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When Andrey awakens, his hands are bound with cloth, and there is an arrow in his shoulder.
It doesn’t hurt, strangely. The arrow is more of a numb pressure, and his mind boggles slightly as the form of the weapon wavers and stutters before him, a ghostly monolith stretching towards the ceiling next to his face. He thinks to touch it, because perhaps this is just another terrible, jealous dream, only to rub raw wrists on tightly-tied cotton. He’d been fighting the bindings in his sleep, as well as grinding his teeth. His jaw hurts even as it rests on the pillow.
The presence of soft bedding is enough to set him on edge, not because it is abnormal, but because it would be strange for a man to wake imprisoned in his own quarters. Besides, hadn’t he been on campaign in-
A piercing wail throws him from his thoughts. Andrey turns his head fast enough to hear his vertebrae pop and crunch, eyes wide as he searches for the sound. It doesn’t take him long to identify a possible source- Edain sitting in a chair next to his bed, a hardened look on her face.
When he summons his voice, it’s strong. Strong enough to make her look at him. Good. Showing weakness, even to his foolish sister, would be a pitiful thing.
“The costume doesn’t suit you.”
She frowns deeply. “Andrey…”
“I thought you’d lack the guts to tie your own brother down. Then again, you’re too much of a coward to simply let me die, aren't you?”
He grins at her for a long, sickly moment before balking, attempting to scoot backwards as she snaps towards him with a speed he’s never seen from her before. Her heels do not even click on the floor as she slides over him, her battle outfit alien and strange. Edain in armor is a terrible sight, even though he knows it's the craft in which she was originally trained. She reaches out above him, grabbing the illusory golden arrow that pins him like a butterfly to this softened table, and he feels it press into the sinew of his shoulder- a weight as heavy as grief.
“You’re so very lucky, Andrey,” Edain whispers, “to be in the company of kind and noble people. The sort raised with manners.”
He tries to sneer at her, but this new mood is disturbing and dark. Edain’s will is strong, even he would admit that, but her eyes are soft and warm- even in her darkest moments, her gaze has never been this hard.
Until the very end, she thought of him as a baby brother. What does she think of him now?
The arrow twists, and suddenly, Andrey recognizes pain. He grits his teeth, bucking on the mattress only to gasp as the motion makes the shaft slide in deeper, skewering him as the sharpened head of the thing punctures the wooden board he lays on. He tries to shove her off- she’s a cleric for Gods’ sakes- but her hold is faster than his. Her eyes remain hard as he squirms, oozing questions.
Another piercing sound breaks the air- Edain’s sobs, he’s sure of it. But the woman above him simply stares, close-mouthed and silent, and only then does Andrey put together a piece he’s been missing since before he could properly walk.
“It’s good to see you again, brother,” the woman purrs. “Why don’t we sit and chat?”