The bustling sounds of the people of Edoras echoed around Kitra as they moved quickly, carrying chests and belongings out from the Golden Hall. The preparations for their evacuation were well underway, and the tension in the air was palpable. Kitra walked through the hall, Alana by her side as they discussed their departure plans. Her eyes scanning the people as they packed what they could in preparation for what was to come.
As they made their way around a corner, her gaze fell upon Eowyn, who had opened a chest. Kitra stopped to watch as Eowyn reached inside and pulled out a sword, its blade gleaming in the dim light of the hall. Eowyn unsheathed it with a sharp sound, holding it up with practiced ease. Kitra's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the woman run her hand down the blade, the glint in her eyes revealing more than just a passing familiarity with the weapon.
"I'll meet you at the Stables." She told Alana so she could talk with Eowyn for a minute.
Eowyn began to move with the sword, practicing a few swings, her form precise and focused. But as she turned, her blade met an unexpected resistance—Kitra's knife, held steady to block her strike.
For a moment, the two stood frozen, the sword and knife locked against each other. Kitra's expression was calm, her voice steady as she spoke. "You are skilled with a blade," she remarked, her admiration for Eowyn's talent clear.
Eowyn's eyes met Kitra's, and she swung her sword swiftly, releasing it from the clash with Kitra's knife and gracefully returning the blade to its sheath. There was no hesitation in her movements, and her voice was firm as she replied, "Women of this country learned long ago: those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."
Kitra studied her for a moment, sensing there was more beneath Eowyn's words. "What do you fear?" Kitra asked, her voice soft but probing.
Eowyn's gaze hardened as she turned sharply, her eyes locking with Kitra's. There was something fierce and raw in her expression as she answered, her voice filled with deep emotion. "A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."
Kitra stood still, watching the fire in Eowyn's eyes as she spoke of the cage, the unspoken truth behind her words becoming painfully clear. Eowyn longed for battle, for purpose, and feared being trapped in a life without it.
Kitra shook her head slightly, her voice gentle but firm as she responded. "I share a similar fear. We cannot let it consume us though."
Eowyn turned away, her shoulders tense as she returned the sword to the chest. "You cannot understand," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "You are free to fight alongside the men, to prove your valor on the battlefield. I am expected to stay behind, to watch and wait while others risk their lives."
Kitra stepped closer, placing a hand on Eowyn's arm. "I do understand," she said softly. "More than you know. There is much you do not see on a surface level. I am captive to a darkness I cannot escape. It's claws hold me in tight. I may be able to fight freely among men but in the darkness I am trapped alone."
Eowyn turned to face Kitra, her eyes searching the other woman's face. A flicker of understanding passed between them - a shared sense of being trapped, even if the cages that held them were different.
"I'm sorry," Eowyn said quietly. "I did not realize..." She trailed off, unsure how to put her thoughts into words.
Kitra gave her a small, sad smile. "Few do." She sighed, her gaze distant for a moment before refocusing on Eowyn. "Do not lose hope yet. I am sure you will find your way to the battlefield in time."
Eowyn's expression softened slightly at Kitra's words, a glimmer of hope rekindling in her eyes. "Perhaps you are right," she said, her voice still tinged with frustration but also a newfound determination. "Somehow, I will find a way to fight for those I love and protect."
Kitra nodded to Eowyn and then bid her farewell so she could finish preparing to leave. She made her way out of the Golden Hall, her mind still dwelling on the conversation with Eowyn. She understood the woman's frustration and desire to prove herself, to fight for her people and her homeland. It was a feeling Kitra knew all too well, the need to be more than just a spectator in the face of danger and darkness.
As she stepped out into the sunlight, her eyes scanned the bustling activity of Edoras. The people moved with a sense of urgency, loading carts and saddling horses, preparing for the long journey ahead. Kitra's gaze landed on Aragorn and Alana who had three horses saddled and ready.
Kitra approached Aragorn and Alana with eager steps, her heart swelling with overwhelming affection at the sight of her beloved. Her eyes sparkled as she drew near, taking in every detail of Aragorn's strong form and Alana's carefree grin. Aragorn looked up from his preparations, his piercing gaze softened by genuine adoration, and a gentle smile graced his lips.
Without hesitation, he reached out to take Kitra's hand, pulling her close to his side in a comforting embrace. She felt her worries melt away in his arms as he whispered reassuringly, "Everything is ready."
Kitra leaned into him, drawing strength and courage from his presence. "Thank you, meleth nin," she murmured gratefully.
A small twinge of envy tugged at Alana's heart as she watched the couple, but she quickly brushed it aside with a teasing remark. "I'm going to leave now before I puke at the sight of this lovey-dovey display," she joked, mounting her horse with a playful glint in her eye. The trio shared a laugh before setting off on their journey together.
The group moved steadily through the rolling plains of Rohan, the grassy hills stretching out toward the distant lakes. The air was fresh, and despite the looming war, there was a momentary calm as they traveled. Kitra and Alana rode alongside Aragorn, their eyes scanning the horizon, yet they couldn't help but enjoy the rare bit of lightheartedness that seemed to flow through the group.
Up ahead, Gimli rode on a horse, led by Éowyn. His voice carried on the wind as he spoke, drawing both smiles and laughter from those nearby.
"It's true, you don't see many Dwarf women," Gimli said, his tone serious but with a hint of mischief. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance... that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men."
Kitra caught Éowyn's smile as she glanced back at Aragorn, who was riding his horse with ease beside Kitra. Aragorn's eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, "It's the beards." He gestured to his chin, mimicking a thick, imaginary beard.
Éowyn grinned in response, and Gimli continued, clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight. Kitra couldn't resist giving the back of Aragorn's shoulder a playful punch as he chuckled at his own joke.
"This," Gimli said, gesturing broadly, "in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no Dwarf women... and that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground."
Éowyn's laughter filled the air, and even Gimli, caught up in the moment, joined in with a hearty laugh. But just as his laughter rang out, the horse beneath him suddenly galloped off, startled by his gestures. With a yelp, Gimli was thrown from the saddle and tumbled to the ground.
Éowyn rushed over, her smile wide as she bent to help him. "Gimli, are you all right?" she asked, trying to hold back her laughter.
Gimli, clearly flustered but not one to admit defeat, waved her off. "It's all right. Nobody panic! That was deliberate. It was deliberate!"
Behind them, Aragorn, Kitra, and Alana exchanged amused glances, their faces lighting up at Gimli's bluster. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days, and even Théoden, riding beside them, seemed to be in better spirits. Éowyn, glancing back at Aragorn with a wide smile, caught his eye as he laughed. Their shared moment was brief but warm, Aragorn's laughter fading into a genuine smile.
Kitra couldn't help but notice the change in Éowyn. She had seen the shieldmaiden's quiet strength, her bravery, but this was the first time Kitra had seen her smile so freely.
Theoden's voice broke the comfortable silence, his tone filled with reflection. "I haven't seen my niece smile for a long time," he said quietly, his eyes watching Éowyn as she walked beside Gimli, who was now trying to dust himself off with dignity.
Kitra glanced over at Théoden, sensing the depth of his words. She had heard whispers of Éowyn's past but had never known the full story.
Théoden continued, his voice heavy with memories. "She was but a girl when they brought her father back, dead... cut down by Orcs. She watched her mother succumb to grief soon after." His gaze lingered on Éowyn, now lost in thought, her hair catching the wind as she walked.
"She was left alone," Théoden said, his voice softening with regret, "to tend to her king, in growing fear. Doomed to wait upon an old man who should have loved her as a father."
Kitra's heart clenched at Théoden's words. She looked ahead at Éowyn, her strong figure now illuminated by the setting sun. Éowyn's strength, forged through sorrow and loss, was evident in everything she did. It was no wonder she yearned for freedom, for a purpose beyond the quiet halls of Edoras.
Aragorn, riding beside Kitra, remained silent, but there was a shadow of understanding in his eyes. He, too, recognized the burden Éowyn had carried all these years, her inner turmoil hidden behind the poised exterior of a lady of Rohan.
Alana, riding quietly to Kitra's other side, shared a knowing glance with her cousin. The weight of their own burdens felt lighter in this moment of reflection. They, like Éowyn, had carried grief and loss on their journey, but the bonds of friendship and shared strength were keeping them afloat, at least for now.
The people of Rohan had stopped for a much-needed break, the horses resting and the camp settling into a calm stillness. Kitra and Aragorn sat together on a large rock, their swords laid out in front of them as they cleaned and polished their weapons. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the land, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of cooking fires through the air.
Nearby, Gimli sat stubbornly on his own, shaking his head as Éowyn approached him with a cooking pot and a bowl in hand.
"Gimli?" Éowyn offered gently.
Gimli looked up and shook his head again. "No, I couldn't, I really couldn't," he said with a forced chuckle, waving her off.
Undeterred, Éowyn moved past him, making her way toward Kitra and Aragorn, who were absorbed in quiet conversation while tending to their swords. Her eyes were soft but determined as she held out the pot. "I made some stew," she said with a small, hopeful smile. "It isn't much, but it's hot."
Kitra smiled warmly at Éowyn but subtly shook her head, reaching into her pack for an apple instead. "I think I'll stick with this for now," she said, biting into the apple, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Aragorn, however, accepted the bowl from Éowyn, giving her a grateful nod. "Thank you," he said, ever polite. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, taking a careful taste. As soon as the stew hit his tongue, his face tensed slightly, though he tried his best to hide the grimace. Kitra noticed, and her eyes crinkled in amusement as she bit into her apple, covering up a laugh.
Éowyn, clearly concerned by his expression, stepped closer. "It's good?" she asked, her tone a little hesitant.
Aragorn, ever the diplomat, forced a smile and nodded. "Yes," he replied, though the forced nature of his answer was betrayed by the barely concealed discomfort in his eyes.
Satisfied, Éowyn started to turn away, but as soon as her back was turned, Aragorn quickly moved to pour the stew onto the ground. Just as he was about to dump the contents of the bowl, Éowyn turned back. He panicked, hastily covering up his actions, but the hot stew spilled over his hands, and he suppressed a painful hiss. Kitra stifled a laugh, biting into her apple again to keep her composure as Aragorn tried to act as though nothing had happened.
"My uncle told me a strange thing," Éowyn said, stepping back toward them. "He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken."
Aragorn, his face still recovering from the scorching stew, straightened up and looked at her. "King Théoden has a good memory," he said. "He was only a small child at the time."
Éowyn looked at him with curiosity. "Then you must be at least sixty?"
Aragorn shifted, looking slightly embarrassed. "Eighty-seven," he admitted, his voice low.
Éowyn's eyes widened. "You are one of the Dúnedain," she said, realization dawning. "A descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It was said that your race had passed into legend."
Aragorn nodded, his expression somber. "There are few of us left. The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago."
"I'm sorry," Éowyn said, her voice softening. "Please, eat."
Aragorn reluctantly returned to his bowl, clearly dreading the thought of having to finish the stew with Éowyn watching. Kitra, sensing his discomfort, decided to step in with a bit of lighthearted conversation.
"He isn't the only old one among us," Kitra said with a teasing grin. "Legolas is even older, and Gimli is older than both of us. And as of three weeks ago, I turned sixty-two."
Éowyn's jaw dropped slightly. "How?"
Kitra leaned back, her tone playful. "I'm Dunedain, so is Alana."
Éowyn's expression was a mix of amazement and confusion, and for a few moments, the camp fell silent. Kitra decided it was time for a little mischief. Standing up with a feigned casualness, she stretched and then moved as if to leave. "I'm going to go find the others," she said, but as she took a step forward, she pretended to trip and fell right into Aragorn, tipping his bowl over. The stew splashed onto the ground and partially onto Aragorn's lap.
"I am so sorry," Kitra said, her voice full of mock concern as she stifled her laughter. Aragorn looked up at her like she had lost her mind, but when she gave him a subtle wink, he understood.
Éowyn, seeing the mess, moved forward, but Kitra quickly offered a hand to Aragorn. "Come on," she said with a smirk. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Aragorn shook his head, chuckling. "Last I checked, you were too young to be my mother," he teased as he took her hand and let her help him up.
As they walked over to the horses, Kitra grabbed their packs, pulling out a fresh cloth for Aragorn to clean himself off. "Sorry," she said, her grin widening. "I hope I didn't burn you."
Aragorn, still wiping stew from his lap, glanced up at her with a grateful smile. "It's all right," he said, his voice light. "I believe she was going to stand there and watch me eat that had you not intervened, so thank you."
Kitra's cheeks flushed slightly as she looked down at the ground, hiding her blush. "You're welcome," she muttered, though the smile remained on her face.
The two shared a quiet laugh as they continued to clean up, the warmth of their companionship chasing away the earlier discomfort. In the distance, Éowyn watched them with a soft smile, unaware of the playful moment that had just unfolded between them.
As the sun began to set over the plains of Rohan, casting a warm glow across the encampment, Kitra found herself wandering through the sea of tents and flickering fires. Her mind was still replaying the lighthearted moments with Aragorn, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She cherished these rare instances of levity amidst the looming darkness, holding them close to her heart like precious gems.
Lost in thought, Kitra nearly collided with Alana, who had just emerged from a nearby tent.
Alana's eyes sparkled with mirth as she steadied Kitra, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "Someone seems lost in their own world," she teased, her voice lilting with amusement. "Thinking about a certain ranger, perhaps?"
Kitra felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she couldn't help the smile that followed. "Can you blame me?" she asked, her tone light and playful. "It's not every day we get to see Aragorn squirming over a bowl of stew."
Alana laughed, the sound ringing out across the camp. "I wish I could have seen his face! Poor Aragorn, always trying to be the perfect gentleman."
Kitra chuckled, linking arms with her cousin as they strolled through the camp together. "He really is too polite for his own good sometimes. But that's one of the things I love about him."
Alana's expression softened. "I'm happy for you, Kitra. Truly. After everything we've been through, you deserve this joy." She squeezed Kitra's arm.
Kitra leaned her head against Alana's shoulder as they walked, a wave of emotion washing over her. "Thank you, Alana," she said softly. "Your support means the world to me. I don't know what I would do without you by my side through all of this."
Alana hugged Kitra close. "We're in this together, cousin. No matter what darkness we face, we'll face it side by side. And Aragorn will be right there with us too. He loves you fiercely, anyone can see that."
Kitra smiled, her heart swelling with warmth at Alana's words. The bond they shared, forged through years of laughter, tears, and shared experiences, was a constant source of strength and comfort. As they walked arm in arm through the camp, Kitra felt a renewed sense of hope and determination. No matter what trials lay ahead, she knew she could face them with Alana and Aragorn by her side.
As the evening wore on, the camp began to settle in for the night. Fires crackled softly, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the plains. The stars above twinkled in the black expanse of the night sky, but Kitra could find no peace under them. Everyone else had fallen into a deep sleep, but she lay near Aragorn, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. The harder she tried to settle, the more restless she became.
Her constant rustling hadn't gone unnoticed. Aragorn, lying not far from her, had been awake for some time, his eyes opening every so often to watch her move. Finally, when Kitra turned over and faced him, still trying to find rest, Aragorn rolled onto his side to face her.
"What's on your mind?" he asked quietly, his voice low and gentle, not wanting to disturb the others. The firelight flickered over his face, casting soft shadows.
Kitra hesitated, staring into the darkness for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... a sense of foreboding."
Aragorn studied her for a moment, recognizing the tension in her features. He knew that feeling too well—the creeping unease, the weight of uncertainty that seemed to press down on them as they drew closer to the heart of the conflict. He sat up slightly and reached for something tucked close to his chest.
"I've been meaning to do this," he said quietly. "I want you to have this." Slowly, he slipped the Ring of Barahir off his finger. The silver glinted faintly in the moonlight as he held it out to her.
Kitra's eyes widened in surprise. "But this is the ring that proves your right to the throne," she said, her voice filled with disbelief. "You cannot give me this."
Aragorn met her gaze, his expression soft but firm. "It is mine to give to whom I will," he said, his voice steady. "Protect it for me?"
Kitra hesitated for only a second longer before nodding, her fingers trembling slightly as she accepted the ring. "Of course," she whispered. She slipped the silver band onto her thumb, the weight of it feeling both foreign and significant.
The two of them sat there in silence for a moment, the night surrounding them like a protective cloak. Kitra curled up next to him, resting her head on his lap as exhaustion finally began to take hold. Aragorn gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his voice barely audible as he murmured, "We'll make it through this war, Kitra, I promise."
Kitra, already drifting into sleep, shook her head slightly. "Don't make promises you can't keep," she whispered, her hand still resting on the ring as she closed her eyes.
Aragorn watched her, the weight of her words settling over him. He glanced down at the silver jewel now resting on her thumb and sighed softly. "I intend on keeping it as best I can," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
He carefully unclasped the necklace he wore, the Evenstar pendant, and slipped it over his head, tucking it back under his tunic. He then leaned over and gently placed a kiss on Kitra's forehead, his hand resting on her shoulder.
"Close your eyes," he whispered, and she did so with a soft sigh, her breathing evening out as she began to fall into a deeper sleep.
Moments later, Aragorn began to hum softly, a tune he hadn't sung in a long time. His voice was low and soothing, the melody carrying on the wind. Kitra, her head still resting on his lap, felt the tension in her body slowly ease as his voice lulled her into a peaceful sleep.