In the hushed hours before dawn, while the others in her party slumbered, Kitra slipped away from their campsite to meet Galadriel as she had been instructed. Her heart raced with anticipation and a hint of fear as she made her way through the dense forest towards the appointed meeting place. It had been many years since her first encounter with the elf queen's mystical mirror, nearly two decades since she had gazed into its crystal-like waters. The last time she had seen visions of her past, plagued by memories of the hardships she had faced due to her outward appearance. But this time, as she approached the clearing where Galadriel awaited, she could feel a stirring within her. A sense of hope and possibility that she had not felt in years.
Even from a distance, Kitra could see the intense gaze of the elf queen upon her, knowing and wise. As she drew closer, she could make out the pitcher of water in Galadriel's hand - the essential tool for creating the magical mirror within the basin. Kitra's heart pounded with anticipation as she stepped into the clearing and prepared herself for what was to come.
Kitra's heart fluttered nervously as she approached the elven queen, her anticipation almost tangible. Galadriel stood regally beside a beautifully crafted pedestal, her long hair cascading down her back like liquid silver. In response to Kitra's question, the queen remained silent and simply motioned for her to come closer. With hesitant steps, Kitra closed the distance and stood across from Galadriel, her eyes drawn to the basin resting on top of the pedestal. As Galadriel poured water into the basin, its crystalline surface shimmered in the sunlight like a rainbow captured in glass. Kitra leaned forward and peered into the water, no longer afraid of what she might see. Instead, she was met with an awe-inspiring sight - the water rippled and churned, revealing a vision of time and space that held Kitra captive in its grasp.
As Kitra gazed into the mirror's enchanted waters, the surface began to shimmer and swirl, forming shapes and scenes that slowly came into focus. At first, the visions were hazy, like a dream struggling to be remembered upon waking. But then, with startling clarity, Kitra saw herself - a dark, twisted version of the woman she knew.
In the mirror, Kitra was clad in armor as black as midnight, a stark contrast to the pure silver she usually donned. Her face was obscured by a helm that left only her eyes visible, and they glowed with an unnatural, malevolent red. This dark Kitra moved with a ruthless purpose, her blade flashing as she cut down foes left and right.
To Kitra's horror, she recognized the fallen. There was Frodo, the brave hobbit who carried the burden of the One Ring, lying lifeless at her feet, the Ring clutched in his hand. One by one, she watched as her dark self slaughtered her companions - Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli. Each fell to her merciless blade, their blood staining the ground crimson. Kitra's heart seized as she saw Aragorn, her dearest friend and the man she had grown to love, standing before her dark reflection. They engaged in a fierce duel, their swords clashing in a deadly dance. Aragorn fought valiantly, but he was no match for the ruthless power that possessed Kitra's mirror self. With a final, devastating blow, she drove her blade through his heart.
As Aragorn crumpled to the ground, the light fading from his eyes, Kitra's doppelganger reached down and wrenched the Ring from Frodo's lifeless hand. She held it aloft, a twisted smile of triumph on her face as the Ring's power coursed through her. The world around her began to warp and darken, the once vibrant colors of Middle Earth fading to ashen grays.
Kitra, still transfixed by the mirror's horrifying vision, watched helplessly as her dark self embraced the Ring's corrupting influence. The red glow in her eyes intensified, and a malevolent aura pulsed around her, growing stronger with each passing moment. She turned her gaze towards the horizon, where the armies of men and elves were gathering to make their final stand against the forces of Sauron.
But just as despair threatened to overwhelm Kitra, the mirror's surface rippled once more, the dark vision dissipating like smoke on the wind. In its place, a new scene began to take shape - one filled with light and hope.
Kitra saw herself standing in a grand courtyard, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. She was clad in a gown of pure white, its flowing fabric embroidered with intricate patterns of silver and gold. Her hair was adorned with delicate flowers, woven into a crown that rested upon her brow. And there, on her finger, glinted the Ring of Barahir - the symbol of the king's betrothal.
As Kitra watched, transfixed, a figure emerged from the shadows of the courtyard. It was Aragorn, resplendent in his kingly raiment, the crown of Gondor upon his head. He approached Kitra with a radiant smile, his eyes shining with love and adoration. Gently, he took her hands in his own, drawing her close. Kitra felt her heart swell with joy as she gazed upon the face of the man she loved, the man who would soon be her husband and king.
The vision shifted once more, and Kitra found herself in a lush garden, the air heavy with the scent of blooming flowers. She was seated on a stone bench, her white gown flowing around her like a cloud. Her hands rested upon her rounded belly, swollen with the new life growing within.
Aragorn knelt before her, his hands tenderly caressing her stomach. His face was alight with wonder and awe as he felt the movement of their unborn child. Kitra felt tears of happiness prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and content.
Kitra pulled away from the mirror, tears streaming down her face as she turned to face Galadriel.
The elf queen regarded Kitra with a compassionate yet enigmatic gaze, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of countless ages. A gentle smile graced her lips as she spoke, her voice melodic and soothing. "The mirror shows many things, Kitra. Things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass."
Kitra swallowed hard, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of the contrasting visions she had witnessed. "I don't understand. It showed me two paths."
Galadriel reached out and placed a comforting hand on Kitra's shoulder, her touch radiating warmth and reassurance. "The future is not set in stone, dear child. The choices we make, the actions we take, they all shape the path that lies ahead.
Kitra nodded slowly, her mind reeling as she processed Galadriel's words. "So the dark future I saw... it doesn't have to come to pass?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"No, it does not," Galadriel's response was swift and certain, her eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope before she turned and strode away. Her graceful movements seemed to radiate confidence and determination. As she disappeared into the shadows, her words echoed in the air like a beacon of truth, dispelling all doubt that may have lingered.
The first light of dawn broke over the lush forests of Lothlórien, illuminating the treetops with a soft and ethereal glow. As the Fellowship stirred from their rest, the air was filled with the sweet melodies of unseen birds, creating a tranquil and otherworldly atmosphere. Kit emerged from her slumber and made her way back to their campsite, the misty morning air clinging to her like a second skin.
She reached for her pack and rummaged through it, pulling out a fresh set of clothes to change into. Her movements were slow and careful, still uncomfortable from the wound on her side. With a grimace, she stretched upwards to pull off her shirt, revealing the pristine bandage wrapped around her midsection. She quickly slipped on a black shirt that was thinner in material, feeling the warmth of the sun as the later seasons began to settle.
As she prepared herself for the day ahead, Kit grabbed her leather corset and began lacing it up in front, making sure not to pull too tight. Around her, the rest of the Fellowship began to stir from their sleep, but Kit's mind was elsewhere as she thought back to the images she had seen in the mirror. The memory of plunging her sword into Aragorn's flesh and hearing it scrape against bone made her shudder uncontrollably. She could still see his fading eyes and feel the weight of guilt crushing down on her.
She moved mechanically, her hands working to secure her pack and weapons, but her eyes held a distant, troubled look. Legolas, ever observant, noticed the change in Kitra's demeanor. He approached her quietly, his light footsteps barely disturbing the soft grass beneath his feet.
"You seem troubled, Kitra," he said, his melodic voice laced with concern. "Is there something weighing on your mind?"
Kitra hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. She trusted Legolas, but the visions felt too personal, too raw to share in their entirety. "I saw things in the Lady's mirror," she admitted, her voice hoarse. "My future is so uncertain." She didn't want to give away too much detail. Aragorn was now the only one in their party that knew of her connection to Sauron and she wanted to keep it that way.
Legolas's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Kitra's troubled expression. "The Lady's mirror is a powerful and mysterious thing," he said softly. "It shows many paths, but the future is not set in stone. The choices we make shape our destiny."
Kitra nodded, appreciating his wisdom but still feeling the weight of her dark visions. "I know. It's just... what I saw was so vivid, so terrifying."
Legolas placed a comforting hand on Kitra's shoulder, his touch gentle yet steadying. "Do not let fear consume you, mellon nin," he said, his voice soft but firm. "The path ahead may be shrouded in darkness, but we must hold onto hope."
Kitra met his gaze, drawing strength from the unwavering conviction in his eyes. She took a deep breath, pushing back the lingering dread that threatened to overwhelm her. "You're right," she said, managing a small smile. "We've come this far."
As the rest of the Fellowship began to pack up their belongings, preparing to continue their journey, Kitra's eyes drifted to Aragorn. He was deep in conversation with Alana and Boromir.
Kitra's eyes lingered on Aragorn as he spoke with Alana and Boromir, their voices low and urgent. She couldn't make out their words, but the tension in their postures was evident. Aragorn's brow was furrowed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if seeking comfort in its familiar weight. Alana stood close to him, her eyes fierce and determined as she gestured emphatically. Boromir, usually so confident and self-assured, seemed troubled, his gaze distant and pensive.
As Kitra watched them, a sudden wave of emotion washed over her. The visions from the mirror flashed through her mind once more - the sight of Aragorn's lifeless body, the feeling of his blood on her hands. She shuddered, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. She still hadn't talked with him since she had seen Lady Galadriel.
Shaking her head she focused on helping the hobbits get their things packed so they could meet at the docks. Legolas, gracefully moved through the camp, making his way to where the elves were preparing the boats for their journey down the Anduin. With a heavy heart, Kitra joined the rest of the Fellowship as they made their way to the docks. The elves of Lothlórien had prepared elegant boats for their departure, each one crafted with the same ethereal beauty that suffused the entire realm. As they approached the shore, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn awaited them, their presence radiating an aura of wisdom and grace.
Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien, approached the fellowship with cloaks that seemed to carry the very essence of the forest. These weren't mere garments; they were intricately woven enchantments, threads spun from the potent magic that permeated every inch of the land. As the fellowship draped themselves in the cloaks, a palpable sense of otherworldly energy coursed through their veins, and they felt an immediate connection to the ancient lineage of the Elves. The silver-veined leaf brooches, clasping the cloaks at their necks, symbolized a powerful unity forged in the crucible of shared purpose.
"Never before have we clothed strangers in the garb of our people," Celeborn's deep voice reverberated, carrying with it the weight of centuries of Elvish history and tradition. "May these enchanted cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes as you journey on your quest?" The very air around them seemed to hum with anticipation and protection as they donned their new attire, ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead.
Kitra watched as Galadriel placed the delicate necklace around Alana's neck. The Elf maiden's eyes widened in wonder as she gently touched the vial, the golden liquid within swirling mesmerizingly. Galadriel leaned in close, whispering something in her ear before moving on. Alana bowed her head in gratitude, the weight of the gift settling upon her like a sacred duty.
As Galadriel moved to stand before Kitra, the young warrior straightened, her heart pounding in her chest. The elf queen's presence was at once both awe-inspiring and intimidating, her ancient gaze seeming to pierce through to Kitra's very soul. In her hands, Galadriel held a pair of intricately crafted daggers, their blades gleaming with a silvery light.
"For you, Kitra, daughter of the Easterlings," Galadriel spoke, her voice melodic and resonant, "I bestow these twin daggers, forged by the finest smiths of Lothlórien. May they serve you well in the battles to come."
With reverent hands, Kitra accepted the daggers, marveling at their perfect balance and razor-sharp edges. The hilts were wrapped in supple leather, molded to fit her grip as if they had been crafted specifically for her hands. Intricate designs were etched into the blades, catching the light and dancing like silver flames. Kitra could feel the power emanating from the daggers, a subtle hum that resonated through her very being.
"Thank you, my lady," Kitra breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "I am honored by your gift and will wield them with courage."
"I bestow upon you one last gift, something to help strengthen your mind," Galadriel said in a gentle voice. The elf reached up and placed her soft hands on the sides of the recipient's face, her eyes alight with power and wisdom. Pressing her forehead to theirs, she bestowed a warm energy that spread through their mind like a shining light pushing back the encroaching darkness.
"Bless this child with the light of the Valar," Galadriel spoke in a reverent tone, elvish rolling from her lips, as if calling forth divine powers. "Let the strength of the Firstborn be woven into her spirit, infusing her with unbreakable fortitude against all shadows and evils. May the stars above guide her steps, and may the light of Eärendil shine upon her path, illuminating even the darkest of times with hope and courage." The air around them seemed to shimmer with magic as Galadriel's words carried weight and power beyond measure.
As Galadriel's blessing washed over Kitra, a profound sense of peace and clarity settled within her heart. The whispering doubts and fears that had plagued her mind since the visions in the mirror began to dissipate, replaced by a steadfast resolve. She could feel the ancient magic of the elves infusing her spirit, fortifying her against the darkness that lay ahead.
Kitra bowed her head in gratitude, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I am forever in your debt, my lady," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
"Go now, and hold fast to hope." Galadriel told her.
Kitra's companions bustled about, loading provisions onto the sleek, elegant Elven boats. But she stood apart, her mind lost in thought as her fingers traced the intricate runes etched onto her new daggers. The blessing bestowed upon her by Galadriel had granted her a new sense of clarity and purpose on their journey. The boats bobbed gently on the crystal clear water, glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the ancient trees. Kitra took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp, clean air of Lothlórien. She felt at peace.
She glanced over at Aragorn, who was helping Frodo and Sam settle into their boat. His movements were sure and steady, a quiet strength emanating from him. Kitra's heart ached with the memory of the dark vision, the sight of his lifeless body still fresh in her mind. She knew she needed to talk to him, to share the burden of what she had seen, but the words stuck in her throat.
As if sensing her gaze, Aragorn looked up, his grey eyes locking with hers. A flicker of concern passed over his face, and he made his way over to where Kitra stood. "Are you ready?" he asked softly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Kitra felt the comforting weight of Aragorn's hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her to the present moment. She met his gaze, seeing the unspoken question in his eyes - the concern for her well-being that he couldn't quite conceal. Taking a deep breath, Kitra nodded, mustering a small smile. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, her voice steady.