What is life's true poison?

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When I first ascended the throne I gazed upon my new subjects with excitement. I could hardly believe that the kingdom finally belonged to me. I had waited so long for that moment to feel the weight of the crown on my head, to stand over the generals and the people of the court with the knowledge that I was their sole ruler.

The power I wielded was infinitely beautiful. With one word I could take a life, with another I could begin a war. Everyone heeded the commands I gave without question. It mattered not if they believed in my cause, nor if they trusted my decisions. All that mattered was that I was the ruler; that was reason enough for them to obey.

Our foreign relations had always been estranged, so it was inevitable for war to ensue, so it was almost too easy for me to declare war against the north, to create a trivial excuse to fight. In the glory days I would ride my stallion onto the battlefield, sword in hand, and cry out for blood. My skills of speed and strategy were unmatched. My obedient soldiers marched into the fray, echoing my battle cry.

I reveled in it all, tearing at the throats of men, women, and children, feeling the blood on my hands and the smell of death in the air. I led my troops into the chaos, sometimes being right at the front lines to bask in it all. Other times, I stood behind, allowing the soldiers to to carry out the plundering and warring.

There were victories and losses, all of which I would take into consideration for the next campaign. Throughout my rule I plowed through the north until it fell at my feet. It was exhilarating, knowing that it now belonged to me.

In those years my iron fist remained true and unbroken. My country was was safe from invaders, any signs of revolt crushed, and the newly captured north bowed to my every will. I appointed only the fiercest and most loyal of men to serve me, to run my kingdom when I warred, and to war when I ran my kingdom.

At one time, my advisors wanted me to take a wife and produce an heir. After all, what use is the world after you die? What use is it to have conquered people if you have no one to rule them once you are gone? They wanted to ensure that this era of glory would prevail long after my death.

However, my arrogant self saw no need for a successor. I was on a high in those years, believing my youth and strength would be eternal, as if continuous fighting would somehow elongate my life. I believed there would be time to worry about those kinds of things when I retired, that once I grew too old to fight I could worry about finding a queen and birthing a son.

But like all good things my glory days came to an end.

It has been many long years since my ascension. My country may be at peace, but my palace is dull and lonely. Age has not been kind to me, a man whose hands are stained with blood, whose soul is tainted beyond all relief. My vigor is long gone, sucked out of me over the years slow enough that I didn’t notice until I was left with a limp and tufts of silver hair on my head.

Yes, I am retired from battle, but there is little chance of anyone becoming my queen. What woman would readily become the wife of an old man like myself? What woman worth of the title of queen would be willing to wed a bloodthirsty conquerer who has long lost the means to fuel his fire for battle?

I used to think that age was a poison. In my youth I did everything I could to avoid this toxin from grasping hold of me. I ate well, slept well, and kept my body healthy, but I was a fool to believe I could evade the inevitable.

Men are such fools, believing we can live forever. Only the divine have such power to them. Everything else is just bumbling around, foolish enough to hope for an eternity that does not belong to them.

When I look in the mirror I question what has become of me. How could someone so lively and powerful with a kingdom in his hands become an old codger filled with regret? How is it that in such a short time a human can change so much?

Some complain that life is too short. These are the men who wish for more time, but when they have time they squander it. I have met very few who use what little time they have in a way that brings them little regret. Perhaps if I had been born another person I would have used my time better, lived a life I could be satisfied with.

But there’s no use talking like that now.

My time in this world is limited. I hear the men talking about it all the time. I have no heir, no children to take my place when I die. When you have lived a life of bloodshed you come to learn that all the loyalty they feed you is nothing but appeasement. They only give you empty words so they might receive your bounty when you die.

I have heard it is only in your final moments when you realize that nothing in this life, no matter what happens, can be taken with you. Nothing tangible, that is.

You cannot take your wealth with you beyond the grave, but you can certainly take your regrets.