Echoes Beyond

Acceptance

For, after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is to let it rain

It was then that Lytharial realized she was taking up the whole bed, leaving Aragorn perched uncomfortably on the edge. She almost choked on her saliva at the realization. The bed was big enough for two, but there was no way she would share it with him.

     "Lie down," she said abruptly, getting up from the bed. "I'll get some food."

Aragorn nodded, not protesting as she made her way downstairs. Lytharial wandered through the dimly lit tavern, her mind racing with thoughts of the past and present. The tavern was noisy and filled with the scent of spilled ale and unwashed bodies, but it was a familiar environment. She could navigate it with her eyes closed.

Meanwhile, Aragorn lay back on the bed, stretching out and contemplating the mysterious woman who had disrupted his life. Who was she? What dark secrets haunted her? He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the weight of his burdens pressing down on him. He pulled the remaining blanket over himself to stave off the chill of the night.

His thoughts drifted to his troubles. He had to reclaim his name and reveal his true identity. The people of Gondor needed to know who their rightful king was, who had fought to destroy the One Ring. He thought of the journey that had brought him here, the battles fought and the friends made along the way.

But his musings were abruptly interrupted as the door creaked open. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He heard soft footsteps approaching and felt the weight of the bed shift as Lytharial sat down. She sighed deeply, a sound filled with exhaustion and frustration.

She remained silent for a moment, and Aragorn could sense her inner turmoil. He kept his breathing steady, feigning deep sleep, but his mind was alert and curious.

Lytharial stared at him, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and resentment. She had expected to find solace in solitude, yet here she was, tangled up with a man who seemed to care more than she was comfortable with. Her eyes traced the lines of his face, his strong jaw, and the faint shadow of stubble. He was undeniably handsome, a warrior with a noble bearing. But she had learned long ago that such appearances could be deceiving.

As she sat there, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for his unwavering resolve. He seemed so sure of his purpose, so determined. It was a stark contrast to her own life, filled with doubt and dark choices.

"Who are you, Aragorn?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. "And why do you care?"

Aragorn didn't respond, his breathing even and steady. Lytharial shook her head, dismissing her thoughts, and stood up. She needed to clear her mind, to figure out her next move. She walked over to the window and looked out into the night, the flickering lights of the city casting long shadows.

After a while, she turned back to the bed, her resolve hardening. She wouldn't let herself be drawn into his world. She had her path to walk, one that she had chosen long ago. And she couldn't afford to let anyone, not even someone as compelling as Aragorn, divert her from it.

But she sighed. There was a little space left on the bed near him, or she could take the floor. She shivered as the cold ran through her bones. Not even her now shredded cloak could keep her warm. She tried lying on the floor, but it was stone cold. She could endure that, but, silently, she wanted warmth.

Standing up, she looked at the bed again. Even though it was dark, her perfect elven senses and sight were keen. Under the moonlight streaming through the window, Aragorn's features were clear and sharp. His strong jawline and the rise and fall of his chest, as he breathed deeply, drew her in. She took a deep breath and decided to take a chance.