Kingdom of Heaven fic.
Title: 1001 Arabian Knights
Author: xzombiexkittenx
Email: xzombiexkittenx at gmail dot com
Pairing: Baldwin/Tiberias
Rating: PG
Summary: Eventually the stories must come to an end
for rene_starko for this beautiful icon.
xposted to king_baldwin and koh_slash_fic
If he hadn’t have been able to hear Baldwin’s labored breathing, Tiberius would have said that the King was dead. His chest barely moved and he lay perfectly still, as though he was already gone and his body hadn’t the good sense to just give up and stop fighting.
But wasn’t that the way that Baldwin was and had always been?
He should have stepped down long ago. He should have retired and left the war and the politics to someone else. Someone who wasn’t dying.
Suddenly furious, Tiberias snatched up a few stray pillows. Leaning down, he gently lifted Baldwin’s torso so he could slide the pillows underneath, propping him up, trying to ease his struggle to breathe. Baldwin didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t even open his eyes. He felt hot, even through the silks and bandages. Instead of abating, the anger seemed to be fed by the fire of the fever that was to be the end of Tiberias’ only good reason for carrying on.
Tiberias was a fighter. He had been born and raised a knight. Tiberias had taught other men to fight, he had been a leader of men, an obedient servant for his King and he had been dragging the kingdom through the war, battle by battle. He was not going to be bested by something as useless, as senseless as a fever.
Tiberias ground his teeth down until he thought he could feel them wearing away. He had fought Baldwin’s battles for him before, why did this have to be any different?
How was Baldwin supposed to heal, to breathe, with all those /things/ around his throat and face and chest, choking him? They were killing him, not healing him. Tiberias growled under his breath and pulled off his gloves, throwing them impatiently onto the floor. Christ, they already had Baldwin laid out in State. He reached for the veil that covered the top of his head and wondered if it wouldn’t be easier just to cut the damn thing off.
His hand was stopped by Baldwin opening his eyes, one hand coming up slightly. “Don’t.” His voice was weak in volume but strong in tone. “Tiberias?”
Tiberias caught Baldwin’s hand holding it gently. “I’m here.”
Baldwin relaxed slightly. “It’s unseasonably hot in this room,” he said, half-jesting and his eyes drifted shut again. “Do not take the mask off.”
“You can’t breathe!” Tiberias’ voice sounded as desperate as he felt. “This is madness, utter madness.”
Baldwin tightened his grip. “It won’t matter in a few days…in a few hours.” He was silent for a moment, and then; “I can’t see. The fever has taken my eyesight.” Tiberias opened his mouth to protest, to deny it, to make useless assurances that all would be well but Baldwin continued in the same soft tone. “I would quite like you to read to me, would you do that, Tiberias? I don’t mind what. Just until I go to sleep.”
Tiberias let go of his hand, feeling helplessly angry. “Of course.”
Baldwin opened his eyes for the second time. “You will need to work on your tone, that will never do for bedtime reading.” Again he sounded tiredly amused. “I believe there’s a book on the table.”
There was a book on the table, a collection of Islamic stories so Tiberias pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down heavily. He cleared his throat, took a deep, calming breath and forced himself to concentrate on the words swimming in front of suddenly unreliable vision. Unseasonably hot indeed, it was unusually dusty as well, and it was getting into his eyes. He blinked back moisture and cleared his throat again. “Praise be to Allah, the Beneficent King, the Crea-”
“You may leave out the introduction.” Baldwin twitched his fingers in sort of a ‘carry-on’ waving motion. “That part does go on for a while, and time is so precious…”
“Verily the works and words of those gone-”
“Further.”
“Praise, there-”
“Ahead.”
Tiberias smiled, though the expression felt a little strained. “As you wish.” He skimmed further down the page and then stopped, checked the plain cover of the book and smiled again, more genuine this time. “Now of such instances are the tales called "A Thousand Nights and a Night," together with their far-famed legends and wonders.”
Baldwin sighed happily and shut his eyes. There were thirty three stories in the book, painstakingly translated, beautifully illuminated, and Tiberias read until the sun dipped behind the horizon and candles were brought in and he had to squint to see the words. He read on, story after story. He wanted to snap the book shut and say, ‘no more, you must live another day if you wish to hear another tale.’ He wanted to save Baldwin’s life through the words, as Scheherazade saved herself from death with her stories. He wanted to find the man who had given this sickness to his King and tear him apart. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay forever.
Some way through the ‘Tale of the Three Apples’ Baldwin’s breathing worsened to the point where Tiberias dropped the book. The binding, obviously lovingly cared for, broke, splitting down the center as it hit against the stone flooring. “Your Majesty?” No reply. “Baldwin?”
This time Tiberias drew a knife from his jacket and sliced away the veil, the silk wrapped about Baldwin’s throat, opened his shirt halfway down his chest and sliced open the bandages there. He reached for the mask, and his hands were shaking. He hadn’t seen Baldwin’s face in over four years.
The mask came away easily without the bandages and silks to hold it in place and Tiberias sucked in an involuntary gasp.
Baldwin’s eyes opened, wide and afraid. “No,” he gasped and his hands dug into the sheets as he labored for breath.
Tiberias steeled his reserve and put the back of one hand on Baldwin’s forehead. The skin there was unblemished, most of his face was, except for around the eyes. It wasn’t anywhere as bad as his hand, but his nose and top lip were all but gone until his teeth were exposed and it almost looked like a grimace of pain, but worse, so much worse. For all that, the skin was soft. Tiberias had to remind himself how young Baldwin was.
“You are burning up,” he said, firm and immovable as Balwin’s own will. “I will get you some water and a cool cloth.”
“Tiberias.” Baldwin’s soft plea stopped him in his tracks. “I am dying. Let me go.”
Tiberias shook his head. “I will get you water and then,” his voice cracked and broke and he had to stop for a moment, to put his hands over his face and breathe slowly and deeply. “I will return in a moment.”
Baldwin actually tried to sit up, but he fell back again, panting. “Don’t leave. Please…I may not be here when you come back.”
Tiberias’ limp was more pronounced as he left the room.
He stood out in the hallway for a moment, then slammed his fist into the wall. It hurt, but not nearly as much as his chest hurt, just trying to breathe without weeping. He hadn’t prayed in years, but as he went for water and cold cloths, it was the only thing he could think of to do.
For the first time, it seemed as if God was listening because Baldwin was still alive when he returned.
He put one of the cool cloths on Baldwin’s forehead then set the glass to Baldwin’s lips, lifting his head slightly. Baldwin sipped at it and then turned his head away. After a moment the devastation to Baldwin’s face wasn’t as terrible as it first appeared. It was a far cry from the handsome boy that he had been, but the strength and the courage under the ruined skin could make Tiberias forget to care.
“You shouldn’t touch me.” His mouth barely moved at all as he spoke, it was all in his throat.
Tiberias lifted the cloth away and pressed a kiss to Baldwin’s forehead. “As you said, soon enough, it will not matter.”
Baldwin lifted his hand enough to touch Tiberias’ face. “You matter.”
“Not without you.” Tiberias smiled weakly and stroked the soft skin of his forehead again. “Would you like me to continue the stories?”
“Could you…” Baldwin sighed, but it was a peaceful sound, as Tiberias rewet the cloth and put it back over feverishly hot skin. “Could you tell me one of your own?”
Tiberias sat on the bed and gently shifted Baldwin so the King was lying back against him, head against Tiberias’ shoulder, wrapped in his arms. “Once upon a time…” He choked on his words but carried on regardless. He had been brave in the face of immeasurable odds, he could be brave this one last time. “There was a prince of such courage, and such strength that all the men in the kingdom looked upon him and marveled at his wisdom and…and when he was King, one sunny day in a parade of endless sunny days, a man looked up and saw not a boy, but a man, and that man was beautiful in his courage, and in his strength, and in his wisdom. It was an awful thing, because the man…” Tiberias swallowed hard and pressed on. It was too late for regrets now. “Because the man loved the King, with all of his heart that the sun hadn’t burned away.”
“That is good.” Baldwin’s eyes fluttered shut and his body felt heavier as he relaxed. “Because the King loved the man back.”
There was something warm and wet trailing down Tiberias cheek and his throat felt as though he was trying to speak through blades sharp as broken glass. “Baldwin…”
“How does the story end?” Baldwin asked and his voice was almost gone.
Tiberias put his hand over Baldwin’s heart, its beat too slow, too faint. “The King left the kingdom and went to the Land Beyond the Horizon, where the man would meet him. Not yet, but in his own time, and it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing matters…” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t speak past the knives in his throat.
“You are a terrible story teller.” Baldwin smiled, or at least it looked like he was smiling. “It should end thusly; The King went to the Land Beyond the Horizon where everything was beautiful, and soft and there were no wars, and no disease, and no thing that was bad. And when the man came to join him they lived forever and ever in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Tiberias nodded, but he couldn’t speak.
Baldwin shuddered and his breathing hitched. “I am afraid, Tiberias. I have known for so long but I am still afraid.”
“Never be afraid.” It was a lesson that Tiberias had given to Baldwin long ago. “If you have courage and good men at your back, then you shall never be defeated in deed or in spirit.”
“Tell me another story,” Baldwin said softly. “Your voice keeps my courage from failing.”
Tiberias felt more moisture trail slowly down his face but he swallowed the knives down and continued. “I have no stories, Baldwin, but I will tell you this; I have never met a man such as you, and I never wish to, because my heart could not stand to be broken twice. I am honored to have known you.”
He realized then that the shallow breathing had ceased, and the heart under his hand no longer beat.
Tiberias sat with Baldwin until the candles guttered and burned out and then he rose, stiff and tired to tell the servants to dress the King for his final audience. He took the book with him, broken and gutted as he felt.
Author: xzombiexkittenx
Email: xzombiexkittenx at gmail dot com
Pairing: Baldwin/Tiberias
Rating: PG
Summary: Eventually the stories must come to an end
for rene_starko for this beautiful icon.
xposted to king_baldwin and koh_slash_fic
If he hadn’t have been able to hear Baldwin’s labored breathing, Tiberius would have said that the King was dead. His chest barely moved and he lay perfectly still, as though he was already gone and his body hadn’t the good sense to just give up and stop fighting.
But wasn’t that the way that Baldwin was and had always been?
He should have stepped down long ago. He should have retired and left the war and the politics to someone else. Someone who wasn’t dying.
Suddenly furious, Tiberias snatched up a few stray pillows. Leaning down, he gently lifted Baldwin’s torso so he could slide the pillows underneath, propping him up, trying to ease his struggle to breathe. Baldwin didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t even open his eyes. He felt hot, even through the silks and bandages. Instead of abating, the anger seemed to be fed by the fire of the fever that was to be the end of Tiberias’ only good reason for carrying on.
Tiberias was a fighter. He had been born and raised a knight. Tiberias had taught other men to fight, he had been a leader of men, an obedient servant for his King and he had been dragging the kingdom through the war, battle by battle. He was not going to be bested by something as useless, as senseless as a fever.
Tiberias ground his teeth down until he thought he could feel them wearing away. He had fought Baldwin’s battles for him before, why did this have to be any different?
How was Baldwin supposed to heal, to breathe, with all those /things/ around his throat and face and chest, choking him? They were killing him, not healing him. Tiberias growled under his breath and pulled off his gloves, throwing them impatiently onto the floor. Christ, they already had Baldwin laid out in State. He reached for the veil that covered the top of his head and wondered if it wouldn’t be easier just to cut the damn thing off.
His hand was stopped by Baldwin opening his eyes, one hand coming up slightly. “Don’t.” His voice was weak in volume but strong in tone. “Tiberias?”
Tiberias caught Baldwin’s hand holding it gently. “I’m here.”
Baldwin relaxed slightly. “It’s unseasonably hot in this room,” he said, half-jesting and his eyes drifted shut again. “Do not take the mask off.”
“You can’t breathe!” Tiberias’ voice sounded as desperate as he felt. “This is madness, utter madness.”
Baldwin tightened his grip. “It won’t matter in a few days…in a few hours.” He was silent for a moment, and then; “I can’t see. The fever has taken my eyesight.” Tiberias opened his mouth to protest, to deny it, to make useless assurances that all would be well but Baldwin continued in the same soft tone. “I would quite like you to read to me, would you do that, Tiberias? I don’t mind what. Just until I go to sleep.”
Tiberias let go of his hand, feeling helplessly angry. “Of course.”
Baldwin opened his eyes for the second time. “You will need to work on your tone, that will never do for bedtime reading.” Again he sounded tiredly amused. “I believe there’s a book on the table.”
There was a book on the table, a collection of Islamic stories so Tiberias pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down heavily. He cleared his throat, took a deep, calming breath and forced himself to concentrate on the words swimming in front of suddenly unreliable vision. Unseasonably hot indeed, it was unusually dusty as well, and it was getting into his eyes. He blinked back moisture and cleared his throat again. “Praise be to Allah, the Beneficent King, the Crea-”
“You may leave out the introduction.” Baldwin twitched his fingers in sort of a ‘carry-on’ waving motion. “That part does go on for a while, and time is so precious…”
“Verily the works and words of those gone-”
“Further.”
“Praise, there-”
“Ahead.”
Tiberias smiled, though the expression felt a little strained. “As you wish.” He skimmed further down the page and then stopped, checked the plain cover of the book and smiled again, more genuine this time. “Now of such instances are the tales called "A Thousand Nights and a Night," together with their far-famed legends and wonders.”
Baldwin sighed happily and shut his eyes. There were thirty three stories in the book, painstakingly translated, beautifully illuminated, and Tiberias read until the sun dipped behind the horizon and candles were brought in and he had to squint to see the words. He read on, story after story. He wanted to snap the book shut and say, ‘no more, you must live another day if you wish to hear another tale.’ He wanted to save Baldwin’s life through the words, as Scheherazade saved herself from death with her stories. He wanted to find the man who had given this sickness to his King and tear him apart. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay forever.
Some way through the ‘Tale of the Three Apples’ Baldwin’s breathing worsened to the point where Tiberias dropped the book. The binding, obviously lovingly cared for, broke, splitting down the center as it hit against the stone flooring. “Your Majesty?” No reply. “Baldwin?”
This time Tiberias drew a knife from his jacket and sliced away the veil, the silk wrapped about Baldwin’s throat, opened his shirt halfway down his chest and sliced open the bandages there. He reached for the mask, and his hands were shaking. He hadn’t seen Baldwin’s face in over four years.
The mask came away easily without the bandages and silks to hold it in place and Tiberias sucked in an involuntary gasp.
Baldwin’s eyes opened, wide and afraid. “No,” he gasped and his hands dug into the sheets as he labored for breath.
Tiberias steeled his reserve and put the back of one hand on Baldwin’s forehead. The skin there was unblemished, most of his face was, except for around the eyes. It wasn’t anywhere as bad as his hand, but his nose and top lip were all but gone until his teeth were exposed and it almost looked like a grimace of pain, but worse, so much worse. For all that, the skin was soft. Tiberias had to remind himself how young Baldwin was.
“You are burning up,” he said, firm and immovable as Balwin’s own will. “I will get you some water and a cool cloth.”
“Tiberias.” Baldwin’s soft plea stopped him in his tracks. “I am dying. Let me go.”
Tiberias shook his head. “I will get you water and then,” his voice cracked and broke and he had to stop for a moment, to put his hands over his face and breathe slowly and deeply. “I will return in a moment.”
Baldwin actually tried to sit up, but he fell back again, panting. “Don’t leave. Please…I may not be here when you come back.”
Tiberias’ limp was more pronounced as he left the room.
He stood out in the hallway for a moment, then slammed his fist into the wall. It hurt, but not nearly as much as his chest hurt, just trying to breathe without weeping. He hadn’t prayed in years, but as he went for water and cold cloths, it was the only thing he could think of to do.
For the first time, it seemed as if God was listening because Baldwin was still alive when he returned.
He put one of the cool cloths on Baldwin’s forehead then set the glass to Baldwin’s lips, lifting his head slightly. Baldwin sipped at it and then turned his head away. After a moment the devastation to Baldwin’s face wasn’t as terrible as it first appeared. It was a far cry from the handsome boy that he had been, but the strength and the courage under the ruined skin could make Tiberias forget to care.
“You shouldn’t touch me.” His mouth barely moved at all as he spoke, it was all in his throat.
Tiberias lifted the cloth away and pressed a kiss to Baldwin’s forehead. “As you said, soon enough, it will not matter.”
Baldwin lifted his hand enough to touch Tiberias’ face. “You matter.”
“Not without you.” Tiberias smiled weakly and stroked the soft skin of his forehead again. “Would you like me to continue the stories?”
“Could you…” Baldwin sighed, but it was a peaceful sound, as Tiberias rewet the cloth and put it back over feverishly hot skin. “Could you tell me one of your own?”
Tiberias sat on the bed and gently shifted Baldwin so the King was lying back against him, head against Tiberias’ shoulder, wrapped in his arms. “Once upon a time…” He choked on his words but carried on regardless. He had been brave in the face of immeasurable odds, he could be brave this one last time. “There was a prince of such courage, and such strength that all the men in the kingdom looked upon him and marveled at his wisdom and…and when he was King, one sunny day in a parade of endless sunny days, a man looked up and saw not a boy, but a man, and that man was beautiful in his courage, and in his strength, and in his wisdom. It was an awful thing, because the man…” Tiberias swallowed hard and pressed on. It was too late for regrets now. “Because the man loved the King, with all of his heart that the sun hadn’t burned away.”
“That is good.” Baldwin’s eyes fluttered shut and his body felt heavier as he relaxed. “Because the King loved the man back.”
There was something warm and wet trailing down Tiberias cheek and his throat felt as though he was trying to speak through blades sharp as broken glass. “Baldwin…”
“How does the story end?” Baldwin asked and his voice was almost gone.
Tiberias put his hand over Baldwin’s heart, its beat too slow, too faint. “The King left the kingdom and went to the Land Beyond the Horizon, where the man would meet him. Not yet, but in his own time, and it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing matters…” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t speak past the knives in his throat.
“You are a terrible story teller.” Baldwin smiled, or at least it looked like he was smiling. “It should end thusly; The King went to the Land Beyond the Horizon where everything was beautiful, and soft and there were no wars, and no disease, and no thing that was bad. And when the man came to join him they lived forever and ever in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Tiberias nodded, but he couldn’t speak.
Baldwin shuddered and his breathing hitched. “I am afraid, Tiberias. I have known for so long but I am still afraid.”
“Never be afraid.” It was a lesson that Tiberias had given to Baldwin long ago. “If you have courage and good men at your back, then you shall never be defeated in deed or in spirit.”
“Tell me another story,” Baldwin said softly. “Your voice keeps my courage from failing.”
Tiberias felt more moisture trail slowly down his face but he swallowed the knives down and continued. “I have no stories, Baldwin, but I will tell you this; I have never met a man such as you, and I never wish to, because my heart could not stand to be broken twice. I am honored to have known you.”
He realized then that the shallow breathing had ceased, and the heart under his hand no longer beat.
Tiberias sat with Baldwin until the candles guttered and burned out and then he rose, stiff and tired to tell the servants to dress the King for his final audience. He took the book with him, broken and gutted as he felt.