Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Now when the other soldier was gone, the burden of the kingdom fell on the big man’s shoulders. The thoughts of what he did came crashing in. Images of him killing the soldiers that he marched with. The memory of the old man they robbed and the house they burned. The realization that he had just beat a man to death. That he was the only living man in a forest, surounded by a hundred dead bodies.

The most gruesome idea of them all was that his reign can’t last forever. Dead men don’t sow crops, they don’t hunt game and they don’t trade goods. After a couple more days of revelry the mist will carry the stench of rot throughout the forest and he will have to leave. Go somewhere else and find a place in the world. But could he do that? Could he go back to being the peasant once he was a king?

He looked around and saw the corpses staring at him, their eyes fixed on him forever. The flame made them look like stars in the night for death didn’t take away their shine. Grey eyes, lifeless eyes. Eyes he marched with. Eyes he shared stories with. Eyes he fought with. In the heat of battle, when every man turns red and black it’s only the eyes under the helm that tell you if you’re looking at a friend or foe.

You find calmness in these eyes when you’re in line, waiting for the enemy to appear. It’s in your fellow’s eyes that you find a moment of peace each night.

But most of all you find understanding. You find the look of someone who knows what you’re going through. And even when you come back home and you walk with your child in hand, you meet someone on the road and in their eyes you see that they know. They understand. You give each other a quick look and that’s enough. And what did he do? He betrayed these men for the dream of power in his life. He stabbed them in the dark, he butchered them while they were still lying in their tents. He killed them as they reached for their swords.

He couldn’t take seeing their eyes anymore. He’d have to spend the rest of his life staring down for if he met someone’s gaze - they would know.

Yeah, I won. I rule over the camp now, he thought. But how does the weight of the crown feel? Does it feel heavy carrying it on your own? At least earlier in the day you had someone to share it with. No it’s yours alone. And you wonder why all the paintings show rulers as tired and sad. He looked down and saw the slim body of his former partner, covered in mud, but his gaze still wide open.