As Aragorn unsheathed his sword, its blade gleaming in the fading light, he turned to Kitra with a grim nod. "Stay close. We'll have to hold them off until Frodo is safely away."
Kitra drew her own weapon, the familiar weight steadying her, despite the ache in her throat and the exhaustion creeping into her limbs. Her senses were sharp now, her adrenaline overriding the fatigue as danger pressed in around them. "I'm with you, Aragorn. Let's make sure they don't get past us," she replied, her voice strong.
Suddenly, the guttural cries of the Uruk-Hai shattered the stillness, echoing through the trees. "Find the Halflings! Yaggh! Find the Halflings!" The first of the Uruk-Hai burst through the underbrush, their grotesque faces twisted with malice, weapons gleaming in the twilight.
Without hesitation, Aragorn surged forward, his sword cutting through the air in a powerful arc as he met the first of the attackers. Kitra was at his side, her blade flashing in the dim light as she parried the strike of an axe. The force of the blow jarred her arm, but she pushed back, cutting down her opponent in a swift, deadly movement.
The Uruk-Hai came in waves, their strength and numbers crashing against Aragorn and Kitra like a relentless storm. Every swing of her sword was precise, each strike driven by the knowledge that they had to hold the line, that Frodo's escape depended on them.
Kitra gritted her teeth, her mind focused on the rhythm of battle, the clash of steel against steel. But beneath the surface, the darkness of her own fears—the curse that bound her, the shadows that whispered—threatened to rise. She shoved those thoughts down, determined to fight not just the enemy before her, but the one inside her as well.
Beside her, Aragorn fought like a man possessed, his blade cutting through Uruk-Hai with a ferocity that spoke of desperation and resolve. His movements were fluid, instinctive, but Kitra could see the strain in his eyes—the realization that they were outnumbered, and that their strength alone might not be enough.
"Kitra, fall back!" Aragorn shouted above the chaos, his voice urgent as he deflected a strike. "We need to draw them away from Frodo's path!"
Kitra nodded, her breath coming in sharp bursts as she pivoted on her heel, slashing through the arm of an Uruk that lunged for Aragorn. The creature howled in pain as she pressed forward, giving Aragorn the moment he needed to regain his footing. Without a word, they began to retreat deeper into the woods, drawing the Uruk-Hai with them, step by agonizing step.
Through the trees, Kitra caught a glimpse of Frodo's cloak disappearing into the darkness, and a surge of relief coursed through her. He was getting away. He had a chance.
But the Uruk-Hai were relentless. They pushed back harder, their bloodlust driving them forward, and the clash of battle echoed louder. Kitra and Aragorn stood their ground, side by side, their weapons a blur as they fought to hold off the tide of enemies. Every strike was a struggle, but they would not falter—not while Frodo still had time.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out through the chaos. "Aragorn" Gimli shouted. From behind the ruin, Legolas and Gimli appeared, charging forward to join the fight.
Legolas, with his bow ready, fired arrows with deadly precision, taking down Uruk-Hai after Uruk-Hai, each shot a flawless execution. Gimli, his axe gleaming, charged into the fray with a roar, his strikes powerful and brutal.
"Aragorn! Go!" Legolas called, dispatching another Uruk-Hai with a fluid motion, the arrow embedding in its chest with a satisfying thud.
But the battle was far from over. The Uruk-Hai surrounded them, and Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought back with everything they had. Legolas shot down an Uruk-Hai who had closed in on Aragorn, saving him in the nick of time. The sound of steel clashing filled the air as Gimli swung his axe, taking down any foe that came too close.
And then, cutting through the chaos, came three loud horn blasts.
Legolas's eyes widened as the sound reached his ears. "The Horn of Gondor!" he shouted above the din.
Aragorn's heart lurched, and his face tightened with dread. "Boromir!" he shouted back, his voice filled with urgency.
Without a second thought, Aragorn bolted down the slope, his feet pounding against the earth as he ran toward the sound of Boromir's horn. Kitra was right behind him, her heart racing with fear and desperation. They had fought through so much already, but hearing Boromir's horn blare in agony filled her with dread. They could not lose him—not like this.
Uruk-Hai stood between them and their fallen friend, but Aragorn's pace did not falter, cutting through the attackers with swift, deadly precision. Kitra was by his side, her sword flashing in the dying light. She matched Aragorn's ferocity, cutting down every Uruk-Hai that came too close, her movements fluid and lethal.
"Aragorn, we need to get to him!" Kitra shouted, her breath coming in sharp bursts as they fought their way forward. The sound of Boromir's horn echoed again, fainter this time, and Kitra's stomach twisted with fear. They had to move faster.
They fought as one, their blades a blur as they hacked their way through the tide of Uruk-Hai. Kitra parried a brutal strike, driving her sword into the side of an Uruk-Hai that had been about to charge Aragorn from behind. Her arms burned from the effort, but she kept pushing forward, her thoughts focused solely on reaching Boromir in time.
Farther away, Boromir's horn sounded again, a desperate, weakening call for aid as the Uruk-Hai swarmed around him. Kitra's heart lurched—he was running out of time. She could see him now, surrounded by the enemy, his sword slashing at his attackers as arrows pierced his body one after another. He fought on, even as his strength waned.
As Aragorn broke through the last line of Uruk-Hai, Kitra followed close behind, her eyes locking onto the chieftain of the Uruk-Hai, who stood with a sneer on his grotesque face. The creature pulled back his bow, a final arrow ready to end Boromir's life.
"No!" Kitra screamed, but before the arrow could fly, Aragorn crashed into the captain, sending the arrow sailing off into the trees. The two clashed with brutal force, but the Uruk-Hai captain had the advantage of size and brute strength. He threw Aragorn aside, knocking his sword from his hand.
Kitra sprinted forward, her sword raised as she joined the fray. The captain's attention flicked to her for a brief moment as she slashed at him, her blade biting into his side. The Uruk-Hai snarled in pain, turning on Kitra with a vicious swing of his heavy sword. Kitra barely dodged the blow, her foot slipping on the blood-soaked ground as she danced away from the captain's reach.
Aragorn, pinned against a tree by the Uruk-Hai's two-pronged shield, struggled to break free, but the captain's focus had shifted to Kitra. With a growl, the creature lunged at her, swinging his massive blade in a wide arc. Kitra met the blow with her own sword, the force of the impact nearly knocking her off balance. She pushed back with all her strength, her arms straining under the pressure, but the Uruk-Hai was relentless.
Just as the captain raised his sword for a killing strike, Aragorn slipped beneath the shield's pin, freeing himself with a desperate burst of strength. He drew his knife and threw it at the captain. It imbedded itself in the creatures leg, causing it to roar in pain. The distraction was enough—Kitra seized the opportunity, driving her sword into the Uruk-Hai's side with a powerful thrust.
The captain staggered, blood pouring from his wounds, but he was not finished. With a twisted snarl, he backhanded her away from him. Her head whipped to the side and she went sprawling to the forest floor, blood pouring from her mouth from a busted lip. The Uruk-hai yanked the blade out of his leg, licking it's own blood from the knife before throwing it back at Aragorn. Aragorn batted the dagger away with his sword, deflecting the attack as he closed in for the final strike.
Aragorn rushed at the captain, slicing his arm off with a well-timed swing, and in a final, powerful motion, he drove his sword into the Uruk-Hai's chest. The captain snarled, pulling himself closer to Aragorn along the blade, his eyes wild with fury.
Kitra, having gained her barring's again, lunged forward and, with a final, decisive strike, slashed across the captain's neck. The Uruk-Hai's eyes widened in shock before his head fell from his shoulders. Aragorn, with a grimace of effort, yanked his sword free and his body crumpled, lifeless.
Panting heavily, Kitra paused, her chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her mind snapped back to Boromir, and she turned to see Aragorn already sprinting toward him.
Lying on the ground, among the bodies of fallen Uruk-Hai, was Boromir. Three black-fletched arrows jutted from his chest, piercing through his armor with deadly precision. Blood stained the earth around him, soaking into the leaves. His breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps, each one a struggle.
"No…" Kitra's voice came out as a choked whisper, and she dropped her bow, running to Boromir's side. She knelt beside him, her hands hovering helplessly over the arrows, unsure where to even begin. "Boromir, no, stay with us—please."
Aragorn was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside his fallen friend, his expression stricken with grief. He gently cradled Boromir's head, his voice low and urgent. "Hold on, Boromir. We'll get you out of here—just hold on."
Boromir's hand weakly grabbed Aragorn's shoulder, his face pale and bloodied. "They took the little ones," he rasped, his voice filled with both pain and guilt.
"Be still," Aragorn said, trying to calm him, but the urgency in Boromir's voice did not waver.
"Frodo!" Boromir gasped, his eyes flickering with panic. "Where is Frodo?"
Aragorn's face tightened, and he spoke softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I let Frodo go."
Boromir's expression faltered as the weight of those words settled over him. "Then you did what I could not," he whispered, his eyes closing briefly, his voice filled with remorse. "I tried to take the Ring from him."
"The Ring is beyond our reach now," Aragorn said, his gaze never leaving Boromir's, his heart breaking as he watched his friend struggle to speak.
Boromir's chest heaved with the effort of breathing, his voice weak. He looked over at Kitra, his hand lifting up to graze the bruising on her neck that he had caused. "Forgive me. I did not see it. I have failed you all."
"No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor," She whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead in forgiveness. Aragorn's eyes were on her neck, not having noticed the dark bruising around her neck before.
Aragorn went to pull the arrows out, but Boromir's hand gripped Aragorn's wrist weakly, stopping him. "Leave it!" he gasped, his voice laced with finality. "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness… and my city to ruin."
Aragorn's voice trembled as he leaned closer, his face filled with determination. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall… nor our people fail!"
A flicker of understanding passed through Boromir's pain-stricken eyes. "Our people?" he whispered, his voice filled with surprise, as if the idea of shared kinship had finally reached him.
Aragorn gently took Boromir's sword and placed the hilt in his hand, helping him clasp it to his chest. Boromir's breath shuddered, his fingers tightening weakly around the weapon. "I would have followed you… my Brother… my Captain… my King," he whispered, his voice fading with each word.
Kitra's tears fell silently, her hands cradling Boromir's face as his breathing slowed, his life slipping away. With one final, shuddering breath, Boromir's body went still, the last light fading from his eyes.
Aragorn's throat tightened, his grief overwhelming him as he placed his hand on Boromir's forehead, then to his lips, a gesture of deep respect. "Be at peace, son of Gondor," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He bent down and kissed Boromir's brow, a final farewell to his fallen brother-in-arms.
Behind them, Legolas and Gimli arrived, the scene striking them with a heavy silence. Legolas's eyes were filled with sorrow as he looked down at Boromir's lifeless form. Gimli bowed his head and turned away, unable to meet Aragorn's gaze.
Aragorn stood, his face lined with grief but his resolve steeling within him. "They will look for his coming from the White Tower," he said softly, his voice laced with regret. "But he will not return."
Kitra, tears still in her eyes, swallowed the ache in her throat and silently prayed for strength. Boromir's death was a heavy blow, one they would all carry with them. But his sacrifice would not be in vain. She looked toward the dark path ahead, the weight of their journey still pressing down upon them, but she knew they would continue, no matter the cost.
Aragorn gently laid Boromir's body back on the ground, his expression hardening with resolve as he turned to face the distant horizon. "The fellowship is broken," he said quietly, his voice low but filled with determination. "But we must finish what we have started. We will find Merry and Pippin, and we will not leave Sam or Frodo to face this darkness alone."
Kitra nodded, though her throat felt tight, her voice too heavy to speak. She glanced back toward the direction where Frodo had fled, silently praying that he would find the strength to continue his journey.
She wiped her eyes, suddenly realizing that her cousin was missing. "Where is Alana?" Kitra's question hung heavy in the air, a sudden realization amidst the grief that consumed them. Alana, her cousin and constant companion, was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread settled in Kitra's stomach as she scanned the surrounding forest, searching for any sign of her.
"We saw her with Frodo before we reached you," Legolas told Kitra, his voice low and urgent. She glanced at the other men around her briefly before taking off towards the shore where their boats were perched.
Kitra raced through the dense forest, her feet pounding against the soft dirt as she pushed herself to go faster. Her heart thundered in her chest, fueled by fear and desperation as she made her way to the shore. Low-hanging branches scraped against her face, but she barely noticed, her thoughts consumed with finding Alana.
As they burst through the trees onto the riverbank, they spotted a lone figure sitting by the water's edge. Alana's back was hunched over, starring at her hands. Kitra's breath caught in her throat at the sight of her friend, tears streaming down her pale face. Blood stained Alana's trembling hands, sending a chill of dread through Kitra and Legolas. They approached slowly, not wanting to startle her.
"Alana!" Kitra called out, rushing to her cousin's side, her voice raw with concern. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
Alana shook her head, her expression haunted as she turned to face them, her bloodied hands trembling in her lap. "It's not mine," she managed to say, her voice thick with anguish. "I helped Frodo escape. There was a few Uruk-hai on the way to the boats."
Kitra's eyes swept across the river, followed closely by the others. They gazed upon the far side, where the silhouettes of Frodo and Sam could barely be seen against the backdrop of towering trees. The two hobbits were scrambling up the opposite bank with haste, seeking refuge in the safety of the forest beyond. A wave of relief washed over Kitra at the sight, knowing that Frodo had managed to evade the immediate danger.
"They made it," Aragorn murmured, his gaze fixed on the distant figures of Frodo and Sam as they disappeared into the dense foliage. "They're on their way to Mordor. They're venturing forth alone." His voice was filled with both admiration and concern, for he knew the perilous journey that lay ahead for the two brave hobbits. The air was thick with tension as they watched their friends disappear into the unknown, hoping and praying for their success.
Alana's hand trembled as she wiped at her face with the back of her bloody hand. Her usually stoic expression was twisted in a mix of anger and pain as she looked up at Aragorn, Kitra, Legolas, and Gimli, searching for any sign of hope. "Where's Boromir?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Did he... did he make it?"
Kitra's face fell even further, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she shook her head. Aragorn stepped forward, his movements slow and heavy with grief, and placed a comforting hand on Alana's shoulder. "He fought bravely," he said hoarsely. "But the Uruk-Hai overtook him. We were too late to save him."
A strangled cry escaped Alana's lips as she closed her eyes tightly. She bowed her head, clenching her bloodstained hands together as if trying to hold herself together. "He... he saved Merry and Pippin, didn't he?" she whispered, the weight of sorrow pressing heavily upon her heart.
The weight of the news settled heavily on Aragorn's shoulders, his jaw set in a determined line. "Yes," he confirmed softly, his expression grim as they stood on the banks of the river.
Legolas stepped closer, his keen eyes scanning the horizon where the tracks of the Uruk-Hai were still visible in the mud. The scene before them was one of destruction and despair - a testament to the evil that lurked in this land. "Their trail is fresh," he noted, his voice laced with urgency. "If we move quickly, we can catch them before they reach Isengard."
Gimli hefted his axe, his muscles tensing with anticipation for battle. His eyes burned with a fierce determination as he declared, "Let us hunt these foul creatures and make them pay for what they've done." The echoes of their cries for vengeance rang through the air, a battle cry that would spur them on as they set off on their dangerous quest.
With a gentle hand, Kitra helped Alana to her feet, her fingers brushing against the other woman's bruised and bloodied skin. Alana let out a shaky breath as she wiped at her face, trying to clear away the last traces of tears and blood. She straightened her back, determination hardening her expression as she turned to face the others.
"Then let's not waste any more time," she declared, her voice strong despite the tremor in it. "Merry and Pippin need us, and we're not going to let them down."
Aragorn nodded in agreement, his jaw set with a fierce resolve as he unsheathed his sword. The steel glinted in the light that filtered through the trees, casting an ominous glow over their small group. "We will follow the trail left by the Uruk-Hai and bring Merry and Pippin back," he stated firmly. "We may be few, but we are not without strength."
Kitra tightened her grip on her own weapon, exchanging a knowing look with Alana and the others. Grief still weighed heavily in her chest, but she also felt a spark of hope igniting within her. A sense of purpose that drove them all forward, united in their mission to rescue their friends. The fellowship might have been broken, but their bonds remained unbreakable, forged in the fires of battle and loss.