His Queen

Chapter 31 - Kitra

As the darkness of night descended upon them, the group found themselves huddled together around a small campfire. The gentle crackling of the flames provided the only source of sound in the still and quiet clearing. Kitra sat close to Gandalf, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the ominous shadows of Mordor seemed to draw ever nearer.

In the flickering light of the fire, Kitra's features were illuminated but there was a noticeable weight in her gaze, a burden that seemed to weigh heavily upon her as they journeyed closer to the heart of darkness.

Gandalf sat beside her in silence, his own gaze directed towards the East where the faintest glow of Barad-dûr could be sensed, if not seen. After a few moments, Kitra broke the silence with a soft voice filled with emotion.

"I'm grateful that you are still alive," she said, her words carrying a steady yet heartfelt tone.

Gandalf turned his head slightly, offering her a small and tender smile. "As am I," he replied warmly, his expression tinged with deep thought. Then, after a pause, he spoke again with a more serious tone. "I sense Galadriel's blessing upon you."

Kitra's hand instinctively went to her forehead where she had once felt the strength of Galadriel's blessing. "It fades with each passing day," she confessed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The closer we get to Mordor, the less I feel its presence."

The flickering flames of the campfire cast an orange glow on Gandalf's weathered face, emphasizing the lines of wisdom etched in his features. His expression was understanding, but also tinged with worry as he spoke to Kitra. "As to be expected," he said gravely. "The darkness grows stronger as we approach its source. But do not lose hope. Her blessing lingers still."

Before Kitra could respond, Aragorn appeared from the edge of the camp, moving silently to join them by the fire. Without a word, he slipped an arm around Kitra's waist, offering her silent support and comfort. She leaned into him instinctively, finding solace in his presence.

Gandalf's sharp eyes turned towards the East, his gaze growing more focused as he spoke again. "The veiling shadow that glowers in the East takes shape," he began, his voice low and grave. "Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly."

A chill ran down Kitra's spine at Gandalf's words, feeling the oppressive weight of Sauron's presence even from such a great distance.

"But," Gandalf continued, his voice gaining strength, "he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives." His words held both determination and caution as he gazed back towards the distant fortress where their enemy resided.

Gandalf's sharp, piercing gaze shifted, fixing on Aragorn. Kitra could feel the tension radiating off of him as Gandalf's words struck home like a heavy blow.

"Sauron fears you, Aragorn," Gandalf said, his voice weighted with both solemnity and hope. "He fears what you may become. And so, he will strike hard and fast at the world of Men. He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan."

Kitra's breath caught in her throat as the weight of Gandalf's warning settled in like a dark cloud. War was imminent, and the shadow looming over Rohan seemed to grow darker by the day.

"War is coming," Gandalf continued, shaking his head gravely. "Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge... for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. The king's mind is enslaved, an old device of Saruman's. His hold over King Théoden is now unbreakable. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose."

Kitra's eyes drifted towards the flickering flames of the fire, her thoughts racing as she processed the gravity of Gandalf's words. She had heard tales of Saruman's treachery, but the thought of Théoden—once a mighty and proud king—succumbing to such dark magic filled her with dread.