*。☆。
★。＼｜／。★
˚ ₊ ♡ ❰  BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ THESE FEARS I CARRY ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT ONE ── ad melinora 🏹 ⁺⑅

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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ YOU ARE NOT ALONE IN THIS ❞
CHAPTER TEN ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 2950
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━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹
❝ 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘪 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ❞

*✧ ─── THE STARS SEEM BRIGHTER TONIGHT AS GYDA STARES UP AT THE NIGHTSKY DISPLAYED ABOVE THE TRAINING YARD, THE BOW GIFTED TO HER BY LANTHIR earlier that day for training resting beside her mockingly. Gyda had been skilled with most weapons, naturally gifted even, but there was a reason why she was happy for Galion to pick up the bow as his weapon of choice in their youth. She clearly had no affinity for it, as everyone had been able to witness during training earlier that day. She abandoned practise quickly, much to Galion's surprise who had never seen her quit anything before. She might even have surprised herself, but whilst she felt comfortable making mistakes back at home in Lindon in her youth under her father's tutelage and during her stay at Imladris after they travelled there for Elgarain's safety.

But something about the scrutinizing gaze of the Mirkwood elves made her wary of showing weakness. She had always known the Sindarin and Silvan elves were prideful, but watching it first hand was a whole other story. Gyda knew, that her name, or her lineage did not mean anything to them, even if she deserved their respect after her display of skills at the first day of training when she fought Lanthir.

They favoured their own kind clearly—and Gyda, she knew no matter what she and their delegation did during their stay—the Mirkwood elves would always think themselves better.

Let them believe such things. She thinks bitterly, I know my own worth, and that of my friends.

The cold wind brushes against her pale cheek, strands of hair sweeping in front of her eyes and she moves her hand up to move them behind her ear. Taking a deep breath, Gyda grabs the bow again, the wood unfamiliar in her hand. Its feels more rough that here Noldorian spear, lighter in weight, easily bendable unlike the rigidness of her own weapon. In a way it's completely opposite to what she's used to, and she thinks it must be the reason why it does not compliment her fighting style.

Shaking off the doubt that runs through her body, she pushes herself off of the grass and grabs the simplistic bow and one of the arrows sprawled next to it. The arrow is sharp, the feather a crisp white colour. It is clear that it has not seen battle yet.

Taking a stance, Gyda lifts the bow, gripping the wooden frame tightly, nocking the arrow and drawing the string back as she takes aim at the target several feet away.  Her index finger hovers above the arrow, two below it to steady it as Lanthir had explained her to do before anchoring herself as her index finger touches the corner of her mouth.

Releasing a breath as she lets go of the arrow, Gyda watches it fly through the air, the white feather a mere blur. She grimaces as it lands in a tree behind the target she was aiming for. "Rhaich."

"Your stance is off."

Gyda blinks, startled by the intrusion as she whirls around to face whoever interrupted her. To her dismay she spots a blonde haired elf standing behind her, clearly a resident of Mirkwood. She does not recognise him, and she knows she has not seen him during training.

Gyda huff, feeling threatened by his watchful gaze. "Like you can do better." She scoffs. She knows her words to be childish, especially when she notes the bow slung over his shoulder.

The elf does not look offended by her words, but there is confusion swirling in his eyes, as if her words had been unexpected. He voices no quip in return and instead smiles at her, blue eyes kind unlike her wary hazel ones. "I can."

Gyda finds only honesty laced in his tone, no obnoxious lilt like Lanthir had spoken with when he regarded Galion among her delegation with his bow by his side.

The unknown elf walks closer to her and Gyda watch silently as he removes his bow from his back and in quick succession, knocks, aims and fires his arrow at the target she had been aiming for earlier.

To her surprise the arrow flawlessly hits the bullseye and she lets her gaze settle on the elf again, who slowly lowers his bow before looking back at her. "See?"

She wants to jest, hide her insecurity. Gyda knows she's not the most skilled writer, or healer, but she had always excelled at fighting—be it with sword, spear of just with her fists. It was what she trained for, what she lived and breathed for. She does not know what she is without it in her life and she wants people to know she's good—see she's good, and believe her to be of warrior descent.

Gyda can only nod, feigning indifference is her best bet. She can't be rude, not like she was upon greeting the King. She expects the elf to vanish again, disappear just as quick as he came now that she's as stoic as a stone—instead he nods at her own bow again. "I can show you?"

She wants to so no, but after a moment she decides against it—remembering why they are here in the first place. "La fael."

He smiles then, brightly, like the stars shining above him and Gyda, unlike herself finds herself smiling back, albeit more timidly—just a twitch of her upper lip, but he does not seem to mind.

"Alright..." He trails off and Gyda takes it as a sign to pick up her bow again. She reverts back to her earlier stance and the elf shakes his head in disapproval.

"What?" She frowns, "This is how Lanthir showed us."

"He's taller, he's built different. Copying his stance won't do you well." He explains, nudging her feet further apart with his own before placing a hand on her back, pushing against her spine and she immediately straightens her back.

A shiver runs up her spine, but she blames the cold wind.

"Don't grip the bow too tight, it tenses up your arm, it will impact your accuracy." He continues and Gyda slackens her hold.

He hums in approval and Gyda goes to nock the arrow in place before drawing the string back, index finger resting on the corner of her mouth again.

Once again she feels his fingers on her skin as he grabs the crook of her elbow and pulls it down slightly. She can feel the heat radiating from his body, and notice the loss immediately when he steps back.

"Look down the arrow, towards your target." He suggests.

Doing as told, Gyda let's her gaze follow the wood, towards the sharp arrow tip before focusing on the target ahead. Taking a deep breath, she aims, before releasing the arrow.

She watches as it soars through the air, whizzing silently before landing on the target this time. It's not exactly where she had aimed but it's better than she had been doing the whole day.

A large grin spreads on her face this time, untamed and unafraid of whoever might see her so carefree. "I actually did it." She states in awe before turning to her newly acquired teacher.

"Hanta." She nods at him, "This is the first time I've hit a target all day. I can't believe it."

"You're welcome." He grins.

There is a moment of silence again, and Gyda looks around the abandoned training yard, before back in his blue eyes, "I haven't seen you with the other Mirkwood elves during training."

It's a statement, not a question, but he seems to want to explain himself either way. "I haven't been able to come down yet. I've been in the forest, patrolling our borders from the spiders."

Gyda hums in acknowledgement, "We haven't seen any on our journey here." She gazes up at him, "I was afraid we might, I've heard they're foul creatures."

"They are." He frowns, "and they keep returning despite Sauron's defeat."

"Were you there?" Gyda questions, "on the plains of Mordor I mean."

He shakes his head, "I had...other responsibilities back here." He pauses, "Were you?"

Gyda nods, contemplating on telling more, and to her surprise she finds herself confiding in him like they have known each other for years, "It was terrible and dark, the air, it was like breathing smoke. And the smell—the smell was the worst." She falters, she can almost taste the stench and she knows that if she closes her eyes, she'll see the fire around her, see everyone she has lost. "I hadn't seen battle yet, not truly."

"It must have been terrifying."

"It was...I lost my father that day."

"I'm sorry."

Gyda gives him a watery smile, feeling her throat tighten, "It's been a long time." Is all she can say, staring up at the sky once more, where the stars are glistering on a dark canvas of black.

"Might be... doesn't mean it hurts any less."

Feeling his eyes on her, Gyda tries her best to ignore the feeling it brings her, "I should return to my friends." She says instead, never taking her eyes of the stars.

"As you wish."

Gyda nods, letting her eyes lock onto his once more before turning on her heel back inside, Mirkwood's haunting halls greet her and as she descends down the stairs, she realises she never asked his name.

I'll ask him tomorrow. She thinks.

*。☆。
★。＼｜／。★
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚
𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦
𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝘵𝘰 𝙮𝙤𝙪

─ rick yancey

⋆⋅ ━━━━ ‧ ༻✩༺ ‧ ━━━━ ⋅⋆

third age ━━ year 2950

AT DAWN, GYDA FINDS HERSELF BACK AT THE TRAINING YARD AGAIN, SHE'S EARLIER THAN NORMAL, NOT EVERYONE HAS ARRIVED YET. TO HER disappointment, as she lets her eyes drift around she doesn't spot the mysterious elf from last night among the others already present. She tries to ignore the pang of displeasure that appears in her gut. Shake away the eagerness to talk to him again, or show him she'd remembered what he told her. She strangely felt drawn to him, something she had never experienced before. In the hopes of burying those thoughts, Gyda focuses on her surroundings.

Some eager warriors already begun training and it the very centre of the training grounds, two Mirkwood elves are engaged in a battle with spears, while Cirdan watches them with calculating eyes, calling out weaknesses and advice. Gyda observes with a heavy heart, the sight awfully familiar. Her younger years were spend in places like this, with a spear in one hand and a sword in the other with her father calling out instructions. Her heart aches for those simpler times. The reminders of her wistful youth now a faded memory she clings on to.

The laughter and joy she had gained in those day feel unreachable now, and as she stares at the elves training around her, she knows, finally the true meaning of her training. She'd seen it as a legacy she needed to carry, a joyous past time—even during the war she had thought it nothing more of it. But now here, under the sun in Mirkwood, she truly knows and understands it.

We fight not to hurt our enemies, but protect the ones we love.

Her father's words echo inside her head. She had understood those words in a way, but only now did she feel it's importance. A necessity. A burden. A beautiful tragic burden. The first line of defence to protect the ones she loved. Her people.

She didn't hone her skill because she should want to, she honed her skills because she needed to.

Gyda shakes away her thoughts, slowly approaching the archery range in the distance where a couple of elves had been practising. Most were elves from Imladris and Lindon, two Mirkwood elves stood to the side, observing and guiding them through the process.

With sure steps and movements, Gyda grabs a bow from the rack, the same one she had been practising with last night with the mysterious ellon.

Putting to practise what she had been taught last night, she moves through the motions, feet shoulder wide apart, back straight, a soft but firm grip on the bow. She takes a deep breath as she raises the weapon and nocks an arrow before pulling the string back. Elbow straight and index finger against the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze travels down the arrow until she settles her gaze on her target. Releasing the breath she'd been holding, Gyda let's loose and the arrows soars through the air.

"Who are you and what have you done with Gyda?" Gyda frowns, turning away from the target where her arrow sticks out from, to glance behind her, where Galion stands with his jaw slack and his arms crossed over his chest. Utter disbelief is written on his face and Gyda feels smugness course through her.

"What do you mean dear Galion?" She wonders, stepping away from the archery range to stand next to her best friend, eyes wandering around the training yard.

"What do you think I meant?" Galion bristles, "since when can you even remotely shoot an arrow?"

Gyda sighs, hazel eyes flickering up to meet his, "I got some practise in last night." She offers but Galion only narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"In all the years I've know you, you haven't shown the slightest interest in archery—and I have offered to teach you multiple times, and now you go out at night training by yourself?"

"That sums it up pretty well actually." She shrugs, "I don't know why you're complaining about it Galion. Shouldn't you be happy?"

"I would be, if it wasn't completely out of character for you." He argues pulling her with him by the crook of her elbow and underneath a large majestic tree providing some shade from the beating sun. "So want to try again? With the truth this time maybe?"

Gyda sighs, she should have known Galion would see right through her. "Look, I just don't want them to think less of me, and before you begin—" she holds up her hand when he opens his mouth, "--yes I know I shouldn't care about it, but you know me. I pride myself on my skills as a warrior, I rely on it okay and I see the way they look at us when we aren't perfect. I need them to value us. To strengthen our alliance for Lindon and the Aranel."

"Gyda..."

"They value archery skills, so I shall excel there too."

"You don't have to be perfect Gyda."

"Yes I need to." She hates how desperate she sounds

She doesn't speak the words, but the meaning of those words go beyond this conversation now. Perfect warrior, perfect captain. perfect daughter,

"I need to." She repeats softly.

Galion grabs her shoulder as if understanding the true meaning behind those words. "What you do, for everyone, is good enough already."

"My father was better." She denies, "He didn't insult the King of Mirkwood, or let his worries cloud his judgement. He knew what he was doing Galion..." She whispers, "I don't know at all. It's like I'm walking in the dark. I feel as if I disappoint him with my choices."

"You have not, nor will you ever disappoint Gyldorn, Gyda." Galion assures, eyes honest and warm as they meet hers.

"You can't know that."

"Then neither can you."

"I worry about the Aranel, Galion, I worry about her so much." I miss her. She speaks honestly, "I fear my guidance is wrong, that I can't protect her when she needs me most—I'm not even there now. What if something happens while I'm here?"

"Gyda, Elgarain is not Gyldorn."

It's like the world pauses and her breath hitches but Galion does not stop, "What happened to your father was not your fault, it was fate and it was his decision Gyda. You're scared, and it's terrifying to carry those responsibilities, but you can do it, I know you can. Your father knew it too."

"What if I fail her? I don't have the experiences my father had." She croaks out.

"You're not alone in this Gyda." Galion promises vehemently embracing her tightly in his arms. She falls in them easily, as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Elgarain is not Gyldorn." He repeats softly.

Gyda did not know how much she needed to hear those words.

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#gyda needs a hug

ELVISH TRANSLATIONS
rhaich — curses
La fael — you are generous
Hanta — thank you