Kitra stirred in her sleep, her body curled against Aragorn's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing presence. The night around them was quiet, the soft breathing of the others in the room blending with the gentle crackle of the dying fire. She had fallen asleep with her head resting on Aragorn's chest, seeking the comfort that his presence always provided. But even in the quiet, her sleep was restless, haunted by the unease that seemed to follow her everywhere.
In the middle of the night, she felt Aragorn shift beneath her. His warmth left her side as he moved, and the soft rustle of his clothing reached her ears. Half asleep, she blinked her eyes open, watching as he sat up.
"What's going on?" she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion.
"Nothing," Aragorn replied softly, glancing down at her. He tried to keep his voice light, but there was something in his tone that tugged at Kitra's attention. "I just need some air. Sorry I woke you."
Kitra started to sit up, instinctively reaching for him. "S'alright," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep. But before she could push herself fully upright, Aragorn's hand was on her shoulder, gently pressing her back down.
"Go back to sleep," he said, his voice tender but firm.
Kitra looked up at him, her mind still clouded by sleep, but the steady reassurance in his touch and the exhaustion of the past few days pulled her back down. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the blankets and the weight of her body dragging her back into unconsciousness.
As Aragorn slipped out of the room, Kitra remained in a dreamlike state, her mind flitting between the darkness of sleep and the faint awareness of the world around her. Time passed in a blur, and it wasn't until later that something stirred her awake once more—voices, hushed whispers from nearby.
She blinked groggily, her senses still dulled by sleep, and it wasn't until a strange energy prickled at her skin that she fully awoke. There was a sudden tension in the air, a wrongness that tugged at the edge of her consciousness.
Pippin's laughter had ceased. In its place was a silence, a heavy silence that made Kitra's heart pound with growing unease. She pushed herself up just in time to see Pippin reaching for the Palantír, his hands closing around the dark orb as if drawn to it by some unseen force.
The Palantír was surrounded by fire. Its malevolent glow filled the room, and Pippin's face contorted in pain as he collapsed to the floor, struggling to break free from its hold.
Before Kitra could think, she was moving, her hand reaching out to grab the Palantír in a desperate attempt to pull it away from Pippin. The moment her fingers touched the cold surface of the orb, the world around her vanished.
Sauron had been lurking at the edges of her mind for days, a dark presence she had felt in her quietest moments, whispering in the shadows of her thoughts. He had been trying to break through, to push her, to turn her against those she loved. And every day, Kitra had fought him off, resisting the temptation to give in to the darkness, to let the rage and fear consume her. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to kill them, to destroy everything she held dear. But Kitra had always held firm, clinging to her love for Aragorn, Alana, and the others. She would never let Sauron have them.
But now, touching the Palantír, everything was swallowed by darkness.
A wave of excruciating pain shot through her body, so intense that she couldn't breathe. Her vision went white, and then—Sauron. His presence filled her mind, his voice reverberating through her skull. His dark, oppressive will pressed down on her, suffocating her thoughts as if he were trying to break her, to claim her.
The room disappeared, and all that remained was the overwhelming presence of Sauron, his malevolent will crashing into her mind like a tidal wave. Kitra's body convulsed as she fought against it, her muscles seizing up with the effort. Her vision was filled with fire, destruction, and death—images of Minas Tirith falling under siege, the White Tree burning, and the Red Wraiths cutting down everything in their path.
And then, Sauron's voice. "You cannot stop it, Kitra. You will kill them all. It is your destiny."
Kitra screamed internally, fighting back with everything she had. No! she cried out in her mind, pushing against the force of his will. I will never let you take them!
But the pressure built, relentless and consuming. Sauron's laughter echoed in her ears, louder and louder, until it was the only thing she could hear. His voice dripped with temptation, his whispers a constant barrage of insidious promises.
"They will all die by your hand. You know it. You have always known it. The power is already inside you. Just give in, Kitra, and the pain will stop. All you have to do is let go."
Kitra's body twisted, her fingers tightening around the Palantír even as her mind screamed in agony. She could feel Sauron's influence, like a sickly heat spreading through her veins. Her vision blurred, and for the briefest moment, she saw herself standing over Aragorn, a sword in her hand, blood on the blade. Her heart raced, panic seizing her as she tried to shake the image from her mind.
No! I won't!
But the temptation was there, pulling at her. Sauron was offering her a way out—a way to stop the pain, to stop the fear that had been gnawing at her for so long. All she had to do was let him in.
The moment Aragorn barged back into the room, the noise of the door swinging open and the urgency in his voice woke Alana. Her body reacted before her mind could fully process what was happening. She sat up quickly, her heart pounding as she scanned the room, eyes searching for danger. Beside her, Lyra stirred as well, blinking groggily as she tried to make sense of the sudden commotion.
"What's happening?" Alana whispered, her instincts kicking in as she caught sight of Aragorn rushing toward Kitra. Something was terribly wrong. Her eyes darted toward Kitra, her hands clutching the Palantír, the cursed orb glowing with an ominous light. A dark energy filled the room, and Alana felt it immediately—Sauron's presence, as cold and heavy as a physical weight.
She was on her feet in seconds, rushing toward Kitra just as Aragorn reached her side.
Alana had reached Kitra just as her body began convulsing, but before she could intervene, Aragorn struck the Palantír from Kitra's grip, sending it rolling across the room. Alana's heart clenched as she watched her cousin collapse into Aragorn's arms, her body trembling violently as she struggled with whatever was happening in her mind.
"Kitra!" Alana cried out, but she knew this battle was not one she could fight for her cousin.
"Help! Gandalf, help!" Merry's voice broke through the haze, but it felt distant, as if it were coming from the other side of a thick wall.
Kitra's mind felt as though it were being torn apart, her breaths shallow and erratic. She was vaguely aware of Gandalf moving toward Pippin, but her own vision blurred as the convulsions continued to wrack her body. Her eyes opened long enough to look Aragorn in the eyes, pleading for him to help her, to make the pain stop.
"GANDALF!" she heard Aragorn's desperate call, and then there was a rush of cold, calm energy that passed over her.
Gandalf knelt beside her now, his hand resting on her forehead. Slowly, painfully, the throbbing in her head began to recede. Her body stopped shaking, though the ache in her muscles lingered, leaving her weak and trembling.
"Kitra," Gandalf's voice was gentle but firm, pulling her back to reality. "What did you see?"
She blinked, her vision hazy as she slowly turned her head toward him. "Gandalf?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"What did you see?" he repeated, his hand resting on her shoulder now, steadying her.
Kitra's eyes closed briefly as the memories of the vision flooded back. "Minas Tirith… the Field of Pelennor on fire… the Red Wraiths…" Her voice wavered. "My parents…"
Gandalf's expression darkened, but he nodded, his touch reassuring. "Sleep now," he said softly. "We will wake you when the sun rises."
Exhaustion overtook her once more. She turned her face into Aragorn's chest, seeking the warmth and safety she knew there. She felt him lift her, his arms gentle but strong as he carried her to her bedroll. As he laid her down, she reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing against his wrist.
"Stay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Stay with me, please."
Aragorn didn't hesitate. He lay down beside her, pulling her close, her head resting on his chest once more. The comfort of his presence eased her trembling, and as his arm wrapped around her waist, she finally let herself succumb to the darkness of sleep.
"I won't ever leave you," Aragorn whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
And with that promise, Kitra allowed herself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, the warmth of Aragorn's embrace keeping her anchored in the midst of all the shadows they had yet to face.
Kitra awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows. For a moment, she simply lay there, eyes closed, savoring the warmth of Aragorn's body beside her and the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The events of the night before felt like a distant nightmare, the terror and pain fading in the light of day.
But as she shifted, the ache in her muscles reminded her that it had been all too real. She inhaled sharply, and Aragorn stirred, his arm tightening around her waist.
"Kitra?" His voice was rough with sleep, but there was an undercurrent of concern. "How are you feeling?"
She opened her eyes, tilting her head to look up at him. His brow was furrowed, his gaze searching her face for any sign of distress. Kitra managed a small smile, reaching up to smooth the worry lines from his forehead.
"I'm alright," she assured him, though her voice was still a bit shaky. "my head is pounding like i drank too much mead."
Aragorn's lips quirked into a half-smile at her jest, but the concern didn't fully leave his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle. "You gave us quite a scare last night," he said softly. "When I saw you with the Palantír..." He trailed off, a shadow passing over his face at the memory.
Kitra's smile faded, the events of the previous night flooding back in vivid detail. The pain, the visions, Sauron's insidious whispers in her mind. She shuddered, pressing closer to Aragorn's warmth. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't think. My body just moved on it's own."
Aragorn sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know. Your compassion and bravery are two of the many reasons I love you. You need to be careful. Sauron's power is growing, and he will stop at nothing to break you."
Kitra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The weight of Aragorn's words settled heavily on her heart. She knew he was right - Sauron would not relent until he had claimed her or destroyed her. The dark visions the Palantír had shown her still lingered in the corners of her mind, threatening to pull her back into that abyss of despair.
She sat up slowly, ignoring the throbbing in her head. Aragorn sat up with her, his hand resting reassuringly on the small of her back. Kitra glanced around the room, taking in the concerned faces of her companions. Alana and Lyra were awake now, watching her with worried eyes. Gandalf stood by the window, his expression grave as he surveyed the horizon.
Kitra's gaze fell on Pippin, who lay pale and still on his bedroll. Merry knelt beside him, holding his hand and whispering words of comfort. A pang of guilt twisted in Kitra's gut. She had acted on instinct, trying to save Pippin from the Palantír's grasp, but in doing so, exposed herself to Sauron's malevolent influence. The fear that had gripped her in those moments still lingered, a cold knot in the pit of her stomach. Had it been instinct or had it been Sauron calling to her?
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, Aragorn rising with her, his hand steady on her arm. She leaned into his support for a moment, gathering her strength, before straightening her shoulders and crossing the room to kneel beside Pippin.
Merry glanced up at her approach, his eyes red-rimmed and weary. Kitra laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering what comfort she could. Then she turned her attention to Pippin, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
"Pippin?" she called softly, her voice still rough from sleep and the strain of the night before.
Pippin stirred slightly at Kitra's touch and voice, but his eyes remained closed. His skin was pale and clammy, his breathing shallow. Kitra's heart clenched with worry as she looked down at the young hobbit. She knew all too well the terror and torment that Sauron could inflict through the Palantír.
"He's been like this all night," Merry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Gandalf said he'll be alright, but..." He trailed off, squeezing Pippin's limp hand.
Kitra nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "Pippin is strong," she said, trying to infuse her voice with more confidence than she felt. "He'll pull through this. We both will."
As if on cue, Gandalf approached, laying a weathered hand on Pippin's brow. He murmured something under his breath, ancient words that Kitra couldn't quite catch. Slowly, color began to return to Pippin's face, and his breathing deepened and evened out.
Merry let out a shaky sigh of relief as Pippin's eyes fluttered open. He blinked up at them, confusion and fear warring in his gaze. "What happened?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain.
Gandalf smiled gently, helping the young hobbit to sit up. "You had a close encounter with a very dangerous object, my dear Pippin," he said. "But you're safe now. Thanks in no small part to Kitra's quick actions."
Pippin turned to look at Kitra, his eyes widening as memory returned. "The Palantír," he whispered. "I saw... terrible things. Fire and darkness and..." He shuddered, unable to continue.
Kitra squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I know," she said softly. "I saw them too."
Pippin's brow furrowed with concern. "Then you touched it as well? Are you alright?"
Kitra managed a tight smile. "I'll be fine," she assured him, though she wasn't entirely certain of that herself. The shadow of Sauron's presence still lingered at the edges of her mind. "We should talk with Théoden. If what we saw is true, Minas Tirith is going to need help."