Echoes Beyond

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A kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal

     "What is this?" Lytharial's voice cut through the stale air of the dimly lit room, her brows furrowing as she surveyed the cramped space Aragorn had led her to. 

The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the peeling walls, revealing the extent of neglect that had befallen the dingy chamber.

Aragorn shuffled awkwardly, his gaze flickering away from the cluttered room. 

     "It's... well, it's everything I could afford at the moment," he muttered, his tone tinged with embarrassment.

Lytharial's lips curled into a wry smile as she took in the sight before her. 

     "I see," she remarked dryly, her eyes sweeping over the worn furnishings and threadbare curtains. It was a far cry from the grandeur she was accustomed to, but she had spent enough time on the run to know that luxury was a rare commodity in their line of work.

With a resigned sigh, she turned back to Aragorn. 

     "Well, it's not much, but I suppose it will have to do," she conceded, her tone softened slightly by a hint of amusement. "At least it's better than spending the night on the streets."

Aragorn nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

     "Indeed," he agreed, gesturing for her to sit on the creaky wooden chair by the window. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll see if I can scrounge up something to eat from the downstairs."

As he turned to leave, Lytharial's voice stopped him in his tracks. 

     "Wait," she called out, a note of uncertainty creeping into her tone. "Before you go... thank you. For everything."

Aragorn met her gaze, his expression softening with understanding.

     "You're welcome," he replied quietly, before disappearing through the door, leaving Lytharial alone with her thoughts in the dimly lit room.

Lytharial ran her fingers over the coarse fabric of the bedspread, feeling the rough texture beneath her touch. It was a stark contrast to the silk sheets and plush pillows she had once been accustomed to, but there was a strange comfort in the simplicity of it all.

As she settled onto the edge of the bed, the memories of her transient existence flooded her mind. The small room she kept hidden away in the depths of the city, was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the streets. It was a place she rarely visited, a mere storage space for her belongings, but it held a certain sentimental value nonetheless.

Over the years, she had become adept at navigating the treacherous underbelly of the city, finding solace in the shadows and anonymity in the crowded streets. She had slept in alleyways and abandoned buildings, on rooftops and in hidden alcoves, always one step ahead of those who sought to capture her.

But now, as she sat in this humble room with Aragorn's belongings strewn about, she felt a sense of belonging she had never known before. Despite the makeshift furnishings and the cramped quarters, it was a refuge unlike any she had ever known.

With a weary sigh, Lytharial leaned back against the lumpy mattress, closing her eyes and allowing herself to relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and uncertainties, but for now, she was content to simply rest in the quiet embrace of the unfamiliar bed.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of Aragorn lingering on the bedclothes—a mix of earth, sweat, and something distinctly masculine. It was oddly soothing, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years. She couldn't help but acknowledge that Aragorn was attractive. His rugged features, sharp eyes, and the strength evident in his bearing hinted at a powerful physique beneath his travel-worn clothes. She imagined the contours of his muscles, the hard lines of his body, and sighed as she rolled over, feeling the fabric shift beneath her.