You stood by your husband’s side, holding a qalam reed pen you previously dipped in ink to the limestone wall in an endeavour to capture your husband’s shadow perfectly. He was turned obediently to the side as you traced his profile, studying your face as if he was trying to commit it to memory. Not knowing if this were to be the last time he would get the fortune to see it again.

This skirmish, no, this battle he was soon to engage in, was bound to be perilous. He was heading to encounter the troops of Saladin. The numbers of which were 21,000 men against his his 3,000 men. How would your king, your husband, defeat these troops? Especially when the odds were so stacked against him?

Baldwin saw the mixture of dread and fear etched on your face as you tried to concentrate on inking his silhouette. The shakiness of your hand gave away your true sentiments as you tried to maintain a calm demeanour. He seemed to acknowledge this, yet his silver mask, which hid the damage his leprosy had done unto him, concealed his glimpse of realization.

You looked so beautiful in his eyes. He often tried to fathom what it was about you, which he found mesmerizing, but it was nothing short of everything. He adored every bit of you. He loved you so much he even kept a scroll with poems he made of you. A reminder so he could never forget a single detail of you. And that's when he realized, he too was distressed with the possibility this moment was to be your last as lovers.

He softly clasped your writing, putting a delicate stop to your drafting his shadow.

“Worry not for me, for I will return.”