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It didn’t hurt to die – it was easier and faster than falling asleep.
A sacrifice for those he loved the most, for what was more important than anything else.
The sorrow, the anger – it all had vanished.
All her anger had been futile: she could not undo the horrors she had unwittingly unleashed, but she could look over them all.
In death, there was peace and acceptance.
He hadn’t failed, he had gave them the chance to save his sister. He had fulfilled his duty as a knight and as a brother.
There was no emptiness or struggles, only the love remained.
Dyeing in her own terms, through the hands of the only person she had ever loved, her sister eyes so young and untried again.
The fate of the living was no longer in their hands, and it didn’t even matter.
He had raised a fine king, a much better one than he could ever expect to be.
All the pain seemed to be washing away.
He wasn’t cursed and he wasn’t a traitor: he had seen it in the eyes of his foe the mercy that he hadn’t been able to show before death.
All the scores had already been settled, there was nothing left to suffer for.
That was not doom, but a blessing, a release from a life that had been an eternal via crucis.
All the mistakes were forgiven.
Forever in laughter and in joy, long lost friends back into his circle.
All truths were revealed, in their full glory.
In the arms of the one he had loved the most – that had loved him the most – and not even his desperation could sour the sweetness of the moment.
They would never be alone.
They were together again, young and carefree, united in harmony.
And others would come, to share their bless and their eternal life.
(But never you, and just as you wait for them, they wait for you.)