His Queen

Chapter 38 - Kitra

Kitra dragged a distraught Lyra through the fray, her own heart heavy with sorrow for her friend's loss. Around them, elves and men clashed with Uruk-hai in a brutal melee. Swords clanged and arrows whistled by as Kitra pulled Lyra towards a small alcove in the stone wall, needing to get her to safety.

"Lyra, look at me," Kitra urged, gripping her shoulders. Lyra's tear-streaked face lifted, her eyes haunted by grief. "I know it hurts, but your father would want you to live. We have to keep fighting."

A flicker of resolve passed through Lyra's gaze and she nodded, swallowing hard. Kitra squeezed her hand before turning back to the battle with renewed determination. She had to find Aragorn.

Kitra fought her way through the chaos, her sword a blur of steel as she cut down Uruk after Uruk. The stench of blood and sweat hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid smoke from the explosions. Her heart pounded in her ears as she scanned the battlefield for any sign of Aragorn.

A roar sounded to her left and Kitra whirled just in time to parry a vicious blow from an Uruk's crude blade. The creature snarled, baring its yellowed fangs, but Kitra was faster. With a deft twist of her wrist, she slipped past its guard and buried her sword deep in its chest. Black blood spurted as she wrenched the blade free.

There was no time to catch her breath. More Uruks surged forward, trampling the fallen bodies of their kin in their mad rush, the Uruk-hai pressed their relentless assault. Kitra fought with the ferocity of a cornered lioness, her blade singing a deadly song as it cleaved through flesh and bone. But for every foe she felled, two more seemed to take its place, an unending tide of malice and hatred.

Lyra stood fearlessly at her side, her tear-streaked face a mask of determination and unwavering resolve. With every strike, she channeled her grief and anger, unleashing a ferocity that surprised even herself. She would fight until the bitter end, for her fallen comrades and for the hope of a better future.

Desperation clawed at her heart as she searched for Aragorn amidst the chaos. She had to find him, to know he still lived., to know that he had gotten Alana to safety. The thought of losing him was a physical ache in her chest, driving her onwards even as her muscles screamed in protest.

A flash of movement caught her eye and she turned to see Aragorn locked in combat with a massive Uruk, his sword a blur of silver. Relief surged through her, followed swiftly by fear as she saw the Uruk's blade cut a crimson line across Aragorn's upper arm.

With a wordless cry, Kitra leapt forward, her sword already in motion. The Uruk turned at the last second, catching her blow on its shield, but the force of her strike sent it staggering back. It snarled in frustration, trying to bring its own weapon to bear, but Kitra was relentless. With a final, mighty swing, she cleaved through the creature's neck, sending its head tumbling to the ground in a spray of black blood.

Breathing heavily, Kitra turned to Aragorn, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, reaching out to touch his injured arm. "Where is Alana?

Aragorn nodded, his jaw set in grim determination. "I'll live. Alana is safe in the keep." He scanned the battlefield, taking in the unending horde of Uruk-hai that still swarmed towards them. "But we cannot hold them for much longer. We must fall back to the keep."

Kitra knew he was right. As much as it pained her to give ground, they were hopelessly outnumbered. Retreat was their only chance for survival.

"Fall back!" Aragorn shouted, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "Fall back to the keep!"

The order rippled through the ranks of the defenders, a rallying cry amidst the chaos and carnage. Kitra and Aragorn fought side by side as they made their way towards the keep, their blades flashing in a deadly dance. Lyra followed close behind, her own sword stained with black blood.