Echoes Beyond

Scars

Time heals all wounds. But not this one. Not yet

Lytharial woke up early. The room was still shrouded in darkness as she opened her eyes, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The next thing she noticed was her state of undress—completely naked. Panic surged through her, but then she felt the strong, comforting weight of a male arm around her body. She wanted to crawl out of her skin, but the scent of the male beside her calmed her. Memories of the previous night came rushing back, and she realized it was Aragorn.

Carefully, she tried to slip out of his grasp, attempting not to wake him. His arm was heavy and warm, and for a moment, she lingered in the embrace, feeling a strange sense of security she hadn't felt in years. But she couldn't stay like this. She needed to get dressed, to regain her sense of control.

She managed to free herself and started putting on her clothes, the familiar fabric providing a semblance of normalcy. Just as she was fastening her tunic, she heard his hoarse voice cut through the silence.

     "Where did you get those long scars on your back?"

Lytharial froze, her heart pounding. She didn't want to tell that story. She didn't want to relive those memories. She felt his eyes on her, heavy with curiosity and concern. The room was thick with silence, the air almost palpable with tension.

Aragorn sat up, the blanket falling away to reveal his muscular torso. His gaze was intense, and she could see the shadows of concern in his usually steely eyes. 

     "Lytharial, please. "

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she continued to dress. She felt exposed, not just physically, but emotionally. The scars on her back were a map of her past, of pain and survival. She didn't want to share that with anyone, especially not him.

     "It's not a story I like to tell," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

She turned away from him, but she could still feel his eyes on her, burning with a mixture of frustration and understanding.

Aragorn stood, crossing the small space between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. 

     "You don't have to face it alone," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

The closeness, the intimacy of the moment, made her chest tighten. She had spent so long building walls around herself, keeping everyone at a distance. But here was Aragorn, breaking through those defenses with a simple touch.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. 

     "I got them in a tavern," she finally admitted, her voice cracking slightly. "It was a long time ago. I...I don't want to talk about it."

He sighed, his grip on her shoulder tightening slightly before he let go. 

     "Alright," he said softly. "But know that if you ever do want to talk, I'm here."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She finished dressing, feeling the weight of his gaze on her the entire time. There was something between them, an unspoken connection that both frightened and intrigued her.

Lytharial took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Aragorn's question settle over her. She had spent so many years burying the past, locking it away in the darkest corners of her mind. But now, with Aragorn's eyes fixed on her, the walls she had so carefully built seemed to crumble.

     "It's a story I haven't told anyone," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned to face him, seeing the concern etched in his features. "It happened many years ago."

Aragorn didn't interrupt, his eyes urging her to continue. Lytharial drew in another shaky breath and began to unravel the painful memories.

     "I was in a small town, far from here. I had been traveling for weeks, barely resting, always looking over my shoulder. I found a tavern and decided to stay the night. It was crowded, noisy, filled with people looking to drown their sorrows. I needed a distraction, so I joined them."

She paused, her mind drifting back to that night. The smell of stale ale, the sound of laughter and shouting, the dim light casting shadows on rough wooden walls.

     "I had a few drinks," she continued, "maybe more than I should have. The alcohol made me feel invincible, made me forget the weight of my burdens for a while. There was a fight—tavern fights were common, a way for people to blow off steam. I joined in, and...I was good at it. Too good. I beat someone, someone of high rank. I didn't know who he was at the time, just another man looking for a brawl."

Her voice faltered, the memories of what happened next flooding her mind.

     "That night, after the fight, they came for me. The man I had beaten was important, connected. They dragged me outside, into the cold. I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them. They stripped me down, tied me to a post. Thirty lashes, they said. Thirty lashes to teach me a lesson."

Lytharial's voice shook, and she felt Aragorn's hand tighten on her shoulder. She didn't dare look at him, not wanting to see the pity or anger in his eyes.

     "They whipped me until my skin was shredded, until I was screaming in agony. Each lash cut deeper, tearing flesh, ripping muscle. By the time they were done, I was barely conscious. They left me there, bleeding and broken. It took months for my back to heal, and even now, the scars remain."

She stopped, her throat tight with emotion. The room was silent, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire. When she finally looked up, she saw fury in Aragorn's eyes, a burning anger that made her shiver.

     "How could anyone do something like that?" he muttered, his voice a low growl. "How could they be so cruel?!"

Lytharial shook her head. 

     "People can be monsters, Aragorn. I've seen it time and time again. They didn't care who I was or what I had been through. To them, I was just a problem that needed to be dealt with."

Aragorn's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. 

     "If I had been there..."

     "You weren't," Lytharial interrupted softly. "And even if you had been, there's nothing you could have done. It was my fight, my punishment."

He stepped closer, his eyes softening as he looked at her. 

     "No one should have to endure that alone," he said quietly. "No one."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of her story hanging heavy in the air. Lytharial felt a strange sense of relief, as if a burden she had carried for years had been lifted, even if just a little.

     "Thank you for telling me," Aragorn said, his voice filled with sincerity. "And know this, Lytharial: you are not alone. Not anymore."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As he gently pulled her into an embrace, she felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of safety she hadn't felt in a long time. For now, she allowed herself to lean on him, to find solace in his strength. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in years, she didn't feel like she had to walk it alone.