Kitra sat in front of Aragorn on his horse, her arm tightly bound in a sling, a dull throb constantly reminding her of the Uruk0-hai that had bashed into her. Her body ached all over, the fall and the fighting finally catching up to her. Despite the discomfort, she felt safe with Aragorn's strong presence behind her. His hand rested lightly on her waist as the horse's steady pace carried them through the quiet forest. The aftermath of the battle lingered in her mind, but for now, the world seemed calmer, as if holding its breath.
Alana had stayed behind with Lyra to tend to the wounded and give the dead a proper burial. The separation gnawed at Kitra, but she trusted her cousin's judgment. Alana was strong, capable, and practical—a pillar of stability when everything else seemed to be in chaos.
Kitra's thoughts drifted as the horse moved rhythmically through the forest. She leaned back slightly, seeking comfort in Aragorn's presence. "You all right?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern.
Kitra nodded, though the ache in her arm remained persistent. "Everything hurts, but I'll be okay." she replied, her voice a bit strained but full of determination. She was still processing everything—the fall, the battle, the darkness that was ever growing in her mind again as Galadriel's blessing wore off.
As they drew closer to Isengard, the forest began to thin, and the distant sound of laughter reached them. Pippin's familiar voice echoed through the trees, his carefree tone catching the riders' attention.
"Ahaha!" Pippin saluted them with his mug, his laughter ringing out like a bell.
Merry stood up from the ground, his face lighting up as he saw the familiar faces approaching. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" he called out cheerfully.
Gimli's booming voice interrupted the warm greeting. "You young rascals. A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and… and smoking!"
Pippin, clearly a bit intoxicated, took a long drink from his mug and replied with a playful slur, "We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." He took a bite of a sandwich, his face beaming with satisfaction. "The salted pork is particularly good."
Kitra couldn't help but smile at the sight of Pippin's innocent joy, though her body ached with exhaustion. Behind her, Aragorn chuckled softly at the sight of the hobbits, the brief moment of levity a welcome reprieve.
"Salted pork…" Gimli repeated, clearly intrigued by the idea.
"Hobbits!" Gandalf's voice interrupted, shaking his head at the carefree behavior of the two hobbits.
"We're under orders from Treebeard," Merry explained, nodding toward the great Ent in the distance, "who's taken over management of Isengard."
As the group rode closer to Orthanc, Kitra shifted slightly, wincing as her arm throbbed in the sling. Aragorn's arm tighted around her waist, pulling her closer.
Merry sat behind Eomer, chattering about Treebeard's work and the state of the battle. Pippin was with Gandalf, sitting behind him.
Kitra looked up at the dark figure of Saruman's tower looming above them, a chill running down her spine. She sensed Aragorn tense as they drew closer, his hand tightening slightly on the reins. As always, the presence of Saruman was a reminder of the treachery and danger that still lurked in the world.
"Hoom, young master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come," Treebeard rumbled from his perch nearby. "Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."
Aragorn, his eyes fixed on Orthanc, called out, "Show yourself!"
"Be careful," Gandalf warned, his voice low. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."
Gimli's impatience bubbled over, and he grunted, "Well, then let's just have his head and be done with it."
But Gandalf shook his head. "No, we need him alive. We need him to talk."
The tension thickened as Saruman's voice suddenly echoed from above, addressing Théoden. "You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards. Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"
Kitra could feel the rage emanating from Théoden as he responded, his voice filled with bitter resolve. "We shall have peace... We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg… are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows… we shall have peace!"
Kitra's chest tightened, hearing the pain in Théoden's voice. She shared his anger, knowing that so many lives had been lost because of Saruman's treachery. Her body tensed as Aragorn's horse shifted beneath them, his hand slipping into hers.
Saruman sneered from his tower, his voice filled with scorn. "Gibbets and crows! Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Grahame? Let me guess… the key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven Kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"
"Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel." Gandalf countered.
"So you have come here for information. I have some for festers in the heart of Middle Earth. Something that you have failed to stop. But the great eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon." Kitra's eyes were focused on the Palantir that was in Saruman's hand. She could hear Sauron's whispers coming from it. It sent shivers down her spine and she recoiled from the noise in her mind. Aragorn noticed this and glanced down at her, seeing that her eyes were tightly shut. "You are all going to die! But you know this don't you Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows will never be crowned King." As Saruman continued to spew his insults, Kitra's blood boiled., as she opened her eyes and looked back up at him. But when Saruman's gaze fell on her, the words that left his mouth stung with a venom that shook her to her core.
"Ah yes, and how could I forget about the ranger's personal whore," Saruman hissed, his gaze narrowing as he stared down at her. "Sauron will have you. You cannot escape his grasp. Even now he creeps into your mind, tempting you to do the unthinkable."" Kitra's head snapped up, her eyes burning with fury as she opened her mouth to snap back.
But before she could speak, Aragorn's hand squeezed hers tightly, silencing her for a moment. She looked at him, her heart catching as she saw the storm of emotions in his eyes—anger, hurt, and love, all swirling within him.
Saruman wasn't finished. "Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are closest to him… those he professes to love! Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death." His words continued to cut, but Kitra held her tongue, though her body trembled with the desire to lash out. Aragorn's presence grounded her, and she took a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of his hand in hers.
Gimli, having heard enough, growled, "I've heard enough! Shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob!"
Legolas, his patience wearing thin, reached for an arrow, but Gandalf stopped him. "No! Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared."
Saruman sneered once again, dismissing Gandalf's mercy. The moment escalated quickly as Grima Wormtongue appeared behind Saruman, a shadow of the man he once was. The exchange that followed was a blur, but when Grima stabbed Saruman, Kitra felt a strange sense of finality. As Saruman fell from the tower, impaled on the great wheel below, a heavy silence settled over the group.
Kitra's hand tightened around Aragorn's, her heart heavy as the battle-worn company watched Saruman's final fall. The battle may have been won, but the war was far from over. As Treebeard spoke of the forest's eventual recovery, Kitra's gaze drifted down to the Palantír that had fallen from Saruman's grasp into the water.
"Pippin!" Aragorn called out as the hobbit moved toward the dark orb, curiosity getting the better of him.
Kitra watched as Pippin hesitated for a moment before picking up the Palantír, his gaze held by the mysterious object. Her chest tightened with unease, sensing the dark power within the orb, she could feel Sauron's eyes on her.
"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf snapped, riding forward to take it from him. He wrapped the Palantír swiftly, his stern expression giving Kitra pause.
The tension lingered as Gandalf rode away, and Kitra knew, deep in her heart, that this was only the beginning. There was still much to be done, and Sauron's shadow loomed ever closer.
As they rode away from Isengard, Kitra couldn't shake the sense of dread that clung to her like a heavy cloak. Saruman's words echoed in her mind, taunting her with the possibility of succumbing to Sauron's influence. She shuddered, pressing closer to Aragorn's reassuring presence behind her.
The journey back to Edoras was a somber one, the weight of the fallen soldiers and the looming threat of Sauron's forces dampening any sense of victory. Kitra's arm throbbed with each step of the horse, a constant reminder of the battle they had endured. She tried to focus on the warmth of Aragorn's hand resting on her waist, drawing strength from his unwavering support.
Upon reaching Edoras, the company was greeted with a mixture of relief and sorrow. The people of Rohan had lost much, but they still clung to hope, their spirits lifted by the return of their king and the news of Saruman's defeat. As they dismounted, Kitra winced, her body protesting the sudden movement. Aragorn was at her side in an instant, his hand gently supporting her as she dismounted. "Let's get you inside and have that arm properly tended to," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern.
Kitra nodded, leaning into his touch as they made their way into the Golden Hall. The warmth of the fire and the scent of food were a welcome respite from the long journey. As they settled in, Eowyn approached, her face etched with a mix of relief and sorrow.
"It's good to have you back," she said, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling in her eyes. "We've prepared rooms for you to rest and heal."
Kitra managed a grateful smile. "Thank you, Eowyn. What of my cousin and the elf Lyra?"
"They are resting peacefully." Eowyn told her.
As Eowyn led them to their quarters, Kitra couldn't help but notice the heaviness in the air. The people of Rohan were mourning their losses, even as they celebrated the victory at Helm's Deep. It was a bittersweet atmosphere, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the challenges yet to come.
Once settled in her room, Kitra sank onto the bed, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. Aragorn knelt before her, gently examining her injured arm. His touch was gentle, but she couldn't suppress a hiss of pain as he carefully unwrapped the binding.
"It's a deep bruise, but I don't think anything is broken," he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing the mottled skin. "I'll have some salve brought to help with the pain and swelling."
Kitra nodded, her eyes drifting closed as she savored the momentary peace. Aragorn's presence was a balm to her frayed nerves, his steady strength a beacon in the darkness that threatened to consume her thoughts.
"Aragorn," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet of the room. "What Saruman said... about me... about Sauron..."
Aragorn's hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a fierce protectiveness that took her breath away. "Pay no heed to his poisonous words, Kitra."
"Galadriel's blessing is fading. My once peaceful mind is starting to grow dark again. And I can't fight it." She whispered.
Kitra's voice trembled as she confessed her fears to Aragorn, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm scared, Aragorn. What if I end up betraying everyone I love?"
Aragorn's gaze softened, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. He pulled her close, enveloping her in his strong arms as he spoke, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. "Your heart is pure, and your love for your friends and family is a light that Sauron's darkness cannot extinguish."
Kitra clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she let his words wash over her. She wanted to believe him, to draw strength from his faith in her, but the lingering shadows in her mind made it difficult to hold onto hope.
He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Rest now, love. Let your body and mind heal. We have a long road ahead of us, but we will walk it together."
Kitra nodded, her eyes drifting shut as exhaustion finally claimed her. Aragorn gently helped her lie back on the bed, pulling a soft blanket over her. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering for a moment before he quietly left the room, allowing her to sink into a much-needed slumber.
As Kitra slept, her dreams were haunted by the echoes of Saruman's words and the ever-present darkness that threatened to consume her. She tossed and turned, her brow furrowed as she fought against the shadows in her mind.