"You think he tells me?" she chuckled, twisting until she could roll over, cheek pillowed on her arm and watching Booker. "He barely lets me mix pancake batter."

Andromache accepted their roles for what they were: she was a warrior, and a damn good one, and not much else but long-lived. The others managed to make their existence a life, and she just followed them along. Sure, in a fight she took the lead, she was the best at it.