Because it’s about time, honestly.
Once, when he was younger, his mother told him a story from a book of stories, (all of which were written so strangely, he could only understand their iambic pentameter when she read it) and despite his confusion, he could never forget it.
“It’s based on a real story, my son,” she had hummed to him. “A real story of love and tragedy.”
“So they die, big deal.”
“Death is not the only tragedy.”
He never got it. Why would someone sacrifice the opportunity for power for something as ridiculous as love? How could someone fall in love with such abandon? With such complete and utter arrogance?
So when the fleet arrived and the lovers were left to face the last of their lives, Keith had snorted to himself quietly. It was to be expected. Love was not their tragedy. Arrogance was.
Eventually, life took his mother away and with her the story of Antony and Cleopatra.