His Queen

Chapter 40 - Kitra

Kitra stood with poise and grace in the grand halls of Meduseld, her midnight blue gown a stunning contrast to the warm golden hues that adorned the space. The dress's off-shoulder neckline highlighted her delicate collarbones, while the fitted bodice was adorned with intricate golden embroidery that caught the flickering firelight from nearby braziers.

The full skirt of her gown billowed around her like a cloud, its deep blue fabric reminiscent of the vast night sky over the plains of Rohan. As Kitra glided across the intricately carved wooden floor, glimpses of a lighter lavender underskirt could be seen peeking through, resembling stars emerging at twilight. The loose sleeves hung gracefully on her upper arms before flaring out again at her elbows, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to her appearance.

Her dark hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, decorated with small braids in the traditional style of the Rohirrim. With each step she took, the hem of her dress whispered softly against the floor, creating a gentle counterpoint to the occasional crackle of the fires.

Finally coming to a stop beside Aragorn near the front, Kitra took in the scene before her. The hall was filled with soldiers dressed in their finest clothing, fires ablaze in every hearth. Tables were covered with an abundance of food and barrels upon barrels of alcohol stood in one corner, ready to wash away any sorrows.

Théoden's booming voice echoed through the grand hall, filling every corner and crevice with its commanding presence. The king stood tall and regal, his goblet raised high in a toast to the brave souls who had given their all for their beloved country. The crowd erupted into cheers and lifted their own glasses in tribute.

"Hail to the victorious dead," Théoden proclaimed, his words ringing out like a battle cry that sent shivers down Kitra's spine. She joined in the celebration, bringing her own cup of rich, honeyed mead to her lips and taking a long sip. The warmth of the drink spread through her body, a welcome respite from the chill that had settled over the kingdom in recent days.

As the cheers died down, Kitra's sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of the men and women who had fought so bravely to defend their homeland. She recognized many of them, having spent countless hours training and strategizing alongside them in preparation for the epic battle that had just been won.

Beside her stood Aragorn, his strong and noble presence a reassuring constant amidst the chaos of the celebration. Kitra knew that without his leadership and unwavering courage, the outcome of the battle may have been very different.

As the feast continued, Kitra found herself engrossed in conversations with various members of the court and army. Her heart swelled with pride and gratitude as she listened to their tales of bravery and sacrifice. The air was filled with a sense of camaraderie and victory, a testament to the unbreakable bond between those who had fought together on the battlefield.

Despite the joy and revelry that surrounded her, Kitra couldn't shake a lingering sense of unease. She had seen the darkness that threatened their lands, and knew that this victory, while significant, was only a temporary respite. There were still battles to be fought and dangers to face.

As if sensing the weight of Kitra's thoughts, Aragorn turned to her, his piercing blue eyes filled with understanding. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of wisdom and experience etched into his features. "You seem troubled, my lady," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the joyous clamor of the celebration.

Kitra sighed, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. The cool metal felt reassuring in her grasp as she gazed into Aragorn's kind eyes. "My troubles can wait until morning." She forced a small smile, hoping to mask the turmoil within.