The sun of Jerusalem shone impartially upon all. Upon the soldiers atop the ramparts, the pilgrims in prayer, and the young king slowly dying behind a silver mask.
He had known for a long time that his time was short. Sensation had faded from his fingertips, and his body gradually refused his commands. Yet, for a king, even the time to mourn his own death was a luxury.
He could not know how long this precarious peace would last once he was gone.
And so, today he dons his white gloves and his silver mask once more. Even if the crown is heavy, even if his body can no longer endure.
It was enough for one man to die.
He could not allow Jerusalem to die with him.
I knew that you were dying.
From the moment I first set foot in Jerusalem in 1181, following the scent of market spices and dust to the room where I stumbled by mistake, led by the smell of terrible loneliness wafting through the palace.
I thought someone who knew the ending would be used to goodbyes.
How foolish.
On the day of the funeral, Jerusalem was crowded. There were those who loved you, those who feared you, and those who were calculating what would come after your death.
Funny enough, you were just the same as when you were alive. Among the countless people, you were the only one who could see me. Even during meetings, you would briefly turn those blue eyes behind the mask toward me.
Then I would mouth the words.
'What are you looking at?'
And you would look forward again.
Ah.
Suddenly, I missed that so much.
People called your name.
King of Jerusalem. Baudouin IV. The Leper King. The Noble King.
But the Baudouin I knew was a man who frowned because the tea was bitter, and who complained nonchalantly that the chair was uncomfortable. A man who would take off his mask in an empty room and stare out the window for a long time.
A man who, when I called his name for no reason, would answer,
'Yes?'
"Baudouin."
There was no answer.
"...Baudouin."
Once more.
Ah.
So this is what it means to die.
Knowing the ending and living through that ending were two entirely different things.
I could see countless ends as I moved through time. But nowhere was there a version of you who would turn your head back when I called your name.
Seeing you asleep under the pure white cloth, I remembered the day we first met. You were in white then, too. Pure white clothes and veil, and an iron mask.
"Our first meeting was a total mess."
"Some strange person appeared in your bedroom, and yet you didn't even scream."
I reached out my hand, then stopped.
A distance that cannot be touched.
Because that was the rule between us.
Then I chuckled.
"...Oh, right."
In the end, I carefully rested my hand over yours.
I remembered the nights you were in pain. I couldn't do anything, so I just held your hand and agonized all night.
Is this love, or is it fear?
I think I know the answer now.
"I guess it was both."
I was afraid because I loved you. Because I finally had something to lose.
I have seen countless deaths and ruins, and I always left. Leaving no name in anyone's ending—that was my job.
But you said it.
That whatever I became, you would remember that I was here.
So I promised to remember you, too.
"...Baudouin. I don't regret it."
I fell silent for a moment.
"No. I do regret it."
I should have stayed closer.
I should have grumbled more about the meetings being too long.
I should have called your name at least one more time.
When you lied and said you were fine while in pain, I should have just hugged you.
I should have picked that small blue flower from the market. I should have told you it looked like your eyes.
Even though I've lived for a long time, I learned how to love far too late.
"...I'm still only twenty."
Those words were just a childish complaint now.
"So let this much slide."
I bowed my head. It wasn't a gesture of respect for a king.
It was just a goodbye to someone I loved.
People will record this day.
They will write that Baudouin IV, King of Jerusalem, has died. They will write of his reign and the kingdom that will falter after his death.
I will be nowhere in those records.
But they do not know.
The expression the King made when he disliked the tea, the eyes that watched the morning from the window, the voice that said the palace felt a little less like a palace when I laughed.
The man who pulled me a little closer when I clung to him.
That does not remain in history.
Only I know. So that is enough.
"I have to go now."
"But don't worry."
"I won't forget."
I am not salvation.
I cannot reverse death, nor can I fix history.
But I can do one thing.
When the world remembers you as a king, I can remember you as Baudouin.
As the person who would turn his head when I called his name.
And so, on that day, I left the King of Jerusalem at the funeral site and departed.
And I took Baudouin away within me.
Creator Comment
Rabbitology - Preybirds (Watcher Song)
Based on Baldwin IV from Ridley Scott's 2005 film "Kingdom of Heaven," with significant personal interpretation included.
