For a moment, Claire stares just over Achilles's shoulder as her thoughts turn to Jamie, of his twenty years of hardly existing, living as a wanted man in caves for nearly a decade before turning himself in to protect his sister, rotting in a dank prison underground for years and years.

"A prisoner of war," she finally says, not wanting to mislead a new friend, and not wanting to confuse things yet with time travel. "I was with child, I couldn't go with him, or we would have run together." Her eyes meet Achilles's again, and it's clear that no matter the time that passes, the pain of being wrenched apart is still strong when she dwells on it. "He did manage to hide, for a while."

But not forever.

Inhaling sharply, she exhales; her child's father is alive, at least, and there will be a husband to return to. Taking a chance, she reaches out to gently squeeze Achilles's wrist.

"People speak of you now, in my time; they tell stories of you and your heroics at Troy. It's been thousands of years by my time, but we know. We all know." Various interpretations matter, but for now, she hopes reassurance that his legacy lives on for his son, for the future, will be a soothing balm. If even she has heard tales, then there is no way his son didn't.