Chapter 38: Scarred

Astrid stood, dumbfounded and silent as death, her eyes wide and her ears ringing with the profound meaning of what Arnbjorn had said. It was one word - only one, but it was the single most important word in her entire existence. Yes. She mouthed the word to herself, as if to reassure herself that this was actually reality and not some strange dream or twisted delusion.

Her eyes never moved from his, which seemed equally as wide and just as fearful in some way she felt unsure of. "Yes..." Astrid whispered, tasting the warmth of the word in the bitter cold of her life - her reality. Arnbjorn never moved, his body tense and his expression piercing and focused, as if he was waiting for everything around the two of them to come crashing down.

Yes. The word echoed like a thousand whispers in her mind, humming the music of joy and life in a world of tormenting chaos. Yes, he cared. Yes, he and Astrid were one and the same. Yes, he would have taken another life for her.

"Are you okay?" Arnbjorn finally broke the silence her epiphany had thrown them into. Once more, he had not disappointed her. His behavior, the gentleness of his words, and the genuinely concerned look in his eyes brought her nothing but a flood of comfort and a welcoming embrace of happiness.

She looked to him, feeling her emotions spill onto her lips with a sincere smile full of fondness and gratitude. "I am...now..." she spoke, her own voice seeming completely alien to her, as it seemed to lose all of the calm, composed form it usually held. It sounded strangely innocent and gentle enough to match that of the man her heart was truly beating for.

Astrid watched as Arnbjorn warily stepped closer, seeming somewhat fearful of setting her off again. He hesitated a moment, nervously running his large, calloused hand through his silver mane before speaking. "Look...That was stupid of me. I won't come on to you again. I just want you to know...I ain't out to hurt you like those other bastards. I ain't that way..." his eyes lowered, almost in a shameful manner. "I'd never hurt you..." he admitted, only causing her feelings to deepen that much more for him.

Feeling remarkably protective of Arnbjorn's own feelings, Astrid surprised even herself by attempting to comfort his apparent bout of shame. "Look, I know you wouldn't. It's just...It's not you. I-It's not that I don't want to...I do...but certain things...haunt me...I don't know how to stop it..." she revealed, though she knew good and well that Arnbjorn was completely aware of her demons by this point. Devastating was the word that came to her mind when she truly considered the terrible conflict inside of her. She realized that she cared for Arnbjorn in a way that she hadn't truly cared for anyone, and yet she was far too broken to show him just how deeply she felt about him.

Against her own will, her eyes began to glaze over and her lip began to tremble in her inner-torment. Suddenly, like a pot of scalding hot water, she began to boil over, and angry words began to burst from her lips. "I just...By Sithis, I just wish I could burn that gods-forsaken farm to the ground! I hate that it even exists! I can't stand the thought of it being on the face of Nirn! It was that monster's home! People will pass by it and they will remember him! That bastard deserves no memory! His name should rot away to obscurity where he belongs!" she spat and fumed, now feeling a bit unpredictable in her own bout of volatile mood swings. She felt as if she'd become so full of rage and sadness, that she couldn't hold it down any further, and simply began purging it all out of herself. It all seemed completely beyond her control.

It was at that very moment - when she'd expressed the actual depth of her hatred for her former prison, that she noticed a shift in Arnbjorn's demeanor. The same rage that she'd felt inside of herself was now mirrored in his own expression. "It doesn't have to be that way, ya know..." he spoke, his voice falling back into its usual low growl.

Astrid paused a moment, pondering over his words. "...What are you saying?" she then asked, hesitantly, though inside she knew exactly what Arnbjorn had meant. The mere thought of it both elated and terrified her at the same time.

"I think you know..." Arnbjorn replied, clearly picking up on her own emotions. "Whaddaya say? It's not too far from here - maybe a few hours by foot. I'll lead you there. You can torch it to the ground, and I won't say one damned word." he stated, before clearing his throat anxiously and averting his eyes. "It's the least I can do..."

There truly was no end to the kindness that he guarded so carefully behind a wall of sarcasm, intimidation, and brutal nature. How could she say no to such an honest attempt to comfort her in her time of need, to bring a glimmer of happiness into her currently dismal mental state, and to make an effort to right some sort of wrong in her otherwise unjust and ill-fated life.

There was only one answer that would do - only one word to bring any justice to not only herself, but to his caring nature. Astrid faintly smiled through her pain. "Yes."

He remained silent as he stood slightly behind her, watching her hands faintly tremble in the moonlight, as she gazed upon her former prison with fearful eyes. He could see the mist of her breath in the icy air as it came out in jagged, panicked bursts. The scent of her fear hung thick in the air like that of a fresh kill - so thick that it nearly compelled him to reach out and place his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Of course, he knew that was a stupid idea, given the fact that she'd completely broken down the last time he'd touched her.

Arnbjorn simply sighed, watching the trail of his own hot breath rise into the night sky. There she was, standing before a terrible reminder of pain that she should've never suffered at the hands of that son of a bitch, and he couldn't do a damned thing for her.

Unfortunately, the farmhouse was just as full of awful memories of his own. Internally, he cursed himself, wishing he'd have just grown a set and stepped in before the bastard ultimately did what he did to her.

From the first time he laid eyes on her, he sensed that she was troubled and deeply unhappy. Of course, unlike the remaining population of Skyrim that he hadn't given two shits about, in which case he would've gladly shrugged and moved on, something drew him to her. Something about her was different. She held a certain strength and cunning about herself, and a certain depth that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Arnbjorn clearly remembered lurking about in the night, listening to Reiner berate her and order her around like some worthless slave. He'd even become bold enough to pry during the daylight hours, from time to time. He'd watch, become angered by how Astrid was being treated, then become frustrated by the fact that if he were to come right out and tell her everything, he'd more or less be seen as a creep. Of course, the cycle would repeat, and his shame would grow due to his uncharacteristic behavior. It wasn't like him to become obsessed with anything, and certainly not another person.

However, this particular person was different. He couldn't help but feel an intense attraction to her - from the way she was fiery when she was angered to the way she guarded herself with a wall of thick sarcasm and a smooth demeanor. Something inside of him felt as if she was a sort of kindred spirit, and he simply found himself unable to tear his eyes from her. It certainly didn't help that she was quite easy on the eyes to begin with.

Now, standing by her side, witnessing the agony inside of her, he truly regretted not stepping in before that milk-drinking thief had gotten involved with her. The very thought of him made Arnbjorn's blood begin to run hot. He remembered her hopefulness after that idiot filled her head with false promises. Arnbjorn had watched her bury most of that gold, stuffing a large chunk of it down the well. He remembered her smile every time she'd accomplished hiding her profits. She had really believed that wishy-washy pickpocket was going to take her away, and by that point he figured he didn't have an Ice Wraith's chance in Hammerfell of being with her.

Arnbjorn's regrets began to fester like open wounds. After the thief became involved with her, and when Arnbjorn felt his chances were the weakest, were when things truly plummeted for Astrid. He remembered seeing her face that time in the Ratway, and how bruised and battered Reiner had made it. Part of him wanted to go on a rampage and murder more than just his target that day. He kept telling himself, that if only he'd stepped in sooner, those terrible things wouldn't have happened to her. He wouldn't have let her get beaten bloody just to adhere to some moronic guild rules. He would've torn Reiner's head from his shoulders and Astrid wouldn't have suffered. Of course, he always hesitated, held hostage by his own doubts. His shame - his constant battle with himself - had held him back. In truth, he felt responsible for her agony. By this point, burning down an ugly old farmhouse wasn't much, but it was something. Arnbjorn felt that he owed her that sense of validation, at least.

"Arnbjorn..." her shaky, hushed voice pulled him from his inner-battle. He looked to her, seeing the vulnerability in her expression. Tears glistened in her eyes, though he could tell that she was attempting to remain composed. "I-I can't..." she whispered, her voice wavering more by the second.

"What's wrong?" he replied as softly as he could muster, fearing that he'd somehow screw things up and cause her to become an emotional wreck again.

"I-I can't go in there...I can't look at it anymore. Will you...?" she asked, her tone akin to that of a frightened child. Truthfully, it was unnerving to see Astrid that way. Part of him felt a bit flattered that she allowed him to see her so vulnerable, and yet another side blamed himself for her state in the first place. He had never experienced feeling another person's pain so deeply before, and feeling hers had completely scared the shit out of him.

"Will I light it on fire? Is that what you mean?" he asked gently, as if asking a fragile little girl, which is what she had been that night. It was heartbreaking, and his heart truly broke for her, which was something he damned sure wasn't used to. Of course, he felt it all the same. He simply couldn't help it. Astrid slowly nodded in response, now far too shaken for words.

"Sure." he replied, worriedly glancing back to her terrified expression, before preparing to enter the place where her demons were born.