His Queen

Chapter 42 - Kitra

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."