His Queen

Chapter 66 - Kitra

The day of Aragorn's coronation dawned bright and clear over Minas Tirith, casting a golden hue over the city that had endured so much and now stood on the cusp of a new era. The air was alive with anticipation as banners fluttered in the breeze, and the citizens of Gondor bustled about in preparation. It was a day of hope and renewal, one that would mark the beginning of a restored kingdom and a lasting peace for Middle-earth.

But within the quiet, sunlit room of the Houses of Healing, the atmosphere was starkly different. There was no rush, no noise, only the soft rustling of curtains as the morning breeze drifted through the open window. Kitra lay unmoving on the bed, her dark hair spilling across the white pillow, her eyes open but distant, as if gazing at something far beyond the room's confines. Though her consciousness had returned days ago, her body remained a prisoner of its own weakness, unyielding to the commands of her will.

Every day, she fought the invisible chains that bound her. She could feel the strength in her heart, in her mind—the fierce determination that had seen her through so many battles—but her body refused to obey. Her limbs were heavy, her muscles still betraying the toll that Sauron's possession had taken on her. She tried, each morning, to sit up, to speak, even just to lift a hand, but it hadn't happened yet. She was trapped in her own stillness.

That morning, as the city outside thrummed with the energy of celebration, the door to her room opened quietly. Aragorn entered, his presence a warm and familiar comfort even before she saw him. He moved with that same quiet grace he always did, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. His expression softened when his eyes fell on her, and in that moment, Kitra's heart swelled and ached all at once.

He approached her bed and sat beside her, gently taking her hand in his. His touch was as it had always been—strong yet tender, grounding her even in the silence that lay between them. Kitra could feel the love radiating from him, the concern etched into his features. But she couldn't reach him. She couldn't squeeze his hand, couldn't speak the words that burned inside her chest. Her body remained frozen, no matter how fiercely her spirit fought against its confines.

"Kitra," Aragorn said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment. His voice was low, almost reverent, as though speaking anything louder would shatter the fragile peace of the room. "Today is the coronation. The city is alive with excitement. I wish... I wish you could be there with me."

Her heart screamed in agony. I'm here. I'm right here! She willed the words to form on her lips, to break free from the silence, but nothing came. Her chest tightened, and she felt a wave of frustration building inside her, hot and furious, but her body remained still. It was like being locked in a cage, watching the world through the bars but powerless to act.

Aragorn's gaze searched her face for any sign, any flicker of movement, but the faintest flicker of sadness touched his eyes when he found none. He leaned forward, his lips pressing gently to her forehead, a soft, lingering kiss that both warmed her heart and deepened her despair. His presence, his love, was there, but she couldn't meet it. Not yet.

"When you're ready," he whispered, his voice thick with both hope and sorrow. "I'll be waiting."

His words echoed in the quiet room, a promise as much for her as for him—a reminder to keep fighting, to keep pushing through the darkness that still lingered. He squeezed her hand once more, his fingers warm against her cold skin, and with a final glance, he stood. As the door closed softly behind him, Kitra was left in the stillness once again.

The silence was suffocating.

Frustration flared inside her like a wildfire. She had been so close—so close to showing him she was still here, still fighting. She had felt the spark of movement, the faintest twitch in her fingers, but it hadn't been enough. She needed to be there. Not just for Aragorn, but for herself. For everything she had fought for. For all the battles she had survived. For the future she had dreamed of with him.