Andromache of Scythia
Andromache still doesn’t understand what is going on, but she lives another day, and she’ll take it as a blessing. It doesn’t make any sense that she is still here, after she felt the arrow pierce her gut, after she felt the pain overwhelm her. The day before, it had been a sword. But here she is, still.
She’s proud of it, even as she’s confused by it. Every day that she is able to fight is a gift, so this is just another gift. She doesn’t know what she’s done to be worthy of it, but she’ll use it in their fight.
The only problem is she’s not the only person who believes she should be dead. Across the fire, Laodamia watches her with wide eyes, making her on edge even though the battle is complete. The arrow that had hit her today had been destined for Laodamia’s chest before Andromache had stepped in the way.
Confrontation happens, but it’s not as she expects, Laodamia’s lips on hers instead of angry words. “Lay with me” she whispers. “You are blessed, and I wish to share your gifts.”
Whether that’s how the gods work, Andromache cannot resist the offer to be close, to not think about it. To feel alive.
***
It is only a week later when Andromache is not killed, but held prisoner. She does not know why they are keeping her, other than to torment her. She does not know where her army is, where her friends are, where her sisters are. She thinks death might have been preferable than this, tied, tortured and left to her thoughts. Tied and unable to do what she wills, what the gods will, to kill them all.
How the woman sneaks into the tent, she does not know. She hears none of her other sisters, nothing of the clash of metal, no screams of war, but she is somehow here, fingers clumsy on the rope, and Andromache is just able to get her hands free when they are discovered. Laodamia dies in front of Andromache, dead because she dared save her sister, and there is nothing but rage left in the Scythian’s soul as she grabs the ax the other woman dropped and attacks.
There are none other of her sisters there to see her, no one else to help, but Andromache does not need them. She kills all those that surround the tent, barely stopping when they try and cut her down. She makes them pay, for her torment, for her sisters. For Laodamia, who thought she’d be able to share in the gods blessing by touching her, saving her.
She carries her sister free of that dead and bloodied camp. Takes her home. She kept her secret, she deserved nothing less.