His Queen

Chapter 52 - Kitra

Aragorn nodded absently, allowing Kitra to guide him away from the ominous cleft. As they walked, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had gripped him. The vision had been brief but vivid - a glimpse of ghostly figures, their faces twisted in eternal agony, reaching out to him from the darkness.

He had heard the legends of the Dimholt, of course. Every child in Gondor knew the tales of the cursed men who dwelt in the mountain, doomed to wander as shades until they fulfilled their broken oath. But to see them, even in a vision, was something else entirely.

Kitra glanced at him as they approached the tents, her eyes filled with concern. She could sense his unease, though she didn't fully understand it. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

Aragorn hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet," he murmured. "Let us eat first. Perhaps the food will settle my mind."

Gimli was already seated by the fire, tearing into a hunk of bread with gusto. He looked up as they approached, his eyes twinkling beneath his bushy brows. "Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost." He chuckled, bits of bread spraying from his mouth.

Kitra smiled wanly as she and Aragorn settled beside the dwarf. A young soldier handed them each a bowl of steaming stew and a chunk of bread. Aragorn accepted his portion with a nod of thanks, but merely prodded at the food, his appetite diminished.

Gimli eyed him shrewdly over his bowl. "Something troubling you, laddie?"

Aragorn sighed, setting down his spoon. "I saw something...in the Dimholt," he admitted quietly. "Shades of men, reaching out as if in warning or plea, I could not tell which."

Kitra stiffened, her eyes widening. Gimli grunted, his face darkening. "Aye, 'tis an ill-omened place," the dwarf muttered. Gimli cut the conversation short as he stuffed his food in his face with no manners.

Later that night Kitra ventured through the encampment, unable to sleep. Aragorn had fallen asleep with little issue though she could tell that his rest had been restless. She was looking for Lyra.

Kitra found Lyra sitting alone by a small fire at the edge of the encampment, her gaze distant and thoughtful. She was with Eomer and some of his soldiers. The elf maiden looked up as Kitra approached, a faint smile touching her lips. "You cannot sleep either, I see," she said softly.

Kitra shook her head, settling beside Lyra on a fallen log. "No, my mind is too loud." She stared into the flickering flames, her brow furrowed.

"Have you eaten Lady Kitra?" Gamling asked from across the fire and he and Eomer ate their food.

Kitra shook her head. "Yes. Though I'm afraid I haven't much appetite." She glanced at Lyra who gave her a knowing smile.

Suddenly from behind them Eowyn and Merry emerged from the tent. Merry was donned in Rohan armor that barely fit him and a sword in his had. "To the smithy! Go!" Eowyn laughed sending the hobbit off.

Kitra chuckled softly to herself as Merry, still grinning, swung the sword back and forth as he ran off toward the smithy. The sight of him practicing, eager and determined despite the dangers ahead, reminded her of the bravery even the smallest could summon in the face of great darkness.

But her attention was quickly drawn away when she spotted Éomer sitting by a campfire nearby, speaking with Gamling. She noticed the tension in his posture as he watched Éowyn encourage Merry.

"You should not encourage him," Éomer said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of concern. Kitra could tell he wasn't just speaking about Merry—there was something more behind his words, something personal.