Edmund stood at the edge of the port, looking out at the ship that would soon take him away from this place of anguish, yet he couldn't will away the tears that lingered in his eyes. He wondered, forlornly, if he'd ever be able to overcome such a deep root of sorrow-the one Anna had planted in his heart, in his head, in his life and all of his future.
Despite whatever small hopes he had for some undiscovered life waiting in Scotland, he was stricken with the memory of her. Her eyes, her laughter, her smile, her courage, her strength-her beauty, in its roughened and persevering entirety.
He'd surely never forget it, yet he could perhaps forgive-given time.
Sighing to himself, he cast his gaze toward the heavens, watching the clouds roll on by, oblivious to his grief. That was the funny thing about it, really: life would go on, the world would go on, regardless of what heartbreak he suffered.
Anna would continue her endeavors for the Continental Army until the last kingsman was either shipped off or lying dead against the earth; she might think of him from time to time, a guilty conscience flaring up, but it wouldn't hinder her fight for freedom.
But Edmund had no such fealty to anything-not anymore.
He'd return home, to his family, to a life he only just barely remembered, and do...
What had he done, before the war?
What had his life been like, before looking into pleading brown eyes?
He wasn't so certain that he wanted to be reminded.
The clouds kept on moving. The hard, wintry ground crunched behind him-a footfall.
"Perhaps the night will come swiftly," came Anna's voice, soft and hesitant and sounding so fragile, "and the constellations with it. I know how…comforting they can be."
Edmund turned, emotions of surprise and anger warring in his gaze.
She donned the same cloak and dress, though it had been weeks after their last conversation; fleetingly, he wondered why she was in New York again, and how she'd gotten access at all.
Then, of course, he remembered that she still had his signature. Frowning, he stared, grinding his teeth together to refrain from speaking.
Swallowing nervously, she gestured to the ship waiting behind him and took a small step forward.
"I wanted…to wish you safe travel," she offered weakly, pursing her lips in that way that reminded him all too strongly of all that she wasn't saying-all that she'd never say.
He again said nothing, and she looked to her feet, wringing her hands; he caught the shine of tears in her eyes before she averted them, and his heart softened of its own accord, though his gaze did not.
"And I hear that Andromeda is particularly beautiful," she finally murmured, taking a deep breath as she turned her attention to the same sky he'd just been envying.
He laughed to himself, but the sound was callous and despairing-what irony, he thought.
"Yes," he replied sadly, and the raw pain in his voice summoned her attention, her eyes wide and sparkling, "she is…though I expect to find no solace in her light."
Not anymore, he thought to himself.
The call sounded for boarding, and he closed his eyes; he wasn't ready, he realized. He wasn't ready to leave her, but he had to-no, he needed to.
She was a rebel spy, a traitor, and a liar-but all of that, he could have handled.
Anna Strong didn't love him; he couldn't endure that, not while he was by her side, not while he could still look into her eyes and pretend.
He had no choice, and he opened his eyes to see tears streaking her face; she took a shaky breath.
"Goodbye, Edmund," she choked out, and it pained him still, to see her in any sort of state other than happiness.
He inclined his head, yet couldn't keep his own tears at bay as they slipped over his skin.
"Goodbye, Anna."
He boarded the ship and turned to offer one last, parting glance- against his better judgement.
It was too bittersweet, seeing her one last time; the wind tossed the loose strands of hair that had strayed from their pins, and her cheeks were reddened by the cold. She was sniffling, standing with her arms empty at her side. He'd never seen such emotion in another's eyes.
No, Anna Strong didn't love him. If he dared to believe anything else, if he dared to find hope nestled in the sadness within her eyes, he'd go mad.
They watched each other until the ship faded from sight, and Anna's feet ached from standing in one place for so long. She waited still, until she was left by the water; most of the others had dispersed.
If she looked at the ground, or to the sky, or unfocused her gaze, then she could imagine that Edmund was there standing before her.
She could pretend that he'd never left.
She could pretend that she wasn't alone.
3x08 really killed me! I'm so angry and sad and heartbroken. :(
Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.