His Queen

Chapter 39 - Kitra

Kitra sat in front of Aragorn on his horse, her arm tightly bound in a sling, a dull throb constantly reminding her of the Uruk0-hai that had bashed into her. Her body ached all over, the fall and the fighting finally catching up to her. Despite the discomfort, she felt safe with Aragorn's strong presence behind her. His hand rested lightly on her waist as the horse's steady pace carried them through the quiet forest. The aftermath of the battle lingered in her mind, but for now, the world seemed calmer, as if holding its breath.

Alana had stayed behind with Lyra to tend to the wounded and give the dead a proper burial. The separation gnawed at Kitra, but she trusted her cousin's judgment. Alana was strong, capable, and practical—a pillar of stability when everything else seemed to be in chaos.

Kitra's thoughts drifted as the horse moved rhythmically through the forest. She leaned back slightly, seeking comfort in Aragorn's presence. "You all right?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

Kitra nodded, though the ache in her arm remained persistent. "Everything hurts, but I'll be okay." she replied, her voice a bit strained but full of determination. She was still processing everything—the fall, the battle, the darkness that was ever growing in her mind again as Galadriel's blessing wore off.

As they drew closer to Isengard, the forest began to thin, and the distant sound of laughter reached them. Pippin's familiar voice echoed through the trees, his carefree tone catching the riders' attention.

"Ahaha!" Pippin saluted them with his mug, his laughter ringing out like a bell.

Merry stood up from the ground, his face lighting up as he saw the familiar faces approaching. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" he called out cheerfully.

Gimli's booming voice interrupted the warm greeting. "You young rascals. A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and... and smoking!"

Pippin, clearly a bit intoxicated, took a long drink from his mug and replied with a playful slur, "We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." He took a bite of a sandwich, his face beaming with satisfaction. "The salted pork is particularly good."

Kitra couldn't help but smile at the sight of Pippin's innocent joy, though her body ached with exhaustion. Behind her, Aragorn chuckled softly at the sight of the hobbits, the brief moment of levity a welcome reprieve.

"Salted pork..." Gimli repeated, clearly intrigued by the idea.

"Hobbits!" Gandalf's voice interrupted, shaking his head at the carefree behavior of the two hobbits.

"We're under orders from Treebeard," Merry explained, nodding toward the great Ent in the distance, "who's taken over management of Isengard."

As the group rode closer to Orthanc, Kitra shifted slightly, wincing as her arm throbbed in the sling. Aragorn's arm tighted around her waist, pulling her closer.

Merry sat behind Eomer, chattering about Treebeard's work and the state of the battle. Pippin was with Gandalf, sitting behind him.

Kitra looked up at the dark figure of Saruman's tower looming above them, a chill running down her spine. She sensed Aragorn tense as they drew closer, his hand tightening slightly on the reins. As always, the presence of Saruman was a reminder of the treachery and danger that still lurked in the world.

"Hoom, young master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come," Treebeard rumbled from his perch nearby. "Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

Aragorn, his eyes fixed on Orthanc, called out, "Show yourself!"

"Be careful," Gandalf warned, his voice low. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."