Alana's feet pounded against the rough, blood-stained ground as she sprinted across the battlefield. Her heart thumped in her chest, a steady rhythm keeping her grounded amidst the chaos surrounding her. The pungent stench of sweat, blood, and fear filled her nostrils, nearly suffocating her, but she forced herself to push forward.
Her sword glinted in the sunlight as she swung it with precision, cutting down any orc foolish enough to come within striking distance. Despite the violence raging around her, Alana kept her focus sharp, scanning for any sign of her cousin, Kitra. She had caught a glimpse of the Warg carrying Aragorn and Kitra towards the cliffs, but lost sight of them in the frenzy of battle. A gnawing worry consumed her, but she pushed it aside, knowing that she must stay vigilant.
As the battle slowly died down and the remaining Wargs retreated or lay dead on the ground, Alana finally caught sight of Aragorn standing alone at the edge of the cliff. His chest heaved with exertion, his hair tangled and matted from the fight. But it wasn't weariness that caused a knot to form in Alana's stomach - it was the look of despair etched on his face as he stared down into the abyss below.
With urgency propelling her forward, Alana hastened towards him, calling out his name. "Aragorn! Where is Kitra?"
He didn't respond immediately, his hand tightly clenched around something as his gaze remained fixed on the edge of the cliff where the Warg had disappeared. Fear gripped Alana's heart as she quickened her pace until she was standing beside him, breathless with anxiety.
"Aragorn!" she repeated urgently, desperation creeping into her voice. "Where is she?"
Aragorn slowly turned away from the edge of the cliff, his face etched with deep sorrow and grief. He opened his hand, revealing two bloodied, orc-slaying blades that had been gifted to Kitra by Galadriel. Alana's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. The blades lay motionless in Aragorn's palm, stained with the blood of their enemies.
"She... she fell," Aragorn's voice was heavy with emotion. "She freed my hand, but we couldn't stop the Warg. It went over the cliff... and she with it."
Alana felt as if the world had frozen around her. Her eyes shifted between Aragorn's stricken face and the bloodied blades he held. Kitra was gone? The words didn't seem real, they couldn't be true. Her cousin, her closest companion on this treacherous journey, had fallen. The weight of the truth pressed down on her, but a small part of her refused to accept it.
"Are you sure?" Alana's voice was barely more than a whisper, her breath shaky.
Aragorn's jaw tightened, his own grief evident. "I looked for her. But all I found were these." He gestured to the blades now resting in Alana's hands. "She saved me... but I couldn't save her."
Her trembling hand reached out and Aragorn gently placed the blades in her palm. The cold metal felt foreign and out of place without Kitra's warmth behind it. Alana swallowed hard, her throat dry as she looked out over the edge of the cliff, as if hoping against hope that Kitra would suddenly appear, bruised but alive.
Alana's vision blurred for a moment as she blinked back tears, forcing herself to stay composed, though every part of her wanted to scream, to demand that this wasn't real. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look down at the blades. They were covered in blood—Kitra's last stand against the orcs.
Alana drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat. "We have to find her," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just leave her... leave her body..."
She couldn't bring herself to say the words 'down there'. As if voicing it aloud would make it irreversibly true.
Aragorn met her gaze, his eyes filled with a sorrow that reached into Alana's soul. "Alana," he began gently, "the chances of her surviving that fall..."
"I know," Alana interrupted, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "But I have to try. I won't abandon her, Aragorn. I can't."
She felt Aragorn's hand squeeze her shoulder, a small but steady comfort in the midst of the overwhelming grief. But the pain was raw, and the hole left by Kitra's absence felt immeasurable.
"I'll find her," Alana said quietly, more to herself than to Aragorn. There was a steel in her voice, a determination born from the connection they shared. She refused to believe it ended here, at this cliff. "I'll bring her home. Go to Helm's Deep with the others. If I don't find her before the sunsets I will assume she is dead and join you."
Aragorn nodded solemnly, understanding the depths of Alana's bond with Kitra and her need to seek closure. He gently took the bloodied blades from her hands, allowing her to focus on the task ahead.
"Be careful," he said, his voice low and filled with concern. "The enemy still lurks in these lands. We cannot afford to lose you too."
Alana met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude amidst the sorrow in her eyes. She knew the risks, but nothing would deter her from this path. With a final nod to Aragorn, she turned and began making her way down the steep, rocky incline towards the river below.
The descent was treacherous, loose stones skittering beneath her feet as she navigated the narrow ledges. The mist from the rushing water below dampened her skin and made the rocks slick, but Alana pressed on, driven by a desperate need to find Kitra.
As she reached the riverbank, Alana paused, scanning the shoreline for any sign of her cousin. The water rushed by, frothing and churning, carrying debris from the battle above. Alana's heart clenched as she spotted a scrap of familiar fabric snagged on a jagged rock jutting out from the water.
With trembling hands, she reached out and grasped the torn cloth, instantly recognizing it as a piece of Kitra's cloak. The discovery filled her with both hope and dread. Kitra had been here, but the river's current was strong and unforgiving.
Alana tucked the scrap of fabric into her belt and continued downstream, her eyes scanning the banks and the swirling waters for any trace of Kitra. Time seemed to blur as she searched, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and red.
Just as despair began to creep into Alana's heart, a flicker of movement caught her eye. There, lying motionless on a small sand bar near the river's edge, was a figure clad in familiar armor.
"Kitra!" Alana cried out, her voice cracking with emotion as she raced towards her fallen cousin.
She splashed through the shallow water, stumbling onto the sand bar and dropping to her knees beside Kitra's still form. With trembling hands, Alana gently turned Kitra onto her back, gasping at the sight of the deep gash on her forehead and the bruises marring her pale skin.
"Kitra, please," Alana whispered, her fingers seeking the pulse point on Kitra's neck. For a heart-stopping moment, there was nothing. Then, a faint flutter beneath her fingertips, weak but unmistakable.
Relief flooded through Alana, tears spilling down her cheeks as she cradled Kitra's head in her lap. She was alive, her breaths steady. She had a cut above her right eye and she could see that she was banged up but otherwise unharmed.
"Remind me not to do that again." Kitra moaned.
Alana let out a choked laugh, a mix of relief and exasperation. "You fucking IDOIT!" she screamed, her voice thick with emotion, slapping her cousin in the chest. "I thought I'd lost you."
"Ow! Wounded here." Kitra managed a weak smile, wincing as she tried to sit up. Alana gently supported her, helping her into a sitting position. "It'll take more than a fall off a cliff to get rid of me," Kitra quipped, though her voice was strained. Alana glared at her and in return Kitra reached up and pulled her in for a hug, kissing the side of her head.
Alana shook her head, marveling at Kitra's resilience. "We need to get you back before the siege starts. Can you stand?"
Kitra nodded, determination etched on her bruised face. With Alana's help, she slowly got to her feet, leaning heavily on her cousin for support. Alana wrapped an arm around Kitra's waist, steadying her as they began the arduous trek back towards Helm's Deep.
As they walked, Kitra filled Alana in on what had transpired after she fell from the cliff. She recounted how the rushing water had cushioned her fall, but the current had dragged her downstream, battered her against the rocks. It was a miracle she had managed to pull herself onto the sandbar before losing consciousness.
Alana listened intently, her heart clenching at the thought of how close she had come to losing Kitra…again. But her cousin was alive, and that was all that mattered now.
By the time they reached the towering walls of Helm's Deep, the sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the ravine. The guards at the gate called out in surprise.
"OPEN THE GATES!"
Aragorn was the first to reach them, his eyes widening as he took in Kitra's battered form. Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear. Kitra melted into his embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
"I thought I'd lost you," Aragorn whispered, his voice raw with emotion.
Kitra pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a soft smile on her lips. "That warg was feisty wasn't it?" she whispered, putting her forehead to his.
Aragorn chuckled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing over the bruises on her cheeks. "Don't ever do that again," he said, his tone serious despite the relief in his eyes.
Kitra leaned into his touch, her own hand coming up to cover his. "I'll try my best," she promised.
Alana watched the exchange with a mixture of happiness and envy. She was overjoyed to see Kitra alive and reunited with Aragorn, but a small part of her longed for that. Her thoughts drifted Faramir, wondering how he was doing. He had told her that he was in charge of watching the bordering cities of Minas Tirith. With them being so close to Mordor she worried.
Alana caught sight of Legolas and Gimli approaching, their faces etched with concern and relief.
"Lass, you gave us quite a scare," Gimli said gruffly, though the affection in his voice was unmistakable.
Legolas placed a hand on Kitra's shoulder, his keen elven eyes assessing her injuries. "You should see the healers," he advised gently.
Kitra nodded, wincing as the movement aggravated her battered body. "I will after this is over. They are merely bumps and scrapes."
Aragorn frowned, his protective instincts flaring. "Kitra, Legolas is right. You need rest."
"Oh quit babying her. She's fine. She's standing, talking, breathing. All she needs for another battle." Alana defended her, glaring at the men. "We don't have much time, and what she needs is to get ready. Your armor is in shambles."
"You're right. Where is my pack? I have a different set I can use." Kitra said.
Alana led Kitra to the room where their packs had been stored upon arriving at Helm's Deep. Kitra rummaged through her belongings until she found her spare set of armor, the metal gleaming even in the dim light. With Alana's help, she began to change out of her torn and battered gear, wincing as the movement pulled at her bruised muscles.
As Alana fastened the last buckle on Kitra's breastplate, she met her cousin's gaze, concern etched in her features. "Are you sure you're up for this? The battle ahead will be fierce."
Kitra took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders despite the ache in her body. "I have to be. Our people need us. Aragorn needs us." Her voice was steady, determination shining in her eyes.
Alana nodded, understanding the weight of their responsibility. They were the last of their kind, the remnants of a once-great kingdom. They carried the hopes and dreams of their fallen kin, and they would not let them down.
A sudden commotion outside drew their attention. Kitra and Alana exchanged a look before hastening to the door, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. As they stepped out into the courtyard, they were met with a sight that made their hearts leap with both joy and trepidation.
Haldir, the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, stood before them, flanked by a host of elven archers. Their armor gleamed in the fading light, their bows held at the ready. Aragorn and Legolas were already there, greeting Haldir with a mix of surprise and gratitude.
"We come to honor that allegiance," Haldir declared, his voice ringing out clear and strong.
Kitra and Alana approached, their own faces mirroring the relief and determination of their companions. Haldir turned to them, his keen eyes taking in Kitra's battered appearance.
"Lady Kitra, Lady Alana," he greeted them with a slight bow. "It is good to see you both, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
Kitra inclined her head in return, a small smile gracing her lips. "Your presence here brings us hope, Haldir. We are grateful for your aid."
Suddenly a voice cried out catching their attention. Alana watched as a younger elf came barreling through her comrades. Her blond hair was tied back in braids falling down to her waist. The Elf threw herself at Kitra who laughed, wrapping her arms around the girl.
"Lyra! what are you doing here?" Kitra asked holding the woman at arms length. Her armor was different from the rest. In contrast to the dark blue the others wore, she wore the same red and gold that Haldir wore.
"I was out on a hunt when you passed through Lothlorien. I insisted I came so I could see you! I have missed you dear friend." Lyra explained.
Kitra smiled warmly at her old friend. "I've missed you too, Lyra. It's been far too long." She pulled the elf woman into another embrace. "But I wish we were reuniting under happier circumstances."
Lyra nodded solemnly as she stepped back. "Indeed. When we heard of Saruman's treachery and the impending attack on Helm's Deep, we knew we had to come to Rohan's aid. Men should not have to face this darkness alone."
"And we are deeply grateful for that," Aragorn said, placing a hand on Lyra's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "Your presence will make a great difference in the battle to come."
"Lyra, this is my cousin that I told you about. Alana of the Dunedain." Kitra introduced.
Lyra turned to Alana, her blue eyes bright with curiosity and warmth. She clasped Alana's arm in a warrior's greeting, a smile gracing her fair features. "Alana of the Dunedain, it is an honor to meet you at last. Kitra has spoken of you often and with great fondness."
Alana returned the gesture, feeling an instant kinship with the elf woman. "The honor is mine, Lyra. Any friend of Kitra's is a friend of mine."
Kitra grinned, pleased to see her two friends connecting. "Lyra is one of the finest archers I've ever known. Her skills will be invaluable in the coming battle."
Alana looked at Lyra with newfound respect. "We're lucky to have you and your fellow archers here. Every skilled bow will be needed tonight."
Lyra nodded, her expression turning serious. "We will not let Rohan fall. Not while we still draw breath."
The group fell silent for a moment, the gravity of the situation settling upon them like a heavy cloak. They all knew the odds they faced - an army of 10,000 Uruk-hai against a few hundred defenders. But they also knew they had no choice but to stand and fight. The fate of Middle Earth rested on this battle.
Aragorn broke the silence, his voice steady and resolute. "We must prepare. The enemy will be upon us soon. Haldir, Lyra, please see to your archers. Make sure they are positioned along the walls for maximum coverage."
Haldir bowed his head in acknowledgment. "It shall be done, Aragorn. We will not fail you or the people of Rohan." He turned to Lyra and the other elven archers. "Come, let us take our positions."
As the elves dispersed to their assigned posts, Aragorn turned to Kitra and Alana. "So that's Haldir's daughter." You're right she is very lively."
"You should see her shoot. She's a natural with a bow," Kitra said with a proud smile. "She's been training under Haldir since she could walk."
Alana raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I can't wait to see her in action. We need all the skilled archers we can get tonight."
Aragorn nodded in agreement. "And we will need every sword as well. Kitra, are you certain you're fit to fight? That fall..." His voice trailed off, concern etched in his features.
Kitra met his gaze steadily. "I'm fine, Aragorn. A few bruises won't keep me from defending these people. I made a promise to protect them, and I intend to keep it."
Alana stood beside her cousin, a fierce determination burning in her eyes. "And I'll be right there with you, Kitra. We fight together, as always."
Aragorn looked between the two women, a mix of pride and worry warring on his face. He knew their strength and skill, but the thought of either of them falling in battle made his heart clench painfully. Yet he also understood their unwavering commitment to this cause, to protecting the innocent lives within these walls.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. "But promise me you'll both be careful out there. I can't... I can't lose either of you. Otherwise Carth will have my head."
Alana put her hands on Aragorn and Kitra's shoulders pulling them in close for a hug. "I say after this we are deserving of a whole barrel of mead."
"I second that." Kitra said with a laugh.