SAs the sun sank below the horizon, the fellowship sought refuge on a small island in the middle of the river. They had taken turns rowing all day and despite the exhaustion in her arms, she couldn't help but smile at the camaraderie they shared. She joined the Hobbits in gathering firewood while Alana assisted Sam in preparing their dinner. The aroma of roasting meat and vegetables filled the air, a welcome change from their rations on the road.
As they ate in silence, aside from Merry and Pippin's lively chatter, she couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over her. The crackling fire warmed her body and for once, her mind was free from worries. But in the midst of this calm, there was also a sense of foreboding looming over her. She knew that it wouldn't last, that danger still lay ahead on their journey to Mordor.
She stole a glance at Frodo sitting across from her and wondered if he felt the same unease. Deep down, she knew that their time together as a group would soon come to an end. Her visions in Lothlorien had shown her what was to come and she couldn't shake off the feeling of dread. A part of her wanted to break away from the fellowship and make her way back to Rivendell or Fornost, where she could distance herself from the ring and those she cared about most. But she also knew that running away wouldn't solve anything. It would only leave her more vulnerable without her friends by her side.
She stood from her spot by the fire and made her way to the shore of the island. The rushing river drowned out her thoughts, but not her feelings. She was scared, hopeless, and angry. She had so many questions she wished she could ask her parents. They were questions that would never get answered and she knew that she was going to have to get over that and just accept that her parents had abandoned her.
Alana, tall and graceful, silently made her way over to stand beside Kitra. Her dark eyes gleamed with intensity as she stood there, a comforting presence by Kitra's side.
"How are you holding up?" Kitra asked softly, breaking the silence between them. The gentle breeze rustled through Alana's hair, catching the sunlight and casting golden strands around her face. She turned to look at Kitra, concern etched into her features.
Alana sighed softly, her gaze returning to the rushing river before them. "As well as can be expected, given the circumstances," she replied, her voice barely audible above the water's roar. "Gandalf's death weighs heavy on my mind."
Kitra nodded in understanding, feeling the ache of Gandalf's loss deep within her own heart. The wizard had been a guiding light, a source of wisdom and strength for their fellowship. Without him, the path ahead seemed even more uncertain and perilous.
"I keep thinking about what he said in Moria," Alana murmured, her eyes fixed on the swirling currents of the river. "That there are forces at work beyond any of us, a greater purpose to all of this." She shook her head, frustration welling up inside her. "But what is that purpose? And why must we be the ones to bear this burden?"
"I do not have all the answers. But I do know that we each have a role to play, a destiny that has brought us together on this quest. Gandalf believed in us, in the strength we possess to see this through to the end. We must honor his sacrifice by persevering, no matter the challenges that lie ahead." Kitra placed a gentle hand on her cousins shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring. I see you worry for more than just my safety and that of the fellowships'."
"I worry for Boromir. In Lothlorien he was plagued with visions of his city burning. His mind grows weak I fear." Alana told her, glancing over her shoulder. Alana's eyes widened though when she saw that Boromir and Aragorn were in a heated whisper battle.
"You are afraid!" The passionate exclamation from Boromir sliced through the air. Kitra spun around to face the source of the commotion, finding Aragorn and Boromir engaged in a heated conversation not far from them. The tension was palpable between the two men as Aragorn tried to walk away but was forcefully stopped by the Gondorian's strong grip. "All your life, you have hidden in the shadows! Scared of who you are, of what you are," Boromir's words cut through the night with almost physical force. Kitra quickly walked forward, placing herself between the two men before things could escalate any further. Her sharp gaze flicked between them, determined to diffuse the situation.
"That is enough, both of you. We need rest for tomorrow's journey. I will take watch tonight," she declared firmly, not giving either of them a chance to object. Boromir opened his mouth to retort but Alana swiftly stepped in front of him, mirroring Kitra's stance in a show of solidarity. The tension eased slightly, but Kitra knew she would have to keep an eye on these two fiery men for the rest of their journey together.
"If I hear another word uttered from either of your mouths, I will tell Sam to withhold breakfast from you."
The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, thick and heavy with the weight of their fragile unity. Boromir's glare was sharp as a sword, his annoyance evident that either of them dared to intervene in their heated argument. With a huff, he stormed off, his footsteps echoing loudly against the quietness of the camp. Alana hurried after him, her steps light but determined as she followed him to make sure he obeyed Sam's command.
Aragorn let out a weary sigh, his hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "He is frightened," he muttered to Alana.
"We all are," she replied softly, placing a gentle hand on his cheek in a gesture of support. "Go rest."
He nodded tiredly, grateful for her understanding, and gave her forehead a kiss before walking over to where his things were by the fire. As he settled down to rest, he couldn't help but think about the fragility of their mission and the tensions that threatened to tear them apart at any moment.
As the night descended, Kitra perched on the edge of the camp, her sharp eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of danger. The shadows seemed to cling to their camp, hiding whatever lurked beyond their safe haven. But Kitra remained vigilant, her senses on high alert as she sat in silence. The night was peaceful, but she knew better than to let her guard down. As she hummed a tune under her breath, the rustling of leaves and chirping of crickets provided a comforting backdrop to her watchful state. She could feel the cool night air brushing against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and campfire smoke. Despite the tranquility of the moment, she couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes in the darkness.
As the sun rose on the second day of their journey down the Anduin, the fellowship was greeted by a breathtaking spectacle - a majestic canyon opening up before them. The rushing river below carried them swiftly through the narrow passage, while towering cliffs of rugged stone rose high above them.
Aragorn, with a half-smile, reached out and lightly tapped Frodo on the shoulder. Kitra could sense the emotions swirling beneath the surface as they approached a sight that inspired both awe and humility: the Argonath, also known as the Pillars of Kings.
"Frodo, the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old—my kin," Aragorn's voice carried a resonance that stirred Kitra's soul. The fellowship, united in shared wonder, gazed upon the towering splendor of the Argonath. As the small boats carrying Kitra and her companions drifted between the ancient kings, she felt impossibly small. The stone eyes of the statues seemed to peer right through her, as if judging whether they were worthy to pass. Their outstretched hands both welcomed and warned, fingers splayed against the misty sky.
Remembering a melody she had heard as a child, Kitra's voice rose as she sung a haunting melody that echoed through the canyon. "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" Her words, laden with the weight of ages, paid homage to the oath that bound them to the fate of Middle-earth.
Kitra's voice faded into the mist as the fellowship emerged from the shadows of the Argonath. The river widened before them, its waters sparkling under the midday sun. Ahead, the Falls of Rauros roared in the distance, a thunderous reminder of the perils that still lay ahead.
Aragorn guided their boats towards the western shore, his keen eyes scanning the riverbank for a suitable place to make camp. As they drew closer, Kitra noticed a sense of unease settling over the group. Frodo, in particular, seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed as he sat in the boat, the weight of the ring hanging heavy around his neck. His blue eyes were clouded with worry and doubt, his mind consumed by the growing darkness that threatened to engulf them all.
As the fellowship pulled their boats onto the shore, Aragorn strode over to Frodo, placing a reassuring hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "We will make camp here for the night," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Take some rest, Frodo. You will need your strength for the journey ahead."
With a gentle smile, Kitra turned to Aragorn and spoke softly, "I am going to collect some firewood. I won't be gone too long." She grabbed a woven basket from the boat and began walking towards the surrounding trees. Aragorn nodded in understanding as he unloaded the boats, arranging the supplies for their evening campfire. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow across the water. Kitra disappeared into the lush forest, her footsteps crunching on fallen leaves and twigs as she searched for suitable firewood. As she gathered branches and logs, she took a moment to admire the vibrant colors of the changing leaves and breathe in the crisp autumn air. Eventually, she emerged from the trees with her arms full, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
As she walked, her thoughts drifted to her parents. She couldn't help but wonder if there was any possibility of their salvation, if they could ever return to their human form once again. Images of her mother flooded her mind, and she longed for the chance to talk to her once more. To hear her voice, see her smile, and feel her warm embrace. Deep down she knew that it was impossible. There was no way to bring anyone back from being a wraith. It was a fate worse than death.
Kitra shook herself, forcing the thoughts back. She couldn't afford to dwell on such things, not now. Not when the fellowship needed her strength, not when every step they took brought them closer to Mordor, and to the threat that Sauron still posed. But it was impossible to silence the fear that lived inside her—fear that the curse would one day take hold completely, turning her into the very thing she despised, into a weapon that Sauron could wield against those she had come to care for.
She bent down to pick up another branch, but her hands shook so badly that it slipped through her fingers, clattering to the ground. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, raw and unsteady. It was such a small, foolish thing—dropping a piece of wood—but it felt like a reminder of how little control she truly had over her own fate.
With a stack of wood cradled in her arms, Alana finally found Kitra deep in the woods. "I thought you were gathering wood?" she asked.
"I just needed a minute of solitude," Kitra replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
They began making their way back to camp, but as they got closer, the faint murmur of voices grew louder and more distinct. The natural silence of the woods was broken by the harsh, agitated tone of Boromir's voice. Kitra felt a knot form in her stomach as she recognized the tension in his words. She quickened her steps, glancing over at Alana, who shared the same look of concern on her face. As they approached the campsite, the air seemed heavy with unease and the once peaceful setting now felt charged with an impending conflict.
"It doesn't sound like a friendly conversation," Alana murmured, her hand drifting instinctively toward the hilt of her blade.
Kitra nodded, her jaw clenched as they pushed through the underbrush, following the sound. The air was thick with tension, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs setting their nerves on edge. As they drew closer, Boromir's voice rang out loud and desperate, tinged with a hint of anger.
"You don't understand, Frodo! With the Ring, we could save Gondor! We could—"
Kitra and Alana burst through the trees just in time to witness the scene unfolding before them. Boromir stood before Frodo, his face twisted with a fierce intensity, one hand reaching out towards the small figure who cowered in fear. Frodo's eyes darted back and forth between Boromir and the path behind him, indecision and fear warring within him as he clutched the Ring tightly to his chest.
"Boromir, stop!" Kitra's voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. She stepped between Boromir and Frodo, holding out her arms in a protective stance. Her heart raced as she tried to defuse the dangerous situation. "Think about what you're doing!"
Boromir's eyes widened with shock and recognition as he locked eyes with Kitra. But the moment was fleeting, replaced by a fierce, almost unrecognizable need that twisted his features into something primal and desperate.
"He has it," Boromir growled, his voice gravelly and strained as if the words were being torn from his throat. His gaze darted between Kitra and the Ring, his eyes shimmering with a dangerous intensity. "The Ring... it could save my people! It could save us all! Why won't you listen?"
Kitra's heart raced in her chest as she stood her ground, desperately trying to reach the man she had come to know during their journey. "The Ring is corrupting your mind, Boromir. You have to let it go! This isn't who you are-"
But before she could finish, Boromir's expression contorted into a snarl and he lunged forward, shoving her aside with a brutal force. Kitra stumbled backward but managed to regain her footing just in time to see Boromir turn back toward Frodo, his hand reaching out greedily.
"No!" Kitra cried out, launching herself at Boromir once again, determined to protect the hobbit at all costs. She threw herself between them, using all her strength to push Boromir back. But he was fueled by desperation and his grip on reality had slipped away. He grabbed Kitra by the shoulders and before she could react, his hands were tightening around her throat in a terrifying display of strength and madness.
Kitra's world tilted and spun as Boromir's grip tightened around her throat, cutting off her air supply. She clawed desperately at his hands, gasping and choking for breath, but his face was twisted with a frenzied rage that had consumed him since he laid eyes on the Ring. His eyes were wild and blazing with an otherworldly fire, and Kitra could see the madness creeping through his veins. As she fought against the crushing pressure, her vision began to blur and dark spots danced in her periphery. Panic filled her chest as she struggled to break free from Boromir's grasp.
"Stop, Boromir!" Alana's voice rang out sharply, filled with a fear that Kitra had rarely heard from her cousin. With a swift movement, Alana grabbed a thick branch from the forest floor and brandished it like a weapon. "You're going to kill her!"
But Boromir seemed deaf to their cries, his focus solely on Kitra as he continued to squeeze tighter and tighter. In a brief moment of clarity, Kitra thought she saw something in his eyes - regret, horror at what he was doing - but it was quickly engulfed by his all-consuming desire for the Ring.
Determination etched onto her features, Alana swung the branch with all her might and brought it down hard across the back of Boromir's head. There was a sickening thud as the impact echoed through the forest, and Boromir's grip finally loosened as he stumbled backwards, shock written all over his face before he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Kitra crumpled to her knees, gasping for air as her hands reflexively flew to her bruised throat. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of it nearly drowning out Alana's frantic voice. She could feel her cousin's hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her, but Kitra's vision was spinning and she couldn't focus.
Through blurry eyes, Kitra looked up at Alana's face, pale with a mix of worry and fury. Despite the chaos around them, Kitra couldn't help but be comforted by her cousin's presence. "Are you all right?" Alana demanded, her voice laced with anger and fear.
Kitra tried to nod, but a sharp pain shot through her throat, reminding her of Boromir's grip. She swallowed against the ache and saw the red marks left behind by his fingers. Memories of his attack flooded back and she shuddered.
"Stay with him," Kitra rasped, forcing herself to push past the pain and speak. "See if you can bring him back to his senses when he wakes up. I'll go after Frodo."
Alana hesitated, looking down at Boromir before meeting Kitra's determined gaze. "Are you sure you're well enough to go? He nearly—" Her voice trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavily between them, a reminder of how close Kitra had come to losing her life at the hands of their friend.
Kitra nodded, forcing herself to stand straighter despite the throbbing in her throat. "I'm fine. Frodo's scared, and he's got the Ring. He shouldn't be alone right now. Just... keep an eye on him," she added, glancing down at Boromir with a mixture of pity and frustration.
Alana's jaw tightened, but she nodded, gripping the branch she had used to strike Boromir. "All right. Be careful."
Kitra managed a tight, grim smile, then turned on her heel and sprinted into the trees, following the faint sound of Frodo's hurried footsteps. The forest blurred around her, branches whipping at her face as she pushed herself to move faster, her lungs burning with each breath. She couldn't let Frodo slip away—not when the shadows of Mordor pressed closer with every step they took.
The forest seemed darker, more oppressive, as she ran, the shadows twisting and stretching beneath the thick canopy. But through the thicket, she caught a glimpse of movement—Frodo's small figure darting between the trees, his cloak flapping behind him like a ghost.
"Frodo! Wait!" Kitra called out, her voice rough and desperate as she pushed herself harder, trying to close the distance between them. "I just want to help!"
Frodo froze for a moment, turning back to look at her, his wide eyes filled with fear. But there was something else there too—an edge of suspicion, the weight of the Ring's influence casting a shadow over the trust they had once shared. He clutched the Ring closer to his chest, his breathing ragged, as if even Kitra's presence was too much to bear. Kitra slowed her approach, lifting her hands to show she meant no harm. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the way the Ring twisted his thoughts, whispering to him that he was alone, that he could trust no one.
"Frodo, please. I'm not going to hurt you. "
Kitra barely had time to collect herself before a shadow moved through the trees, and Aragorn emerged from the forest, his expression taut with worry. He took in the scene with a quick sweep of his gaze—Frodo standing several paces away, Kitra still catching her breath, the tension between them thick in the air.
"Frodo?"
Aragorn's voice was a low but desperate whisper as he approached Frodo. In response, Frodo instinctively stepped back, fear flickering in his eyes. "Boromir has been taken," he gasped.
Aragorn emerged from the shadows, his dark eyes piercing and intense as he made his way towards Frodo across the rubble-strewn ground. Despite his determined expression, there was a certain unreadable quality about him that sent shivers down Frodo's spine.
"Where is the Ring?" Aragorn's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, his gaze unwavering on Frodo.
Frodo's eyes widened with fear as he stumbled backwards, clutching the Ring tightly to his chest. "Stay away!" he screamed, frantically searching for an escape from Aragorn's advancing steps.
But Aragorn was relentless, closing the distance between them with steady determination. "Frodo," he called out urgently, his voice filled with concern and compassion. Frodo felt his body freeze against the cold stones behind him, his grip on the Ring growing tighter as its pull became stronger. "I promised to protect you," Aragorn's words held a deep, unspoken vow that echoed through the air.
Frodo's face twisted in anguish, his voice sharp as he retorted, "Can you protect me from yourself?!" He extended his trembling hand, revealing the Ring nestled in his palm, gleaming darkly in the fading light. The weight of the question hung in the air between them, as if daring Aragorn to face the truth.
Kitra watched for a long moment as Aragorn stared at the Ring, his eyes drawn to its allure, the temptation flickering across his face. His hand twitched ever so slightly, as though he might reach for it. The power, the promise, the salvation for his people—it all lay within his grasp. But then, with a sudden clarity, he tore his gaze away from the Ring and looked at Frodo.
Without a word, Aragorn stepped forward and gently placed both of his hands over Frodo's, closing the hobbit's small fingers around the Ring and pressing it firmly against Frodo's chest. His eyes softened, filled with a deep and quiet strength.
"I would have gone with you to the end," Aragorn declared, his voice trembling with emotion, "into the very heart of Mordor."
Kitra watched from a distance as Frodo's eyes widened in realization, finally understanding the true depth of Aragorn's loyalty. His gaze softened with gratitude, but Kitra could see the weight of the Ring still pressing down on him.
"I know," Frodo whispered, his voice heavy with the burden he carried. "Please look after the others, especially Sam. He won't be able to comprehend what we've been through."
Aragorn's expression grew sterner as he accepted this responsibility from Frodo. With a nod, he released Frodo's hand and stood to his full height, determination etched into every line of his face.
A soft, otherworldly glow surrounded Frodo's sword, Sting. Aragorn's trained eyes sharpened, his body automatically shifting into a battle stance. He unsheathed his own sword, the metal glinting in the dim light of the forest. "Go, Frodo," he commanded with urgency and determination. "Run. Run!"
Frodo hesitated for a brief moment, his expression betraying both fear and determination as he looked up at Aragorn. The weight of their separation was heavy on his small frame. But with a final glance, he turned and disappeared into the trees, disappearing into the shadows.