Mrs. Medb L. O'Connell looked nothing like a queen. With her apron tied snugly around her waist, she bustled around the kitchen of her quaint Dublin cafe, humming to herself as the smell of freshly baked scones filled the air. Her long pink hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and her golden eyes twinkled with the warmth of a thousand welcomes as she checked on the brewing coffee. The bell above the door jingled, signaling a new customer, and she called out, "Be with you in a jiff!" in a lilting, cheerful voice that didn't hint at the battles she'd once waged or the destiny that once rested on her shoulders.

Professor Scáthach O'Connell walked in, her long dark crimson hair fluttering behind her, her scarlet eyes scanning the room before settling on her wife. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile, a rare sight for someone who had seen the rise and fall of empires. She took a seat at the counter, her tall, lean frame fitting neatly onto the stool. The two had agreed to keep their ancient past a secret from the modern world, but sometimes, Medb felt the weight of those millennia pressing down on her. She knew that Scáthach felt it too, though the stoic woman never spoke of it.

Medb brought over a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of warm scones, setting them down gently in front of her. The two shared a knowing look, one that transcended time and the mundane routine of their new lives. For a moment, the cafe faded away, and they were back on the battlefield, side by side, the winds of fate swirling around them.

A group of students from Trinity College spilled in, chattering about their latest assignments and the upcoming match. Medb's gaze drifted to the wall where a reproduction of an ancient painting was displayed. In it, she saw the reflection of her younger self, a fiery queen with a crown of gold and a look of determination that could conquer worlds. She felt a pang of nostalgia and a strange sense of disconnect. How did she go from ruling lands to serving tea?

The painting was a reminder of the days when she and Scáthach had first met, back when the world was a different place, and their love had been as fierce as the battles they'd fought together. Medb had been a princess then, eager to learn the art of war from the legendary female warrior. She'd never imagined that one day, they'd exchange swords for a quiet life, with Scáthach teaching in hallowed halls and her tending to a cafe.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Scáthach's voice cut through the din of the students, pulling Medb back to the present. She glanced up, her cheeks flushing slightly at being caught in a moment of reminiscence. "You looked a million miles away."

Medb chuckled, her eyes lingering on the painting before meeting Scáthach's gaze. "Just remembering the old days," she said, her voice a soft murmur.

Scáthach studied the painting, a hint of longing in her scarlet eyes. "We've come a long way since then," she said, her hand reaching out to cover Medb's. "But here we are, together."

Medb's smile grew wistful. "Indeed, we have," she murmured, tracing the outline of the younger version of herself in the painting with her finger. "Do you ever miss it? The battles, the thrill?"

Scáthach took a sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving the painting. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I wouldn't trade what we have now for all the thrones in history."

The touch of their hands was a silent promise, a pact that had endured through the ages. They had seen wars and peace, love and loss, and yet here they were, holding onto each other in the heart of a modern city. The students around them had no idea of the legends that sat before them, of the battles they'd won and the hearts they'd captured.

Medb turned away from the painting, focusing on the comfort of Scáthach's touch. "You know," she said, her voice low and thoughtful, "I sometimes wonder what our lives would have been like if we'd never found each other."

Scáthach's expression grew solemn. "But we did," she said firmly, squeezing Medb's hand. "And I believe that every moment that led us here was necessary, even the battles and the pain."

Medb nodded, her gaze drifting to the window, where the bustle of the modern world continued unabated. The clank of cups and the laughter of customers melded with the whispers of the past. "I suppose you're right," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "We've had our share of adventures."

Scáthach leaned in, her voice a gentle rumble. "And we'll have more, if you wish," she offered. "We could leave all this behind, find a new place, start anew."

Medb's smile grew as she pictured the two of them in some exotic land, living out their days as they had before. But then she thought of their friends, their lives intertwined with the fabric of this modern world. "No," she said with a firmness that surprised even her. "We've built a life here. And I'm quite fond of the quiet battles I fight now."

Scáthach arched an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. "The quiet battles of baking the perfect scone?"

Medb rolled her eyes, laughing. "And don't forget managing unruly customers," she said, winking. But the truth was, she loved their simple life. It was a stark contrast to the chaos they'd once known, and she found comfort in the predictability of it all.

As the afternoon grew late, the students began to filter out, leaving the cafe to the regulars who knew their drinks by heart. Scáthach took a break from her book and helped clear the tables, her movements efficient and graceful, hinting at the warrior she'd been in another time. Medb watched her, a sense of pride swelling in her chest. Despite the centuries, some things never changed.

"You know," Medb said, her voice a mix of amusement and fondness, "you clean tables almost as well as you wielded a sword."

Scáthach shot her a mock glare, her scarlet eyes sparkling with mirth. "Almost?" she challenged playfully.

Medb couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. The past played like a movie in her mind: Scáthach's fierce determination as she sprinted across the countryside, driven by love and fear. The pain of labor had been intense, but the thought of her warrior by her side had given her strength. And when Scáthach had finally arrived, drenched in sweat and panting, she'd taken Medb's hand, her touch cool and reassuring. The love between them had transcended the physical and become something sacred, something that had carried them through the centuries.

"Almost," she repeated with a playful smirk, tossing a napkin at Scáthach. "But I dare say you've got the hang of it."

Scáthach caught the napkin mid-air with a smirk of her own, her reflexes still sharp as ever. "I've had good teachers," she said, her gaze lingering on Medb.

The cafe grew quieter as the last of the customers left, the bell above the door chiming a gentle goodbye. The two women stood in the now-empty space, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the floor. The painting on the wall seemed to pulse with an ancient energy, as if the figures within were alive and watching them.

"Do you think they know?" Medb mused, nodding towards the painting. "Do you think anyone ever recognizes us?"

Scáthach leaned against the counter, her arms folded. "I doubt it," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "We're just two ordinary women in a modern world, living out our days in quiet anonymity."

Medb nodded, her gaze lingering on the painting. "Sometimes, I wish we could tell our story," she said softly. "But it's better this way, isn't it? Our love, our battles, they belong to us."

Scáthach stepped closer, her eyes holding a warmth that defied the millennia. "Our stories are written in the whispers of the wind and the rustle of leaves," she said, her voice low. "And in the hearts of those who truly see us."

Medb turned to face her, her own eyes reflecting the love that had sustained them through the ages. "You're right," she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "We're legend enough for each other."

Scáthach couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "Ah, the great Queen Medb, brought down by a lump of cheese," she said with a dramatic flourish, her eyes dancing with mischief. "The bards would have had a field day with that one."

Medb threw a mock glare her way, though her laughter bubbled up, unbidden. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

Scáthach's smirk grew wider. "It's a classic," she said, shrugging. "Besides, it's good to remember not to take ourselves too seriously."

Medb rolled her eyes, but she couldn't argue with that. Their lives had been filled with enough drama to last a dozen lifetimes. They'd fought gods and mortals alike, seen the birth of nations, and had their love tested by time and fate. Yet here they were, teasing each other over a cheese scone. It was a simple joy that brought a warmth to her heart that not even the grandeur of her former life could match.

They worked in comfortable silence, closing up the cafe. As the last of the dishes were put away, Medb found herself standing before the painting once more. The young queen in the frame stared back at her, a ghostly echo of her past. She reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool canvas, feeling the faint outline of her own hand. It was as if she could reach back through the ages and touch that younger, more fiery version of herself.

Scáthach's arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her back into the present. "What are you thinking, my love?" she whispered into Medb's ear.

Medb leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Just that we've come so far," she said. "From queens and warriors to this...ordinary life."

Scáthach's grip tightened, her cheek resting against Medb's hair. "But it's ours," she said firmly. "And there's a beauty in that, don't you think?"

Medb nodded, the warmth of Scáthach's embrace seeping into her bones. "Yes," she murmured. "There is."

They stood there for a while longer, the silence between them filled with the unspoken history of their love. Then, with a sigh, Medb turned away from the painting. "We should get going," she said, her voice brighter. "The cats will be wondering where their dinner is."

Scáthach chuckled, her arms dropping to her sides. They locked up the cafe and stepped out into the cool evening air. The streets of Dublin were alive with the sounds of laughter and the distant hum of traffic. As they walked towards their cozy terraced house, Medb felt a strange sense of peace. The city had become their home in a way she never could have imagined.