#anyway since leon has dropped edain this is the official toacanon reason andrei picked up healing

[ulircursed]

if i saw you in heaven

Since when had the healers at the infirmary had gotten used to his presence?

There is lingering wariness in the way they look at him, even now — someone out of place, in this space of tender hands and soothing voices, a space meant to alleviate pain and undo harm. He shouldn’t be welcome here, now or ever.

And yet they tolerate him. They allow him to stay, even when he isn’t, strictly speaking, useful here. He does not aid in the healing of patients — he’s quite sure they don’t trust him that much, even if he offered — and whatever odd errands he takes up for their sakes are few and far between.

Andrei watches, instead, as the healers work their faith magic, fingers subconsciously mimicking their gestures as he feels the subtle shift of energy in the air. Over and over, their gestures repeat, a hand hovering, curved and gentle, over a wound.

He watches, focusing on their hands, and sees someone else's in their stead.

———

Father hadn’t disapproved of Edain’s decision, not even once. He’d always been devout in faith, and receptive of his second daughter’s whims.

Why had he been the one who had to take up the legacy that Lady Sister could not, while Edain had been allowed to choose her own path?

Is it because it is my fault that she is gone—

———

Bursting through the forest in a storm of hoofbeats, Andrei pulls hard on the reins to bring his steed to a stop. Buttermilk tosses his head, shuffling to a halt in an unnatural way that doesn’t escape his rider’s attention.

“What is it?” Andrei asks, casting a sharp look over his shoulder to check for any straggling enemies he might have missed, before swinging himself to the ground for a better look at what was bothering the horse. An angry, jagged slash along his flank, beads of blood dripping from the edge, clearly inflicted by the arrow that had missed his own leg by mere inches. It seems Buttermilk had been able to maintain his course without spooking by sheer adrenaline alone, though now that the immediate danger has passed, he could no longer hide his discomfort.

Keeping a hand firmly on the reins, Andrei raises his other. “Hold still, Buttermilk,” he says. Obligingly, trustingly, the stallion plants his hooves into the ground with a huff. The soft, white glow comes more naturally to him now, and Andrei guides it over the wound, watching as the Recover spell knits torn flesh together without a trace. He wipes away the blood that had dripped down with his bare hands — a more thorough cleaning will need to wait until after they’d made it back to the stables.

Healing magic is useful, for situations like this. For a rider who relied so heavily on his steed for mobility in combat, it would be dangerous for Andrei to suddenly lose that familiar rhythm, deep within enemy territory and facing the prospect of a much longer trek back. There’s likely the same element of pragmatism, he supposes, for all battlefield healers, no matter how bundled in altruistic ideals.

And yet, when Buttermilk turns his head to nuzzle briefly at his arm, Andrei cannot help the fond pat to his neck in return, the gentleness of his gesture a far cry from the steady fingers drawing his bowstring mere minutes ago. “Come now, you’ll have time to rest soon,” he says, remounting and giving a light nudge that sets Buttermilk to a trot.

He can't quite ignore the warmth that simmers within himself, as well, knowing that he could do more than destroy with his hands.

———

Lord Chalphy’s army was marching onto Belhalla, and even though they were still too far away to see, Andrei could feel their approach through the faint rumbling in the earth, the thrum of tension in the air. His hand tightened on his bow.

Lady Sister Brigid would be among them. She, who had discarded her legacy for good, choosing pirates and traitors for her allies. And with her, Edain as well.

Edain, who hadn’t been taken by force. Edain, who’d chosen to leave.

(Was there really nothing I could have ever done, that you would have stayed? Why would you believe in everything and everyone else, but not me?)

He forces those thoughts from his mind. She’s not important to the battle. Not like Lady Sister is. As the current Duke of Yngvi, it is his duty to defend the duchy, defend his homeland, against threats to its stability. 

If he must lose all his remaining family to secure Yngvi’s honor… then so be it.

———

Andrei’s eyes open, ample practice keeping his breaths measured and silent as the haze of his dreams releases its hold on his mind. The candlelight had been extinguished by the last student heading to bed, leaving his surroundings in near total darkness.

That final battle, again. It is a nightmare that had never stopped, even throughout the years he'd now spent in Fódlan. Lady Sister Brigid's expression, Yewfelle's arrow, the burning pain in his chest — forever seared into his memory.

But every once in a while, his gaze strays, turning to his other sister. It might be because he'd used healing magic today. He could never be certain.

Edain looks upon the scene, resigned and passive as she watches one sibling end the life of the other, and yet she does not leave. Even when Lady Sister's arrow hits true, Andrei's life bleeding out of him, she never looked away.

Perhaps that could count as a mercy. Andrei's chest aches, now, even though the mark of the final battle had long since faded to only a faint bruise. Raising a trembling hand, he places it over where his wound had been. Takes a deep breath, and allows faith magic to flow to his fingertips.

There is no healing effect when used on the caster. At least, the warmth is the same.

If he closes his eyes against the glow, perhaps he could imagine, just for a moment, that it is her hand, and her warmth, upon his chest.

He'd been wrong, when he'd told her he didn't care about her all those years ago. Perhaps he'd wanted — needed — something like this, all along.

Would this be enough, for you to forgive me?

The faint, fading light illuminates Andrei's rueful smile. It wouldn't be, he knows. But he'd like to imagine so. Just for a moment.

andrei has mastered bishop!