Work Text:
“Be fearless,” he says to her, eyes firm on hers, the battlefield commander in him speaking, as though she were part of his phalanx, and so she nods, grasps his hand tight, and feels his kiss on her brow like a blessing before he flees the room, herded out by a flock of women, clucking and fussing; almost, she laughs to see his confidence vanish in a flash, if not for the pains that wrack her.
Long after the sun falls, she presents him with their son, watching the quiet joy in his eyes enfold them both. For that moment, the storm outside is far away, and Andromache is content.