A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1825 - 1825: The Spell of the Past - Part 3

"My dear, sweet Persephone… Forgive me," he said. "Please… Please, forgive me."

Anger came fighting back to war away the sadness. It always did that, Anger was always sadness' eternal cure. But anger could not be allowed anymore. Anger in the Treeant King's mind soon transformed into the marching of their armies. To break their ancient oath, and set the Capital on fire.

If he stood up from where he was kneeling, the Treeant King knew that he would give that order. He tried to fight it with a viciousness, but that was who he was. A man of action, all the way through. He could not stomach the pain of waiting, and the distancing of Pestophone's memory. He could not hold his cool.

So it was, he drew his dagger from his belt, and he plunged it into his belly, in the same way that Persephone's murderer had done to her, and then he dragged it off to the right, allowing his guts to spill out in front of him, as he grunted from the pain.

"This… Dominus… Is all I can do for you…" He grunted, taking his own life. With him would die the knowledge of what had happened, and with him would die the anger, and the necessity for war. His death would buy them time, and it would give him all eternity, he hoped, to see Persephone as she was, fresh in the heart of his memory.

…

…

Those same grounds that Dominus and the Treeant King had once walked together, on that night of their meeting, were green with pine, despite the winter snow. They were touched by a perfection that not even animals had yet managed to mar. The whiteness was perfect. One could not imagine the blood that had been spilled there.

Under the roots of a massive cedar tree, Dominus had seen the Treeant King buried. A journey away, the daughter of the woman he had loved had been buried too.

The news had come to Dominus – news of Arthur's lagging situation. Of the true strength of the Pandora Goblin, beyond the strength of man, and Dominus had been compelled to move, despite his want to stay by the lake where his beloved rested. He'd moved, for the sake of the friend that had done so much to ensure that he and Persephone could be together.

And his only reward for all that was the poison that now afflicted his arm, and Arthur's final words, when Dominus had arrived far too late.

"...Have patience, friend," Arthur had told him, with a brilliant smile, around a bloodied mouth. "...The world has been cruel, but the years shall be kind."

By the lake, Dominus wept, as he found himself doing so often lately. To lose Persephone, there were no wounds that the Gods could have dealt him that would have hurt him more fiercely than that. When he had heard the Treeant King had taken his own life, Dominus fantascized of doing the same. He was not sure that he could endure the immensity of the waiting that he would need to do, in order to carry out the act of justice that he was so sure would exist in the future.

Now he had lost Arthur too. From the hands of the High King, another dear friend had been taken. Dominus supposed that he had underestimated the man. He was so sure that corruption would lose in the end – but with the blows it had inflicted, it certainly seemed to be the winning side. What good was a victory, when all that he loved was taken from him? When there was no warmth left in the world for him?

Even his strength had been taken from him. His poisoned arm was practically useless. His entire body was struggling to hold on against the pain. He'd left a strong, determined man, and now he had returned weak, able to do less than he had been able to do before.

"I will die here," he supposed. He had walked all this way for that purpose. He wished to dwell in death in the same place that Persephone did.

He remembered the day that they had found the place, how delighted the woman was. It hadn't begun that pleasantly. The two were quietly arguing over something or another, but as soon as they had arrived here, in that little lake, cradled by mountains, they'd been unable to hold on to their bickering.

That was always the case with the two of them. There were always little problems. Everyone seemed to accuse them of being blessed, and simply lucky, and having it all come easily. But every day with them was an adventure, full of things that needed to be solved. That was the heart of it, that was what made it so special, and it was what Dominus loved. Because it wasn't always easy. But always was it eventful, and always was the strength of the love that he felt for the woman beyond whatever it was that sat in front of them.

Every day had been a measure of the most extreme peace. He had spent much of his life pushing forward recklessly, always feeling like he was being left behind in some form or another. But with Persephone, there was only peace and adventure, and so many memories, packed into the shortest of times.

"Forgive me," he said. He'd sworn himself to his revenge. It was his knightly duty to the woman that he loved. But he had faltered. He'd dived into something dangerous unknowingly, and now he'd lost all opportunity with it. Arthur had declared that Dominus be patient, but patient how, when his own death was very much in front of him.

His breathing came weakly now, and laboured. He reached his hand out to the cold waters of the lake, supposing that the sensation might be the most perfect of all final memories. "Persephone…" He murmured. Gods, he missed that woman. Death didn't seem such a bad thing, when he remembered just how much he longed to see her. He prayed to all the Gods that he would be able to, and he asked of their forgiveness. And then, he closed his eyes, and fell into the deep void of death.