Echoes Beyond

Warrior and a scum

A man falls down seven times, but the champion rises eight

As Aragorn and Lytharial navigated the labyrinthine streets of Minas Tirith, the weight of their predicament hung heavy in the air. Every shadow seemed to whisper of impending danger, urging them to hasten their pace and disappear into the anonymity of the city's darkest corners.

Aragorn cast a cautious glance over his shoulder, his keen eyes scanning the crowded thoroughfare for any sign of pursuit. The clamor of the city enveloped them, masking their movements as they sought refuge from the looming threat that hung over them like a dark cloud.

     "Why were you sentenced to death?" Aragorn's voice suddenly cut through the tense silence, breaking the uneasy truce that had settled between them.

Lytharial's lips tightened into a thin line, her gaze fixed on the cobblestones beneath her feet. She hesitated, unsure of how much should she reveal to him. 

     "It's complicated," she finally murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aragorn pressed on, his determination unyielding. 

     "I need to know," he insisted, his tone tinged with urgency.

Lytharial sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. 

     "I've done things... things I'm not proud of," she admitted, her voice heavy with remorse. "Over the years, I've... I've made choices that led me down a dark path."

Aragorn studied her carefully, sensing the weight of her words. He could see the pain etched in the lines of her face, the burden of her past weighing heavily upon her soul. And yet,  there was a glimmer of something else – a flicker of resilience that refused to be extinguished.

     "We all have our demons," Aragorn said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "But it's never too late to seek redemption."

A dry chuckle escaped Lytharial's lips, devoid of any humor. 

     "You don't understand," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I've killed, robbed, poisoned... I've done things that would make your blood run cold."

Aragorn's brow furrowed in concern, but he maintained his steady gaze upon her. 

     "Why?" he asked, his voice gentle yet probing. "Why did you do those things?"

Lytharial's eyes darkened with the weight of her memories, her gaze drifting to the distant horizon as she grappled with her past. 

     "I did what I had to survive," she replied, her voice heavy with resignation. "Life in this world is not kind to those without power or privilege. I did what I could to stay alive, to carve out a place for myself in a world that sought to crush me at every turn."

Aragorn nodded in understanding, his empathy for her plight evident in his eyes. 

     "But there are always other paths," he said, his voice filled with compassion. "Other choices you could have made."

Lytharial's lips twisted into a bitter smile. 

     "Perhaps," she conceded, her voice tinged with regret. "But when you're faced with the choice between survival and morality, the lines blur and the choices become... less clear."

Aragorn reached out a hand, resting it gently on Lytharial's shoulder.

      "It's never too late to change," he said, his voice quiet yet resolute. "To seek redemption and forge a new path for yourself."

As they entered the dimly lit tavern, Aragorn's keen eyes scanned the room, assessing their surroundings for any potential threats. Finding a secluded corner, they settled into their seats, the worn wooden table providing a sturdy anchor amidst the chaos of the tavern.