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(＞。☆)﹕Charper Four?!!﹢⪨ xica x Baldwin IV

Xica woke up with a start, her heart pounding. Dreams had tormented her all night, filling her with images of fire and a man's voice that always seemed on the verge of revealing itself but never quite did. She got up, agitated, and decided to walk through the castle corridors to find some calm.

The shadows on the walls seemed to stretch and move with a life of their own as Xica made her way to Godfrey's office. The silence of dawn was barely broken by her soft steps. However, as she turned a corner, two Crusader men intercepted her.

"Where do you think you're going?" one of them growled, their rough hands grabbing her arms with much resistance.

"Let me go," Xica demanded, trying to break free.

But the men were strong and dragged her to a dark hallway, forcing her against the wall. Their hands began to explore her, trying to open her legs and violate her body, even starting to kiss her neck forcefully. Xica struggled with all her might, but the situation seemed desperate.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the dim light. Reynald de Châtillon. "Stop!" he ordered, but not to halt them, rather to take control of the situation. He took a hot stone and began to beat Xica brutally, followed by a lash that made her scream in pain.

"You bring me a lot of trouble, Xica," Reynald murmured, his voice dripping with venom. He tore her clothes, attempting to abuse her while the two men held her firmly.

In the midst of the horror, Xica managed to snatch a sword from one of the Crusaders, but Reynald subdued her again, his cruel hands tearing at her garments. Just when it seemed there was no hope, Tiberias appeared, furious and determined.

"Enough!" Tiberias shouted, drawing his sword and facing Reynald. "Get away from her! Reynald, you're a sick man, you'll pay for your outrages."

Reynald and the Crusaders stepped back, surprised by Tiberias' anger. "Stay out of this, Tiberias," Reynald spat.

"That's enough," Tiberias replied firmly. "You've crossed the line. Xica is coming with me. Wait for the king's punishment. You won't get away with this, damned."

Carrying Xica in his arms, Tiberias quickly took her to Godfrey's office. When he opened the door, Godfrey found a near-moribund Xica, and they examined her wounds. Xica, still in shock, could only break down in tears. "I hate being a slave," she sobbed. "I hate this life, and my own beauty seems both a blessing and a curse."

Godfrey and Tiberias listened intently, their hearts filled with compassion and rage for what she had suffered. After ensuring her wounds were not fatal, Godfrey took her to the servants' house, promising that Reynald would receive his punishment.

Godfrey and Tiberias immediately went to King Baldwin IV to inform him of the situation. Baldwin, though weakened by his leprosy, decided to punish Reynald personally. They summoned him to the royal hall, and the king, with great effort, stood and took a whip. Ten lashes echoed in the hall, each accompanied by Reynald's pleading screams.

"I will do good deeds, I promise," Reynald begged, but Baldwin showed no mercy. Tiberias took him to continue the punishment, while Baldwin, exhausted, was taken back to his room. His sister Sibylla arrived at that moment.

"The appointment is today," Sibylla informed him, but the king, tired, declined the invitation.

"I am tired, Sibylla. I know it will always be the same reaction. I can't bear it anymore."

Two days passed, and Xica began to observe more closely how high-ranking families brought their promising daughters, only to leave disappointed and full of reproach. She did not fully understand the situation but suspected that the young women hoped to be wives of the king, only to be horrified by his condition, such arrogant young women.

In a private conversation, Sibylla, Godfrey, and Tiberias discussed the king's loneliness and the difficulty of finding a woman who would love him despite his leprosy.

"We must find someone worthy, who does not mind his condition. My brother cannot endure more, he is so alone, and each day, each visit ends with disappointment after disappointment," said Sibylla with concern.

"But who could it be?" asked Godfrey, thoughtful.

Tiberias remembered a conversation he had overheard days ago while passing by where the laundresses were.

Memory:

Xica was talking to other slaves. "What’s your type of man?" asked a black-haired slave.

"I would like a good and loving man, also very intelligent but you know, one who doesn’t mind if you are very dressed up or if you want to read and write, someone who doesn’t see you as a slave but as a human," Xica responded.

"And physical appearance doesn't matter?" the slave asked mockingly. "Let's say the king, we know well that he has a complicated affliction that consumes him like fire to paper. Would you still love him in that case?"

"It’s not everything," Xica said, surprising everyone. "If King Baldwin IV were kind and just, I wouldn’t mind getting close to him. I’m the only one who washes his clothes, and that doesn’t worry me. A disease is just something else that doesn’t harm what truly matters. We don't know if he is a lonely man, but with incredible beauty."

End of memory.

"I know the perfect candidate," Tiberias said, returning to the present. "But we must be smart and discreet. If the high councilors find out about this, they would kill us for the idea."

Sibylla and Godfrey were perplexed. "Who is she?" Sibylla asked.

"It’s Xica," Godfrey replied. "A beautiful and brilliant woman. But we must proceed with caution. She is a slave, but not like the others. She knows how to read and write, she has extensive knowledge and correct political opinions."

In the servants' house, Xica told her mother, brother, and the other slaves everything that had happened with Reynald. They decided to take revenge by hiding the princess's precious jewels in Reynald's clothes and horse. It was a risky plan, but they were determined. The big plan would begin tomorrow.

That night, after dinner, Xica could not stop thinking about her dreams. She took an herbal bath prepared by her mother to calm herself, but she could only think about the parts of King Baldwin IV's face she had seen. Why did so many young women flee from him? Could it be a privilege to love such a noble man?

Lost in her thoughts, her body felt tingling as she imagined him. She came out of the bath and, almost without realizing it, began to draw the king on a parchment. But before finishing, exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep, with the image of the king still fresh in her mind.

Thus ended a day full of pain, revelations, and promises for the future. Xica knew her life was changing, but she could not foresee to what extent. Dreams, destiny, and her own heart guided her down an uncertain path, full of shadows and light. Sleep enveloped Xica in a tide of images and sensations so vivid they felt real. She found herself in a familiar place, her home, but the atmosphere was charged with oppressive tension. The walls and ceilings were wrapped in blazing flames, devouring everything in their path. The heat was unbearable, and the air was thick with smoke, filling her lungs and making every breath a struggle.

Xica tried to move, but the pain immobilized her. She looked down and saw her body covered in bleeding wounds. Every step she took was torture, but she knew she had to get out of there. In the distance, a voice called to her, a man's voice that resonated with a mix of urgency and affection.

"Xica… Xica…" The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating in her mind like an endless echo.

She turned around, trying to locate the origin of the voice. But all around her was chaos and destruction. Then, suddenly, the scene changed.

The fire and devastation faded, and Xica found herself in a beautiful and serene room. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and sunlight filtered softly through the windows, creating an atmosphere of peace and warmth. In her arms, she held a small child, whose eyes shone with innocence and curiosity.

Xica gently stroked the child's head, feeling a wave of tenderness and love. Beside her, a bandaged hand reached out to touch her shoulder with surprising gentleness. She saw the figure of a man whose face she couldn't distinguish, but whose presence emanated a sense of security and comfort.

"Who are you?" Xica whispered, her voice broken with emotion.

The figure didn't respond with words, but his bandaged hand squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of support and protection. Xica felt tears beginning to run down her cheeks, a mixture of relief and confusion.

The child in her arms laughed softly, and Xica couldn't help but smile through her tears. In that moment, everything seemed perfect, as if all her fears and pains had disappeared. But she knew this was only a dream, a fleeting vision of a future that might never come.

The bandaged figure looked at her with an intensity that penetrated her soul, and Xica felt a deep connection form between them. She wanted to cling to that feeling, to that silent promise of protection and love, but the scene began to fade slowly, returning her to reality.

Xica woke up with a start, her heart pounding. The room was calm, and the light of dawn was beginning to filter through the window. She placed a hand on her heart, trying to calm its frantic beating as the images of the dream gradually faded.

What did it all mean? The fire, the wounds, the child in her arms, and the bandaged figure… Each element of the dream seemed full of symbolism, but the exact meaning eluded her. As she got up and prepared for the day, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change irrevocably, as if the dream had been a warning, a premonition of what was to come.

HELLO good day, night or afternoon, I thank you for the support you have given to this fic, I would like to know your opinions, in the box or in the chat also in the comments, I am very happy reading you I feel too happy to see that we are growing little by little bye bye I love you

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El pájaro Ha silbado Desde la punta de su pico De vivo amarillo Canta su reclamo Sobre el lago Laíg Un mirlo en una rama Un montón de amarillo...

(Poema anónimo, siglo VIII)

#Poesía #poemas #celtic #middle age #midle age #poetry