Kitra stood with poise and grace in the grand halls of Meduseld, her midnight blue gown a stunning contrast to the warm golden hues that adorned the space. The dress's off-shoulder neckline highlighted her delicate collarbones, while the fitted bodice was adorned with intricate golden embroidery that caught the flickering firelight from nearby braziers.
The full skirt of her gown billowed around her like a cloud, its deep blue fabric reminiscent of the vast night sky over the plains of Rohan. As Kitra glided across the intricately carved wooden floor, glimpses of a lighter lavender underskirt could be seen peeking through, resembling stars emerging at twilight. The loose sleeves hung gracefully on her upper arms before flaring out again at her elbows, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to her appearance.
Her dark hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, decorated with small braids in the traditional style of the Rohirrim. With each step she took, the hem of her dress whispered softly against the floor, creating a gentle counterpoint to the occasional crackle of the fires.
Finally coming to a stop beside Aragorn near the front, Kitra took in the scene before her. The hall was filled with soldiers dressed in their finest clothing, fires ablaze in every hearth. Tables were covered with an abundance of food and barrels upon barrels of alcohol stood in one corner, ready to wash away any sorrows.
Théoden's booming voice echoed through the grand hall, filling every corner and crevice with its commanding presence. The king stood tall and regal, his goblet raised high in a toast to the brave souls who had given their all for their beloved country. The crowd erupted into cheers and lifted their own glasses in tribute.
"Hail to the victorious dead," Théoden proclaimed, his words ringing out like a battle cry that sent shivers down Kitra's spine. She joined in the celebration, bringing her own cup of rich, honeyed mead to her lips and taking a long sip. The warmth of the drink spread through her body, a welcome respite from the chill that had settled over the kingdom in recent days.
As the cheers died down, Kitra's sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of the men and women who had fought so bravely to defend their homeland. She recognized many of them, having spent countless hours training and strategizing alongside them in preparation for the epic battle that had just been won.
Beside her stood Aragorn, his strong and noble presence a reassuring constant amidst the chaos of the celebration. Kitra knew that without his leadership and unwavering courage, the outcome of the battle may have been very different.
As the feast continued, Kitra found herself engrossed in conversations with various members of the court and army. Her heart swelled with pride and gratitude as she listened to their tales of bravery and sacrifice. The air was filled with a sense of camaraderie and victory, a testament to the unbreakable bond between those who had fought together on the battlefield.
Despite the joy and revelry that surrounded her, Kitra couldn't shake a lingering sense of unease. She had seen the darkness that threatened their lands, and knew that this victory, while significant, was only a temporary respite. There were still battles to be fought and dangers to face.
As if sensing the weight of Kitra's thoughts, Aragorn turned to her, his piercing blue eyes filled with understanding. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of wisdom and experience etched into his features. "You seem troubled, my lady," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the joyous clamor of the celebration.
Kitra sighed, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. The cool metal felt reassuring in her grasp as she gazed into Aragorn's kind eyes. "My troubles can wait until morning." She forced a small smile, hoping to mask the turmoil within.
"Indeed," he agreed, his voice low and soothing. "But know that you look radiant tonight. You bear your scars with pride."
A faint blush crept onto Kitra's cheeks at his compliment. She was tired of hiding her scars, of feeling shame for them. But tonight, surrounded by friends and loved ones, she felt emboldened to embrace them openly.
"I fear I no longer have a reason to hide them. The only man that they could sway stands before me telling me I look beautiful." She took a sip from her goblet, meeting Aragorn's gaze over the rim. In that moment, she felt truly seen and accepted for who she was, scars and all.
Aragorn's lips curved into a gentle smile, his hand coming to rest lightly on Kitra's arm. "You have always been beautiful, Kitra. Your scars are a testament to your strength and bravery. They are a part of you, and they make you who you are."
Kitra felt a warmth blooming in her chest at his words, a sense of acceptance and belonging that she had long yearned for. In the midst of the grand celebration, with the sounds of laughter and clinking goblets filling the air, she allowed herself a moment to simply be, to revel in the joy and camaraderie that surrounded her. Across the hall she spotted Alana and Lyra near the drinking tables.
Kitra's gaze lingered on her dear friends, Alana and Lyra, who were engaged in lively conversation near the drinking tables. Alana's dirty blonde hair gleamed in the warm light of the hall, a stark contrast to Lyra's golden locks that flowed like a river of sunshine down her back. The two women were a picture of carefree joy, their laughter ringing out above the din of the celebration.
A pang of longing tugged at Kitra's heart as she watched them, a bittersweet reminder of the simpler times they had shared before the weight of war and responsibility had settled upon their shoulders. She yearned to join them, to lose herself in the merriment and forget, even for a moment, the burdens that lay ahead.
As if sensing her thoughts, Aragorn gave her arm a gentle squeeze, drawing her attention back to him. "Go to them," he urged softly, his eyes filled with understanding. "Cherish these moments of joy and friendship, for they are precious and fleeting."
Kitra hesitated, torn between her desire to remain by Aragorn's side and the pull of her friends' company. But as she met Aragorn's encouraging gaze, she knew he was right. With a grateful smile, Kitra nodded and slipped her arm from his grasp. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I won't be long."
With purposeful strides, Kitra made her way across the hall, weaving between the revelers until she reached Alana and Lyra. As she drew near, the two women turned to greet her, their faces alight with joy and affection.
"Kitra!" Alana exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. "We were just talking about you. Come, join us for a drink!"
Lyra pressed a goblet of mead into Kitra's hand, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And tell us all about your conversation with Aragorn. You two looked quite cozy over there."
Kitra laughed, shaking her head at Lyra's playful insinuation. "If you must know he was telling me how beautiful I looked."
Alana's eyes widened in delight at Kitra's revelation. "Well, he's not wrong," she said with a grin, raising her goblet in a toast. "To our fierce and stunning Kitra, who is as radiant on the battlefield as she is in the halls of Meduseld!"
Lyra joined in the toast, clinking her goblet against Alana's and Kitra's. "Hear, hear! And to the love blossoming between our dear friend and the noble Aragorn. May their bond be as strong and enduring as the very foundations of Rohan."
Kitra felt her cheeks flush with warmth at her friends' words, a mixture of embarrassment and joy flooding through her. She had always been private about matters of the heart, but with Alana and Lyra, she felt safe to share her deepest feelings. Alana's eyes bugged out of her head when she caught sight of something on Kitra's hand.
"You bear his ring!" Alana exclaimed, the alcohol clearly taking effect. Kitra glanced down at The Ring of Barahir that adorned her finger.
The band, crafted of gleaming silver, wrapped around her thumb like twin serpents intertwined. Their scaled bodies, etched with meticulous detail, formed the foundation of the ring. At the center, a striking emerald-green stone sat in a marquise cut, its deep hue reminiscent of the forests beyond Rohan's grasslands. The gem was embraced by the coiled bodies of the serpents, held securely in their eternal dance. On either side of the central stone, two dragon heads emerged, their features finely wrought in silver. Their eyes, tiny points of gold, seemed to glint with life in the warm light of the hall. The dragons' mouths were slightly open, as if ready to breathe fire in defense of the precious gem they guarded.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she recalled the moment Aragorn had presented her with the ring, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that had taken her breath away. Lyra leaned in closer, her eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.
"When did this happen? You must tell us everything, Kitra! How did he propose? What did he say?"
Kitra's head whipped in Lyra's direction confused. "He didn't propose. He asked me to look after his ring before I went careening off a cliff for him."
Alana raised a skeptical eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Is that what he told you, Kitra? That he just wanted you to 'look after' his ring?" She exchanged a meaningful glance with Lyra, who was barely containing her giggles.
Kitra frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Yes, that's what he said. What else could it possibly mean?"
Lyra placed a gentle hand on Kitra's arm, her eyes sparkling with mirth and affection. "Oh, my dear Kitra, you may be a fierce warrior on the battlefield, but when it comes to matters of the heart, you can be quite oblivious."
Alana nodded in agreement, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "Kitra, the Ring of Barahir is no ordinary trinket. It is a symbol of the royal house of Gondor, passed down through generations of kings. For Aragorn to entrust it to you... it means far more than simply asking you to keep it safe."
Kitra's eyes widened as the realization began to dawn on her. She glanced down at the ring on her thumb, her heart racing with a newfound understanding. The weight of its significance settled upon her like a mantle, both thrilling and daunting in equal measure.
"You mean... he's... he's declaring his intentions?" Kitra's voice was barely above a whisper, her words tinged with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.
Lyra grinned, her eyes dancing with joy. "Precisely, my dear friend. Aragorn is making it clear to all who see that ring upon your finger that his heart belongs to you, and yours to him."
Alana reached out and grasped Kitra's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "This is a momentous occasion, Kitra. The future king of Gondor has chosen you, not just as his love, but as his queen."
Kitra felt a wave of emotions wash over her - excitement, trepidation, and an overwhelming sense of love for the man who had captured her heart so completely. She glanced across the hall, her gaze seeking out Aragorn's familiar form.
As if sensing her gaze, Aragorn turned and met Kitra's eyes from across the crowded hall. A smile played on his lips, warm and intimate, as if they shared a secret known only to them. In that moment, the revelry and noise of the celebration seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own.
Kitra's heart swelled with love and gratitude for the man who had seen beyond her scars and into the depths of her soul. She knew that the road ahead would not be easy - there were still battles to be fought and kingdoms to reclaim. But with Aragorn by her side, she felt ready to face any challenge that lay before them.
Alana and Lyra exchanged a knowing look, their eyes shining with happiness for their dear friend. They had watched Kitra and Aragorn's bond grow over time, from the tentative beginnings of friendship to the unbreakable connection they now shared. It was a love story for the ages, one that would be told and retold for generations to come.
Kitra turned back to her friends, a radiant smile lighting up her face. "Thank you," she said softly, her mind was swimming. QUEEN? She thought to herself. The thought had never crossed her mind, not even in her wildest dreams. She had always seen herself as a warrior, a protector of her people, but never as a ruler. Kitra's gaze drifted back to Aragorn, who was now engaged in conversation with Théoden and his advisors. His stance was regal, his head held high as he spoke with the authority of a born leader. In that moment, Kitra could see the king he was destined to become, and the thought both thrilled and terrified her.
"Ohhhh no. Stop right there lady. I see your head starting to spin. Stop overthinking it." Alana chided.
Kitra blinked, snapping out of her reverie as Alana's voice cut through her racing thoughts. She looked at her friend, who was eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and concern.
"I'm not overthinking it," Kitra protested, but even as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie. Her mind was a whirlwind of doubts and uncertainties.
Lyra placed a comforting hand on Kitra's shoulder, her voice gentle but firm. "Kitra, listen to me. You are more than worthy of this love, and of the title that comes with it. You have proven yourself time and again, not just as a warrior, but as a leader and a friend."
Alana nodded in agreement, her eyes fierce with conviction. "And let's not forget, you won't be doing this alone. You have Aragorn by your side, and you have us. We will always be here for you, no matter what challenges lie ahead."
"My own people see me as an outcast…I do not see how that is leadership quality." Kitra bit out.
"That is my mothers fault and Carth's for not giving you a chance. They blame you for my fathers death and though it has been over fifty years they still have yet to let it go. They will in time. The other Dunedain warriors see you as their equal." Alana told her, though her words were beginning to slur so Kitra wasn't sure how much of it she believed.
"I think I will leave you ladies to your drinks. I need some air." She whispered, stepping away from her friends. Despite not having indulged in any alcohol, she stumbled her way out of the grand hall and onto the main steps.
The night air caressed Kitra's face, its cool touch a soothing balm to her flushed skin. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she tried to calm the tumultuous thoughts that swirled within her mind. The revelation of Aragorn's intentions, the significance of the ring that now adorned her thumb, weighed heavily upon her.
Kitra had always been a warrior, a fierce defender of her people, but the prospect of becoming queen - of ruling alongside Aragorn - was a role she had never dared to imagine for herself. She thought back to the vision she had seen in Galadriel's enchanted mirror, the image of herself standing beside Aragorn as his wife and queen, their children playing at their feet. At the time, it had seemed like an impossible dream, a future too bright and beautiful to be real.
But now, with the Ring of Barahir on her finger and the love she shared with Aragorn burning brightly in her heart, that future was closer than ever before. Kitra knew that the path ahead would not be easy - there were still battles to be fought, enemies to face, and a kingdom to rebuild.
But as Kitra stood there in the cool night air, gazing out over the rolling plains of Rohan, a sense of determination began to take hold. She had faced countless challenges in her life, had overcome obstacles that would have broken lesser souls. And through it all, she had emerged stronger, wiser, and more resilient than ever before.
Perhaps it was time to embrace this new role, to step into the destiny that had been laid before her. Kitra knew that with Aragorn by her side, and with the unwavering support of her friends, there was nothing she could not achieve.
She thought of her people, the Dunedain, who had suffered so much and yet remained proud and unyielding in the face of adversity. They deserved a leader who would fight for them, who would stand up for what was right and just, no matter the cost. And in that moment, Kitra knew that she could be that leader.
With a deep breath, Kitra squared her shoulders and turned back towards the golden hall. The sounds of music and laughter spilled out into the night, a reminder of the joy and camaraderie that awaited her inside.
As Kitra reentered the grand hall, the warmth and merriment enveloped her once more. The revelry was in full swing, with soldiers and courtiers alike reveling in the hard-fought victory and the promise of a brighter future.
Her eyes scanned the room, seeking out the familiar faces of those she held dear. Alana and Lyra were still by the drinking tables, their laughter ringing out above the din of the crowd. Kitra smiled softly, grateful for their unwavering friendship and the strength they had given her in her moment of doubt.
But it was Aragorn who drew her gaze like a moth to a flame. He stood tall and regal, deep in conversation with Gandalf, watching Merry and Pippin dance and sing on one of the tables. As if sensing her presence, Aragorn turned, his piercing blue eyes finding hers across the crowded hall. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, warm and intimate, and Kitra felt her heart flutter in response.
With purposeful strides, she made her way towards him, the crowd parting before her like a sea. As she drew near, Aragorn excused himself from his conversation and turned to face her fully, his eyes alight with joy and affection.
"Kitra," he said softly, reaching out to take her hand in his. "I was wondering where you had gone."
Kitra smiled up at him, her fingers intertwining with his in a gesture that felt as natural as breathing. "I needed a moment to clear my head," she admitted. "But I'm here now, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be." She pulled him in for a kiss earning cheers from all around them. As Kitra kissed Aragorn in the midst of the joyous celebration, she felt a wave of love and contentment wash over her. The cheers and whistles from the crowd faded into the background as she lost herself in the warmth of his embrace.