin, are you quite mad?"
"Tiberias, they're only mittens."
Indeed they were, a pair of them, neatly finished off with a string to hold them together.
"I made them for my nephew. And a hat and scarf to match."
"Baldwin, it's so hot outside that I could fry an egg on my windowsill, and you're making winter woolens for your poor nephew?" Come to think of it, young Baldwin had a collection of strange accessories. At least one knitted scarf I had seen, loads of odd, occasionally malformed socks, and I myself had received a pair of socks from the king for Christmas some months ago. "Come back to the palace. Mrs. Gilbert, you may see the king in his chamber from now on. I can't have him running around unsupervised like this."
"Oh, yes sir," she said, obviously thrilled by the chance to go inside the palace.
"I can show you that angora I told you about. And maybe you could show me how to felt!"
"Baldwin, come with me."
"But we aren't finished yet."
"Yes, you are. Come with me." I packed up his knitting supplies and led him outside, taking him home as quickly as I could without attracting undue attention. "Now, Baldwin, tell me truly, what is this knitting habit about? And did you say cross stitch?"
Baldwin sighed, opening a cabinet beside his bed. Out poured at least a hundred small knitted items-scarves, mittens, hats, socks galore, and even a pair of baby booties. He reached behind the knitted things and pulled out a stack of embroidered handkerchiefs-I had several of these, presented to me at various points during my service to the king. He also had tea towels, doilies, hand made lace, quilted cross stitch, macramé plant holders, and enough balls of yarn to fill a shop twice the size of Mrs. Gilbert's.
"Baldwin…" I was speechless. "Baldwin, you're…you're out of control. How long has it taken you to make all this?"
He shrugged. "A year, maybe two. The things from before I donated to our soldiers. They weren't quite as nice."
"I'm relieved to know they all have embroidered handkerchiefs and warm mittens."
"Tiberias, are you very angry with me?"
"Of course not," I said gently, determining that a soothing tone of voice was best when dealing with lunatics.
"I was just so pleased that Mrs. Gilbert thinks me ready for a sweater." He sighed. "I was going to offer it to you," he added bashfully, tilting his head coquettishly.
"Baldwin, you are a king and a warrior. You defeated one of the best armies in the world at sixteen. How is it that you spend your days knitting and embroidering handkerchiefs? And how on earth do you manage it with your hands in such a condition?"
"Oh, I can hold the needles fine, except for the smaller sizes. And we all have our softer sides, Tiberias. What do you do to relax?"
"Not needlework!"
"What then? Do you read, or perhaps write romance novels?"
"Romance novels! Don't tell me, Baldwin, don't-just don't say another word-"
"I don't write them. I haven't the talent for writing, I merely make handicrafts."
"Well, Baldwin, I am honored that you would begin such an ambitious project as a sweater for my benefit, but I must again remind you how bloody hot it is here-"
"It gets cold at night, especially in winter. You'll like it. I'll make it soft and fuzzy."
I shook my head, holding my fingers to my mouth and shutting my eyes. This was unimaginably strange. Baldwin the leper king, knitter.
"Here, Tiberias. Take a handkerchief. Or two. And feel free to come back tomorrow for my knitting class. You might enjoy it. I really think you should try it. You seem very tense all the time, and it's very soothing."
I left the king's company shaken to my core. I had always admired Baldwin, thinking him not only strong and noble, but also manly, in his quiet, sickly way. Finding out that he had crafted enough feminine items to outdo the richest girl's dowry made me feel not only confused, but betrayed, as if everything I ever thought about the man might be false. What else was he hiding, if he had kept his needlework a secret for this long? I sighed, collapsing in bed and examining the handkerchiefs, which really were well done. It was touching that he wanted to knit a sweater for me, and possible that there would indeed be a few cold nights come winter. I wondered how long a sweater would take. Mere days, judging by his rather high productivity.
I recalled the moment he had admitted to wanting to knit the sweater on my behalf, as well as how Mrs. Gilbert framed her initial question. Had Baldwin been flirting with me? I couldn't shake the feeling that he had been. Something about the tilt of his head and his hesitant tone made me wonder. I couldn't decide what I thought about this. I pressed one of the handkerchiefs to my nose and smelled his smell, that strange medicinal odor that hung around him like a cloud. Yes, Baldwin could flirt with me, I decided. I was old enough to be his father, but we treated each other as friends and equals.
I wondered, had Baldwin ever had a lover? It seemed unlikely, and this thought saddened me. I turned the handkerchief over in my hands and wondered what would happen next. Aside from a guaranteed influx of knitted items for as long as the king lived, I wasn't sure how this new development would affect me. I decided not to mention it to anyone, and to drop in on his lesson tomorrow in an attempt to discover what he found so appealing about the hobby. My course of action determined, I stretched out in bed and napped until dinner.
By ratherbrightred
Baldwin/Tiberias (eventually)
PG (might get dirtier later?)
Warnings: handicrafts (!)
This is not worthy of posting on the communities. It's very, VERY strange. Enjoy!
It came to my attention that Baldwin was disappearing for three hour intervals. His servants came to me one morning while I was sipping a cup of tea and looking over the execution orders for the week. Executions always soothed me. It was usually obvious who deserved to die and who didn't, and the process itself, the hanging, the neck snapping, the blue going to purple face, was as familiar to me as a lullaby.
"Yes?" I asked, gesturing for Baldwin's servant Abul to join me at the table.
"Tiberias sir, Baldwin has been…wandering off."
"Where?"
"We don't know, sir."
"When?"
"It used to be just once a week, and we always figured there was a good reason, but now, he goes for three or four hours, almost every day, and none of us can figure out where or why. Do you know what this is about?"
"No. Have you asked him about it?"
"I don't ask him things, sir."
"Is he there now?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll ask him," I decided, pulling on my gigantic blue cape and following Abul back to Baldwin's chambers. He was standing by the window, looking melancholy, as he often did. If only he had some execution orders to mull over, I'm sure his mood would have improved. "Baldwin," I said rather sharply, deciding that the best approach to this would be to act like a stern father. "Abul tells me you disappear for hours at a time."
Baldwin looked at Abul with annoyance. I should have left that part out, perhaps.
"He only came to me out of concern for you. Where do you go? And why?"
"It's none of your business," he said, turning away. He was becoming less responsive to my father impersonation as he grew older.
"It is my business, Baldwin. Tell me," I said, softening my tone and walking up behind him until I could feel the heat from his white robes. I was amazed he didn't suffocate or pass out. I imagined he was bandaged from head to toe under there.
"No, I won't tell you. Now go away and hang people or whatever you do."
I sighed, touching his shoulder lightly. He seemed to shiver at my touch. "Please, Baldwin. We want you to be safe, you realize."
"I'm perfectly safe."
"You can't be entirely safe if we don't know where you are."
Baldwin shot me a dirty look, insofar as that was possible with the mask on, and continued staring out the window. "Baldwin…" I sighed, kneading his shoulders. He was bony, and felt frail. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," I told him, pulling away and finding one of the more trustworthy pages.
"You must follow the king if he leaves this chamber this afternoon. When he gets to where he's going, you must come find me and take me to him. Do you understand?"
He nodded, accepting the coin I had brought for him.
I went about my business, Baldwin's disappearances in the corner of my mind throughout the day. At sunset, I was confronted by both Abul and the pageboy, Abul claiming that Baldwin had disappeared and the boy claiming he had not. Time to find another pageboy, I decided, letting him know his services would no longer be needed.
The following day, I heard the same thing from both Abul and the new pageboy. He must be getting out some other way. I decided to sit watch for Baldwin myself, the pageboy beside me to follow him. I concealed myself behind a pillar, hoping he wouldn't see me. Abul said he varied his departure time, but always seemed to be gone by three. The pageboy claimed he'd only seen servants going in and out, so I imagine that Baldwin was disguising himself somehow. Sure enough, there he was, at two thirty, wearing a huge, black billowing burqa, his almost dainty shuffle still intact, and a bag under his arm. I knew it was him by his fragile frame and careful footsteps, but the bag under the arm was a giveaway. Most women carried their packages on their heads.
"Report back to me. I'll be right here," I said, sending the boy off to follow Baldwin's best drag queen impression.
Moments later, the boy was back, and led me down the hall, through a long passage, out the side wall of the main part of the castle, and into a small shop. I peered through the window and shook my head. The man was full of surprises, not all of them mentionable.
"Now bind off," an old, plump woman instructed the king. His back was to me, but I could see he had taken off the burqa and was wearing his usual robes. "Good! This is your best mitten yet! I think you might be ready for a sweater."
I looked around her shop to see if there was evidence of what they were doing. She had a "closed" sign on the door, but I could make out lots of balls of yarn in the bins beside Baldwin's chair.
"Now tell me, your majesty, is there someone special you'll be making that sweater for?"
"Oh, nobody will wear a sweater in this heat."
"The desert can be quite cold at night, even in summer."
"I suppose."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Mrs. Gilbert, you know I have no lover. I cannot."
"But there might be someone special, nonetheless."
"There might be." I heard a soft clicking sound, then decided I had enough. I paid up the pageboy and knocked on the door.
"Shop's closed, dear!" Mrs. Gilbert called.
"I'm here for the king."
"Oh my." I heard her approach and open the door. Baldwin had stood up and looked a bit shocked; his eyes were wide and he clutched his knitting needles close to his chest.
"You've been knitting?" I asked, stepping inside the shop.
"The king is a very apt pupil."
"I became bored with cross stitch, Tiberias. Surely you understand when one needs to broaden one's repertoire of needlecrafts."
"Baldwin, are you quite mad?"
"Tiberias, they're only mittens."
Indeed they were, a pair of them, neatly finished off with a string to hold them together.
"I made them for my nephew. And a hat and scarf to match."
"Baldwin, it's so hot outside that I could fry an egg on my windowsill, and you're making winter woolens for your poor nephew?" Come to think of it, young Baldwin had a collection of strange accessories. At least one knitted scarf I had seen, loads of odd, occasionally malformed socks, and I myself had received a pair of socks from the king for Christmas some months ago. "Come back to the palace. Mrs. Gilbert, you may see the king in his chamber from now on. I can't have him running around unsupervised like this."
"Oh, yes sir," she said, obviously thrilled by the chance to go inside the palace.
"I can show you that angora I told you about. And maybe you could show me how to felt!"
"Baldwin, come with me."
"But we aren't finished yet."
"Yes, you are. Come with me." I packed up his knitting supplies and led him outside, taking him home as quickly as I could without attracting undue attention. "Now, Baldwin, tell me truly, what is this knitting habit about? And did you say cross stitch?"
Baldwin sighed, opening a cabinet beside his bed. Out poured at least a hundred small knitted items-scarves, mittens, hats, socks galore, and even a pair of baby booties. He reached behind the knitted things and pulled out a stack of embroidered handkerchiefs-I had several of these, presented to me at various points during my service to the king. He also had tea towels, doilies, hand made lace, quilted cross stitch, macramé plant holders, and enough balls of yarn to fill a shop twice the size of Mrs. Gilbert's.
"Baldwin…" I was speechless. "Baldwin, you're…you're out of control. How long has it taken you to make all this?"
He shrugged. "A year, maybe two. The things from before I donated to our soldiers. They weren't quite as nice."
"I'm relieved to know they all have embroidered handkerchiefs and warm mittens."
"Tiberias, are you very angry with me?"
"Of course not," I said gently, determining that a soothing tone of voice was best when dealing with lunatics.
"I was just so pleased that Mrs. Gilbert thinks me ready for a sweater." He sighed. "I was going to offer it to you," he added bashfully, tilting his head coquettishly.
"Baldwin, you are a king and a warrior. You defeated one of the best armies in the world at sixteen. How is it that you spend your days knitting and embroidering handkerchiefs? And how on earth do you manage it with your hands in such a condition?"
"Oh, I can hold the needles fine, except for the smaller sizes. And we all have our softer sides, Tiberias. What do you do to relax?"
"Not needlework!"
"What then? Do you read, or perhaps write romance novels?"
"Romance novels! Don't tell me, Baldwin, don't-just don't say another word-"
"I don't write them. I haven't the talent for writing, I merely make handicrafts."
"Well, Baldwin, I am honored that you would begin such an ambitious project as a sweater for my benefit, but I must again remind you how bloody hot it is here-"
"It gets cold at night, especially in winter. You'll like it. I'll make it soft and fuzzy."
I shook my head, holding my fingers to my mouth and shutting my eyes. This was unimaginably strange. Baldwin the leper king, knitter.
"Here, Tiberias. Take a handkerchief. Or two. And feel free to come back tomorrow for my knitting class. You might enjoy it. I really think you should try it. You seem very tense all the time, and it's very soothing."
I left the king's company shaken to my core. I had always admired Baldwin, thinking him not only strong and noble, but also manly, in his quiet, sickly way. Finding out that he had crafted enough feminine items to outdo the richest girl's dowry made me feel not only confused, but betrayed, as if everything I ever thought about the man might be false. What else was he hiding, if he had kept his needlework a secret for this long? I sighed, collapsing in bed and examining the handkerchiefs, which really were well done. It was touching that he wanted to knit a sweater for me, and possible that there would indeed be a few cold nights come winter. I wondered how long a sweater would take. Mere days, judging by his rather high productivity.
I recalled the moment he had admitted to wanting to knit the sweater on my behalf, as well as how Mrs. Gilbert framed her initial question. Had Baldwin been flirting with me? I couldn't shake the feeling that he had been. Something about the tilt of his head and his hesitant tone made me wonder. I couldn't decide what I thought about this. I pressed one of the handkerchiefs to my nose and smelled his smell, that strange medicinal odor that hung around him like a cloud. Yes, Baldwin could flirt with me, I decided. I was old enough to be his father, but we treated each other as friends and equals.
I wondered, had Baldwin ever had a lover? It seemed unlikely, and this thought saddened me. I turned the handkerchief over in my hands and wondered what would happen next. Aside from a guaranteed influx of knitted items for as long as the king lived, I wasn't sure how this new development would affect me. I decided not to mention it to anyone, and to drop in on his lesson tomorrow in an attempt to discover what he found so appealing about the hobby. My course of action determined, I stretched out in bed and napped until dinner.