A/N: This is what happens when I get in my feelings and start talking classic literature parallels with other Richonne shippers. I present to you, my epilogue to Rick's last episode, based entirely around Homer's The Odyssey.

Thanks to msdoomandgloom and cranesinthesky for the inspiration. Please let me know if you'd be interested in me continuing. Thank you!

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.

By now, all the survivors, all who avoided headlong death were safe at home, escaped the wars and waves.

But one man alone…

His heart set on his wife and his return—

He dreamed about them, every one of them, but her most of all. It was enough some days to strengthen him, to keep him sane, to keep him moving, breathing, fighting. Even the echo of her- pale though it was in comparison to all of her perfections and imperfections, all of her beauty and rough edges—bolstered him considerably.

Home was far, thousands of miles away, perhaps an ocean away or more, he was not sure. He never saw much of the world outside this one, seldom glimpsed any road in or out. What he did know was that walls were high, the cameras ever-watching, the waves ever-beating upon the stone pillars that held him in. Supplies came by boat, as did the others, men and women. Some lasted months, some days, but none lasted as long as he did. Each time the gate opened, he strained for a glimpse, some sign that home was not so far as he thought. But he saw only sand, trees, jagged rocks, and the faces of his captors.

"Rick Grimes," she came to him, as was her habit, her voice calm and measured. "Still sulking today?"

Without turning, Rick knew that she smiled, as though this all was amusing to her. Perhaps it was. He turned his eyes on her, barely deigning to glance her way before he refocused on the walls in front of him. They were a smooth as the river stones that had littered the bottom of the pond near his childhood home in Kings County. He moved his mind quickly away from the memory. That time had long since passed.

"You know," she stepped closer to him. Rick heard her footsteps as they trod the familiar path towards him. "You could be happy here."

Rick remained silent. He'd exhausted his argument long ago. It did not deter her.

"There's food," she stepped yet closer, "safety, beds," she stood just behind him now. "Companionship," she said.

Rick turned his head towards her, squinting through narrowed eyes. "Companionship, I have," he reminded her.

She shook her head, dark hair bouncing as she smiled. "She thinks you're dead."

The argument pained him as acutely as the familiar agony of metal twisting through his body. He swallowed, calming himself, willing himself to hide it from her.

"Ah," she nodded thoughtfully. "You love her still." She came beside him, smirking in the way she had for years. "Do you imagine that she still loves you?"

He did not have to imagine it. He felt it as surely as the salty breeze on his face, the heat of the sun on his skin, the ache in his heart.

"I could love you," she reminded him. "And perhaps in time—" she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Rick pulled away, putting space between them. "Are you done?" he asked, unable to bear anymore for the day.

She scoffed but did not reach for him again. Not this time. "I am. Enjoy your day, Rick." Her voice betrayed her annoyance at yet another rejection. Some days, he amused her. It seemed today that she felt more negatively.

"And you, Anne." Rick turned his head away, staring back at the wall.

She left him there, retreating into the sanctuary of the building behind him, the building she begged him to call home. But home was out there, somewhere far, somewhere out of reach.

Rick waited until he was alone before letting his tears fall.

-l-l-l-l-

By anyone's best estimate, autumn was well underway. Alexandria shone in the fall, resplendent in its cloak of bronze, auburn, and gold. The high-roofed hall, constructed just a few years prior, stood at the ready for its guests. The long table inside was set, groaning under the weight of scavenged plates and utensils. Wine had been poured; it sparkled inside rounded glasses, dark and crimson. A few had already sneaked sips, discretely dipping their heads to indulge as they chatted. The low hum of voices filled the hall, soothing and constant.

The chatter ceased when she entered.

Over a hundred pairs of eyes moved at once to the dark woman at the entrance. Their heads turned in unison as Michonne walked past them, head high, sword at her back, dress rippling. She was every inch the warrior queen she had become revered to be, the stone upon with their enemies broke themselves.

Beside her, her daughter kept pace, a pale companion to her ebon guardian. Traipsing at the girl's side was a young boy, not quite 6 years old. His skin was like his mother's, dark and lovely. His face favored his father's.

At the head of the table, Maggie stood, reaching for her old friend, her expression serious. Michonne took her hand, whispering quietly, exchanging a grief only the pair of them could ever understand. Maggie escorted her to the place of honor, the head of the table, where two empty chairs stood. Michonne lowered herself gracefully into one, ensuring that her children flanked her before turning to her guests.

Residents of fair Alexandria, guests hailing from the Kingdom, from the Hilltop, from Oceanside, from the Sanctuary and beyond pressed forward, anxious for the sound of her voice.

Michonne parted her lips, speaking in her calm cadence. "Today, we honor those who have died, those who we have gained, and those who we have lost." She swallowed, reaching for her wine glass. With a flourish, she raised it. As one, her guests echoed her movements. "To the dead," she saluted. "To the living, and to a future."

United, they drank.

The revelry began in earnest, the time honored tradition of feasting and wine, of good company and laughter. The leaders of each community partook in full, leading the celebrations, ensuring that the peace continued.

Michonne, for her part, kept her eyes on her children. The boy, young still and unblemished by this world, played happily with Maggie's son, running and crawling between the guests, their giggles drawing even more amusement from the adults around them.

Judith, though a child, watched from her place, smiling at those who engaged her. Dutifully, she lingered by Michonne's side, her hand resting gently on her mother's.

All the while, the chair beside them remained empty.

"Fair Michonne," the King Ezekiel made his way towards her, bowing as he came.

Michonne nodded at him, gracing him with a smile, standing to greet him. "Ezekiel," she hugged him warmly, then his wife, squeezing Carol once for good measure.

"A wonderful feast, as usual," he complimented. "Your Aaron has grown most adept in wine-making."

Michonne mustered another smile, taking a moment to watch the communities mingle. Her heart began to ache, a familiar sensation. She swallowed the feeling.

Carol's sharp eyes did not miss it. "It's not the same without him," she said simply.

"No," Michonne answered. "It is not."

King Ezekiel nodded solemnly. "And yet, his dream lives on in you. In your children."

Michonne nodded once more, her vision blurring. Carol reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze before moving on, her own husband in tow. Michonne took her seat once more, determined to clear her plate, to drink her wine, and then return to her bed.

It was hours before she could retire. Their bedroom was dark, the candles flickering, throwing shadows against the wall. Michonne retrieved another blanket, pulling it over her body until the weight atop her felt almost suffocating.

It was of little use. The bed was always too cold now.

The tears fell as the candles burned away, the flames drowning in pools of wax. Michonne fell into a fitful rest, her hand on her necklace, her finger looped lightly into the heavy gold ring she now wore.

"Goodnight, Rick," she whispered into the darkness around, resting her head on what was once his side. "I love you."

From far away, some place unknown, Michonne imagined she could hear his voice.

"I love you too."