The early morning light filtered through the hall, casting a soft glow over the tense faces gathered around. Kitra stood beside Aragorn, her arm still in its sling, while Alana and Lyra lingered close by, their expressions somber. Pippin stood near Gandalf, the memory of the Palantír's power still hanging over them all, and Merry remained at his side, offering silent support.
Gandalf's voice cut through the tension. "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool, but an honest fool he remains." His gaze flicked over to Pippin and then Merry, a small, reassuring nod following his words. "He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."
A sigh of relief escaped Gimli, his broad shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. Kitra, too, felt the weight of the moment lift, but it was fleeting. There were still dark clouds looming, and the relief was short-lived.
"We've been strangely fortunate," Gandalf continued, his gaze settling on Kitra briefly, acknowledging the torment she had endured the night before. "What Pippin and Kitra saw in the Palantír was a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."
Kitra swallowed hard as the memory of the vision resurfaced. She could still feel the fire, the destruction. Minas Tirith—the great city—burning. She instinctively gripped Aragorn's hand tighter, grounding herself in his presence. Aragorn met her gaze, his silent strength and the warmth of his hand offering her the reassurance she needed. In moments like this, she knew they would face whatever came together.
"The enemy's defeat at Helm's Deep showed Sauron one thing," Gandalf pressed on, his eyes moving between Théoden and Aragorn. "He knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth."
At this, Gandalf nodded toward Aragorn, and all eyes shifted to him. Aragorn stood tall, but Kitra could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on him. His eyes found hers once more, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. They were in this together. He wasn't alone.
"Men are not as weak as he supposed," Gandalf continued, a hopeful edge creeping into his tone. "There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner."
Gandalf paused, letting his words sink in before his gaze fell on Théoden. "He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men."
The room fell silent, the weight of the impending battle hanging heavy over them all. Kitra's heart ached at the thought of the destruction awaiting Gondor if they didn't act swiftly. She had seen it in the Palantír—Minas Tirith in flames, the Red Wraiths descending upon the city. They couldn't let it come to pass.
"If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war," Gandalf declared, his voice steady.
Théoden's expression darkened, and his bitterness was evident as he responded, "Tell me, why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"
A tense silence followed, but Aragorn, as always, was the first to step forward. "I will go!" he declared, his voice filled with resolve.
But Gandalf quickly intervened. "No!" he said firmly, stepping closer to Aragorn. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river. Look to the black ships." His voice dropped, filled with urgency as he spoke in a low tone meant only for Aragorn.
Aragorn's eyes flashed with understanding, and he gave a subtle nod. Kitra watched the exchange, knowing there was a deeper strategy at play, one that she didn't yet fully understand. But she trusted Gandalf's wisdom and Aragorn's leadership. They would find a way.
As Gandalf turned back to the group, he addressed everyone with a heavy warning. "Understand this: things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith," he glanced at Pippin with a knowing look, "and I won't be going alone."
Alana, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward, her voice calm but filled with purpose. "I'll ride with you, Gandalf," she said, her resolve evident. "I've been wanting to check on Boromir's brother for some time now. And if what we saw is true, Gondor needs all the help it can get."
Kitra's heart clenched at her cousin's words, a bittersweet feeling settling in. Alana was strong, determined, and capable—exactly the kind of person Gondor needed right now. But Kitra wasn't ready to say goodbye, even for a little while.
Gandalf nodded, clearly pleased with Alana's decision. "Very well, Alana. We leave at first light."
Lyra, standing beside Kitra, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering quiet support. "We'll stay back and gather the Rohirrim," Lyra said, her voice steady. "There's much to be done before we can ride to Gondor's aid."
Kitra smiled faintly at Lyra's unwavering calm. They had grown close on this journey, and though their burdens were great, Lyra's presence was always a grounding force. And if Kitra was honest, she could see something budding between Lyra and Éomer, though neither of them had admitted it yet.
Lyra glanced toward Éomer, who stood nearby, looking particularly gruff and focused. Kitra couldn't help but smirk as she remembered the night not long ago when Lyra had managed to drink Éomer under the table during one of their brief moments of rest. It was a rare moment of levity in the midst of the war, and the memory still brought a lightness to Kitra's heart.
"He's still recovering from that night," Kitra teased under her breath, earning a smirk from Lyra.
"He's a tough one," Lyra replied with a wink. "But I think I may have gained a bit of his respect after that. Even if he won't admit it."
Kitra chuckled softly, grateful for the brief moment of humor. They needed it, especially with the storm ahead.
As the group began to disperse, preparing for the separate journeys that awaited them, Kitra stayed close to Aragorn. They exchanged a look, knowing that the days ahead would be filled with even greater challenges. Alana would be riding off with Gandalf and Pippin to Minas Tirith, while Kitra and Lyra stayed behind to muster the Rohirrim. It was a division of paths, but their fates were still intertwined.
The morning air was crisp and cold as Kitra accompanied Alana to the stables. A heavy silence hung between them, the weight of their impending separation pressing down on their hearts. Kitra's arm was still in its sling, a painful reminder of the battles they had already fought and the ones that lay ahead.
As they approached the stables, Kitra could see Gandalf and Pippin already preparing their horses for the journey. Shadowfax, Gandalf's magnificent steed, stood tall and proud, his white coat gleaming in the early morning light. Pippin looked small and uncertain beside the great horse, but there was a determination in his eyes that Kitra recognized all too well.
Alana turned to face Kitra, her expression a mix of resolve and sorrow. "I wish you could come with us," she said softly, reaching out to touch Kitra's good arm.
Kitra managed a small smile, though her heart ached at the thought of being separated from her cousin. "I know," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "But Lyra and I are needed here. We have to gather the Rohirrim and prepare for the battle. Plus, someone has to send word to your brother while nyou're off looking for your long lost love!" Kitra teased.
Alana rolled her eyes at Kitra's teasing, but a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Faramir is not my long lost love," she protested, though her tone lacked conviction. "I simply want to ensure he is safe and warn him of what's to come. Gondor must be prepared."
Kitra's expression softened. "I know, cousin. And there's no one better suited for the task than you. Faramir is lucky to have you looking out for him, even if he doesn't realize it yet."
Alana smiled gratefully, pulling Kitra into a gentle embrace, mindful of her injured arm. "Take care of yourself," she whispered. "And keep an eye on Aragorn. He needs you now more than ever."
"I will," Kitra promised as they parted. "And you take care of Pippin. He's brave, but he's still just a hobbit in a world of men."
Alana nodded, her gaze drifting to where Pippin stood with Gandalf. "He has a role to play in all of this, even if he doesn't see it yet."
Alana mounted her horse and rode over to join Gandalf and Pippin. With a final nod to Kitra, the trio set off at a gallop, their horses' hooves thundering against the earth as they sped toward Minas Tirith and the challenges that awaited them there.
Kitra watched them go until they disappeared over the horizon, a heavy weight settling in her chest. She knew the road ahead would be long and perilous for all of them. But there was no turning back now. The fate of Middle Earth hung in the balance.
With a sigh, Kitra turned and made her way back to the main hall of Edoras. There was much to be done and little time to waste. As she walked, her thoughts drifted to Aragorn. She knew the burden he carried was immense - the weight of his lineage, the expectations of his people, the fear of failing those he loved most. She wished she could take some of that weight from his shoulders, but all she could offer was her unwavering support and love.
As Kitra entered the hall, the men looked up from their intense discussion. Aragorn's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the weariness and worry seemed to lift from his handsome features. He excused himself and strode over to her, his hand reaching out to gently caress her cheek.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his gaze searching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort.
Kitra leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his presence. "I haven't been apart from her in thirty years."
Aragorn nodded, understanding shining in his eyes. He too carried the weight of the coming battles, the fate of kingdoms resting on his shoulders. "You have trained her well. She can hold her own." he promised, his voice low and fervent.
Kitra smiled up at him, love and pride swelling in her chest. This man, this king in all but crown, had chosen her, had bound his heart to hers. In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, their love was a beacon of hope, a promise of a future worth fighting for.
"I know," she said softly. "But it doesn't make it any easier to watch her ride into danger without me by her side."
Aragorn pulled her close, mindful of her injured arm, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You'll be by her side again soon enough. And in the meantime, we have our own battles to prepare for."
Kitra nodded, steeling herself for the tasks ahead. "You're right. I have a letter to send. Carth needs to be here for this battle."
"I'm sure he will come." Aragorn said with conviction. "You should have your armor looked at. You're better set was ruined."
Kitra sighed, glancing down at her damaged armor. The battle at Helm's Deep had taken its toll, leaving her gear in desperate need of repair. "You're right," she agreed. "I'll see to it right away."
Aragorn's hand slid down her arm, gently grasping her hand. "And then, perhaps, we could steal a moment alone together," he suggested, his voice low and intimate. "In times like these, we must cherish every second we have."
A soft smile tugged at Kitra's lips as she met his gaze. "I'd like that," she murmured. "I'll come find you when I'm done."
He nodded, his eyes shining with love and promise. With a final squeeze of her hand, Aragorn turned back to the men, his focus shifting to the preparations at hand.
Kitra watched him go, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and trepidation. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and darkness. But with Aragorn by her side, she knew they could face anything.
She returned to her room to collect her items in her bag.
The old set of armor sat in a heap on the floor, its once polished surface now dented and scratched, the metal warped from the blows it had taken in battle. The scent of rust and sweat lingered over the armor, a reminder of the countless battles it had seen. Kitra wrinkled her nose as she picked up the chest plate, a faint hint of blood still clinging to its surface. Kitra carefully lifted each piece, inspecting it for any signs of damage that could hinder her in the upcoming fight.
The blacksmith, a gruff but skilled craftsman, looked up as Kitra entered the armory. His weathered face broke into a smile when he recognized her. "My Lady! What brings you here this early morn?"
Kitra returned his smile, the familiarity of the armory and its keeper easing some of the tension in her shoulders. "I'm afraid my armor took quite a beating at Helm's Deep, Bregon. I was hoping you might be able to repair it before we ride out again."
Bregon nodded, his eyes already assessing the damage to her gear. "Of course, my lady. Let me take a look."
She passed the bag of armor to him and observed silently as he retrieved each piece, his expression contorting in discomfort.
"How old is this armor, my lady?" The blacksmith asked.
"At least twenty years. It has served me well, the look on your face is telling me it's scrap metal now." She chuckled, a little sad that the armor that had fit her so well now was only good for melting down into household items.
Bregon examined the armor closely, his experienced hands testing the metal, assessing the extent of the damage. After a few moments, he looked up at Kitra with a somber expression. "I'm afraid you're right, my lady. This armor has seen its last battle. The metal is too badly warped and weakened to offer much protection now."
Kitra sighed, a twinge of nostalgia and sadness tugging at her heart. This armor had been with her through so much - countless skirmishes, long journeys, and now the great battles against the forces of Sauron. It felt like saying goodbye to an old friend.
"It's served me well," she said softly, running her fingers over the dented surface. "But I suppose all things must come to an end eventually."
Bregon nodded in understanding. "Aye, that they must. But fear not, my lady. I have just the thing to replace it."
He turned and rummaged through a stack of armor pieces, his movements purposeful and sure. After a moment, he emerged with a gleaming set of plate armor, the metal polished to a high shine. Kitra's eyes widened as she took in the intricate detailing and expert craftsmanship. The plates were molded to fit a woman's form, the metal both strong and lightweight. It was a work of art as much as a tool of war.
"This is exquisite, Bregon," Kitra breathed, running her fingers reverently over the cool metal. "Where did you get this?"
"A man came to me before Helms' Deep and commissioned it." Bregon told her.
"let me guess longer dark brown hair, brooding eyes, gentle voice? She asked, having an idea of who would have done such a thing.
"Sounds like the man. You know him?" He asked.
"Mhmm." She mused, holding up the pieces for her to see.
"If you go to the back and put it on, I can make any final adjustments," Bregon suggested as he gestured towards the back of his shop. She smiled and picked up the set of armor before disappearing into the back room.
Even over her simple dress the armor was a masterpiece of leather and metal. The cuirass, crafted from what felt like steel encased in suppled black leather, hugged her torso. Overlaying it was a series of metal plates, each one meticulously shaped to allow for fluid movement while providing stalwart defense. Her shoulders were adorned with layered pauldrons, the dark metal extending partway down her upper arms, offering protection without sacrificing mobility. On her forearms were a pair of matching vambraces. A leather strap crossed her chest diagonally, its rich brown contrasting with the darkness of her armor, connected to the back were two sheaths in the form of an X, perfect for her twin blades.
Kitra emerged from the back room, the new armor gleaming in the soft light of the armory. Bregon looked up from his work, his eyes widening in appreciation as he took in the sight of her. The armor fit her like a second skin, accentuating her lean, muscular form while still allowing for the fluid grace of her movements.
"Ah…I did a fine job. Let me see what adjustments can be made." Bregon approached her, touching each piece of armor as he went to assess their fit to her body.
She moved around the armory, testing the range of motion the armor allowed. The plates shifted and flexed with her movements, never hindering or constricting. It was a marvel of craftsmanship, and Kitra silently thanked both Bregon and Aragorn for their roles in its creation.
"It moves well." She commented. She looked down at her legs though and worried about their vulnerability. Though she could see her legs through her skirts she knew that they would need some form of protection.
"Here are the last pieces. For the thighs and calves." Bregon told her, seemingly reading her mind. Bregon handed Kitra the final pieces of armor - a pair of thigh guards and greaves for her lower legs. The metal was the same dark steel as the rest of her armor, the surfaces polished to a gleaming finish. Kitra took the pieces gratefully, marveling at their lightness despite their sturdy construction.
She strapped on the thigh guards first, the metal plates fitting snugly against her muscular legs. The leather straps that secured them in place were soft and supple, allowing for a comfortable fit without chafing. Next came the greaves, which covered her shins and calves. She could feel the solid protection they offered, even as they moved smoothly with each step she took.
With the final pieces in place, Kitra stood tall, a fierce and formidable warrior clad in armor fit for a queen. She could feel the power and confidence the armor imbued her with, a tangible reminder of the strength that resided within her.
"It's perfect, Bregon," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and awe. "I can't thank you enough for your craftsmanship and skill."
The old blacksmith smiled, pride shining in his eyes as he took in the sight of Kitra in her new armor. "It is my honor to craft armor for a warrior such as yourself, my lady," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "May it serve you well in the battles to come."